CHAPTER 31) A TIME FOR HOPE

Aragorn spent the night in his chamber, the first time he had done so since arriving back at the White Tower. He decided that his presence would be deemed unwelcome by the Mirkwood healers if he slept in the chair he had placed beside Legolas' bed for that purpose. Yet even in the safety of his own bed, the moment he closed his eyes, the nightmares began.

He had been plagued by haunting dreams at many stages throughout his life, but never before as vivid and horrifying as those in recent weeks. They were not recurring, except in their continual presence, but rather flashed and changed and morphed constantly, an endless stream of blood and guilt and fear that made him thrash and tangle amidst the sheets until Arwen managed to shake him awake, hushing and comforting him like one would a child.

That was the other reason that Aragorn had avoided their chamber – he did not want to disturb her sleep, when it was already so disrupted due to her condition. Every day the child kicked more firmly, a sure sign, in the words of the palace nurses, that he or she was very nearly ready to enter the world.

He had not had much opportunity to ponder this, considering recent events, but when he did, the idea terrified him. It was not merely his own incompetence that scared him. Aragorn knew that he was not yet ready to become a father – this he had realized with utter assurance. But more pressing were the uncertainties.

Would the baby be put at risk just as Legolas had been? Would he be twisted and mangled carelessly, or stepped on, as one would an ant in pursuit of a larger goal? Would his child become just another pawn to be bartered over, another piece of bait, another harmless soul to be swept aside in the never-ending rush to seek vengeance for wrongdoings that were none but his own?

Almost surely the answers to these queries were the same: undoubtedly, yes. Above all else a single idea soared, unwilling to be dismissed no matter how hard he tried to subdue it.

Do I even want my child to be born into a world with such desolation and pain and anguish as this?

But it was too late – far too late, in fact. Arwen was joyously excited for motherhood, a fact which glowed in her face with such brightness that Aragorn could not possibly voice his worries with her, for fear that he would crush the last pure, good thing left in all these lands. It was comforting, perhaps, to realize that even if he was not ready to become a father, Arwen at least was ready to become a perfect mother.

Aragorn watched her chest rise and fall in motions as gentle as the flutter of a woodland bird's wings, the beginnings of the morning's sunlight lighting up her face, encircling her like a halo. She looked so enviously at peace that he took several lingering moments to carefully creep from the bed, so as not to disturb her sleep. He dressed silently and left the chamber, drawing the door shut behind him with as little a noise as could be managed.

His swift footsteps carried him straight to the infirmary, which he found blissfully quiet and, even more blessedly, empty. He quietly strode across to Legolas' bedside, scanning his body for signs of improvement in his condition. Perhaps it was merely his imagination, but it seemed to Aragorn that he breathed a little easier – the coughing draught must have served its purpose after all, he thought.

Despite this, he was far from looking well; many of his small cuts and bruises lingered stubbornly, and he was as pale as freshly fallen snow. He also had about him a sort of gauntness and frailty, perhaps no more than a perceived effect of his vulnerability. Aragorn knew he had always been very slender, but with his tunics and armor alike stripped away, he seemed, for the first time, truly small.

"Oh, Aragorn, it is you!" called a pleasant voice, making him whip around in search of its source. "I thought I heard footsteps."

Miluiel swiftly stuck her head out from behind a screen on the far side of the hall, appearing to him fully a moment later, burdened with bandages piled high in her arms.

"I am sorry to interrupt." Aragorn stated apologetically. He strode forwards, motioning for himself to assist her, but she flatly refused, instead awkwardly carrying the stack back to the small side table beside his bed and discarding the goods.

"You are no interruption." she answered belatedly. "I was merely rebinding a few of his wounds."

"It is very early for such a task." Aragorn pointed out, tone ever so slightly accusatory.

"Oh, yes, well, I seldom have opportunity to sleep beyond the sun, and so I am not in the habit of it." she replied quickly, not meeting his eye as she fiddled with a rolled bandage.

"Miluiel, have you slept?"

"Slept?" she repeated, blue eyes wide with feigned innocence. "Oh, yes, I managed a few hours."

Aragorn glared at her.

He had ordered that chambers be prepared for each of their Elven guests, Thranduil of course included, and that they be given as much privacy as they desired, and as much time to rest from their journey as they needed. He should have suspected that she would decline these offers.

Aragorn smiled crookedly, though it contained little humor. "For one of the Fair Folk, you lie through your teeth."

Her face fell and she shivered, not from the cold, he knew, but from distress – a mannerism he had observed in no other people but the Elves.

"I could not possibly rest while he is in pain." she stated defensively. "Besides, I do not need sleep like you mortals do – "

"And as valid as that may be, you are freshly arrived from a three-day journey on horseback. You need to rest." He stated firmly. "I will watch him – no harm shall come to him while you sleep, I vow it."

