The Price of Pride

Elvish translations

Cuaren – my archer
Melethron – lover
Ae syntrea chen – please
Tamip’olad – stay
Veston – I promise


Chapter 48


For two weeks, we followed the pattern set that day. Aragorn slept far more still than he was awake, which was good. When he was awake, the pain from his wound was terrible, but he continued to refuse to take anything to ease his discomfort. Freyla, the twins and I divided the day between us so that we could all accomplish something while making sure Aragorn never woke alone. Elladan and I took turns hunting and repairing houses while Elrohir continued to work with Hamaden, helping the injured. One by one, I watched them leave their pallets in Freyla’s main room to return to their families. Quarters were tight with only two houses still habitable, but the weather was clement and the older boys had taken to camping outside, imitating the twins who had chosen to sleep under the stars rather than take up space in the already crowded dwellings. I was glad to see the farmers healing, but it increased my frustration and worry over Aragorn. Even when he was awake, he was still too weak to sit up, despite the addition of lembas to his diet. Elrohir swore the lembas would strengthen him faster than anything else.

By the end of the first week, we had finished the repairs on one house and Freyla would finally be getting some relief from the crowds in her home. Beata, the woman who had offered to cook for me, and her family moved back in as soon as the house was safe. There would be time later, she insisted, for furniture and the rest. All that mattered was a roof over their heads. The day they moved in, Aragorn finally sat up on his own, though the process was slow and painful and he could only stay sitting for a few minutes.

“Do not worry so, cuaren,” he admonished me. “I am healing, even if it seems slow to you.”

I slept beside him openly, taking Freyla at her word. No one seemed to consider my presence there odd. I even heard one man grumble that his wife was not as attentive to him as I was to Aragorn. I could not help myself. For centuries, I had suffered an unrequited love in silence. Now that I had finally met someone I could love openly, I seized the opportunity, even if I did not say the words that would bind us for his lifetime. I awoke most mornings painfully aroused, my body reacting to Aragorn’s presence even though my mind knew that he was in too much pain to make love. When I sat at his side, I touched him constantly, caressing his face, kissing his lips, anything to assuage and express the feelings raging through me. I had to remind myself regularly that he was not an Elf and so would not heal as fast as an Elf, but seeing the weakness continue scared me, despite everyone’s promises that he would heal. I looked for signs that he was improving every time Elrohir changed the bandage, and though Elrohir seemed pleased each time, I could see no progress. Nor the the process seem to become less painful for Aragorn. My hand was bruised from his grip as he clung to me while Elrohir probed and prodded his side.

I came in from hunting the next day to see Aragorn struggling to sit up. He had one hand on his side; the other was pushing against the floor. I ran to his side to help. He collapsed against me, unable to support his weight any longer. His hand remained at his side.

“You are going to make yourself worse,” I scolded, waiting for him to catch his breath so I could help him lie back down. His breathing did not ease. Nor did he release his side. After a few minutes, I began to worry so I pulled his hand away and raised his shirt, only to find blood on the bandage. I grabbed his hand and placed it back over the dressing. “Press down, as hard as you can stand. I have to find your brother.” I helped him lie down, though not as gently as I should have, and flew ohe dhe door, shouting for Elrohir. When he came running, I told him what had happened. He went to Aragorn’s side, removing the bandage and examining the wound. “You have broken the stitches open, Estel. I thought I told you not to sit up without someone to help you. How long did you struggle before Legolas came in?” he asked as he cleaned away the oozing blood.

Aragorn blushed. “Ten, maybe fifteen minutes,” he admitted.

Elrohir let out a hiss of frustration as he rose to find Hamaden’s needles and thread to replace the broken stitches. “Did it occur to you to stop when you could not sit up?”

“I hate being dependent. I hate being stuck on this pallet,” Aragorn burst out.

“And you have just extended the time you will be here by your foolishness. Your injury was healing, but you have broken it open again. I am going to replace the stitches and it is going to hurt. Are you sure you will not take anything?”

“Nay,” he answered, reaching for my hand.

I almost refused to give it to him, just to show him what I thought of his stubbornness. Almost. But I could not sit by and watch him in pain without offering my help so I gripped his hand firmly in mine. His grip tightened convulsively every time Elrohir inserted the needle, drawing the wound closed to allow it time to heal. When he was finished, Aragorn turned his head into me. “Tamip’olad,” he asked. “Ae syntrea chen.”

“Of course I will stay, melethron.”

He reached up for me, obviously wanting more than just my proximity. I stretched out next to him, wrapping around him as best I could without jarring his injuries. I could feel the dampness of tears on his face. “What troubles you, melethron?” I asked softly.

He did not answer, at first, silent tears continuing to run down his cheeks. “I hate this weakness. I hate being cooped up in here. I hate being useless. I hate you seeing me like this,” he said finally.

I soothed him as best I could with loving touches. “Do you really believe that your injury could change the way I feel about you?”

“But you have never told me how you feel about me,” Aragorn accused angrily. “How can I know what will change your feelings when I do not even know what they are?”

That was not good. I could not say the words he wanted to hear, even though I would have meant them with all my heart had I said them. “Estel,” I pleaded, “we have had this discussion before. You know why I do not speak. I thought you understood.”

“Is that really what stops you, Legolas?” he snapped. “Or are you afraid? I know what I am. I know I am mortal. Is that what is holding you back?”

“Of course not,” I protested.

“Then what holds you back? Why do you let my brothers decide where we go next? Why have you not suggested going where you can fulfill your promise? You are delaying. Why?” he demanded.

It was a question I did not know how to answer. It had not occurred to me to seek out Arwen. I would see her eventually and when I did, we would talk. “We were looking for a town for Elrohir,” I began.

“Weeks ago,” Aragorn interrupted. “He was healed long before we found the town. Why not suggest we go to your Elf then?”

“Because thiwerewere still uncertain between us,” I replied, trying to keep my calm.

“And things are more certain now?” he countered. “And if it took sex to make things certain between us, why continue south after we left the last town? Wherever she is, your Elf, it is not south. She is either in Lorien, Mirkwood, or Imladris, none of which are south. There is more to this than you are telling me.”

There was indeed more than I had told him. More than I could tell him until after I had talked to Arwen. How could I explain to this boy-man that I had loved Arwen silently, had bound myself to her through my promise to Celebrian, and still expect him to wait before hearing my feelings for him? If I spoke of the former without speaking of the latter, I would lose him for sure. Yet how could I tell him I loved him until I had kept my promise to Celebrian? Once again, my heart had landed me in a situation that had no easy solution.

“I cannot explain more than I already have,” I said sadly. “I know that you are angry with me, and you have every reason to be, but this is something I must do. When you have recovered enough to travel, we will seek my Elf as you call her and then I will explain everything. Veston, melethron. Can you be patient until then?”

He did not seem happy, but he nodded curtly, my promise appeasing him for the moment. “Do you still want me to stay?” I asked when he did not speak.

“Go help the farmers.”

I could not decide what that dismissal meant. Was he still angry or did he simply not want to keep me from what needed to be done?

“I will be nearby if you need me,” I offered, rising from his side. He made no reply.