I have no excuses for my delay in getting this posted. All I can is that I was in a really bad creative rut. I hope you're still here and that you enjoy this update!
Chapter Fifty-Six (Legolas)
"Aragorn!"
As I withdrew my sword from the Easterling man who had attacked me, I whirled around to see Gimli rushing toward Aragorn as he collapsed to his knees, clutching at his chest and staring in bewilderment at the blood on his hands.
Gimli's ax landed squarely in the back of the man who had struck our friend down.
"To the King!" I yelled to the few men in Gondoran livery who were near me. They were close on my heels as we sprinted through the carnage.
"Mellon," I said, trying to meet Aragorn's eyes as I crashed down next to him, gripping his shoulders. The men who had followed me formed a safe perimeter around us.
I looked to Gimli. "You have to get him out of here!" he shouted over the melee.
Aragorn knocked against me, swaying dangerously.
Faramir joined our group.
"His only hope is in Minas Tirith," Gimli growled.
I could tell that he was itching to get back into the fight and he would return with a vengeance for Aragorn.
"You two get him out of here," Gimli said. "Eomer and I will tend to things here."
I nodded. It was the best course of action. The Rohirrim on their horses had done a shocking amount of work in a short time and I knew that our forces could spare the few men Faramir and I would take back with us.
"We have to get him to a wagon at the camp," Faramir said.
I stood and gave a low whistle.
My gray mount came through the flanks of our men as I tried to haul Aragorn to his feet. "We will get you out of here," I whispered, managing to get a shoulder underneath him so I could keep him standing with Faramir's help.
Gimli joined in to help me get Aragorn onto the horse. It would not be a comfortable ride, but speed was of the utmost necessity as my friend had already begun to fade in and out of consciousness.
Faramir took the horse from a man who had offered the reins and we were off toward our camp. I clutched Aragorn to my chest, his head lolling on my shoulder. He muttered to himself, but the only phrase I could make out was, "My sons." He said it over and over again.
Faramir leapt from his horse when we finally reached the camp and a wagon was immediately hitched to a team of horses. We had been operating in shifts and so there was a group of men who were eating and resting.
"We need a troop to accompany us back to Minas Tirith in all haste!" Faramir shouted. "The King has been wounded."
The men all gaped up at me and Aragorn, before a grizzled general came forward.
"My men will accompany you!"
He shouted orders to pack and mount.
"I need all of the healing supplies that can be spared!" I called to Faramir who hurried to the Healing tent.
He came back with the head Healer. "He is coming with us," Faramir said.
The man scrambled into the wagon and began to assemble a quick bed and then the others in our company helped me get Aragorn down from Arod and into the wagon.
I settled myself beside him, knowing that Arod would follow along without needing to be tied.
In less than two hours, we had begun our trek back West.
I sat silently, watching the Healer cut away Aragorn's tunic and leather shirt.
I had seen many wounds in my long life, but the deep slash that went from Aragorn's right shoulder to nearly his left hip turned my stomach over. Perhaps it was because he was dearer to me than most.
The Healer passed me a handful of cloth. "Staunch the bleeding," he instructed.
Pressing the clean linen to Aragorn's wound caused him to groan through his unconsciousness.
I murmured to him in Sindarin.
Faramir had apparently leapt from his horse and jumped into the wagon. I turned to him quickly. "What is wrong with you Rangers?" I demanded.
The Steward was taken aback.
"Why do you refuse to wear the mail that will save your life?" I gestured at the pile of Aragorn's garments.
Faramir swiped a hand over his dirty, blood-covered face. "We prefer the ability to be quick and nimble."
"And look where that has gotten him."
I shook my head.
Aragorn had ridden out of Minas Tirith in the full kit of Kingship: deep red undershirt, chain mail that covered his torso, the thick leather tunic bearing the emblem of his house and his crown. However, as soon as we made camp on the first night he had changed out of all of it and gone back to the lighter garments.
I had thought nothing of it as that is how he had spent most of our time during the War and he had been fine. In hindsight though, I understood how foolish and dangerous it was.
