Aragorn leaned against the stone railing that ran at waist height around the large balcony of their main chambers. He remembered how frail and light she had felt as he lay her gently down when he left the bedroom short minutes ago. He had noticed in the past week that she ate very little, but had thought it only because of her bruised face. He wondered now if it was perhaps because after years of starvation her body could handle only the small amounts that she ingested. He bowed his head and let the light winds tangle his unruly hair around his tanned face.
"It is unbearable to think of it, is it not?" he heard the wizard ask as he opened the door and joined him in the early morning air. They stood in silence for a long time before he answered.
"Yes." he paused, struggling with his words, "Gandalf, I want so much to help her but I fear that I ruined any chance I had when I, I," he could not finish.
"She has forgiven you, has she not?"
"Well, yes but,"
"Would you question it if I or Legolas forgave you of some act," the wizard interrupted and continued on without waiting for the answer of his question, "No, you would not. It is not fair to question it of her either. If she says that she has forgiven you than she has."
"Who is she Gandalf? How is it that you know her?"
Beside him his companion sighed deeply before answering.
"Truly, Aragorn, I know not who she is. No one in all of Middle-earth knows who she truly is. She was found by the elves of Grey Haven, washed up amid the wreckage of a ship of men. Who she was before then, and where she came from we never learned for her memory was taken from her and last I knew it had not returned. She could not even remember her own name, poor child. She had to be taught to speak Sindarin for she could speak no words to those who found her. She dwelt with Cirdan for two hundred years before she was taken." His voice was thick as he continued. "She had never left Mithlond before. She wished to go Rivendell and learn the art of healing from your father. She never made it. Those with her were found, dead. She did not know the land and so had little hope of finding her way there. By the time we began to worry, she was probably already taken. Elves from all realms searched; are probably still searching for the Lost Lady. Your brothers and Legolas were perhaps the most devoted of her searchers though, for Cirdan had hoped that she would find love with one of them and they always blamed themselves in part."
"He would be most disappointed to know that I am whom she is bound to."
"I should think not!"
Aragorn looked up at the wizard, startled by his sudden harsh tone.
"You think far too little of yourself, Aragorn. That has always been your greatest fault."
"Too little of myself? Gandalf, do you not understand what it is that I have done? I hit her Gandalf! I have never hit anyone, not even my brothers! I am a mere man, Gandalf; heir of him who failed to destroy the ring that nearly destroyed all that I hold dear. Little good can be done by me."
"Aragorn, look at me." Gandalf paused, waiting until he had done so to continue. "You are not Isildor. Yes, his blood flows through your veins but so does that of his father before him, who was a great man. Vala, you are the descendant of Elros, brother of Elrond. Do you think he is weak also? You faced the temptation of the ring. For Valar's sake Aragorn, Frodo offered you the ring! He opened his hand and you could have taken it and he would not have stopped you, but you did not take it. You passed a test that few have ever faced, and even fewer have overcome. There is hope yet for men. The men of your line shall be great indeed, that is very plain to me and I wish that it were to you," he finished as he turned away from the man in frustration.
Aragorn smiled fondly at the wizard's anger. Gandalf was not one for giving compliments lightly and he knew it was not likely that he should ever hear such high praise from him again. The wizard's words were unexpected, and Aragorn felt himself somewhat unworthy of them, but he knew better than to tell Gandalf so. He placed a hand on the wizard's shoulder.
"Hannon le, mellon nin," he spoke softly, before turning his attention to the people who were beginning to stir below.
There was sadness, a fear about them. A sound that he longed to hear from them painfully lacking. Their laughter. His visits to Gondor before the War of the Ring had revealed a strong and happy people. They were still strong, but they were no longer happy and he knew that it was his own doing. They feared their king. Their king had shown no joy, and people are only as good as the king who leads them. Things would have to change, he told himself firmly, already wondering what immediate measures could be taken to improve their state of being but his thoughts were drawn once again to the lady who lay in the next rooms.
"I wish to help her, Gandalf, but I know not how to start. She is afraid of me, and I might add rightfully so."
"Have you retained nothing that you learned during your years among the elves?"
Aragorn was not sure what to make of the wizard's answer, which really was not much of an answer at all. His thoughts however were suddenly drawn to Lord Elrond, who had raised him and taught him more than any other. He was drawn into a memory that was suddenly as clear as if he were living it again. A memory of his childhood.
