Title:  Of Elves and Men

Author: Leiasky

Synopsis:  Aragorn is reminded of his 'duties' to his kingdom. Arwen leaves Gondor and is attacked on the road to Rivendell.

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Yes Return of the King

Pairing: Aragorn/Arwen

Disclaimer: I'm not Tolkien. I don't own these characters. (darn!) I make no money. Done for fun.

Additional Info: I've attempted to portray the characters herein as I see them. This story was written with the characters from the movie and their expressions and voices in mind.

With luck, my elvish translations are accurate, if not, and you know the correct translation, please let me know.

There are some archery terms throughout the story. I study archery and shoot longbow and wanted to give a bit of a more authentic sound to the archery in the story. Should it be needed, there will be a description of terms at the end of each chapter.

Archive: If you like, just tell me where.

Thanks to Aya for the beta! You rock!

 

 

 

Of Elves and Men

 

Prologue

 

 

They watched.

They waited.

Their glowing eyes stared down the path, unwavering, unblinking.

Grunts echoed through the trees, and branches snapped beneath the weight of those so cruelly using them as cover. Birds soared into the air to escape the foul creatures, voicing their displeasure at the stench and invasion of their branches. Small animals scampered quickly away, frightened by the intrusion of their beloved trees.

Standards could be seen waving in the distance and the sound of galloping horses drew closer.

Short bows were drawn. Arrows were nocked* onto the strings and carefully aimed.

A horrible, howling cry could be heard in the distance just as the riding party drew close enough for an arrow to hit its mark.

As the attack began, horses reared, nearly throwing their riders. Arrows struck their marks amidst the howls of anticipated victory. The un-kept and spoiled creatures leapt out of the trees and knocked more riders from their mounts, brutally beating the men to a painful and bloody death.

Swords were drawn with lightening speed and those still sitting atop their steeds circled around a white stallion, protecting it and its rider from the advancing attackers.

Arrows flew wild from every direction. They pierced leather and shield and one by one warriors of Gondor fell dead to the ground.

With a final shing, a thin elven blade raised in defiance of the uruk-hai leader. With a glare, the lone living rider proclaimed, “Come and take me, if you dare.”

The rider was outnumbered and outmatched, and even the Rohan stallion could not carry its charge to safety. All too quickly the rider soon collapsed motionless atop the fallen standard of Gondor. The colors of the house of Elrond were torn and shredded in the frenzy as the stallion, having lost its rider, reared on the advancing uruk-hai.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Ten days earlier

 

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of such things, but your generals wanted you to be aware of their concerns." The chamberlain stood nervously before the king, eyes downcast, embarrassed to be the one to bring up this topic with his liege-lord.

 

"It is truly none of their concern." Aragorn's normally calm, peaceful features were lined with barely concealed anger.

 

In the three years he had served Aragorn, the chamberlain had never seen the king of Gondor so upset.

 

"They think there is a problem with my wife? Or me?" Aragorn seethed. He paced the length of the floor, hands clasped behind his back least he loose his temper and strike something - or someone.

 

"Well, M'lord, they think…."

 

"They dare to question my choices, my decisions." Aragorn stopped and stared the man directly in the eyes.

 

"Their concern is for the kingdom, sire and in no way reflects on you," the man nervously dropped his gaze. "Word has passed for years about the elves, and their people. Their concern is a valid one, sire."

 

"Their thinly veiled concern is an invasion of my privacy and that of my wife." Aragorn said no more as he stormed through the door without looking back.

 

He didn't notice the dark eyes watching the exchange from the shadows or the single tear that slid unchecked down the pale cheek.

 

 

 

 

* Nock or nocking - the end of the arrow that sits into the string is called a nock. Nocking the arrow would be setting it onto the string.

 

 

Chapter 1

 

"M'lord!" Faramir called as he rushed down the corridor. Guards righted their spears in respect for the steward of Gondor as he flew past them, eyes focused on reaching the king at the other end of the hall.

 

Aragorn turned and smiled warmly at his friend. Faramir had been on an errand in the eastern territories for several weeks and he had been missed. "What is it?"

 

“A stallion, M’lord.”

 

Aragorn grinned, eyes dancing. “Yes, we have many. What about them?”

 

"No," Faramir panted, having just run from the stables to find the king. "Riderless, Sire. It bears the standards of Lord Elrond."

 

Aragorn stared. "Show me."

 

-----------------------------------------------

 

"The steed belongs to…." Farimir began as the king held out his hand toward the skittish stallion, calming it before stepping any closer.

 

"I know."  Aragorn flattened his hand along the side of the exhausted stallion and examined its sweat-soaked coat. Blood stained the saddle, and the standard was torn and bloodied.

 

"I sent my best men with her, Sire. I don't know how…." Faramir continued, eyes wide with disbelief.

 

"We ride to Rivendell." The king turned on his heel and strode quickly away, leaving Faramir contact Imrahil and assign him temporary regent in Aragorn’s absence.

 

--------------------------------------------

 

"I must visit my father," Arwen dropped a hand into the small pool of water that gathered at the base of the fountain.

 

"I will not have them drive you away," Aragorn slid his hand across her lap and gently caressed her fingers.

 

"Aragorn," Arwen pulled her hand from his grasp and reached toward his cheek to brush away a stray lock of hair that had fallen across his face. "They drive me no where. But, "She glanced longingly at the white tree that blossomed and flowered in the center of the courtyard, " I think my absence will drive the thought, at least temporarily, from their minds."

 

"It is not their place to interfere," Aragorn all but growled, his eyes narrowing in anger.

 

"But it is their place to be concerned that there be an heir for our kingdom," Arwen's voice was a mere whisper, her emotions torn at the mere thought of loosing him. Her immortal upbringing did not prepare her for this eventuality, but her love for him had, if only in part.

 

"In all things there is a reason." Aragorn removed her hand from the tranquil pool bringing it to his lips for a slow, delicate kiss. "Should this be my fate, my punishment for waiting so long to assume the crown, then so be it. I do not regret our love, and would not give you up not even for a moment."

 

Arwen's eyes teared, she leaned into his arms and tilted her head to stare into the face of the man she had loved from  the moment her eyes had met his.

 

"Amin mele lle," {I love you} she whispered moments before his lips claimed hers in a slow, searching kiss.

"Ten'oio," {Forever} he whispered into her mouth as he drew her into his lap.

 

The next day she rode to Rivendell with her husband's reluctant permission.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

They rode hard, spiked heels digging deeply into the sweat-soaked horses. Banners of Gondor flapped loudly in the breeze, and the troop following the rider on the white stallion looked formidable, even at a distance.

 

 Scouts rode ahead, searching the trail for any sign of potential or past attack. Aragorn rode mostly in silence, his heart heavy and his expression grim. The soldiers of Gondor rode straight-backed and determined behind him, their thoughts bent only on finding their kind-hearted and lovely queen.

Aragorn's thoughts drifted to the day he'd met his wife, all those years ago. He walked through the vibrant green forest that had been his home and strayed into a glen, into, what he thought, was a dream. Her smile and her radiance struck its mark, branded him, and his heart was forever hers. They’d spent many a time there, but never enough and always sad was their parting.

