Evening Star

Sunlight poured through the windows of Meduseld, a great flood of golden warmth.  It flowed joyfully through the great hall, mingling with the sound of voices raised in laughter and song.  The folk of Edoras wore garlands of summer flowers, and all the faces Aragorn could see wore their happiest aspect.

He and Arwen strolled hand in hand through the great hall, her face smooth, a light seeming to shine about her.   It still filled him with wonder to see her by his side, to call her wife.  The light that shone from her face left him dazed, groping towards an understanding of his own good fortune – that she would forsake so much for him still left him breathless, his soul searching for an answer as to how he could deserve the love of such a creature.

Arwen clutched his hand to her, her face smooth as always, the golden light making her delicate features all the clearer.  Yet something was bothering her, tugging at the smile she wore, and he wished they were alone and free to speak to speak of it.  He clasped her hand in his and smiled at her, some small comfort until they were at liberty.

He was never more grateful than when Éowyn approached them, her step light and graceful, and her look so improved that he would hardly know her from the unhappy young woman at Dunharrow. 

She was smiling as she said, “Perhaps my lord, my lady, you wish to retire?  My brother’s celebrations are sometimes…intemperate.”

They agreed and fell into step with her gratefully.  They had reached Edoras that very evening, and after ten days' journey, a soft bed was more than welcome.  Faramir joined them, and as they walked to the guest quarters Aragorn surveyed the Shieldmaiden.

A great change had come upon her.  He had sensed its beginnings in Minas Tirith, but now it was complete, and he was glad to see it.  The last traces of that look of caged desperation had left her her face. She seemed younger; yet it also seemed that she had ripened into joyous womanhood. She was warmer, fuller; and when he heard her laughter ring out in the hall it was sweet and clear as a bell, with no hint of bitterness left.

And the change was not only in her spirit.  She had improved in health and radiance, and her skin was the pure colour of new cream.  And her smile - he did not know what had wrought this change; but from look of mingled rapture and wonder on his Steward’s face, he could guess.

When they reached their rooms, Eowyn explained hesitantly, “This was my Uncle’s chamber.  I hope you will forgive me, but with so many guests we were sore beset, and I wished to be sure that your accommodation would be satisfactory.”

Aragorn looked about him at the flower-bedecked room.  He knew the meanings the Rohirrim attached to each bloom, and saw full-blown roses for gratitude and friendship, snapdragons for a gracious lady, and finally orange blossoms for wedded love and fruitfulness.  The last especially was rare indeed in Rohan, coming from far to the South, and Aragorn was touched at this effort on her part.  He had no words to describe his feelings, and could only send her a look that spoke of them.  Her smile in return was a small, trembling thing, and he wondered if perhaps she had feared his ill opinion.  If such a thing were true, he must find some way to rectify her misapprehension, and as soon as possible.

 “There may be some trinkets of my Uncle’s left here – if such is the case, send them to either my brother or myself…we had not time to sort through all.  I hope you can forgive me.”

Arwen replied coolly, “Of course.  Tell me lady Éowyn, why was your Uncle not barrowed this evening?”

At this Éowyn’s face seemed to tighten, and Faramir took a step toward her as she said, “The people wish to pay their respects to their King, so it shall be three days before we bid him a final farewell.”

She managed a frail smile, and rallied somewhat as Faramir stood beside her.  She spoke jestingly as she said, “I see my lady, that my brother is enraptured. I hope he was not too persistent in his attentions.”

A strange heated force seemed to come from Arwen as she said, “He, was not.”  She stared Éowyn down, as though the full import of her words was not clear enough.

For one moment Éowyn’s face was wounded, as though the Queen had slapped her.  For an instant Aragorn’s eyes met hers, and they seemed to accuse him of some betrayal.  Then the familiar mask fell again “Well, I shall see to it then that you suffer no further unwanted gestures in the name of friendship.” 

Arwen looked her up and down for a moment, and said, “I thank you.”

Her breathing a little fast, Éowyn turned to Faramir and said, “Perhaps, my lord Steward, you desire to see your chamber?”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving her face, and Éowyn seemed to take heart.  Faramir bowed slightly and said, “If you will forgive me, my King…my Queen.”  Éowyn nodded at them both, refusing to meet Aragorn’s eyes, and after a moment they left the room, Éowyn leaning on his proffered arm.

Aragorn stared after them, wishing he could have found some way to prevent Arwen’s words.  He did not know how she could feel such enmity towards Éowyn, and it grieved him to the heart.  Arwen was the very summit of his desire, the fulfilment of all he had ever dared to wish, but yet…he did not think he could bear the thought of Éowyn in pain.  Futile though such feelings might be, though he had never loved her, it ached his heart to know she suffered.

He turned to Arwen, to seek some explanation for conduct so unlike her, but the anguish of her face stopped him.  She sat on the bed, weeping quietly.  He knelt before her, caressing her cheek with one hand, and finally she spoke.

“My father…oh, my father.  I have broken his heart…I saw it in his face.  How can he ever forgive me, love?  No other has ever caused him such grief…and soon, soon we must part.  Why must our joy be bought at such a price from one I love so?”

He held her close, knowing no comfort for such grief.  “And that girl, that girl whose suffering is all past.  She walks in such joy, and she can grieve for her Uncle while I have caused such grief to one whom I love, and can make no amends.”

He rocked her back and forth, allowing speech to drain her grief of its poison; but he could not deny, even to himself, that his heart was lightened when she said, “I do not regret this choice, nor would I take it back for all the joy that might be in the West…but I would it was not a choice.  I have torn his heart.”

Half the night was spent in conversation, and they were near sated when he told her the meaning of the flowers Éowyn had left for them.  Arwen’s eyes went wide and regretfully she said, “I have wounded her.”

He could not deny it, and she laid her hand on his and said, “I am sorry for it.  It was never my wish to hurt one you love.”

He began to speak a denial, but she laid a finger on his lips.  “I do not doubt your constancy or your honour, love.  But can you deny that you have a care for her happiness and peace?”

He shook his head – he could not.  Arwen smiled as if satisfied, and said, “If there be a breach, I shall heal it.”

“I would see her happy.”

“I know, love, but such a gift is not in our power.  Her happiness shall not come from us; but perhaps you have already put her in the way of finding it.”

And then Arwen smiled at last, and once more he was intoxicated by her nearness. It was a night for joy after all, and Aragorn allowed himself to feel all that had been bottled up within him in the light of day.  She was near, she was his, he could reach out and touch her – he could ask no more of life than that.