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Chapter 18 - Distance

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Arwen was walking. She felt her feet touch the forest floor as she stepped over a lightly worn path. Sunlight filtered down through the ceiling of leaves and tree branches. She did not think to wonder where she was.

Slowly she became aware of someone holding her hand. It was Aragorn, walking next to her. Seeing her smile at him, he pressed a simple kiss to the back of her hand, and they continued on the path. She felt content.

Around them she could hear faint sounds of the forest. Beyond that, she thought she could almost hear laughter. Were their children with them? It sounded like the girls chasing each other in a game. The next moment it reminded her of Eldarion, the sound of an exuberant young boy.

"This path will end soon, I think," Aragorn told her.

"Let us go a little farther, meleth-nîn, we should not turn around yet."

He consented and they kept walking. But as they went Arwen was distracted by other sounds from the forest beyond. She thought she could hear someone else walking.

Aragorn had stopped, and the tug of his hand kept her in place. "Arwen, we should go back."

"But I think there is something I must see, something farther out there..."

"Dearest, we must return, to the children."

She heard it again, footsteps just ahead of them on the path. "I must see who is there. I must."

Curiously Arwen set out to search. The foliage began to thin out as she followed the footsteps. As she rounded another bend in the path, she came to a clearing. Standing there was a tall elf-lord with dark hair, and wisdom in his eyes.

"Ada," she whispered.

He looked just as she remembered him, except calmer somehow. Then there were his arms around her, protective and comforting.

"Ada, I’ve missed you so much."

He took her hands and stood at arm’s length. "How well you look, my undómiel."

"But what are you doing here?"

"Why, we are simply walking, just as you are."

"We?"

"Your mother is with me, as she always is now. She will want to greet you, how long it has been...."

He turned to look behind him, and for a moment Arwen thought she could see a flash of silver hair, or perhaps a light-coloured dress through the foliage.

"Nana?"

Feeling a rush of excitement she almost followed her father, but she suddenly stopped still, realising she had lost hold of her husband. How could she have let go of his hand?

"Aragorn?"

The forest was quiet in the direction she had come from.

"Estel?" she called out again, a little louder.

Without even thinking she rushed back, lifting her skirts away from her feet. Her stomach felt like ice. One minute he had been there with her, and the next he was gone. How could she have lost sight of him?

She followed the turns of the path, even as it grew thicker and thicker with trees. Every step seemed to make her journey more difficult. She could no longer see her father. Alone, she searched, but to no avail.

"Where are you?" Arwen called out urgently, but her solitary voice was ineffectual. "I’ve lost you!"

He had to be here somewhere, but she could not shake the feeling that he was gone.

"Aragorn!"

There was a hand on her shoulder, shaking her.

"Aragorn!" Arwen felt herself awake even as she heard herself cry out.

She sat up in bed suddenly, pushing the sheets away and gasping for breath. Her heart raced as she came to realise where she was, and that the person she had sought in the dream was here beside her.

"Mellwain, I am here."

Aragorn took her cheek to turn her face toward him, and finally watched the disorientation leave her expression. Wordlessly she buried herself against his chest, shutting her eyes.

"It was a dream," he said in a hushed voice, attempting to soothe her.

As he put an arm around his wife’s shoulders he began to feel them shake. Still she said nothing of what had passed in her mind, but only clung to him.

Aragorn sat with her and held her, not knowing what else to do or say.

* * *

Mírra did not know why she always chose the very late hours of the evening to write to Doran. Perhaps there was something different she liked about the flicker of the lamplight on the sheets of parchment. More likely it was the privacy that such a time of night allowed.

Sitting once again at her small table, Mírra ran her hands once more over the folded papers. She thought she could understand now why Lúthea spent so much time looking at the collections in the library; she was aware now of that connection that could be felt with not only the words on the page, but also the person who put them down in the ink.

It started simply enough, really.

Dear Sir, was what she had settled on eventually. She was unsure of whether to address him by name, or perhaps even My dear Sir, but that was too informal, she decided.

Then there were the inquiries about his family, how his sister was faring, and how the stables had improved. These were the things they always seemed to begin with, before moving to gradually more and more personal matters, the things Mírra realised she could no longer keep to herself.

