Chapter Twenty-Four: Until The End Of My Days
The searing pain of the blade that had ripped through his flesh still lingered throughout the haze of unconsciousness. He knew the blade had gone through his entire body, how it had missed all that was vital to life he did not understand except that he must be in the grace of the One. The time in this place was indefinable for each day was a moment and every moment an eternity of aching life. His body tormented him and taunted him as he struggled to remain upon Arda despite his pain for he remembered the one who waited for him.
He had seen her once, woken to find her at his side, her face marred by tears as she sang to him softly. Whether it had been many days ago or only a moment he was not sure but the sensation of her body pressed against his lingered with him even now. It seemed the miasma of death was lifting and the senses that told him of life were becoming alert once more. Through the fog voices now drifted to him from time to time, the voices of all those most dear to his heart; the soft voices of his brothers and Legolas, the deep quiet voice of Eomer and the strong young voices of Faramir and Ilterrin, the gruff voice of Gimli and the light voice of Eowyn. Yet, there was one voice that he did not know and each time he heard it the pain seemed to lessen.
There, he felt it again: the soft sweetness of the spring breeze across his skin. He was not dead. There was still life in him. With this thought he struggled, fighting through the mists the engulfed him and hastening towards life once more. He felt the presence of another beside him and he was suddenly acutely aware of the warmth of the sun upon his face. Slowly, he moved his head slightly, feeling the dull ache intensify for a moment before dying away. He breathed deeply as his wound would allow, smelling the sweetness of green things growing, tainted by the sharpness of the sea from the warm south. Here in the darkness it seemed all his senses were stronger but still he longed to leave this place behind, never to return to it.
Finally, he opened his eyes, blinded by the sun for a moment and squinting as he tried to gain his bearings and determine where exactly he was. He slowly became aware again of the presence of another and turned his head to the side, away from the light of the day, to see a formidable figure sitting beside him, his face a mask of indifference as he watched Aragorn with dark and steady eyes.
"Where am I," he asked, his voice weak even to his own ears.
"You are in Gondor, young King," the figure answered as Aragorn's eyes began to focus enough to distinguish elven features. He chuckled carefully and looked up at the elf.
"I am no longer young by measure of my people," he answered, but there was wariness in the elf that made him slightly uneasy.
"Yet, to me you are still young," the elf responded, his tone soft yet unforgiving and Aragorn wondered what made him so.
"How long has it been since I last woke," he questioned, the soft sound of the curtains upon the floor of stone bringing his attention again to the golden sun.
"Nearly four weeks."
"How can that be," he wondered to himself, yet the elf replied nonetheless.
"I have given you medicine to make you sleep for your brothers warned me that you would not rest if I did not and you have been in great need of rest."
Silmarn watched the man intently, looking for any fault that would give him cause to take his daughter from this city. Although he had been told much of the greatness of this man Elessar, once called Aragorn, a mere ranger of the north for nearly ninety years before he at last became what he was born to be, he still could not trust a man who had married his daughter against her will, or at the very least at a time when her will was not her own. Yet, he saw nothing in this man who lay, watching the white clouds skimming across the blue sky, which warned of something unkind or treacherous.
"I thank you, my friend," the man stated softly, turning his silver eyes to Silmarn and in them Silmarn saw elven light as he had never beheld in the eyes of a moral as the man smiled at him kindly.
Silmarn nodded stiffly, caught off guard by the man's open gentleness and beginning to understand that all that had been told to him of this man was true. For long moments he did not speak, it was Elessar who broke the silence between them.
"What is that sound," the man asked, his voice distant, his eyes closed as he smiled peacefully.
Silmarn looked up, wondering what the man meant and listening closely. Then he heard it, surprised that the man had heard it before him.
"Laughter," he answered quietly, watching as the man breathed deeply and then turned to Silmarn.
"Help me stand," the man asked, his eyes pleading so that Silmarn could not seem to deny his request though he knew he must.
"You are too weak," he reminded the king who shook his head vehemently.
"Nay, I know my own strength, please, help me stand," Elessar asked again more forcibly.
