12. What love makes you do
Aragorn's gaze flickered over to where the elf was walking lightly along in the snow, her face still hidden but not from him. He sighed helplessly and turned back, staring into the thick cold night. He knew who that elf-maiden was, and it was irritating his conscience.
When he had been washing her wounds the night before, he had needed to give her some more of his special drink from the Coilas leaves. She had swallowed it fine, but then she had suddenly stopped breathing. He had had to take her hood completely off her face, no matter what his heart told him to do, otherwise she would have died.
His own heart had almost stopped as his eyes fell on the beautiful face beneath him.
She was Arwen, his most beloved, so pale and so pure, lying there before him. Aragorn had given her the kiss of life to make her breathe again, and his love had poured out to her, as sweet and as gentle as she had been the day he had first seen her. Her eyes were still closed gently, and so silently he had just watched her face, gazing wistfully at her delicate body, so thin and fragile. He could see she had gone through so much to reach him, and she was in great pain just so that she could be near him, seeing his face once more.
And yet he had broken his word, he had taken the veil off her face and he had seen her for who she really was. It had not been completely his fault but he had still done it, and she still believed right now that he didn't know who she was, only a fictional elf by the name of Ithiluin. Aragorn's heart gave another pang and his throat tightened. He could not tell Arwen he knew. It would be so unfair. She knew now that they were going to battle, and that this would be his first real test at his leadership and command skills in fighting. He knew that she wouldn't want to distract him from this, and risk being held to a knife. He knew that Arwen wanted to wait until they were safe, and they could be together without any worries disturbing their love.
And so he wouldn't break her heart.
Aragorn turned to watch her again, her outline clear against the startling white of the snow and her dark cloak, an even deeper shade than the night they were struggling through. He had ordered Calosin to stay with her at all times, not telling him why, but just suggesting that it was because she was still very weak. He would gladly have helped her himself, carried her every single step of the way, but he knew it would look very suspicious, and he didn't believe lords were meant to do things like that. Slaves usually did, but Aragorn was not that full of himself. No, Calosin was fine, and the two of them were also staying very near him. He had an inkling it was because Calosin did not want to find that if she fell over or she somehow got hurt, he would not have to find his lord through the dense group of toiling Rangers.
Suddenly Aragorn felt Arwen's gaze fall on him, and he hurriedly turned away, feeling his cheeks redden embarrassedly. He also turned his thoughts away, trying to focus on other things, like timings and conditions, generally dull things which had to be dealt with in a battle. But his mind just kept falling back, always thinking about Arwen. She was far more interesting, to say the very least. But he couldn't get her out of his head. The picture of her peaceful face was centred in his vision, her smooth features imprinted on his eyes, impatient yearning sensations jumping through his body. He couldn't help it. He was stuck on her.
After a long few hours Aragorn decided to halt the party. He was mentally exhausted from trying not to think about Arwen and fighting with his heart, and he knew that the work that everyone was doing was getting harder. The path had become narrower as they climbed, the group elongating, but although less people had to literally swim through the snow at the front, it was very tough. And even the others did not have it easy, for the snowdrifts let them sink in easily, and he was now pushing them to go faster. It was high-time they rested for a little, even just twenty minutes or so, and he would be grateful for the stop himself.
Within a few moments, some Rangers had been sent throughout the group, calling for a short rest and time to eat something refreshing. The men huddled against the cliff wall for shelter, the blizzard shooting past them like sharp knives and biting at their cheeks. Aragorn slipped out of the mad rush for the protection of the rocks and moved slightly further up the slope, along with a few friends. As they sat down together, he noticed Arwen's slim form opposite him with Calosin, and Aragorn tried not to bring his eyes down upon her too much. He took out some few remaining elven way-bread cakes, passing them round to delighted friends. Their taste was still sweet, warm like the honey from beehives in sunny meadows, a wonderful essence.
But unfortunately, it only made him think of Arwen more, reminding him of her own Lembas she had made for him once. After giving up on a strained conversation with Halbarad, Aragorn got up and left the group, deciding to go for a short walk by himself.
He wandered away up the hill, vanishing in the strange world of snow. He weaved his way up to a secluded place encircled by tall fir-trees, iced with sprinkles of snowflakes. He was not far from the others, but it was fine for him. He just needed the time to be alone.
