Chapter 10
The justice of the King

“You know the punishment for treason.”

The voice of the King was tense. He stood in the Queen’s bower, gazing out to the window. A warm summer rain had been falling for two days now, taking away the heat of the desperate week gone by and bringing long awaited relief to the citizens of the White City.

“I know indeed,” Arwen replied, stepping beside him. “And the traitor has already been punished as law commands; Ardhenon is dead.”

Aragorn sighed.

“Still… Artanis was clearly involved in the conspiracy. It was she who spied out the comings and goings of the hobbits for her father; without her he wouldn’t have known when to send his men to get the Ringbearer.”

“They failed.” Arwen reminded him, gently touching his arm.

“Yes, but Sam could easily have been killed, too… and Ardhenon had just ordered his men to do so when Faramir arrived.” His fingers covered the Queen's hand, giving it a sudden, hard squeeze. “And to kill me, do not forget.”

“How could I?” Arwen replied. “But you must take every facet of the whole matter into consideration to show the Lady the justice she needs… and the mercy she deserves.”

Aragorn gazed at the lovely face of his wife; a faint smile curled his lips.

“Enlighten me,” he said. “What kind of mercy do you expect from the King, and why does she deserve it?”

“It is common knowledge among the noble folk at the court that Ardhenon saw his daughter as little more than a poor substitute for his firstborn son who fell on the Pelennor fields. And do not forget that she was raised in a household where the Stewards and their descendants through the ages were seen as the only true rulers of Gondor. The return of a King – from whatever line – was nothing than a fairytale, told to the children at nightfall.”

Arwen drew a deep breath.

“I have a suspicion that she simply wasn’t able to disobey, Estel. She might have stayed a helpless tool in Ardhenon’s hands, if not for Frodo. It is my deepest belief that his sharp eyes and wisdom worked the change in Artanis’ mind that in the end saved Sam’s life – and yours.” She touched his shoulder, her warm voice urgent and pleading. “Pippin, Frodo, Meriadoc and even Faramir all agree that she flung herself in her father's path when he tried to murder you in the tunnels of Osgiliath. She may have carried out Ardhenon’s plans – at first. But then she went to Faramir, and she guided him and the hobbits to the guardroom at the risk of her own life. She not only deserves mercy, my love… she should also have your gratitude.”

Aragorn was silent. The images of that night were running through his mind, a chaos of fire and darkness, of confusion and frantic screams. He remembered the pale, frenzied features of Ardhenon, swimming towards him as if through deep water, with empty eyes and grinding teeth. He also remembered a muffled sound of deepest despair and the swirling of a dark dress and cloak. And then two figures had fallen to the ground; his foe, burying Pippin’s sword beneath his body, and the Lady Artanis, nearly stabbed to death by her own father.

“You are wise, melethril,” he finally said. “I will lay this matter into your hands. Go and visit the Keeper of the Jewels and talk to her if possible; the healers tell me that she is still very weak and in great pain… little wonder, for the dagger that wounded her was the same that struck me. It is thanks only it to your father's skill that the poison on the blade didn’t do any more damage and that I’m still able to use my right leg. You, my love, may decide what has to be done to punish and reward, and I will trust your judgment.”

“Thank you.” Arwen cupped his face with both hands and kissed him. “I will try to be the counselor you need and deserve.”

His nostrils filled with the sweet, fresh scent of niphredil… the scent that always surrounded her, the scent that was one of the oldest memories he treasured from the beginning of their long and difficult love.

“You won’t have to try, Tinúviel,” he gently replied. “for that is what you have always been.”

*****

The rain was still falling before the pointed arch of windows like a thin veil of truesilver when the Queen came to the Houses of Healing. She was greeted by the warden and guided to the left wing of the building. A guard stood beside the entrance. She answered the reverent salute with a short nod and turned to Oroher, her eyebrows rising.

“Do you fear that your prisoner might try to escape?”

Oroher shook his head. "No, your Majesty,” he said, “but though we managed to keep the whole matter as secret as possible, we don’t want anybody at the court or in the City to find out about the Lady’s role in the conspiracy. The people of Minas Tirith love their King, and they might easily receive a story such as this very ill.” A small smile played around his lips and vanished again. "The guard is a protector and not a jailer, my Queen, and the Lady’s room is neither a dungeon nor a cage.”

