(Reckoning)
From outside in the drafty corridor, Éowyn could only hear muffled voices within the king's chamber. She had just finished closing the last silver clasp on her gown when the door opened. A tall figure emerged. Arwen's dove grey eyes fell on the proud face of her wronger. The elf's cold gaze did nothing to humble the audacious fire that burned boldly behind the eyes of Faramir's new wife. Holding her regal head high, Éowyn's silence dared the other woman to speak.
"Your deceit proves nothing more than your unworthiness," whispered the Evenstar icily as she closed the door behind her.
"That may be. But you, who abandon Elessar's love so easily, are no worthier than I," answered the fairer woman contemptuously. She had no time to anticipate, no time to guard herself before Arwen's hand contacted her cheek with a sharp slap that whipped the woman's head to the side. The sound echoed down the dank hall. Reflexively, Éowyn's hand covered her stinging face. She glared furiously up at the elf, but the cold fury that sparkled in Arwen's eyes told her that she would do better not to retaliate.
"You presume too much. You were never meant for Aragorn," spat the elf. "Faramir is a good man, a wise man. It was your valor that earned you a place beside such a man. But your selfish, slinking cowardice has betrayed his love and disgraced yourself," a look of revulsion curled her porcelain features as she spoke.
"I am no coward," Éowyn's voice was low and threatening. Valor and cowardice were warriors' words. What can this elf-woman know of courage—she thought savagely—she who has never seen a battlefield, never looked death in the face?
Arwen drew herself up aggressively. Her eyes flashed.
"Faramir may never learn what you have done here tonight. He may never discover what you are. But I know. Aragorn knows. And so do you," she finished stonily. Then, without a further word, Arwen turned and disappeared into the darkness.
Clouds in luminous hues of gold, orange and pink rolled across the brilliant blue evening sky above the western horizon. Deep, ebon night had already claimed the east. There, a few stars shone brightly between the wisps of purple cloud that streaked the heavens.
Minas Tirith's walls, once gleaming and pristine, now stood pitted and battle scarred, the white stone dulled by the filth of the unholy horde that had penetrated the defenses and overrun the lower levels. Still, in the failing twilight, the White City stood out like some ghostly apparition against the craggy mountains from which the descendants of Numenor had hewn it so many ages ago.
Arwen felt empty as she galloped alone along Anduin's western bank. She had expected the bitterness of Aragorn's betrayal to grow and fester with each passing moment that she looked on the city of Kings. But she felt nothing.
She had even managed, at last, to put from her mind the vision of Estel; breathless, his body taut with pleasure. Finally, the jarring stride of her mount had beaten from her the memory of his careworn face, transformed again to carefree youth by the joy he had found in the horsewitch's arms. Another thought haunted her, though…
Arwen looked over at the man who lay beside her on the heath of Cerin Amroth. Aragorn watched the stars through the opening in the mallorn canopy, his dark head pillowed on his laced fingers. The warm summer night was redolent with the delicate scent of the tiny silver and golden flowers that blanketed the ground on which they lay; the ground on which they had, this day, pledged themselves to one another.
As she studied the man's face, this mortal with whom she would cast her lot, Arwen's thoughts turned, unbidden, to the man and the child she had given up for this day, this moment. She wondered what Legolas was doing now. She wondered if, like her, he imagined every day what their daughter, their secret child must look like. But more than anything else, Arwen wondered if Thurinhên dwelling in the West would ever be able to forgive her.
The elf turned her gaze skyward again. Eärendil sailed aloft through the blackness, bearing on his brow the Silmaril that Beren had cut from Morgoth's iron crown for the love of Lúthien Tinúviel. A little sadly, she watched the beautiful star overhead whose story was joined so closely with her own. Like her ancestor, Arwen had bound her heart with that of a mortal man. And like Beren, to prove his worth, Aragorn had been set a daunting task.
The uncertainty of the future weighed on the Evenstar even more heavily as she contemplated the finality of her past decisions. She knew she could never go back. For her, destiny's path had been too long, too painful, and too costly to give up now.