 

Lightening flashed across the sky, drawing to the sky, the attention of the horsemen. Clouds rolled over the mountains, dark and stormy. As the stallions galloped toward Imladris, Aragorn thought of Celebrian, and of the attack on her life as she traveled from Rivendell to Lorien. Dread and despair filled Aragorn's heart at the thought of loosing his elven queen.

 

For days, he pushed on, reluctant to slow even when it was time to water the horses.

 

Each night, they slowed only at the urging of the ever-observant Faramir. Aragorn dismounted in silence and took his meal alone, away from the men, as he had since they’d left. He absently pushed at the food, lost as he was with his thoughts.

 

Faramir sighed at the desolation in the king’s stance and the slowly dawning realization that they may never see the queen again. Faramir straightened his back, cleared his throat and approached the king. “You should take some rest. It will be a few hours before the horses are able to ride again.” His voice was gentle, comforting, and Faramir winced when the king looked up at him from where he sat.

 

“I will see no rest until we reach Rivendell,” Aragorn’s voice was hoarse from grief. He’d spoken little since they’d left, simply choosing to nod or shake his head when addressed.

 

“We are five days out from Rivendell at the least.” Faramir placed a comforting hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “You should meet with your kin rested and alert.” Faramir could already see the strain little food and sleep had wrought on his king.

 

“And if she is not there…” Aragorn stopped, refusing to say more as if the mere utterance would be to admit its truth.

 

“We have come across no tracks, nothing.” Faramir shook his head. They had a good five days left on the journey, but in the time it had taken for Arwen’s stallion to reach the white city and the time it had taken them to get this far, the tracks could have been wiped away by the elements.

 

Lightening cracked across the sky, thunder echoing through the dark clouds and into the valley. Tiny droplets of rain began to fall and the men immediately began setting up the shelters.

 

Aragorn, seeing this, stood immediately, his food forgotten as it spilled to the ground. “What are you doing?” He blinked back droplets that fell into his eyes, “We will rest no longer than is necessary for the horses to recover their strength.”

 

Faramir nodded at the captain of the guard from his position behind Aragorn. Seeing the gesture, the guard ordered the men to pack their belongings and prepare to move when the king so ordered. Shelters were packed away and the men huddled beneath the large, overhanging tree branches to keep the rain from drenching their clothing too quickly.

 

Aragorn turned on his heal and went back to his rock, sitting atop it with a heavy sigh. The food was forgotten, cold and partially eaten now by the small creatures scavenging for whatever they could find on this cold, wet night. He cared not for the rain pelting his face and body, soaking him to the bone.

 

The stars were gone. Dark, ominous clouds covered their brightness and droplets of rain, getting heavier by the minute, replaced their glimmer in the evening sky.

 

Faramir stood beside the king, taking no shelter from the elements unless Aragorn chose to do the same. “It will be difficult to track in this weather, M’lord.” Faramir risked another thought, blinking back the raindrops that fell into his eyes. “I will send ahead another rider …”

 

“No,” Aragorn stared up at his steward, the whites of his eyes the only thing visible in the darkness. “Where one goes, we will all follow. The last we sent out into the dark did not return. I will not loose another man to the creatures that hide in the night.” He cast a longing look into the trees he could hear rustle with the wind but could not see. “A scout will leave at first light and not a moment sooner.”

 

Faramir nodded and chose a nearby tree under which to take some rest. Aragorn would not move from his rock, and Faramir decided that if one of them had to become sick due to his exposure to the elements, one had better be healthy.

 

He considered calling to the king to join him, but thought better of it when he noticed the man staring off into the trees as if Arwen would walk out from them at any moment. With a heavy sigh, Faramir pulled his cloak tightly around his shoulders, the cloak-hood over his head and closed his eyes.

 

Time slowed and exhaustion caused Faramir to slip easily into a deep slumber. In the back of his mind, he could hear the distant sound of snapping twigs, or brush crushed beneath the foot of a careless enemy.

 

Faramir's eyes snapped open just as several arrows soared passed his head into the tree trunk inches away. The guards called out as some dropped where they stood, others rushed to surround the king, who had followed Faramir's example and just settled in for some much-needed rest.

 

Faramir leapt to his feet, drawing his sword and lunging for the king all in one fluid motion.

 

Sleep and exhaustion slowed his reactions as he rushed toward the king. He was too slow. A large creature stepped in his path, blocking his view. The glint of metal could be seen in the bolts of lightening that flashed across the sky. Panic settled into his stomach as Faramir watched, helpless, as the long, battered blade raised over the head of the enemy, aimed at the king.

 

"No!" Faramir cried as he watched the blade sail toward the ground and winced as he heard the metal strike its mark.

 

 

Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

The clash of steel on steel caused sparks to skitter across the wet, muddy ground. The growling creatures clawed at their enemy, eliciting howls of pain with each strike. Faramir reached Aragorn just as the king parried another strong blow from the un-naturally strong creature.

 

With a lunge and twist, Faramir embedded his blade deep into the back of the uruk-hai attacking the king, cleaving it nearly in two.

 

With an appreciative nod, the two men turned to face two more on-coming creatures.

 

"Uruk-hai!" Aragorn cried, "Everyone to your mounts! We cannot combat them in the dark!" Grunting, he parried an attack aimed at his head and ducked beneath the creature's arm. With a movement that rivaled the quickness of an elf drawing arrows from his quiver, Aragorn unsheathed his elven knife and thrust it into the back of the uruk-hai. The creature howled in pain as it fell, the eerie sound echoing through the trees.

 

Faramir engaged one of the half-breeds close by, sword moving too fast for the eye to see.

 

Arrow shafts thick as a finger sailed inches from Aragorn's head into the brush, some into the horses tethered not far away, wounding or killing them instantly.

 

Seeing the enemy's intent, Aragorn gestured to the horses rearing at the closing uruk-hai, their hooves flying with blinding speed toward anything that moved.  "Go! Go!" Aragorn cried. Again he cried in the language of the North, which his steed alone would understand, as he been a gift from Rohan on the day of his wedding.

 

Aragorn whirled around just in time to parry a thrust by an on coming uruk-hai and called out to his men, "Into the wood! Run! Return to Gondor. I will go on alone!” Aragorn grunted as his blade was pushed out of his line of defense by a creature with superior strength. Faramir parried the next blow aimed at the king as Aragorn recovered enough to thrust the blade into the heart of the uruk-hai warrior.

 

 "You do not go on without me!” Faramir grabbed the king's arm and pulled him into the thick, wet brush. “Let's go!"

 

Twigs snapped under the heavy footsteps of the soldiers making their way into the forest, splitting the attention of the attackers. Several grunts could be heard as the leader ordered several of his men to follow, unsure of whom exactly it was they were following. The clash of steel on steel could be heard in the distance, getting quieter with each step the king and his steward took away from the road.

 

“We are at a disadvantage.” Aragorn grunted as the two men rushed headlong into the pitch-black night. The branches bent and snapped, swinging back to slap them across the face.  “Being bred with orcs has given them incredible sight in the dark. Combined with the strength of breeding them with goblin-men makes them nearly impossible to defeat in the darkness.” Aragorn puffed the cold air from his lungs with disgust. "The element of surprise was on their side tonight. They will not have such an advantage in the future."