Silmarn stared at the man a moment before at last nodding his assent wordlessly. Already the man was raising himself up on his arms, and Silmarn put a strong arm around the broad shoulders that heaved with strength even now after a month in bed. The man swung his legs out over the side of the bed and then sat for a moment to steady himself before easing his feet onto the stone floor. With one hand on Silmarn's arm and the other braced against the bedpost the man rose to his feet, swaying for a moment before standing still.
"Where is it you wish to go," he inquired as the king seemed to become more sure of his strength and made his way toward the end of the bed.
"Just to the window," the man assured him, his voice tight with discomfort.
Silmarn followed, his arms ever-ready to catch the stubborn king but the king did not fall, did not even falter as he walked with steady steps to the large window that had been opened that morning to let in the fresher air. He stood back slightly, watching the man, wondering what he was thinking of as he stood, watching the city below.
"The wind speaks of her joy, can you not hear it," the man whispered reverently and Silmarn was struck with the realization that he had not.
This man, this mortal, who had once raised his hand against his daughter, was now closer to her in thought and in spirit than he himself, her own father. Elessar let his weight rest against the stone wall as he leaned his head against the window frame and Silmarn did not miss the expression of delight etched into the man's features at the wind's whisperings of his daughter. He felt suddenly a great sorrow come upon him, like the mighty waves of the ocean upon the sandy shores for he knew, with great certainty, that his daughter would never leave this place.
He had watched her in past days as she sat next to her husband, holding his hand and singing to him tenderly. Perhaps there had been a time when she had feared him, had not loved him, but that time had passed. Despite the sorrow and pain that hid in the depths of her shady eyes, there was a joy and a light, as he had never seen in her before. She had come to these shores and learned of pain, death and sorrow and had learned to feel joy in spite of these things, which perhaps made joy all the more special.
"Do you love her," he asked quietly, watching as the man turned to him, not doubting that the man would know of whom he spoke.
"You did not know me before, King Silmarn," the man began and he was astounded that the man knew his name, for he had not told it to him. "You did not know me before your daughter found me, after the death of Arwen. You do not know how empty and broken I was nor how indifferent I had become to life and the lives of my people. Your daughter came to me, though she feared me above all things. She brought me hope, love and a reason to live. Through her sorrow, she brought an end to mine and reminded me how to laugh, how to love, how to hope.
"Do I love her? I love her above all other things and would give my kingdom if it meant I could take away her fear and erase the pain that has been felt by her. Yet, there is naught I can do to change the past and so I only pray that she might find peace here with me for what days are gifted to me, for she is my most precious treasure. I shall love her always, until the end of my days."
Silmarn did not doubt Elessar's words as the king of men looked to him for an answer. He felt pride to know that his daughter had wed such a man, to know this man was his son. He did not move beneath the true gaze of silver eyes but stood, listening to the wind, to the sound of laughter that had stirred life within the man before him. He saw anxiousness in the king and realized that he had not spoken. Noiselessly, he reached out and drew Elessar into his strong arms, feeling the man stiffen in surprise for a moment before returning his embrace.
"May your life with my daughter be blessed," he whispered when at last he could speak, "you will be ever in my heart, my son."
He released Elessar, the man turning once more to gaze out the window as if hoping to catch a glimpse of the one whose laughter had awoken him. He watched closely as the man ran a calloused palm across the white strips of cloth that were bound tightly around his chest, testing for pain as his eyes grew more focused. Suddenly, he turned to Silmarn, startling the elf slightly as the man spoke firmly.
"Take me to her."
"What do you mean," he asked, although he had already guessed what the man desired.
"Take me to Carynthiel, please," the man implored, his eyes bright with longing. "I will return quickly if only I might see her for just a moment, just to know that she is here, within my city, safe and well."
Silmarn turned, wondering just how strong this young king believed himself to be, having just stood for the first time in a month. However, despite his doubts, his heart urged him to allow it. He reached for the loose shirt and light boots of elven make that sat upon the chair nearby and handed them to Elessar who smiled at him widely, his argent eyes bright with delight at the thought of seeing his beloved again.
