Chapter 25: Inquisition

[ Setting the scene: The remaining members of the Fellowship, Elrond, his daughter Queen Arwen Evenstar, his sons Elladan and Elrohir, Galadriel, Faramir, and many others are gathered in Edoras for the funeral of King Théoden. Faramir and Éowyn have made their intention to wed public. Laurelin was the name of one of the Two Trees of Valinor. Eä is the universe as it exists in physical form. Curunír is the Sindarin name for Saruman. Melian, mother of Lúthien, is an “angelic” Maiar who married one of the original three Elven kings. From that lineage are Elrond and his children descended.]

10 August 3019 (Third Age), Edoras

Aragorn glanced down the table at Arwen, basking in the Elf’s overwhelming beauty despite their distance and the elegance and majesty of those surrounding them. She was engaged in highly animated converse with Gimli, who was usually (albeit uncharacteristically) much more shy and solicitous around the Queen; an abundance of strong drink had obviously loosened his tongue, and she spared her husband a brief wink as the Dwarf prattled on regarding topics metallurgical. At least he’s finally turned his attention away from Lady Galadriel, brief though that respite is likely to be. Aragorn smiled, but his focus was interrupted as a heavy pewter carafe passed over his right shoulder.

“More wine, my liege?”

Her elegant dress shimmering like the purest sun-blanched snow, her long hair tightly bound and ornamenting her head with a brilliant golden crown, Éowyn nonetheless seemed to shrink under his regard, her voice halting despite the bland utilitarianism of her words.

His heart opened. Has she not undergone the greatest of sorrows this very morning, consecrating a simbelmynë-crested burial mound over her beloved uncle and King? And yet she dutifully fulfills the role that hospitality and tradition demand, tirelessly serving her guests when she should instead be sitting in a place of honor and recovery, toasting his memory. He was also all too aware that, for her, his very presence brought forth memories she likely wished to bury more deeply than present company would allow.

He’d hoped that the open declaration of her impending union with Faramir would fill her with joy untrammeled, and at the time it seemed like it had, but as the memorial feast lingered her visage gradually shadowed with sorrows renewed, despite her obvious attempt to keep them well-hidden. He wondered if anyone else could perceive the thick veils behind which she shrouded herself, or if they could guess the reason. Then he remembered who else inhabited the room at this moment, and his concern for her increased; nearly every one of the wisest and most perceptive beings in Middle-earth was currently gathered around the same table.

If I can see her pain, so can they. This has to be much more of an ordeal for her than I realized.

Speaking with all the kindness and sympathy he could muster, he responded affirmatively, adding in a voice pitched for her ears alone, “I meant what I said earlier, dear Lady.”

Her arm trembled as she refilled his cup, and a blush stole its way into her alabaster cheeks. “I know not of what you speak, King Elessar.”

With a soft smile, he chided, “yes you do.”

Her lips tightened. “‘The fairest thing in your realm,’ you claimed? When you yourself have brought the Lady Evenstar within these rough walls, and also the Lady Galadriel? No pale, trampled flower from these remote fields could possibly compare.”

“Why would anyone wish to compare? I spoke of your brother and of his realm, of course; but if you intend to deny your own beauty even as it ennobles this room and all within it, I might have to stand and demand an accounting from the assembled.”

Her eyes widened in panic, and she bent to hiss in his ear. “No! Please, my Lord, I beg you...”

Laying a gentle hand on her forearm — she quaked under his touch, nearly dropping the carafe, but didn’t pull away — he soothed, “you certainly know me better than that, Lady Éowyn. I have only ever wished you peace and happiness. It is my hope that you have, at last, found both ... for I cannot believe that the love and contentment I saw in your eyes earlier were false. But is there aught I can do? For,” he hesitated, his voice no more than the faintest whisper, “you already know that I would, for you, do anything in that pursuit.”

Pulling away from his touch, her expression grew even tighter, and the flickering light in her eyes darkened to dull embers. “I know this well, King Elessar, and for the healing of my ... my wounds I can never truly repay you. But I ... I cannot ... I...” Abruptly, she retreated to a nearby cask, refilling the carafe while staring intently at the wall. Aragorn watched her flee, then turned ... to be met by Arwen’s steady and curious gaze, complete with raised eyebrow.

