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Chapter 22 – An Unexpected Visit

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After Arwen left to see Mírra, Lúthea went to seek out Adina and her little sister. Finding himself free for the moment, Aragorn made his way to his own study, thinking he might catch up on the events of the last few days.

After a short while, the King became so quietly immersed in reading at his desk, that when a knock came at the door he gave a start.

“Enter,” he called.

An attendant entered, and bowed.

“There is a visitor who begs an audience with you, your majesty.”

The afternoon was well underway. Aragorn had been quite content spending the day with his own affairs. And unexpected visitors were rarely pleasant, important though they often were.

“Can it not wait until tomorrow?”

“I know not, sire, the gentleman says he has just arrived from travelling.”

“With the purpose of seeing me?” the King asked in a somewhat sceptical tone.

The servant nodded and gave a short bow. “As he said, my liege.”

Aragorn sighed. He pursed his lips for a moment, thinking. “Very well. Show him in.”

As the door opened again, Aragorn was surprised to see Doran being ushered into the room. He rose to give a friendly greeting, that he was so accustomed to showing visitors.

The fair-haired shepherd bowed as deemed was appropriate, but soon found himself reaching out to shake the hand the King extended. He shook it firmly.

“This is unexpected,” said Aragorn. “You must have traveled long to come here.”

Standing there, in front of the King, Doran found himself unsure of how to act. He was sure his heart would beat out of his chest.

“Ah, yes, your majesty, little more than a week,” Doran said in a much more even tone than he would have expected from himself, “But thankfully, the weather was favourable.”

Aragorn sat. “Your sister and her family, they are well?”

“Indeed, sire, quite well.” He smiled to conceal his nervousness. “I must beg forgiveness, you highness, for imposing.”

“Not at all,” replied the King calmly, “I owe a debt of gratitude for the kindness you showed to my daughter.”

“That is most generous, your majesty.” Doran gave a brief nod of respect.

Aragorn nodded in return, with a short smile. He rested his elbows comfortably on the arms of his large chair. “So. What brings you to Minas Tirith, sir?”

Doran stood tall. He felt the King’s eyes on him, but heard himself speak.

“With respect, your highness, it is a matter…” He took a breath. “A matter concerning the Lady Mírra.”

Aragorn fixed his gaze on the man in front of him. He did not blink. “What matter concerning my daughter is that?”

* * *

Returning from her daughter’s chamber, Arwen encountered her husband in the corridor, heading in the opposite direction. His jaw was set, and his eyes were stern.

“Where is Mírra?”

Arwen was in the way of his path. She noted Aragorn’s determination with concern. “In her chamber, where I have just left her. You do not mean to go to her in such a temper?”

“You might do the same yourself, when you learn what news I have just learned. She has been writing to a suitor these past months, and he has just arrived in the City, to offer his hand.”

Whatever reaction Aragorn was expecting from Arwen, it was not the one she gave him. Though she was taken aback to hear him mention the suitor, it was for an entirely different reason.

“You mean to say that Doran is here?” she said with surprise.

Aragorn’s expression changed dramatically. “You know about this?”

Arwen was having a bit of trouble concealing her own bewilderment. “I… only learned of it in nearly this moment. Mírra explained everything to me when I found her just now.”

He looked back at her in silence, attempting to keep his breathing calm. She saw him blink once or twice, as he processed this. “I must speak with her myself.” Aragorn’s demeanour was more relaxed, but still resolute.

Standing in front of him in the middle of the corridor, Arwen laid a hand on his arm to keep him still. “Not until you are calm. You would only alarm her further by confronting her in such a manner.” Her tone was firm, matching his.

Aragorn took a few short breaths. His gaze wavered briefly, but went back to his wife. He frowned. “It is not like Mírra to keep secrets from us. To hear of it from this gentleman Doran first, does not bode well with me.”

Arwen could not help but see his point. She sighed. “What impeccable timing for all of this.”

He nodded in agreement. As they stood quietly for a moment, he took notice of their location in the corridor, and began to wonder whether they should move to a more private location. Their own chambers were not far away.

“Come,” he said quietly. Aragorn took Arwen’s hand and they made their way down the hall.

