Silent Words, Comfort me
Author's note: I think this is it. Ahh, I'm going to miss this story, and everyone who's r&r. Guess this is goodbye then.
Standard disclaimers apply.
Epilogue
Aragorn turned abruptly at the play of sun on long, golden hair, and barely managed to restrain from crying out at a perfect stranger. It wasn't him, it never was, and yet, the hope still lived…someday…
"My lord," the sudden arrival of a flustered courier brought his attention back to the present, "The baby, it's coming. The queen requests your presence at the castle immediately."
A delighted smile spread across Aragorn's face as he threaded his way hurriedly through the marketplace in the wake of the courier. Finally, a child of his own, flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood. Even the ever-present ache inside him could not completely dim the joy he felt at that moment.
If only…
No!
he told himself sharply. Be thankful for what you have; the Gods have been kind.~
"My son," he whispered in wonder at the tiny body he cradled in his arms. Looking down at the exhausted woman on the bed, he gave her a look of utmost gratification. "Thank you so much."
Arwen managed a tired quirk at the corners of her mouth. "You're most welcome," she replied hoarsely.
"He's rather…small," he continued, brows knit in intense concentration.
Arwen barked out a laugh. "If you want them any bigger," she said, "you can have them yourself."
Her husband grinned back at her. It had been five years since their marriage and she knew how much he loved her…and how much he more he still loved the Elven Prince. The ways of the heart were strange, and she did not begrudge him his love. He did not understand that she had only ever wanted for him to be happy.
She watched as he handled their son so very gently, as though he were afraid the infant would shatter at a firm touch. She watched, and wondered how much longer he would remain content.
~
"Eldarion…" he murmured lovingly to his son, one large hand stroking the soft, dark down on his head, "that shall be your name."
A lump rose unbidden to his throat. They had given up so much for this one tiny bundle, and he knew in his heart that Legolas would agree it had all been worth it.
Handing the babe back to his nurse, he strode slowly to his quarters. As the door swung slowly shut, the memory of the bright golden hair he'd seen that morning came back to him, releasing a flood of others that broke the barriers he had so carefully built up around his heart.
The scent of spring grass that lingered perpetually on his skin. The innocence in his eyes that long centuries had failed to erase. The feel of his touch in the silence of the night…
"I was a fool to have let you go," he muttered angrily to himself.
"Damn right you were," growled a disembodied voice somewhere in the room. The stout figure stepped out from behind the curtains to face a very startled king.
"Gimli!" Aragorn cried in shock, trying to slow his heart rate to something approaching normal "Were you trying to kill me?"
The dwarf let out a loud hrrumph and placed himself squarely in front of the man. "Travel thousands of miles just to visit you and this is the thanks I get?" he asked in mock anger.
Aragorn laughed and clasped his hands warmly. "Of course not," he said, "I'm delighted to see you. It's been too long."
"Aye, that it has," Gimli replied, walking with him towards two large chairs by the fireplace. "How is the babe? I've been waiting for you since morn but you were…held up."
Taking that as an invitation to explain himself, Aragorn fairly glowed with pride as he expounded on his new heir's virtues. Gimli raised an eyebrow at several unlikely feats the enthusiastic father swore his infant could perform and merely smiled indulgently.
After half a candlemark, Aragorn finally ran out of steam and settled back into his chair. "So how have you passed these half dozen years?" he asked the dwarf.
Gimli shrugged, the ax he wore constantly at his side clanging discordantly against the metal lining his boots. "Oh, I've been here and there," he said, "Travelled a fair bit; Moria, Helm's Deep, Fangorn, Mirkwood…"
At the mention of that shadowed forest, Aragorn's heart leapt once more into his throat. The need to ask was an almost physical pain, but he was so afraid of what he might hear.
Catching sight of the man's anguished expression, Gimli broke off abruptly, and fell silent for a moment. Finally, he sighed and said, "I know your questions."
Aragorn looked at him hopefully. "Then…"
"I'm just wondering whether you deserve to know the answer," he quipped back. Watching the blood practically drain from the man's face, Gimli couldn't bring himself to joke any longer.
"He misses you," the dwarf said sadly, "He eats and drinks and laughs and smiles as though it doesn't matter, but we can still tell."
Aragorn listened intently with every fibre of his being; old guilt uncurling from the depths where he had thought it buried. "I'm sorry…" he whispered.
Gimli's temper flared and he leapt to his feet, shaking a large fist under the man's nose. "'Tis not to me that you should make your apologies," he said angrily. Calming slightly, he continued, "But then, the fault is not wholly yours…That fool elf - he's more stubborn than most mules I've met, and I've met quite a few in my day. He'll never admit he made a mistake."
Aragorn nodded wryly in agreement; he remembered that all too well. Once his elf had come to a decision, nothing and no one could change his mind. Lost as he was in the memories, he missed the next part of the dwarf's words.
"…go to him." The dwarf crossed his arms in front of his chest to indicate that he had finished speaking and looked expectantly at the man.
"I can't…" Aragorn stammered hesitantly.
"Of course you can," the dwarf snapped, slamming his fist into the mantle above the fireplace, "If he won't lower his Valar-accursed pride to return to you, then you must go to him."
"But…"
"He's dying inside, " the dwarf said, holding out a hand imploringly, "You do not have to answer me now, give it some thought first. Who knows…" He shrugged and made his way across the room, then turned back and paused with one palm wrapped around the doorknob. "I'll be here for two days," he said, "after which I journey to Mirkwood." Closing the door behind him, the unspoken invitation hung in the air.
Aragorn curled into his chair, absently stirring the wood with the poker. He couldn't go to the elf; he had responsibilities to his country, responsibilities to his family. He couldn't abandon everything just like that.
But the Reunited Kingdom was at peace, or at least as close to peace as it had ever been, and he had done his duty, sired his heir…perhaps…
Deep in his heart, the idea took root and began to grow.
Someday…
© ai 2002
thanks for everything.