Collapsing in the middle of a cold heap of snow, Aragorn sat down and stared at his own knees, wondering what to do. He wished he could just tell her, but he had to wait for her to make the first move. Anyway, he had to work out how to order the battle. He knew it would be tomorrow, tomorrow night, for they would not reach the top of the mountain this morning, but after a short advance they would arrive, and surely be greeted by a horde of angry orcs. Not what Aragorn felt like dealing with at the present, nor did he ever, but he had to do it, if only for Arwen's sake.
He realised he had been fingering something and turning it over in his hands. Looking down, he saw what it was. He had just been in Gondor, fighting for the Steward in the constant warfare with Mordor. Highly in favour there, as a reward Aragorn had asked for some mithril. Only a small amount, but it was so valuable, and the people in the City had gazed at him in awe, knowing this prize he had taken. The amount it was worth was immeasurable.
And so it was perfect for Aragorn's wish. He was making it into a beautiful hair-clip for Arwen, a small beacon of hope in his despair it had been, always there to remind him of her. It lay in his cupped hand, only as long as his middle finger, misting up in the cool temperatures. Carefully he had shaped it, not quite recognisable at the moment, but when he melted the colours on, then his skills in craft would be shown to their full potential. Inside his pocket he had the special powders, green, deep blue, magenta and sky blue. He had not had them long, only when he had passed through Lórien had his friend Kelmeleth given them to him. He had met him a few times before, and he thought he was another wonderful elf, except he had something exquisite about him, some lively glimmer which could not help but shine through his happy face. With a strange look in his eyes he had given them to Aragorn one evening when he was on his watch on the city's walls. Aragorn had not known why, but he seemed to know more than he had told him.
Suddenly Aragorn saw a shadow move in front of him, and he looked up in shock, hiding the mithril back in his pocket. Immediately he drew out his sword, but then a clear laugh came out of the darkness, and the figure knelt down in the snow. Then he saw – it was Arwen. Her fair face was still hidden in her long cloak, but he could tell she had come to him with a purpose, even if it was just to watch him. Aragorn sheepishly put his sword back in his scabbard, repeatedly apologising to her whilst she sat down.
"Don't worry," she whispered. Aragorn suddenly found she was much nearer to him than she had been just a second ago. He watched her shiver as she sat in the snow, obviously still very vulnerable from her fall off the cliff.
"Come here," he said softly, and he placed his hands gently around her waist, and lifted her onto his lap. He heard her tiny sigh as she leant against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her small body, shielding her from the wind with his own cloak. This wasn't too bad, Aragorn thought. He could cope like this. Listening to her breathing, he felt her light weight on his legs, and he found it so comforting to have her with him again.
She shifted a little, and then suddenly Aragorn's cloak blew off his shoulders in a great gust of wind. Crying out, he put Arwen down in the snow, and ran after it, finally catching hold of it twenty metres away. It was soaked thoroughly but Aragorn squeezed out the cold water as he walked slowly back to where Arwen was sitting, wringing the cloak in his bare hands. He found that she was laughing quietly at him when he returned. A smile crept up his face.
"What's so funny, Ithiluin?" he asked, his voice turning up at the end. She didn't say anything but kept on giggling, huddled up in the snow. Aragorn kept his sodden cloak in one hand and he held the other out to her, pulling her up with it. As she brushed the snow off her dark cloak Aragorn attempted to put his own on, wrapping it round his shoulders. He found the strings to tie it back on, but it was in an awkward position on his left shoulder where he just couldn't see it. He saw Arwen lean in closer as he struggled to tie it on, her gentle breath mingling closely with his frustrated one.
"Let me," she said softly and took the leather threads from his hands. Her dark blue sleeves fell back from her fingers to her wrists and she skilfully began to tie them together. She did it quite slowly however, even though she knew exactly how to tie and elvish knot. Aragorn saw that she was pressing her fingertips firmly into his shoulder, loving touching him, but he just knew she was wishing that she could hold him closer. She made the threads twist together so that they were far from each other at the top, but by the end the tips met and looked just like a perfect elvish jewel.
Suddenly Arwen realised Aragorn was looking at her hands strangely. She immediately drew them away and let the long sleeves fall over loosely, concealing them completely.