Once they were secluded on their balcony, the King listened as his wife recounted to him the conversation she had just had with their oldest daughter. He in turn told her of the meeting that had just passed between him and the man who had come to court her.

A frown remained on Aragorn’s brow. “This cannot be that serious, a man she hardly knows.” He turned and rested his hands on the edge of the balcony, leaning forward a little. “How am I to know that he did not offer Mírra aid with the purpose of seeking her hand.”

“It is not like that,” said Arwen firmly.

Aragorn met and held her eyes, and paused for a long moment, considering his next words carefully. “How is it then, between them?”

“It would seem they know each other better than we might have expected,” Arwen told him. She came to stand next to him and faced inward, to lean back against the low stone wall. “Mírra showed me a few of his letters. They are quite affectionate.”

The distant look in Aragorn’s eyes revealed his mind was still turning. “Just how well do they know each other?”

Arwen laid a hand on his arm, watching his face carefully.

“She has not given herself to him, herven,” she said softly.

The tension in Aragorn’s shoulders eased slightly, but Arwen could still see him gripping the balustrade. “I did not want to believe otherwise.”

“Me neither,” she answered, her cheeks flushing. “It is still a relief to know it.”

“Here I am turning away suitors from the North, and all the while she is giving her attentions to a shepherd of the country.”

“Indeed, it is most surprising.”

He rubbed a hand across his forehead. Exhaling deeply, he looked to his wife a little more calmly than before.

“So,” Aragorn began again, “What is between them then?”

“Why not let Mírra tell you herself? That is, if Doran has not already done so.”

She smiled gently. “I would still hear your account of things, goll hiril-nîn.”

“She speaks of him very tenderly, and in Doran’s letters…” Arwen searched for the right words. “While he does not use the word love, it is everywhere implied.”

Aragorn frowned again. “That will make it more difficult if they must part.”

Arwen stood up straight, facing him directly. “You do not mean to end their association?”

“Mírra is not yet old enough to be married. That is plain.” Aragorn’s face changed with genuine surprise. “Surely you do not believe she should make this match?”

“No, I have not said that, but… I recognize how she feels. I remember what that was like.” She watched his eyes soften, despite the stillness in his expression. “I think their affection is genuine.”

“I see.” Aragorn grew quiet, and disappeared into thought again, his own memories.

Arwen leaned back against the balustrade again, her fingers still tangled together. When he did not speak for another moment, she turned to see his brow still knitted with contemplation. She had seen the same expression many times before, times when an important decision had to be made. Only rarely was such a decision on such personal matters.

Aragorn glanced quickly back at his wife, seeing her expression was troubled also.

“I had thought to give her freedom from such matters, for a few years more,” he admitted, “Neither did I wish to be arguing with you about it.”

She slipped one of her hands inside one of his, and he laced his fingers with hers.

“I know she is still young in years,” Arwen said quietly, as she met his eyes, “And he is not of a noble family. And I am not saying that this is true love. I only do not want to dismiss this so quickly.”

Aragorn considered her words, and nodded.

“I will speak with her.” He made to enter the chamber, but paused, and instead of releasing her hand, turned back to take hold of both of them. He gave a small smile. “I too remember what it was like, to feel that way.”

Arwen felt relief to see his smile, and she did the same. “Only talk with her patiently? And then you may argue with me about it,” she added, making an attempt at irony.

He gave one of her hands a squeeze. “I will be patient.”

* * *

For the second time that day, Mírra heard a knock at the door of her chamber, but this time she answered it herself. This time, her father was on the other side.

“Have I interrupted you?”

Mírra shook her head and gave a smile. “No, father.”

There was a very short but noticeable pause before Aragorn spoke again. “We… should have a talk, sell-nîn. Will you walk with me?”

She swallowed. Although there was no doubt in her mind what he wished to speak of, Mírra saw nothing antagonistic in her father’s demeanour. She knew he would be disappointed, and he was right to be, after what she had kept hidden from him.

She took his arm, and they walked to the end of the corridor, and turned toward the South Garden of the palace.

“It seems too long since we last spoke properly,” said Aragorn. “Have you enjoyed your summer here? I know it is not the same without Eldarion…”

“Lúthea and I have passed the time pleasantly enough. And I am never unhappy if I can go riding, even if Eldarion cannot go with me.”

