Author’s Note:

Lassion: Son of the Leaves
Mîrlegolasdur: Jewel, Beloved of Legolas
Iavasion: Son of Autumn
Laerion: Son of Summer
Harmalassion: Treasure of the Son of the Leaves
Hirglor: River of Golden Light
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Chapter 4 - Arwen the Queen

"What do you want from me, Arwen? To say that it is acceptable that you are a coward?" Rúmil pulled away from the gentle hands that were trying to hold his arm. He prowled the small chamber that was Arwen’s refuge like a caged cat. He did not want to be here. She had brought him.

He alone had always known where she hid herself. It was like her, this place. She always hid in the smallest places. She always hid, and he had always found her when others grew worried for her. He never worried. He always knew where she would be. He came to find her always. Except for this time.

"It is not acceptable, Arwen. Always, I have loved you. All my life from our childhood, I fought for you against everything. I gave you my life and my heart, Arwen. I never asked anything in return, except for your courage. That has failed me before, and now it has failed Legolas. Do not ask me to say that it is acceptable."

She had drawn Rúmil into this small chamber as he passed down the corridor. Through the long weeks, she had feared him and loved him until she could no longer bear it. The sight of his cold face had driven her to the point of madness, and it must end. She must end it, and she was afraid.

"Would you tear my own heart from my body, Rúmil?" She saw her pacing cat turn and face her. In his eyes she could still read the love he bore her, but she knew also his strength. She had failed him for the second time, and he would turn his face from her forever, and she would die. She must act.

"One can live without a heart, Arwen." Rúmil’s voice was quiet, and it frightened her. "When you were betrothed to Aragorn, I did give up my own heart for you, lady. I gave it to you as a wedding present, and set you free. You know this."

She knew. His courage had never failed. He had come back from battle to seek her forgiveness, and she had instead given him betrayal. They had fought as they always did, and she had sent him away, and he had gone in anger against her. She had prayed that he would die, and that thought cursed still her days and tormented her nights. She had wanted to hurt him. Her mind had closed to all but that one thought. She had met Aragorn then and saw him, and she had had her revenge. Rúmil would never be allowed to take her for granted again. She would show him that she would not wait for his peace.

Haldir had carried his brother home, more than half dead from his wounds, and he had brought him as always to Arwen. He had brought Rúmil to her arms to die where he had loved. With Galadriel, Arwen had nursed him through the nights when he seemed all but lost to them. Galadriel had known all and offered no comfort to her grand-daughter. Arwen she said must be the one to tell Rúmil of her betrayal of their love. Nothing could be undone. He must know of Aragorn and her betrothal. There was no other path left for Arwen to walk.

And so she had told him. When the danger of his wounds had finally passed, she had given herself one last moment when they were still one and had felt Rúmil’s mouth on hers, and tasted its eager sweetness as he held her close. She had felt his strong hands trace the lines of her body one last time. She would live on that kiss and the feel of those hands until her own death. Arwen knew this, and felt that she would welcome death when she saw his eyes as she told him of Aragorn.

He had never accused her. He had said nothing to her ever. He told her she had been free and had done no wrong. He had never placed a claim upon her. Always he had feared to bind her to someone who might be killed in battle. Always he had made her remain free until peace might come. This had been the cause of her anger that had separated them forever.

Arwen remembered the grey eyes that knew no end of pain as she told him of what her spite had wrought. She remembered her heart tearing as he told her that he would take a brother’s place to her, and that she must be happy with Aragorn, and let him live as he could without her.

Rúmil had ever kept his courage, and he had made her path easier for her. To Aragorn, he became a friend and listened in silence to the joy of his friend in his betrothal and marriage. At Eldarion’s birth, he had blessed the son who should have been his and loved him. Never had he accused Arwen or sought to bring her pain. Never, until now.

"Rúmil, I will tell him all." Her fingers reached to touch his face, and he let her, although her touch brought ever the longing that would never heal and which tormented him. For her, he would bear any pain. In his grey eyes, she had found again her strength, and she left him now to seek her husband. Rúmil watched her leave him again and bowed to her courage as he wept.

*****

"Legolas, waken to me." Gilúviel sat beside his brother’s bedside and held the thin hands in his own strong ones. "Lassion, thy brother is come to thee. Waken to me and let me kiss thee that thou may know I am here."