As we traveled, I grew more and more frightened. Gondor was still too unstable to lose their King. I didn't linger on that thought long before I was thinking of Shuk and Mareke.
I shook my head to scatter those thoughts and helped the Healer as best I could. I would have given anything to have the healing skills of Aragorn's foster father and brothers. I was a warrior and had never had much more than battle training in Healing.
Our wagon only stopped to change out horses. A rider had been sent ahead in order to secure horses along the way. We would need them as fresh as we could get them with the way we were pushing them in order to complete the week long journey back to Minas Tirith as quickly as possible.
Aragorn moaned in his sleep. After the Healer had cleaned and preliminarily stitched the wound, there was not much to do but attempt to keep him comfortable. I wiped at his brow with a cool rag and tried to dribble some water down his throat.
As the days of travel passed, all too slowly in my mind, I could not help but think of Mareke and Shuk and what would happen to them if Aragorn did not prevail. It had been nearly eleven years since their wedding, but I was not sure that she would be safe without the King's protection. In order for Arathorn to be accepted and safe, it was imperative that his father live for a long while and train him to be King in due time. There would be such fear-mongering about a half Haradrim boy King and his mother acting as regent. The entire Realm would be thrown into chaos. The few staunch supporters the royal family had would likely not be enough in the face of the thousands more who were still superstitious of Mareke.
My fear intensified after four days on the long road home when Aragorn stopped groaning every time we rolled over a bump or a divet in the road. He did not make a sound. Every quarter of an hour the healer or myself would pass our fingers under his nose to make sure he was still breathing.
What I felt did little to assuage my fears and I spent the next three days in agony worrying over him.
When we finally made it within the walls of Minas Tirith, I knew my friend had less than a day if something was not done for him.
"Send for the Queen," Faramir said as we all alighted from the wagon.
"No," I said quickly. "He sees no one but the head Healer."
"Do you intend to keep his presence a secret?" Faramir asked as we followed the stretcher bearing the King to the Houses of Healing.
"I intend to see him saved and I do not think the Healers need the Queen in the room while he is stabilized."
I knew that Mareke would be frantic over the state of her husband and I could not have that while Healers were trying to save his life.
Even I did not go into the family's private Healing room with my friend. I was not sure I could bear it if he did not make it.
Faramir left, thinking that his wife would still be in the city as the last he had heard from her they were going to be joining Mareke and the children for Yule.
Not half an hour later, I was startled from my frantic thoughts as I paced outside the Houses of Healing.
"Legolas!" I looked up quickly to see Mareke barreling toward me. I had not thought to have Faramir keep Aragorn's status from his wife and therefore the Queen.
"Mareke, I…"
She cut me off. "How dare you not tell me!"
I had seen Mareke in many states over the last decade, but I had never seen her so full of rage.
"That is my husband!" She jabbed a finger in my chest. "I have a right to know when he returns home."
With that, she moved around me and headed for their private room.
"Mareke!" I boomed and she stopped before she could open the door. "He is not well at all," I said quietly, approaching her carefully. "I did not send for you because I do not want anything to interfere with his care."
"You think I would interfere?"
"I think you would be worried about him," I corrected her. "As was I, which was why you found me outside."
"I have to see him," her voice caught in her throat. "If this is it…" She shook her head. "I have to be there with him."
Finally, I nodded. "I will go with you."
When the Queen entered the room, a murmur went through the Healers and they all turned to her, bowing and curtsying.
She hastily waved them away. "Pretend I am not here," she commanded.
There was an opening on one side of the bed and so I approached it with her. When Mareke saw her husband, she clasped a hand over her mouth. The wound was an angry red and a couple of the Healers were working on burning away flesh that had become infected on our long journey. The smell was nauseating.
Mareke took up as little space as she could, kneeling by the head of the bed, stroking Aragorn's filthy hair away from his face. She stayed there as the wound was cleaned, cauterized, and stitched.
I listened as she told Aragorn of how much she and the boys had missed him, what all they had done and accomplished in his absence, and what she had planned for their family in the new year. Her tears cut through the dirt on her face when she pressed her face to his cheek, clinging to him as best she could without getting in anyone's way.