 

They ran for hours, putting as much distance between themselves and the uruk-hai as possible. The rain had soaked their clothes and set a chill into their bones that was not easily shaken. Light was beginning to appear over the tip of the misty mountains, the rays offering little comfort to the weary warriors. The rain slowed to a gentle mist and as the temperature rose, so did the fog.

 

“We must stop,” Faramir stared up at the mountain that formed the last big obstacle that separated them from Rivendell.  For the first time since they’d broken from the rest of the men, Faramir stared at his king. Torn and muddied were the richly colored tabards denoting his title and position. It looked as if a vagabond or – a Ranger - stood before him now.

 

“We will rest for a short time.” Aragorn turned to look at his friend, who looked worse than he felt. “We will need to regain our strength and be ready should the uruk-hai overtake us again.”

 

“Surely that would be an impossibility,” Faramir gaped at Aragorn. Even if a few of the creatures had been able to follow, Aragorn's knowledge of the secrets of these forests would without doubt keep them at a safe distance.

 

“They were bred to be able to cross great distances at speed.” Aragorn ripped a thin shred of material and tied it tightly around his upper arm. “It would not be unexpected should they catch us.”

 

Faramir’s eyes widened at the blood he noticed dripping down Aragorn’s arm. He leapt to his feet, “You’re injured!”

 

“It’s a scratch,” Aragorn finished tying the material and dropped to the ground with a heavy sigh. “I’ve had much worse.”

 

“You’re sure?” Faramir knelt beside his king, quickly scanning the man to be sure he had no other hidden injuries.

 

“Quite fine.” Aragorn leaned back against the thick trunk gazing quietly up at the ages-old limbs. “We will soon be nearing land under the protection of the elves. Should there be any left in these woods, they will come to our aid.”

 

“Do you think they have remained?” Faramir sat back on his haunches, unwilling to relax too completely.

 

“No.” Came the chilling response.

 

Aragorn was proved correct, no help came, and after many hours of walking through the forest, he noticed how the lands on which they trod, had changed. It was a subtle change, one that would not be noticed by any lesser man. It was clear to Aragorn, that the trees mourned the passing of their elven protectors. The woodland elves, who once protected these borders, had indeed left for the west and the forest knew their kin was gone.

 

Twigs snapped and the two men froze where they stood. Aragorn’s eyes darted around the forest, head tilted to one side, searching the wind, the trees, for a clue as to who may be about.  When he received an answer he didn’t like, Aragorn grasped Faramir’s shoulder and dove for cover.  The two men’s hands rested on the hilts of their blades just as five uruk-hai stepped around a tree and through a low-sitting bush. The creatures stopped and sniffed the air, searching for the direction in which the king and his steward had gone.  The creatures sniffed out their prey, reading the wind, and raised their blades, ready to cleave their adversaries in two.

 

Before they could react, however, three men leapt out of the bushes from where they lay hidden, their torn and bloodied tabards revealing their status as men of Gondor, and soldiers to the high king of the Reunited Kingdom.

 

The three held their own against the enemy, but they were no match for the much stronger uruk-hai. One soldier fell beneath the deadly blade and bit his tongue to keep from crying out as the sword pierced his chest.

 

Seeing the honor with which his men fought, Aragorn launched himself at the distracted uruk-hai. He thrust his sword into its back then withdrew the shining steel with lightning speed to take off the creature’s head. Faramir leapt after his king and dispatched his opponent in a similar fashion, removing an arm before taking the head. The two surviving soldiers gazed with relief at the king and steward.

"We've been following your trail for days," the first man, Rimar, breathed as he removed his sword from the belly of an uruk-hai and sheathed the deadly blade.

 

"Aye," his companion breathed moments before an arrow struck its mark in his heart, dropping him instantly.

 

"Ed' i'ear ar' elenea!" Aragorn cursed in his native tongue before he slammed his sword hard onto the arm of an advancing uruk-hai. The faster than eyes movement distracted it enough for Faramir to remove its head.

 

Rimar dropped the other uruk-hai as three more rounded large tree trunks, eyes blazing and swords at the ready.

 

"Aiya!" Aragorn spat as he rushed to engage the closest enemy. As their swords met, the uruk-hai procured the knife from Aragorn's sheath and dragged the blade down the length of his leg. Aragorn bit his lip to keep from crying out, the tearing of his flesh so unbearable he nearly collapsed from the pain. With a grunt, he was tossed against a tree, wincing as his back collided with the solid wood. His sword clattered to the ground and tears welled in his eyes from the pain. As the uruk-hai raised his blade for the killing blow, two arrows whirled through the air and struck the uruk-hai squarely in the back.

 

Before Aragorn could shake the shock from his system, Faramir was at his side with one final thrust through the uruk-hai's heart.

 

Three more soldiers from Gondor rounded the large trunks, nocking arrows onto their bows and firing them with lighting speed. The remaining Uruk-hai twitched as arrows struck their marks and steel backed up the deadly blow of the arrows, ensuring the enemy’s death

 

"Are you all right?" Faramir asked Aragorn. With a shake of his head to clear the double vision, he retrieved and sheathed his stolen knife.

 

"Fine." Aragorn gritted with disgust as he bent to retrieve his sword. Sheathing it, he turned to the party of six. "We are close. Another few hours and we'll be well into the valley where none dare tread."

 

"You're sure?" Faramir walked beside Aragorn as they began to move, taking note of the king's stride and newfound limp.

 

"I will be fine." Aragorn snapped and Faramir fell back with a nod. He didn't see the king wince with every step and tremble with every strong breeze.

 

 "We must not delay." Aragorn stated firmly, his breath hanging on the chilly air.

 

 

Chapter 3

 

Aragorn led the weary troupe along the winding path, one of the few that would lead to the hidden elven refuge of Rivendell. He was limping badly now, the pain in his leg nearly unbearable. He knew it was infected, and badly. They had reached the safety of the Imladris valley but it would take many more hours to reach the haven itself.

 

As soon as they’d reached the ford, Aragorn could feel the waning power of the elves that surrounded the weary men. He gathered herbs, and quickly boiled and mixed them into a paste to thwart any further inflammation that may come from his injury.  Amidst Faramir’s protests, Aragorn washed the wound, applied the salve and wrapped the wound tightly with torn strips of his tunic.  They continued toward Rivendell with due haste, determined to stop no more until they reached the safety of Aragorn’s childhood home.

 

Aragorn ignored the annoyed and concerned look Faramir tossed his way, choosing instead to stare at the path before them. They were not far from Rivendell now and Aragorn was determined to push the men, and himself the last few miles.

 

As they drew within sight of the dwellings, Aragorn’s strength wavered and he nearly collapsed. Exhaustion and loss of blood finally overtook the adrenaline that had, up until recently, raged through his body. Determination and fear for Arwen had forced his hand and caused him to make unhealthy decisions.  Faramir was at his side instantly, wrapping an arm around the older man to steady his gait.

 

"You're trembling," Faramir stated, shooting a concerned glance at his king. He was instantly angry with himself that he had not forced the determined man to stop and rest.

 

"Infection has set into the wound and a fever has infected my blood," Aragorn gritted between clenched teeth. His hair was plastered to his face and fever-induced sweat dropped down his neck to soak his already wet clothing. Aragorn shivered at each strong breeze that raced through the valley.

