Chapter Ten: And Yet There Is Hope

Aragorn hadn't realized how much he had come to enjoy the quiet company of Faramir after the evening meal. He had also felt his absence strongly in Council this week since his leaving. He knew that he could send for someone; he could ask for anyone in his kingdom if he liked and they would be brought to him without question but somehow that was no comfort to him. He did not simply want someone to listen to him, he wanted someone who would listen and was not afraid to answer him.

He knew though that there was no better man to lead the Rangers of Ithilien or one who would take more care in the repair of the ransacked ruins of Osgilioth and Ithilien than Faramir. He had none of his fathers qualities it seemed except his intelligence, but unlike his father Faramir had a great compassion for his people that Denethor had always lacked. Boromir had been most like his father; always ready to go charging into battle. It was not that Faramir was a coward he just did not get the same rush charging against his foe as his brother or father. Boromir himself had spoken with great pride of his younger brother; claiming there was no better man and Aragorn believed him.

The loss of Boromir had been a great blow to Faramir. The brothers, despite their fathers favour for one and dislike of the other, had been close. He paused in his wandering to look out a window that showed one of the walls that had been crushed by the rock of the orcs catapults; there was still much to be done before the great city of Gondor would be as it once was. At least, he thought smiling sadly; Gimli saw to it that the gates were restored. He walked on.

The hallways were empty as they usually were this time of night; rarely did he meet another living soul in his nightly wandering. For long months after Arwen's death he would wander these halls and see nothing but her; drawing on his every memory to bring her to stand at his side as he had always imagined she would. Lately though, since the night of the foreign council, his thoughts were filled less and less with her and more and more with the others who looked to him to lead them and keep them safe.

More and more often, those of the Fellowship were brought to his mind. The wise wizard, the brave and gentle hobbits, the gruff and hardy dwarf, and Legolas who had been his friend many years before they set out to take the Ring to its end. He sighed deeply wishing he had less pride and were able to ask them all to come to him. Truthfully he wished that he had had the courage to go to the Council himself; the message had said that most of those he wished to see would be there.

He longed to go to his father's realm again and feel its soothing peace but he feared that Elrond would see it in his eyes. See that his memories of Undomiel were fading; he did not forget them. It seemed he remembered every breath he had ever taken at her side and yet they were less sharp. They did not feel as strong; they seemed now only to bring him a feeling of contentment that was painfully absent in certain other parts of his remembrances and he went to them less and less. For although he valued his memories of Arwen no less than before that is what they were; memories. To be cherished for certain, but men could not dwell forever in memories and he knew in his heart that Arwen would not want him to. She would wish him to live and he did not believe that she would harbour him any ill feelings for the one he now longed to have at his side.

He sighed, no longer content as he had once been to wander the halls until he was too tired to think and found himself walking towards his chambers. It was early for him to return to them for he always stayed in the antechamber of the throne room, speaking with Faramir until Maeve told him that Saeorii was asleep. He had read there alone until she came in the evenings since Faramir left but this night he had been restless and could not content himself to sit and read of men and their doings whether foul or fair. He was lonely.


Maeve looked down at the timid queen who sat on the pelts at her feet as she deftly twisted the long raven hair into a braid. She knew that Saeorii was capable of doing this but she had begun doing it when the poor elleth was too wounded to reach her hands up to brush her hair and had never stopped. It was the same every night. Despite Saeorii's insistence that she was a good deal older than herself, Maeve could never think of her of anything other than a young child. She still found tears when she thought of what had been done to the poor creature. She fastened the braid and let it lay against the back of the deep velvet robe Saeorii wore over her nightgown.

She reached for the thick book that lay on the floor beside her feet and smiled as Saeorii lay down, pillowing her head on her arm. She had only read a few lines though before the beautiful elf sat up. Someone was coming and she knew instantly who it was. It was the king, for his footsteps were the only ones that did not cause the elleth to tremble with fear, although she certainly was not at ease either. She rose as she called for the king to enter when one of the guards knocked softly on the door with hilt of his sword. She bowed her head slightly and he nodded to her before speaking.

