Title: Taken
Author: Crimson Coin Aragorn yearns for the life he has left behind. But his desires are fulfilled in a way he never imagined.
Rating: PG13. R in later chapters
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters within. They are from the mind of Tolkien and are borrowed.
Archiving: Ask first, please.
It was night.
The waning moon hovered over the forest canopy in the distance, a gentle breeze caressing the golden plains. Rolling hills seemed to breathe. Crickets sang their eloquent songs to the night as fireflies flickered like lanterns across the land. The faint sound of a crackling fire and the voices of men could be heard, but Aragorn stood too far away from the camp to make out their words.
Yet despite the peacefulness of his surroundings, Aragorn felt none. His heart had yet to still since Arwen's cryptic message and his dreams haunted him nightly. It had been a week since she had visited him, a week since she was taken.
"Have you eaten yet?"
Aragorn shook his head, keeping his gaze averted.
Legolas stepped forward, standing next to his friend. "We will find her."
Aragorn shook his head, his voice low and panged. "And the longer we tarry, the less is that chance. It has been a week, my friend."
"I know," the elf responded. "But do not underestimate Arwen's will to live. And try to think strategically. Would it be wise for them to harm her in any way?"
"That does not ease my heart."
"It was not meant to."
Aragorn remained silent, his jaw clenched as new possibilities raced through his mind. Would her captors beat her, mock and taunt her, or worse. The final possibility brought tears to his eyes and the King of Gondor had to shake his head to rid his mind of so horrendous an act.
"I am sure they do not do that."
A small smiled pulled at Aragorn's lips. "It seems wherever I go, there are always elves in my head."
Legolas smiled in return, his eyes now dancing with mirth. "This is true, though you have never complained of it before."
Aragorn slowly nodded. "Since we pledged ourselves to each other ... since we fell in love ..." he trailed off, his thoughts gathering. "For all those years when I traveled the forest, at least once every three days, I would dream of her. Arwen would come to me and I'd have the most comforting beautiful dream."
Legolas waited patiently, knowing his friend would continue.
"At first I wasn't sure if they were just dreams or something more, but I'm only now starting to think they were something more. Even after we were together, and at peace and sleeping in our marriage bed, still she would come to my dreams. It was as if she chose my dreams in which to reside when she was in sleep. The last time I saw her in my dreams was one week ago. Why do I not dream of her? Why does she not come to me? What has happened?"
"I am afraid I have no answers for you, my friend."
Aragorn sighed.
"Come," Legolas coaxed. "We ride at dawn. You should sleep the few hours until then. And before you sleep, you will eat this piece of bread."
Chuckling, Aragorn took the offered bread. "Thank you."
Legolas guided his friend back to the camp and into the King's tent. When the flaps closed behind his friend, the elf only shook his head. "We will find her, my friend. We will."
Dark
Dark ... no. A lantern ... two. A bed, fairly large, the lanterns sitting on the bedstands to either side. No fire ... a dresser at the far corner. Stone ... walls and floor. Small bowls and a goblet sat on the dresser. Why?
The bed. It was not empty. A body ... a figure. Slender ... delicate ... fair. A woman. There was black. The pillow. Her hair. Yes, her hair was dark and her pointed ears ... pointed. Pointed ears?
Arwen
She lay still, unmoving. What was wrong? Was she asleep? No, that couldn't be it. Her skin too pale, her body weak. Call her. Yes, call to her. She will know that she is not alone.
No voice
Wait, there were others present. Who were they? Voices ... two distinct.
"Her body reacts differently to every dose. And I think I know why."
"Tell me. We have wasted days already."
"She is with child."
Silence
"Her body reacts differently because of the growing child. She is slowly building up immunity to the herbs, but we must be careful not to give her too many, lest we wish her dead."
"She will live."
"Aye, my Lord, she will. But what shall we do? We did not expect her to be pregnant. This ruins the plans."
"It does not ruin, but merely delays. And Aragorn's seed will not be that which is named heir to the thrown of Gondor. With child you say?"
"Aye."
"Then see to it that she is not."
One figure moved from the room, the other stalked closer to the bed, to the sleeping elf.
No
The figure stalked closer still, placing a thin skeletal hand on the brow of the sleeping elf maiden.
Darkness no more.
Aragorn awoke, sitting up, his body drenched in a cold sweat. His breath raced, his body sore and tense. "Such a vision ..." he trailed off, raising a hand to his brow and he closed his eyes as he ran that hand down his weary face. " ... with child?"
He shook his head, trying to steady his thoughts, willing himself not to become excited with the newest dream ... or vision. "'Tis a curse this gift. May it be only a dream."
But his words did little to quench his fears.
Darkness. Cold. Stillness.
A woolen blanket of hazy fog settled. Tall pillars of black. No, not pillars but trees. Trees surrounding a glade, or was it simply a forest. The ground cold and damp, rugged as the roots of trees entangled and snaked together.
As radiant as the sun stood she, hair of woven golden thread and skin of alabaster pearls. Her eyes turbulent and thunderous, a storm cloud rumbling within. Yet cold; she was ever so cold. Unemotional and unmoving, as a granite statue she stood.
The gentlest breeze caressed her brow, her hair billowing about, random strands flittering across her face. Yet she did not move them. Eowyn. Sweet Eowyn.
Another shadow.
A fleeting shadow approached her, curling itself around her. Solidified, the shadow stood tall, the broad shoulders of a man's form. His hair dark and hanging straight, slightly mangled and greased. Was he a warrior? Was that why he was so unkempt?
Perhaps. He wore a darkened cloak, the color of deep green evergreens and he waved a hand slowly before her eyes.
She stared into the distance, her eyes locked on an unseen point. Sorrow-filled and panged, she turned her face from him with greatest control and ease.
He reached out though and turned her eyes back to him. Words uttered, though undistinguished and her eyes fiercely flamed. Again, she looked back to that unseen point.
Her stoned façade crumbled, her resolve diminished. "I'm sorry," she murmured.
That hand of his reached out and turned her face back to him, closing the final distance, he kissed her mouth.
Faramir awoke, his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Looking frantically about, his breathing slowly returned to normal, his muscles still shuddering. He wished to breathe her name, but words would not come to him.
Swallowing, he resisted the rise of bile and sat up. Who was that man that Eowyn so easily chose? What man ...
Faramir clenched his jaw. What sort of man wore an evergreen cloak, his hair dark and strangled? What other man but a warrior or ... ranger?
"Lord Faramir!"
The flap to his tent burst open, a man in the armor of Gondor peeking inside. Faramir held his head high. "Captain."
"Lord Faramir," The guard bowed his head quickly. "The scouting patrol has spotted a small orc encampment to the North."
"The King?"
"Is already informed."
Faramir nodded. "We ride."
(Wow, I know it's been so long since I've updated. But I've been so busy and still am. But I have also, not given up on this story. I know the story and simply need to find the time to write it. Hopefully I'll have another chapter for you up as soon as possible. Trust me, the tension will mount to UNBEARABLE heights.)