Chapter Sixty-Three

~ Aragorn ~
Silently, I entered the citadel throne room where – just a few hours ago – Estel and Eldarion had warned me against the very move I was going to now make. At my side, I carried the sword of Elendil. On my face, I carried the determination born of years of watching people suffer under Sauron. And in my heart, I carried the last grain of hope for my people, for my friends . . . and for my Arwen.

In one quick movement, I unwrapped the palantír.

The Eye of Sauron, furious at being entrapped in darkness, blazed at once.

I grasped it, blinking away the sudden fear that had bloomed with the Eye's fury, and lifted it to eye level. This was going to be done on my terms and my terms only. I was in charge, not Sauron, and I would not yield that advantage.

"Long have you hunted me. Long have I eluded you. No more."

I pulled the sword of Elendil up, revealing it in all of its glory, re-forged with all the skills Imladris could bring to bear.

"Behold the sword of Elendil."

The Eye hissed, recoiling in a way against the sight. This would be the confirmation the Dark Lord sought to my identity, for only the true heir of Isildur could wield this. And with the power Lord Elrond had forged into the sword, no doubt the Eye – even so far away – found its presence repulsive, for the sword combined the best of the races who sought to oppose it.

"Elessar," it whispered, hate in its tone.

I felt like grinning.

Now, it would feel fear.

Now, it would know hatred.

Now, it would realize that its days were coming to an end.

And I – along with what remained of the Fellowship of the Ring – would help bring about that final, fatal, inevitable end.

The Eye shifted, blurring into the sight of the armor-clad Dark Lord as he must have appeared in the Elder Days. He stood upright, clad in darkness, the Ring burning a molten gold on his finger and a staff of power in his hands. The aura of fear and darkness and power surrounded him, and I got the impression that he would be sneering at me if he had a face with which to look at me. He raised one hand, the hand with the One Ring, imperiously – almost lazily – and vanished.

Another image appeared.

Arwen.

As I watched, horrified, her breath left her . . . and no breath returned.

I knew at once that she was dead.

Without thinking, without realizing, without planning, I dropped the palantír.

The Eye burned, and as it did, it laughed.

I stared at the image of Arwen, dead, unable to move, unable to think, unable to breathe. She couldn't die – she just couldn't die. She was the whole reason for me to do this, to present myself as the heir of Isildur, to be ready to accept the throne of Gondor. She was my whole existence pratically.

The Eye's laughter resounded throughout the chamber.

Then I realized that the laughter was really in my head. No one else could hear the torment but me, but I knew the image of Arwen was seared into my eyes.

Perhaps I could never be rid of it.

I felt the overwhelming need to breathe, to move, to cover up the palantír and run far, far, far away. My business was done. Sauron had seen me, and no doubt he would take the bait – finally.

But the power of the Eye was too strong, and its hold over me stronger still.

Dimply, part of my wondered if this was why Eldarion had been so vocal in his opposition of this action.

Then the Eye vanished suddenly, and the laughter cut off.

"~My lord Aragorn? Are you all right?~"

~ Tinúviel ~
The play of gold-red-orange light in the corridor made me nervous. It looked like fire, but there should be none in the main citadel. . . Especially at night.

With quick, gliding footsteps, I hurried down the corridor. I knew the sight I must have made – hair blowing about me, clad in only a shawl and dress, nearly running as I moved. But then again, very few would have been able to notice. I was more gifted with beauty than any other Elven attribute, but it didn't mean I had not gained the other attributes as well, such as swiftness.

I entered the main room in time to see someone stagger backwards from the source of the fire light.

Aragorn.

And the source was the palantír.

Without even thinking, I ran forward and seized the dark cloth Mithrandir had used to cover up the palantír and tossed it on to the Eye before it could hurt anything else.

Aragorn was kneeling on the floor, the sword having clattered to the ground in front of him, and his hands covered his face as his shoulders heaved with each unsteady breath, recovering from whatever Sauron had done to him.

Carefully, I knelt beside him.

"~My lord Aragorn? Are you all right?~"

He raised his head slowly, his eyes slowly calming down. "~Tinúviel,~" he said, as though he was at once surprised and not surprised.

"~Are you all right?~" I repeated.

He sighed. "~Do you know what I have done?~"

I pursed my lips. My sister had filled me in on the confrontation between my brother and Aragorn shortly after the council had been held. I had frowned at my brother's outburst; but then again, I wasn't exactly surprised. My brother felt a very strong loyalty to Aragorn, as his chieftain, as his King, and as his ancestor. He thought it his duty to protect Aragorn no matter what, even at the cost of his life.

Even if it meant arguing with him.

"~I see you do.~"

Shyly, I admitted, "~Estel told me about what transpired between you . . . and my brother. May I ask what prompted you to make this move?~"

He eyed me as though he didn't quite know what to make of my question, as if he wasn't sure whether I was simply curious or being accusatory and sarcastic. I waited patiently; I wanted to hear his reasons firsthand before I judged who was really at fault.

