(This chapter has an R rating, for the scene marked in between the "*****") 

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Chapter 16 – Uncertainty

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Mírra and Lúthea returned to the entrance of the Great Hall, only to stand in awkward silence as they surveyed the crowd.

"What did naneth want?" the older princess asked her sister. The King and Queen had left the high table, and could not be seen.

"I... do not remember exactly," Lúthea stammered, "I think she just wanted to know where you had gone to." Mírra turned away from the Hall again.

"Where are you going?"

"Just to look for naneth." She was aware of how her sister seemed to be looking at her differently. "Come with me?"

"Alright." Lúthea smiled faintly. "They might have just stepped outside."

A quick survey of the courtyards revealed that Arwen and Aragorn had indeed found a place together outside. The two girls observed their parents standing together in a secluded part of the small garden. Although the music from the hall could be heard only faintly, the couple swayed slightly to the music, arms around each other.

"Perhaps we should not disturb them," Lúthea whispered.

Mírra nodded in agreement, and they slipped back out into the corridor. Once there, she finally met Lúthea’s gaze for a moment.

"Will you tell her? Father?"

Lúthea’s expression was almost a frown, touched with indecision. At length she simply shook her head decisively. "Not if you don’t want me to."

This allowed Mírra to relax on one count.

"I am grateful."

The younger girl’s brow was slightly knitted in contemplation. "But what does it mean?"

Until now, Mírra thought she had been sure of what she felt. "I don’t know yet."

* * *

In the courtyard, the King and Queen were blissfully unaware of anyone observing them from the doorway.

"I wonder where the girls have got to," Arwen murmured as she leaned against her husband’s chest.

"No doubt caught up in the celebration." Aragorn circled one arm a little closer around his wife’s waist. "Perhaps I should find Mírra, to explain about the Lord Aldor’s visit."

"Ah, it will keep for tomorrow."

"I suppose it will."

Arwen turned her face up to his, and let go his hand to wrap her arms around his neck.

"Earlier, when we were getting ready, do you know what she told me? ‘Tonight is for you and father.’"

"Very true." The King slowly began to grin as he met his wife’s eyes. "Having such a celebration does make it difficult to concentrate on the, ah, more delicate details of the evening?"

"Well. For the remainder of the evening I shall ensure that you do not forget it."

He pulled her body as close as he could, comfortably tightening his arms around her. The quiet melody that still came from the hall guided the slow movement of their dancing. The Queen’s lips were at the side of her husband’s neck, gently nuzzling. Aragorn soon bent his head to place a line of soft kisses from the edge of her ear, across her cheek.

As Arwen pressed her mouth to his, Aragorn moved one hand up over her spine, then to support the back of her neck as their embrace became deeper. He breathed in her scent, as the intensity of the kiss inspired him to mentally calculate the best way to slip out of the courtyard and back to their chambers unnoticed.

They parted, the King’s voice husky as he spoke again. "Remind me, meleth-nîn, what are we still doing here?"

The expression in Arwen’s dark eyes indicated that she could not agree more.

The return to the royal chambers was wordless as they walked with a comfortable pace, yet were acutely aware of their close proximity to one another. Aragorn was as steady as ever, though Arwen could not resist lacing and unlacing her fingers with his, toying with the inside of his palm. She knew his heartbeat was subtly increasing, just as hers was.

Aragorn smiled wryly at her in response. Were it not for the propriety required in the more public corridors of the palace, he would have taken her up in his arms and held her until she laughed, something Arwen had often teased him about in the early days of their marriage.

Tonight, however, there seemed to be little room for teasing. The pleasantries of the earlier festivities giving way to the realisation that what mattered was the simple, intimate celebration away from public eyes, where formal pretences could be dispensed with.

After they entered, Arwen sat down calmly in front of her dressing table and mirror, and began to remove the jewels from her hair.

"Let me do that." Aragorn came to stand behind her.

