WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOTRO MINAS ITHIL QUESTLINE (marked with **) AHEAD. TLDR AT BOTTOM FOR THOSE WHO WISH TO SKIP
"Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four," Hermione read off the noticeboard. "All student organizations are henceforth disbanded…"
Bronach gritted her teeth, choosing to walk away rather than continue to read the decree she already knew by heart. Ron and Hermione seemed not to notice her departure, which Bronach was glad of. Nobody had told the woman about the DA, but she suspected Umbridge was trying to provoke her by taking away Quidditch, since nothing else had worked yet.
"I will mind my temper," Bronach told Angelina, when she passed the girl at breakfast. "And do my best not to provoke Umbridge, but she is going to give you a hard time about the team."
The girl seemed confused, but caught on after a moment. "You think this is about punishing you?"
"I am the favored whipping boy of the Ministry, have you not heard?" Bronach asked sardonically, carrying on towards the History of Magic classroom, sick of listening to the other students discuss the implications of the decree. Thankfully, the members of the DA hadn't been stupid enough to try and approach her during the meal, but it had been close. She'd had to practically stick Ernie MacMillan to his seat before he got the idea.
Ron and Hermione caught up to her outside History of Magic.
"This happened before?" Hermione asked, checking the hallway to make sure nobody would overhear her.
"You had us meet in the Hog's Head," Bronach murmured, layering a privacy ward around them with a nonchalant gesture. "A petty criminal sold us out to save his own skin. Nobody overheard us this time, but she seems to be getting desperate to provoke me."
"What are you going to do?" Ron asked, eyes narrowing, clearly seeing the dilemma Bronach had been pondering ever since she saw the decree.
"What can I do?" Bronach canceled the spell as she heard the rest of their class heading down the corridor towards them. "Umbridge is going to continue to escalate until she gets a reaction. It has never been math I have enjoyed solving."
If her friends exchanged a look, Bronach was too far ahead of them to notice it.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Arwen asked, when she walked into the Room of Requirement and saw Bronach throwing knives at a suspiciously pink training dummy.
"No,' Bronach said shortly, throwing another perfectly placed knife that sunk up to its hilt in the dummy's chest.
"Very well then," Arwen said, picking up her practice sword and running through a few exploratory motions. Once she'd married, she'd mostly switched to knifework, since it was more easily concealed, but every so often she'd picked up the sword again. "Indulge me in a spar?"
"Not in this mood," her partner said sourly, sinking another knife into the dummy. "I am too likely to lose myself."
"Something you should talk about?" she asked, wondering why Aragorn was hanging back, watching quietly from the bench by the doorway instead of joining her in her practice.
Another knife. "Probably. But you know me, I prefer to run from my problems."
"You run from your emotions," Arwen corrected. "Not your problems."
"Point," Bronach said after a long moment.
"Which emotion is it this time?"
"Which emotion is it not?" the other woman grumbled under her breath.
"Fair enough," Arwen said. "Which emotion aren't you running from?"
"The fact that I love you both," Bronach said seriously. "And the fact that I don't want anything to happen to the students."
"You have spoken a great deal about the Death Eaters and Riddle," Aragorn said, speaking for the first time. "But in all of our time together, you have spoken very little about Umbridge, beyond making it clear that you dislike her."
"What's there to like?" Bronach said lightly, the tone very much at odds with the speed at which her hand flicked out, sending a knife embedding deeply in the dummy's right eye.
"She is certainly foul," Arwen said, setting her practice sword down. "But she is a Ministry worker, not a Death Eater."
"There was not a difference," Bronach muttered.
"Saruman, Wormtongue, or Denethor?" Aragorn asked, and Arwen wondered if she wasn't able to see at least part of the problem. He seemed far more in touch with what was bothering Bronach about this situation.