"~I . . . I suppose I wasn't really thinking clearly,~" he confessed in a rush. "~But I knew that our trick – to draw Sauron away and occupy his attention to give Frodo and Sam time – would need bait. And I thought, what better to bait him than the heir of Isildur? He has hunted me for so long, no doubt he would definitely take the bait.~"

"~Hmm.~" I crossed my arms, thinking. "~He did, didn't he?~"

Aragorn frowned; that worried me.

"~I don't know. For a moment, I was sure I had him, but then . . . then I wasn't so sure.~"

I pressed my fingers against the cold Evenstar pendant on my neck. I knew the story just as well as my sister and brother did. I knew what he had done. And I knew what had happened as a result.

"~He showed you Arwen, didn't he?~" I asked quietly.

He stared at me. "~How – How – Ah. I forget easily, it seems, how well you know your . . . history.~"

I nodded slowly.

"~Will it work?~" he inquired.

"~Define that.~"

"~Will it give Sam and Frodo the time they need? Will I really be enough to draw the power of the Eye? Will this really . . . work?~"

I considered his questions – considered how to answer, really. I knew the answers. By heart, in fact. I could even most likely recite the exact way the texts had phrased it. But that was most likely not what Aragorn needed – to hear or to know.

Finally, I said carefully, "~Think, my lord. Of what bloodline does my family descend?~"

He looked at me, confused.

Then the answer sunk in, and his shoulders slumped in relaxation. "~Of course,~" he murmured. Then he lifted his eyes to me. "~Forgive me, Tinúviel; I am afraid that at present my mind is not focused on what it needs to be. There is much that needs my attention.~"

He stood, giving me a hand to help me before he bent down to retrieve his sword. He sheathed it quickly, and I saw his fingers press gently against the Evenstar he bore himself. The silence filled the room as we moved to leave, for him to return to his friends and for I to return to my family, for one last night of peace before the final battle erupted.

Still . . . silence was unnerving.

"~You really love her, don't you?~" I murmured. It was a stupid question, but . . .

Aragorn sighed. "~I have hope yet that she leaves for Valinor,~" he said soberly by way of reply. "~I would that she would return to her family and her people than to waste away her beauty here, where all would end in grief and death.~"

I nodded. "~You love her enough to want her to go.~"

His eyes flashed to me. "~As you do Haldir.~"

I skidded to a stop, startled. "You know?" I demanded, too surprised to speak in Elvish – something I had thought only my brother and sister would fall prey to.

Aragorn laughed. "~Oh, Tinúviel,~" he chided. "~Of course I know. It was written all over your face when Haldir departed from Edoras. I could see it. And I am sure I was not the only one; your feelings for him are strong, and it shows. And, of course, his feelings for you were just as strong – I have no doubt he shall continue to sing your praises for centuries to come, if not eons.~"

"~Centuries,~" I murmured through numb lips.

He reached out and placed his hand on my shoulder. "~I have suffered the same fate as you,~" he said solemnly. "~If you will take my advice, Tinúviel, I would advise you to remember – but do not regret. Regret brings sorrow, and only sorrow, and you cannot live with eyes clouded with sorrow.~"

I met his eyes, and saw the depths of his sincerity. Aragorn and I were not close; Eldarion had Aragorn and Estel had Legolas, but I did not have anyone. But that didn't mean we didn't care for each other. And Aragorn had seen in me the suffering he had once suffered, and now he offered the only comfort he possibly could. It was his gift to me, the evidence of the bond of blood and family between us, and I welcomed it.

"~Thank you, my lord,~" I said. "~I will always remember your words.~"

He smiled. "~Good. It is the only thanks I can give you for what you have done for my people.~"

"~Our people,~" I corrected softly.

Aragorn grinned and inclined his head. "~Good night, my lady.~"

He was halfway down the hall before I remembered.

"~My lord Aragorn!~"

He turned. "~Yes?~"

"~You do realize . . . that my family's presence . . . may affect the way things turn out?~" I said slowly. I meant it to be a statement, but it came out as more of a question than anything.

Aragorn frowned. "~No, I had not.~" He sighed. "~I guess we will find out in two days' time, then.~"

Two days' time. Yes. And then we will match the power of the line of the Peredhel against the might of Sauron, and we will see who triumphs. For even if my family falls, more will come – and eventually, Sauron will fall, and the Ring will be destroyed, and the darkness will be vanquished. And then . . . And then the fate of my family will rest in the hands of the Valar, as is proper. Whether it be Manwë or Mandos matters not – only the victory for our people.

So I smiled, and curtsied, and agreed, "~In two days' time, my lord.~"

A/N: For anyone confused by that last bit, there – Manwë is the King of the Valar, and Mandos is the Lord of the Halls of Mandos, where the souls of the newly dead go (Elven or Men). In other words, if they survive, they would be subject to the rule of Manwë; if they die, their fate will lie in the hands of Mandos. Hope that clears up any confusion!