Chapter Four: The Return of the King

Aragorn woke to the softness of his own bed beneath him. He did not move, feeling almost physically the weight of what he had done. Air moved through the open window. It was unusually warm for the time of year and seemed to mock the chill that he felt within himself. He moaned in protest as he opened his eyes and was rendered blind by the cruel brightness of the sun. He turned and slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed and let his throbbing head rest in his calloused hands as he sighed deeply.

What he had done was unforgivable, and yet he could not forget the feeling of her warmth around him. He remembered the feeling of the soft rise and fall of her chest against his face. The sound of her soothing voice lulling him to quiet. He had fallen asleep there in her arms and felt suddenly an overwhelming desire to be there again. He felt, despite his guilt, an unexplainable joy, and will to live life to its very fullest. He realized now that mourning Arwen in such a way as he had did not honour, but brought her a shame he never intended.

He walked out onto the balcony, listening to the sounds of the people of Gondor below him as they made their way through their day. Over these sounds however he heard a sweeter one. The sound of a bird, and he looked to see it flying free overhead. "One concept that elves have a terrible time dealing with is passing. People pass through our lives, maybe only for a short time. It pains us when they leave, but they would not wish us to stop living in their absence. We will never forget them though, for they have enriched our lives; taught us something and that is worth all the more." He heard Elrond's words so clear that he was startled to find him not standing behind him, and smiled. Things would be different, or maybe it was just that things would be the way they always should have been.


Maeve pulled the velvet blanket over the shoulders of her sleeping lady with the extreme tenderness shown to a newborn child. Her pale face was stained with the mark of his hand and the sun shone upon it as if to try and fade its cruel stain. She had found her lady, early that morning, holding tenderly to her, King Elessar. She had helped move the sleeping king to his bed before leading her exhausted queen to her own less lavish chambers to rest. Maeve wondered at what had transpired between the two to result in such a position as she found them, but had not ventured to ask.

She was still unsure if she had been right to allow the king to see her, but she at least knew that he had not done her lady any further harm. She had told herself that he would never again be within arms reach of her lady; that is until she saw his eyes. She had seen him that day as he walked through the gate of the city for the first time as heir to the throne after the Battle of Pelannor Fields. She had seen his silver eyes, filled with hope, valour, and courage and known in that moment that he would triumph over the shadow that was cast over them. He had triumphed but then was cast, alone, into the shadow of his loss. There he had failed; or so it had seemed to her, until last night. Then again she had looked into his face and seen such things of wonder as are told of the great kings of old, and of the elves. There she had seen the light of a king.


"You have made me a liar!" Faramir shouted, his pent up anger finally being released.

The king stood with his back to him, looking intently out of the windows of his study, almost as if to protect himself from the steward's words which dug sharply with truth. Faramir had told himself that yelling would solve nothing, but had not been able to stop himself when he was called before his king and found him unchanged. He was not sure what change he had expected, but he perceived none and could no longer contain himself.

"I promised her that if she stayed here the abuse would stop!" he continued, no more quietly than before.

He was surprised though when his king turned quickly to him, his face bearing a pained expression.

"What abuse? Explain yourself immediately!" his king demanded sharply.

This Faramir had not expected and in his surprise was rendered silent for a moment as he gathered his wits.

"Did you not find it strange that an elf should willingly marry a mortal whom she didn't know? She was brought here by a man, who asked a price for her. She could hardly stand; he had beaten her so badly." His king, though appropriately appalled, seemed still not to quite fathom what his words meant. His voice was cold as he finished. "She was not given a choice, Aragorn, about the marriage, or the ruthless tearing of her flesh." He paused to let his words sink in. "She was a slave."

His king leaned against his large desk, pulling his hand into a tight fist and bringing it down upon its surface with unexplainable strength. He muttered a harsh word in a language that Faramir did not recognise and turned and sank wearily into his chair. He heard a sound like words from his king but could not understand them.

"Pardon?" he asked quietly, unsure of what his king would do next.

His king looked up at him, his eyes shaking Faramir to his very core. Aside from the fact that they were filled with tears, they had changed. Faramir saw again a man, a friend that had been lost to him since the coronation of his king. He saw again the humble healer who had spent countless hours at his bedside while he regained his strength. He saw again the unparalleled knowledge of a Ranger called Strider. He saw again the tenderness and love of a man called by the elves, Estel. Hope. He saw again the humble greatness, courage, valour and wisdom of Elessar to whom he had pledged his very life. He saw again Aragorn, son of Arathorn, in all his splendour and felt somewhat less than he had before. He felt slightly awed, and humbled as he first had at the return of his king. For truly this man was a king.


