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

For Julia, with grateful thanks for her help with this chapter.

Come weep with me, past hope, past cure, past help! - Shakespeare (1564–1616), Romeo and Juliet, act 4, sc. 1

It was as well that they had brought a candle to illuminate the otherwise pitch-blackness of the room. It revealed a disturbing scene. Aragorn was lashing out wildly, striking at Arwen, and resisting her increasingly futile attempts to restrain him. Despite his weakened condition, he was still able to land a blow with considerable force.

Faramir immediately realised that Aragorn was suffering from a nightmares. They had plagued him constantly since his ordeal. The darkness of the room had most likely caused it. Aragorn had wanted lights to be kept burning at all times since he had rescued him. The Steward placed the candle on the table, so that the bed was illuminated, then hastily averted his eyes from the Queen, who was clad only in her nightgown.

“No, Estel, please!” Arwen begged. “Be at peace, it is I, your wife!”

Hearing the distress in his mother’s voice, Eldarion started to cry, adding to the commotion.

“Come, Arwen! He is not himself,” Éowyn coaxed, gently pulling her away. The Queen suddenly snatched up Eldarion and fled sobbing from the room. Éowyn followed her.

Faramir gripped Aragorn’s arms firmly. The King continued to struggle and lash out wildly, all the while staring vacantly with unseeing eyes. “Easy, my lord! You are safe now.” Faramir said firmly, gently shaking the King as he spoke. “Éowyn, can you bring more candles, please?” he called to her through the open door. Aragorn’s struggles had grown less but he still writhed and moaned as if reliving some dark horrors in his mind.

Éowyn rushed in with several candles and placed them all on the table, flooding the room with light. “How is he?” she asked.

“I cannot wake him,” Faramir sighed.

Unnoticed by the adults, Elbeth had left her makeshift bed by the fire and followed Éowyn. The little girl joined Faramir beside Aragorn. “Strider!” she called, “Wake up, it’s me, Elbeth!”

“Wake up, sire!” Faramir continued to call, glad of Elbeth’s presence, yet feeling guilty that a child should be allowed to witness this.

Aragorn blinked and suddenly focused on his companions, looking extremely confused. “What happened?” he asked. “Where is Arwen?”

“In the kitchen. You accidentally struck her,” Éowyn said bluntly. “I must go to her. She is somewhat distressed.” She left the room, closing the door behind her.

“You were having a nightmare,” Faramir explained quietly.

“Nightmares scare me too,” Elbeth said comfortingly. “Was a monster chasing you? I once dreamed that and it was horrid!”

“I struck my wife?” Aragorn ‘s tone was bleak. “If so, then I am the monster!”

“You did not mean to. You were unaware of what you were doing,” Faramir soothed. He gently rubbed the King’s back. He could feel him trembling beneath the thin nightshirt he wore.

“How could I? What have I done? My beloved Arwen!” Aragorn suddenly burst into tears. The convulsive sobs racked his emaciated body. It almost broke Faramir’s heart to witness such a strong man brought so low. The Steward sat on the side of the bed beside his lord and impulsively placed his arm around the Aragorn’s shoulders. The bond between them was still strong enough for him to keenly sense the King’s distress.

Aragorn buried his head against Faramir’s shoulder. Despite everything that his Steward had done, he accepted whatever meagre comfort he could now offer. Faramir might well be a traitor, but he had become the lowest of the low, a man who beat his wife, and not just any wife, but the glorious Evenstar of her people, who had forsworn immortality to remain at his side. He had failed, not only as a King but also as a Man. He had raised his hand against the woman he had sworn always to love and cherish.

Elbeth joined them, wrapping her own small arms protectively around the distressed King.

***

Head bowed, the Queen sank down heavily on a chair, clutching Eldarion fiercely to her. The baby had stopped crying but tears still ran down his mother’s cheeks.

“Look at me Arwen!” Éowyn said, gently but firmly. Arwen reluctantly looked up. Only then did her friend notice the ugly red mark that disfigured the Queen’s pale cheek.

“What has happened to my husband?” Arwen whispered, as much to herself as to Éowyn. “He was always so kind, so gentle, so patient…” her voice trailed away.

“You are the most loving and devoted couple I have ever known,” said Éowyn, hoping to keep her friend talking.

“When we were first married he was so afraid of hurting me,” Arwen said wistfully, “We both felt terrified on the night of our marriage. The imprisoning walls of stone with servants’ lurking behind every door made it very difficult. My grandmother soon noticed the next morning that I looked less than a radiant bride. She suggested that we take our blankets to a secluded spot in the garden where we could see the stars the next night. Estel was so loving, so tender to me. He told me of Faramir’s vision of our line stretching through countless generations. I knew then our union would be a blessed and fruitful one. We have been so happy together until today. I never thought that he would raise his hand against me, never!”

“What happened?” Éowyn asked gently, putting her arm around her friend. The beautiful Elf was shivering. Éowyn fetched a blanket from the couch in the next room and tucked it around her.

“Eldarion woke up and needed feeding, which I did. When he was finished, I settled him back in his cradle, then blew out the candle, and settled down to sleep again. The next thing I knew, Estel was lashing out and shouting at me to go away! It was so unlike him. Does he no longer love me?”

“Never think that, Arwen!” Éowyn said firmly, “I see it in his eyes every time he looks at you, how much he adores you. I am sure there must be an explanation. He might have accidentally caught you with the splints on his injured hand, perhaps? Now, I am going to make some tea. I think we all need a cup!”