“I understand,” Arwen replied slowly, “though we certainly have a bird with broken wings here.”

“Wings she never learned to use, I think,” the warden murmured, “and a creature like this should be nursed and fed rather than having its neck wrung before it was ever able sing a song.”

Their eyes met in complete understanding. They spoke no more until they had reached the next door. The warden opened it and went in, and Arwen waited behind him, listening to the quiet, murmuring voices behind the thick oak wood. Then Oroher came out again.

“I beg your pardon, my Queen, but Lady Artanis is asleep, and her nurse – Eilinel – has refused to leave the sickroom since we first brought her unconscious mistress here. I had to prepare her for the honor of an unexpected, royal visit. I didn’t want to surprise the old woman; such a sudden shock might cause her a heart attack, and I would have two patients instead of one.”

“I have to speak with her,” Arwen said quietly.

“Of course, your Majesty.” The warden opened the door and bowed deeply. Arwen entered the room and found herself facing an old woman with neatly pinned up, gray hair under a scrupulously clean bonnet. Her face was nearly as white as the cloth that framed it, and her fingers clamped around a fold of her black skirts as she dropped into a curtsy.

Arwen reached out and gently closed her hand around one of the old nurse’s elbows.

“Oh please… rise, my dear,” she said in a friendly, reassuring tone. "I have come to see the only person in Minas Tirith that might help me to do the Lady Artanis the justice she deserves.”

These were obviously exactly the right words to help the old woman out of her panic and fear. Eilinel straightened and met the queen's gaze with a fervid determination.

“I will do everything I can, your Majesty – everything.”

“Oh, I am sure you will,” Arwen interrupted, "and I am very grateful. But now I would like to see your Lady.”

“She is asleep,” the nurse said, walking on soundless soles to a corner of the room that was kept separated from the rest of the chamber by a dark blue curtain. "They gave her poppy syrup this morning; her wound is healing slowly, but it still causes her great pain.” She hesitated a few seconds, then drew back the curtain. Arwen stepped beside her and looked at the woman lying in the bed.

She saw pale features and colorless lips – a full mouth, but, even in the state of drugged unconsciousness, strangely tense and tart. High, elegant cheekbones and a narrow nose stood prominently against the rest of the face, the cheeks hollow and shadowed after a week of shock, exhaustion and traumatic fever. Long hair framed the head on the pillow, tousled streaks of languid blonde. The body beneath the covers and sheets showed a fragile slenderness. Arwen had the sudden feeling that she gazed at the mere shadow of a woman… a human being, untimely bereft of life and warmth, a flower, doomed to grow in a dark cellar instead of blooming under the healing rays of the sun. She needs light, the Queen thought, and I need it, too, to understand the pattern of her life.

“I've thought of my father very often of late,” she remarked in a conversational tone, keeping her eyes on Artanis’ face. "He was – he still is – Elrond Halfelven, the Lord of Rivendell, a warrior of the ancient wars of elves and men against Sauron and his forces, a healer and a great ruler. But he was also my Ada, the one who dried my tears when I stumbled and fell, the one who told me stories by the light of a lamp and who stroked my brow when I was ill.” She shot a glance at the nurse and noticed that she had her full attention. "My mother went into the West when I was still young by Elvish standards, and from then on he had to be both, mother and father.”

“Do you… do you have any siblings, your Majesty?”

“Two brothers,” Arwen smiled. "Elladan and Elrohir. They are twins. I don’t know if you had a chance to see them; they accompanied me here when I came to marry the King.”

“My lamb had only one brother,” the nurse said softly. "Maedhron. He was five years older than she, and her complete opposite. He could make a room shine simply by entering it. He had a wonderful, infectious laugh, and he was his father’s morning and evening. But he was a good brother, too. He cared deeply for my Lady and she followed him everywhere, like a small kitten. He called her 'my little pearl’”.

“Did he get along well with Lord Ardhenon?”

The nurse sighed. "They were strong-willed, stubborn men, both of them. But Maedhron… where Lord Ardhenon was stone, he was fire and warmth. The mother of Maedhron and Artanis died young, and their father only took interest in his son and heir, not in his daughter. Maedhron always despised that attitude, and he made no bones about it. The only thing Lord Ardhenon could imagine for his daughter was a proper and gainful marriage, but Artanis was… she was not…”

The nurse hesitated, then took a deep breath and with a courageous effort met Arwen’s eyes.