He met her gaze in the mirror, lips twitching ever so slightly. Arwen set her hands comfortably in her lap as she felt him lift the circlet from her forehead, and watched him set it aside. The few silver clasps that decorated her braids, he also removed, and they joined the headpiece on the table.

"One more year, to add to all the others," he said thoughtfully.

"And for some reason, you have not grown tired of me." Arwen’s voice was relaxed as she tilted her head back, welcoming the feeling of his hands smoothing over her hair.

"Nothing to dissuade me yet."

His task completed, Aragorn watched her turn to face him. He sank down slowly, on one knee at a time, to kneel before her. With careful fingers she did the same as he had done for her, removing the jewel he wore on his brow, a piece that was kept only for the high days in the court.

She smoothed her fingertips across his bared forehead, over his hairline. This was how she had always preferred to look upon him, unadorned and unencumbered.

"Can this man be the same one who came to me, all those years ago? The one who met me on the fair hill in Lórien, with flowers in his hands?"

"The very same."

He had moved his hands lightly to her waist, then to rest in her lap. Arwen took hold of them gently, and they sat in quiet contemplation of each other for a brief moment.

"You are thinking about it too, aren’t you?" she whispered.

"It seems so long ago."

"Such a peaceful time it seemed, then."

She saw him swallow and fix his gaze down at their linked hands, matching gold bands shining even in the candlelight of the room.

Aragorn spoke again, his voice uncertain. "After I left you that year… and then later left Imladris, knowing what we promised, and not yet knowing what would be…"

"Shh," she said softly, touching her fingertips lightly over his mouth. "That is all in the past."

"I know we speak of it so rarely, but I must." His eyes were points of clarity as he turned them back up to her. Arwen could see he needed to continue, and she listened, her expression a mixture of sympathy and concern. "Even after all those years were behind us, and the war had ended, I could not help doubting. Some part of me wondered if it was all real. But then at last you were here, and your hand was in mine… and it was no longer a dream."

It was then Arwen’s turn to look down distractedly at her lap, where Aragorn had clasped both her hands in his.

"That summer when you came to me, I do not know exactly what I thought, but… how I felt when you were there, it changed everything. The world became different to me, for I became aware of you in it. And still everything felt so right during that time we were together."

"I did not want to leave, but I had to…"

"And still it was when you left again, that I knew I could not do without you."

He smiled faintly as she renewed their shared gaze.

"Even in that time when I was alone, there was no night that went by, when I did not look at the sky and think of you."

Arwen’s heart leapt.

*****

She could only respond by pressing her lips to his with fervency, in a kiss that quickly became even more heated as they opened their mouths to each other, passionately imploring.

They could not tell how long they remained so entwined, but soon enough Arwen stood and began to back slowly into the inner chamber. Aragorn let her lead him, his eyes locked with hers.

Smiles had now disappeared, as their expressions reflected the intensity of the desire that had been kept at bay in the previous hours of the evening. One by one, items of clothing fell away, divesting them of the formalities that stood in the way of an even more intimate coupling.

As soon as his skin was fully bared to her, Arwen could not keep her hands from his body. The body that had been shaped by years of travel and battle, those same experiences that had shaped the mind of the man she fell in love with those years ago.

Caressing blindly, they fell together on the bed. Aragorn pulled her close to him, kissing her neck, her chest, closing wet lips around a nipple before moving over a full breast.

Arwen softly whimpered, coaxing him forward, to the union they both sought. She could not help but gasp in delight as he completed the bond, rolling back and pulling her over him. Arching her back, she gripped his sides between her knees, bringing him nearer, deeper.

Aragorn watched her face, wrought with pleasure. In his arms she came alive, this intangible woman who had given herself to him. The lover that shared his bed, the mother that had borne their children, the partner in the lasting connection of heart and mind.

She steadied herself by putting her hands to his chest, and met his eyes, dark with ardour. Soon she was torn between the intense, all-consuming desire for release, and the need to prolong sensation that she could not let go of.

