Chapter Eight: Never

Aragorn watched all that went on around him subconsciously as he walked the busy streets of Gondor. He had excused himself from council for his thoughts were too much occupied to do any of the good he now so wanted to do for the people of his kingdom. He wore his worn clothes that he had last worn during his time with the Fellowship; he wished not to be seen for who he was. He had appeared little to the people of Gondor and knew unless he was dressed as such they would not likely guess him to be the king.

He had slept well last night, going to bed only after Maeve assured him that Saeorii was asleep and would not be disturbed by him. He wondered at her ability to hide what had been done to her; the fear that he had seen only a small part of the night when he held her after her nightmare. She had shared a bed with a man not unlike those that had torn and taken her body as they wished. He could not imagine what she felt and wished more and more that he could if only it would help him to ease her pain.

At breakfast this morning she had been little different than the weeks before. She spoke little and never raised her eyes to meet his but there was something slightly different in her voice. It seemed a little more elvish to him; he couldn't quite explain it but it had lightened his heart a little. Elves voices were so different from any other. He was shaken from his thoughts as he noticed a man and woman struggling to raise the tent from which they would sell their wares that were held by their young children. The others around them ignored them, wishing to fend for themselves and he felt slightly angry at them for doing so and walked towards the family himself.

"Good morning to you, my lord, my lady," he greeted warmly as he reached over the woman's head and steadied the post with which she had been struggling, "might I be of service to you?"

"I would thank you graciously, my lord," answered the broad shouldered man as his timid wife smiled shyly.

Aragorn help to secure the tent and took the heaviest baskets from the children who could barely stand at their load.

"Are you from here?" he asked as they set their things on the rickety table.

"Yes, my lord. I was born here and my wife and I returned when we were told that a king had finally come. They say that he marched to the black gates himself. Everyone said that he would be glorious, but I am afraid he has let the council continue to have their way," the man seemed grieved by this.

Aragorn was not insulted by the man for he knew he was unaware that he spoke to the king and he also knew that what the man said was true. He had begun only two weeks ago to say anything at all in councils; he had in fact let them have their way. It was only recently though that he realized things were very different from when the last king sat on the throne and made the laws that the councillors still held to with a death grip and that some things would need to be changed. He returned his attention to the family before them as they unwrapped what the youngest child called breakfast; it was no more than three stale, hard rolls.

"Is that all you have?" he asked quietly, not wanting to embarrass them but the man blushed and he knew that it was. "Why is it that your meal is so meagre?"

"Lord Denethor outlawed all trade with the other kingdoms and villages when the first attack on Osgilioth was launched, for our own safety. The king has not bothered to reinstate them. Any food that is still left in the city is given to him and his council," the man did not seem bitter, but merely stated what was.

"I was not aware," Aragorn muttered thoughtfully.

He had not even realized what he had said until he felt all seven of them staring at him in fear and awe. He bowed slightly; not enough to draw attention but enough to say that he paid them a great courtesy.

"Please forgive me, for until late my grief has blinded me to the grief of my people."

"King Elessar," breathed the man in astonishment.

"Can you see now, someone make you all better?" asked the littlest child.

Aragorn heard her parents gasp at their child's blatant and rather personal remark but he paid no mind. He knelt so that he could look into her face and smiled slightly.

"Yes, little one," he answered, "My eyes were opened by a beautiful elven lady."

The child's eyes grew wide, for to most in Gondor elves had become myths. Some were awed by them; others wary and untrusting and it was obvious to him that the child was of the first group. He bid them good day, his thoughts now more preoccupied than ever as he strode quickly back towards the palace.


"I do not understand you!" cried Faramir in exasperation; the councillors looked at him in surprise unaccustomed to this behaviour from their young steward. "We have said the words until 'the Great King shall return,' for many years and now that he is you seek to undermine him at every turn! I do not understand," he stated again as he buried his face in his hands.

"Do not despair so, my good Faramir."

All looked, surprised to hear the quiet voice of their king. He was dressed as when he was a Ranger and for the first time Faramir saw the unsavoury and war weary man that Eowyn said Aragorn had been when he first went to Edoras. It was easy now to picture a menacing looking figure, face hidden in the dark hood of his cloak, sword ever present at his side. He felt a slight tremor of fear but quickly told himself that there was no need that this was the same man he had come to so respect and care for, yet his heart would not heed him and continued to thump relentlessly against his chest. All moved to stand and the king did not motion them to sit as usual, instead he came to stand next to Faramir and looked at each councillor searchingly; few could hold his steely gaze for more than a moment before looking away.

"What must be done to feed my people?"

Faramir was unaware of what he spoke but watched as the councillors seemed to shrink back as far away from the king as they could without leaving their seats. They knew very well of that which he spoke.

"What must be done?" he questioned more earnestly.

"Notice must be given to those who provide us with food that the gates of Gondor are now open to them," spoke an older councillor timidly.

"See that it is done," he stated coldly, "or it shall be you that goes without food." He paused and Faramir felt the king's eyes fall upon him. "Faramir, please, come with me, I wish to speak with you on other matters that need your attention."

Faramir nodded silently, still slightly overwhelmed by the great presence he had felt and seen radiating from the king. Though he wore not a crown nor held any sceptre there was no doubt in his mind, or the mind of any other present at the moment, that Aragorn son of Arathorn was indeed the king.