I loathe hiding this from her, Aragorn admonished himself, even as he attempted to delay her inquiries with an expression of open sincerity and a gesture towards the Dwarf. But how can I possibly tell her this particular truth? She would understand, I’ve no doubt, but it is not a tale I may tell until she to whom the truth belongs is ready for it to be shared with others.

Arwen waited as calmly as possible while Éowyn approached. Her tall, lithe body — ravishing despite the icy control in which she held it — worked its way down the table, refreshing wine and exchanging polite words with each guest. Arwen admired her muscular form, impossible to hide despite her efforts to retain the elegant bearing upon which her decidedly feminine dress insisted, but she was even more captivated by the struggle playing out upon her face. Éowyn left Faramir with a soft kiss upon each cheek, leaving him glowing with love reaffirmed, then leaned over the Dwarf to refill his ever-empty flagon. He brazenly, if drunkenly, flirted with her, and for the first time all night she burst into delighted laughter even as she filled his freshly drained cup a second consecutive time.

But when she came to the Queen’s side, there were no words to be found, and her expression was a cipher. Locked doors and impenetrably shuttered windows lay between the two of them, and as more wine splashed into her cup and Arwen craned her neck to look Éowyn directly in the eyes, the latter flinched ... glancing hastily at Aragorn, then guiltily at her fiancé, before scuttling away, suddenly and curiously obsessed with some undefined task in a remote corner of the hall.

What can possibly be going on here? What secret does she share with Aragorn that she must keep from her betrothed, and both of them from me? Why does she avoid me? Surely they haven’t...

There was fierceness in her eyes when she refocused her attention upon Aragorn, but his eyes no longer met hers, instead covering the greater distance between himself and Éowyn. Arwen’s brows narrowed, but instinct soon soothed her fears. It’s not the worst I could imagine. That suspicion is near the mark, but not at the heart. His eyes speak of worry and limitless pity, not of lust or guilt. Still, for no reason I consciously perceive save for the evidence of my own eyes, of this I am sure: sex is somehow involved. Were it only that, this would be a far lesser matter, though I am surprised he would hide it from me. But then it could never be only that for him, and I’m exceedingly foolish to believe otherwise. There is a connection between them that I cannot penetrate, yet about which I must know. He’s withholding from me for a reason, even though I sense that he doesn’t wish to. Meanwhile she radiates guilt and overwhelming fear, and I am the object of both. Why?

Arwen was thoughtfully sipping her wine, considering her options for inquiry and remedy, when she heard a voice speaking inside her head.

“You’re missing something, Granddaughter.”

Surprised at the sudden intrusion, Arwen’s head snapped to the left. Galadriel’s luxurious golden curls glowed in living memory of long-perished Laurelin, and they glistened and flared in the firelight as she laughed in response to an absurd tale the besotted (and sotted) Dwarf was leaning over the table to recount. But even with her outward attention focused elsewhere, she was able to speak to Arwen mind-to-mind. It was one of the many gifts of the Eldar, and among the most distressing to those not so-endowed, for it allowed them to converse in silence and emotional richness without the elisions that hobbled audible speech.

“What?”

“You heard me the first time. Were your brow any more deeply furrowed you’d be scowling most unattractively.” Arwen put down the urge to sputter with indignation, for Galadriel’s tone was a gentle tease, not a remonstrance. “But the truth remains: you are missing something.”

“I see that, Grandmother. But what am I missing?”

Though Galadriel’s outward expression didn’t change, Arwen felt the sly smile that accompanied her response. “You’re asking the wrong question.”

Arwen mulled her words. Impenetrable riddles. So very like her. She is the wisest of the Wise, yet she delights in never saying anything plainly. I may as well be peering into her damnable mirror.

“At my age, beloved, one comes to enjoy any opportunity to be mysterious, but even more the possibility of being misunderstood. When one’s understanding spans the Ages of Eä and all surprises are mere repetitions, it is a rare and precious commodity.”

She smiled at Galadriel’s self-deprecating joke and looked to her right. Éowyn was once again table-side, tight-lipped and jittery as she served Elladan and Elrohir. Now what can possibly be going on there? I don’t believe she’s ever met them, unless perhaps in Gondor for my wedding. Though they were rarely in the City even then, because... She left the rest of that mournful thought unfinished.