His body rocked beneath her, stoking the fire that was so reluctant to cool. Aragorn felt her sink closer to him, her skin nearly burning with passion.

Another movement from Arwen tightened their bond near to the breaking point, and it was more than he could bear. Wrapping an arm around her back, Aragorn rolled to lay her beside him.

With one hand on her thigh around his waist, and the other at the small of her back, he held her as close as could be managed, while with a last rocking of his hips, brought their union to completion.

Hearing him moan with release, Arwen’s voice caught in her throat as exquisite pleasure flooded out from the core of her body, until her very fingertips were ablaze.

They lay together, limbs entwined and hearts racing, their thirst for each other quenched for a time.

"Im mil le," Arwen whispered, gently pressing her lips to his one more time.

He smiled against her kiss. "I have never doubted it."

***** 

* * *

It was much later that night as Arwen lay awake in bed, and the moon was high in the dark sky.

The mid-summer night was so warm that they had left one of the balcony doors slightly ajar, to allow a soft breeze through. The gentle air played about the light curtains at the balcony entrance. Arwen watched them float back and forth as she lay with her head on the pillow.

She turned her head toward her husband beside her. One of the more curious differences between them was that he could fall asleep so comfortably on even the warmest evenings, while she lay awake with no desire for sleep at all. Initially it had not been so easy for him to find rest in the comfort of a familiar bed, night after night.

Aragorn lay on his back, the linen sheet pushed partly away due to the warm night air. One hand rested lightly on his bare chest, the other at his middle, his breathing even and deep. Arwen had noticed Lúthea sleeping in the same manner when she was still very young.

She sat up, softly so as not to disturb her bedmate, and tucked her knees to her chest. Looking over at him again, she turned over in her mind the celebrations of recent days.

The curtains were still drifting softly with the wind from the balcony. Arwen carefully extended her feet over the side of the bed, aware of the tension in her body as she tried not to upset the mattress. Aragorn continued to sleep quietly.

The Queen slipped on her chemise, and took up a light cotton shawl that had been laid across one of the armchairs. She wrapped it about her shoulders and over her shift, out of habit more than anything else, since there was no need for warmth.

Though she tried to conceal it, she well knew how many years had passed between them. It was difficult not to be reminded that each year of their union was one year closer to their eventual separation. There was no denying it, she had to admit it somehow.

Still, it does not change the time we have now, she reminded herself.

In the back of her mind she wondered how often she would need to be reminded. But she could not let herself return to the bed they shared, until such uncertainty had passed.

Reluctantly Arwen took a seat on one of the benches, and looked up at the sky. Pulling the shawl even closer around body, she searched the points of light in the middle of the darkness, eventually finding the right one.

Quietly she sat, her gaze unwavering, until her heart was soothed.

* * *

The morning following the Midsummer Celebration, Doreth was busy in the guest quarters, tidying their few things to make ready for the return journey tomorrow.

After a knock, Doran entered.

"Nolan is with Adair and the children," his sister informed him. "They went to view the gardens."

"That is well. I am just going to check on the horses, to make sure everything is set for our departure."

"Oh, the palace staff are more than able to see to that, I’m sure, Doran."

"All the more reason for me to check it personally," he replied, grinning.

Just as he made to leave again, Doreth held him back a moment, eager to recount the events of the previous evening. Her brown eyes sparkled as she began to question her brother.

"You saw the princess last night?"

"I did." Doran’s voice revealed nothing.

"And?"

"And what?"

Doreth’s hands fell to her lap in exasperation. "Do not tell me ‘and what.’ After Mírra left to find you we did not see either of you for the rest of the night. Do not pretend as if nothing happened."

"Well, what if nothing happened?"

"Oh, well now you are just avoiding the question."

"Alright, alright. I did see the Lady Mírra in the courtyard. I walked her back through the corridor. We talked."

"And that is all?"

The tall man’s gaze wandered to the few pieces of artwork around the walls of the room, and he suddenly became very interested in a landscape of North Ithilien. "That is all I’m going to tell you, so yes, that is all."

