Good grief! My sincerest apologizes, truly. Especially, here at the end, I wanted to be punctual with the final updates. Real life, to put it very lightly, can be such a drag.
Here we go...
The Same Woman
By Rose-Arwen-Padmé
House of Healing
"Tinúviel elvanui…" His voice cracked as he sang. "Elleth alfirin edhelhael," his rough vocal cords permit him from singing clearly once again. "O hon," his voice cracked once more, "ring finnil fuinui. A renc gelebrin thiliol..." his voice trailed off, a wisp of smoke dissolving in the evening air.
"She loves you, Aragorn."
Aragorn, who had ceased his singing, looked up at the speaker. Lord Elrond placed a shaky hand on the young Lord's shoulder. "I should have accepted that a long time ago."
Kneeling by Arwen's bedside, his soiled hands tightly entwined with her own nimble, blood-stained fingers, Aragorn remained silent. He had no reply to give to Arwen's father.
The bleeding had stopped, thanks to the avid work of both the Healers and Aragorn. Her trim abdomen no longer leaked crimson fluid. She would be alright. She would be alright.
She will live.
And yet, as incredibly relived and thankful Aragorn was to know this, a new well of despair had been mercilessly dug into his heart.
Children… the chances that she will ever carry a child… our child…
The damage to Arwen's lower abdomen had been gravely serious, enough to almost take her life. Aragorn had sat by her beside for five days in the House of Healing. He barely ate, and never slept, instead dozing off from time to time. Arwen's folded hands, always in contact with his own, served as his soft pillow whenever his eyelids grew too heavy to bear. But always, within a short hour, he was awake again, waiting anxiously for Arwen to open her eyes for the first time since that horrible day when a blade had cut into her.
The sound of steel slicing into Arwen caused nightmares for Aragorn that plagued him at all times. His eyes, orbs of ever-boiling emotions, were constantly brimming with tears as he blanketed himself with a dark cloak of self-hatred. He completely blamed himself for Arwen's current state. He prayed constantly for her to awaken, to open those eyes of endless beauty, to speak with that melodious voice. He needed her forgiveness.
Oh, how I need her forgiveness.
A child… our own precious child.
And as much as he desired and longed for her to awaken from her healing slumber, he dreaded the moment when he would have to tell her the truth, when he would have to inform her of how grave—how permanent—her wounds were. The look of pain that was sure to cross her face would be enough to send him over the edge, he knew.
"Aragorn," Elrond sighed, knowing in his heart what the answer would be to his repeated request. "You need rest. You need a real meal. Arwen will not be pleased if she wakes up to find that you've—"
"—When she wakes up—"
"Yes, when she awakens, she won't be comforted to know how emotionally and physically unstable you are."
Aragorn ran the back of his hand down Arwen's still cheek.
"She will understand, My Lord."
Elrond sighed in defeat. "Yes, I suppose she would understand. After all, if your roles were switched, she would probably be lying in that bed beside you."
Aragorn gave a vacant, void smile. "I already tried. The bed is too small to fit us both."
Oh, but I'd give anything to have our roles reversed.
Glir…hysterical.
Aragorn…not in my arms, where he should be.
Where he should always be.
Glir…wicked, malevolent Glir… moving.
Sword…blade…skin…
My skin!
Aragorn! It hurts! It hurts!
Do you hear me?
Your image is fading, love… the darkness surrounds me.
I'm cold… so very cold…
Hold me. Keep me warm.
No! I am numb! I cannot feel your touch!
Aragorn! Blood… blood...
Don't let it be his blood! Don't let this crimson river be of his body!
But, no… it is mine… my own. It flows, oh so steadily, from my veins…
How long have I been on the ground? Are you still holding me?
Are you…it hurts…are you there?
Aragorn?
Aragorn!
"Aragorn!"
The cry that reverberates like a battle cry in her heart comes out as a faint whisper in reality through her lips. Nevertheless, her first word in days is heard by the person who has been praying ceaselessly for her conscious return.
I feel you… I feel your touch.
"That's it, dear Arwen. Come back to me. Come be with me." The emotion in the voice is laced with huskiness, barely suppressed tears, and raw love.
Her eyes have yet to open. She has yet to find the strength to pry open her lids, no matter how much she wishes to look upon Aragorn. Yet her smile overwhelms any weakness, and her joyful grin beams for the first time in too long.
"Oh, Valar," a shaky breath, "I thought I'd never see that precious smile again."
His earlier words echo in her hazy, blurry world called thought. "Come back to me. Come be with me."
