This chapter is rated R.

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Chapter 20 – Reconciliation

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Aragorn leaned back in his chair, pondering the documents that lay spread over the table in front of him. The places they described were all familiar; some patrols were reporting from as far south as the river Harnen, and the fortification along the Poros had improved greatly since the previous year.

He took a sip from the goblet of wine in his hand, before pursing his lips in what might have seemed to be intense concentration. Truthfully, his mind was on matters more close to home.

Eventually he rose from the table and crossed to the set of windows at the side of the chamber. Outside he could see white and grey clouds, that seemed to be on their way to filling the blue sky. A light breeze made its way through the dense trees. It was a normal day, by all appearances.

Not for the first time in the last few days, Aragorn wondered if this departure was indeed warranted. Arwen’s grief was not something he could ever understand, so he had never wanted to press her. But instead, it had become that great unspoken thing between them, and he was left feeling helpless.

The silence in the room was soon broken by a knock at the door, followed by the entrance of the Steward himself.

“Do I intrude?” Faramir asked lightly. Although when speaking to the King a certain formality was required, the Steward’s tone of voice indicated the long friendship between the two men.

“How could you intrude in your own house?” Aragorn returned to the desk and extended a hand to indicate the unoccupied chairs. “Please.”

The little more than forty years that had passed since the War of the Ring had not passed by for the Steward as gently as they had for the King. Faramir’s dark hair was peppered with grey, his skin hung more loosely upon his tall lean frame, yet his eyes were as alert as ever.

Crossing the room with an absence of haste, he paused to fill a cup of wine for himself, and joined Aragorn.

“You know you are welcome here at any time of course, but such information as what is in these patrol reports is not what I would call urgent. Why did you not let me send it by courier?”

“Then I would have been denied a visit to your fair realm,” replied the King. His expression and tone of voice seemed almost carefully pleasant, but the circles under his eyes belied greater concerns. “And I would not call such information unimportant. The Poros has been invaluably strengthened since last season. Your son has done well in leading the Company, I am most glad for his assistance.”

“Do you know, I think he was glad to have the chance again? He always did prefer the southern territory.”

Aragorn took another sip of his cup, wishing to keep the conversation on any topic but for the unusual timing of his arrival in Emyn Arnen. “It is a shame my visit did not coincide with his.”

“Indeed, I believe my granddaughters would have been pleased to make your acquaintance,” replied Faramir thoughtfully.

The two fell into contemplation of the documents on the table, occasionally making mention of a date here, a detail there. Aragorn’s demeanour did not go unnoticed by the Steward.

After a time the King rose to stand by the window again. The Steward saw him fidgeting with something around his neck, a jewel, he supposed. The monarch’s eyes were distant.

Before Faramir had time to question his friend, there was a knock at the door, and a messenger entered with a guest.

“Pardon me, your highnesses,” said the young man who had led Arwen there. “My lady –”

“Arwen...” Aragorn exclaimed as he turned from the window, his voice trailing away as he saw the Queen’s face. He paused briefly, bewildered, but soon crossed to meet his wife.

“This is a surprise,” he said, taking her hand. But not an unwelcome one.

“I… I had to come… to come and see you, to talk to you.” She was suddenly flustered, but they held each other’s gaze for a brief moment. “Is everything well with you?” Arwen’s voice had grown quiet.

Her free hand drifted over to the top of his, completing the knot his hands already made with hers. Slowly she stroked up to his wrist. Aragorn nodded in response to her question and, gave a slow smile. An air of hesitation surrounded their meeting, but of undeniable relief as well.

There came a pointed cough from the direction of the desk.

“My Lord Faramir,” Arwen greeted her friend of old, finally making her way over to him.

“My Lady Evenstar,” he replied in turn, offering her his hand briefly. “It is a pleasure to see you here.”

“Thank you, my lord. Your home is well-secluded here, in such lovely hills. I can see why my son so enjoys his travels here.”

“Indeed, my lady,” replied the Steward kindly. “But I venture that the purpose of your visit was not entirely to see the Royal Hills?”

Arwen blushed. “Nay, not entirely. I am afraid…” she said softly, glancing back to Aragorn with some nervousness, “I must steal my husband from you for a few moments.”

There is much we must discuss...

* * *

The couple chose to find a private place to themselves, away from the House. As they traced a small path that led farther down the slope of the wooded hillside, Arwen tentatively slipped her hand in one of Aragorn’s. He kept his gaze vaguely ahead of them, he squeezed back gently with his own hand.