"You are hiding something, I know it." Doreth bit back a smile, and did not even bother to drop the piece of clothing in her hands as she came over to her brother. Looking up at him, she examined his expression carefully. "Did you kiss her?" she said slyly, giving a wink.

Although Doran did not reply, the faint reddening in his face was enough of an affirmative response.

"You did!" Doreth said, giving a small gasp. She began to giggle, having been only half-serious when she asked the question in the first place.

"Shh," Doran held out his hands in an attempt to calm her. "This is not something I want the whole world to know about."

"But this is wonderful!"

"Ah… I still do not think it should have happened."

She gave a laugh in disbelief. "Why ever not?"

"Well, she is the daughter of the King, for one." Doran’s voice kept its usual low tone, but the quiet volume was enough to indicate his resolve.

"Who has been nothing but friendly to you since he met you," Doreth countered.

Her brother stepped away from the painting he had been looking at, some of his concentration breaking. This situation was anything but simple.

"Did you not see the princess last night?" he said, turning back to his sister. "So many eyes were on her, there was no man in that court that did not want to have a dance with her."

"And still she chose you, sought you out to have a conversation with. That must mean something to you."

"I do not deny that I enjoy the Lady’s company."

"But you are afraid to take such a risk?"

Doran shook his head. "It is not fear, and this is much more than a risk. She is meant for something finer than anything I could offer."

"But, Doran, to give up the chance for happiness, for love…"

"I had love once. Things change."

"And so you would throw it away now?"

"There is nothing to throw away! There have been no promises made."

His sister simply looked at him, while a thought that had formed in her mind seemed reluctant to make it past her lips.

"Is this because of Nola?"

Doran blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion.

"You of all people should know me better than that," he said quietly.

"Then why?" Doreth began to seem exasperated, and sat down on the sofa, fiddling with the cuff of the folded shirt she still held in her hands. She questioned him again, but with none of the persistency that had tainted her earlier speech. "Why are you so determined to avoid this?"

Doran rubbed a hand over his forehead, so weary already of this predicament that was still only hours old… No. No, it was more than that. Perhaps it had begun at the moment she pressed that piece of fabric in his hand.

"I’ve noticed you this week, taking tours of the grounds with her, going riding," Doreth continued softly, "It’s the happiest I’ve seen you in years."

He crossed and sat down next to his sister.

"Do I seem so very unhappy to you, that would make you so determined in this regard?"

Doreth looked down at her lap, fingering the shirt again.

"No. It was difficult for all of us to move on, but I know you are content with the life you have."

"As much as you or I would like to believe otherwise," he said gently, "this simply cannot be. Princesses do not marry with shepherds." Doreth observed the slight slouch in his broad shoulders. "We came at the King’s request, and we will always have this week. But we have lives away from this place, that await our return."

"I just could not help hoping for something different," she replied in a small voice, glancing at him sympathetically. "I only want you to be happy, Doran."

"I know, and I am glad for it." Doran sighed. "But I came here with no expectations, and I will therefore leave with none. To believe otherwise would be folly."

* * *

Later that morning, quietly tending to his family’s horses in the palace’s stables, Doran began to wonder if he himself believed what he had said. Princesses do not marry with shepherds. He had to remind himself of that, if only to keep his hopes from growing. There was only one day left, and tomorrow he would go back to his life, and leave all this behind.

If only it were that simple, he thought. 

As if on cue, a knock at the entrance to the stall ended his chance to reflect on the matter. The lady in question stood before him, her hand resting on the door frame.

"You were not going to leave, without bidding me farewell?" Her voice was light, perhaps masking the nervousness that had kept her half-awake for most of the night.

"Nay, we do not depart until tomorrow, my lady."

"That is well, then."

The stable hands had been kind enough to let Doran work alone, and now there was no one but the two of them.

