Chapter 17
Second to last chapter of this story- Arwen and Eowyn feature once more, and things are in the process of being wrapped up. There is quite a lot I want to say next chapter regarding the end of the story, so I am going to put some stuff here instead.
After this, I have a oneshot I really want you guys to read, because it means quite a bit to me. I am then going on holiday on Sunday, with the last chapter going up on Friday, and the oneshot going up around Friday or Saturday as well. As always, it has been a pleasure writing this, and every review really does make my day. To those people who are reading, but don't say anything, don't feel guilty! I know just how hard it is to bite the bullet, as it were, and be the first to approach and say hi. I chicken out of doing it all the time! Just the fact that you are reading mkaes me happy, and I am glad that you can maybe find enjoyment or fulfilment or something else in my works.
The next long story, an elven point of view of the Battle of the Five Armies according to canon, is quite a way off, because I hit an enormous writers block, and then focused on the oneshot instead. But I am on this website pretty much every day (barring when I am on holiday until the beginning of August) so if you want to drop by and say hi at any point, message me and I will see it :)
Anyway, here's the penultimate chapter.
Disclaimer: see Chapter 1
0-o-0-o-0
Aragorn sighed, and rubbed his forehead. "What is the date today?" he asked.
Faramir looked up from where he had been writing something on a scroll of parchment on the other side of Aragorn's desk. Once a week or so, Faramir would sit down with Aragorn to go through anything important that needed to be discussed, and to clear as much of the papers from their desks as possible.
Faramir thought for a moment before managing to realise what day it actually was. Aragorn nodded, and wrote it down on the top of the parchment. "Do I need you to sign this as well?"
"I don't know what that is, my Lord," said Faramir with a smile, leaning over to read the report upside down. He shook his head. "No, I need to find a captain who was actually present to sign off on it. I can send it down to Mablung. He will know who was there."
Aragorn nodded and signed the bottom of the scroll. He pushed it to one side, sighing softly. "What else is there?"
"You need to read through this," said Faramir, passing over yet another parchment piece, which was considerably longer than the previous ones. Aragorn unrolled it, and then raised one eyebrow.
"Do I have time to read through all of this?" he asked with a chuckle, and Faramir smiled.
"You need to be able to appear as if you have read all of this," he said. "It's from one of the councillors, so I doubt much of it is actually of any interest. Essentially we have enough stored grain for the winter but need more people working on the farms if we are going to have a better harvest this year, what with half of the men being dead and some of the land being destroyed."
Aragorn nodded. "We can do that," he said, putting the scroll to one side. If he had time later, he would read through it properly. "Pull fifty men from working on the construction of Osgiliath and allocate them to areas where they are needed the most."
Faramir made a note on a scrap piece of parchment. "One more thing," he said, sitting back slightly and putting down his quill. "We currently have about eighty, ninety Easterlings sitting in prisons in this city. We have about twenty more who are badly wounded. We have to do something with them, my Lord."
Aragorn sighed, running one hand through his hair. "I know," he said. "And the laws of Gondor permit me to sentence them to death, do they not?" He grimaced slightly at Faramir's nod. "I don't want to do that," he said. "An ambassador for the Easterlings is on his way here now, I hope. I sent word for him as soon as this whole situation began, so he should be here soon."
"If the men are not operating under the command of their leaders in Rhun, then I will release most of the men back to the ambassador, for their King or leader to do with them what he will." He grimaced. "They signed a treaty, after all, and I think a threat from us about the stability of that treaty will be more than enough to ensure their cooperation."
Faramir nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose that makes sense," he said. "But I wouldn't send all of the men back. If we keep twenty of them, some of the captains and the lesser men, we can use them as insurance. I don't really like the idea of it, but…" He shrugged, and that sort of said it all.
"I know," said Aragorn. "Speak to the councillors, and see if they will agree to it. At the very least, I want to keep the captains here. The one who was in charge of the last group is certainly staying in prison here for the time being, as we can charge him with actual murder as well. But for the time being, I don't want any of them executed. If it comes to it, and is absolutely necessary, then it will happen, but not for now." He ran a hand over his face. "There's been too much killing for a lifetime."