Many of those who had come for the Foreign Council, stood watching those who ran upon the grass where the children had been brought as a safe place for them with so many travellers galloping through the streets. To these men of distant lands, the sight before them was strange. For the children to have been brought to this honoured place was strange, but beyond their understanding was the sight of those who ran, laughed and played with them. Their eyes followed the King of Rohan, who knelt on all fours, two small boys laughing riotously as he shook them about. Nearby, the Steward of Gondor, Prince of Ithilien, raced about as the children chased him, one of whom rode upon the shoulders of young Prince Ilterrin. The stout dwarf, sat perched upon the edge of the fountain, regaling many children with tales of riches deep beneath the earth. The Lady Eowyn sat, a small girl in her lap as she wove a bright green ribbon through the child's dark hair. The three elves, played tag with an energy that was envied by those who watched, while the children shouted and called after them excitedly.
Most enchanting though, was the Lady of the White City who ran with the three elves as a child ducked behind her dress, trying to escape the grasp of one of the son's of Elrond. Her pale face was coloured by the cool breeze, her shadowy eyes lit with the light of the stars as her laughter rippled like a cool brook and hung upon the wind like the morning mists upon the mountains. She wore a dress of pale blue, tight around her breasts and then falling loosely about the rest of her body, its long flowing sleeves concealing her slender hands from sight. She was radiant and left those who watched her speechless.
They watched, a feeling of peace descending upon them that they did not fully understand, contented smiles upon their faces and laughter in their own hearts. Still, all were startled at the appearance of a tall man, dressed in nothing more than a loose navy shirt, white breeches, a pair of boots and a belt from which hung a sword. His carriage spoke of nobility and he walked as if in a dream toward the children who paused in their games at the sight of him. For a moment they seemed unsure of themselves, the adults with them looking upon the man in awe as the children rushed toward him.
The man smiled, his silver eyes dancing as he opened his arms wide to the children who came to him, each laughing, smiling and shouting his name. Elessar! Elessar! It was then those who watched knew who the man was and all felt strange to see the king who had nearly died, surrounded by children who hugged him and called him by name. This was no way for a king to be treated and yet, the king seemed to be ecstatic, calling each child by name and embracing each one before standing to face the nobles who watched him, gladness written plainly upon their features. At last the children pulled back and he waded through them to the cool green grass where those who loved him most stood waiting.
Closest to him was Eomer, who bowed slightly as the King approached before Elessar embraced the younger man fiercely. Next was Eowyn who, like her brother, bowed before she reached up and gently kissed his cheek, her face wet with tears. His elven brothers and Legolas pulled him gently to them and he sighed deeply, their presence comforting as they whispered to him in the tongue of the Eldar. Ilterrin bowed, more deeply than the others for it seemed of those gathered here, he knew the young prince the least and he nodded, knowing the prince expected, nor desired anything more. He turned to where the others stood, watching him. Faramir's face lit with elation as the King clasped the man's forearm and then drew him close, remembering how Faramir, son of Denethor had stood by him through all the darkness of the past. Beside him was Gimli who simply nodded and grinned, his teeth clenching a pipe of weed from the Shire.
It was then his heart stopped, his breath caught and it seemed as if the world would fall away. His knees grew weak and his eyes filled with tears yet it was not from pain but rapture unlike anything he had ever felt for the child she carried could no longer be hidden beneath the folds of silk that engulfed her slight form. At last he walked toward her, noticing her anxiousness and the hint of fear in her dark eyes as he did so. He reached out and rested the palm of his hand against her pale cheek, revelling in the smoothness of her skin beneath his hand.
She watched, her heart racing within her as he drew nearer and nearer, her mind unable to believe what her heart told her was true. He was alive! He was here, among his people once more, where he belonged. He turned at last toward her and she felt the ticklish touch from the blossoms of the White Tree that danced gently behind her in the light morning breeze. She smiled shyly, as if somehow things had changed and as she laid her hand upon her swollen stomach she remembered that they had. She had been so excited about the baby until this moment: what would he think? Did he even want a child now? Her stomach was filled with hundreds of velvet-winged butterflies that refused to be still as he walked closer and closer towards her. She felt tears in her eyes as he reached out with his large hand and cupped the side of her face. For the first time in many long months, she trembled beneath his touch.
"Melleth," he asked softly, as he dropped his hand instantly aware of her fear and trying to understand why he had been the cause of it.