"I am a great healer, but I am by no means the greatest, Estel. There are two much greater than I." Aragorn remembered being puzzled by his words for at that young age he could think of no other in Middle-earth who could surpass his foster father. "One is time, which takes with its passing the sharpness of the pain we endure. It fades those memories that need to be forgotten and returns to us those that need to be remembered again."
"Like what Ada?" he remembered asking.
"Like laughter and sunshine, flowers and all the beautiful things on the earth. Those who have made our life better and those whose lives we have helped make better ourselves."
"Oh, I see," he had answered, although he remembered not totally understanding, but it seemed to him that he ought to agree for Elrond was always right.
"The greatest though, Estel, is love. Love is an incredibly powerful thing, especially among elves. It has the power to heal even the greatest of pains. Love does not barge in; it stands gently waiting, always offering help and healing but never forcing. Love is patient. Love is caring for someone enough that you would forsake your own needs for theirs. Love is crying when someone cries. Love is drying their tears and making them laugh. Love is more powerful than any of us and yet it is gentleness that makes it so strong, not forcefulness such as we most often relate to strength. Do you understand?"
He remembered nodding, not understanding but trusting that someday this knowledge would be needed. This was the day; he felt it in his heart as he looked back at Gandalf.
"The greatest healers are love and time," he stated in elvish and was rewarded with a knowing smile from Gandalf.
"Perhaps you were listening to your fathers lectures better than we supposed," he stated laughing softly as he lit his pipe.
Aragorn turned to watch the sunrise. It was a dawn in more ways than one. He knew now that he would fulfill the promise he made the day that he accepted the crown of Gondor. He would rule with all the wisdom that he possessed, and care for each as if they were his brother; for that is what Boromir hailed him with his last breath. Brother and King; he only hoped that someday he would be worthy to be hailed such once more.
She had lain in the dark, listening to the strong beating of his heart. She did not feel terror, but she still could not, despite any desire she possessed, allow herself to fall asleep in his arms. She had feigned sleep though and as she had hoped; his even breathing told her that he had found sleep. She had tried to relax as he moved her so that he could rise, but her heart was pounding so loud that she was sure that he could see it through her dress, but he had not seemed to notice. She had fallen asleep almost as soon as he left, exhausted by her nightmares and tears, but now with the sun high in the sky she felt somewhat rested and so rose to seek out Gandalf.
She brushed her hair which had become loose during her struggles, looking in the mirror as she did so. The only sign of his hand was now the deep gash that had been left by the ring of Barahir; she touched it gently and flinched. She sighed as she twisted her long raven hair and pinned it to her head, longing to wear it free as she had during her days in Mithlond, but knowing that the council would not appreciate the reminder that she was one of the firstborn. They feared what they had not known, for elves had been rarely seen in Gondor since the Last Alliance, or so Maeve had told her. They now saw elves as distant, great creatures still favoured by the Valar above men; they were jealous.
They need be jealous of her least of all for she felt herself an elf no longer. For years before and never again since the night she held the broken king; the calaquendi had been hidden within, taken by men much akin to those who feared her now. No light came from her, nor song. She could no longer raise her voice and have it answered by the wind, trees, rivers or creatures. They had taken that also. The gift of wisdom, of special knowing, of speaking to minds, of bringing warmth with her touch; all such things had been taken from her. An elf indeed. No elf stood here staring into the cold surface of the mirror, only the shadow of what had once been.
A small tear trailed down her pale face but she did not move to wipe it away. Some things she could not even tell Gandalf. Some grief would only be hers alone just as she had been alone so many years with men. The cold stones of the palace that became her prison told only of the sorrows of those great ones who had been held there before and soon even their voices had become silent. She hurt from the silence around her; it was pounding as if threatening to beat her to the ground.
"Saeorii."
She shirked away from the wizards touch, backing against the wall and squeezing her eyes shut. His voice had been soft but it hurt like thunder amid the silence that surrounded her. Her heart beat within her chest at an unhealthy rate for an elf, and her gulping breaths told the wizard of the fear that she herself could not say. She felt his old hand gentle against her soft skin and looked up at him through her burning tears. He looked at her with pity, with remorse, with guilt.
"My fate is no fault of yours, Gandalf," she whispered meekly as he knelt on the floor in front of her.
"Nor is it yours," he told her sternly as he cupped the side of her face with his hand and felt her jaw tense.
"I ride tonight, I am afraid that I have stayed longer than I planned. I leave you here in the best of hands." He smiled at her sadly seeing her doubt. "There is honour among men, and you dwell among the greatest. They are, as are you and I, imperfect and some hearts have been swayed by forces more powerful than they, but do not fear. He will let nothing harm you. Your sight may be dimmed, but you can see as well as I that the shadow that was upon him is no more."