"Are your hands cold?" Aragorn asked, trying to trick her into thinking that he had recognised her hands and he wanted to look at them again. He moved forward and reached for her hidden fingers.
"No…no…" she stumbled over her words, also blindly stepping backwards. But he kept following her.
"Ithiluin, why then did you move away from me?" He came right up to her and suddenly tried to grasp her wrist. Arwen gave a little squeak and quickly twisted away from his outstretched hands. She looked behind to see him smiling with a little light in his grey eyes and giggled at him. He tried to pounce on her again but she ran off, leaving light imprints barely resting in the snow.
Laughing, Aragorn chased after her, watching the wind press the normally loose cloak against her slim body. She ran very fast, even compared to a fleet-footed elf, and also she was injured badly. So there was absolutely no hope of him catching her, especially when he was blundering through the deep snow and she was as light as the wind running over the surface.
But up ahead, Aragorn saw her stop and heard her coughing badly. He soon came up to her, where she was doubled over, but she stood up as she heard his movements nearby. Aragorn saw her shrink back, but he held out an arm and brought her close to his body. He could feel how fragile and thin she was, someone so helpless there in his arms. She leant against his chest tiredly and relaxed in the one man's arms who loved her so dearly.
Aragorn brought his eyes nearer and leant closer to her hidden face. He was just about to pull the veil off Arwen when there was a loud shout from just behind him.
"ARAGORN!" he swivelled round, afraid to be seen like this, so close to Arwen. He found Emathar laughing at him. "Aragorn! Really now!"
He looked down, knowing that it looked full well that he had been about to kiss her. But she had already gone from his arms, and as he raised his eyes in confusion he saw her figure quickly slipping away into the snowy trees. In despair he looked back at Emathar.
"Aragorn! You should know better than to pull an elf!" He tutted but grinned at Aragorn at the same time, before wandering off to organise the other Rangers.
Aragorn was now left on his own again in the swirling mists of the snow. He didn't really mind that Arwen had run away from him. But wasn't it funny, he thought with a slight smile on his face, that both of he and Arwen were pretending that they didn't know each other?
xxxxxx
Arwen shivered in the icy cold but still crawled out of the tent. The weak sun was struggling to be seen through the thick snow-clouds, and she couldn't sleep at all even though she felt tired. Last night she had been so exhausted that she had fallen over when they had still been walking along.
They had travelled for even longer than normal as well, because Aragorn had wanted to be nearer to the mountain peak in order that the next evening – this evening – they would not have a long journey to do before they attacked the Nhaxûn orc tunnels. But Arwen had been so worn out that Calosin had carried her the rest of the way, and almost immediately she had fallen into a deep sleep. Yet out of the corner of her eye, she had seen that Calosin had not just chosen to carry her himself, but Aragorn had specifically asked him to do so, believing she was not watching him. He was so sweet!
Arwen smiled and decided to go for a little wander around their silent camp. And she had not been totally sure either that the slumber she had fallen into was completely natural. She had a slight suspicion that Aragorn had had something to do with that too.
She pulled her cloak tighter around herself and slowly began to walk through the sea of beige tents. Wondering which one Aragorn's was, she felt her stomach twist uncomfortably as she thought about telling him. She couldn't, she really couldn't. That horrible battle was so near and if she revealed herself to him now, everything was sure to go wrong and all he would be able to think about would be her. Arwen sighed painfully. But he was so gorgeous! He was so kind to her, she knew he cared for her so much, and she wouldn't even allow him to see her face! What sort of person was he? Such a brilliant one, Arwen thought, as she stumbled out into a clear space of snow.
There was nothing around for a long way here, just a wide expanse of snow, gently sloping upwards. Not even any birds were flying across the pale sky or pecking at the snow, it was completely bare.
Or was it?
In the far mid-distance, Arwen thought she saw a flicker of light, light which was not just the sun reflecting off the snow. Maybe someone had dropped a sword or a buckle there, she supposed as she squinted at it, and then decided to go and have a look. Every so often, it would disappear, as if something moved over it, and then shine out again. Arwen cautiously walked over the smooth snow, only tiny imprints now left behind, almost straight away covered by another shower of cool snowflakes.
Suddenly Arwen saw what it was. Someone was sitting by a little fire with their back to her, and doing something which she could not see. Now her footsteps fell in with the man's own, much deeper and obviously heavier than hers. She crept closer, directly behind him, not wanting him to see her yet. She wondered what on earth he was doing, when everyone else was asleep and he was meant to be too.