 

“We can carry you the rest of the way,” Faramir said as he motioned for two of the men to come forward. They had all overheard the conversation and were more than willing to carry their king into Rivendell.

 

What pride and strength the king had left were not lost on his men, and they reluctantly nodded at the curt refusal he choked out through parched lips.

 

“I will walk into Imladris.” Aragorn said, eyes piercing every man that stepped forward at Faramir’s request.

 

Almost immediately, they could feel the eyes of the elves upon them. Aragorn knew they had heard his declaration to his men, and thus did not approach.  In his exhaustion, Aragorn hadn’t the time or interest to explain. He simply wanted to reach the house of Elrond as quickly as his weary legs would carry him.

 

Before long, they had reached the dwellings situated on the ends of the very cliffs that served as protection from the harsh winters and solitude from the foreign blood. They climbed the long steps toward the homes, the men glancing every so often at the elves that stood along the railings at the top, silently watching their ascent.

 

As they crested the long, ornately carved stone staircase, they noticed Elrond, standing quite still, watching Aragorn with a sympathetic stare.

 

“We were afraid you’d fallen, my son.” Elrond stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on a very wet, dirty shoulder.  The elf lord did not miss the look of concern the Steward of Gondor flashed in his direction.

 

“Very near,” Aragorn said slowly. Exhaustion threatened to overtake him and the loss of blood from his wound was more debilitating than he wanted to admit.

 

Elrond, however, did not miss the severity of the injury. “You need care,” Elrond’s eyes swept quickly over Aragorn's body, assessing the injuries the man had sustained. “Come." Faramir nodded, his grip tightening under Aragorn's arm.

 

“No.” Aragorn stood straight, crystal eyes boring into those of his foster-father, now father by marriage. “I've come in search of...”

 

"Sintamin."{I know} Elrond placed a comforting hand on Aragorn’s shoulder and an arm around his waist, relieving Faramir of his burden. “She was rescued from those vile creatures." Elrond felt Aragorn lean into his embrace, comforted with the knowledge that his beloved was safe. "Re varna." {She is safe}

 

A collective sigh of relief echoed through the men of Gondor but Aragorn turned to search Elrond’s eyes for the words he had yet to speak.

 

“But?”

 

Elrond showed no emotion, slowly leading his injured son toward a quiet room where he could care for the younger man’s wounds. “You know me well.” The others were also taken to adjoining rooms where their injuries could be looked after by skilled elven hands.

 

“Years of practice,” Aragorn winced as he attempted to unfasten his tunic.

 

Elrond stepped forward to assist, quickly helping Aragorn in the removal of the soiled tunic and vest. He let it to fall untouched to the floor. 

 

"Lay back and rest, we will speak more when you have regained your strength," Elrond guided the exhausted man to the bed and pressed him into the soft elven cushions.

 

Aragorn lay with a heavy sigh before turning a desperate gaze to the half-elven lord of Rivendell. "She is well?"

 

Elrond stared at his son, and Aragorn could see the hesitation in the elf's features. The king pushed himself, with difficulty, onto his arms and into a sitting position. "Atar?" {Father?}"Nyaramin." {Tell me}

 

"N'uma," Elrond sat alongside Aragorn and placed a hand on the man's shoulder, "Sinome. {Rest} All will be revealed in due time. She will no doubt be ready to see you when you wake."

 

Elrond nodded to the elf that waited on the terrace, ready to administer a special salve to the king's wounds and a sponge to his dirty skin.

 

As Elrond stood, he cast a relieved look over his shoulder at Aragorn, who now lay naked beneath the soft, elven coverlet. "Cormamin lindua ele lle. {It warms my heart to see you}. Quel kaima." {sleep well}

 

Aragorn smiled weakly before relaxing into the cushions and falling into a deep, medication-induced slumber.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

When Aragorn woke, more than twelve hours later, he was well rested and more than a bit sore. Each movement brought a newfound ache and pain. While his fever had broken as he slept, taxed and strained muscles had been given the chance to knit themselves together. With muffled groans and a desperate stretching of limbs, he drew himself into a sitting position.

 

A gentle breeze flowed through the open room, tossing freshly fallen leaves across the bed. Birds chirped excitedly as they dove through the roofing and vine-carved pillars.

 

Elven silk hung across a high-backed chair near the bed and Aragorn smiled widely as he breathed in the fresh, friendly scent of his childhood home. Wincing, he reached for the silk. Muffling groans as his body protested the movement, Aragorn settled the silk around his shoulders and sighed as it molded to his form.

When he stood, his injured leg buckled, throwing him to the bed with an annoyed grunt.

 

"You should not be up," Elrond said from the archway as Aragorn pushed himself to his feet. "You need rest. My healing will do you no good should you not heed my advice."

 

"Where is my wife?" Aragorn stared unblinking at Elrond. Weak as he was, Aragorn remembered when they'd arrived Elrond’s deliberate avoidance of all questions regarding Arwen.

 

"She is here." Elrond nodded, offering nothing more than the simple answer.

 

"I want to see her," Aragorn took a few unsteady steps forward, teetering on shaky legs before regaining his balance. He closed the distance between himself and his foster father quickly, his determined gaze piercing the elven lord. When the elf didn't speak, Aragorn moved to walk around him.

 

"It has been many months since you've seen her." Elrond said, hand dropping to the king's shoulder. "She has changed."

 

"Changed how?" Aragorn's eyes narrowed and his heart sank. What had happened to her at the hands of those vile monsters? Aragorn felt his temper flare. "Please?" Aragorn grasped a handful of velvet that lined Elrond's arm. "I must see her."

 

"Uma.  Utinuamin.  Sintamin.” {Yes. My son. I know} Erond turned, without another word, and began to walk toward one of the many glades surrounding the stone terrace that overlooked the spectacular waterfalls. Aragorn followed slowly, limping, his leg still stiff and sore.

 

To an unconcerned observer, the sight would have been simply a woman staring out over the falls, allowing the breeze to catch her hair and caress her skin. To one who knew every movement, every inch of the woman’s body, she appeared stiff and uncomfortable.

 

Arwen lay against a reclining bench, her head tilted to the side as if listening to the singing of the water itself. The sun fell through the large trees and onto the elven queen, bathing her in an ethereal white glow.

 

"Amanlonde," {Blessed havens} Aragorn whispered and Elrond stepped aside.

 

Aragorn rushed to his wife’s side and when she noticed his presence, followed his steps with a bewildered, slightly drugged look, as if in wonder as to what he was doing in Rivendell. "Arwen, I was…" The pain in his leg was forgotten as Aragorn knelt beside her. His eyes narrowed, taking in the change that had overcome her since they had last seen one another. Aragorn gasped at her pale, drawn skin, crystal eyes searching hers for answers he was hoping desperately she would be able to give.

 

“Aragorn,” She said weakly, her voice soft, barely above a whisper as she held out trembling arms. She disappeared within his embrace, as he pulled her gently against his chest. She melted against his strength, his body warming her chilled skin. “A'maelamin.” {My beloved} She whispered. Even her breath was cold against his skin.

