These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain

Chapter Forty Two – At last, at last!

Geliebter!
Hab' ich dich wieder?
Darf ich dich fassen?
Kann ich mir trauen?
Endlich! Endlich!
An meiner Brust!
Fühl' ich dich wirklich?
Ist es kein Trug?
Ist es kein Traum?

(Beloved! Do I have you again? May I grasp you? Can I believe myself? At last, at last! Against my breast, Can I really feel you? Is it no delusion?
Is it no dream?) - Wagner – Tristan und Isolde Act Two – Scene Two

For a fleeting moment, Faramir studied the dark haired beauty in bewilderment. His eyes then lit up. “Éowyn! I did not recognise you; you look so different! It is so good to see you! How have you fared? Is Elestelle well?” Faramir exclaimed, almost crying for joy at the sight of his wife.

“I hardly recognised you either!” Éowyn said, shading her eyes from the setting sun to look up at him. “Fear not, our daughter thrives. But you - Faramir, you have done it! You’ve rescued the King!” With that, she quickly bridged the short distance between them.

Faramir nodded, he was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions; relief, joy at their reunion, concern for Aragorn and the knowledge that their troubles were far from over. “I have saved Elbeth from their clutches too,” he said, gesturing towards the small girl fidgeting nervously on the giant horse’s back. “Can you help me get the King inside?” he asked, awkwardly dismounting from his horse and fervently embracing his wife.

“I could help Strider,” Elbeth volunteered but the adults were too preoccupied to heed her

Aragorn had said nothing so far. He eyed Éowyn apprehensively.

“What ails The King?” Éowyn asked eying Aragorn anxiously.

“It is a long story,” Faramir replied, “ Suffice to say that he is in need of your healing skills. I will tell you all, once we are inside. Can you help me get him down from Roheryn?”

Éowyn helped her husband lift the King from the saddle, then realising that he was hardly able to stand, called, “Arwen, come quickly!”

Aragorn’s sad and tired eyes lit up when his Queen came running out of the house. “Arwen, Vanimelda!” Aragorn broke free of Faramir and Éowyn’s supporting arms and tried to approach his wife. His legs gave way and he would have fallen to the ground had Faramir and Arwen not both dived to catch him at the same moment.

“Estel, beloved!” Arwen cried, clasping her arms around her husband, while Faramir and Éowyn supported him from behind. “Beloved, you are hurt, what have they done to you?” Arwen’s sweet voice was full of concern as she beheld her husband’s haggard features and felt his thin body trembling in her arms.

“They put me to torment,” Aragorn whispered, tears running down his gaunt cheeks. “Eldarion; is he safe?”

“The monsters! How dare they?” Arwen exclaimed in horror, tenderly trying to wipe away his tears, despite being partially blinded with her own. “You are safe now. They shall not hurt you again!” she said fiercely.

“Eldarion?” Aragorn persisted anxiously.

“He is well and growing more like you every day,” his wife reassured him.

“We need to get the King inside,” said Faramir. “Éowyn, could you see to Elbeth and the horses?”

Together, they supported Aragorn inside and laid him on the bed.

“I will leave you and your lady alone now,” said Faramir, dipping his head slightly.

“You were telling the truth then.” Aragorn turned his tear stained face towards his Steward.

“I was indeed, my lord, “ Faramir replied gravely.

“Thank you for bringing me to her,” Aragorn whispered.

Again inclining his head, Faramir silently left the room.

Alone at last with her husband, Arwen drew him close, enfolding him in a loving embrace. Still weeping, he buried his head against her breast, revelling in her nearness. She held him tighter, unknowingly aggravating his wounds and causing him to visibly flinch. “Your wounds! I am so sorry,” she exclaimed, “Where are they? Let me tend them!”

“Please, I am so weary. Let me rest for now!” Aragorn begged, “They are not bleeding since Faramir bandaged them earlier.”