Faramir nodded in agreement. "I don't think we're going to have any more problems with men in Ithilien," he said. "I'll keep a presence out there for a few months, at least, just some light patrolling from Osgiliath, but the trouble is gone."
Aragorn hummed in agreement. "Some other problem will come from somewhere else," he pointed out. He chuckled dryly. "At least it will keep us busy."
Faramir laughed slightly. "I suppose it will. The work never really ends." And it was a nice distraction from…well, everything else, he supposed. It was easier to forget the past, to forget the guilt and sorrow and regret when your mind was occupied by something happening in the present.
"Has the Ranger's body been sent to his sister?" Aragorn asked, juggling paper on his desk. Faramir nodded.
"He should have reached Dol Amroth the day before yesterday, I think. I made sure that I gave the messenger the letter." That sealed piece of parchment that expressed, in what seemed like repetitive words by now, how sorry they were for her loss.
Aragorn looked up at Faramir with his searching grey eyes. "It is not anyone's fault that he died," he said softly. "It is not my fault for ordering you to track down the men in Ithilien, it is not your fault for stepping in when you did. And if this had happened a little over a year ago, then nobody would have thought twice about his death."
"I know, my Lord," said Faramir. "I do. But he was still under my command. I know I once lost most of the men who were under my command at one point, and that was not my fault." He winced at the still raw flashes of memory, and Aragorn winced slightly as well, more at the thought of what had happened than the actual memories, though he had memories enough to make him unable to sleep at night, if he chose to drag them up.
Drag probably wasn't the right word.
"Anyway," said Faramir. "I know I could have done nothing more. But still…" He shrugged slightly, and Aragorn smiled in understanding.
"Suffice it to say that you know you have done everything right," he said. "And I am quite glad you are my Steward."
Faramir laughed slightly. "I do not think you will be as glad when I hand you these," he said, picking up a bundle of scrolls from beside his chair. "These all need reading and your signature, and then a couple of orders need writing up. I need to drop a few things off with Mablung."
Aragorn nodded, his attention already going back to the scroll in front of him. He finished writing, and then held the piece out to Faramir. "Could you pass this on to one of the councillors? If you see Legolas or Belhadron around, tell them I'll be around in a few moments." He smiled. "Belhadron mentioned sparring sometime soon. I will let you know, because elven sparring is not something to be missed. And then I think we're done for the day."
Faramir nodded. "I'll get back to you with these later. Good day, my Lord," he said, pulling the door open. Aragorn looked up and smiled, his grey eyes mellowing into the colour of warm ash in a hearth.
"Good day, Faramir," he said. The door swung shut, and he sighed, going to run his hand through his hair, before remembering he was still holding onto the quill in his hand and was about to get ink on his face.
Aragorn pulled his attention back to the things in front of him. A few more documents, and he would be done. Unfortunately, the scrolls in front of him were rather dull, and his mind wandered a little.
He had meant what he had said to Faramir. The Ranger's death had not been his fault; it had not been anyone's fault, for this was the way that war worked.
Except they were not at war. They had not been at war for over a year. Aragorn grimaced slightly, signing off on something and pulling another piece of parchment towards him. The old mind-set was far too familiar and easy to slip back into, and he remembered just how lightly they used to treat death.
Guilt was always present, he supposed, but he had learnt long ago to ignore it. Aragorn pushed his mind away from such thoughts, and with a smile he realised that however tedious paperwork always was, in some ways, given what could have happened, he really didn't mind sitting here and doing it at all.
0-o-0-o-0
A little while later, the door to Aragorn's study was pushed open, and the man looked up to see Belhadron in the doorway. Aragorn sat back with a smile.
"I am nearly done," he said, pushing the paperwork away from him with a grimace. "Where is Legolas?"
"Fetching his knives," replied Belhadron. He moved over and sat down on the edge of the desk with a smirk at the scrolls of parchment littering the top. "This is why I avoided court."
"I have no such luxury," said Aragorn with a slight grimace. "But it is not so bad."
Belhadron shrugged. Something caught his eye, and he reached over and picked up a large shell that was sitting as a paperweight. He ran his thumb over the rough, pale cream edges. "What is this?"