Aragorn smiled. “Of course.”

They took a few more steps, having nearly reached the gardens. She looked up at him and spoke softly. “I was worried for you and nana.”

This caught Aragorn off guard, and he was touched to hear her say it. “So was I, for a brief while. I do not think there is cause to worry, just now.”

They began to approach the garden, both father and daughter waiting for the other to speak. Mírra knew what she should tell him, but she could not voice the words. There was a knot in her stomach that had been forming since her mother had left her.

When they did arrive, they found a bench. Aragorn motioned for his daughter to sit, before he sat beside her.

“Today I have had two very unexpected conversations,” he began, carefully. He watched Mírra’s face, but she could only look down at her hands in her lap. “Just now, I spoke with your mother.”

Mirra felt her cheeks turning pink, and she answered in the quietest of voices. “She told you about Doran?”

Aragorn explained what Arwen had told him about the letters between Mírra and Doran, but nothing else.

She looked up to him at last. “Are you angry with me?”

“Perhaps… surprised would be more accurate.” He paused again, let himself take a breath. “How long has this been?”

“Only since Midsummer. We grew close when he and his family came to visit, and… ada, suddenly he was going to leave, and the only thing I could think was how I might not see him again, and I could not bear it. And so we wrote to each other.”

“Still, to keep this from your mother and I, all this time?...”

She answered in sudden earnest. “For that you must not blame Doran, for he was wary of the secrecy. I am at fault for that.”

Seeing her father’s expression change as she answered, Mírra knew this admission did not assist her. She looked back down again, as Aragorn rose from his seat.

An attendant arrived just then at the garden’s entrance. Aragorn crossed over to the young man, and Mírra saw him speak with him briefly. When her father returned, he paced near the bench for one or two steps.

“This is not a matter of me telling you to put on the right clothes or showing you how to skip stones. I am unsure what to say,” he sighed. “I should have expected such a conversation to come in time, simply not so soon.”

“So you would not permit me to be with him?”

Aragorn regarded his oldest daughter, heard the disappointment hidden in her question.

“If such a match would allow you happiness, then I would be joyful of it. But I also fear this comes too early in your life. Although the custom has perhaps changed in Gondor, and the life of the Edain is not what it once was, according to the ways of your people I am reluctant for you to wed so young.”

Mírra stood also, and faced her father. “Do you doubt my maturity?”

Her question was direct, but not confrontational. “Reflect on yourself,” he said gently, “Do you believe you are ready for such a role?”

She swallowed. “Perhaps I am not yet certain.”

“What are you certain of?”

“I know the kind of man Doran is.” She gave a little smile. “I am certain of how I feel in his company.”

“Yes?” he prompted, though hesitant of hearing the response.

“Comfortable. Content.” She smiled a little, but could not keep her eyes on her father. “Safe.”

“Those are all good things,” said her father, after a moment’s quiet.

Mírra was unsure how to read his response. She had not expected him to be so calm. “But you are not convinced?”

“I only wonder how all this can have happened so quickly.”

“I know it seems that way.” She swallowed a lump in her throat, trying very hard to remain composed in front of her father. “I wish that he was here, if only so you could speak with him.”

Aragorn paused, regarding his oldest daughter carefully.

“What would you say, mir-nîn, if I were to tell you Doran is indeed here?”

He watched her face change as she looked back at him. Her eyes widened, her mouth parted slightly in surprise. She looked suddenly hopeful.

“Truly?”

Aragorn nodded. “The second unexpected conversation I had today was when Doran himself arrived, quite unexpectedly, in my study. He informed me of his wish to court you… or rather that the process seemed to have already begun, I should say.”

He waited for his daughter to respond, but at first Mírra blushed scarlet.

“Will you send him away?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“But you do not wish for me to marry yet, and I may still visit with him? I do not understand.”

Aragorn’s expression softened. “Perhaps we will simply take it one step at a time.”

Mírra hesitated for a moment. “Do you wish to test me? Test Doran?”

“I wish for my daughter to make a choice that would bring her happiness.”

For the first time in their conversation, Mírra smiled, gently at first. “That is all I have ever wished for.”