He wiped her tears with a silk cloth and pulled her to her unsteady feet. His heart was filled with affection for her and he almost did not leave her, but he knew it to be for the best. Slowly, he took her face in his hands, his eyes not leaving her own dark ones. As he leaned forward and kissed her forehead she felt his tear fall amongst her own. She wrapped her arms around him tightly like a small and frightened child and he took her in his arms, hiding her if only for a moment from the things that haunted her.
Aragorn's eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness of the outside as he left the bright lights of the palace. Maeve had come to his council, nearly in tears because her lady was not in their rooms; nor after searching could she find her anywhere in the palace. Faramir had immediately volunteered to lead the guards in searching the entire palace. Something, though, told him to go outside and he felt a panic he had not realized had overcome him dissipate as he saw her small shape against the dark sky.
The moon was bright but he noticed with a wave of compassion that she did not shine. He wondered what it was that she watched so intently from the white tower and approached her in the growing winds that threatened a spring storm. He stood beside her and saw the white figure as he rode from the gates below. He watched as a silver tear ran down her face as the night sky grew darker and clouded around them and the white figure could no longer be seen.
She was shivering but he doubted that she noticed. He took the cloak from his own shoulders and moved to fasten around hers but stopped as he saw her stiffen and shrink away from him. Instead he gave it to her and like an obedient child she fastened it around herself. Lightning brightened the dark sky and thunder boomed and his concern for the hastening storm was growing. She seemed more at ease though than he had ever seen her. He stepped closer so that she could hear him over the howling winds.
She did not want to leave. Now that she had left the palace and felt the wind and seen the skies she did not ever want to leave them. Gandalf had told her to trust the king, and there was something about him that said she could despite his previous actions. His touch did not repulse her, in fact it spread warmth through her body, numb from abuse, but her fear of men was bred to deep. Years had shown her only their cruelty, nothing of the valour and honour that Gandalf had spoke of.
"My Lady, I know that you fear those that dwell within my walls more than the storm that threatens you now," despite her fears his words caused her to look towards him, though she could not meet his gaze, "but I promise that as long as I live, no one shall ever harm you again. I wish to aid you in any way that I can, no matter how small. Gandalf told me some of you, of what you once were; what you can be again. Please, if you never do another act because of my wishes, do this one tonight and come with me inside."
Rain had begun to fall sharply, showing none of the signs of spring that had been present in the past few days; the last blow of winter. His voice rang true in her ears, and implored her to trust him. He had spoken in elvish; the language that she had not spoke since she was taken, under threat of death. She remembered struggling to learn the harsh tongue of men and feeling no less fear when she knew what it was that her tormentors shouted at her. Their harsh words were forced from her mind by another crash of thunder and she realized that he stood offering his arm, shivering from the winds while she was warm in his cloak.
With only the slightest tremor she placed her hand on his arm and let him lead her quickly to the palace. The door was quickly shut behind them and one of the guards moved to take her soaked cloak. She braced herself involuntarily.
"Do not," the king ordered quietly in a warning tone, and the guard stepped back to his place.
She was surprised by the king's awareness of her fear to have any man near her, and felt an overwhelming gratitude for his small, but significant action. It meant more to her than she felt that she could express in words as they made their ways through the halls that were silent except for the rain.
"Hannon le," she whispered words that felt foreign to her, but wondrous for they were in her tongue.
She said it as if towards his actions of a moment ago, but she felt he knew that it was for so much more.
To be continued...
enyamorntulir: Thanks so much! I love to have people tell me they like my story although I don't think anyone's ever told me that I rock, thanks and kudos to you too! I definately think that he needs to be shared.
Estel-Ara: Thanks so much, you're certainly a help in the confidence area1 I love hearing from you!
Amelia: Thanks once again for you encouragement, I always love to hear from everyone to see what their thinking! Computers can be a royal pain though.
Hwena: Thanks, I thought so too. I really didn't want to just totally kick Arwen out without giving her a plausible reason for being gone and I didn't want Aragorn to just leave her for some other girl so here we are. Thanks again!
Viggomanaic: That's alright, I know that you are reading. I really hated making Aragorn seem like the bad guy too and I'm enjoying portraying him as a good guy much better.Thank you so much for you review!
Telacontar: Thank you very much, I'm flattered. I know, I didn't like making him into a bad guy either but it's not as if he were totally to blame I mean he lost Arwen. Oh well, he's back now to stay. Thanks, luv hearing from you!