"A shell from the sea," replied Aragorn. "It's been here a while now. I don't know who it came from." He watched Belhadron as the elf turned it over in his hands, running his fingers gently over the rough shell.
"What is it like?" asked Belhadron. "The sea. I've never left the Woodland Realm, really, and have been nowhere near a coastline my entire life."
Aragorn sighed slightly. "I haven't been on the coast much," he said. "And it's a little hard to describe." He thought about it for a moment, before opening his mouth again. "Have you ever stood at the top of the Long Lake and looked out across it? The sea looks a little like that, when you cannot see the other shore, but it spreads to the side as well, until your entire view is taken up by the blue expanse. It's never still on the coast; there's always a breeze blowing the salt spray inland. I suppose to an elf, there is even more."
Belhadron shrugged. "If there is, I wouldn't know," he said with a light smile.
"I know you didn't know, or Legolas hadn't told you, but has he not tried to explain it at all?" asked Aragorn. The elf had attempted, at least, an explanation to him, even if it couldn't really be called such a thing.
Belhadron shook his head. "I did not ask," he said with a wry smile. "Unusual for me, but I would have no hope of understanding. Essentially, I was not there. And that makes all the difference."
"I suppose it does," mused Aragorn, leaning back in his chair and idly playing with a small carved wooden horse than sat on his desk. "You were not annoyed with him, though?"
Belhadron laughed. "I have known him for hundreds of years, if not more. I have had plenty of time to become used to his stubbornness. Besides," he said with a wry smile. "I have not told him everything either."
Aragorn looked curious, but didn't press. Belhadron smiled slightly, and for some reason the small ash-handled knife appeared in his hands. He flipped it, over and over.
"I don't like…fire, anymore," he said. "You've probably noticed." His mouth twisted in a wry smiled that became more of a grimace.
"Legolas told me," said Aragorn. "And anyway, I have read all of the reports. I know that large swathes of the forest were…burnt." He didn't miss the ever so slight flinch of Belhadron, the way the elf's knuckles whitened as his hand tightened on the hilt of his knife.
"Reports don't really cover it," Belhadron said easily, a small grin coming across his face. "Not at all." He paused. "Have you ever been in a wood that is burning?"
"Once," said Aragorn. "Sort of. I was in a village when they burnt down a copse to clear land for farming, and ended up helping to control the fire. But that's not the same."
"It's not," said Belhadron with a nod. "The reports say how much of the woods burnt, where the fires were, and how many died. They don't detail the smoke that made it impossible to see the orcs until they were almost upon you. They don't speak of the sound of…of burning."
Aragorn grimaced. "I would say I am sorry, but you are in no way deserving of my pity."
Belhadron laughed, a smile coming across his face. "If that is the case, then nobody will be able to say sorry to anyone anymore. I do not regret anything. I do not mind the memories, not if it is the price we ended up paying for peace."
Aragorn smiled. "Well, I am sorry then. I'm sorry you have had to fight this for so long, when men only have to fight for the span of their short life. But I agree. The scars are a small price to pay."
Belhadron smiled sadly. "And I am sorry we did not manage to do more before you stepped up to become what you had to be. I am sorry we didn't stop it, even though I know it is not our fault." He chuckled. "Listen to us. You would not think we are where we are, from what we are saying. You would not think we had won."
Aragorn smiled. "It is easy to forget." He stood up from his chair. "Legolas must have found his knives by now. Come. Faramir has never seen elven sparring before."
Belhadron chuckled. "He has not seen anything yet, then," he said, standing from where he had been sat on the edge of Aragorn's desk. He slipped his knife back into the sheath at the small of his back. "Lead the way."
Aragorn smiled, and then the two left his study, the door swinging shut behind them. On the desk, the shell lay haphazardly next to the old wooden horse.
0-o-0-o-0
The day was warm, as summer days in Gondor often were, and as such the gardens were in full bloom. And whilst Minas Tirith was a city of stone, there were a few secluded green spaces hidden amongst the upper levels of the city.
Arwen smiled happily as she looked up at the green canopy above her. She was sitting on the grass in the small garden of the citadel, her skirts fanned out around her and a book in her lap.
Eowyn, sitting next to her with another book, looked up and smiled. "The city is beautiful," she said. "But it is still stone."