"There is nothing else we can do right now. If his fever does not break and he does not wake in the next day or so I am afraid there is little hope," the head Healer said to me. "The attendants will bathe him. It is important to rid him of the dirt and grime from battle and traveling in order to keep the wound clean."
"I will do it," Mareke said, fiercely, standing.
"Very well, Your Majesty." The Healer bowed.
The young women who were not Healers brought forward a few basins of clean warm water and fresh rags. Everyone left us.
"Would you like help?" I asked softly.
Mareke shook her head, blinking back tears. I could see the overwhelm take over her features as she took in the true extent of Aragorn's wound.
My friend was extremely pale at the amount of blood he had lost.
The Healers had cut away the rest of Aragorn's clothes and so Mareke shifted the sheet around as she washed his scarred body.
I had never seen such devotion as the Queen showed to her husband. Not a single spot on his body escaped her attention. It was almost too much to bear to watch the tears mingle with the water. A few fell into the wound that spread across Aragorn's torso.
Mareke's hands trembled as she used a fresh basin of water to clean the blood from herself.
"Perhaps you should return to your chambers and get some rest," I suggested. "I will stay here and let you know if there are any changes."
"I am not leaving him."
I had known the answer, but I had to offer.
Two chairs sat in the corner of the room and I pulled them to either side of the bed.
"I should never have let him go," Mareke murmured.
"You could not have stopped him," I said quickly. "No one could have."
"With Jibran, it was all over before I ever saw his body," Mareke said quietly. "There was no waiting to see what would happen."
I could see her, quite visibly, wrestling with the anxiety of the situation. So much rested on the next several hours of our lives.
"He is strong," I said, though even I was not sure that Aragorn would survive. The wound alone was enough to kill a man and then he had endured the rough, dirty travels to get him back to Minas Tirith for a week.
Mareke did not once doze off as we kept our vigil through the night.
"What will I do?" she whispered after hours of silence. "If he does not wake, what will I do?"
She was a practical, pragmatic woman and I knew she was not asking me what she would do without a husband or how she would survive without his love. She was asking what she would do without his protection when her young son was the Crown Prince of the Reunited Kingdoms.
"You have supporters," I replied. "Gimli and I would never leave you. Faramir as the Steward would have immense power. He could be named Regent until Shuk was of an age to rule on his own. The people would feel more comfortable with Faramir at the helm than you," I said bluntly.
Mareke nodded.
"Rohan would throw its support behind your son."
Mareke crumpled then, covering her face with her hands as she sobbed. I did not reach for her, knew it was not my touch she would want.
I thought of how unfair it was to be a woman in our world. If the roles had been reversed, Aragorn would mourn deeply for Mareke. He may not marry again, but he would not have to.
If Aragorn passed, Mareke would have to seek out a supportive man to marry her, a Gondoran noble who had been behind Aragorn in order to secure her status and her son's safety. She could not rule without a man in Gondor or Harad. Her future was entirely dependent on a man's protection.
There were suitable options for her, to be sure, but it was not what she would want after losing a second husband.
We did not speak at all until the sun rose. The Healers had been in and out throughout the night to check on Aragorn, but there was no sign of stirring from him.
I had been thinking of Gimli and Eomer, hoping that the conflict would be resolved and the rest of our party would make it home safely.
"Do not mistake what I said last night," Mareke said once we were alone again. She looked at me with puffy, red eyes. "I love him. I am not only worried about political standings. To lose him," she paused to take a shuddering breath. "It is unfathomable."
"I know," I assured her.
Having been there from the beginning and been witness to their rockiest of moments, it had brought my heart great joy to finally see my friend at peace in his marriage. I had not been sure that it would ever take a positive turn, but they had learned how to love one another and I had never seen a more supportive pair in all my long years.
"And he loves you. I have known him for years and I have never seen him like he was in Rhun. He wanted to come home," I said. "I can't remember another time or another fight that he did not want to be a part of because there was something better waiting for him."
Mareke wiped at her eyes. "Thank you for that."
