Aragorn's Sorrow
By EmptyWord


Author's Notes: A big apology to everyone reading this. I now give you leave to label me as the worst of procrastinators and the laziest of bums (excuse my saying so). Be that as it may, I'm afraid I will not be able to hurry my updates, given the fact that school's soon to start. (9th grade! Ahhhh! runs away)

Once again, a huge THANK YOU to all of my wonderful, superb reviewers! You guys really know how to cheer me up. And an extra thank you to Iska Anoron who proofread my work.

Lastly...drumroll...I've revised the whole thing! From the first chapter to the sixth. I had been getting several complaints about my horrible Arwen, so I decided to read over what I'd written. What an eye-opener too! Every complaint about Arwen was not only justified, but also an understatement. I immediately set about changing her parts. I hope you guys like the result!

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings is the property of John Ronald Reuel Tolkein, Christopher Tolkein, Allen & Unwin, Ballantine Books, Houghton-Mifflin, and innumerable others. My name does not appear anywhere on the list. No monetary profit is intended in the writing of this story.


Chapter Seven: Fairy Tales

The library of Rivendell was enormous, containing several collections of books and tomes. Every arcane tale of the history of Middle Earth could be found somewhere on the shelves, from the Creation of the world to Earendil's journey to Valinor, the most recent edition being Sauron's Demise and the End of the Third Age. And not only was the entire history of Middle Earth laid out here, but there were also sections of the library designated for maps and guides of places in Middle Earth.

Hung upon the stone walls were magnificent tapestries depicting certain events of the past. The most majestic of these tapestries, one with an elaborate scarlet border and a golden sheen, was a brilliant picture of the High King of the Noldor Fingolfin challenging Morgoth to a battle, a battle that would result in the death of the valiant and beloved High King. This tapestry well-portrayed Fingolfin in all his glory and Morgoth full of dread, and such were the two that the tapestry was brought into a seeming of life.

Beside this great tapestry stood Arwen Undomiel, the light of Fingolfin and the terror of Morgoth falling upon her figure. Yet, she cast not a glance at the tapestry, nor on any other. Her gaze was fixed, rather, upon a heavy, beautifully bound book, the cover of which shone with silver stars. Above the stars were three words, in elegant Elvish script: Lay of Luthien.

Arwen fingered the book, recalling the tale of Beren One-hand and Luthien Tinuviel that she had heard more than once. Theirs was a beautiful story of love and loyalty and selflessness. Their lives had been fraught with grief and loss, and yet, at the last, they lived in happiness and love to the end of their days.

Her eyes closed as a dreamy smile lit her face. She'd often fancied herself to be Luthien and Aragorn as Beren. She'd imagined that Aragorn would love her so much he'd do anything for her hand in marriage and would thus embark on a journey to find favor in her father's eyes. As for Arwen, she'd give up everything for Aragorn and journey with him. And their love would carry them through, as Beren and Luthien's love had.

But a story such as Luthien's was a fairy tale. The Valar could not possibly be expected to grant another fairy tale of unmatched love and glory to the Children of Iluvatar. Aragorn did not love her, and she had not given everything to be with him.

Arwen's eyes shot open, and a frown emerged over her brows. She should not be dwelling on Aragorn so much. Why in Elbereth's name had it been decreed that she should love Aragorn to such an extent while he could simply go merrily about his own business and forget her?

"Arwen."

She turned in surprise to meet her father's gaze. Lord Elrond stood beside a tall bookshelf, regarding her quietly. Arwen smiled brightly. "Father!"

"The storm has passed."

She blinked. "Has it?" Arwen asked, taken aback. She must have been so absorbed with the book that she had not noticed when the pounding overhead had ceased.

Elrond watched her. "But it is not over."

"Pardon?" She didn't understand. Why was he contradicting himself?

"Aragorn left."

She froze, feeling the heavy force of those words spoken in her father's quiet voice slam into her. "Father," she said weakly, "you are behaving so strangely today."

Lord Elrond sighed and relented slightly. "Aragorn is gone, my daughter, because you have driven him away. And the storm will never truly pass until you have brought the son of Arathorn back."

"No," Arwen whispered in a voice flooded with pain. "I have not driven him away! The king of Gondor leaves of his own free will, his own judgment. He does not and never will heed my words or my heart."

She sounded so grieved, so sincere! "You do not truly believe that Aragorn does not love you, surely?"

"No love has he for me, my lord," she answered and lowered her eyes so he would not see the tears in them.

Astonishment surged through Elrond, though none of it showed on his face. What a queer quandary, that the two should love the other so much, yet doubt the other's love for them!

"Yet how can one ever be sure?" Elrond said gently. "Do not forget, Arwen, that he arrived to see you in another's arms. Perhaps Aragorn imagines he is the one to have lost your love."

Arwen recalled the look of despair on Aragorn's face when he had seen her with Heled for the first time. "Yet, you may be wrong, Father," she said hesitantly. "Far more likely is it that he has left me. What should happen if I go to bring him back, as you ask, and he does not love me?"