Maeve sighed as she took her place in a chair next to the fire in the king's main chambers while the sad queen walked onto the balcony. She for the first time since the elf's arrival, been able to coax her out for a walk through the palace halls. She had talked of things past and things to come as if all were normal but she had not failed to notice the tremors that shook the queen's small form the entire time of their walk. The halls had been nearly empty but Saeorii was constantly tense, bracing herself for an attack that Maeve could not convince her would not come. She glanced out at her, the poor girl's cheeks not brightened by the shining sun.

The wind blew, bringing with it the first sweetness of spring but then it moved slightly and the foulness of Mordor tainted it.

"I cannot," she heard the queen whisper.

"What is it, my lady?"


Saeorii heard Maeve's plaintive question but could not answer her. She had been startled to hear the soft, languid voice of the wind for she had not heard its whispers, good or ill all the time she had been held by men. She had answered aloud instead of in the ways of elves at first because she had been so unused to its call but it lulled her into a sense of peace she had not felt in years. It was familiar and carried the tangy scent of the sea beside which she had dwelt for two hundreds years in Mithlond.

Please, sing for us, it pleaded, nearly a year it has been since the voices of the elves have been raised in this place. The whispers of Mordor are fading but still linger.

My heart is no longer pure. I can no longer sing in the way of my kin, she answered it feeling a deep shame creep into her soul.

Your heart still holds pureness. Your memories and knowing have only been forgotten, but they can be remembered. Sing to us your sorrows and let us take them far from you as far as the sky is from the sea.

She gasped feeling the wondrous forgotten feeling of the four winds as they swirled around her, singing their own song and slowly raised her voice to join them. At first she sang and knew it held nothing of the Eldar but soon she felt something stir within her and it rose forth like the swell of the mighty waves as tears fell like rain from her dark eyes.


"I would be glad to go to the Council for you, Aragorn, although I fail to see what good I may," Faramir paused when Aragorn raised his hand, listening hard.

In the silence of the palace there rose a beautiful sound like nothing ever heard by him before. Aragorn felt tears choke him though he would not let them fall. Faramir however wept openly; the sorrow they heard almost tangible and Aragorn found himself searching the hall around them for some glimpse of it, although of course he found none.

"Only the elves could sing with such voices, although I fear Legolas and your brothers pale in comparison," Faramir paused listening intently, "What is she saying?"

Aragorn took a breath, trying to steady his voice before answering.

"Her song is not of words, for it is of a sorrow so deep, that not even elves can speak it," he said knowing that Faramir was aware of a little of Saeorii's past and would ask no more.


Only the winds echoes of her voice still lingered when he came to stand beside her. Her back stiffened and he watched her tense more with each step he took towards her. He touched her shoulder gently, feeling her muscles jump at his touch but he did not move his hand. Her breaths slowed and he knew she was forcing herself not to shake as her knuckles turned white from her grip on the railing.

"Of what do you sing, my lady?" he prodded gently in Sindarin. She remained silent. "Pain is more easily borne when it is shared."

Silence fell between them for so long that he believed that she would not answer him and he would not force her.

"I can't," she whispered in the same language he had spoken, "It would be like living it all again; all alone in darkness. I can't."

"Aye, my lady," he answered quietly as he tilted her chin so that he could see into her face although she would not look into his eyes, "but you will never be alone again; I will be here with you until the end of my days that, I swear to you."


His hand sent warmth through her entire body and she longed to have the courage to look into his eyes, to move into his embrace without hesitating but she could not. Her fears lay too deep. She felt herself go rigid as he slowly moved his hand to the base of her neck and led her head to rest upon his broad chest. Her heart thundered like Rauros in her ears, fear causing her breaths to come rapid and shallow. His other arm rested lightly against her back; he did not let go and she couldn't bear to pull away knowing the coldness would be sharper when he moved away.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing, forcing herself to take deep calming breaths. Slowly her shaking ceased and her heart did not pain her with its frantic pace. He did not move but continued to stand waiting; it seemed he intended to wait forever, for her to relax. The beating of her own heart had sufficiently diminished that she could hear his own close to her head. It beat slowly, steadily, stronger than the quick light heartbeats of the elves.

She realized that his tunic was not like the velvet ones he usually wore; it was rough and worn but it smelled familiar. It smelt of pipe weed, of Gandalf and of the forests and the plains.


Her body was now at ease as she released a soft sigh and he smiled. She tensed only for a moment as he stroked her soft hair and then was again staid, no longer seeming trapped by fear beneath his strong arms. The wind blew his hair from his face and carried her wondrous scent to him and he longed to brush his lips against her petal-like cheek but did not and contented himself with her warmth and the slight pressure of her light form against him. He marvelled at how seeing her serene made him feel so at peace as he felt the tight muscles in his body unwind.

"Never will I leave you," he whispered softly so that only her elvish ears could hear, "Never."

To be continued...

Shary22: Thank you so much for your encouraging review and I hope that you continue to read my story.

Jedi Padfoot: Thank you very much and I am glad to hear that you like my other story as well. There quite different but I really like the way that both of them are turning out. This one is going to be shorter than the other though, by quite a bit, oh well. Thank you again!

Karone Evertree: Short, and sweet. Thank you so much. Even little reviews like that make my whole day!

Telacontar: I am glad that you aprove and I feel so sorry for her too. I like Aragorn much better when he's caring like this than at the first of the story. I didn't like him being a bad guy. Oh well hope to continue to hear from you. Thank you so much!