"None of them," Bronach let out a choked laugh that held not even a shred of actual humor. "You have never encountered a person who was so vile, so desperate for power and control that they sentenced others to death gleefully, someone who signed on with the platform that advocated genocide if it meant they might advance themselves. Be thankful that your reign was not plagued by such a person."
Arwen's stomach turned at the thought. "What did she do?" she whispered into the quiet.
"She sentenced muggleborns to Azkaban without a second thought," Bronach's voice was tight with fury. "She displayed corpse trophies upon her door, and trumped up false charges when it suited her. People died, were set back or damaged for life because of what she did. Entire families, broken. And what happened when we won, and everything was supposed to be over?"
Neither Aragorn nor herself seemed to be able to find the words, but it seemed as if it was a rhetorical question. Bronach answered it herself. "She was admonished, of course, but they allowed her to remain in power at the Ministry despite all of that."
"I am sorry," Arwen crossed the room to rest her hand on Bronach's shoulder, feeling it tremble with rage under her fingers. "We cannot get justice for those people." We cannot get justice for you. "But we can stop her now, and prevent further victims."
"What do you think I have been doing?" Bronach turned on her, fire making her eyes blaze in a way Arwen hadn't seen for a long time. "I have thwarted her attempt on my life. I have played along with her ridiculous games regarding Defense Against the Dark Arts, attempted to prevent the dismissal of school staff, and I have operated further under the radar than I ever did within these walls as I ensure that these children have the opportunity to learn how to protect themselves! Not to mention, providing evidence to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement of my truthfulness, corresponding with several Wizengamot members in an attempt to thwart Umbridge's tyranny here, and overall attempting to influence several critical votes!"
The amount of fury in Bronach's voice was nearly eclipsed by the amount of loathing as she spoke about the efforts she'd been making to put the government of Magical Britain into a better footing for the good of everyone. It rose to a fever pitch as she continued.
"And what good has it done?" she snapped. "Even with her meddling focused on the school, critical votes have still passed along the same lines as they once did! No letter that I write can sway the old bigots who have glutted themselves at the expense of others for generations. Neither my fame, nor my persuasive words, nor my century of experience manipulating from the shadows have stopped the Wizengamot from continuing down the same damning path that brought me to you, and I am beyond sick of it!"
"So what are you going to do now?" Aragorn asked quietly.
"Burn the fucking Ministry to the ground," Bronach snarled, her hands curling into fists. It shocked Arwen, the depth of the emotion that her partner was displaying. In general, Bronach was restrained, even when it was just them, only allowing slivers of her emotions to slip out. For her to lose this much control…
Well, Arwen could only count a few times when it had happened.
"There is something about this that reminds you of Bâr Nírnaeth." Arwen glanced at her husband, finding his face blank, as if he was ruling over something both great and terrible from the throne. It was the face of King Elessar, not of Aragorn. "Is there not?
Bronach froze under Arwen's hand on her shoulder. "How do you know that-"
"Faramir did not wish to tell," Aragorn said quietly, a peek of the man under the crown showing through his eyes. "But he felt that it would be doing a disservice to both myself and to Daervunn if we did not know the bare outlines. This was before I spoke to him of our relationship, so he gave me the information due a King, not the information a lover might desire. In fact, I feel that he would have told me less, had he known." There was a weary, wry smile on their husband's face as he looked at them. "I oft suspected he regretted his words to me, when he learned."
"What is Bâr Nírnaeth?" Arwen asked, and the air in the Room seemed to become colder as she uttered the words. Sindarin was her birth tongue, she could translate the name well enough. But House of Lamentation was both incredibly descriptive, and not descriptive at all.
"What do you know," Bronach said, her shoulders rising and falling in a long, shuddering breath. "Of Gothmog, of Mordirith, and of Eärnur?"
Arwen had a sinking feeling that she did not wish to know.
Hours later, Arwen was glad that she had sought out her partner after dinner, instead of during their morning training session.
She lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how she had missed everything that seemed so obvious now that she knew about the House of Lamentation and what Bronach had suffered within its walls.
