Making It Right

Part 15

Posted: April 2003
Author: Kharessa Bloodrose

*****

He pushed the doors to the bedchamber open as if they were made of lead, head lowered, bull like. The pain washed over him in waves, ebbing and flowing like the tide. Aragorn shut the doors, leaned against them. He could not show this weakness that could not be explained or justified. The walk back from the archery range had been a slow death, a death that was still happening. His mouth burned from the touch of Legolas' lips; he could taste the elf, feel him. He could see blonde hair and dry leaves, a pale face that was perfect in its indifference shattering into anguish. Aragorn knew about anguish. It threatened to suffocate him, crush him. The walk had been agony, the effort to stride forward with shoulders squared and head held high almost more than he could bear. He had done it, though, hidden the secret ache that had become an interior cataclysm. Only now could he lean his weight against the cold support of solid wood, slide to the floor, bury his face in his hands.

"Estel?" Arwen's voice. Soft, yet urgently concerned. Looking up over his steepled fingers he saw her in the arched doorway between their bedchamber and her private sitting room. Her face had gone deathly pale, her eyes huge within an oval of whiteness. For the first time Aragorn saw mortality clearly written on her features. He licked his dry lips.

"Dear Elbereth, Estel, what have you done?" She moved towards him gracefully, though not as gracefully as she once could have. Aragorn swallowed hard.

"I am so sorry, Arwen." He whispered. "I swear that I love you; I will always love you; there will be no other."

She dropped to her knees in front of him, gripping his shoulders. Aragorn's eyes rose to meet hers. Instead of seeing anger he saw desperate, almost panicked urgency. "Where is Legolas?"

"I did not, Arwen, I swear it." He glared, fighting the pain, fighting the tears that stung his eyes. "I turned him away."

"Damn it, Estel!" She did not raise her voice, but the unexpected language shocked him to silence. "Would you kill him?" Her eyes were intent, demanding an answer.

"No! Of course not!"

"Then we have to find him."

*****

An elf who does not wish to be found usually will not be, but Aragorn had been a ranger long before he'd been a king and Arwen had not lost all of her elvish knowledge with her immortality. Even so, night had long since fallen by the time they found the archer prince. No questions were asked when he was carried to the king's chambers; clearly the elf was in dire circumstances and required emergency attention. Arwen baffled the human healers with a long, convoluted, and mostly fictional explanation of elvish sicknesses. Under her direction a muted chaos reigned in the king's sitting room as various and sundry items were either sent for or sent away. Alluding to elvish mysteries and secrets of healing she had learned from her father she finally propelled the crowd of healers, servants, and maids out the door. Aragorn couldn't help smiling tiredly in amused admiration.

"Do we have use for these things?" Aragorn asked her as she entered the bed chamber. He gestured towards the bowls of hot water and bottles of dried herbs on the night table. Arwen shook her head.

"No. I thought it best to let the good physicians of your court think they had a part in this rather than veiling it in secrecy." Her gaze turned to the still figure nestled under the green coverlet. "It seems to me that there has been quite enough secrecy here."

Aragorn sighed and looked away. He had no idea what to say to her, had no idea of what he himself thought. Arwen stood by the door while he sat beside the unconscious archer who lay in his bed. Aragorn felt disoriented, as if the past had somehow been overlaid on the present. Legolas had lain in this bed before as his lover, in a room furnished to meet the tastes of Aragorn's long dead ancestor. Now he was here again, in a room Aragorn's wife had furnished and decorated. The man sat on the edge of the bed, now draped in peach and sea blue, wanting to hold Legolas' hand while his wife stood by. Dull shame throbbed within him.

"Estel." Arwen's voice was soft, low and musical. Aragorn's eyes were fixed on the peach coverlet, eyes closed and jaw clenched.

"Estel, do you love me?"

"Yes, Arwen, I swear that I do." He raised his head to meet her eyes, refusing to relinquish his dignity. There was pain and despair in his eyes, tiredness, anger, hurt. He gave it all to her. There was a simple, resolute pride in his openness. See in me, his eyes said. This is all of me; accept what you see or do not. All that I am. See in me and believe in me, for I will not justify myself beyond this.

Arwen nodded her understanding, coming to seat herself beside her husband. "Do you love me any less because you also love him? Has your love for me changed?"

"No." One word. He spoke no further, though words clamored within him.

Arwen shifted, turning to look upon the fair prince lying in the middle of their bed. Her expression softened into one of gentle sorrow and tenderness. Legolas did not look like a warrior prince any longer; he looked fragile and almost transparent. The elf looked small under the heavy blankets, lost in the nest of soft pillows.

"Then I beg of you, Estel, stop fighting this. You are killing him." She reached to touch one of Legolas' pale hands. "You are breaking his heart."

"As he is breaking mine." Aragorn ground out. His hand drifted of its own accord to stroke the silken hair. "I feel as if I am dying inside."

"I know. I feel what you feel." Arwen turned back to him, reaching to lightly touch his cheek. "I know that there is a bond between you and him. And as we share in our thoughts and feelings, so do you and he. You are feeling him die."

Aragorn froze. His tongue darted out to touch his lips, and he cast Arwen a horrified glance before turning back to the archer. "Die? You speak literally?"

"Aye. Elves bond once, and for life. If that bond is broken, they die of grief." She sighed, a hint of impatience creeping into her voice. "These are things you should know, Estel."

"I did not believe that it could be a true bonding. Not when I am already committed to you."

"It does not matter at this point how or why this came to be. What matters now is that he is dying, and only you can save him." She rose to stand before him, and Aragorn found himself suddenly humbled by her regal yet gentle authority as she gazed down at him. This was the Arwen whom he had fallen in love with, the beautiful elf maiden who had captured his heart. His eyes met hers, and in the midst of the turmoil and pain within him he felt a surge of solid brightness, a center of stability. He loved her. Relief swept through him at the sudden wholeness of this realization.

"Love him, Estel." She whispered. Arwen leaned down to kiss his cheek, and then left him without saying another word.

*****

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