They were interrupted when the same attendant returned, accompanied by the Queen. With Arwen entered Doran, his demeanour calm except for his brown eyes that turned bright at seeing the princess.

Mírra’s nerves betrayed her as her stomach went cold. At first she could not decide what to do, and stood fixed in her spot until her mother sent her a smile, and moved to stand with her father.

She did what she knew she should do when being introduced to someone, and gave a curtsy, but when she looked up and met Doran’s gaze, the coolness in her stomach disappeared into a most wonderful lightness.

“Welcome in Minas Tirith, my lord.” Her cheeks were still pink.

Doran bowed. “It is an honour, my lady.”

Arwen took her husband’s arm while she watched this interaction. She knew Aragorn did not know what to say either.

“My lord,” she interrupted gently, “I do not know if you had opportunity to view these gardens on your previous visit to the City. Mírra, perhaps you could show Doran…?”

The princess looked to her father for assurance, and although Aragorn remained silent, he gave a nod of assent. As the younger couple stepped further out into the garden together, Arwen gave a tug at his elbow.

She motioned to the nearby bench where Aragorn and Mírra had been sitting a few moments ago. “Come and sit with me?”

Aragorn drew his gaze back to his wife. “Alright, then.”

As they sat, Arwen saw him look back to their daughter and her guest. “They will be fine, meleth-nîn,” she whispered.

He took her hand, and let out a breath he had been holding. “Simply keep telling me that.”

 * * *

Mírra could hardly keep the delight from showing on her face, as she walked beside Doran. They were less than a foot apart, not even touching, which made her even more aware of his physical presence. He was here, beside her, no longer just words on a page.

“I missed you,” she whispered as soon as they were a few steps away. She paused and turned to him.

“And I you, lady.” Doran’s eyes were warm and clear as he tried to simply take it all in, take her in. He held his hands carefully behind his back. “How do you fare?”

“Well. Better now that you are here,” she said earnestly, “How does your son?”

He smiled at the mention. “It is most considerate of you to ask. We had just celebrated Nolan’s birthday, before I left. He is as content as ever.”

“I am so pleased to hear it.” Mírra gave a quick sidelong glance, and realized she had her back to the garden’s entrance. She lowered her voice. “Are my parents looking this way?”

Doran looked quickly to where Arwen and Aragorn were sitting. “The King was just now, I think, but now he is talking with the Queen.”

“Alright.”

He regarded Mírra for a moment, noticed the lingering flush of pink on her cheeks. “Do you feel as nervous as I?” He almost laughed.

She grinned in relief. “Perhaps more.”

With that, Mírra reached up and wrapped her arms around Doran’s neck, and on instinct he held her tightly for a moment, enfolding her tightly in a simple embrace.

“It is just… I can hardly believe you’re here,” Mírra whispered into his shoulder. “I’ve spent the last two months thinking about you, wanting to talk to you, wishing I could tell you in person all those things I wrote down.”

As they parted, Doran took one of her hands, and began to stroke it gently with his thumb, hardly stopping to realize if it was not proper for him to do so.

“For the last week, as I rode, I kept telling myself to hold no expectations, and perhaps I still do not, but I also told myself that if I had a chance only to be in your company once more, then that will be enough.”

Mírra blushed for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon. “Well,” she said after a pause to consider his words, “It is not enough for me.” She smiled warmly. “Therefore you will have to stay here, for more than a week this time.”

Doran took her other hand. “As my lady wishes, I will not disappoint.”Sitting a short distance away, Arwen tried to bring Aragorn’s attention away from the company their daughter was now keeping.

“Lúthea is waiting with Adina, but she will wonder if we do not call her soon, for the evening meal.” She glanced over briefly to where Mírra and Doran stood. “Shall we invite him to join us?”

Aragorn nodded carefully, his gaze fixed on the same spot. “Mírra would like that, I believe.”

Arwen watched the younger couple for a moment, then watched her husband’s face. She raised a hand to his cheek and drew him back to her again. “Tell me what you are thinking.”

“I have not agreed to anything,” Aragorn told her quietly, “But I cannot deny she seems content.”

“You need not decide anything now.”

“No… we will simply take this one step at a time,” replied the King, smiling a little wryly, “There are still many more conversations to be had.”

herven = husband
goll hiril-nîn = my wise lady