"Are you well tonight, Maeve?"

"Aye, your majesty, thank you" she answered as she watched him glance longingly towards the queen.

Maeve knew now that if there would be anyone to relieve Saeorii's fear it would be the king. He stood hands outstretched, like a child that stretches out their hands to a fawn, hoping to coax it within their reach but never moving forward so fast as to startle it away. She could see the love and compassion in the king's eyes and could think of no other she would rather serve.

"I'll leave you for tonight, my lady, if there's nothing else."


Saeorii felt her pulse quicken slightly as it always did when she was with the king and Maeve was not near. She was silent as Maeve placed the open book in her hands, squeezing her right one; discreetly telling Saeorii she was aware how frightened she was. The king sat down in the chair across from the one Maeve had been sitting in and reached inside his tunic for his pipe. She felt herself relax slightly at its familiar scent, reminding her of Gandalf, as she placed a cloth bookmark in the pages of the thick book.

"Please, do not let my presence keep you from your book," he spoke softly and she could feel him watching her as her cheeks flushed slightly.

"I cannot read it," she told him quietly, "It is written in the common tongue."

She waited for the loud laughter or condemnation for her stupidity but instead she heard him rise from his chair and sit next to her on the floor. She was surprised and lifted her head slightly.

"Forgive me," he spoke so gently that she found herself relaxing further in the absence of the reprimand she had been expecting, "I had forgotten how few of the elves learn to read the common tongue."

She was not sure how to react to his kindness; it was still a thing that was strange to her coming from men. She played with the tassel of the bookmark, slightly uncomfortable, not so much in the silence that had fallen but in his closeness to her. She was surprised when he held out his hands, implying he wished her to give him the book and she did.

"Maeve insisted upon reading it to me. She said that it will explain much of what has gone on while," she stuttered at the reference to her past, and her voice was quieter when she spoke again, "while I was held."

She finished the statement and realized it was the first time she had spoken the words out loud; she had not even spoken them to Gandalf.

"There and Back Again, A Hobbits Tale, by Bilbo Baggins, and The Lord of The Rings, by Frodo Baggins." She was surprised at the deep emotion that had edged his deep voice as he read the last title. "I wondered where this had gotten to," he spoke absently as if he had forgotten she sat beside him. It was this that gave her the courage to speak.

"Do you know of them, my lord?" she asked hesitantly, lest she anger him.


He chuckled softly before he answered her.

"Aye, I know them both quite well actually. Bilbo I met in Rivendell where he has spent the last of his days," he paused, afraid of her reaction to what he would say next, "and Frodo I," he paused again, "I walked with him. A great friend, he was, and still is I hope. I am Strider or Aragorn, whichever you please to call me."

His eyes had never left her since he entered the room but he was surprised when she returned his gaze and though he could see her apprehension, he took great comfort from her sorrowful dark eyes. Her cheeks were slightly coloured telling him that she was aware of how close he sat beside her and to sooth her uneasiness he turned his attention to the book in his hands but did not move away.

He read to her and it seemed he relived it with every well placed word that Frodo had written to describe their journey. He still marvelled at the hobbit's ability to capture their time in Lorien; to make it real even to those who had never been blessed enough to venture into Caras Galadon. The room grew darker as he read and soon only the light of the dying fire lit the pages that had been written with such great care.

She sat beside him, her chin resting on her knees, hugging her legs and as he watched her from the corner of his eye she seemed to relax. The stiff tension of her frame dissipated little by little and was replaced by a comforting grace only held by the elves. Her hands were no longer clenched as if to keep them from shaking. Her head was not bowed as if a great weight was upon her and there was a light in his eyes that he had never seen before. She sighed; it was an easy sigh of contentment like the coo of a dove and he paused as her beauty hit him with such force to leave him breathless.