They walked in silence, neither one knowing who should speak first.

“How are the girls?” Aragorn asked after a time.

“The same,” Arwen replied softly. “Elenna asks for you.” She smiled and Aragorn smiled back.

They came near to a small clearing in the birch trees, and realised it was time to pause.

Aragorn turned to her. “Do you want to begin, or should I?”

Arwen swallowed. “I feel I should, but… it is difficult to find the words.” She looked up to find his clear eyes upon her, and quickly turned her gaze down again. Why is it so hard for me to speak of this, even now?

Aragorn started instead, seeing her difficulty. “Lúthea showed me the diary,” he said gently.

Apprehension was revealed in Arwen’s face and voice. “You know, then?”

“Enough to know it was Celebrían's. I know what Lúthea has told me. To be honest I... I hoped you would tell me more, but you did not, and then I did not know what to say.”

Arwen took a step or two further into the clearing and knelt down on the grass. Aragorn saw her fold her hands tightly in her lap, previously concealed pain now becoming revealed in her face.

“Some of it was my father’s as well, but my mother… she never knew,” Arwen whispered, “and she will never know any of it. About you, why I stayed, my choice. We said farewell, but did not truly know it would be forever. And then to see her words, her most private thoughts in front of me, to be confronted with it, I…”

Aragorn sank down beside her, watching her expression as she fought with emotion. He took one of her hands.

“So little have you spoken of your mother, yet I know this pains you. You would still keep all of this inside?”

Arwen heard her own voice grow choked. “I feared it would hurt you too much, hurt us, for me to speak of it.”

“Meleth-nin…” he said softly as he reached for one of her hands. “It would pain me more to think that I could not help you in this.” He swallowed hard. “I know it hurts you to think of your family across the sea, and it is something I cannot understand as you do, but… to leave such things unspoken…”

Arwen raised her eyes back up to see his expression, and began to realize that she had not been the only one holding back. Only, in avoiding a confrontation, she had been the one to force such uncertainty upon him.

“Somehow I thought I could deal with it on my own, if I could only push it aside…” She knew her voice was unsteady, but she hardly felt the tears that welled up in her eyes. “But in doing that I only made it worse. I only encouraged the distance between us, and I am sorry for it.”

She could see Aragorn trying to keep his breath steady. “I know it must have been difficult for you to think of your parents, but I had thought it was better, when you began to look at the collection with Lúthea. Even though you did not speak to me of it, I did not truly worry.”

Arwen shook her head a bit, recalling those awkward moments in the library, such an unexpected turn of events. “Our daughter, she… she asked me so many questions, and she was right to do so. Answering them made me realize I could not ignore these matters.”

They both grew quiet then, looking down at their linked pair of hands. Two identical gold rings glinted in the dim afternoon light. There was one thing she still had not spoken of, that had concerned him the most.

He spoke in a hushed tone. “The nightmare?”

Arwen held his smoky gaze for the briefest of moments, before her face crumpled and she bowed her head. Bringing a free hand up, she shielded her eyes as tears flowed freely. It was more than she could speak of.

Aragorn reached his arms around her, clutching her to him. He felt his wife’s hair underneath his hands; it was loose and smooth, as beautiful and dark as ever.

“I know it is the separation from your family that causes your grief. I would wish for nothing else in all of Arda, but that you would not have to bear it.”

“They will never know them, never know of this life…” Aragorn could hear her breath coming in gasps, through quiet sobs. “Will it all end too soon?”

Sadness rose inside him and he shut his eyes as if to shield it. His voice was choked as well, almost panicked as he spoke the question he feared to ask.

“Do you regret your choice?” He opened his arms slightly as Arwen pushed back against his chest, to look at him. “Undómiel, I…” Aragorn raised a hand to sweep away the wetness from her cheeks. “I cannot help but feel I have stolen you away, because I am the reason you are parted from those who you treasure in your heart.”

She winced at the memory of their night time conversation, those many days ago. Whatever fears she had, she could not let him harbour them as well.

“Aragorn…” Fresh tears pooled in Arwen’s eyes, but as she answered him her voice was sure. “These many years here I have been so truly happy. I have watched you fulfil all the promise of your birthright, watched you become the King you were meant to be… I have seen our children grow into all the most wonderful qualities of you and I, and they are everything I could have hoped for. I have never regretted a day of my life with you.”

A part of the anxiety in his stomach twisted away into relief, as Aragorn realised it was the first time she had met his eyes, and truly seen him, for a long while.