 

He smoothed her hair, rough, calloused hands catching on the seemingly softer strands. “Mani marte?” “Mani umlle umron?. Sut…..?”  {What happened?  What did they do to you? How…?}    Aragorn stuttered, voice low, eyes wide with the fear he had struggled so hard to suppress on the long, arduous journey from Gondor to Rivendell.

 

Arwen’s movements were slow and deliberate as she leaned away and looked into his eyes. A trembling hand slid down the side of his face, brushing away a lock of hair that had fallen across the crystal eyes into which she so desperately wanted to gaze. It was as if she had not the energy to speak. Her free hand balled into a fist and curled against his chest. A chill raced down her limbs and he reached for the cloak that had rested atop her shoulders before he had taken her into his arms. He quickly and gently wrapped the thick material around her and rubbed the warmth back into her skin.

 

She smiled weakly and leaned heavily into his embrace, her strength gone. Aragorn held her to his chest, closing his eyes and praying to every goddess he knew to heal whatever ailed her. A shadow passed across his face and when he opened his eyes, tears were gathered there, waiting a moment before falling unchecked down his cheeks.

 

“I tried to warn you.” Elrond stated slowly, a compassionate look crossing his passive features. “But you insisted. You…?”

 

“What happened?” His voice was strained and Elrond could sense it if not hear it in the tone.

 

Elrond gestured to a woman waiting in the shadows; an elven woman whom Aragorn hadn’t even seen in his haste to reach his wife. “Melanwin will take care of Arwen, as she has done since her birth. Walk with me.”

 

 

Chapter 4

 

 

Aragorn didn’t miss the disapproving look the elven woman shot him as he stood. He placed a lingering kiss on Arwen’s forehead and whispered “I will return,” before following Elrond away from the two women. Melanwin took his place and helped Arwen to stand, leading her back to her room where she could rest more comfortably.

 

“She wanted some air. To feel the sun on her skin.” Elrond said as he walked. “I’ve confined her to bed far longer than she would like.”

 

“Elrond.” Aragorn grasped the elf’s silk-covered bicep and stopped. “Atar.” {Father} What happened? Tell me. Please.”

 

Elrond took a long, deep breath before recounting where his daughter had been found and in what condition. “She has been here for a few weeks. “

 

Aragorn winced. That meant that she had been in the hands of the vile uruk-hai for more time than he wanted to admit.

 

“She’s been sick since she we found her,” Elrond stared at his son, “She said she'd been ill for much of the journey here. Rather than send word back to you, she pushed her escort to arrive here quickly.”

 

Aragorn nodded, gazing out over Elrond’s shoulder and into a small glade that overlooked the largest waterfall in Imladris. “What did they do to her?”

 

Elrond took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Much to Aragorn’s dismay, the Elven Lord did not answer his question. He simply continued,  “When the time of her expected arrival came and passed, I sent scouts to look for her. They found Asfaloth not far from Rivendell and her trail, and that of her captors, was picked up from there.”

 

“Can you heal her? Will she live?” He whispered, afraid that the words would come true should he speak them too loud.

 

Elrond smiled warmly at his son and covered the man’s hand with his own. “I suspect she will live. But, her body has, is going through, many drastic changes. Changes for the good or ill of her health, I have yet to determine.”

 

Aragorn nodded and continued limping down the path covered with falling foliage. The trees were in constant bloom, their life-giving leaves blossoming all year round. He finally came to a halt before a carved statue of Elbereth and fell to his knees. The pain in his leg was forgotten as he closed his eyes and clasped his hands to his chest.

 

Elrond smiled sympathetically. Silently, he rested a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and waited.

 

 When Aragorn had said his prayers to the Queen of the Stars, he stood, tears welling within the normally calm crystal gaze. Elrond stared at the man he’d raised as a son. Aragorn’s devotion to his daughter was written deeply in the tears that slipped unchecked down his cheeks. “She will live, my son.” Elrond was unsure himself if he could see his daughter through the coming months, but spoke the words as a small comfort to the man who stood beside him now. The pain and memory of his own wife’s capture at the hands of Orcs was foremost in his thoughts and he knew it was now in the mind of his son as well.

 

“It is not often that our women bear children. Her ordeal…it changed her, just as it changed her mother. I such change does not harm the child.” Elrond’s voice was steady but tinged with fear. “I’m afraid it will be a long, painful and weakening road for Arwen. She will need you. She will need your strength.”

 

Aragorn stared, mouth falling open at Elrond’s words. “What?” he blinked back the tears, eyes drying as he wiped the lingering wetness from his cheeks. “Child?”

 

Elrond tilted his head toward his son. “She didn’t tell you when you saw her in the glade?”

 

“Elentári,” the king muttered in disbelief. “No! She said nothing to me about a child!”

 

Elrond muttered a few choice words beneath his breath. “I am afraid for my daughter, Estel.  She suffered much at the hands of her captors and yet she and the child survived. She is weak and sick from the ordeal, made worse by her body’s seemingly negative reaction to the child.” Elrond’s eyes cleared and he turned to Aragorn as the king took a nervous breath. “That Arwen bears your child, a re-mingling of elven and Numenorean blood, could be a blessing or a curse.”

 

He took a deep breath and turned to Aragorn, his eyes betraying the fear burning in his heart. “She thinks there is something wrong with the child and that her capture and torture at the hands of those vile creatures has something to do with her condition. She is depressed and weak. Your arrival may turn the tide of her despair. She insists on bearing this child, heedless of her own safety and injuries received at the hands of those creatures.” The pain of Elrond’s words hung around them like an impenetrable curtain. “It has taken her long to conceive, she won’t give up your child.”

 

Aragorn shook his head, trying to convince himself this was all just a dream. As if he wished hard enough, this would not be happening.

 

“Aragorn,” Elrond placed a comforting hand on his son’s shoulder. “She confided in me that some of your generals are concerned with the lack of an heir for your house. That weighs heavily upon her shoulders.”

 

Aragorn shook his head. He began to tremble with anger and fear.  He was scared, and he didn’t know what to do. His hands were tied in a way that he’d never before experienced.

 

“What can I do?” Aragorn’s voice was low, hoarse, unsure. Elrond’s words had frightened him more than he was ready to admit.

 

“I will need some more False Unicorn Root to make tea.” Elrond recognized the signs. Aragorn needed to do something to make himself feel useful. “I cut it fresh daily so that it is at its highest potency.”

 

Aragorn nodded, his eyes clearing.  “I will get it. And - we will remain here,” He stood, wincing as his healing muscles stretched to their limits. “Arwen will receive the best care in your hands. We will not leave until the child is born and she is ready to travel once again to the White City. I will send Faramir back as regent in my place until I return.” Aragorn nodded in respect to the elven lord and took his leave, resolute in his decision

 

“Estel!” Elrond called after his son and Aragorn turned slowly at hearing the name that had not been used since he was a child.  Elrond was silent as he closed the distance between himself and the king of Gondor. He placed a comforting hand on his son’s shoulder and smiled warmly. “Your love and dedication is unmatched by any in this world. My daughter is lucky to have you.  I will send men with Faramir to ensure his news arrives safely to your city. ”

 

Aragorn smiled slowly, and for a moment silence hung between them.  Aragorn placed a hand atop that of his father’s and said nothing. His crystal eyes spoke volumes without needing to utter a word.