Despite her obvious tension around the sons of Elrond, Éowyn couldn’t arrest her repeated and nervous glances at Arwen, Aragorn, and Faramir. Arwen peered at the Steward (who seemed blissfully unaware of his role in this quadrant of attention), then at Aragorn, and finally back at Éowyn, whose face was surrendering to its bearer’s turbulent inner war.

Suddenly, Arwen understood Galadriel’s cryptic message.

It’s not what, nor is it who, for both are plain enough. It’s why. Though knowing the correct question brings me no closer to an answer.

“My ‘damnable mirror’ would be awfully helpful right now, wouldn’t it?” Arwen coughed, struggling against choking on a small mouthful of wine, for the interior volume of Galadriel’s mirth was nearly deafening.

“I think I liked you better when everything you said was ominous.”

“It still is. I just find words themselves more amusing than I used to. Now, let your elderly grandmother enjoy Gimli’s ardent flirtation in peace, for such delightful and unexpected gifts are equally rare at my age. You already have what you need and you will soon decide where to start. All is answerable if one asks the right question, of the right person, at the right time.”

Arwen took another sip of her wine, deep in thought.

Éowyn’s stomach churned as she staggered towards her room. It was late and the halls were mostly empty, though she knew her nighttime sentries waited not far ahead. Too much drink! Even Faramir sent me away, despite having offered him my most pointed argument ... if drunken scrabbling for his organ can be so-named ... for a sweatier and more passionate goodnight. But even as she attempted to use liquor as an excuse, she knew she told herself a lie. It wasn’t inebriation that roiled her emotions and cast turmoil over her evening. Neither was it alcohol that led Faramir to lovingly but firmly suggest she return to her own rooms this evening. Anyway, we made a mighty attempt to sate all our physical needs yestereve. I should be able to get through one more night by myself.

Sighing, she forced herself to walk with more care, though it slowed her pace and left her more time for self-recrimination. It has all been too much. The desperately awaited return of my beloved, with all the failures and choices I must at last face. The funeral, which was even harder than I expected. Aragorn. The penetrating, knowing, yet infuriatingly silent inquisitions of the Elven Lords and Ladies, of the Wizard, even of...

She continued to wonder at her mysterious and unexpected tension around the sons of Elrond, who she’d seen but with whom she’d never managed to speak in Gondor. She could conceive of no reason for it, yet she felt profoundly uneasy in their presence, as if they held some form of secret power or intimate knowledge over her. Well, that’s a conundrum for another time. Because there’s still Aragorn, who most assuredly does know intimate secrets I can share with no other, and my feelings for whom I’ll obviously never fully resolve. She sighed. And add to my list of maladroit encounters his incomprehensibly lovely wife, to whom I was nothing but rude for no reason that could be apparent to her. Her suspicions regarding my conduct are undoubtedly mounting, based on her curious stares in my direction, and I’ve likely caused them both a difficulty he shouldn’t have to countenance nor explain. I know he’ll hold on to my secrets in an attempt to preserve my dignity, but I’m being unfair to both of them.

She stopped, bracing herself against the wall, breathing heavily. Her guards were finally within sight, and looked to be murmuring to each other. Probably trying to decide whether or not I need help. Which I do, though not the kind they could offer. She held up an unsteady hand, bidding them to remain where they were.

I should confess everything, as traumatic as that will be. Aragorn doesn’t deserve even a fraction of the doubt my discomfort has laid upon him, for he has acted nobly. But then, what could I possibly say that wouldn’t make it worse? “Lady Evenstar, I apologize for slobbering all over your husband’s enormous cock and then trying to drug him into sex. But I’m much better now because he spanked me, and flogged me, and let me suck him off twice ... only none of that really happened, because it was all a dream within a dream, and...”

Suffused with misery piling upon trauma, feeling utterly wretched, she turned back towards her door. Better to just leave the two of them alone for now. I’ll deal with the consequences of my past in the sober light of...

“Lady Éowyn?”

The seductive, impossible-to-ignore voice immediately arrested her movement, and before she could identify its source she’d already halted and turned to confront the speaker. Recognition dawned — too late! — at the very same moment she met the eyes of its incomprehensibly elegant origin.

“Qu ... Queen Evenstar,” she stuttered, bowing her head as much out of fear (and a desperate desire to run and hide) as respect. “Have you ... have you lost your way?”