Aragorn's callused hand searched for hers. A contented smile softened the ranger's rugged features as he felt her long, slender fingers close around his.
When first he had come upon her, walking in a birch grove near Imladris, she had seemed little more than a dream. Surely, nothing as beautiful as she could be real. She was impossibly radiant, her eyes impossibly soulful. Tinúviel, he had called her. Her answering laugh had been strangely sorrowful.
After that meeting, Arathorn's son had been able to think of little else but her forbidden beauty. Arwen was not for him. Elrond had declared it. It was a strange thing indeed to court the only daughter of his second father, but Aragorn was drawn irresistibly to her.
Even now, as he lay on the forest floor in this golden country of Lothlorien, he could scarcely believe that hers was the body lying next to him. Gratitude welled up within his broad chest. For him, she would give up her place in Aman. To stay with him in this darkening, hateful land, she would be eternally sundered from her kin. Arwen's sacrifice, her love filled him with a sense of confidence and determination. Her love endowed him with the will to seize his destiny. Only for her could he find the strength to put right Isildur's folly, honor his mighty lineage, and claim his crown and the long-vacant throne of Gondor.
Then, suddenly, he was aware of her light hand resting low on his belly as she turned on her side to face him. Arwen's touch, always calming, reassuring, had an entirely unexpected effect this night. Deftly, she untucked his shirt and slid her cool hand beneath it. Though her skin was cool against his warm flesh, the sensation her palm produced in him was not at all unlike burning. Deep, tingling heat seemed to radiate through his body as though she had lit a fire somewhere deep inside him.
"Tell me what is in your head, Estel," she commanded gently. Her fingers traced absently along the line of dark hair that bisected his firm abdomen. The feeling was quite agreeable, if somewhat distracting. Aragorn took a moment to collect his thoughts and enjoy her skillful caresses. At last, he answered.
"I am thinking of all that you mean to me. I am grateful to you, Arwen, more than I can say," his voice was quiet and thoughtful. He paused for a long moment. When he continued, he spoke at a whisper, barely audible above the sounds of singing insects and the murmuring of the trees. "In my dreams, I have seen my son…our son," Arwen's hand stopped, but he went on, "His nose and the shape of his face are mine…but he has your mouth. And he has your eyes."
"I have seen him too. In the Mirror," a warm smile lit her face as she whispered the words. The elf could never forget the first time she had gazed into that stone basin and seen the boy's face. Since then, she'd looked into the Mirror often. Sometimes Eldarion appeared to her as a child, sometimes as a man; uncannily like his father. Three daughters, all fair and smiling, she had also seen. Though none could replace Thurinhên, Arwen took some comfort in knowing that she might someday bear more children. Aragorn's children.
She would learn to love the man, she knew. Already, she could feel it beginning. But it would take time.
Arwen had not thought she could love Legolas more than she had when she left for Lorien to birth their child in secret. Yet, somehow, with each passing day that she felt the life inside her grow stronger, so did the love she felt for the elf who had put it there.
As she looked on the man beside her, his features so rough in comparison with those of the black-haired prince, the vastness of that old love seemed to eclipse the meager beginnings of affection she felt for Aragorn. Then, she thought again of the children in the Mirror; those that this man, this King of Men would give her. And she knew that each life that they brought into the world would lessen her regret.
Curiosity knit his brow as he watched her misty eyes. Clearly, she was elsewhere. Aragorn wondered where.
"Arwen?" Immediately, her distant gaze came back into focus. Her smile returned, warm and serene. "Where were you just now?" asked the ranger, returning her smile. In answer, she laid her arm across his chest and pulled herself closer so that her head rested on his shoulder.
"Hold me," she whispered. Her breath, sultry on his neck, sent a shiver down his spine. Gently, he enfolded her in his arms and held her close. He felt her breathing, slow and steady. Rarely before had Aragorn felt so content as he did now, watching the stars, lying beside the woman who would be his queen and mother to his children.