"Silly, Estel," she smiles, and vainly tries to open her eyes. "I am always with you. How can I return to a place that I never left?"
"Rest, Arwen. You need to recover your strength."
She smiles again, recognizing the owner of that low, familiar voice. "Father," she breathes.
After several emotional moments, she hears her reply, which is accompanied with a tender kiss on her forehead. "Daughter," he says, wiping away the tears that escape his eyes.
"He has been telling beings to rest for several days now," she hears that lovely, rugged voice say. "Although, he has never rested himself either. Perhaps you should be the first to listen to him."
She doesn't put up a fight. Already the darkness and weakness is taking over her again.
Rest… rest… love…
"I…. I love…."
She feels Aragorn strengthen his grip on their joined hands. She feels the whiskers of his facial hair as he kisses their interlocking. "I know. I… love you t-too." His voice cracks, and her smile stretches once more.
And at that moment, before the weakness overtakes her, she basks in his words of love, words that she waited so impatiently to hear for so long. She basks in them just like she had the first time they graced her ears.
Aragorn…
Father…
I want to see them. I don't want to just hear them, feel them.
I want to see them.
So, open your eyes…
…And she does…. and the first thing she sees are two brown pools staring back at her.
"Aragorn," she sighed happily, tiredly. "Y-you're alright."
His grin spread across his face. "I'm alright? What about you? You're the only that's been sleeping in this bed for so long."
Arwen closed her eyes, briefly resting her lids. He didn't let the impulsive cry of the pain of her eyes being hidden from him yet again escape his lips. There would be plenty of time for that later, after she had fully recovered.
What am I saying? She will never fully recover. Never be the way she once was…never be the way that she could have been.
"How long?"
He brushed the side of her cheek with his calloused fingers. She cherished the touch as if it were silk. "Three weeks."
A small smirk graced her features. "My, how lazy of me."
"Lazy indeed, Milady."
She raised her eyebrows, and her eyes peeked open. "I'm still pondering why you haven't properly greeted me with a kiss yet."
She heard his chuckle and her smile radiated even more. "How lazy of me," he replied, still humored by her comment.
"No excuses, Lord Aragorn. I'm still waiting."
She felt his warm breath on her lips before she actually felt his physical touch. The kiss lasted far too briefly for her likely, though.
"Pah, you call that a kiss? Your standards have evidently dropped considerably while I have been resting."
He grinned. "Your father is standing no less than four feet away from us presently."
"Good excuse. Excellent excuse." She paused, hoping she wasn't blushing too badly. "Father?"
"I'm here, Arwen." He ran his hand across her forehead lovingly. "And your brothers are here as well, anxious to see you in your recovered state."
Arwen searched for and quickly found Aragorn's hand. She gave it a firm squeeze as she muttered, "Even better excuse."
Even as Arwen's light banter unclouded the shade upon Aragorn's own heart, it still beat with a painful drum.
I cannot do this. I cannot bear this burden unto her heart.
Her fingers lightly traced the lines in his furrowed brow. "Something troubles you." It was a statement, not a question.
Arwen, sitting up comfortably in her plush bed, eyed Aragorn closely.
"I am merely tired from the events of past time." He gave her a half-hearted grin, which, of course, she saw right through.
"Estel."
That was a warning.
"I am troubled when you are troubled, dear Arwen."
Her eyes grew wider with an edge in them. "Do not 'dear' me, Estel. You know that I am only troubled because you are troubled."
"But I am only troubled because you are troubled!"
"Estel!"
Her loud voice echoed off the walls in her chamber, where she had been moved to three days ago. Aragorn, of course, had never left her side. He hadn't been away from her more than a few minutes since the duel with Glir weeks ago.
She witnessed, through looking at his eyes, as his walls crumbled. Arwen felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that Aragorn could not refuse her, much like she could never refuse him. She had used his unconditional devotion to her as an advantage just now. Whether or not it was a good time or right time to talk to her about something, he would not deny her the information. He could not deny her anything.
She took his hand in her own. She brought it up to her lips and kissed his skin tenderly. "You know that you can tell me anything."
She watched lovingly as he brought their joined hands to his own lips. After settling their interlocking fingers on the bed sheets once again, he caressed her smooth flesh with his thumb.
After several moments, he whispered so softly that she barely heard it, "Very well." He rose from his position in a chair by her bedside. "It is time." He slowly climbed onto the bed next to Arwen's right side. She was thankful that this bed, different from the one in the House of Healing, could easily accommodate both of their bodies.
She patiently waited as he wrapped his left arm behind her head and around her shoulders. Arwen grew more and more worried as he became more and more serious. The light seemed sucked out of the room, despite the fact that it was a exceptionally sunny day and all the curtains were open.