Mírra stepped in over the matted straw floor, next to the horse Doran was tending to. She smiled, patting the horse’s shanks. There had to be something to say next, but she could not think of it. Where to begin?

"Last night, when you left, I – "

"Before you speak, my lady, I must apologise for last night."

"Apologise? What is there to be sorry for?" she replied in genuine surprise.

"I do not believe it is my place to be in such, ah, intimate company with someone such as yourself. If your father the King were to know if it…"

Mírra’s cheeks flushed considerably. "I must tell you that he does not know. And also I must admit that I am reluctant to inform him of it."

Doran frowned, considering this. "Do you mean to say that no one else knows of this?"

The princess bit her lip. "Only my sister Lúthea, but she will not tell anyone."

This admission changed the gravity of the situation. Doran knew he should not feel better knowing their company was secret, but now whatever was between them seemed to be something more than casual.

"I very much enjoyed your company last night," said Mírra, stepping a little closer. "I only regret it was so brief."

"It… " He began to speak, but the words became heavy on his tongue. "I have also enjoyed visiting with you this past week. But perhaps this should be the end."

"What do you mean to say?" Mírra said with not a little confusion. "You do not wish to see me?"

"No, it is not that, I…" What did he mean? "I just think that this may not be the proper situation for you."

"Is this what will happen, then? You will go back to your home, and from then we will be parted?"

He could read the disappointment in her expression and began to believe he truly was in the wrong, to want to fight this for the sake of propriety.

"It is not what I want, Mírra…" The tone of his voice showed softened, showing resignation, but still he held her gaze. "But you are the King’s daughter, and should be with someone fitting of your station, not me, who you know so little about."

"I do not pretend to know the answers, or what any of it means, really, but should we truly care so much about ‘what is right?’"

"Tell me this, then," he began to ask, the tone of his voice changing to reveal previously hidden hopefulness mixed with the uncertainty. "If it was simply you and I, if none of this was here to stand in the way, my past and your family, what would happen? What would you say to this?"

Looking down, she took his hand.

"I would say… that it would sadden me to think that this would be the end. That you would leave and I would still think of you, but never again have the chance to be with you."

He could no more convince her than he could fool himself, being so affected by the unrestrained sincerity in her statement. Her eyes were clear, her expression entreating.

"I do not wish that to happen."

"It is true that I do know little about you," she said softly, "But that can be remedied."

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly in a smile. "Perhaps it can."

"Still it does not change how I feel when I am with you. And even if that is the only thing we have…"

"…Then it is still something," Doran finished for her.

Carefully he put both hands to the sides of her face, cupping the pale cheeks and brushing back the wisps of dark hair that had strayed forward. But despite the tenderness of his gesture, it was the princess who moved first to a closer contact.

Her kiss was neither gentle nor fierce, coming instead with pleasing abruptness, as if there was something to be said that could be expressed only by a meeting of lips.

As they broke away, Mírra shakily took in a breath of new air, before letting it out in a slow sigh. Feeling relaxed for the first time since he had left her the previous evening, she leaned her head against him, and settled against his body.

For so long Doran had wanted to wrap his arms around her shoulders, and now he could, and did. It felt comfortable, right.

"I will write to you," he whispered.

Mírra turned her face up to his, smiling. "And I shall do the same."

He moved to kiss her again, this time on the cheek, where she felt the whiskers of his light beard tickle her skin.

Mírra lingered a moment, taking his hand. As she moved away to leave, Doran held her gaze, and gave a nod, smiling. This would not be the end; both of them were sure of it.

I imagine the jewel Aragorn wears is something similar to the Elendilmir, which is described in Unfinished Tales:

"Elessar took it up with reverence, and when he returned to the North and took up again the full kingship of Arnor Arwen bound it upon, and men were silent in amaze to see its splendour. But Elessar did not imperil it, and wore it only on high days in the North Kingdom. Otherwise, when in kingly raiment he bore the Elendilmir which had descended to him." (Unfinished Tales, p 359)