Arwen closed her eyes, satisfied, for the moment, just to lie quiet beside him. Minutes passed in stillness and in silence as they lay there together. Slowly, though, the elf felt her body beginning to respond to his presence. It had been so long, ages it seemed, since she had known the joy of union with a man.
Willfully, and with difficulty, she drove Legolas from her mind. This night, she would dedicate herself to a new love. Tonight, in the heat of her joining with Aragorn, she would burn from herself all traces of her bond to Legolas Thranduillion. She would use the fire rising in her blood to cleanse and purify her spirit in preparation for her new life with her new mate.
The elf breathed him in. He smelled of the earth, and growing things, worn leather, and sweat. She felt his shape next to her. He was so much larger, so much broader and bulkier than any elf. Sudden moisture dampened her scant undergarments at the thought of his naked skin on hers, his weight comfortably atop her as he rocked his hips, moving smoothly in and out of her welcoming flesh. Arwen felt her sex growing wet and ready as she whispered huskily,
"I am yours, Estel. Take me." His black eyes widened. This time, it was not her breath, but her words that sent a tingling tremor to the base of his spine.
Arwen allowed only the barest moment between the instant when he turned his obsidian gaze on her ethereally beautiful face and the instant he felt her full, soft lips against his; but in that moment, he was scorched by the desperate desire he saw burning in her eyes. Hungrily, she kissed him. A small smile crinkled the corners of her lightly shut eyes as his mustache tickled her mouth. She drew him deeper into the kiss, drinking his lips as though she were parched, devouring his tongue as though she were starved.
Arwen gripped the wide leather belt at his waist firmly. With surprising strength, the elf torqued his hips toward her so that they faced each other completely. A soft moan escaped her as she felt the bulge that strained his breeches pressing against her pubis. Eagerly, she rolled her pelvis up to meet him. Her hands moved feverishly over his body, clutching at his waist, the small of his back, his buttocks, anything she could use to pull him tighter against her.
I cannot permit this. It was the only coherent thought the ranger could muster. Knowing that, in a moment, it would be too late, Aragorn tore himself from her embrace, gasping. It took every scrap self-discipline he possessed to do it.
"Arwen…I...we can't," he panted as he tried to will down the dull, demanding ache in his loins. Unable to bear the look of shock and disappointment on her face, he looked to the dazzling green stone that rested precariously in the cleft of her full bosom. Her expectant gaze weighed on him. He owed her an explanation, he knew, but he could not make the words come. At last, after several more deep breaths, "I would not dishonor you so," he said. His voice was a little unsteady as he spoke. The ranger stared down at his trembling hands.
"It is no dishonor to celebrate our love," she responded quickly, an easy laugh in her voice, her smile returning. Aragorn nodded his head slowly. His eyes moved up her body, lingering on the creamy skin that showed above her décolleté bodice before finally meeting her argent gaze.
"You are right, beloved, it is none. But I am not yet worthy of the precious gift you offer me. No man can be worthy. Only when I have completed my task and redeemed the folly of my ancestor, only when I am King will I have earned such a prize," he spoke with perfect sincerity, as he caressed the rosy flush of her cheek with the side of his thumb. Aragorn watched sadly as the smile faded from her face.
"I have no care for titles. It makes no difference to me whether you wear Gondor's mithril crown or a ranger's tattered garb. What you are, what I love, is inside you. Here," she pressed her palm to his chest. His heartbeat was strong and a little quick beneath her touch. "You are no more or less worthy this night than you will be when the eastern Shadow is vanquished and the White Tree in the Citadel flourishes once more," she finished softly. The sable beard that covered his jaw line and chin was coarse beneath her fingers as she stroked his face. Her pale eyes implored him even before she spoke, "Please, Estel…make love to me tonight."
Breathless, Aragorn watched as her nimble fingers worked open the first few fastenings of her gown. Inch by inch, she revealed a wide swath of flawless, lily-white skin. He stared, transfixed by the elegant curves of her bare breasts and abdomen. The very core of him thrummed with anticipation as he watched her long hands work to loosen the lazuline sash knotted about her hips. Yet still, he knew he must allow himself to succumb neither to her desire nor to his own. Slowly, reluctantly, Aragorn extended a tremulous hand.