 

 

- 6 months later -

 

 

 

Arwen awoke with a gasp, nearly knocking a sleeping Aragorn from the bed. He scrambled to his feet and knelt beside her, flattening a warm hand across her clammy forehead.

 

“Arwen, Mani naa ta?” {Arwen, what is it?}  Worried eyes searched her face. A calloused hand cupped her cheek.

 

She bit her lip to keep from crying out once more. Pain ripped through her abdomen and she found herself unable to contain the scream that tore from her lips. She curled into a ball clutching at her stomach and Aragorn’s insides twisted with each painful moan.

 

“Coiasira’ta?” {Is it time?} Aragorn’s reached for a small vial and quickly dripped its contents into his hand. He rubbed them together, smearing the liquid onto both hands before flattening them across her bare stomach. Slowly he rubbed the sweet-smelling liquid into her skin, murmuring to her in the ancient language of the elves.  Within a few seconds, the liquid heated her skin, calming the turmoil within her stomach.

 

Tears fell from tightly closed eyelids and she whimpered from the lingering pain. The tension slowly left her body and she melted into the cushions, exhausted. While this had been a difficult pregnancy, the pain she now experienced was unlike anything she had previously felt. It came and went in waves that were now centered at her core, spreading throughout her hips and back.

 

As she lay still as a fallen log, Aragorn closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the edge of the bed. The pain, the agony that was now a daily occurrence, was beginning to affect his usually sound and fair judgment. He wanted this child out of her, lost if need be, to spare her any further pain.

 

“It will soon be over.” A hand settled atop his shoulder and Aragorn made no movement until the hand squeezed gently. The comforting gesture of his father was not ignored and Aragorn stared up at the old elf, compassion and fear blazing in his crystal eyes.

 

“If she has to lose the child, so be it,” Aragorn stood to face Elrond, “but stop her pain. I can’t bear it.”

 

“If I….” came a soft but determined voice from the bed before Elrond could answer, “can bear this child for you.” She stopped and took a deep breath, hands pressing into her abdomen in some hope of slowing the spreading pain. “Then you can bear the fear and worry it takes for me to do so.”

 

“A'maelamin,” Aragorn whispered, knelt and covered her hands with his own. “You don’t deserve such pain. Had I known it would be so difficult, I would never have let you…”

 

“You *let* me do nothing.” Her words were biting, even through her pain. “It is my choice, Estel.” A tremor raced down his spine at her use of his childhood name.

 

“Nae saian luume'.” {It has been too long} Aragorn whispered moments before another tremor wracked her body. She cried out, this time drawing the attention of Galadriel and Celeborn, who came quickly to her side. Arwen squeezed Aragorn’s hands, nails digging into his skin and drawing blood.

 

“I believe it is time,” Galadriel’s soft voice reached every corner of the room, even through Arwen’s screams of pain. Celeborn nodded quietly and moved to the other side of the bed, hand resting on Aragorn’s shoulder. “Come, Elessar. We must let them work.”

 

Aragorn blinked. “I won’t leave her.”

 

Arwen’s head lolled to one side and she stared up at her husband, “This is the way of things, Estel.” She breathed, shortening his name now due to lack of breath.

 

“Things change,” Aragorn growled, gripping her hands tightly, “I will not leave you.”

 

“Come, my brother,” Elrohir’s hand replaced Celeborn’s on Aragorn’s left side. He smiled at his father, nodded respectfully to Celeborn and squeezed Aragorn’s shoulder gently.

 

“We must not tempt the stars,” Elladan’s hand fell to Aragorn’s right shoulder, replacing his father’s. “Our sister is in good hands.” He reassured his foster-brother, smiling warmly at Galadriel before nodding to his father.

 

“Indeed she is,” Elrond stared at Aragorn as his twin sons pulled the expectant father to his feet. “Go with the twins.”

 

Aragorn’s eyes sparkled with defiance but he said nothing. Arwen screamed in pain once again and as he tried to bend over to comfort her, the twin sons of Elrond slid their hands under his arms and pulled him away. “We must delay no longer.”

 

------------------------------------

 

 

The sun shone brightly on the City, bathing the white tower in its warm embrace. People bustled in their work, selling and bartering their wares at the daily market sprawled across the inner ring of the White City. Thankfully none, but the closest tower guard, could hear the angry voices of the King’s council carry out of the tower and into the courtyard.

 

“They have been gone too long,” Argad addressed the gathered council, hands gripping the table tightly. “We crowned a Ranger as our King. Has such responsibility been too much for him?”

 

Faramir glared at the man. “You know why he has not returned. Why do you speak so?”

 

The Captain of the Guard launched to his feet, furious, “His wrath will be swift when he hears about such betrayal!”

 

Faramir held out his hand, silencing the captain and all others who murmured to one another where they sat.

 

Rorah stood and stared at Faramir. “You alone returned from Rivendell, where, you say, the King waits until the child is born.”

 

“Arrived with an escort of elves,” Imrahil stood, hand resting lightly on the hilt of his weapon. “So easily do your prejudices forget.”

 

“Is it his child? Is it the Queens?” Argad leveled his gaze at Faramir, a small smile turning the corner of his lip as he watched Faramir struggle to remain calm.

 

The look Faramir shot Argad was sharper than the deadliest blade. “You forget yourself, Argad. Such an accusation is punishable by death.”

 

"You use every opportunity to cast unfavorable light on the King," Imrahil stared, "Why might this be, Southerner." Forgetting himself, he spat the word like a prejudiced curse. "Are you here to supplant him? Do you think it would be so easy?"

 

“It has been years,” Argad continued, ignoring Imrahil's own accusations. His hand moved to the hilt of his own blade, “and the Queen has not shown one sign of being with child. Now, suddenly, she is found to be with child and is sequestered away from all eyes who may question the validity of that claim?”

 

“You have my word,” Faramir snapped. “And if that is not good enough for you, I can relieve you of your duties to this kingdom and this house.”

 

Rorah’s hand, too, slid to the hilt of his sword. “You do not have the authority.”

 

"As regent sitting in for Aragorn during his absence," Imrahil favored Rorah with a cold stare, "He has every right to flog you publicly for this treason."

 

"He won't," Argad smiled smugly, casting a quick look at the hands that moved to their blades, ready, at a moments notice to draw and halve them where they stood.

 

“Would you like to test my hand?” Faramir said, eyes searching every one in the room one by one for any further dissent.

 

“You will wait until the King returns.” Argad walked toward the closed double doors, Rorah following. “Because you, yourself, just as the rest of this council, have their own doubts.”

 

A murmur erupted and Faramir called for silence.

 

“You will live to regret those words,” Faramir seethed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 5

 

 

“Sut an?” {How long?} Aragorn muttered with disgust as he impatiently paced the great hallway where Narsil, now Anduril, once rested.

 

The twin elves shared an exasperated glance before Elladan addressed their agitated foster-brother.

 

“Time will tell. It may be swift, it may take many days.”

 

Aragorn stopped and shot a horrified look at the twins. “Her body can’t handle that much stress. She’s sick already!”

 

“Father will do everything he can to ease her pain.” Elrohir’s voice was soft and comforting.  “Galadriel and Melanwin will see her through this time.”

