Judging Anew

Meduseld felt strange to her, though she was more than familiar with the great feasting halls of elves, and men.  She had never known such an odd folk before – many of them looked at her and her kin with fear, and fear, as Arwen knew well, was all too easily twisted into something darker.  The elves had always held it a mark of man’s nobility how he viewed the Eldar, fairer, wiser and higher than any mortals, and yet for all that she caught glimpses of fear in the Rohirrim; there was authentic nobility in their bearing.  She sat now in one of the chambers that had been appointed them – for in Rohan no propriety was offended if man and wife shared a room – and she longed to examine the tapestries, the wood carvings, the decorations in blankets and rugs and all around the room, for it was in the details that she might come to know these people – but she could not.  Such behaviour was not fitting for a Queen.  The urge to examine, to learn, and thus understand, was so strong however that she was almost glad to catch the sound of footsteps approaching the door, though it meant they would be forced to sit through yet another audience.

Fortune smiled on her this day it seemed, for it was the Steward who joined them.  Arwen had not known him long of course, though she had spoken with his brother in Rivendell, but she was already learning to appreciate his character.  It was a wonder to her how such dignity and graciousness could have flowered in a man who had fought for so long, in a war with such bitter losses.  Perhaps she had spent too long secluded in Rivendell, and thus had forgot the true strength of men.

Though he stood and spoke with all the requisite formality, she could sense some excitement underneath it all.  She met her husband’s eyes, smiling at his confusion, but waiting for the Steward to speak.  When he did there was a hint of turbulence, a herald of some great joy, in his rich voice... “My lord,” he said, his well-learned decorum holding fast even at such a time, “I wish to inform that my betrothal will be declared this day – unless, you have some objection.”

Aragorn gave him a piercingly glance, but smiled after a moment and said, with open curiosity, “But who is the lady?”

And then Faramir stood a little straighter, with a light in his eyes that Arwen had never noticed there before, and said, “Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan.  Her brother has granted his permission.  What think you my King?”

Her husband sat, his face grave, and Arwen reached out to grasp his hand, though she was unsure what could have perturbed.  Aragorn was lost in thought for a moment, before he said, “I would speak a few words with you, before I speak, for I have a friend’s interest in your lady.” 

And then Arwen saw something pass between the two men, though she could not have given it a name, and slowly Faramir sat, saying, “Ask what you will, and I will answer”.  There was however a look in his eyes that seemed to almost dare his King. 

Aragorn looked at him and did not take the dare and said, “You would marry her though she is not of Númenorean blood?  Though you may live many years without her?”  

For a moment Faramir met Arwen’s eyes, and she thought ‘We are the same, you and I’, but he said, “I would.  Though she asked the same thing”. 

Aragorn smiled slightly, and again Arwen wondered what exactly was the nature of his relationship with the Lady of Rohan.  He spoke again, haltingly, “You know of, she has told you of what stalked her in Rohan?” 

Faramir nodded, saying, “She told me all, but…you cannot think it of any matter to me, save that I would…I would it had not been so.  I would bring her joy, if it is in my power, for I know what her suffering has been.”  Faramir was not a loud man, nor was he given to overt display of his passions (at least, he never had in Arwen’s presence, but she suspected the restraint had become natural to him) and the feeling that surged through his voice was the strongest sign of all of the importance of his request.

Aragorn placed his hand over Arwen’s and spoke softly, “I understand.”  Adopting a more formal tone he added, “My Steward I grant you permission to wed.  And as a token of our friendship, you may tell your bride that on the day of your marriage, she may take up the post of Lady Steward.”  Arwen looked at him, hoping the surprise was not written across her face.  The Steward’s wife had for many years been known as the Lady of Gondor, but the Lady Steward was a different matter altogether.  It was not a title granted with marriage, but one only afforded to those women who had done Gondor some great service themselves.  Clearly Faramir understood as well as she did, for his smile was all the brighter as he left the room.

Aragorn smile, a true contentment shining in his eyes, and asked, “Was I like him when I first saw you?” 