After giving the Queen a comforting hug, she busied herself with the cups, then looked through her jars of herbs, wondering what might best ease the troubled King and Queen. As soon as the water had boiled, she stirred some calming herbs into the brew and coaxed Arwen to drink. Gradually, colour returned to the Queen’s ashen features and she regained some of her usual placid composure.

“Thank you,” she said. ”Please could you hold Eldarion, Éowyn, while I wash my face? I must return to Estel.”

***

Aragorn’s weeping had gradually subsided to the occasional choked sob. Faramir still held him, while Elbeth sat snuggled beside him trying to divert him with a story about how she had been unable to find her kitten until Bereth had shown her it to her, curled up asleep in the barn with its mother and brothers and sisters.

Éowyn entered the room, bearing two cups of steaming tea and a glass of milk just as Elbeth concluded her story. After handing the milk to Elbeth, and a cup of tea to her husband, she held the other cup to Aragorn’s lips, “Drink this!” she ordered, “I have added valerian and chamomile, which should ease you.”

Aragorn wanted to refuse, feeling he deserved no kindnesses. However, he was dreadfully thirsty. He obediently sipped the drink until he had drained the cup. He then let Éowyn settle him back on the pillows, where he lay limp and exhausted with his eyes closed.

A few minutes later, Arwen hesitantly entered, a robe over her nightgown and carrying Eldarion. A purple bruise across her cheek disfigured her usually flawless complexion and despite her efforts to wash away all traces, there were still tearstains on her cheeks.

“My lady,” Faramir courteously rose to his feet. “I would speak with you.” He led her out into the living room. “How do you fare, my lady?” Faramir enquired gently.

“Aragorn struck me!” she said in a bewildered tone. “I do not think he even knew who I was! And why should he do such a thing?”

“He fears the darkness,” Faramir explained.

“I have known him more than seventy years and he has never been afraid of the dark before!” Arwen protested.

“He was not locked in a dark cellar before, with pain, cold, thirst, hunger and the scuttling of rats his only companions!” Faramir said sadly, “He has had dreadful nightmares ever since. He would have been completely unaware of his surroundings. Has he not told you?”

Arwen shook her head, her eyes wide with horror.

“I can only imagine just how much he must have endured during his imprisonment, even though I was at that dreadful place. I do know, though, how much the thought of you sustained him,” Faramir continued. “He loves you more than life itself, my lady.”

Arwen nodded, suddenly resolute. “Thank you for telling me this. He will not speak to me of it. The marks on his body cannot tell the whole story of what he must have endured. I will go to him now.”

***

Settled back on his pillows, with Éowyn and Elbeth seated either side of him; Aragorn was on the verge of falling into an uneasy sleep. Éowyn took Elbeth by the hand and let her towards the door. “We are only in the next room if you need us,” she said, before quietly leaving.

Aragorn opened his eyes and looked at his wife. Immediately, he noticed the spreading bruise. All thoughts of sleep banished, he sat upright, overcome at the sight of the evidence of the hurt he had caused. “Arwen, no!” he whispered, “I am so sorry. What have I done?”

“You did not even know I was there. I should not have blown out the candle,” she said gently, replacing a sleepy Eldarion in his cradle while spoke. She hovered at the foot of the bed, still slightly apprehensive. Never could she have imagined, that her husband would strike her. She knew of such horrors, but it was how drunken brutes on the first level might behave, not her Estel! He had even passed laws decreeing that such men should be punished.

“It was so dark. I thought they were coming again to torment me. I lashed out to try to protect myself. I had no idea where I was. How can you ever forgive me? I have wronged you most grievously! It would be best if you stayed with Éowyn in the other room, where no harm can come to you!” Aragorn buried his face in hands and wept anew.

Arwen was immediately at his side, enfolding him in her loving arms. “Eldarion has struck me and bitten me several times and I have forgiven him,” she said gently, her voice full of compassion.

“He is but six months old. I am a man full grown who should know far better,” Aragorn replied bleakly, becoming rigid in her embrace. “I no longer deserve your love, dearest and best of wives!”

“I have given you my heart’s love for all eternity,” Arwen replied. “Nothing could take that away.” Tenderly, she stroked his hair, massaged the back of his neck and caressed his still bruised face, until at last he relaxed in her arms.

“Vanimelda!” Aragorn murmured.

“Let me come to bed now,” said Arwen, “I would be beside you.”

“Leave the candle burning, I could not live with myself if I struck you again!” Aragorn whispered, his head still bowed with shame. “How can I ever atone for what I have done to you?”

“Share your thoughts with me, Estel!” Arwen demanded, placing her hand on the bowed head.

“No! I cannot allow you to see such darkness,” Aragorn protested, trying to move away from her.

“I am your wife. How can I understand what happened to you otherwise? I am stronger than you imagine, and have known many sorrows during the long centuries of my life,” Arwen said firmly, pressing her head against her husband’s.

Then, all at once, she knew and understood what Faramir had been trying to explain and what Aragorn had until now tried to shield her from. She started to weep again. The knowledge of his suffering hurt her far more than the blow. She realised that he would no more intentionally have struck her, than he would cut off his own right hand. She realised now, that even Elbeth, had understood more of what he had endured than she did.

“Estel, I love you so much!” she whispered.

“My Queen, my sweetest love!”

Arwen lay down beside him, drawing his head against her bosom and tenderly caressing him until he slept.

She remained wakeful for long after, staring at the candle flame and wondering how long it would take to find again the strong, kingly man she had married concealed within this broken man she held now in her arms.

TBC 

A/N This chapter is not meant to condone domestic violence, which the author deplores.