Selfishly, she was glad that she could no longer set foot in Minas Ithil. Could she truly look upon it with joy, knowing the price paid for its liberation? Could she have passed by the statue of Eärnur guarding the door of the Tower of Ecthelion of and not wished to rip it from its pedestal? Could she have spoken with Éowyn and not dared ask about what the other woman had witnessed?
"I wish I did not know," she said aloud to the room.
Aragorn shifted from where he sat on the broad windowsill, staring out at the stars. "I knew that whatever had happened was terrible," he murmured, gaze unmoving. "But even my darkest imaginings did not bring forth such a tragedy."
"How did we not notice?" Arwen asked, feeling as if she had failed Bronach, despite it being over a century since then. "How did we not see her suffering?"
"Because even though she loved us, she had not learned to trust us with herself," Aragorn said, heartbreak in his voice. "It may be a lesson that she does not ever learn in full, so many have taught her the opposite."
"I had thought I knew all of what she had done for us, for our Kingdoms," Arwen fisted her hands in the linens. "I wish that all knew of what she had done. Of what it had cost her."
"I wish I could speak with Glorfindel, and the father of your mother," Aragorn replied. "From what she did not say…it is clear that we have them to thank for her healing a thousand times over."
Arwen sniffed. "I wish I could speak with them too." She had made her choice long ago, before she knew Bronach, but there would never be a day when she wouldn't miss the family she'd had to part from.
"Perhaps someday, we will find our paths crossing once more," he said softly, leaving the windowsill to join her on the bed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and tugging her into him. She leaned her head against his shoulder and felt fingers comb through her hair, a soothing friction that slowly melted away her anxieties.
"I love that we are so close to her, but it is also terrible," he admitted after a long moment. "Distance made it easier to bear the necessary distance between us, but I find myself wishing for the day when it is no longer necessary."
"I find myself having to restrain myself more than ever during class," Arwen admitted ruefully. "All those years of court, and a few weeks of consistent ability to be with her outside of court and it is like we are sneaking around Lothlórien or Imladris again, trying not to be caught by my father."
He chuckled, and pulled her closer so she could rest her head on his chest. "All we can do is be there for her and do our best to shower her with the love and affection that she deserves."
"Hey Hedwig," Bronach murmured, reaching out to let the snowy owl land on her arm in a flutter of wings and a soft hoot.
It still felt odd, having her owl back. No matter how many birds she used over the centuries, Hedwig had always been the name on her lips when she turned for a bird to carry a message. Having her here now soothed an old ache, the absence of which was just as shocking as the ache had been.
Around her, the perches were mostly empty, the owls out for their nighttime hunting, but Hedwig seemed to have a sixth sense for when she was needed.
With her free hand, she brushed off a windowsill and settled herself on it. "I know that it's normal for people you care about to be unhappy about things that hurt you, but no matter how much I experience it…it remains odd."
Hedwig shuffled on her arm, and Bronach looked out at the moonlit grounds. Unbidden, her mind went back to the play of the moonlight on the stones of Minas Ithil, the memories close to the surface since she'd unboxed them, since Umbridge's cruelty had reminded her of Gothmog's.
"I need a weapon more than I need immortality!" The wraith's voice had come to her clearly as she lay at the roots of the dark tree, her blood mingling with the dark waters that surrounded it. "She is useful, but she could be more."
"Her will is strong," came the cracked voice of her tormentor. "Nearly as strong as yours was."
"I broke," the wraith snapped. "Break her."
"With talents such as hers, she is unlikely to break soon," her tormentor crooned, caressing her hair, no longer bound but flowing freely through the dark waters, matted with blood and filth. "Hers is not a strength of the body, but the spirit."
"Then break her spirit," thundered the wraith.
"I have many means of breaking others," her tormentor said patiently. "But it would go better if you brought me those she cares for. Let her watch what her spirit does to them."