"You gave him everything," I continued. "You made this place a home for him when it had been a prison and you gave him his four sons."
"Would you check on them?" Mareke asked.
"Shuk and the twins? Of course." I rose and made my way to the door, giving one last glance to the petrified woman by the King's bed.
ooooOoooo
"Where is Mama?" Rilien demanded when I entered the nursery. I could tell which twin was which because their birthmarks had remained in distinct spots.
"Manners, Prince Rilien," Lady Belethiel chided.
The little boy merely crossed his arms and looked up at me, his twin joining him at his side. If Shuk was Aragorn's son, then the twins were all Mareke. They were full of desert heat.
"She is occupied and asked me to look in on you rascals," I replied.
"Is she coming back soon?" Rainion asked.
"I do not know just yet," I answered. "What she tends to is very important."
"Not more important than us," Rilien said.
I tried to bite back a chuckle. "For some reason, you are her world," I agreed. I turned to Lady Belethiel. "Is the Crown Prince well?"
She nodded. "He has been with his tutors all morning. Shall I send for him?"
I shook my head. "Not just yet. I imagine I will be back."
ooooOoooo
When I returned to the Houses of Healing, Faramir was in my chair, but Mareke had not moved. There seemed to be no sign of improvement from Aragorn.
Faramir met me at the door. "I could not stop Eowyn from telling the Queen when she learned why I was home," he said.
I shook my head. "It was a foolish idea to keep her away. She needs to be here if he wakes and if he does not," I trailed off.
"I have alerted what remains in the city of the council," Faramir said. "They are preparing for the worst."
The three of us sat in silence for hours. Mareke did not sleep or eat what was brought to her by the attendants.
As the sun sank once more in the windows and we neared our time limit for how long hope could remain, Aragorn groaned.
We all held our breath and our bodies still.
His gray eyes opened and Aragorn turned his head in my direction. "Mareke," he croaked.
"She is right here," I said quickly, as his wife stroked his forehead.
"Oh Aragorn," she breathed, tears streaming down her face once more.
The King lurched toward her.
"Careful!" I exclaimed, but he had quickly wrapped one arm around Mareke's waist, pulling her tight to the edge of the bed, before he realized how much pain that would cause him.
I quickly grabbed a rag as my friend buried his face in Mareke's stomach, gasping and sobbing against her.
"You are alright," she murmured, stroking his dirty hair. "You are safe with me," she promised.
The head Healer rushed in at that moment, probably hearing the commotion.
"If you can, give him a moment," I instructed.
I wiped up the blood where Aragorn had torn the stitching that was holding him together. It was a bright red indicating that the infection was gone.
"Sssshh. Oh my love," Mareke continued to stroke his head and bare shoulders until his grip on her loosened and he laid back. She swiped his tears away with her thumbs, sitting gently on the edge of the bed.
The front of the pale green dress she wore was covered in the King's blood.
"Your Majesty," the Healer said. "I need to fix your stitches."
Aragorn gave a dismissive nod, only having eyes for his wife, not caring who saw their reunion.
"I thought I would never see you again," he whispered rawly. "I felt the blade, stared at the blood, and I thought I would never get home to you and the boys."
"You are here," Mareke replied, holding his hand in hers, letting him squeeze her as he was sewn back together. "Legolas and Faramir got you home."
"Then I owe them much," Aragorn said, turning back to the Steward and I.
I shook my head, a tear falling down my own cheek. "Only to get well."
"It is imperative that you eat a little something, Your Majesty," the Healer said when he was done restitching Aragorn's torso and had cleaned the blood from his hands. An attendant stood behind him with a tray.
Aragorn looked as though he were about to protest, but Mareke reached for the tray and took it onto her lap. "Only a little bit. You have been asleep for a very long time," she said gently. "I believe Prince Legolas and I can handle this, thank you."
The Healer bowed and he and his attendant departed.
"If you need anything, you have only to send for me," Faramir said, also bowing out.
"There will be many discussions to have over the following days," Mareke said as a farewell.
She then gestured for me to help her get Aragorn into an upright position.
The King actually cried out in pain as we got him sitting. Mareke winced. "I am sorry."