"We must not, Arwen," said the man as commandingly as he could. Gently, he clothed her ivory bosom, ignoring the stab of frustration that needled his resolve as the heel of his hand brushed one of the small pink nipples that stood out firm from her silken skin. "It may be no matter to you, but it is to me. And to your father…," he trailed off, momentarily silenced by the algor that frosted Arwen's eyes at the mention of Elrond. Continuing undeterred by her frigid glare, he spoke with a conciliatory note in his voice, "He has consented to our betrothal only on condition tha…."
"I know his terms," she interrupted. "But I do not think it is my father that you fear," she finished coldly. The elf stared at him, unblinking, her features impassive. White knuckles told how tightly she clinched the gossamer material of her gown closed at her breast. Long uncomfortable moments passed. Gradually, her high brow creased with impatient incredulity.
"I do not understand you, Estel. I can feel how you want me. The glaze of your eyes tells me so. Your quick breath, your pattering heart, every part of your body attests your desire. Your very scent is grown musky and sharp with sex, yet you resist. Why? We are no strangers. Have we not, this day, pledged our hearts, nay, our very souls to one another?"
Aragorn nodded mutely in response, his attention drawn to the ring that adorned her hand. Twin serpents' carefully crafted mithril bodies twined to form the band of Barahir's ring, the token of their troth. The snakes' emerald eyes gleamed in the scant starlight, one protecting, the other devouring a diadem of golden flowers. He continued to avoid her gaze, keeping his eyes fixed on the intricately carved scales and sublimely cut stones. Ignoring his obvious discomfort, she went on.
"Then why do you still refuse? How can this feeble flesh measure against that vow? Or is it that your body desires me when your heart does not?" Her eyes were softer, sadder when she had finished speaking. Even her fierce grip had loosened. Speaking the words seemed to hasten the dawning realization of his rejection, to set the reality of it.
Though the elf could not take her eyes from him, the man could endure her gaze no longer. He returned his observation to the heavens. After a while, he answered.
"I was not born to your ways, Arwen. Though I was raised in your father's house, I am not of your kind. Sometimes, in some things, we shall simply have to learn to accept disagreement." Aragorn was surprised to hear the terse edge in his voice. Slowly, heavily he exhaled, silently chastising himself for his sudden and unaccountable ill temper. She cannot know my mind if I do not speak it, thought the man. "Never have I lain with a woman, Arwen," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. He met her eyes once more. All the anger was gone from her expression, replaced with unconcealed astonishment.
"Never?"
"Never," he shook his head. "So, yes, I desire you. Of course I desire you. How could I not?" he said, rumbling the question in his deep baritone. A faint blush rose again in her high cheeks. Her eyes softened with the sparest hint of a smile. "But more, I love you. More than I had ever thought possible.
Already, you have waited for me a hundred times the span of our life together, I know. For me, you have given up what many of my kind covet above all else. Ever will you be disunited from your kind, and your kin. None but a king can be worthy of such a sacrifice. It is your father's wish that we not be wed before I have proved my mettle beyond doubt."
It was Arwen's turn to lower her gaze as she wondered—What would ada say? Instantly, she knew the answer. He would tell me I am a fool for not sailing with Legolas to Valinor long ago—she thought with a bitter, inward laugh
"…and it is my wish, too," said the ranger after a pause. "What if I should fail my quest, Arwen? What if I should be killed and leave my destiny unfulfilled? If we made love tonight, and that happened, you would be stranded, caught here, unable to sail to the West, waiting alone for death to come to you. I'll not have that," he paused, seemingly finished, but then he began again, softly, "But you must never think that I do not desire you." They lay together then, in silence for a time.