Elrond took Arwen's hand within his own. He gazed into her eyes with wisdom and kindness. "What should happen, then, if you do not go and yet, he loves you verily?"

He turned his attention to the large book still clutched in her hands and smiled. He took the book and perused through it. "The Lay of Luthien. It's a wonderful story, isn't it? But it is not merely a story. It happened, Arwen, it is reality because Beren and Luthien were strong enough to push their doubts aside."

He handed her the book, still open. "I have a few matters to attend to now, Arwen. Take heed of Beren's words, my dear, and make your choice wisely. Your future and your happiness depend on it."

Beren's words? She wondered, as she watched her father leave. Absently, she glanced down at the book in her hands and started. The two pages peering back up at her were not crawling with Elvish script as she'd expected, nor even exhibit to beautiful pictures of Luthien. There was a single line of text on each page, thus reading:

'Yet Luthien was gnawed with anxiety and ran after him, knowing in her heart the peril that he ventured into.

Seeing she would forestall him, Beren drew back, saying, "My choice I have made, my doom I must bear. And Lovely One, I say to you this: if I risk nothing, I risk even more."'

That was all. No other words lay upon the page to be read. No other lines were there for eager eyes to grasp at. But Arwen would not have cared for more. Indeed, Beren's last words were enough: "if I risk nothing, I risk even more." Simple words they were, worth little in the long, impressive history of Middle Earth, yet better spoken than any great Elf of old could have declared.

Beren had risked a great deal in entering into Morgoth's domain and attempting to steal one of the Silmarils embedded on the fell lord's crown. He had risked not only his own life, but Luthien's as well, and certainly that was a great peril. Yet, the son of Barahir had realized that were he not to do so, he risked being parted from Luthien forever, as her father had consented in setting her hand in his for no less than a jewel upon Morgoth's crown. Hence, if Beren did not risk his quest, he risked losing Luthien, and he would not suffer that.

Arwen closed the book gently. Would she risk going after Aragorn?

She walked toward the bookshelves. What if Aragorn rejected her?

Her hand reached up to return the Lay of Luthien to its proper place. But what if her father was right and Aragorn did love her after all?

The book settled onto the marble shelf with a light thud. Would she be as strong as Beren and risk so much to be with Aragorn, if it was possible?


Legolas was troubled.

To the outward eye, his features were calm and his eyes clear. Nothing unusual could be discerned from his appearance. But in his heart lurked the awareness of danger. When he'd heard Aragorn's tale and of the Elf Heled, his mind had flashed a transient, but piercing warning. A caution sign had momentarily blazed through his system, a sign that had subsided now to a nagging disquiet.

Try as he would, Legolas simply could not grasp the meaning of that warning. What was so troublesome about Aragorn's situation? Certainly, the Ranger-turned-King had suffered much, and Legolas was terribly sorry for it, but the situation was quite easy to resolve. Legolas was certain that Arwen Undomiel still bore feelings for Aragorn and a happy ending would result so long as they had a chance to meet and talk again. So...what was it that troubled him?

The Elf-prince longed to grab that annoying sprite of a warning and throttle it until it confessed the reason it had been birthed. He let out a laugh at this thought.

Aragorn glanced over in surprise. "Pray, Legolas, what amuses you thus?"

The other laughed again and winked. "I dare not reveal my thoughts to you, O most solemn king, lest I suffer your reproach!"

"Indeed?" He cast the Elf a suspicious look. "I wonder greatly what these thoughts could be that you should care to hide them from me." He hesitated. "Would it perhaps have to do with this return trip to Rivendell?"

Legolas grinned ever more broadly. This "return trip" was going to bring Aragorn and Arwen back together, even in the face of that caution sign lurking just out of reach. It had been very difficult to persuade the adamant Aragorn to return to Rivendell, and it was only by reminding Aragorn that he hadn't returned Arwen's necklace yet that Legolas managed it. Of course, nothing was so easily accomplished, what with Aragorn asking why Legolas couldn't give it back for him and what Elrond would think of the unexpected and rather rude return; but Legolas was clever, and with his quicksilver tongue, it was only a matter of minutes to set Aragorn back for Rivendell.

On their way to the Last Homely House now, Legolas realized that, in spite of his coaxing, Aragorn still doubted the wisdom of going back. "I'd really rather not bandy words with you for the present, King Elessar," Legolas murmured.

Aragorn fell silent. He had his own thoughts after all. It would not be an easy task to stoically face Arwen long enough for him to return the Evenstar necklace to her. Perhaps, Aragorn mused, he could give the necklace to Elrond instead. Yes, it would be better not to face Arwen.

So it was that the two friends arrived at Elrond's House in pensive silence. And what a shock it was for them to see Arwen stepping out into the open, unaccompanied and unaware of their presence.

Aragorn's eyes widened and he flung the hood of his cloak over his head, habitual concealment when he had no wish to be recognized.