For so much of my life I have thought of nothing but what it would be like to be in a different place. To journey, to simply go, explore. I thought there was always something else to see. How childish that seems to me now, to assume that there is always some better place to be. How could I have thought it impossible to find freedom in stillness?

But when I am with you none of those feelings seem to matter. In your company I feel calm, content. I want to stay where I am, if it means you will be there with me. You reassure me with your presence. With your voice you comfort me, and with your touch you awaken my heart.

Is there some other declaration I should make to you? I know not what it should be. Some part of me wonders if I have done this all wrong. Perhaps from the very start I have misjudged my own actions, for so much of this has come unexpectedly. But then, when I think of how we first met… that could not have been planned.

All I know is that when once I thought I would only journey and explore, instead I found you. (No, that is not right, for it was you who found me. Until then, I had never felt lost… how very strange life is)

Have I professed too much? I cannot tell what will follow. Perhaps nothing. But I could not leave it unwritten and unsaid. Whatever shall come of this, I remain your

Mírra

After looking over the letter one last time, Mírra folded it carefully. Holding the bit of sealing wax at the edge of the candle flame, she watched it become slick as it melted.

She had said it now. It was finally written down, and sealed, and ready to be sent with the first morning’s light.

* * *

If it was a truly serious matter, Aragorn knew, then Arwen would have spoken to him of any anxieties she harboured. But instead she remained silent on what had caused her nightmare, and both of them were reluctant to speak of it.

Days passed, palace life continued, and the King and Queen went about their business. To an outsider, nothing would have seemed amiss, unless one noticed the silence that had begun settle over the Queen’s activities.

Finally one evening, Arwen gave her regrets that she would not attend dinner.

"I will stay behind with you, we shall have something sent up if you are unwell," Aragorn decided.

"No, please, you should eat with the girls, they will wonder if both of us are absent." Arwen laid a hand on his arm briefly, but her eyes seemed strangely unfocused.

They will wonder if you are absent, thought Aragorn. He watched her drift out to their balcony, to look out at the sky.

"You will not tell me what it is, undómiel?" he asked quietly.

Arwen swallowed deliberately to steady her voice. "It is only something that I must think on for myself. I do not wish to worry you." Although she gave his hand a gentle squeeze, somehow the gesture seemed to have little effect. "Perhaps I shall go to the garden, and watch the stars."

Aragorn regarded her expression carefully. After a moment he simply nodded, and took his leave of her.

* * *

They made a quiet dinner party that evening, the four of them, with Elenna being the most talkative of the group. Mírra seemed preoccupied with other matters, and when her youngest sister began to fuss, she took leave to bring her back to the nursery.

"Very well," Aragorn sighed, nodding to Mírra as she rose to leave. "It seems none of us will have a peaceful time this evening."

Meanwhile, sitting in the chair next to him, Lúthea looked down at her plate, pushing around bits of food that had gone untouched for the entire meal. Her behaviour did not go unnoticed by her father.

"You’re very quiet tonight, Lúthea. What is troubling you?"

She continued to hold her fork, carefully tracing the edge of her plate with the tines.

"Is nana alright?"

He should have expected her to be concerned about her mother. "She is simply not feeling well tonight."

Lúthea looked down with confused eyes, her hands beginning to tug nervously at the napkin in her lap. Aragorn watched her with concern.

"Is that what is troubling you?"

"I think… I think have done something I shouldn’t have. Something to make nana sad."

Aragorn was surprised to see her now near tears.

"She loves you dearly, Lúthea, surely that cannot be."

"But I have, I know it, I saw her face when she looked at the diary. I know it made her cry, I should never have asked her about the books in the first place." Her lip was trembling. "I should have left it alone."

Aragorn did not know exactly what she spoke of, could not see the reason for any of this, but his daughter was upset; honest even in her own anxiety.

"Come here, Lúthea, it will be alright," he said quietly, drawing her into his arms.

At the invitation, she immediately reached out to hug her father tightly, and let a few unanticipated tears. When she had released the tension she had held inside, she wiped her eyes, still leaning against his chest.

"I did not think it would make her sad, ada, I only thought she could teach me what I did not know," she finally answered in a small voice.