The man suddenly flinched, and Arwen stopped immediately, seeing him move his head as if he had heard her. She held her breath as he paused, listening hard; and he then turned back to the fire again. Arwen breathed out slowly, her relief etched into it. That was close. Softly she trod forwards once more, sweeping over the snow like a mere shadow, and quieter than the wind. Every single sound she made he would clearly hear.
Arwen hardly dared breathe as she stood behind the man, barely a metre away from him. He was sitting on the snow, holding something in the top of the flames. She frowned and moved her head to the right, straining to see what it was. The man drew it out of the hot fire and held it to his face, examining it intently. Arwen now saw it was something silver, very shiny and milky-looking, as if there was moonlight running through the actual metal. It was very beautiful. She wondered how a Ranger would come by such delicacies which only kings and nobles now seemed to own.
The man moved again, and immediately Arwen saw he was Aragorn. She felt her heart leap up again and she could sense that she was smiling, even though she had not specifically meant to. His long hair fell forward as he shifted himself closer to the orange flames, holding the small object delicately in his rough fingers.
Arwen inched closer as she curiously watched him bring out a tiny pouch. Very gently he poured out some blue powder – a lovely colour even deeper than the blue of a hot summer's day sky. With his fingertips he nudged the azure dust into a small circle in the centre. Once Aragorn seemed satisfied he gingerly held it in the fierce glow of the fire, watching the colour melt onto the silver metal. Arwen saw this hesitantly – this was the kind of craft elves did, not men. Aragorn had grown up with her own father, she knew that, but he would never have been shown how to do something like this. Arwen wondered who had told him.
Next she saw Aragorn pour some warm pink powder in a circle around the blue. Arwen loved that colour – a luscious magenta which brightly lit up anything – absolutely anything. He held this back in the fire and patiently observed it as the dust melted and turned to a glowing moat around the blue island. Arwen enjoyed watching him, it was just the kind of thing Kelmeleth used to like to show her, especially when he had been younger. Come to think of it he may have showed her exactly this.
Arwen then recognised the shape of the object – there were the two circles, one containing the other, and then two wings stretched out from either side of the blue disk in the centre. Aragorn tipped a sweet green powder onto both these wings and again he let it melt into swirling rivers on the metal, which surprisingly did not seem to be getting hot at all in his fingers.
When this green liquid had cooled down, Arwen saw Aragorn take out one last packet and pour out its contents into his cupped hand. Arwen moved around in frustration as he covered it with his other fingers. Then when he began to pinch it onto the middles of the green wings she saw what it was. A lighter water-blue powder, a very pretty colour, but also in it were little jewels; Arwen could not quite see what, but she knew that they would certainly have not been easy to come by. Aragorn really must have done something important to have been rewarded like that.
Once Aragorn had put all the light blue powder and the shiny crystals along the wings, for the last time he held his silver object in the fire. Arwen watched in fascination as the gems shone so brightly in the heat that they gave off white light. When she had blinked the piercing spots out of her eyes, she saw that they had melted into the powder, and now both were at the same level. Aragorn carefully took it out and blew along the top. Arwen had been expecting ripples to echo along the wet surface, but already it had set.
Aragorn held his prize up to the weak sunlight and now Arwen really saw how beautiful it was. The colours brought each other to life, and the tiny streams of the metal wound their way among them, the light which caught it flowing through in a milky silver gleam. The jewels glistened and sparkled, winking sweetly at her and just yearning to be touched.
As Aragorn brought it back down to inspect it closer, Arwen sighed and wondered what he was going to do with it. She hoped he would keep it for himself, for it was so fascinating, it seemed to have a power all of its own.
Arwen suddenly realised she should leave. She didn't want Aragorn to see her; not this time. He had obviously wanted to be alone. She took one last glance at him, rubbing his thumb over the smooth surface in satisfaction, and then slowly started to walk back across the plain of snow, the picture of that lovely object still glimmering intensely in her mind. When she reached the first few tents, Arwen turned back to look once more at Aragorn sitting by his tiny fire. But instead she saw him turn around and gaze over the expanse of snow, not noticing Arwen, and wearing a puzzled frown.
