AUTHOR'S NOTE: I really like this ch. so I think you guys will too. Good stuff here :). I was deciding earlier whether or not to write about Arwen coming to Minas Tirith to wed Aragorn because Tolkien's words about it were just so perfect but...I decided I will try my best to describe it in more personal detail. We will see...Thank you again for your wonderful reviews!! (I hope your computer does not freak out anymore, Natulcien :D). Enjoy ch. 22!!
Arwen unlaced her fingers from each other and straightened her dark red skirts. The waiting began to be unbearable. No new news had reached them in the past month. Stirrings in the East and West were becoming noticeable though no official word had been said in Imladris. Arwen glanced to the side at the lush valley that was still with anticipation. Few birds laid out their song upon the air that morning or evening.
She laid her head back against the soft cushion of the lounging chair in hopes that she could see something of what was happening of late. Nothing. All was silent while the fate of Middle-earth was balancing on the edge of a knife. She could feel the tension in the air and taste it upon her lips. All were bound to it; all were fixed in its path.
1. "Huinë ná telmë i Formen, mornië ná cáno mi i Rómen, lumbë ná taina or i Númen ar Hyarmen. Manen andavëuva cálë turvar Sauron ernauta?"
Battle raged across the field. Death was a common stench. Helm's Deep had become a blood-bath to Uruk-hai and Rohirrim alike. Darkness had taken them all while the fight lasted.
Aragorn found himself waiting for the dawn. It seemed an eternity in the arriving after long, wretched hours battling in the night. Visions of gleaming eyes and teeth of abominable Uruks surging forward with rage and death in their hideous faces sent his adrenaline pumping once more. Energy roared again through his weary limbs. It was time to return to the battle.
The terrible scenes of this night were burning themselves into his memory. As he moved quickly down the stone steps, sweet words rang in his ears over the clamour of swords clashing and cries of war.
If faint hope is all we have to fight for, then it is indeed enough.
He stumbled as he ran when he realised whose voice permeated his mind with hopeful thoughts: Arwen Evenstar. It seemed it was her voice. A brief flash of her elvish face came to him. He gripped Andúril's hilt even tighter now after being reminded of the hopes and dreams he fought for. Middle-earth needed the strength of Men in the dark times to battle against the Dark Lord for it was no longer the age of the Elves. The weight was being passed to their race's shoulders as the war for dominance raged across the lands. If this skirmish was lost, hope would dwindle into a distant dream that some would even forget. The fate of Men rested in Aragorn the Heir of Isildur's hands.
Andúril gleamed with deadly light as it cut through the lines of Saruman's evil forces. Aragorn felt their hate as if it were a living thing moving among the men, but their brashness diminished by the fear of the Blade of Elendil that of which no armour or weapon withstood. Its path was clear. A flash of light flared when the renowned blade struck a helm, then made a path by two Uruk-hai who stood to Aragorn's shoulder.
After what felt a lifetime, Aragorn and his men had to retreat. Aragorn rushed to the tower where Théoden abided at that moment of battle. He was staring out the window at the bloody skirmishing, turning his head only after Aragorn spoke. After a moment of conversing with the aged king, Aragorn saw that despair was again seeping into his heart, so he spoke words of encouragement to lift his spirits. They would ride in one last charge to meet the swarming hoards of wicked armies, yet the time was not yet come. Aragorn took leave of the king and was met by Legolas, his companion, who clasped his shoulder in a firm grip that the Uruk-hai had felt all too often that night.
"The battle goes ill, my friend, for the wizardry of Saruman is too great a force for these ancient stone walls," he said.
Aragorn nodded and they began walking side-by-side along the wall in quick strides. "Without such this battle would have been more determinable perhaps. Let us hope the sun rises on a still-unrelenting fortress not won by the dark tide."
A ladder crashed against the battlements as shadowed figures in glinting black armour hastened up the rungs to mount the wall. Aragorn leaped down to the place where the Rohirrim struggled to push the ladder down, though it was heavy, and ran his sword into the first Uruk that appeared and removed the head from the next. He rallied the men about with his fierce cries of defiance against the large Uruk-hai and the heartening moved along the wall for many yards where the enemy was thickest. Andúril came down with a flash upon two more in a brief instant and suddenly they became aware of the burning blade and its mighty wielder. They were hesitant to approach it, yet their comrades continued to climb the ladder without knowledge of the death awaiting them.
The same happened all along the wall as Aragorn rushed over its length several times to aid in the casting down of the furious enemy with his staid companion Legolas following close. The dawn was only moments away at last when the turn of the battle would finally brighten to new hope. Erkenbrand arrived with Gandalf shining brilliantly in the rising light to bring the last stroke against Saruman's forces. It was enough to break their lines but not to utterly rout them for it was the duty of another ally to do so unforeseen but quite welcome. All the telling of this tale are told in the account of the War of the Ring and need not be mentioned in this part of its length.
The shadow was a roiling, shifting mass in the Eastern sky. Darkness had covered all of the South, East, and West for the past six days. The North had escaped most of it.
