Prologue
A soft breath of wind stirred the air of the darkened bedchamber, lifting the light, silken curtains that draped by the open window so they danced across the beams of moonlight that illuminated the room. Across the floor, just out of reach of the grey shadows cast by the swaying drapery, the last embers of a fire smouldered in the marble hearth. It had been lit in the early hours of the evening, more for the atmosphere and comfort than any heat. The weather beyond the stone walls had been warm for several weeks as the summer had worn on; there was little need to spend nights huddled by a fire.
Still, it had been lit, and now as it died in the early hours of the morning the logs that had long since burnt down to cinders crumbled from where they had been banked against one another, sending a small cloud of sparks and ash up towards the chimney as they tumbled.
It was this sound that woke the young woman from her fitful sleep in the bed set against the wall opposite the hearth – a startled gasp leaving her lips as she bolted upright, her hands grasping at the bedsheets, almost as if they expected to find the hilt of a sword there.
Slowly, as her wide eyes adjusted to the silver light of the moonlit room, she allowed her fingers to unclench from where they gripped the fabric, drawing in several long, slow breaths to steady herself in the wake of her nightmare. The chaotic screams and clamour of battle that had filled her head drifted away like smoke as she looked around the familiar walls of her chamber, one hand reaching to rub across the back of her neck, where strands of her copper curls clung to her sweat-slicked skin. The images fled, yet the lingering sense of dread and grief still clung to her rapidly beating heart, even as it slowed with her breaths. Unconsciously, her other hand slid across to the empty space in the bed bedside her, a small frown creasing her brow as she felt that beyond the heat conjured by her own body the bed was cold.
Sighing softly, she soothed her hands over the mussed sheets before slipping from the bed, letting her bare feet press to the cool marble floor as she pulled her velvet robe of deep blue over her nightgown. For a moment, she pressed her hand to her left side, just above her hip as the uncomfortable twinge of movement after laying down for several hours settled. It grew fainter by the day, the pain that lingered beneath the angry scar on her side, though she feared it would be some time before that pain ceased to visit her in her memories and dreams. Her mind still echoed with those dreams that had refused to let her rest, and she knew sleep would not come to her again that night without the one presence that could soothe her racing thoughts.
Padding softly across the bedchamber, she set her sights upon where the moonlight spilled into the room from the open balcony, making the curtains that swayed gently on either side of the opening look as though they had been spun of starlight. It was a peaceful image; one she drank in gratefully as she paused by one of the stone pillars to take in the sight before her. It was not the open plains that stretched beyond the balcony, nor the silhouetted mountains on the Eastern horizon that drew her eye, not even the river that glimmered like a ribbon of mithril as it crossed the moonlit landscape. Nor even the stars that danced overhead, uninterrupted by cloud or shadow on this clear night.
No, it was the one who watched the stars that drew a smile to her lips and eased the troubles of her wakeful mind.
Illuminated by the soft light cast by the night sky, her husband's tall figure appeared almost ethereal as he leaned upon the stone rail of the balcony, forearms braced upon the surface and long fingers laced together thoughtfully as his keen eyes studied the heavens above him. The lean ranger's frame that always seemed coiled in readiness, always alert, appeared at ease now. She knew it was merely appearance though, his sharp, honed senses would have ensured that he heard her approach, even if his stance betrayed none of that knowledge.
It seemed to her that she would never tire of the way she was struck by his appearance each time her eyes fell to him, even now as he stood barefoot before her, an open robe pulled over his bedclothes and his hair dishevelled from sleep – or lack thereof, it would seem. It was a far cry from the image of him that was so often presented to the world and it warmed her heart to know that in these moments, behind their closed doors, there was no one to look to them but each other.
Softly, she exhaled as she watched her husband, her King, meditate on thoughts only he knew, a small smile curving her lips as the sound prompted him to glance to her, interrupting their individual moments of solitude and joining them as his thoughtful expression softened.
"Meleth nîn."
"My love." She echoed softly, her fingers reaching for the hand he extended to her in offering, gratefully allowing herself to be drawn into the warm sanctuary of his arms. Carefully, he gathered her close, settling her back to his chest as he pressed a soft kiss to her crown of fiery curls. Affectionately, she threaded her fingers through his, drawing one of his hands to her lips to lay a reverential kiss of her own upon the heel of his palm before using their entwined hands to wrap his arms securely around her body. Quietly they stood, her own gaze drawing upwards to the stars he had watched, even as she felt her husband's eyes tracing her face, searching for some sign of the distress that had woken her.
"Helm's Deep." She whispered in answer to his unspoken question. 'Where was it tonight?' What horror had plagued her dreams and kept her from rest – what lingering wound from the war had chosen to reopen.
"Again?" He questioned softly, his hold upon her tightening a little, as though he could protect her from the memory itself. At her answering nod, he once again laid his lips to her hair in a silent reassurance that he was there, listening.
"My brother was there." She sighed softly, her fingers curling a little tighter around his; "At the Deeping Wall when it fell... I couldn't reach him."
Her voice hitched at her explanation, knowing that the images that had played out beyond her closed eyelids were far from reality, yet the man who held her so tightly had never dismissed them. The pain and fear they instilled in her were real enough, and he himself was plagued by similar echoes of the past. It was not long after the war had ended that the dreams began, when at last peace had begun to settle upon their lives they were suddenly haunted by the memories of what had passed. On nights such as this, she had sobbed into her husband's chest as he clutched her close, unable to understand why she could not escape the terrors of the events that she had left in her past. She had not thought they had impacted her so severely at the time, but she knew now that in the midst of war, there had been little time to mourn their losses. Those emotions simply did not vanish when a new threat arose that demanded their attention, they simply lay in wait until the time came to process them. And so now, when at last they were safe, the young woman found herself grieving those that had left her and the trauma she had endured. Her brother, her father, her friends – those she had not been able to save.
"And you?" She whispered after her breathing had steadied, and she was certain that her grief would not overcome her. "What was it that woke you?"
"The Black Gate." He sighed wearily into her hair, his hold loosening on her as she turned in his arms to face him, reaching to cradle his bearded jaw in her hand as she guided his eyes to meet hers, seeing those stormy grey depths clouded with dismay. She felt his hand come to settle above the scar on her side, knowing exactly what it was that played out in his mind's eye. He never had to describe it to her, that nightmare featured in her own mind often enough.
"It is over, Aragorn." She reassured him softly, pressing down her own guilt at the thought that it had been an event caused by her own carelessness that haunted him. Carefully, she rose onto her toes to lay a soft kiss upon his lips; "I am here, we are safe."
"I know, my Théadain." He whispered, soothing his large hand over her hair as he cast his eyes skywards once more; "There are times when I sleep and I forget though, he is gone, and he did not take you from me." He did not need to utter the name of the enemy he spoke of, but she saw his eyes drift momentarily to the shadow of the Eastern mountains nonetheless; "And then I wake, and you are by my side, and I know he will never veil the stars from us again."
"Never." She promised him softly, settling her head on his shoulder as she curled her arms around his firm torso. It was an easy routine they had fallen into, on these sleepless nights. They would wake, one before the other usually, and they would rise, often seeking the clear night air of their balcony. They always knew where to find each other, finding solace in either silence or the quiet recounting of the dreams that had woken them.
There was no shadow cast over the land before them, no fire lingering beyond the distant mountains. The city below was silent, for now. In an hour or two, the world would wake and the King and Queen of Gondor would turn to their duties for the day – but for now, the world was quiet, and they had time to linger with each other and the ghosts of the past.