“Tinuviel-nîn…” he whispered, raising gentle fingertips to her face.

At his inviting touch Arwen pressed her lips to his, fervent and trembling, and they kissed as it seemed they had not done for many weeks.

Taking her face in both his hands, Aragorn deepened the kiss even further. Arwen’s jaw slackened underneath the pressure of his embrace, and she responded fully, with every fibre of her being, pressing her tongue firmly against his.

“Arwen…” he could barely utter as they broke for air, his voice now an even hoarser whisper.

“Yes… please, yes,” she panted, her heart near to bursting.

Her hot breath was on his cheek, then his neck, and he felt her touch travel down over his body, as if to verify that this was real… and he could barely believe it himself.

Tenderness would wait for later. Two pairs of hands fumbled to tug at the clothing that stood in the way of their complete joining.

Arwen reached quickly for the clasp at her neck, letting her cloak fall to the ground behind her. Aragorn followed suit, spreading his own cloak down with hers, leaving a blanket for them to lie upon.

As she sank back, she felt the familiar weight of his body over her, and his lips finding hers again, the brush of his beard against her delicate skin. I am yours, my love, always yours… She tried to reach the fastenings of Aragorn’s trousers, but was hindered by the progress he was making with her skirts. Goose flesh rose on her pale skin as his hand travelled up the inside of one thigh, tantalising her with the contact.

His heart pounded as he realized how ready she was, and how all too ready he was as well. Arwen pushed the trousers over his hips and he took his entrance, eliciting a moan from her throat.

She clutched at his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his tunic. As their connection deepened she arched up, tilting her head back and opening her entire body to him, urgently moving her hips in response to his motions.

Restraint was an impossibility, as each gesture and motion, each hasty caress further inflamed the urge that had been denied. Aragorn felt her tighten from the first contact, warm and welcoming, quickly bringing him nearer and nearer to the peak of sensation that they both sought.

They crashed together as release blazed through them and they reached the end, crying out for each other in need and relief.

Aragorn lay above her, breathing heavily. One of Arwen’s hands had ended up tangled in the hair at the back of his neck, which had grown damp with sweat.

The frustration of the last few weeks, the turmoil and repressed emotions, all was released. Regarding each other with new eyes, the couple found themselves at a loss for words. After a moment they rolled apart and laid beside each other on the cloaks. Some quality of awkwardness seemed to settle around them as they began to restore their clothing. Looking upward they saw the treetops open to reveal a pale, clouded sky.

Arwen breathed deeply, letting it out in a slow, controlled sigh. She turned her head toward Aragorn, and stretched out a hand to his face. As she brushed his beard lightly with the back of her fingers, he glanced back with an apprehensive smile.

“I never expected it would be simple,” she said softly, as if she would disturb the quiet of the setting even by speaking, “but neither was I prepared to be confronted so strongly with these things.”

“And I was reluctant to press you about it, for fear of complicating things. Perhaps I hoped it would simply pass, as you did.” Aragorn took her hand in both of his, tracing his fingertips absentmindedly against her palm.

“Perhaps the idea of the sorrow has always been there, since I parted with my father, perhaps before that, even. It seemed so much better to think of our shared happiness, rather than dwell on the sorrow.”

Aragorn sighed reluctantly, regarding her expression. “There have been so many times when we were separate and we should not have been. I regret them all, each day I was apart from you, and the children. I should have been there to see Mírra’s birth, and Lúthea’s. I should have been more open with Eldarion, about my past.”

“I know it,” Arwen whispered. She rolled on her side, closer to her husband. “You are here for them now.”

“I had not expected to feel this way, so weary.” He rubbed a hand briefly over his forehead. “What a pair we are, meleth-nîn. You afraid for the future, and me wanting to forget the past.”

“Then…” Arwen replied, furrowing her own brow in thought, “perhaps our answer is in the present.”

Aragorn blinked slowly and met her eyes, both of them slowly beginning to comprehend. “Yes. Perhaps so.”

She curled close and laid her body together with his. As she hugged him tightly he enfolded her in his own arms.

“Shall we return?” he whispered, many minutes later.

Arwen watched his expression and saw the dark circles of weariness underneath his eyes, realising that she felt the same.

“Yes. I think we are both in need of a rest.”

Taking her hand, Aragorn nodded in understanding, and they made their way back to the Steward’s house.

* * *

Despite the revelations of the afternoon, sleep seemed to elude Aragorn that evening. After a few hours slumber he awoke, not quite knowing what troubled him. But before long, he saw that his wife was experiencing the same difficulty.