Legolas heard the loved voice of his brother for which he had longed. He heard it call him, and he gathered his waning strength to answer. Grimly, he pushed past the pain that tore him, concentrating solely on Gilúviel’s voice as it called him. Now, he could feel the soft touch of gentle fingers stroking his cheek. Somehow he knew that the touch that caressed him was his brother’s. He fought to reach the safe harbor of his brother. As he let go of unconsciousness, he felt his pain grow ever stronger and tear at him in anger. He did not care. He fought hard and then harder and forced open his eyes with his will.

For a moment, he could not see, and then the dark eyes he knew so well met his own. With parched lips and a cracked voice, Legolas spoke barely above a whisper.

"Mîr?" He could manage only the name that none but he used for Gilúviel, the name that belonged to the two brothers only. Gilúviel wet the lips of his brother with a soft cloth dipped in water and herbs and let a little of the water drip into Legolas’ throat.

"I am here, Lassion, I am here." Gilúviel kissed his brother’s cracked lips, and his tears fell on Legolas’ thin cheeks.

Lassion has waited so long for thy coming, Mîr. So much I would tell you, but I have not the strength. There is too much pain. Do not leave me, Mîr. There is too much darkness. Too much pain. I am so afraid.

"Hush, Lassion, there will be time when you are stronger. Lie still, my brother. We will have all our lives for words. Iavasion will ne’er leave Laerion again."

Legolas heard the sweet names of their childhood, and they were a balm to him and a comfort. He looked up at the darkness that was his brother, and his eyes shone with unshed tears. Here would Legolas die if he must or live as Ilúvatar willed. Here was his home and his safety. His own strength might fail, but his brother’s would hold him. He would not die alone.

"Iavasion. Mîrlegolasdur. Harmalassion." Legolas’ fingers managed to twine in the black hair of Gilúviel as his cracked voice breathed the loved litany of his brother’s names.

Then did Legolas’ strength fade and leave him, and he fell again into the comfortless sleep of his pain. Gilúviel held his brother, and looked up as Haldir felt softly the vein in Legolas’ throat and counted his heartbeats and listened to his shallow breathing.

"He is again unconscious, Gilúviel, but he now knows that you are here. He will fight to reach you. It is better for tonight that he remain asleep. I will have someone bring food to you, mellon nîn." Haldir bent and kissed the cheek of his friend and departed.

*****

"Give me one excuse to kill you and I will." Gimli’s voice frightened Sam as he stood beside him. Never had he heard such hatred in the dwarf’s voice as was directed at this man of Gondor that they guarded. Sam moved Adros away from the dwarf and pushed him down in the corner of the room.

"Stay here and keep silent, Adros, for he would kill you and I might let him." Sam’s hobbit nature had never reconciled to killing. He hated it and all that warfare had brought him. He had killed. He had watched his comrades kill. He did not regret that he had done so. He regretted only that war had made the killing necessary. Above all, Sam wanted peace for himself and those that he loved.

Yet, after hobbits, Sam loved best the elves. They had caught him in their own love for him, and he had never regretted their meeting. He loved them, and they loved him. He did not understand that. How could a clumsy and awkward hobbit be loved by these creatures of light and beauty? Even among hobbits, Sam said ever the wrong thing. That Rosie loved him had been his greatest mystery. That his beautiful daughter came from his own loins was a wonder and a joy to his mind. He was just Sam. He was always just Sam, and yet here he was. Beloved of Rosie and the elves.

I am upsetting the hobbit. This you must not do, Gimli. He does not understand your anger. They are different from dwarves. Easily they forgive. Gollum would not have lasted one day with a dwarf. We remember those who have wronged us and ours. We remember, and we make them pay. This one’s children Legolas saved. For what purpose? To grow and spread more of this one’s filth? He has admitted it. This one helped spread the filthy web of lies that injured my elf.

Yes, my elf! Legolas has ever been mine since Lothlórien. The Lady gave him into my keeping. In my mind, I promised her the safety of her woodland kin. She gave Legolas to me, and that was her greatest gift to me. Elfbearer they should call me, but they knew my true burden not. They know not my joy in him, and the light he has brought to my life’s darkness. I share him only with his brother. The three of us have become as one. To Gilúviel he brought me and held me before his elven brother’s eyes and proclaimed that he loved me, a dwarf, even as he did his own brother from birth. Then, the dark one took me also into his own heart and did love me, and we three knew that we should never part one from the other. We became brothers. Two elves and a dwarf. None but Gilúviel can know my fear that Legolas may die, and I survive him. He must not die.

