Steph-h: Mm, I don't think this chapter will help.
Mirax: I'm glad you liked Elrond. I haven't quite decided how I'm going to write that part, so you may yet get your wish. It'll depend on what comes to me when I sit down and write it. And I wager I'll still be evil at the end of this chapter. Lol.
Grumpy: Ooh, someone liked that part. I was afraid I screwed Galadriel up. Lol. She's so. . . . Words fail me.
Now, don't kill me. Not yet. I'm getting to the meeting, really I am. And with any luck, it will be sooner rather than later. But until then, here's the next chapter. Read, enjoy, and review. They encourage me to write faster. Honest.
Am I the Only One
The days of travel stretched on, endless as the seasons that changed over the earth, passing on into the next but never gone. The sun would set and the moon would rise and they walked on, gaining on the havens but the destination too far gone to be seen. For this, Arwen was in agony. Never before had she been pulled so strongly in two directions, and the pain endured, cresting like the waves of the sea before subsiding to crest again, beating her back endlessly.
She closed her eyes and swallowed thickly, letting the rocking motion of her horse's stride take over her, hoping to block out more than just her sight. Relief should have taken her, should have lifted her spirits; she had finally gained the one desire she had held since Aragorn had turned her away. She would leave and the pain would be gone.
Light played across her closed eyelids, the golden glow alternating with empty darkness, cast as the sun played amid the trees, dancing with the leaves that shifted in the slight breeze and sparkled gold upon the elves that passed beneath them, the quiet melody of their song as haunting as it was beautiful; happy as it was regretful, the words joyful but tinged with sadness by the elven-fair voices that gave them light and kept time with the slow and steady pace of their journey.
She should be relieved, yet every step closer to the Undying Lands clenched tighter at her heart. With every step, all she wanted to do was turn around and run, run as fast as she could manage back from whence she came, back through the years that had brought her here to Minas Tirith on that fateful day when her world had shattered, to throw herself into the arms of the only one who could ease her pain, the only one who never would, and knew she could not. Hers was an agony that could not be undone and could not be endured, shattering her heart with every step along the path she had chosen, away from the path of her heart.
Dark blue eyes, as filled with pain as if all the heartache of all the world had been poured into those deep pools, opened to the world once more and took in the trees around her, graced by perfect light, and shuddered as she was borne backwards to a time and place of more happiness than she could imagine, all the more wounding because it had once been hers and now was gone.
~*~
Laughter, bright and musical, rang through the trees, followed by fleet steps and the faintest patter of feet on soft ground, detectable by only the sharpest ears. It was followed by heavier feet, lighter than would be expected, chasing the faint signs of passage. Sharp eyes studied the ground, a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth.
Aragorn crouched as the light prints he had been following seemed to disappear and ran his hand lightly over the ground, moving grass and leaves out of the way to get to the prints. He could fine none, however, and edged back to the last pair he had seen. Nimble fingers traced the impressions, measuring the depth. A small, victorious smile curved his lips and his eyes drifted up to the trees. He knew this trick; Legolas had used it on him often enough, leaving only the question of where the elf had gone. He thought he knew.
Focusing his attention behind him, he stood and looked up into the trees, pretending to be carefully studying the boughs. Thus it was that he caught the whisper soft step behind him, followed by another. When they were right behind him, he turned and snatched Arwen around the waist, pulling her close to him before swinging her around. She laughed and clung to his arms as they spun, the trees rotating around their heads and streaks of sunlight dappled their hair and shoulders.
Slowly, Aragorn brought them to a halt and Arwen opened eyes she had unconsciously closed, her face inches away from his and their eyes locked. She stared into his silver eyes, alight with happiness, and saw all the love and care she had ever hoped for.
A calloused hand came up and gently cupped her cheek, his thumb softly caressing her bottom lip. "What grace brought me here?" he whispered. "What happy chance made you love me?"
"The same that brought you to me," she answered. "The same that will see you to your destiny."
His other hand came up, catching her firmly and serious eyes, cloudy with an emotion she could not quite name, regarded her closely. "Are you sure Arwen? Are you sure this doom is what you wish?"
"Do you love me?" she asked instead, blue eyes fixed on his.
"I will always love you," he declared.
"Then have no doubt, my love. I cannot regret my choice."
~*~
But she could regret what would never be, could regret the pain of her heart, could regret the pain their love, no matter how short or fruitless, had caused her father, now needless. No matter how hard she tried, though, she could not regret loving Aragorn, could not hate him for breaking her heart.
Against her will, a crystal tear slipped down her cheek, soon followed by others she could not hold at bay.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
His hair was whipped back, torn away from his face by the force of his passage. His eyes were dark, a lightless gray, and his jaw was set in a grim line, his expression reminiscent of the one he had worn on the ride to the Pelannor fields in such haste during the War of the Ring, and it was not hard to name him determined. It was more difficult to name the emotion that hovered just behind the mask.
On his mad dash in the opposite direction with a number of his kin along with Legolas and Gimli, he had masked fear. Fear that they would arrive too late, the battle completed before they could lend their aid. Fear that his friends would die, that he would be forced to say good-bye to more friends than had already been parted from him before their time. Fear that even if they arrived with help that it would not be enough, that despite all they had done Middle-earth would fall.