“You must understand… when she was fourteen, the throat disease swept through Minas Tirith, and she fell ill. She recovered slowly. After three weeks of a terrible fever, she had lost most of her voice. And she had neither her mother's loveliness nor the charms of her famous grandmother, the one who gave my Lady her name. And Lord Ardhenon… I guess he was… disappointed. He had always been a devoted servant of the House of the Stewards, and in his heart he had nursed the secret hope of creating a closer bond between the two families, perhaps by giving her as a wife to one of Lord Denethor’s sons. But my lamb was horrified at the mere thought of it, and Maedhron always came to her defense. Times got darker, Boromir set off to Rivendell and never came back, and then Maedhron fell on the Pelennor fields. Those and Lord Denethor’s horrible end were heavy blows to Lord Ardhenon, so he decided to retire. Unlike her brother, my Lady had shown an honest interest in the jewels and treasures the family had been keeping for hundreds of years. ‘This is the only chance I have to prove myself useful’ she once said to me, ‘now that Maedhron can’t fulfill his expectations anymore.’”

A flower in the cellar. A bird, robbed of its voice. Arwen felt a sudden chill, secretly taken aback by the thought how well Oroher’s comparison matched the painful facts.

“And so she became involved in that secret conspiracy to murder the King?” she asked with a low voice, "Because she wanted to fulfill his expectations?”

“Oh no, your Majesty, no…” The nurse blanched, all of a sudden aware again of the danger her Lady was in. "Because she didn’t know what else to do! Eru help me, her mother taught her to tell right from wrong, and she is a fine noble woman with a gentle heart and would never do any harm to anyone. She… she only wanted to obey her father! She had no choice! You didn’t know him!”

I have the suspicion that she simply wasn’t able to disobey, Estel.

Her own words mirrored the despair of the old woman before her. Arwen sighed.

“I never knew Lord Ardhenon while he was alive,” she said, "but the more I learn of him now, the less I like what I hear. Try to calm down, Eilinel. You should rely on the wisdom of your King.”

With a last gaze at the white, exhausted face of the unconscious Lady, she left the room and walked back down the long corridor. Oroher was waiting for her at the entrance to the wing, the tall guard beside him… and someone much smaller, too. The Queen recognized the Ringbearer and greeted him with a warm smile.

“Frodo! What are you doing here?”

“Oh… keeping Sam from jumping out of his bed, of course. He got his bandages changed this morning and that courageous Ioreth had the thankless task of telling him that he isn’t permitted to get up for another day. Then the herb master of the Houses appeared and brought a tea Sam refused to drink after the very first sip. The old Lady snapped at the herb master and told him to bring something more tasty, but the second brew was as horrible as the first one."

He grinned merrily.

“This was the most poetic and satisfying revenge I could imagine… after all those bitter herb brews that were forced into my unwilling mouth while I lay in the Houses, mostly by Sam. He tried to argue some more, but Ioreth drowned him in a flood of words and emerged victorious.”

The hobbit shook his head, obviously still savoring the memory.

“At least the fingers are finally healing now, though he constantly complains that the wounds are itching.”

“Such a brave soul!” Arwen laughed. “But his room is in the opposite wing, isn’t it?”

She saw the quick exchange of glances between Oroher and Frodo well enough. Frodo gave a small sigh and met her eyes.

“I came here to see the Lady Artanis,” he said quietly.

“Oh?” Arwen returned the look with sharp inquisitiveness. “Does Estel know about this?”

“Well…” Frodo hesitated. “I wasn’t sure if he would agree, so I simply decided that I’d better not ask.”

“Very clever,” Arwen retorted dryly. “Would you be so kind and tell me why you want to visit the Lady?”

“Why I’ve been visiting the Lady the whole last week.” Frodo said. “First I came because Oroher asked me to do so.”

Oroher nodded. “I was told that a certain conversation with the Ringbearer made Lady Artanis change her mind and help Prince Faramir rescue Master Gamgee – events which caused the severe wound I had to tend. And after she first regained consciousness here, she was in deep anguish and despair. I did not only drug her with poppy syrup to ease the pain, but to prevent her from taking the punishment she is expecting into her own hands.”