Saeorii sighed as she watched the sun set through the open window by which she sat. She had sent Maeve to inform the king that she 'felt ill and could not join him, but to please forgive her.' Even the smallest movement of any part of her face pained her. Nearly the entire side of her face was discoloured and the tender flesh was swollen hiding her high cheekbone and lessening her elegant jaw line. She turned at the opening of the door behind her, expecting to see the amiable face of Lady Maeve, but instead felt her heart lurch in her chest at the sight of the king.

She immediately bowed her head before she could catch a glimpse of his imploring eyes as he moved slowly towards her. Here she was not required to bow, but she wished for something to end the silence that enshrouded them.

"My lady."

She had never before taken notice of the richness of his deep voice, but found her own could not answer, nor could she bring herself to look towards him.

"Maeve told me you were ill, but we both know that is not true. Having lived among elves I know they cannot be so without cause."

His voice was calm, gentle, like the breeze the flowed through the open window beside her.

"I did not wish to disgrace his majesty with my presence," she heard herself whisper.

His laughter was soft, like the wind through the leaves of a poplar tree.

"My lady, you could never cause me any more disgrace than I have already brought upon myself."

He moved his hand slowly closer to her face, she tensed but the blow did not come. She felt instead tender warmth as he gently forced her to look up at him, but she kept her eyes downcast. He stood silently waiting until timidly she met his solemn gaze. His face was weathered and showed plainly his years in the wild. His silver eyes shone against his sun-darkened skin and she felt an urge to brush back and unruly lock from his tender face.


He stood there in silence, truly looking at her for the first time. Her skin, except that which he had stained, was alabaster white against her onyx hair which was pulled back except for a few dark tendrils that framed her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were beautiful; the colour of the night sky not tainted by any star or moon. He realized now, for the first time, standing beside her how small she was. She was thin, almost frail, though he could still see plainly her sultry curves beneath the thick velvet of her dress. Truly, if it was once said the Arwen Undomiel was Luthien returned to earth, then the fair creature before him was Luthien herself.

She trembled slightly beneath his touch, still afraid of him, but silently putting her trust in his seemingly good intention. He had some here to apologise, to beg her forgiveness, but he was not so talented with words as he knew Faramir to be, nor was there any excuse for what he had done.

"My Lady, what I did……there is nothing that can……I just," he paused. All of the words that came to his mind seemed inadequate to describe how devotedly sorry he was. No such words had yet been spoken in the language of any he knew.

"Nothing I can say will change what I have done. In truth, I know not how to tell you how sorry I feel. I do not deserve your forgiveness, but it is all I ask."

He studied her eyes intensely as he wavered with uncertainty as to what he should do next.

"It forgiveness were deserved it would not be so great a gift, your majesty, and you need not ask it of me for it has already been given to you."

"How can you forgive me after what I've done?" he asked her astounded.

"Elves live immortal lives. Bitter and lonely lives would they be if we could not learn to forgive those who hurt us."


The intenseness with which he looked at her somewhat frightened her, and when he moved his hand from her face and she once again looked down at her hands. Her cheek felt cold in the absence of his touch, but made no move to tell him so.

"Would you then allow me the great honour of escorting you to this evening's meal," he asked softly as he held out his arm to her.

She knew that her hand shook but felt it steady as she rested it lightly on his strong arm and allowed him to lead her away from the window as the sun coloured the room with a golden light.


Faramir turned, startled as the king's entrance to the dining hall opened slowly. He was astonished though, as he watched the king entered slowly leading the injured queen towards his seat. He knew that he was not the only one surprised as all of the many conversations in the rooms ceased. Some, like him, stared in silent wonder, but were pleased; others stared at the king, unwilling yet to forgive him. The pair moved slowly towards their seat, she seeming to be steadied by his guiding arm and Faramir felt himself rise to his feet and bow slightly as had long ago been the tribute paid to the king's of old, but never as yet to King Elessar, least not in this manner.

Her felt more than saw the others around the table stand, some more slowly than others, but very soon he knew that they all stood. He looked up slightly to see that the king had frozen mid-step, obviously aware of the momentous honour that had just been paid him. He caught the king's eye and smiled, and it was returned to him. None moved until the king and queen both were seated, and then as of one body, they sat. That day would be remembered by those who were there as the day Gondor's king was returned, and the day that its greatness and splendour began.

To be continued...

Thanks to my reveiwers Estel-Ara and Pasha ToH! A special thanks to Amelia who's overwhelming review totally blew me away. All of you had such nice things to say, you made my entire week! Don't know what I'd do without you! Sorry it took so long to post. I was away for a week and had to update my other story too. Hopefully next one will be sooner. Anyway, I love to hear from you, and thanks so much!