Prologue: The Haunting Past

“Ada?  What’s wrong?”

The dark-haired man halted his seemingly endless pacing to kneel before his son.  “Do you remember what I told you about Nana having a baby?”

The three-year-old nodded eagerly.  “You said the baby was inside Nana, and soon he would come out and I could play with him.”

The man smiled.  “Today, the baby has decided to come out.”

“Can I see him?” the boy asked, excitement widening his blue eyes.

“Not just yet.  Besides, you might have a baby sister.”

“Nah.  I told Nana I wanted a brother!”

A new voice interrupted the conversation.  “My lord!”

With a sigh, the father stood and turned.  In that moment, mindset, posture, and bearing changed from father to King.

“My lord Elessar, the delegation from Rohan has arrived,” the messenger announced.

Aragorn nodded.  “See that they are given comfortable quarters, and ask the Steward to please pass along my apologies for not greeting them myself.”

“At once, my liege.”  The messenger bowed quickly and hurried away.

Aragorn turned back to his son.  “Now, Eldarion, go find your nursemaid.  She is probably searching for you.”

“I don’t wanna!” Eldarion complained.

Aragorn held up a warning finger.  “Eldarion, you do not have to like it, but you must obey your father.  Go find your nursemaid.”

The three-year-old trotted away, and Aragorn watched him from a distance, ensuring that the boy followed his father’s orders.  Only when his son was safely under the care of the maid did Aragorn turn his footsteps back toward the chambers of his queen.

“My liege,” one of Arwen’s maids greeted him at the door to the Queen’s chamber, “You have a beautiful new daughter!”

Pure, ecstatic joy rushed through his veins.  “Let me see her,” he commanded.

For once, however, his order was not obeyed.  “Not just yet, my liege,” the maid said respectfully.  “You shall be allowed inside soon enough.”

Though he was unused to his commands being denied, Aragorn obediently left the doorway and resumed his pacing.

It seemed an entire month had gone by when the maid reappeared around the corner.  “The Lady Arwen is asking for you, my liege.”

Four of Aragorn’s long strides brought him into his wife’s chamber.  Arwen sat propped up against several pillows, a white-wrapped bundle in her arms.  Her usually pale skin had drained of nearly all color, but, to Aragorn’s eyes, she was more beautiful than he had ever seen her.  He stopped merely a pace inside the door, content for a long moment to simply drink in the beauty of the woman he had married.  “Undómiel,” he whispered.

Arwen raised her deep blue eyes to his, laughing at his hesitation.  “Estel, come greet your daughter.”

A light of wonder in his eyes, Aragorn knelt beside the bed and gazed for the first time into the red face of his sleeping newborn daughter.  “I shall name her after you, Lady Undómiel,” he said lovingly.  “I shall name her Dómiel, for, though her beauty shall be wondrous, it shall be outshone by that of her mother, Undómiel.”

Arwen smiled gently at her beloved.  “So be it.  She shall be Dómiel of the house of Telcontar.”

It was fortunate for the warrior’s pride in Aragorn that no witnesses lingered in the room, as two silent tears of joy ran from his eyes.  “My daughter,” he whispered.

One year later

“My liege!  My liege!”  A soldier of Gondor sprinted through the corridors of the palace as fast as his legs would carry him.

Hearing the cry, Aragorn stood wearily from his seat.  “I am here.”

“My liege, the city is under siege by orcs!”

Those words stripped all clouds of weariness from Aragorn’s body, and he leapt to his feet, hand flying to Andúril, sheathed at his side.  “Call all the men to the city walls!” he cried as he ran from the room.

When the king arrived at the walls, he found, much to his relief, that the soldier had severely overestimated.  A small raiding party of orcs, perhaps three score in size, had apparently blundered upon the city and was merely covering their own retreat.  By the time Aragorn arrived, a bare dozen of the loathsome creatures could be seen in the light of the torches that lit the walls.

“Any injuries?” the king asked the captain of his guard.

“None that have been reported, my lord,” the captain replied.

“Double the watch this night,” Aragorn ordered.  “At the slightest sign that they may have returned, send for me immediately.”  Not waiting for the captain’s reply, he strode back along the wall, anxious to ensure that all his men were safe.

“My liege!”

One of Arwen’s maids threw herself at the king’s feet.  “My liege, the Queen begs you to come to her in haste.  Your daughter, Dómiel, has vanished, as has her nursemaid!  The Lady is sick with worry...”

Aragorn did not stop long enough to acknowledge the woman.  His long strides sending him flying across the ground, he ran at full speed toward Arwen’s quarters.  He found his wife running through the garden courtyard, tears pooling in her rich blue eyes.  “My lord!” she cried when she saw Aragorn.  “Estel, have you found her?”

“Where did the nursemaid take her?” Aragorn asked quickly.

“Towards the wall, I believe,” Arwen replied in despair.  “She asked to take Dómiel out-of-doors to breathe the fresh air.  Then, I heard the horns blow, and the cries of battle, and...”

“Say no more, my beloved.”  Aragorn rapidly drew his wife into his arms and placed a swift kiss upon her forehead.  “I shall find our daughter!”  With this vow, he ran back towards the wall.

The little princess’ nursemaid was easily found - she lay atop the wall, an orc arrow through her chest.  But the child was not with her.  Aragorn led a party of men to search the area beyond the wall for any trace of his daughter.

It was just inside the wall that Arwen met him.  The King carried a small form gently in his arms. 

“Dómiel?” Arwen whispered.

Aragorn looked at his wife, fury rising within him.  “She is alive,” he stated frankly, “but she is...permanently scarred from the fall.”