Her mouth opened as though to protest, but before she could speak, he added:

"As the lord and king of these halls, I would consider it a personal insult were you not to embrace our gestures of hospitality."

"Then, king or nay, insult you I will, for I will not leave his side." she protested. "I do not mean to be stubborn, nor troublesome, but I will not be able to rest in any case unless I know that he is well."

Despite the circumstance, Aragorn was impressed by her readiness to contradict him. He could see behind her stoic façade a streak of fear – he knew that she was no doubt imagining her own king's wrath, were he to be disobeyed directly – and its presence made her bravery seem the greater.

This was a trait he was most familiar with, one that he himself had gained from his years of living among the Elven people – not only a strong sense of duty, but also of astounding loyalty. For Legolas' kindred, bonds made were bonds kept, as long as the sands of time ran. Where Men were faceted and acted unpredictably and erratically, the Elves were, in every sense of the word, pure. There was no place for the word betrayal in their lexicon. Their hearts were set as surely as a compass is set towards the north, and their intentions, be they good or evil, were as clear as a halcyon sea. There was no sense of deception or concealment in their nature as there was with Men, and Aragorn beheld all of these qualities quite transparently in the slight figure standing before him.

"You would defy the commands of a king?"

"I would."

Aragorn's face softened. "You are a worthy friend of Legolas' indeed."

Her eyes gained a proud spark, but she bowed her head gracefully to accept the compliment – though she was fierce and strong of heart, she was still an Elf, and proper, elegant manner ruled their actions out of habit if nothing else.

"If you will not leave him, then at least do me the favor of resting your feet." Aragorn requested, indicating the chair he had slept in for as long as Legolas had been injured. She glanced across at it and then back at him, as if inferring this fact, before she nodded appreciatively and sat down.

Aragorn removed his attention from her, casting it instead back to Legolas. The morning sun had risen now, enough that it swept through the window, lighting up his silvery-blond hair so that it looked like spun gold. He seemed at peace in the warmth of the sunlight; he could almost be sleeping. Aragorn stepped across to the windowsill and unlatched the fixing, casting the glass open to lure in the calm breeze.

"It may be too soon to say such a thing, Aragorn," Miluiel began. "But… I believe the worst may be over."

Her eyes were wide and full of earnest, and but his questioning gaze implored a further response.

"Listen to his breathing." she instructed, getting to her feet and striding to join him. "It is far more peaceful, is it not?"

Aragorn shrugged noncommittally.

"Look at him, Aragorn - his pain has subsided, his wounds are beginning to heal, his temperature is dropping!" she exclaimed, taking him by surprise as she seized his hand and pressed it to the Elf's forehead; it was warm, but no longer feverish. "In just a day, he has improved from the verge of death to the verge of life. You must not underestimate this progress, Aragorn."

"I do not wish to. I promise you, I want nothing more than to note his improvement." he replied. "I just cannot afford to gain hope again, and have it shattered. I cannot have that happen. I am not able to face that once more."

The Elf-woman's face softened pityingly.

"I understand your motives, Aragorn, but it is time to allow for hope."

"Would you give your own king the same advice?" Aragorn asked sharply.

"Nay, I would not, for it would be in vain. King Thranduil's hope was forsaken many, many years ago." she answered, smiling sadly. "But you are yet young, and strong, and full of life. You can afford a little faith."

"Is that why he is not here?" Aragorn asked, articulating the thought that been running through his head since the moment he entered the room – why were his friends, but not his father, waiting by his sickbed?

"Ay, that is why. He has no hope left in him. He fears that Legolas will not awaken, and cannot face him in case it turns to truth." Miluiel stated solemnly.

"What happened to him, to leave him so desolate?" Aragorn asked, frowning slightly.

She shook her head firmly. "It is not my place to tell you. Perhaps you will find out, in due time. But stories of such sorrow should only be told by those they belong to."

"And that is not you."

"No."

There was the sound of creaking hinges, and the doors to the infirmary swung open to reveal an anxious-looking Faramir.

"My lord, I am sorry to disrupt you, but I require your signature on several documents for the north-western dignitaries." he requested apologetically.

Aragorn felt a pang of guilt as he noted the overburdened, tired state his steward was in. In recent weeks he had been worse than useless, in his grief and distraction leaving the running of Gondor almost entirely to Faramir. Of course, he would never complain or admit the strain the work was having on him, but Aragorn could see the weariness under his eyes.

Even so, he cast a glance at Miluiel, who motioned towards the man.

"Go. I will look after him."

Aragorn nodded, and as he walked away felt awash with gratitude at the notion that were Legolas by some miracle to awaken he would not find himself alone.