Legolas, however, did not know of Aragorn's sudden change of mind. He swung off his mount and hailed Arwen, "My lady, what a delight!"

Blinking her thoughts away, Arwen glanced at the speaker of the voice. A smile instantly lit her face. "Prince of Mirkwood!" she exclaimed, coming forward. "Pray, what brings you to my father's haven? I am very glad-"

She stopped, the cadence of her lovely voice ending sharply. She stared at the hooded figure who now stood behind Legolas, and her heart skipped a beat. His dear face was hidden in shadow, his figure discreetly cloaked, but he might as well have come with trumpets blaring and heralds announcing his arrival, so distinctly did Arwen feel his presence. No façade could ever hide him from her heart.

Legolas turned to look where her gaze had gone. He grinned at the hiding man. "Poltroon!" he teased but did not reveal Aragorn's identity to Arwen. Aragorn could do that himself when he gave Arwen her necklace.

Arwen felt a wave of dizziness sweep over her and the force of it almost toppled her. From a long way off she heard Legolas's voice say, "Well then, if you'll pardon me, I must be greeting Lord Elrond."

She blinked rapidly, struggling to steady herself. She could feel herself weakening these days, and the very thought of Aragorn's departure seemed to drag her down even more. And yet, here he was! The man she loved had returned for some unknown reason and he stood before her now... He was following Legolas, silently passing by her... He was past her, the sense of his presence dimming with each split second... He was walking away, without a word and without a glance...

'If I risk nothing, I risk even more.' Beren's words thundered across her mind; her senses flooded by the tumult of emotion, Arwen knew this was the crucial trial: Would she take the chance and tell Aragorn all?

Arwen couldn't focus. Thoughts swam in circles in her mind, fleeting and disoriented. She couldn't see, she couldn't hear, she couldn't move, she couldn't think! But with its last effort, her heart screamed a single word at her: COWARD!

Arwen's vision cleared and her clouded senses tasted instant freedom. She whirled around and dashed after the man about to enter Elrond's House, his name rising unbidden to her lips, "Estel!"

The king halted abruptly, acknowledging the name as his own and the voice as Arwen's. He turned slowly, afraid to face the one who had broken his heart. He was met with one equally afraid and equally heart-broken.

"Estel..." she said again, coming to a stop before him. Her eyes were moist and silver tears glistened on her cheeks. She tenderly brushed his long shaggy hair, together removing the offending hood that hid his beloved face. "Estel, I...I love you." In the bravest act of her life, she lifted her large, fearful eyes to watch his reaction.

Aragorn's breath froze. A rush of warmth suffused him and a pounding arose in his ears. He felt as though he'd been struck by lightning. Perhaps he had, and this was just a dream of his. If it was a dream, he thought desperately, then he wanted it to last! He gazed on Arwen with painfully longing eyes, assiduously committing every detail of her to memory.

Arwen's hand touched his cheek hesitantly. The shock on his face was palpable enough, but she couldn't decipher the other emotions that fleeted through his eyes. If she'd thought she saw a hint of love, she believed it to be her imagination at work. But Aragorn hadn't backed away yet, nor had he rebuked her with a cold word, so she decided she would give it another shot. If her father happened to be wrong and Aragorn did not love her, at least she would not suffer the shame of cowardice. "I must seem like a hypocrite," continued Arwen, "saying one thing, but acting in another way. For this, I cannot but blame myself. But I will say only this, and then allow you the freedom to choose whether to love me or to leave me. I have never loved Heled; I love only you and always will."

The gentle touch on his cheek jolted him out of his daze. He reached up and covered her hand with his own. Aragorn was overcome with emotion, but he forced himself to speak. "I have had no cause to hope as much these preceding days, but if you really love me, then I rejoice for the mercy of the Valar."

She gazed at him in wonder. "Do you mean...you still love me?"

Aragorn gathered her lovingly into his embrace, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "How can I not?" he whispered his answer, and he held her close.

A soft sigh escaped her lips. She laid her head against his chest, snuggled within his arms. His love wrapped around her in a warm, secure bubble, promising the stars of heaven and the flowers of earth and all the light that had ever been. How could she have ever doubted him? How could she have ever turned to Heled? Only with Aragorn was there this sweet contentment, this unblemished ecstasy that pervaded her very being and elevated her to heights unknown.

They were not so different from Luthien and Beren! Their love had been just as strong and true as those two legends'. Fairy tales, then, were not so impossible. And Arwen thanked the Valar for granting her her own marvelous fairy tale.

Love is a delightful thing. It is the best link that can join two people together, and while they are in love, they are brought to the zenith of rapture. Unfortunately, they are also too often blinded by the hazy joy of their love, as was the case this time.

Arwen and Aragorn were too absorbed with each other to notice the lethal dagger slicing through the air toward them.


(grins) My first lousy attempt at a cliffhanger. Any criticism, questions, etc. would be welcome! Thanks for reading!