"I love you," said the elf. Her voice was warm, but she was cold inside, the fire of her unfulfilled lust snuffed at last. Words could be powerful things, Arwen knew. She knew also that their power came from the conviction of the one who spoke them. But she hoped that, in some small part, simply speaking them would help to stir in her the feeling they expressed.
"And I love you," Aragorn answered, every bit as sincere, every bit as sure as she was not.
In time, she thought, it will come in time.
Unseen, unheard, Legolas watched the couple. Silently, he listened to their whispered words. The elf wished desperately that he could tear his eyes away from them, or else bound from his hiding place and demand his right as husband to Arwen and father to their child. He wished he could at least leave the uncomfortable cover of the thicket at the edge of the clearing and go home; home to his empty bed in Lorien; home to the cold bed that awaited him in Eryn Lasgalen. Next to lurking in the dark periphery of the clearing, anywhere else would be preferable. So sore was he in body from crouching in his thorny bower, so numb in soul from witnessing the irrevocable altering of his life taking place only feet away that Legolas felt impotent to do anything but linger. Still. Silent. Insensate, he sat…
The memory plagued him as he galloped out from the makeshift gates of Minas Tirith. In the fading light, Thranduil's son could just make out the ghostly figure of a horse and rider in the distance. The speed and light grace with which it moved told him it could only be one of elvenkind. It could only be Arwen.
She rode swiftly northward from the battered walls of Osgiliath along Anduin's western bank, away from the war-ravaged expanse of the Pelennor Fields. Legolas wheeled his steed sharply toward her. He would meet her before the sky was fully dark. It was with considerable apprehension that the black-haired prince realized he had only a few minutes left to him before he must tell her the truth he had begun to tell that morning in Minas Tirith. After that, she would surely be lost to him forever. His already-heavy heart sank a little further as he watched her slow and alter her course, the sooner to meet him.
Arwen felt strangely disconnected from herself as she let her horse's reins go slack, allowing the great beast to choose its own path. Nimbly, the animal's sure hooves found the clearest route through the grim debris of crumpled steel, torn leather, splintered wood, and the occasional barely identifiable hunk of rotting meat.
She watched Legolas stand in his stirrups as she neared him. He hailed her solemnly. Without returning his greeting, Arwen turned north once more. Her homelands of Rivendell and Lorien called to her spirit and she was not ready to speak to him yet.
Barely above the horizon, the moon had already begun the sluggish climb towards its zenith. In the thick, summer air still hung the sulphurous stink of ash and fume that had issued violently from the now sunken crater of Orodruin. And through the volcanic smog, the corpulent moon glowed like an ember; its luminance red and strange.
For the better part of two hours, Legolas followed her silently. They traced the course of the Great River as it rushed away southward to the sea. It seemed somehow appropriate to Arwen that she should be riding against Anduin's current; for it was in protest against the mighty currents of time and the irresistible tide of destiny that she flew. Perhaps if I follow these timeless waters away from this place and this time, I will find myself somewhere, somewhen else.
Arwen glanced over her shoulder at Legolas who followed a few strides behind her. For an instant, their eyes met, but she looked away quickly. Again, she looked on the turbulent surface the river. Perhaps if I trace Anduin to its headwaters, if I travel far enough upstream, I will find myself beside that brook in the Greenwood where I first saw him. And on that day, I will throw that loathsome jewel into the somnolent black waters of the Enchanted River.
A stand of trees came into view in the distance. Still they remained silent as Arwen spurred her mount toward the distant foliage. The already lathered horses snorted in protest of their increased pace. The late moon was now high overhead.
At the edge of the willow grove, both elves dismounted. Still, neither spoke. Their grateful steeds wandered toward the river to drink and graze as they pleased. Beneath the low shower of canopy, the silver moonlight filtered to the ground in a delicate lacework of light and shadow. The ancient trees whispered to them as they wandered in silence toward the heart of the wood, gently parting the willow veils that hung in their path. Still, Legolas kept a few paces behind her. He did not relish the words he knew must soon pass between them. But the sadness that weighed on her visibly troubled his conscience and he knew that it necessitated an explanation.