She could not but smile at the memory.  “Much the same my lord, though perhaps a little less formal – I think there is not a man born, who does not look as though he has been dazzled, when he loves first.” 

He laughed and stood, kissing her hair.  His tone was rueful as he said, “I must go Umdomiel.  Gimli wishes to ‘speak’, most likely at great length, about rebuilding the gates, and though I am loath to spend time on such a subject, I fear it must be done.”

He paused before he left, “You are happy are you not?” 

She smiled at this reminder of his concern for her feelings since they had arrived in Edoras, and nodded, “Yes, my lord, I am happy”. 

Now that he had left, she was free to consider Faramir’s betrothal.  She had promised to heal the breach with Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan, but the task was impossible Éowyn had proved far more capable and perceptive than Arwen had thought at first – and she had politely eluded all Arwen’s overtures of friendship.  She had not been cruel or unpleasant or remotely rude, she had simply been absent whenever Arwen attempted to strike up a conversation.

Arwen bitterly regretted her resentful words on arriving in Edoras.  She did not know what madness had possessed her, save that she had felt a wave of sick envy more powerful than anything she had ever known.  Not only was this girl happy, and beloved, and innocent of any injury to those who loved her, she had dared raise her eyes to her Estel!

She soon realised her mistake.  Éowyn’s lightning fast response to her politely expressed contempt, had betrayed a sensitivity Arwen had not expected.  Éowyn had been hurt by her words, for all the light of love surrounding her.  Arwen had misjudged her – like all others who had fought in the War of the Ring, there were bruised, aching patches still in her heart.

She bitterly regretted taking out her confused emotions on Éowyn; and came to regret it more with every word that was spoken of the Shieldmaiden, for clearly she had suffered greatly, though the nature of that suffering was still unclear to her.  The joy and lingering pain that came with her marriage had confused her, made her judgement uncharacteristically harsh and unforgiving...  And now this same woman was to be Lady Steward – her second, and supposedly her greatest ally.

She had watched Éowyn since they arrived in Edoras, and while she remained confused about her relationship with Estel – for they had not spoken since the first day – she had put her jealous resentment to one side.  She knew her husband too well to doubt his heart, and she could see on sign of any misconduct on Éowyn’s part. For she loved Faramir with in a way that had been thought dead from the world of men.  They were beautiful together, seeming to radiate some glow of bliss.  All who saw them were happy.  And having watched the girl closely, Arwen could no longer retreat to the formula she had used to justify her animosity.  This was not a heartless Wraithbane; rather, she was a woman who had grown to maturity in time of war.  Arwen had known many such, in the years before Eorl rode south.

She was very young, but not innocent, not callow, not lovesick or headstrong as Arwen had heard her judged.  But sensitive, very sensitive.  The Queen’s words had obviously cut her like a whip, for Arwen could see not other reason for her avoidance of both her and Aragorn in the days following.

She did wonder how she had made such a massive misjudgement.  Was she not wise?  Had she not learned in her many years of life that a man or a woman, is not to be known in a day, perhaps even a year?  And yet this wisdom she had ignored in a moment of she knew not what.  It was certainly not like her to experience such a failure in judgement, especially when all those respected thought highly of them.  It was hard not to resent Éowyn for being the cause – especially when Arwen’s mistake of perception, had worried Estel, over whose heart the girl had some hold.  She knew it was nothing akin to his feeling for her, knew she had no basis for her anger, but... 

She disliked the girl for being so unsure that a few words from a woman she barely knew could wound her.  How ridiculous!  And yet, even as some little anger mingled with her curiosity, Arwen also felt a little protective of this child she barely knew, though she was the cause of almost the only feelings of guilt Arwen had ever felt, and had refused all efforts at reconciliation for fear of being cut with words.

She knew that she must build some kind of friendship with Éowyn – even if only for peace.  She wished though that it might be easier, that the girl was more like an elf, less full of the passion and uncertainties of her kind.