Gimli thought of Aragorn. Something was troubling his friend. He could not see it yet, but the pain of it was palpable. Gimli thought it was the distance that the elves had set between themselves and the mortals. Gimli could give no comfort to Aragorn on this, for he agreed with the elves. Aragorn had been hesitant. He had not sought out what had hurt Legolas. He should have done that at once. He had called it chance, and all of them had known that this was a lie.

Only this week had Aragorn sent Faramir to search out the family of the children. More than five weeks wasted! Gimli’s anger at this was boundless. What was Aragorn thinking? He was king. He must act as one!

Fearing the further inaction of Aragorn, Gimli had left Legolas’ bedside and sought for his axe. He would accompany the king and Faramir. He could not heal his beloved elf. He could make sure that Aragorn punished those who had done this. Aragorn would not weaken with Gimli beside him. If he did, Gimli would kill him. Legolas would be avenged. None could do what had been done to his beloved friend and live. To this end, Gimli had sworn his oath.

Aragorn had told him to guard this scum. They would bring him to the castle. They would bring this man and his children and his wife. In his mind, Gimli remembered that the son of Adros had wounds that healed not.

*****

Sulka sat by her son’s bedside and watched the tall elf approach. She remembered the angry words that had been spoken by this proud one to the King of Gondor. The elf did not wish to touch her son, and she did not wish for him to do so. Sulka was afraid of him, but her heart knew there was no choice left to her. The elf sought not to heal her son, but if he did not Gurth would die. For five weeks and more, his wounds had reopened. The healers of Gondor had told her to make his grave. Sulka feared the elf, but she needed him.

Haldir inclined his head to her. "If you permit, I would examine your son?"

She nodded and watched as he unfastened the elven gown in which they had clothed Gurth after they washed his body. The tall elf crouched gracefully by the bedside and began to probe the wounds lightly. Sulka heard her son moan.

"Have you a name, boy?"

"Gurth, son of Adros." Haldir inclined his head respectfully to the child.

"I am Haldir, son of Hirglor." The boy nodded. "I must do what will hurt you. Are you brave, Gurth, son of Adros?"

"I am brave."

"Be brave, then, and frighten not your mother who abides here with you."

The boy set his teeth then and made not a sound as Haldir’s fingers sought knowledge from his wounds. Beads of sweat were on his face as his filthy bandages were removed, and his wounds cleaned. Haldir’s grey eyes saw him with approval. There was courage in Gondor’s children as well as ignorance. He worked quickly to lessen the time courage must endure.

Haldir felt the thin body of Gurth begin to relax as he spread the salve of herbs on the terrible infected wounds. This would numb the pain. Haldir hated all pain, but especially of children. Mortal he might be, but Gurth was still a child. Gently, Haldir bandaged the wounds and refastened the boy’s tunic.

"I honor your courage, Gurth, son of Adros. You must now drink this, and then you will rest."

Gurth hated elves, and yet he glowed beneath Haldir’s praise. He felt the elf lift him easily and support him in arms that felt stronger than even those of Adros his father. He smelled the clean scent of the elf that held him so easily supported, a smell of forests and rain. Somehow it comforted Gurth.

"What is it?"

Haldir smiled. It was a question he himself would ask. "It is well to be suspicious among those who are strangers. This is wine mixed with herbs. It is not so strong as what I give Legolas. It will but ease your pain a little and give you rest." Haldir saw Gurth’s eyes look toward Legolas with fear.

"He never wakes. But once have I seen him stir since I came here."

"If I let him wake, his screams would rend your sleep, boy." Haldir’s voice was harsher than he meant it to be. The boy looked at him with new fear. "He lies very near death, and his pain is great. His courage, Gurth, is still greater than even yours. You could not bear his pain, nor I." Haldir picked up the cup of wine. "You will drink this, but your suspicion of me is reasonable." Haldir drank half of the cup himself. "A healer could not risk an endless sleep. Drink the rest, boy."

Gurth let Haldir put the cup to his lips, and he drank. He let the elf continue to hold him and took comfort in the strong arms and the clean smell of Haldir. Soon, Gurth drifted to sleep in those arms he hated. Haldir lay him gently on his pillow and covered him.

Then did the tall elf bow to Sulka and leave her with her son.

*****

Had he ever known this one who was his wife? For an hour now, Aragorn had listened to her and ever as she spoke was he reminded of Elrond. His daughter drew the same still control about her as she spoke that he had so often seen in the Master of Imladris.