What blood was left in her veins froze. Faramir's White Company had already suffered losses as they had pressed forward to rid the city of the taint of Sauron's influence. And when it became clear that she would not break for any of the Rangers, they would take Faramir.
Gondor would suffer from the loss of its Steward, and she would not allow that, for its sake, let alone for Aragorn and Arwen's. Or the children that were waiting in Ithilien for their father to return.
"No," she had said, prising herself free of the mire. "Do not lay a hand on them."
"You think you may make demands of me?" the wraith had laughed, cold and cruel. "I answered only to the Witch King."
"What must I offer for you to spare the Prince of Ithilien?" she had said, kneeling in the mire, her head bowed and hair cascading around her.
"Submit yourself to the Mistress of Lamentation and be transformed," Gothmog had told her and she bowed her head further.
"As you wish," she murmured. "Master."
Hedwig hooted softly, breaking her out of her reverie. "I had sworn to serve the throne of Gondor," she told the owl, stroking her head gently. "And he perverted that oath."
"Do you know who I was?" Gothmog had asked as she knelt before the Morgul Throne. "Before I was transformed."
"I was born in the north," she had said, her voice deferential. "Those who dwelt in the shadow of Carn Dûm knew of Mordirith, the Steward of Angmar."
"The Mistress of Lamentation tells me that the process is nearly complete," Gothmog had said, rising from his throne. "But there is one thing you will not let go of."
"Oaths I swear are binding," she bowed her head deeper in apology. "I cannot go against them."
"Then we shall make it easier for you," he murmured. "For your oath is to the throne of Gondor, is it not? To the line of kings?"
"Yes," she had said, because she'd purposefully sworn it that way, given that she would outlive any king or queen on the throne. "To the throne." Technically, it was to the throne of Arnor and Gondor, in case the pair were separated once more, but she doubted that the wraith would care about technicalities.
"Then let me ease your mind," his words dripped with poison, and she closed her eyes as his feet drew to a halt before her. "For I am the rightful holder of the throne of Gondor. Before I was Mordirith, I was Eärnur."
She had swallowed down the poison of the truth and let go of her last restraint, the last barrier between her defiance and willing service. The last shred of herself that she had retained. "I understood then, in some hidden part of me, why he had agreed so easily to leave Faramir untouched," Bronach said to Hedwig. "Because he would not need to lay a finger on Faramir, so long as I served him."
"Rise Seregdan, in my service," Gothmog's voice echoed in her ear as she recalled what it was like to let go, to fall, to obey. "I have heard much of what you have wrought with your blood; and am curious to see what you will create for me."
"You had to live it to understand," she told her owl, who was watching her, unblinking, "but there is little difference in my mind between Gothmog and Umbridge. They will take and use until they have glutted themselves on pain and misery, pursuing naught but what they desire, no matter the misery and suffering strewn in their wake. In comparison to the greater evil of Sauron, of Riddle, they are but a shadow, but shadows are dangerous enough."
The owl hooted companionably. "I don't regret my choice," she said firmly to Hedwig. "It saved many, and put me in a place where I could be reclaimed. But my hands shed the blood of my allies, and I regret the necessity of it. And I did not want to burden either Aragorn nor Arwen with the knowledge of what I had done, despite knowing that Elessar, at least, would agree with what I had done."
"So what do I do?" she asked her owl, stroking the soft feathers lightly. "What do I do, when caught between my strength of will and a tyrant who will push and push until they provoke a reaction?"
Hedwig butted her hand affectionately and hooted softly. "The last time I gave myself over, it took intervention from the Valar to bring me back to myself," she whispered to the bird. "I cannot count on that here, and I do not wish to subject Aragorn and Arwen to it."
"She is a lovely listener, isn't she?" Luna's voice said from behind her, and Bronach turned to find the blonde standing in the owlery doorway, hair almost silver in the moonlight. "I often find her here, and she's very good at making you feel less alone."