Timidly, she looked up at him, fearing she would see the scorn that had so often been upon the face of her masters but her heart melted when she saw instead his tender smile and tears. After so long she should have known that he would not condemn her; that he would remain understanding and gentle as he had always been. He sensed the lessening of her fear and drew her close carefully and she felt the child stir within her as she leaned against her husband. She was slightly startled when he leaned forward, burying his face against her neck, breathing deeply as if starving for air and she could not help but laugh for his beard tickled her skin as he kissed the nape of her neck lightly.
He chuckled quietly, secretly elated by her laughter before pulling away so that he could see her endless eyes, sad to find doubt in them.
"You are glad then," she whispered and he felt a fool for not having thought that she might ever doubt his desire to have his child.
"Am I glad," he exclaimed and she cried out in surprise as she felt a surge of strength run through him and he lifted her gently off her feet, spinning her round and round, laughing from sheer pleasure as she placed her hands upon his broad shoulders to steady herself before at last he set her down again. "I have never been more glad of anything, Melleth."
She smiled at his assurance, holding his gaze and he watched with delight as her eyes shone and the doubt left her fair features. She stretched her hand up and stroked the side of his face lovingly before gathering her courage and drawing him close to her, brushing her lips against his. Laughter tickled her throat as he deftly drew her nearer and parted her lips, allowing him to taste her. Her cheeks burned crimson as she shyly satisfied his hunger for her and he felt young once more, all shadows of pain vanishing, as he tasted her again. She was startled by the great cheer of the crowd of people that had gathered here, word of the King's return having quickly spread to the city below. Her cheeks were hot as he gently pulled away, his eyes telling her it was against his heart's desire to do so.
Her eyes followed his movements as he reached past her and carefully took one of the white blossoms from the tree behind her. He tucked the delicate blossom behind her ear and grinned, before leaning down to taste her once more. She shivered slightly at the sensation of his hand running through her hair, her past loneliness seeming stronger now that he stood with her. At last he released her and his eyes danced as she looked up at the one who had become her strength, her protector, her friend, her lover and knew that she was home.
"Long live, King Elessar! Long live, Queen Carynthiel!" cried Legolas, Eomer taking up the cry behind him and soon the citadel rang with the voices of the city, echoing across the plains.
She smiled up at Elessar who kissed her forehead gently before taking her hand and guiding her to face those who cheered. She felt a tremor of fear at the sight of so many people but caught among them faces she knew, no longer did the faces of her masters haunt her here. She followed Elessar as he led her closer to them, her mind telling her to fear men but her heart telling her she was safe with the one she loved nearby.
"Long live, King Elessar! Long live, Queen Carynthiel!"
These were the shouts that awoke King Reyson as he half walked and was half carried by those who now held him. He opened his eyes, startled to find himself in a city of white stone as he shifted his arms, which ached from the cords that bound him. Again, he struggled to walk on his own, looking to those who guarded him and sensing their malice. He could not blame them after all he had done. Through the fog of his fever and pain something nagged at him, just beyond his reach as the voices of the crowd grew louder and he felt the pressing of bodies surging forward around him. The city was alive.
He had spent the past weeks, held in a prison in Osgilioth by the Rangers of Ithilien. Only now was he being brought to the White City; his judgement was at hand. He sighed, which brought on a pained cough and his body shook from the effort. He was old. His days had passed. He only prayed that his son would be a wiser man. The wide steps of white stone seemed an insurmountable challenge but he was not made to face it alone. The two rangers closest to him took his arms and carried him up the last steps where he could see that the crowd of people had gathered. He knew only from tales that this was Minas Tirith. He wondered what it would have been like to come to this city under different circumstances, to ride through its streets towards the tower and look out across the plains. He would never know.
The crowd's cries were silenced at the sight of him and all parted that he and those who brought him might pass unhindered. By the time they had reached the front of the crowds he could hear the flowing of the fountain that stood beneath the Tree of Arnor. The rangers let go of him and immediately he fell to his knees, unable to stand any longer. Before him loomed the mighty figure of the King of Rohan, beside whom stood the Steward of Gondor, Denethor's son and another younger man he did not know.