Finally she stopped. Turning to face him at last, Legolas saw sorrow writ plainly in her eyes. When she spoke, though, her voice rang with a rash and desperate hope that he had not expected to hear.
"You asked me once to sail West with you. If you desire it still, I will," she said. Legolas stared, dumbfounded. Of all the things he had imagined she might say, this was not among them. He had been prepared for any furious tirade. But the words she had spoken instead tore at his heart as no verbal assault could have done. Before he could muster any reply, she spoke again. "It is not too late for us to be a family, Legolas." She watched him expectantly. Her words stung him, but they also presented an unlooked for opportunity. Legolas had expected Éowyn to inform on him at once when her ruse was spoiled. Because she had not, all it would take for him to reclaim Arwen was a simple omission. The smallest of lies and she could be his again and forever. A heavy sigh escaped him before he answered.
"It is, beloved," he said quietly, hating himself for having even considered uttering such an untruth. "Though I could wish for nothing more, I cannot allow it." Her face fell. She seemed to deflate as she let out the breath she'd been holding.
"Can you never forgive me?" she asked, hurt flattening her expression, further dimming the hopeful light in her eyes. His answer was a hollow laugh.
"Nothing you have done needs forgiving. Much as your choices have pained me, I know they must have done you more so. I love you, Arwen. I loved you before I knew your name. And yet I have done a thing so unworthy of you that I am ashamed even to face you now." Incredulity creased her already burdened brow. Legolas continued, "If anyone should beg clemency this night, it is I."
"Why should you? You have done me no harm. It was Aragorn in whom I placed all my hope and all my trust. It was he who betrayed my love at the first opportunity," she all but whispered, hanging her head despondently. "All I had in you, I forsook for him," she said as she sat heavily on the carpet of dead leaves and canes. She rested her chin on her hands and her elbows on her knees. Legolas seated himself before her. Staring blankly past her companion, she wondered aloud, "What king ever needed such baiting to claim his crown?"
"He loves you, Arwen." Her gaze came back into focus on him as he said this. "In the time we have known each other, he has proven that to me. I have loved and hated and envied Aragorn for the love he bears you. It is vibrant as only mortal love can be. He would never have turned his back on you…as I did," the prince paused, watching the silent objection that crossed her face. He took a deep breath and continued. "His love is innocent as only mortal love can be. It is no fault of Aragorn's that he was deceived…as I never could have been."
A quick succession of emotions manifested in her expression; first, disbelief, then embarrassment that dissolved finally into suspicion.
"How can you…?" she trailed off.
"I am responsible, Arwen." He waited, watching as he dull suspicion in her eyes was slowly honed to razor sharp conviction. Still, she gave him one final opportunity to explain himself.
"What are you saying?"
"I helped her." Legolas stopped. He lowered his eyes, unable to withstand the tide of her disappointment. It flooded over him like a drowning eagre. When he spoke again, it was with the broken voice of one weeping. "I helped Éowyn to bind his eyes. She wanted him and I wanted you, so I helped her. This morning, I tried to warn you…," he croaked, but Arwen heard him no more. She cast no backward glance as she strode toward the edge of the wood, flinging aside the lacy willow curtains as she went. Even as she fled from his confession, Arwen heard his light steps following. Imploring, apologetic fingers brushed her hand, but she snatched it away and quickened her pace. The fury in her gaze scorched him when he grabbed her arm roughly the second time. The archer expected more resistance, but she did not struggle against his hold long. She halted and regarded him stonily. When she spoke, it was with cold anger.
"Release me," was all she said. Legolas did as he was asked, expecting her to run from him again, but she did not. Nor did she speak. Now, with her full attention, he continued.
"Without my help, she never could have swayed him from his devotion to you. I would have you know the truth of it from my own lips," said the prince. Arwen shied only a little when he brushed her wan cheek with his fingertips. "But I would not have you look so sad," he whispered.