"Arwen…" he started, but his voice seemed to suddenly fail him. He wasn't looking in her eyes, as if he couldn't bring himself to.
"Aragorn, I will be honest… you are scaring me."
"I know… but, dear Arwen, there is no way to break this news gently. I know this, yet I still search for a way that will make it painless, both for me to deliver it and you to receive it." He locked eyes with her, finally. "My search is in vain."
She cupped his cheek with her hand. "Whatever it is, I can handle it." She tried to keep her voice from trembling. "We have been through so much already; I feel that we could take on any challenge." She paused, raising an eyebrow in an attempt at amusement. "Mind you, that doesn't mean that I want to try to take on anything. I'd much prefer a peaceful life with you."
"Arwen…" He ran a shaky hand through his hair.
"Will I, in the end, have you with me? Whatever this ordeal is, will you be with me?"
The determination in his eyes shone bright, coupled with his devotion. "Every step of the way."
She smiled. "Then I know that it will be alright. Tell me," she pressed.
He broke eye contact with her, and she felt some of her confidence fade.
Why can't he just look at me forever? I always feel safe in his eyesight.
Nevertheless, he nodded, and began, "Your father thought that it would be better if I waited longer to reveal this to you. Although I disagreed, he thought it would be the right way."
"Yes, well, my father has shown in the past few months that his view of what is best for me isn't always the correct course of action."
"True enough, yet, he persisted. However… I… I cannot continue to keep this from you. You would have found out eventually. It was only a matter of time, a matter of when." He gave her shoulder a supportive squeeze. "It was tearing me up so much to know this truth, but to wait until you were recovered enough to hear it…"
"Aragorn, please, just tell me."
His eyes finally locked onto hers again, and she plainly saw the tears about to fall. "Arwen…" he paused yet again, appearing to collect his strength. "Your injuries were so serious. We thought that we were going to loose you. I myself was once at the point of insanity with worry."
"You love me, that's not a probl—"
"Oh, how I love you, Arwen! I do! Truly!"
She cupped his cheek with her hand again, and he surprised her by frantically grasping it, pressing it against the side of his face more. "I know you do, Estel. I don't doubt it for a moment."
"Arwen… I only want you to have a wonderful life. A life with a loving, doting husband, a proud father… and a surrounding family of abundant children."
"And I will!" she gasped, wide eyed. "There is nothing and no one stopping us now."
"Nothing and no one…" he repeated with melancholy. He swallowed, "except your own body."
Arwen froze at his words, and her soft hand went limp in his grasp. "What?" she whispered.
Aragorn couldn't look at her once again, even though she needed his eyes looking into her so very badly. "Arwen," but she trembled, suddenly not wanting him to continue. "You're wounds to your abdomen—your lower abdomen—they affected you in ways that nothing, not even Elven magic can heal… permanent ways. These are ways that only a maiden can be affected in."
She felt the pressure of tears building.
This can't be true. Life doesn't strike this hard, this much, this fast.
"No," she breathed.
"Arwen—"
"No."
He used his thumbs to wipe away the tears that were falling at a rapid speed down her pale cheeks. "There is a chance that you will never be able to conceive a child."
Her tears were falling to fast for him to wipe them away. He paid no attention to the tears that were cascading from his own eyes.
"How large of a chance?" she questioned, her voice tremulous.
"Arwen, there is such little hope. It would be futile to think that it could happen. Your beautiful, fragile body was cut so deep in just the place—"
Her low voice pierced his heart. "There is still hope."
Aragorn grasped her face in his hands. He hated to see her clinging to a false dream that he felt sure was no longer in her reach. He had seen the damage to her feminine body himself when they were first attempting to heal her. "Arwen! You must listen to me! It is now nearly impossible for you to carry a chi—"
"Noooo!" she wailed, suddenly flinging her arms at him—at his chest, at his face, at his arms. She yet again experienced the heartache of her world falling apart around her. Her heart had crystallized, become glass, and the barest of winds had shattered it, breaking it into a million piercing shards. Her sobs damaged his soul more than any of her physical blows could ever have. "Nooooo!" Her unbearable agony cut through her spirit like Glir's torturous, vindictive blade had cut through her skin, stealing away from her the one thing that she had never thought she could lose.
He held her long into the day and into the night. Desperately try as he did, Aragorn was not able to soothe her anguished cries—the cries of a mother that had lost a child before it was ever even conceived. Aragorn wept with her, feeling the loss of a son or daughter that he knew he would never hold.