She turned to him inquiringly and without a reply he continued to read but soon found his words interrupted by yawns. He let the book rest in his lap, covering his mouth as another yawn took him. He was surprised when she reached out and took the book, marking the page and setting it on Maeve's vacant chair. He looked at her, one eyebrow raised, but she would not meet his gaze and instead seemed fascinated with the stars that hung in the dark sky outside the windows.

"You are tired, my lord. You need rest," she answered his unasked question as she stood, straightening the soft waves of fabric that pooled around her.

"I think I will stay here by the fire for a while longer," he told her, wishing to allow her the time to fall into a deep sleep before sharing the bed with her for he knew his presence there would unnerve her and remind her of things that she wished to forget. He resisted the strong urge to rub his tired eyes as he watched her receding silhouette

"Nay, my lord," she reprimanded quietly as she paused at the bedroom door, and he was secretly thrilled that she felt at ease enough with him to do so, although the tightness of her voice did not go unnoticed to him, "you must sleep or you shall be nodding off in tomorrow's council."

"Perhaps you are right," he assented quietly and stood, adding another log to the fire before following her silent footsteps.


Aragorn woke the next morning feeling more rested than he had in months, despite the late hour he had fallen to sleep. He did not stir as he listened to the soft breathing of the sleeping elleth who lay on the opposite side of the bed. The thought of the last evening still brought warmth to his heart and a smile to his lips. He turned carefully onto his back and looked up at the dark fabric that hung around the bed, the only sign of early morning light coming from the window above the surprisingly low headboard.

He turned towards her, unable to resist the opportunity to watch her without her knowing it. He raised himself up on his elbow, leaning his face in the palm of his hand and looked lovingly at the sleeping form of his wife. His wife; he had only lately begun to call her so in his mind and it still seemed strange to him but the thought of it caused a tremor of sheer joy to course through his body.

He noted with sadness that her back was to him and there was as much space between them as the huge bed would allow. She was curled as if to protect herself while she slept. She was so small, especially for an elf, but it added an extra delicateness to her that seemed fitting. He wished that he could hold her against him; his arms wrapped around her, and protect her from any harm. He longed to caress her, to reach out and feel her move into his embrace. He longed for her. She stirred slightly and he sighed, turning over and stepping out onto the cold stone floor knowing soon she would wake and knowing with a certain sadness that she would wake more at ease if he were not there.


Saeorii woke more fully as she sensed him moving outside the thick curtains that surrounded the massive bed. The suns first rays made a pleasantly bright spot on the dark fabric of the blankets and she turned herself towards it. She could see where he had been laying, one pillow tipping precariously towards the floor and somehow felt comforted.

His every action towards her coaxed her to trust him, almost against her will. She loved him; as much as her fears would allow and it seemed that each day her fear of him grew less and less. His kindness towards her last night had surprised her beyond expression and she had found herself slightly sad when she realized how tired he was and knew that he must sleep and therefore stop speaking. The common tongue did not seem nearly so harsh when it was spoken by him, although he always used elvish when speaking to her.

Her elvish ears caught his deep sigh, but it was not one of contentment as it had been the night before as he slipped into slumber; it was of loneliness. It tugged at her heart and she realized how much it must hurt him every time he reached to touch her gently and she flinched or moved away. She wondered how many times she had missed looks of pain or longing because she didn't dare look into his face. She wondered how many times she had missed his silent asking for her comfort unlike he who was always there to comfort her.

She felt hot tears on her cheeks and soon her pillow was damp with silent tears as she listened to him moving about their room, preparing for another day in Council. She shed another tear as the words he had spoken to her about his Council's returned to her. Words of sadness, of fear, of his inadequacies and though she had spoken words of comfort and wisdom she had never had the courage to reach out and truly comfort him. To merely lay her hand on his arm, or caress him and sooth him as one who loved him should; she did not know how. Her knowledge of such things it seemed had been beaten and torn from her by the many blows of her master's hands, feet and whips.