Now he did not battle fear, though he was afraid, but pain. Behind the screen of duty, his mind writhed in agony, caused by his own hand, echoing words from the past. "Have no doubt. . . . Do you love me?" They cut through his mind, more painful than the joy they had caused, soured with time passed and hurtful words, words meant to wound. If he could have done one thing, he would have spared her the heart break he had caused.
Aragorn pulled his steed up short, the action abrupt enough to make the horse rear and whinny in agitation, forcing Elladan and Elrohir to ride past him and come back. They looked at him in concern. "Aragorn, are you all right?"
"What's wrong?"
But the words of concern fell on deaf ears, warped beyond comprehension as the world twisted around him, growing dark, blocking all light until he stood in a dark void, empty of any happiness or hope.
He had hurt her impardonably, shattered her heart in full knowledge of what he did. How could he dare show his face to her and ask for that same heart? How could he ask for her confidence, having already betrayed her? How could she love him after all he had done?
The only answers he could find rooted him to his spot: he could not, she could not. He did not deserve her, had never deserved her, and was now even more worthless than he had been, unworthy of crawling before her, Evenstar of her people, to beg her squash him, and he dared ride to ask her hand?
"I cannot," he murmured, unaware he spoke aloud. "I cannot."
Elladan and Elrohir exchanged worried glances, unsure of what to do, about what had happened to so quickly transform hope to despair; unsure what to say to reach the man when their words had thus far gone unheeded. Elrohir edged closer to Aragorn, noting he had started back away, catching the horse's reins in his hands. When the horse prepared to bold, lead by its master's hand, Elrohir held him firm.
He could not face her. He wrenched the reins around to return to Minas Tirith, but was pulled up short. Wild eyes, wide in incomprehensible pain, turned back, looking for what held him, bound him in his torment, and fell on his brother. "Let me go," he said after swallowing so he could force the words past uncooperative lips.
"Speak to us, brother," Elladan pleaded, moving closer so he could grasp the human's arm. "Tell us what ails you."
Aragorn stared at him, eyes blank. There were no words for his pain. How could he admit his wretchedness to the kin of his beloved? Yet another thing he could not do; the weakness he had feared manifest to doom those he loved more than life itself, more than he could claim. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, and he was forced to helplessly shake his head, bereft of words.
Both elves studied Aragorn's face intently, looking for answers to the questions the young man refused to speak. Elrohir found the answer first. "Do not despair, Estel, and do not fear the worst," he bid. "Many are the battles that would have been lost if those who had fought in them had simply decided to go home instead of fight because the battle was already lost."
"Do not fear Arwen's rejection," Elladan chimed in, catching his twin's trail of thought. "Do not despair of the night before the day has gone. You know not what she will say or do."
Aragorn resumed shaking his head, the movement slow and steady, as unchanging as the man was in battle, forcing the twins to wonder how their adopted brother could be so sure of his stand yet so hesitant about trusting love. "I do not deserve her," he said.
Elrohir sighed. "It is not about whether or not you deserve her," he said, exasperation tingeing his words.
"It is about whether or not you love her," Elladan continued, fixing a steady stare on the younger being before him. "Do you love Arwen?"
"More than anything," Aragorn replied without hesitation.
"Then tell her," pressed the elder twin.
"But--"
"No, no buts," Elrohir interrupted, cutting off the human. "You made the decision to reject her. You decided it would not work. You decided she could not possibly love you because you are human, weak, doomed, what have you. You decided, Estel. What did Arwen decide?" He stared silently for a moment into pained silver eyes before Aragorn glanced away, then he continued. "She decided to love you, despite all your flaws and hesitations, despite all your troubles and burdens, and all the differences that lay between you. She decided to trust you and bind herself to you. She decided to spend the rest of your life together and you took that away, broke two hearts for no reason."
Aragorn did not speak, did not look at them, so Elladan picked up where his twin left off. "Do not be stubborn, Estel. Do not let pride or fear get in the way. Do not bear a burden you do not need. Cast aside doubt. Only Arwen can answer your heart's desire, and the only way you can gain it is to ask. Fearing an answer you may not receive is pointless. Cast it aside."
The human finally looked at them, weariness in his worldly gaze. "It is not so simple," he denied, but the words were rote, spoken from a script that was long out of date. He had decided, Elrohir was right, and even Elrond had to a certain extent. What had Arwen decided? She had decided to fight for their love, to persue it against all opposition, and what had he done but thrown away all her efforts as if they meant nothing the moment their time was at hand.
"It is as simple as you make it," Elladan stated. The elves stared at him, waiting, feeling the weight of time ticking down around them, pressing harder against their chances of success. Still, they waited.
Yes, Arwen had held more faith than he had, had denied the darkness when he had faltered. She had been borne along by his decisions, carried along without a say by his whims. No more. If nothing else, she deserved the chance to make the choice, her choice. She deserved to know he loved her, wanted to be with her, and would stand by her if she so chose. She deserved to stand where he had stood, all the power of decision in his hand, her happiness his to decide, his to kill; she deserved the opportunity to stand before him and tell him he was not worthy and leave him alone to his broken heart.
She deserved it, and if it was the last thing he would ever do, he would see that she got it.