"Nargles at it again?" Bronach asked, seeing the girl's bare feet.
"Perhaps," Luna said vaguely. "The wrackspurts around you are quite angry."
"My thoughts are quite angry," she admitted ruefully. "I do not see a path forward."
"You see many paths," the blonde corrected, coming over to stroke Hedwig, who preened under the attention. "But you like none of them."
"What would you do?" Bronach was curious how much of her dilemma Luna could see, and how that would influence her recommendation. "If you had my choice of paths?"
"There is no path that could make them stop loving you," Luna told her seriously. "But there are paths that they cannot walk beside you."
"Because they cannot support me betraying myself," she sighed. "I had suspected that, and love them for it."
"But there are still many paths were you walk with them," the girl continued, scratching gently as Hedwig butted her hand in encouragement. "I am not you, and you are not me, so what path I would choose is meaningless to you. There are doors that may open for you that I know will never open for me."
Bronach frowned. That was both more direct and more confusing than she'd expected from Luna. "Does this have something to do with the dreams?"
Luna smiled mysteriously. "Time will tell," she laughed, and headed for the door once more. "You should go to bed, if you want to get enough sleep to not worry them in the morning."
"I am honestly surprised they haven't used Kreacher to track me down yet," Bronach slid off the windowsill and gently tossed Hedwig into the air with a murmured farewell, allowing the owl to return to her perch. "Given the way I left them."
"They understand that you need time to process," Luna patted her arm gently. "And so did they. You'll find your way back to each other when you're all settled."
"Would you like me to do something about the Nargles?" Bronach asked as they reached the entrance to the main castle. "So you do not have to walk about barefoot?"
"That would be lovely," Luna beamed, glancing down at her bare toes, grubby after her walk through the owlery. "Winter is upon us, and the castle is awfully drafty."
"Give me a few days and I will have something for you," Bronach promised, already mapping runic sequences in her mind. She had, in her original plans over the summer, considered any number of spells, but perhaps a runic totem would be better suited for her purposes.
"I'm sure it will be quite emblematic of your skill," Luna told her, and then headed for Ravenclaw Tower. Bronach watched her go, feeling lighter despite not having made a decision about how she was going to face this unexpected setback.
They didn't often carve out time for the three of them to spend together unproductively. Usually it was stolen moments between two of them. Their mornings were for training, for keeping their skills sharp, but there was little enough time for the three of them to simply be.
Bronach hadn't realized, when she'd agreed to go away to the castle, how addicted she'd gotten to having her partners close during the month they'd had together during the summer. It was the longest consecutive time they'd ever allowed themselves, and her bed felt empty without them there, her evenings bereft of their conversation.
With Umbridge on the prowl, and Snape doing his best to figure her out, they couldn't allow themselves much time together, but Arwen had been the one to insist that they tried, at least once a month. This month, it felt even more necessary, after the revelations about her past that they'd been forced to grapple with individually.
So, here they were, on Samhain, occupying Arwen's classroom, the chairs pulled up to the fireplace in the lecture side. Arwen was embroidering as Aragorn read aloud and Bronach knitted away at the shawl she was making against the oncoming chill. It was the kind of peace Bronach had never dared dream of, even if she was alert for the sound of someone coming, even though the wards at the end of the hall would give her more than enough notice.
She was so distracted that she almost missed the world fading out, leaving her in a familiar haze of shadows. Instinctively, she reached out for her partners, and as she felt their hands grasp her own, they came into focus in the shadowy place between worlds Bronach had thought she would never see again.
"What is this place?" Arwen asked, glancing around.
"This is the twilight place," Bronach looked around, wondering if Namo would appear.
"How you walked the Paths of the Dead," Aragorn breathed, eyes widening.
"Welcome, Bronach," Námo said, appearing out of the shadows with a warm smile that she rarely got to see. "Welcome Arwen Undómiel, welcome Aragorn Elessar."