"How else should I look, then?" she snapped. "Pray you? Should I look glad? Glad that Aragorn is a fool? Happy that you are false?" Legolas had no answer. Mercilessly, she continued. "Long ago, I chose you, Legolas. That first night when we made love together in one of your Greenwood's mighty elms; when your father found us naked and spent in our perch; when you carried me to my bed and fell asleep in my arms I hoped—foolishly—that I might never pass another day…another night without you. When we were sundered and I sojourned in Lothlorien, great with your child and I learned that it was my fate to mate myself to a man, I asked Eru to spare me seeing your face again. But you came, full of wounded pride and empty hope. Now, I find that your selfish desire has betrayed what little chance I had of learning to love afresh with Aragorn. And still, I would sail West with you. Is that not foolish?" she asked with a sorrowful laugh, tears welling in her eyes. "Tell me, Legolas, what should I do? How should I choose?" He sighed and smiled stiffly.
"When I delivered that lock of his hair into her hand I sought to complicate your decision, but my duplicity has served only to simplify it. You should marry with Aragorn. He did not injure you willfully…as I did." This time, when the taller elf took her hands gently in his, she did not pull away. Her fingers were cool. "I was little more than a child when I fell in love with you. My childish love has brought you as much pain as joy and I am sorry for it. But I do love you, Arwen. And I always will."
"And I, you. Nothing can change that," she answered with tears. Weeping, they embraced, and together, shed their tears for the life they knew they could never have. "We elves were not made for this," said the Evenstar. "What you and I had was precious. Why must we regret it for all time?" Legolas drew back, peering into her eyes.
"We are all of us pierced with destiny's arrow, Arwen," said the prince. "Even when we heal, we are left with the scar. But we will mend, you and I." He paused, giving her a rueful smile. "Come. I will escort you back to the city. Aragorn will want to know you're safe," he said, taking her hand and leading her through the thinning trees of the grove. As they walked, he whistled once. Their mounts would answer his summons in their own time.
Legolas looked toward Minas Tirith with some trepidation. What he felt more than anything else, though, was relief that the truth was told at last. He was lost so deeply in his own thoughts that he barely noticed how Arwen had sidled closer to him. Her arm was around his waist before her words roused him from his reverie.
"Hold me, Legolas," she said quietly, leaning her head against his shoulder. He complied, wrapping his long arm around her shoulders.
"How I have missed you," said he. Though, he spoke softly, his voice sounded loud in the still.
Shortly, the low sound of hoofbeats came to them. The two horses emerged from the woods a few minutes later. The couple, so long sundered, was reluctant to part. They watched the stars awhile, enjoying this, their last night together.
"Will you promise me something, Legolas?" she whispered.
"Anything."
"When you go to the West, will you find Thurinhên and tell her my story? Our story."
"Of course," he smiled. But then, uncertainty creased his brow. "How will I know her?" he asked. To his surprise, Arwen laughed.
"You will know her. She will have my eyes set in your face and hair like the red maple in autumn. I think she will not be inconspicuous." Legolas nodded.
Aragorn did not sup at Osgiliath that evening. He had stomach for neither food nor company, and he did not trust himself to keep a civil tongue if Éowyn decided to bait him. Nor did he pursue Arwen immediately. He did not know what he would say when he found her. What could he say?
Carefully, he walked the crumbling battlements. New masonry stood out against the ancient stone. Even from his high vantage point, he could see no sign of his betrothed. The king resigned himself to watching the sunset instead.
"Any aid I can offer will be yours, Aragorn," said Faramir, his soft voice catching the other man off his guard.
"Thank you, my friend, but I fear it is my task alone."
"As you wish." The steward fell silent but did not leave. After a time, he spoke again. "Do not think badly of Éowyn, my lord." Aragorn rounded on the younger man, his eyes ablaze. "Pity her, but do not grudge her. She will trouble you no more." The king answered with a mirthless laugh.
"I wish that she had dealt as honestly with me."
"As do I," said the Prince of Ithilien earnestly. He lingered only a moment longer. Then, silently as he had come, Faramir departed.