Arwen drew back the sheer curtains away from the openings to the outside from her private quarters. A chill wind blew at her dark hair and garments which were also of dark shades. The ebony sleeves billowed out behind her as the dark blue skirts swirled about her slender feet. She half-lidded her shining eyes to keep the wind from them.
She felt fear grip her heart in its clutch at the sight of evil shadows clinging to the sky all about Middle-earth for the struggle seethed. Fingers of dark reached out from their derivation in the midst of that great mass. Arwen shuddered even though Imladris was a place of refuge, shedding all the light it could give upon all around it. The Elves could not comfort as they once did or aid in the storm. They could only watch and shelter those in desperate need. The companies leaving Rivendell to the Grey Havens were becoming more frequent.
Arwen could see that Elrond wished for her to go among them to sail away, yet she refused adamantly. There was no way in Valinor or on Middle-earth she would leave when Aragorn's love drew her to him. When she closed her eyes, listened to the wind it was almost as though she could feel his limitless care for her over all the distance between them. In those moments there was no gap.
She closed the draperies. The gloom she did not need to see; it had touched her heart enough already. The emerald green vines wrapping around the pillar beside her stirred in the breeze that still breathed through the curtains. Her hand brushed against a leaf of its length as she glided past feeling its vibrant life flowing as blood. Such things still thrived in the valley of Rivendell.
"I shall see you again, 2. meldanya," she murmured as a tear slid down her flawless cheek. "Not even this darkness can separate us. Not even." She trembled suddenly and could not stop it. Her desire to have him at her side grew too strong for her to remain still or calm.
"Eru! Do not let this be the end!" She remembered all the moments with her beloved and how short-lived they were. There had been little time for them even in all those years and so there love had blossomed in full. Arwen clutched her skirts to keep her hands steady. "Have mercy upon us all! Spare us the wickedness that would fall upon Middle-earth if Sauron was not destroyed. He must be slain!"
She collapsed upon a divan of rich blue and ornately carved wood before her legs gave way beneath her weight. If she could have listened she would have heard a voice void of sound resonating about her, yet it only registered as a stirring in her heart.
"Do not fear, my child. Take comfort in my strength for you shall not see the end. All shall not come to darkness yet."
Arwen curled her body, wrapping her arms around herself like the vines she now gazed at. A gentle wave coursed through her as though she was a plucked harp-string. Despair turned into peace; grief changed to harmony.
"Forgive me, Ilúvatar," she whispered, her words caught up by the wind. "It was wrong of me to doubt your hand guiding the events of this place."
She sat up straight and watched the soft draperies stir in the same breeze.
In the next few days, Arwen felt the strain of importance for in the Southwest and East battles were being fought for the freedom of all Peoples of Middle-earth: Elves, Men, Dwarves, and Hobbits alike.
On the thirteenth day from the first of unnatural shadow shading the heavens, the Evenstar strode briskly down the halls until she began running.
"Father!" she called once he came into view. He was gazing to the East intently. In other cases, she would not have disturbed him, yet today she had good reasons. "Father, you have seen it?"
Elrond, a lord among Elves and Men, did not move from where he stood. He spoke softly. "Yes, oft of late, my daughter. Today the fate of Middle-earth rests in the hands of a small hobbit. If he fails, we all fail."
Breathing heavily and with flushed cheeks, Arwen came to stand beside him and watch. The breath of the wind did not stir. The birds of the air did not sing. All was in a state of anticipation and anxiety of what would come to pass in the next few moments of time. When Elrond glanced over at his beloved daughter he saw her as a statue of grace and beauty, garments or hair not even stirring. Then her fingers moved. Elrond saw that she was fingering the ring upon her left hand: the Ring of Barahir given to her by Aragorn as a symbol of their love and his return; although, Elrond had foreseen that Arwen would be the one to return. The ancient relic of the First Age glinted in the dim light as she slid it up and down her long finger or spun it over and over again.
They did not speak to each other. They did not wrench away their eyes from the boiling in the Eastern sky.
Without warning, the mass began to tremble, quake, and move as a living thing. It churned and became a great shape in the high heavens where all could see. Death, evil, torment, and devastation all commenced in that massive cloud. Arwen began to feel a spring of joy well up inside of her as the cloud suddenly receded and the blue-grey of the sky could be seen once again.
Arwen embraced her father briefly and felt the mirth abundant. Elrond's face lighted with a smile.
"It is over at last," he breathed, wonder mingled in joy in his grey eyes. They shone now with a new light of confirmed hope.
"I know," she said also smiling. "The Shadow has been conquered. Praise be to Ilúvatar!" She laughed and clasped her hands at her waist. The time had finally come.
Elrond realised what the vanquish really meant: freedom from Sauron's iron fist, but also the departing of Elves, diminishing of their kingdoms, and the dreadful parting of which he could not bear to think of. He looked upon his kindred's face that was spilling over with a deeper happiness than ever before and a grief took hold of his heart. The joy shining in his eyes turned to despair. He could not enjoy it any longer.