"Lord Námo," Bronach curtsied, seeing Arwen follow her lead as Aragorn bowed. "I did not think we could meet again."
"We are with the children of Eru always," he said, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I am not able to make myself known often, but on this night I will always answer your call."
"Samhain," she murmured, the pieces falling into place. "When the Veil is thinnest."
"Indeed," he said, a half-smile on his face, as if he knew a secret she did not. "The dead of your home, I cannot interfere with, but my brother has many visitors to his garden who think fondly of you."
Arwen gasped slightly, and out of the shadows resolved a pair of figures, one familiar and one unfamiliar. Lord Elrond stood with a elf who could only be Lady Celebrían, who had sailed long before Aragorn or Bronach had seen Imladris.
"Nana," Arwen took a step forward, before looking at Námo, who nodded before fading away. "Ada."
Celebrían met her daughter halfway, sweeping Arwen up in her arms. Bronach watched the reunion, glad that her partner had been offered the chance to speak with her mother once more.
"Estel," Elrond said, and Bronach realized that Aragorn had approached him, the pair embracing with more reserve than the mother and daughter. "It is good to see you well."
Bronach held back, unsure of how to interact with her partners' parents, even if Aragorn had never known Celebrían. But the elf looked up from Arwen and smiled, reaching out a hand.
"Come," she ordered, and Bronach could hear Galadriel in Celebrían's voice. "I wish to meet the woman my daughter holds dear."
"Nana, this is Bronach Ruinil, Thuri of the dunedain, of the Trev Gallorg and of Arnor," Arwen said, grasping Bronach's elbow to steer her forward. "She stood with Aragorn when I could not, and has saved both of our lives many times."
"And you love her, which is more important than any deed," Celebrían said, grasping Bronach's hand and squeezing warmly. "I wish that we had more time to know each other, but Námo could only promise us a single night. My mother has laid claim to next year," she informed them, before reaching out to draw Elrond and Aragorn closer. "Come, beloved of my daughter and son of my husband," she said to Aragorn. "I see Isildur in you, and Elendil as well. Tell me of the High King of Gondor and Arnor."
Somehow, they ended up in a pile on the floor, Elrond and Celebrían leaning against each other, while Arwen sat at their feet, with Aragorn and Bronach on either side. Celebrían coaxed stories from all of them, and told several of her own, speaking of those she had met in Valinor, and of the Valar themselves.
Eventually, Námo returned, Irmo with him.
"Dawn comes," Irmo said, sounding regretful. "I am afraid that you can no longer stay."
"Thank you," Bronach told him. "From the depths of my heart."
"It is our pleasure," Irmo said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Come, Celebrían, Elrond, Galadriel awaits you impatiently."
Celebrían snorted, and embraced each of them one last time. Elrond, to Bronach's surprise, did the same.
When they were gone, the shadows faded, and Bronach found herself lying on the floor before the hearth, entwined with her partners. For a long moment, she took shelter in their embrace, feeling Arwen coming to wakefulness with a hitching breath as she buried her face in Bronach's hair. Aragorn's arms tightened around them, and Bronach wrapped her own around him, unable to reach out and touch Arwen in the position they'd ended up in.
AN: Seregdan: (S) rough translation meaning "blood wright"
TLDR: Bronach talks with Hedwig about her experiences with Bâr Nírnaeth during the cleansing of Minas Ithil, telling the owl about how she was put in a position where she had to break under torture or people she cared about would be used to break her spirit. She compares her torment then with her dilemma with Umbridge: does she give the woman what she wants (breaking, an outburst) or let the student body begin to suffer as Umbridge enacts further Decrees in an attempt to provoke Bronach? She expresses fear about what might happen if she cedes to Umbridge and does not come to a decision before Luna arrives. They converse briefly; Luna tells Bronach that Aragorn and Arwen will always love her even if she makes choices they can't support, and Bronach offers to help Luna with her thieving housemates.