"Come now, it cannot be anything that shall not be mended. Tell me, what is this all about?"

She sniffed, and drew in a breath unsteadily. Everything would surely be all right, if she told her father about it.

Wiping her eyes once more, she began to explain.

* * *

So this is what it had come to, after so many years together, the thing that he had feared would come between them.

Aragorn found Arwen where she had said she would be, sitting in the south garden that looked out high over the sleeping city.

In the night sky, a few stars peeked out from behind errant grey clouds. Arwen sat calmly on a stone bench, leaning with one hand resting against the low wall. In the distance the Anduin flowed as always to the Bay of Belfalas, and the sea. It was in this direction that Arwen’s gaze was aimed, but her eyes were unseeing. She was pulled into dreams, lost in thought.

Quietly he approached and sat down beside his wife, facing her. Now that he was close to Arwen, Aragorn could sense the turmoil of her thoughts that swirled beneath her exterior calm. She was indeed far away, and he could not tell where.

Her long dark hair was loose, framing her face and spilling over her shoulders. After a few moments a breeze came and caught a few of the locks, displacing them. Aragorn carefully reached up, and smoothed his fingertips from her temple downward, tucking the stray hair behind her distinctive ear. Why did her ears always seem to hide behind her hair?

Arwen’s lids closed over her unseeing eyes. She was aware of his presence, but remained quiet. She feared the thoughts that lay unspoken between them.

Aragorn, though, could no longer leave them unspoken. He felt her distance.

"Where are you?" He asked quietly, breaking the silence. "Where do you go when you look out there?"

Arwen opened her eyes, but she still looked away.

"Places that will never be, except in my mind." She replied vacantly.

"Will you not come to bed?"

"I do not think I will find any rest tonight," she responded in a quiet, choked voice.

She had not meant her words to sting, but Aragorn was not sure how to respond. His heart was irrevocably given to her, and it pained him to feel her slipping way over these last few weeks.

"Come back, Arwen," he asked as he took her hand.

"I want to," she answered, with difficulty. "I want to climb out of this heaviness that surrounds my heart, but when I try it seems only to pull me down further."

Until now she had avoided meeting his gaze. But finally his eyes met hers, and he saw the storm beneath them.

Aragorn pressed his lips together, and his light eyes were concerned. He took her face in his hands.

"You need not bear this alone."

Arwen again shook her head. "But it is my burden, and not yours. In the end, I must bear it alone." She took his hands and set them in his lap. Her eyes were still cast down.

"But the end is not yet near, and I would not see your light fade so early."

The memories were flooding back to her, those last moments with her father…

But back then she had kept her grief from Aragorn, and now she again had to keep it from him. What did he know of what she had forsaken? Surely her sorrow would fade in time, if only she could push it aside.

Aragorn had come to her now hoping to mend the distance between them, but now he began to feel he had not made matters worse. The sadness behind her eyes only seemed to increase as she spoke of it. His wife, his beloved, was right in front of him, and yet somehow he missed her.

Arwen’s eyes once again drifted south, to the sea, and Aragorn’s gaze followed.

"The Sea calls you."

Arwen shook her head, disconcerted. "No… it does not call…" She paused, struggling for meaning in her troubled thoughts. "It is a divide, a barrier I cannot cross."

She had tried to ignore them for so long, thoughts of the family she was divided from. To know that there was a world beyond that she would never be a part of... To know that her children would be forever unknown to her father, her mother, her grandmother...

Arwen’s eyes became impossibly dark as the storm raged behind them. She was suddenly uncomfortable in his presence. His questions, though intended in empathy, only seemed to sting further.

"But how could you know what I am divided from?" she asked in a hoarse voice.

Aragorn blinked once, heavily and slowly. Her words hung heavily between them, but he could not simply sit by and watch her descend into grief. How could she have kept this from him for so long?

"I have always known what you have sacrificed, I know it all too well, and there is no day that passes when I do not think of it. But Arwen, will you not help me to understand?"

"I do not know if you can understand this."

A precarious silence fell over them. Neither knew what to say or do. Aragorn looked down at their clasped hands, identical gold bands resting together in entwined fingers. His heart sank as he felt how powerless he was to pull her back.