"Who is this and why have you brought him to this place," demanded the Rohirric king, his voice deep and strong.
"This is the traitor, King Reyson of the Haradrim. He is the one responsible for the war and is the betrayer of his Majesty, King Elessar," answered one of the rangers and Reyson flinched at the rage in the man's voice.
He looked up at the King of Rohan who glared at him with disgust but it was the Steward who strode forward, sword drawn, his eyes set in pained anguish. Reyson did not turn away or try to flee but instead bowed his head, knowing that death would be painless.
"Faramir, no," commanded a rich voice that was strange to him but it stayed the Steward's hand though his eyes still smouldered with heated fire.
His eyes looked to his judges but they were no longer watching him. Instead they had moved aside and knelt low on one knee. Reyson felt his stomach lurch and his heart stop as he realized to whom they paid tribute. Behind him, he heard the rustling of cloth like a soft rushing of air passing over the grasses in late summer near the harvest and knew that all behind him had knelt as well. The rangers beside him stood straight, their eyes wide and he looked with them.
He could not understand; this man should have died. He had seen the blood for himself, seen the pain and seen the lifeless form cradled in the arms of the Lady of the White City. He was not dressed as the king Reyson knew him to be, but he knew none could doubt it for there was a presence about the younger man unlike anything he had ever felt before. His grey eyes were strangely kind despite his silent strength and in his hand he held the Sword, which shone like silver flame in the brightness of the morning sun. Beside him walked the beautiful lady whom he had seen upon the field that day so long ago, her beauty still startling, her eyes darkened with pity. Though she was great with child, she moved with a grace unknown to the races of men and he could not help but gaze at her as she watched him shyly, obviously remembering him.
His eyes returned to the great king who stood before him, Reyson felt suddenly very small for there was a strange ageless wisdom that seemed to cloak the mere man who stood before him. At last he could stand the silence no more and looked up at the King, his eyes blinded by tears.
"Forgive me, King Elessar for what I have done. I was wrong. Let your servant kill me as he so desires for it is a fate unworthy of me that I might have an honourable end."
He bowed his head, waiting with a strange sense of peace for the blow that did not come. Instead came the words of the king, soft yet resonating like the rumbling of thunder so that he was sure all present could hear.
"Who am I to judge the death of a man? For I am not without flaw or fault and my past speaks clearly that I am not perfect. Many who live deserve to die, but perhaps it is they who know best to do with the time that is given to them. No, I will not condemn you this day nor shall any other here. You are an honest man, King Reyson, you have my peace."
Reyson looked up at the King of Gondor in awe, noticing for the first time the three elves that stood behind him and was startled by the King's likeness to them. He was surprised when the Lady left the side of the King and walked slowly toward him, as if she were afraid of him. Carefully, she knelt in front of him and reached out her small hand, laying it against his cheek. He closed his eyes, sighing at the sensation for her hand was cool like water from a clear spring in wintertime.
"Let him be freed," the King commanded from where he stood behind his wife, watching tenderly, his face made less stern by the gentle smile there.
He looked to the gentle lady as her husband, the King of all Men, knelt down and cut the bonds that held him.
"Come my friend, you are weary. Rest in my halls until your strength has returned to you. No more shall we speak until you so desire," he looked up at the King but found that two of the elves, identical in feature and in gentleness, were helping him to stand.
He allowed himself to be led toward the palace but turned suddenly and looked back toward the King who knelt where Reyson had left him, his wife held lovingly against his chest. He smiled for the first time in many days, knowing that this king was greater than any other. He knew now the light he had seen in the king, for this man was more of the First Born than of Men. Indeed, the King of Gondor had returned to his people and great would be his kingdom, greater than any other kingdom of men within the recollection of men or elves.
To be continued…
Alright, sadly, there are only two more chapters of this story and then we must begin again. I have three, perhaps four, Third Age AU stories for Aragorn, revolving around the Tolkien timelines, although some will, when I am finished, be very different through different characters. One I really mess with the timeline...another has a Haradrim...another...Aragorn is not a member of the Fellowship...and then I have one more Fourth Age AU. I am thinking at least one Third Age before I do my last Fourth Age...do you agree...? Let me know!
Sierra