 

“It is my duty to be by her side.” Aragorn scowled.

 

“You were raised with the elves, Estel,” Elladan stared down at his brother, “You know our custom, our history. You know you are not permitted to attend.”

 

“Elladan,” Aragorn sighed, drawing a hand dejectedly through his hair, “You must understand that these circumstances are different, that….” His voice was cut off by a painful wail. Aragorn rushed toward the cries but was held forcefully back by his kin.

 

“No.”

 

Aragorn struggled for several minutes before sinking to his knees, exhausted, tears welling in his crystal eyes. His hands and shoulders shook with helpless fear and he grasped at the elven twins for support. They knelt beside their brother and embraced him tightly, exchanging a look of equal unease. The birth was taking far too long and their sister was in far too much pain.  She had healed well from the injuries she’d sustained from her capture, but there was apparently a much deeper wound than could be healed with mere medicine.

 

“All will be well. Have faith.” Elladan whispered to his brother, but found it increasingly difficult to believe his own words.

 

 

-         24 hours later –

 

 

Aragorn refused to eat. Plates of untouched food littered the terrace to where he’d been confined. He looked ragged and exhausted. Elven guards stood at every entrance to insure he did not leave.

 

“I’m sorry, my brother, that you must be restrained like this.” Elladan stepped around one of the armed guards with a plate of sweet-smelling meat. “Father will be out soon to speak with you.”

 

 Aragorn stood quickly and stared at his brother, his heart plunging into his stomach. “What’s happened?”

 

When Elladan didn’t answer, Aragorn launched himself at the taller elf, grasping his collar. “Tell me.”

 

Elladan smiled warmly and gazed into the sky, into the large, blossoming trees that loomed constantly overhead. “You must wait for father.”

 

Aragorn scoffed and walked back to the railing that overlooked one of the many splendid falls. “I can’t take much more of this. I must see her.”

 

“You will see her shortly, Estel,” Aragorn whirled upon hearing the voice of the only father he’d ever known. He blinked once, twice, at the sight that greeted him. He was frozen in place and unable to move.

 

Elrond smiled at the paralysis that had suddenly come over his son. The babe coo’ed softly in the elf’s arms and he grinned down at the little one.

When Aragorn found his legs, he was beside Elrond in a heartbeat, hands shaking, shoulders trembling at the sight of the babe in the elf lord’s arms.

 

“You have a son.” Elrond announced with a smile. The air itself began to change. It became light, fragrant, fresh, as if a whole new world had just flowered before their very eyes.

 

Aragorn released a deep breath, brought a hand to his lips then to his forehead in an ancient Dúnadan gesture. He fell to his knees, praising Elbereth for the safe delivery of his child. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks before standing once again and opening his arms.

 

As Elrond placed the child in the arms of his father, the babe began to whimper as the comfort, that had been the elven lord’s embrace, shifted to that of a much less gentle grasp. He leaned over the babe and pressed a finger to his lips, “This is your father, little king. Cry for him.”

 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

Time passed quickly, and when the babe Eldarion was old enough to travel, Arwen and Aragorn said their good-byes to the elven haven of Rivendell.

 

The farewells were bitter sweet as the King knew that he would never again see the man who had raised him. Rivendell would fade as soon as its inhabitants left for their western home and with it the history of the elves who once lived there.

 

Arwen had said her farewell privately, the result of which could still be seen in her bloodshot eyes and rosy cheeks. Arwen had spent much time with her father in the last weeks, giving Aragorn a chance to bond with their newborn son. She had healed well and there was no concern that she should not attempt to have another child, when they felt the time was right.

 

Elrond stood on a terrace overlooking those gathered below.  Vines grew from between the railings, and climbed up the carved stone pillars to the top of the dwellings.  "The elves will see you safely to Gondor." He nodded to the men he had personally chosen to escort the king back to his lands. "I don't foresee trouble on the road."

 

Aragorn nodded, his eyes wet with unshed tears. He reined his stallion beside Arwen and set a gloved hand atop her thigh. The two exchanged a sad look before raising their hands in a final farewell. There was nothing more to be said than had not already been voiced many times over.

 

Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir raised their hands as the company turned down the well trod path that would take them back to the White City of Gondor.

 

"Namárië," Elrond said with a weak smile.

 

"Namárië." Aragorn saluted the elven lord with an ancient Dúnadan gesture of respect and love.

 

"Namárië," Arwen whispered, tears dripping down her cheeks as she pulled the reins and pressed her heels into her stallion's side.

 

As the company, that numbered nearly forty, trotted slowly away, Galadriel and Celeborn appeared from behind Elrond and his sons.

 

"They will be well, Elrond." Galadriel's soft voice warmed his heart.

 

"I know."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

The herald skidded to a halt before Faramir panting heavily. The two generals, to whom the acting regent was speaking, stared harshly at the man, ready to scold him for the rude interruption.

 

"M'lord," he took a deep breath.

 

"Yes, " Faramir turned, smiling more at the reaction of the generals than to the wide-eyed herald. "What is it?"

 

"Elves, sir, an army of them."

 

"What?" General Rashan cocked his head toward the young herald. "The elves have no …"

 

"Sire," The herald turned his full attention to Faramir, "They come as escort to the king!" The herald was all but beaming from head to toe. "He has returned to us!"

 

Faramir smiled widely as the two generals called to their aids for confirmation.

 

"Well then we must prepare a royal welcome!" Faramir clasped his hands together. "Go, we haven't much time if you've seen them from the watchtower."

 

Faramir drew himself to his full height and smiled smugly at the two generals. "Your worries were unfounded, gentlemen. See to it that the rest who supported you are aware."

 

The generals each gave a curt nod and rushed to their chambers, barking orders to their servants to prepare their fineries into which to change.

Faramir walked briskly to his own chambers to change, yelling to everyone he passed that the king had returned and to prepare to receive his party.

 

By the time the riders reached the gates, the people were gathered along the road as far as they eye could see. They waited within the city walls, squeezing together everyone who could be present for the return of their king. Guards waited along the walls, atop the towers and beside the road, standing straight, respectful as the stallions trotted closer. Trumpets began to sound, signaling their regent’s return and every soldier present raised their blades in a respectful salute.

 

Faramir stood at the end of the road, at the place the king would stop and dismount. With him stood the members of his council, his generals and their advisors.

 

As the stallions came to a halt, Aragorn nodded to Faramir. The man stepped forward and held high the scepter of Annúminas. "I return to you the Reunited Kingdom, which I have governed in your absence. Welcome home, my lord." He fell to his knees, the scepter extended toward the king.

 

Aragorn smiled and dismounted slowly, touching the shoulder of the kneeling man in gratitude. "Thank you." Aragorn briefly acknowledged his generals before moving to Arwen's side.

 

The generals stared as he reached up and took the cooing bundle from her arms. Some smiled warmly, others warily watched the couple and their reactions to one another, searching for something suspicious on which to pounce.

 

"It has come time to present to you the heir of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor," Aragorn addressed his generals with a stare that could only be considered mildly, but equally, cold. "My son. Eldarion."