Later that night, husband and wife embraced each other tenderly as they stood by the bedside of their daughter, stricken with the terrible knowledge that no further help could be offered her.  Only one bit of knowledge consoled them - Dómiel’s life had been spared.  What sort of a life she would now live, neither parent could tell.

Four years later

“My lord?”

Aragorn sighed and raised his eyes from his work, prepared to answer yet another of the unending questions that it seemed only the king himself could answer properly.  What met his eyes, however, brought a smile to his otherwise grim face.  “My friends!” he exclaimed, rising to meet them.  “Welcome!”

His two guests – Legolas and Gimli - wore similar smiles as each gripped his forearm in a companionable greeting. 

“It has been long since I have been given the pleasure of housing you within my walls!” Aragorn said.

“Too long, Aragorn,” Legolas amended.

“Indeed.  But, come!  I will have quarters made up for you, and you must speak with my dear family,” Aragorn instructed.  “I know Arwen shall be delighted to see you both again, and you must, of course, meet the children.”

“Of course!” Gimli replied.  “The last time we had the pleasure of seeing him, Eldarion was so small he could have fit on my arm!”

“And that is quite a feat, when one considers the length of that appendage,” Legolas retorted dryly.

Gimly merely snorted in response.

Aragorn laughed aloud, for the first time all day, at the good-natured bickering between the two dear friends.  Stopping a servant, he inquired as to the location of his family.  Being informed that they were all in the gardens, he led his friends there.

True to Aragorn’s prediction, a smile lit Arwen’s face the instant she saw the trio.  “Legolas and Gimli!” she exclaimed.  “It is indeed a pleasure to lay eyes on you once more!”

Both elf and dwarf bowed respectfully to the Queen of Gondor.  “It is our pleasure, my lady,” Legolas answered for them both.

“I was hoping to allow our children to greet our friends,” Aragorn informed Arwen softly. 

“Of course,” his wife replied.  Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “Here they are.”

Three children, accompanied by a nursemaid, rounded the corner at a rapid pace, having to slide to a halt when they saw the party.

“Children,” Aragorn said proudly.  “Allow me to present my old friend Legolas and Gimli.  And this is my son Eldarion, my elder daughter Dómiel, and my younger daughter Gilraen.”

Legolas and Gimli both bowed respectfully to the prince and princesses, who returned the courtesy.  Both elf and dwarf stood still for a moment, studying the three royal children, who stared intently back, having heard many stories of Legolas and Gimli, dear friends who rode one steed and accomplished many wondrous feats, both during the War of the Ring and after.

Eldarion, the heir, was a striking young lad of seven now, with short-cropped dark hair.  He gazed through eyes the color of his mother’s, though the thoughtful light in them clearly came from his father, as did his stance, solid and unyielding, even in youth.  Gilraen was the youngest at two, but already an elven light shone from her features, marking her clearly as being the offspring of an elven mother.

It was on Dómiel, however, that Legolas and Gimli allowed their gaze to linger the longest.  The five-year-old’s face shone with the fairness of the elves, but her gray eyes reflected the line of men.  The most noticeable characteristic of the child was that she was still held in her nursemaid’s arms, despite her age.  The loose skirt she wore veiled her small legs from mortal sight, but Legolas the elf could sense a shadow upon her small body.

“You can sense it?” Aragorn asked him softly.

Legolas nodded, having heard about the girl’s accident.  “Might I examine the injury?”

“Of course.”  Aragorn lifted his daughter into his own arms, dismissed the nursemaid and the other children, and sat the girl down upon one of the myriad benches in the garden.  Slowly, he drew back the folds of the girl’s skirt, exposing her feet and ankles.

Only an act of supreme will prevented Legolas from flinching at the sight.  The poor child’s ankles were twisted into angles never meant for them to be in, causing the feet to be horribly twisted as well.  Clearly, the girl had never walked on her deformed feet, for the legs were thin and weak.

“They do not hurt me,” Dómiel said, speaking for the first time.  Catching Legolas’ surprised glance, she laughed.  “Many people who look at my feet ask me that.”

“You are quite wise for one so young,” Gimli replied, chuckling slightly at his friend’s discomposure.

“Thank you,” Dómiel said sincerely, sending the remainder of the group into laughter, as well.

“Come, Dómiel,” Aragorn said.  “It is time for you to rejoin your siblings.”

“Yes, father,” the girl responded obediently.  After bidding her mother and her father’s friends farewell, she allowed herself to be lifted once more into her father’s strong arms and carried away.

Legolas and Gimli departed from Gondor only three days later, with promises to return quickly.  They made good on their vow a mere three weeks after their departure.  Upon their return, they presented Aragorn with a gift for his daughter, Dómiel - a specially crafted saddle.

“The child cannot walk,” Legolas explained, “but, using this, she may ride and travel independently of another’s assistance.”

Gimli eagerly showed Aragorn the special features the friends had crafted into the saddle - the special back-rest that would assist the girl in keeping her balance, the system of straps which would hold the twisted legs in place, and the carefully crafted stirrups, which were turned in such a way as to support the girl’s malformed feet.

“We are aware that she will not be able to ride for some years yet,” Legolas finished, “but, when she is of age, we hope she will at least find some measure of freedom on horseback.”

Aragorn embraced each of his old friends firmly.  “Today you have blessed both my daughter and myself.  I will ensure that Dómiel knows her benefactors, and I am certain this gift shall be well-used.”

“That is our only request,” Gimli stated.  “If she does not use it, it is a wasted gift!”

“Use it she shall, Master Dwarf,” Aragorn responded.  “You have given my daughter the gift of freedom, and she will thank you for it when the time comes for her to accept it!”