“Very well,” Arwen agreed reluctantly. “I will just make you more comfortable now.” Thus saying, she took off Aragorn’s cloak, unlaced his boots, and settled him as best she could, propping several pillows behind him. “Why does Faramir address you now with such formality?” she enquired, troubled by the tone he used to speak of his Steward.

“He betrayed me,” Aragorn said bleakly.

“I told him to pretend to join the rebels in order to save you. A few lies were but a small price to pay for your life,” Arwen explained. “You cannot hold that against him.”

“It was far worse than that,” Aragorn responded.

“All that matters is that he has restored you to me!” Arwen kissed her husband tenderly, caressing his face with her slender hands and sensing his frailty, weariness and despair, which caused her to weep anew.

“Please do not cry, beloved!” Aragorn whispered, raising his head sufficiently to kiss her. “I should like to see our son.”

Reluctantly tearing her gaze away from his beloved face, now so skeletal and drawn, Arwen went to fetch Eldarion from his cradle in the living room. She settled down again beside her husband with the baby in her arms.

Aragorn’s face lit up at the sight of his son. The baby regarded his father curiously for a few moments, uncertain how to react to him and then deciding he liked the newcomer welcomed him with a beaming smile. “ Ad da da!” he gurgled.

Aragorn now wept uncontrollably. During those weeks alone in the darkness tormented by pain, hunger and thirst, this was the moment he had dreamed of, yet despaired of ever experiencing.

Arwen settled beside him, embracing him with her free arm and supporting his head against her breast.

“I feared I would never see you both again!” he sobbed.

“I never gave up hope and have kept this for you,” Arwen replied, her own voice trembling with emotion. She slid the Elven pledge band from her finger and returned it to Aragorn’s, albeit with some difficulty as his hand was still reddened and swollen.

“My love is now all I have to offer you, vanimelda, when I promised your father you should have the crown, which I gave you together with that ring,” Aragorn lamented.

“What is a crown compared to the man I love?” Arwen reassured him, kissing him again as she spoke. “I would still love you if we had to live as beggars in the wilderness!” She noticed then how dry his lips were.

“I will fetch you some refreshment, Estel,” she said, rising to her feet.

Aragorn slumped back against the pillows, his meagre reserves of strength exhausted now the first excitement of the reunion was over.

Arwen returned a protesting Eldarion to his cradle and went to fetch a drink for her husband. She resolutely washed away her tears then moistened a cloth with which to wipe Aragorn’s face.

She attempted to hand him the cup, but his hands were shaking too much to take it. Instead, Arwen held it to his parched lips while he drank.

“I am sorry,” he mumbled, embarrassed at his weakness.

“You would do the same for me,” she said calmly, though inwardly his frail condition alarmed her considerably. “Was Faramir tortured too?” she asked, aiming to distract him. “He looks to be in pain.”

“He hurt his back lifting me,” Aragorn replied, starting to wonder if she were correct about the Steward’s loyalty. Maybe, Faramir had carried out his cruel deeds under duress? He did not know now what to think about his Steward. Faramir had kept his word, and brought him to Arwen, and cared for him most devotedly. Yet, the same man had hit him, taunted him and branded him while he lay chained and helpless. If it had all been a ruse, why had he not explained during the moments they had been alone together in that dreadful place?

“Rest now, beloved,” Arwen soothed, placing the empty cup on the bedside table, tucking the covers around her husband and surreptitiously examining him. He appeared to be slightly fevered, though at the moment exhaustion was what troubled him the most. Almost at once, he fell asleep.

Arwen settled down beside him again, tenderly stroking her husband’s hair and murmuring endearments. She fervently wished that her father had agreed to teach her more of his healing skills, instead of desiring to shield her from the ugliness of illness and injury. If only she could somehow fetch her brothers here to tend Aragorn! She knew that was mere wishful thinking and Éowyn’s skills, combined with her own would have to suffice. Most importantly, her faith had not been in vain; Estel was still alive and again at her side, this extraordinary man whom she loved so dearly. Tenderly she kissed him, wanting to feel his skin beneath her lips and reassure herself that it was not just a dream that he had returned.