 

A collected gasp rippled through the people as they exchanged looks of disbelief mixed with shock. Those who did not hear the king's announcement found it repeated in whispers that flowed to the very ends of the gathered crowd. Soon, the whole City was buzzing with the news.

 

Aragorn regarded his generals with a cold stare. "I am touched by your concern for the survival of my kingdom." He rocked the babe slowly in his arms, keeping his voice low yet firm.  He favored each general, involved in prior discussion on the subject of succession, with a hard gaze. "Your concern is duly noted and no more will we speak of this."

 

Aragorn turned on his heel, effectively cutting off any excuse or doubt about to be raised, and looked out over the gathered crowd. He smiled affectionately at his wife as she stepped beside her husband. She slid an arm around his waist and he around her shoulders as they tilted their son so that he could look over the gathered crowd. The people exploded into a resounding cheer as Eldarion looked for the first time on a city that would one day be his to rule.

 

If Aragorn heard the whispers behind him wondering about paternity of the boy, he gave no indication.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 6

 

 

 

Aragorn paced the elegantly decorated bedchambers, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “How dare they think of such things. Even in secret. How dare they doubt me, us! This is treason in its worst form!”

 

Arwen watched calmly from the bed, stroking the head of her dark-haired babe as he noisily slurped his morning meal. She showed no outward sign of anger, but inside she was seething. “Aragorn?” Arwen’s voice was calm, comforting, unemotional as she called to her husband. She wouldn’t risk upsetting her son, and her husband’s agitated pacing would do just that when the child was no longer distracted with his meal. “Melamin?” {My love?}

 

“If Faramir hadn’t confided in me their doubts, I would never have seen. Perhaps I have gotten weak in the last years. To trusting.” Aragorn cast a disgusted look out the small window and into the courtyard below. There, the castle guard stood, ready to change with the morning ringing of the bells.

 

“Perhaps it would have been best if he had not.”

 

Aragorn whirled on his wife. “So that their doubts could fester and grow? These men, men of my own choosing, doubt that you gave birth to this boy. Our son! They doubt even further that I fathered him!”

 

Eldarion whimpered at his mother breast and Arwen whispered a few soothing words to the babe. “Please, love. He can feel your anger.”

 

Aragorn’s rage suddenly vanished and he knelt at her side. “I’m sorry.” He reached out to smooth the hair on the babe’s head, thumb tracing the outline of the delicately tipped ear.

 

“Perhaps what angers you most is that these are men you have trusted, men you personally chose to aid in the defense and protection of Gondor. Now you feel they have betrayed that trust.” She slid a slim hand into his and gave a gentle squeeze. The babe quieted and fell asleep with the hands of his parents resting atop his head.

 

“Am I wrong to feel such betrayal?” He cupped her cheek in his free hand and brushed his thumb across her lips.

 

Arwen looked away, afraid the anger in her eyes would betray the calm with which she addressed her beloved.

 

“I didn’t think so.” Aragorn bent to press a tender kiss to the sleeping babe’s head and then stood. “I will take care of it today and it will be spoken of no more.”

 

“Aragorn,” Arwen said quickly as he strode toward the door.

 

For a moment, the fury flaring in his crystal gaze disappeared, and he looked on her with a love that pulled at her heartstrings. He returned to her side and draped an arm around their sleeping son. He drew the back of his free hand down her cheek. “I will not let anyone dishonor you.”

 

“I know.” She whispered as he leaned in to kiss her.

 

They remained in a tight embrace, lips playfully nipping at one another’s until Aragorn reluctantly pulled away. He had an agenda for the day, regardless he’d rather strip his clothes and re-join his wife in bed.

 

“With the promise of more to come,” Aragorn whispered against her lips when they parted.  His eyes twinkled mischievously and she chuckled.

 

She shoved at his shoulder and he stood. “Be gentle with them.” She advised and he smiled.

 

“They will have no need to speak of the paternity of our son ever again.”

 

Arwen sighed and gazed affectionately down at her son as Aragorn walked out the door.

 

------------------------------------

 

 

 

“You stand before this council accused of spreading malicious rumors against the King’s newborn son.” Faramir proclaimed before the gathered council of generals. “You have been provided with evidence to the contrary, yet you continue to spread these rumors throughout the people of this City.”

 

Aragorn watched their shocked expressions from his throne. It had been decided that in this way would this matter be addressed, with the ruling King sitting on his throne instead of a simple gathering and conference of men, as was his custom with matters solely concerning the council.

 

“The proof has not been sufficient,” Argad quickly found his tongue and spat. “You expect us to believe that the Queen rides to Rivendell after we bring our concerns to the king regarding an heir, and ‘mysteriously’ has a child with whom you return a year later?”

 

Aragorn’s fingers tightened around the arms of the throne. His temper was barely held in check by an unvoiced promise to Arwen not to tear these men limb from limb.

 

“Perhaps the son is the King’s, just not born by the Queen,” Rorah, the other general who stood against the king, finally said. “If she is barren, it is only natural and acceptable, for the king to sire a child on another.”

 

“Then there is the torture she suffered at the hands of her captors,” Argad stared at the king, his challenge and point made. “Perhaps she was forced to submit….”

 

Aragorn gained his feet with a growl that would have frightened a hill troll and crossed the distance between himself and the accused generals in seconds.

 

“How dare you make such an assumption!” Aragorn’s hand impacted the side of the grizzled man’s face with the force of a star falling into the sea.

 

Faramir stared in disbelief as Argad even dared to make such an accusation of the Queen. Even more shocked was the Steward to see Aragorn lose his temper and strike the man.

 

The council murmured their approval at the King’s reaction while at the same time tempering their shock at his, very rarely seen, loss of control.

 

“You have been provided with what proof I am able to give. We have nothing to hide here. This is not a throne built upon deception.” Aragorn stepped back, his hand lowered, his voice stern and his eyes unblinking, “It is obvious that you have chosen not to accept such proof and to that end, my judgment will be as swift as your accusations of my conduct and that of my wife, your queen.”

 

At Aragorn’s simple gesture, armed guardsmen advanced toward the two generals and stood by their side, weapons raised and at the ready.

 

Faramir steeled himself for Aragorn to order their deaths. He would be well within his rights to do so, and the Steward would be grateful to be rid of such men.

 

“You are relieved of your duties to Gondor and to its King. Go now, and trouble me with your doubts no longer.”

 

The two men gazed disbelievingly at the king, and at the man’s advisors and councilors.

 

Faramir stood momentarily stunned at Aragorn’s leniency then regained his composure and motioned to the guards. “Escort them from this City. And see that their belongings are removed from within these walls.”

 

With Aragorn’s parting words, “You will never set foot in this City while myself or my heirs rule.”

 

 No more was ever mentioned of the circumstances surrounding the birth of  Eldarion.

 

 

Epilogue

 

As time passed, those who had been Aragorn's generals were left with little doubt that the child was, as claimed, Aragorn and Arwen's son.  His look was of his father and his human ancestors. Even darker and more pronounced as befitting those with Numenorean blood. His countenance was that of his mother and his ears, taking many years to assume their full and final shape, were gently pointed as evidence of his Elven heritage.

 

The daughters later born to the king and queen of Gondor looked much the same, and there could be no doubt that their brother was of the same royal blood.

 

 

 

END