I watched from my spot on the other side of the bed as she spooned a bit of broth into his mouth and helped him with the goblet of water. With the wound restitched again his mobility was seriously hampered.
"I fear this will get worse before it gets better," Aragorn said quietly. "I have never been wounded quite so badly."
"I will be with you the entire time," Mareke promised. "Whatever you need."
It was as though I were not in the room as they looked into each other's eyes; Aragorn sad and Mareke determined. She pressed a firm kiss to his lips as tears slipped down his stubbled cheeks.
"I love you."
ooooOoooo
The first few weeks of Aragorn's recovery were grueling between his actual physical needs and trying to rule the Realm without him and mostly without Mareke.
Aragorn only begrudgingly let his wife out of his sight occasionally so she was unable to help Faramir and I unless the King had drifted to sleep.
Luckily, most issues were manageable and with the battle in the East still going on, all was relatively quiet in Minas Tirith.
Just shy of a month after I had returned with Eomer, Gimli arrived back in the White City with the rest of the Gondoran troops. Eomer, it seemed, had ridden directly back to Rohan at the head of his men.
"Well that is a brave lad!" His booming voice announced his presence in Aragorn's private healing room.
"I did not survive a ride back to Minas Tirith in a wagon to have you scare my wife into slicing my throat," Aragorn laughed as Mareke quickly drew the straight razor away from the stubbled cheek she had been shaving.
"Truly, Gimli," she said, her free hand clutching her chest at the fright. "Luckily we were just about finished." She gave a few more swipes and then wiped Aragorn's face.
"It is good to see you," I said, hugging my friend tightly.
"You too," he said earnestly, before moving to squeeze Mareke's hand.
"I am glad you are safe," she said.
"Well this does not look as bad as all that," Gimli said, standing before Aragorn where he sat without a tunic in a chair near a basin of water for the shaving.
The wound had healed enough to be wrapped and so white linen wrapping went from under his arms all the way to his hips.
I watched as Mareke crossed her arms over her chest and her brow furrowed at the jesting between Gimli and Aragorn.
"It was not my first brush with death and it certainly shall not be my last."
"Excuse me?" Mareke demanded in a low voice.
Gimli and Aragorn turned to her.
"You intend to do this again?"
"Mareke-" Aragorn tried, but she cut him off quickly.
"Do you have any idea what I went through while you were gone and even after you were back?"
When Aragorn remained silent, she continued. "Let me enlighten you. I ran your Realm with less than half a council and no Steward. I raised your three children, attempting to be as involved as I could, while, as I mentioned, running your Realm. I have nursed you for nigh a month because you want me by your side. And during the days when it looked bleakest, I thought of losing you and how devastating that would be. But I do not only have myself to worry about. What becomes of Shuk and I without you and your protection?"
She took a deep breath. "But I have not complained once while I bore those burdens. I worked diligently on your behalf so that when you returned nothing would be awry or amiss."
Even with Aragorn's return, Mareke still looked thin and worn down, perhaps even more so than when I had arrived with him.
"Did you.." her voice broke then. "Did you ever consider what it felt like to send a husband off to do battle when the last time," she paused to gather herself, but tears were rolling down her cheeks. "The last time I did that, the husband did not return home."
With a clatter, she put down the straight razor and towel she had been holding.
"And besides, it does not seem in your old age, that you are nearly the viable soldier you once were or we would not be in this mess in the first place," she said viciously, before brushing past Gimli and I.
"Mareke!" Aragorn gave a roar after her of wounded pride, trying to stand. He groaned and fell back into the chair as Mareke left the chamber, slamming the door behind her without a backwards glance at her husband.
I went to help him, though he attempted to wave me away. "It was not the wisest thing you have ever said, mellon."
There you have it! I hope you enjoyed the update! If you're still here, I'd love to hear what you think! I'm also not sure if I'll do another update at this time in their lives and fast forward a little bit. Let me know what you think about that! And continue to see ideas of time periods in the life of this family that you'd like to see as we hop and skip around! I can't wait for them to age a little bit!
Happy reading,
Avonmora