As night fell and the moon rose, Aragorn rode alone from the ancient capital. Gondor's daunting expanse stretched out before him. How will I find her, he wondered. Layer upon layer of tracks pocked the ground.
It took some several minutes, but finally he spotted fresh tracks. They were shallow as only those of an elf-bred horse bearing an elven rider could be. As he followed her trail northward along the river, he was surprised when a second set of hoofprints joined her path. Wherever she was, she was not alone. The king spurred his mount hard.
He had ridden for perhaps half an hour when he saw a silver-white speck on the horizon. Arwen's steady gait and straight path told Aragorn that she was not fleeing danger, and after a moment, he was able to pick out her companion. Relieved, the king let his lathered and panting mount slow to a more tolerable pace.
In the distance, the elves saw Aragorn riding toward them. Legolas watched the approaching figure with apprehension. Sighting the man strengthened Arwen's resolve. She was strangely heartened and reassured to see that he had come for her. She knew that, in many ways, Éowyn would have been a wiser choice to wive Gondor's king. The fact that Aragorn wanted her despite the political impracticality of that choice touched her. Still she did not know how she would explain herself.
He was close now and the elves slowed to meet him. It was Aragorn who spoke first.
"Legolas. Thank you for keeping her safe. When I saw that she did not travel alone, I feared the worst," he said with genuine relief in his voice and on his face. He lowered his dark eyes when next he spoke, this time to Arwen.
"Will you ride behind and talk with me, Arwen?" Legolas bowed his head and rode off toward Minas Tirith, grateful for an excuse to leave Aragorn's presence. Arwen did not fail to note the look of mingled dread and relief on his fair face as he passed.
"Legolas," she called. The other elf halted and turned. "We will speak some more before the morning." The prince nodded mutely before resuming his course to the city.
Arwen and Aragorn were alone. They walked their horses but did not speak for a time. It was Aragorn who broke the silence.
"Do you doubt that I love you, Arwen?"
"You are here." She answered evenly, watching her path rather than her partner.
"I am." The horses plodded a few more strides. "I did not expect to find you so easily."
"You expected to find me?" she asked, the barest hint of incredulity coloring her words. Silence. She fixed him in her mourning dove gaze, "I apologize."
"Why did I? Find you," he asked, meeting it. Arwen did not answer. "I did expect to find you. I would have followed you to the ends of the earth. Beyond. But I did not expect you to come back."
"Nor did I," her carefully neutral visage lightened to wry smile.
"I was a fool, Arwen. I do not offer any other excuse. She tempted me as herself before she appeared in your guise. I could resist her, but not you."
"Think no more of it. It is forgiven."
"I am not sure you should absolve me so lightly," his voice barely audible above the warm breeze that blew through his silvering hair.
"I do not do it lightly. Your actions, however guiltless, are not without consequence. You asked me at Osgiliath if my past could forgive you," she looked out across the plain before them. Already, she could see lights glimmering atop the Tower of Ecthelion. She looked to Aragorn once more. "It can." Arwen watched curiosity flit briefly over the man's features. "I had another life, once, Estel. Does that surprise you?" she asked in response to the question on his face. Without awaiting his answer, she continued. "I loved that life. But now? Now it is gone. For you, I left that life behind," she told him solemnly.
"Why?" he asked. Arwen shook her head in reply.
"It was not my choice to love you. It was my destiny. Do you doubt my love?"
"You are here."
"I am. And I will stand at your side two days hence beneath the Midsummer moon. We will begin afresh, together. It shall be as if what passed before had never passed. Agreed?" Aragorn nodded his assent. After a time, he spoke again.
"It is a pity we never troubled to know each other better," said the king. "Will you tell me about your other life?"
"No," she answered simply. His questions were almost asked, his protests almost made before he remembered Gandalf's words—Arwen has many secrets. They are hers to share or keep as she will…and you will drive her away if you do not let her keep the ones she will. Aragorn was silent. They said nothing else for the remainder of the journey back to Minas Tirith.