Arwen sat on the edge of the bed, silently in tears.

Without a word he moved to her side, and did not ask what was wrong, only placed his hand on her back and waited for her to speak.

“I did not know if I should wake you,” she finally said, shaking her head as she blinked back tears. “For I did not know what I would say.”

“Tell me some of it, then.”

She swallowed, allowed herself to breathe. “I thought, after we talked, all was well, but…” Her voice was shaky, and she swallowed. “…I still think of them, and the sadness does not lift.”

“But you should not stop thinking of the ones you love.”

Aragorn saw confusion in her eyes, mingled with the sadness. Likewise, when Arwen looked into his face she saw the pain he still bore for her.

“I feel so much sadness, and yet so much love, that it tears my heart. How can I fight it?”

“Must you fight it?” he nearly whispered.

Looking back at him, the smokiness of her eyes was quenched in tears.

“I would never fight the love I feel. It is the sadness that I must push away, for it frightens me so.”

“It is difficult to grieve, but to push it away… is that not what brought us here?”

There was a flicker in her expression, but of what he could not tell. “How can I grieve for those I have lost, yet who still live?”

“I wish I knew the answer, truly I do. But I only feel that if you keep this inside, and do not speak of it, you will not heal.” Finally he reached up, and with the back of his fingers pushed the dark sheet of her hair over shoulder. “And I would not see your light fade so early.”

Tenderly his hand came to rest underneath her cheek, and she covered it with her own as she returned his gaze.

“Tuluch im?”

He smiled faintly. “You know that whatever is in my power to give, it is yours.”

Aragorn laid back against the pillows and took her in his arms.

Resting her head against his chest, Arwen could feel his heart beating, steady and surely. The shirt he slept in was open, and she saw the green stone around his neck. Blinking, she reached slender fingers up to touch the jewel that had passed through her own family.

“I still remember the day my mother gave this to me. At the time I did not fully understand, but I think… I think perhaps she may have. I have gone over those moments so many times in my memory.”

Aragorn closed his hand over his wife’s as he listened, closing both their fingers over the stone.

“Some part of me wondered, before the girls were born,” Arwen continued softly, “if one of them might have silver hair, or perhaps blue eyes, like hers. It was never likely, I know. But I could not help wondering, all the same.”

“I would have liked to have met her,” said Aragorn honestly.

“In another time, perhaps. Perhaps if things had passed differently.”

“If times were different, perhaps we would never have been married.”

“Very true,” Arwen whispered.

Aragorn smoothed a hand over her hair, and they lay together in silence for a few moments more. “Tell me about today?” he asked quietly.

Pressing her cheek against his chest, Arwen could not help but smile as she wiped dried tears from underneath her eyes.

“Today I went to see my husband, to make things better between us.”

“Are they better?” he asked softly.

“Yes, I think they will be.”

Aragorn kissed her hair once, softly, before resting his cheek against her head.

As he held his wife, stroking a hand gently over her back, he felt her breathing grow steady and calm, and at last she slept.

Arwen awoke slowly the next morning, her body feeling strangely exhausted from the first sound sleep she had had for many weeks. She reached out next to her to find the bed empty.

Before she had time to wonder where her husband had gone, she saw him as she sat up in bed. He was standing at the eastern window of their chamber, watching the morning sky. The sun had newly risen. Arwen saw him deep in thought, fingering an object in his hands.

As she raised herself out of bed he saw she was awake, and smiled.

“Good morning.” Arwen took his arm and smiled warmly up at him.

“A restful sleep?” he asked as she came beside him.

“Very much so.”

She saw then that the object in his hands was the Elven stone of his namesake, sparkling green in the fresh sunlight. Aragorn extended his fingers, flattening his palm, and with a nod held it at the windowsill in front of them.

Arwen realised as she met his calm eyes that he was offering it to her. She blinked a few times, looking down at the green stone she had worn for so long a time. It had been such a source of strength in the past, but not only for her alone. And she was not the only one who needed strength now.

Finally she reached out carefully and took up the chain. Reaching up, she fastened it around her husband’s neck. He nodded once more in understanding.

Aragorn slipped an arm around his wife’s shoulders, as she held his waist. They looked out the window to see the green hills and forest below, and the warm sun setting the landscape alight.

“It is a new day,” Arwen said softly, her face brightening subtly.

Aragorn squeezed her shoulder. “It is ours.”

Translations (Sindarin):

Tinuviel-nîn = my nightingale
Tuluch im? = Will you help me?