Aragorn's heart pounded in his chest. Before him stood a makeshift throne, three great banners flying in the wind above. The largest was a White Tree upon a field of black, the Winged Crown and Seven stars glittering in the soft sunlight above the tree. This was the standard that had not been seen in hundreds of years. There were some who still marvelled at it, yet wondered more at the man who brought it before him, the Heir to the Throne of Men. His shadowy hair framed a face that used to be worn by the years of harsh journeys, but they were wiped away now that peace had returned to all of Middle-earth and he was to take up his right to the Crown of Gondor. His eyes, as he walked toward the high seat, shone as stars in the heavens while his gliding movements were as an Elf. All the people gathered there stared with awe for they remembered his bravery and wisdom in battle; especially the moment when he and the Mouth of Sauron caught each other's gazes only to struggle until the enemy recoiled as if struck physically. Aragorn's might was too great for him to match by himself. Sauron himself had been threatened by it in the palantír. In their time of need, the Ranger of the North had come.
There was only one thing Aragorn thought was lacking for the celebration: the presence of Arwen Undómiel. He had hoped to share these blissful moments with her though he knew he would not see her for a while until the time came.
He came to the high seat and ran his fingers along the arm rests. This was minuscule compared to the mighty throne that sat in the great hall in the Tower of Ecthelion. He would soon find himself there.
Gandalf walked to his side. "They are here. I fear they have little strength remaining, but their little hearts are strong. It is time you exercised your true power of healing for they need it now more than anyone before. Come." Gandalf's white robes glistened in the light as he moved away. Aragorn walked at his side newly clothed after the wearying brevity of the defeat of Sauron. It was mostly the tension and worry that had drained all the men for there had been little fighting. The memory of the great cloud of darkness raising up into the heavens and fading away along with the order of the dark armies—who were now fleeing into the mountains to hide from the wrath of the Captains of the West—played itself over again in his mind. All sound had faded at that momentous event when the world's fate was finally decided.
Aragorn pushed away anymore thoughts once he and Gandalf came to a place surrounded by fragrant trees of Ithilien and cool grass carpeted the earth. Two small forms lay limp on pallets, wrapped in soft blankets. His heart was rent for the faces were hardly recognisable from their innocence, jovial spirit, and cheeriness of heart long months ago. Two small hobbits, forgotten in the tumbling of fate, but now raised up above Men of that age.
"Dear Frodo," he murmured when he pressed a warm hand against the shaken hobbit's cheek. His eyes were deep pools of pity and sadness knowing what his dear friend had been through. He no longer had round, rosy cheeks. They had sunken and become wan while his body had also lost too much weight. His dark curls had gotten mussed in the turmoil of his struggles as did poor Sam's who lay near him with the same look of repose on his sleeping face.
Aragorn then put his other hand on the cheek of Sam. "And loyal Sam," he said with a gentle smile. "You had hope when even Frodo had given in." He heard Gandalf's garments rustle behind him.
"They have toiled through fire and the depths of shadow, my friend. It is a wonder they still live for there is but a spark of life enduring deep inside." He also smiled faintly. "Perian are much stronger than most Men have believed."
"Indeed." Aragorn felt the faint strain of life within each hobbit. He closed his eyes and began to call up all of his power and strength in healing for a process that would take some time. Time...he had plenty now.
Gandalf had left Aragorn to his work. It was some hours later when he returned. Aragorn still was helping his dear companions. He had life shining in his eyes and as Gandalf looked closer at the Heir to the Throne's hands, a faint glow appeared. To average eyes nothing would be out of the ordinary, yet the Istari had eyes for the unnatural.
Aragorn paid no heed to the aged Wizard's presence for he was immersed fully in his work. Gandalf saw that Aragorn would stay strong throughout the entire length of the healing no matter how long it might take. He dared not disturb him. A smile touched his lips when he saw the change beginning in Frodo and Sam.
"Yes, send for them. Lord Aragorn has..." Gandalf stopped speaking when he caught sight of Aragorn treading slowly from the direction of the grove where Frodo and Sam rested. His face was weary and his eyes ready to close for he had not slept in days. The past night he had spent with the hobbits.
"Lord Aragorn, sit!" said Gandalf going to him. "You must rest now that everyone else has."
"The hobbits shall have peace at last," Aragorn whispered. "There are still signs of their tribulations of their journey through Mordor, yet it has lessened upon their hearts and minds. They also have need of much rest."
Gandalf smiled as he shifted the position of his staff. "Go and rest."
Aragorn nodded and went to a tent that had been set up for him. Two men whom he passed watched with awe at the tall, noble figure that moved silently over the earth. They hurriedly bowed low for their King.
1. Shadow is covering the North, darkness is governor within the East, gloom is stretched over the West and South. How long will light govern or Sauron remain bound? (do not ask why on earth I wrote this whole thing in Elvish...:D)
2.my beloved