The Queen frowned.

“Do you mean to tell me that she tried to kill herself?”

“She doesn’t have the ability or the means,” Oroher answered calmly, “but only because I took care of that. It might well have happened… and it might still, if we don’t find a way to heal what is eating her up from within.”

Arwen’s frown deepened.

“Explain.”

“Remorse and shame,” Frodo chimed in, his voice slightly tense. “The Lady was raised as a noblewoman, to serve and to obey those who rule the realm. But she never learned any other loyalty than the one to her father, the father for whom she was nothing more than a burden, a mere shadow, almost disappearing beside her brother’s glory. And Ardhenon told her from childhood on that only the Stewards were the true rulers of Gondor. When he decided to use her, she had no strength to resist.”

“How so?”

“Because she was so desperate to be loved,” Frodo said slowly. “Because this dangerous act of obedience offered her the chance to be cherished. She didn’t know that she was nothing more than a willing tool… her desperate need for her father’s love didn’t allow her to see clearly.”

Again an echo of the words she had said to her spouse earlier that day.

“You seem to see things clearly enough,” Arwen replied.

“Because I know what ails her,” Frodo gave back; his voice had a strangely brusque tone. “Better than I want to, believe me.”

He turned away and there was a moment of excruciating silence. Arwen felt her own, heavy heartbeat and saw how the marred hand of the hobbit closed in a white-knuckled grip around the ancient gem she had given to him. Finally she cleared her throat and spoke again.

“Well then, Frodo Baggins from the Shire… you have been a very strong advocate indeed. If this judgement was yours to decide - what would be your verdict?” Frodo looked at her; his face was filled with a mixture of watchfulness and deep certitude.

“It would be healing, not punishment,” he replied. "I remember a conversation I had with her before we knew what happened to Sam. She told me about the southern sea where the most precious pearls can be found, and I could feel her deep longing to see the ocean. But she said that she had never seen it in her entire life. Lebennin – is that far away from the coast?”

“Not at all,” Arwen said, “the biggest city of Lebennin is Gondor’s most ancient harbor, Pelargir. It is about a day and a half's ride on horseback to get there from Minas Tirith, as I’ve been told – and Estel was even faster than that when he came to the battle on the Pelennor fields aboard the corsair ships. From the family manor of the House of Lebennin, it should be a much shorter trip, only a few hours.” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine that someone living so close to the shore has never seen the sea!”

“Yet, that is the case,” Frodo said. “What does that tell you about her father and his daughter’s place in his heart that he denied her even such an easily fulfilled dream?”

Arwen was silent for a while.

“Enough, I suppose.” she replied at last. “What a pity!”

Frodo smiled.

“It is in your hands – and in the hands of Aragorn – to set her free. Perhaps a journey to the shore could be the first step to her healing… and a clear sign to her that there is something like kindness, understanding and mercy.” His voice changed again; it had a thoughtful, strangely distant tone now. “The sea must be beautiful. It has always been – at least in my dreams. And it has a voice… like the deep, even breathing of a sleeper. One day I’d like to see it myself.” Blue eyes and gray eyes met for a long gaze, and he gave a small smile. “Even if I never sail.”

He bowed deeply, fingers still loosely closed around her gift, then turned around, stepped outside into the garden and vanished between the fragrant rows of the herb beds. Arwen followed the small figure with her eyes. Mithrandir spoke true, Hobbits are indeed amazing creatures, she thought, but this one is the most amazing of them all.

*****

Three days later Samwise Gamgee left the Houses of Healing and returned to the other Hobbits, but not for long; the preparations for their travel home were nearly complete and in the mid of July, a huge party set forth from Minas Tirith, including the King and Queen, many of the Fair Folk and the Rohirrim Army, an impressive guard of honor for the fallen Théoden. When the cheers had died down and the people had returned home, a messenger appeared in Artanis’ sickroom and presented a sealed parchment roll to the Lady.

She opened it with trembling hands. It was a decree of the King.

The parchment fell on the cover of the bed; Artanis buried her face in her hands, trembling in stunned exhaustion and shedding for the very first time tears of hope and unbelieving joy.

She was forgiven.

And she would see the ocean.