She sat up in bed and wiped away what she told herself would be the last of this mornings tears. She pushed back the warm blankets, shivering for the mornings were still cool in her thin nightgown, and reached for her dark robe that lay across the foot of the bed. Noiselessly she pulled back the drapes at the side of the bed, wrapping in her robes as she stepped into the small silk slippers that waited where she had left them on the floor.

He sat in one of the two chairs that always were set in front of the fireplace, much like in the outer room, leaning heavily on his left arm. She looked closely, for she knew he was unaware that she had stirred and was standing watching him. His strong shoulders were bent with the weight of a kingdom. His face lined with the pain of loss and made slightly haggard by war. His eyes though were what spoke to her most, as it is with elves. His eyes told of the loneliness that he felt despite the fact that he shared these rooms with another; herself, a mere wraith of an elf, a shadow of a once vibrant creature. Perhaps it would be him who could teach her to live again, for already he had taught her to love.

With hesitant steps she walked silently forward and he did not stir; a broken king who sought to heal her pain when his own was still strong within him. She moved to stand behind him, the high back of the chair obstructing her view of his face slightly. She wished to comfort him but was unable to remember how, she remembered though despite her fear of him, the warmth of his hand on her cheek the evening he had come to her, seeking to ease her pain. She had waited for a blow that did not come and had cringed first at his touch until she felt its warmth. She could not calm her fears but their coldness was nothing compared to the warmth his touch spread through her tortured body.

She stretched out her hand towards him, observing despite herself that it shook slightly before she brought it gently to rest on his firm shoulder. He started at her touch but not so much that he pulled away from her hand; he knew it was her for he leaned his back against the chair towards her. The soft sounds of the spring morning drifted quietly through the open window and reminded her of the shady boughs of the trees in Mithlond. It carried to her the scent of the sea and for the first time she felt a slight joy in her heart, a faint image of all they had taken from her. As all elves she felt the wind calling her to raise her voice and enrich its whispers with her light, and she sang a song she had long forgotten and long yearned to hear while darkness and stone were all around her.


He had nearly cried out at the faint brush against his shoulder but had calmed as her sweet scent drifted slowly to him. He did not speak, for fear of frightening her. This was the first time she had ever made to touch him in any way and he was somehow not surprised that it was at a time when he needed it most. For moments they remained this way until he heard it. She sang softly, a song he had often heard in his years among the elves. It was a song of life. Her voice was like all elves and yet it was different; it did not tell of exultant joy and yet it did not tell of the sorrows that drove many elves from these shores. It told of one who knows sorrows so deep that there are no longer tears, and yet there is hope.

To be continued...


I think this has got to be the fastest that I have ever written a chapter this long. It might be a while before the next one though becasue I'm not quite sure what I'm doing for the next chapter of my other story. Oh well, enjoy this one!

fan: Wow. I'm honoured that my story touched you and thank you so much for your kind review. Definately planning on finishing, but I'm not usre as yet how long this ones gonna be. I hope to hear from you again!

Telacontar: lol, Glad to hear that reading my story is important to you. Thanks so much!

Tandriendra, Lady of Mirkwood:I'm glad that you like it, thanks so much!

Shary:Here you are, and I'm glad to hear that you are enjoying my story, I'll update as soon as I've overcome the writers block on my other story and can get back to this one. Thanks and hope to hear from you again.

Estel-Ara:Man, there are just so many ways and times that I can thank everyone but I thank you especially since you've stuck with me from the beginning. It meas a lot to me to hear from you. Thanks.

Karone Evertree:I'm glad you like Faramir too. He's not actually present for a lot of this story but since he's become close to Aragorn he's metioned quite frequently, will play a larger role again later on. Thanks so much for you review and I hope to hear from you again!

Elariel Erestorian: Wow, glad to hear that you think that my story has promise and that you aren't going to give up on me. If you see anything else that needs to be fixed let me know. Thanks!

alibi girl: Your wish is my command! Here's the next chapter and thanks!