Arwen's gaze fell on her, and she smiled. "I admit I miss the rolling valleys of Imladris," she said. "But this garden is enough for now. And at least Ithilien grows not too far away." She smiled softly again, running her hand through the soft grass around her.
Their handmaidens sat nearby under the shade of another tree, talking softly. One was putting a braid in the other's hair, plucking daisies from the green carpet around her to add to it. There was a carpet spread out on the grass, a small one, with plates of light food set on it. Eowyn reached over and delicately picked up a tartlet.
"Has Faramir spoken to you of what happened in Ithilien?" asked Arwen softly. Eowyn nodded, taking another bite of the tartlet before putting it down on the small plate in front of her.
"He told me of the Ranger's death," she said. "He says he does not blame himself, but I know him better than that." She smiled slightly, the corners of her lips curling up. "He feels some measure of guilt still, I think." As he should, she thought privately. Not because it was his fault, but because it meant that the war had not stripped everything away from him, as she had seen happen to some others.
Arwen nodded. "Aragorn does as well, I believe. And I think he had realised how lightly we all treated death during the war. We had to, of course, but for many, including my sometimes stubborn husband, they have not realised yet it is over."
Eowyn inclined her head, a smile coming across her face. "I thought it was only Faramir who was so stubborn," he said, and Arwen chuckled. "But truthfully, I understand. It has only been a year, after all."
"You will remain in Ithilien when the house is finished?" asked Arwen. Eowyn nodded.
"For the most part, I believe. I cannot remain fully in the city." She smiled softly. "I grew up in Meduseld, and there I was never more than a few rooms from the open sky and the mountains and the wind." She chuckled. "I am still very much the White Lady of Rohan, as it were, though I have become married to Gondor."
Arwen laughed. "I know very well what you mean," she said. "I have spent so much of my life in Imladris or Lothlorien. Stone cities are rather unfamiliar to me, I must admit. But you will spend some time here?"
"With Faramir, most likely," replied Eowyn. "And Emyn Armen is within sight of the city. Riding from there to here will not be a difficult task." She smiled softly at the thought of galloping across the Pelennor, and found herself missing the wide, open rolling fields of Rohan. As a wedding gift Eomer had given both her and Faramir some of the best horses from his stables each, and she was looking forwards to taking her horse out again across the Pelennor again when she had the time, and maybe when Faramir was not as busy.
Arwen smiled softly, speaking of her own palfrey that she brought to the city, and the next few minutes horses took over their conversation. After a while they fell silent, and then Arwen sighed softly, looking towards the Ephel Duath.
"The shadow still lingers," murmured Eowyn, following Arwen's gaze.
"It will for a while yet," said Arwen, but her voice was matter of fact, not nostalgic or wistful. She shifted her skirts around her. "We always knew this would not end with everything like it was at the beginning, especially not the beginning I remember. To have a lingering shadow, to have loss, is a price we have ended up paying, but it is better than what the alternative could have been."
Eowyn shivered at the thought of what her alternative would have been: cut down on the battlefield just outside the city where she sat, or brought to the ground by the Witch-king, or slowly losing her will in the Houses of Healing in the city and succumbing to her wounds. So many ways that everything could have changed.
"We cannot go back," she said softly. Arwen murmured sympathetically, and gently clasped her hand, but Eowyn turned and smiled at her. "What we have now, it was this or our deaths. It has always been this or death, I think. You and I both know that there is no world where we can go back to that point where things were not so dark."
"No, we cannot," said Arwen. "But would you want to?"
"No," said Eowyn with a smile. "No, I would not. What I have now, what we have gained, is good enough for me."
Arwen reached over and picked up a small lemon cake, smiling slightly as she bit into it. "So it is for me," she said. "And we do not have to dwell on such things right now, not when there are such delicious cakes to distract us."
Eowyn laughed, picking up a cake of her own. Her gaze flitted upwards to the green leaves above them, still in the late morning air. The scent of growing things surrounded them, and she could feel her fingers growing sticky from the cake in her hand.
"We do not," she said with a smile, taking a bite.
To Be Continued...
Next, and final, chapter on Friday. As always, reviews are very welcome.