Her head she held high, and her bearing was regal as she told her husband all that she had concealed from him. She told him of plots among his servants to ensnare her and the elves, told him of whispers of evil that she had carried in silence. She spoke of insults ignored and endured for his sake. Arwen had no knowledge of what was acceptable in mortals. She had feared to offend and thus taken too much offense. She had tried to walk a path for him, and he had not helped her.

The elves had done their best for his troubled queen. They had held their silence and their swords for her sake. They had swallowed insults and kept their silence at her entreaties. Legolas had urged her to speak to her husband, and she had berated him for it so that he never spoke again.

Rúmil she did not speak of to Aragorn and at this he did wonder. Surely, Rúmil would have been able to find her tongue for her?

She spoke now of Elrond and her longing for her father. She told Aragorn she was a poor wife to him. She could not understand how to be mortal. She told him she was failing him and Eldarion, and that she longed for her own death. It was the one thing she wanted from her choice, and death would not come.

Terror seized the heart of Elessar as he heard his wife speak of her death. Had he brought her to this? He tried to put his arms around her, and she stepped back from him. She was not yet done speaking.

She blamed herself for the pain Legolas bore. Her silence had brought it she said. She had lost her courage, and her silence had all but killed the prince. She had let the evil of Gondor grow unchecked. Tears overcame her, and her voice faltered as she spoke of the gentle elf and his suffering. In her sorrow, she let Aragorn draw closer to her.

"Arwen, Elrond I cannot bring back to you. That you so love and miss him must ever be my burden and I will bear it. Arwen, I would still have our life together if you would have me."

She answered him not, and Aragorn felt a pain grow in his heart at her silence. He had failed her. Would she not give him a second chance?

"Arwen, I would be king and hold this country fully. I will find this evil in Gondor that has brought Legolas to this pain. I will find what would break Gondor and divide it from your people. Your people’s blood bought Gondor its freedom and gave it its king. I will take back Gondor for your people, Arwen, or it will kill me. This is my vow to you and to Legolas. There can be no other end for me. Even if you no longer love me will I do this."

"Husband, I love you but not as you deserve. Still more I would tell you if you would listen?"

"I would listen, Arwen. I would listen even as it breaks my heart."

She spoke to him then of Rúmil and drew from her pocket a silken bag embroidered with an "A" of gold enfolded by an "R" of silver. She handed it to her husband and watched as he opened it.

From within, Aragorn drew a braid of silver and black hair bound by a green silk ribbon. His heart ached as he saw the silver entwined with the black. Rúmil and Arwen. His heart had always known it, and the thought he had pushed back in his love for her.

"As I married you, I loved him, Aragorn. My passion and my will destroyed our hopes of each other. They did not destroy our love." She touched his face gently. "I have kept my vow to you, husband. Since I betrothed myself to you, Rúmil has been as a brother to me. His honor kept me for you, Aragorn, not my own."

"Before?" He had to know, and she saw this and would not lie.

"I did lay with Rúmil, and our love to each other was great. We were to wed when the war was finally over, but each time he left me I feared to lose him, and we clung to one another and our love. Each time, but the last when I so wronged him." Arwen covered her beautiful face with her hands and wept as someone who had abandoned all hope.

Faced with her grief, Aragorn forgot his own. He loved her and he always would.

"I would still be your husband, Arwen, if you will have me."

"You deserve better, Aragorn."

"I want only you, whatever small part of yourself you can give me."

"It is no small part, Aragorn. I have grown to love you and our life together. I love you and our son Eldarion. I would not leave you and, if I would, Rúmil would not let me."

He did not ask if she would go if Rúmil would take her. To this, he knew the answer. Aragorn fingered the braid of black and silver hair she had placed in his hands. As she watched, he touched the green ribbon softly.

"Arwen, I know not if I can succeed. I am almost afraid for myself if I do. Still, I will bring Rúmil back to you in some way. I have seen his anger to you, and how you die beneath it. I would have you as my wife, Arwen, and I would have your heart whole. That it cannot be without him. I love you, Arwen. You are enough for me, but I will never blame you that you need more."

Gently, Aragorn handed the braided token back to his lady. Her hand closed upon her treasure. Never would they speak of it again, but Aragorn knew that she would carry it with her along with her love for the two of them unto her grave.

A determination took root within Aragorn that Rúmil should be there to lay her down for her final sleep, when he could not. It was the one gift that he could give her that might equal what she had put aside for him.

He put his arms around her, and she leaned her head against him. Arwen Undómiel, in the strength of her husband, began to heal.