Arwen drew closer. “Countless times, but not in this instance. For I am seeking you.”

She tensed. “Me?”

“Lady Éowyn, if you will forgive my plain speech at this late hour: you have been avoiding me. Even, and perhaps especially, while in my presence. I beg it understood that I do not ask this as Queen, but rather as one woman to another: why? Is it something I have said? Have I done you a discourtesy for which I should apologize and that I may now amend? Or is there another reason?”

Éowyn’s shame threatened to consume her. Despite it being contrary to protocol and politesse, she turned her head away, casting a desperate glance towards the safety of her door. Her guards, sensing her unspoken plea for privacy, stirred and passed swiftly by to take up positions down the hall and around the corner, out of earshot. As they did, however, Éowyn couldn’t help but notice the barely restrained lustfulness with which they surreptitiously studied the two women. I’ve not seen that open a reaction from them before. Furtive glances, yes, but never such bold admiration. It may be a problem in the future. It’s one thing for them to ogle Elfi, who brazenly invites such attention, but I can’t have my own guards eyeing me in the same manner. And certainly not the Queen.

Arwen remained stoic as they passed, then continued. “We, as wives of King and Steward, should perforce know each other better, for we will often be called to work as one for the good of our Kingdoms, our husbands, and our inheritors. More than that, I would very much like us to be friends. Yet I perceive you deem this impossible. It should not be so, but if there is a reason I would like to know why.”

Éowyn’s breath caught in her throat. “Queen Evenstar, I ... I...”

“Come,” she soothed, taking Éowyn by the elbow. “Shall we adjourn to greater privacy and continue this conversation with open hearts and less-bound tongues?” Éowyn winced at both the prospect and the subtle implication behind the words she’d chosen, but as if entranced allowed herself to be led into her chambers. The heavy wooden door thudded closed behind them.

Arwen was the embodiment of placidity even as Éowyn nervously paced around the room, pointlessly fussing with irrelevant objects and saying nothing. Sighing, Arwen reminded herself that she could wait. I have time. No longer the infinite time of my birthright, perhaps, but still more than enough. Despite her nervousness, she does not actually want this state of affairs to continue. She will, eventually, say what she so desperately wishes to say.

“Can I bring you something to drink, Queen Evenstar? To eat?” Despite her query, Éowyn still wouldn’t look up.

“After that feast I shall likely require neither for many days. The larder of Rohan is a most generous one, as befits so lusty and active a people.”

There it is again, she noted as Éowyn attempted to mask a reflexive cringe. It is the same as in the hallway. My innuendo was even more pointed on this occasion, and now I know my suspicions were correct: there is a sexual element to her anxiety. There can only be one reason for that.

“Never in all our history have we hosted so many honorable guests, Queen Evenstar, and on so important an occasion for our own people. To do otherwise would have been impossible.”

“The King and I are immensely grateful for your meticulous attention to our desires.” Éowyn nearly choked, hiding it with a feigned coughing fit. Again! Arwen paused, considering how quickly to push forward. If I’m too confrontational, she’ll close down. “Despite the sorrow of the day, it must have been enormously comforting to have your affianced at your side. Especially after your long separation.”

Though her hand seemed to be trembling, Éowyn forced herself to still her frenetic aimlessness by gripping the back of a chair. “It was, Queen Evenstar. It is. But it’s also ... it’s...” She stopped, her face clouded with tension.

Arwen waited, allowing Éowyn to find her own path into the conversation. Finally, she gathered the courage to look the Queen directly in the eyes. There was no challenge, only tragic vulnerability. “I fear I may never be worthy of his comfort.”

That wasn’t the answer I expected. “How could you not be? Though my lifetime has spanned entire histories of Men and their oft-ephemeral kingdoms, you have accomplished more tangible good in your short years than I have. Moreover, your greatest deed was yours alone, made possible solely by the force of your own indomitable will. You are intelligent, you are strong, and if you will forgive my forwardness you are manifestly beautiful. What could possibly be wrong with the Steward of Gondor that he would not better consider whether or not he was worthy of such a one?”

Éowyn slowly shook her head as it slumped between her shoulders. “Queen Evenstar, you cannot ... I...”

Arwen softened her words as much as possible. Elves could cause much that they desired to come to fruition through their mastery of subtle tonalities of voice, especially in converse with the younger race, but she deemed that such skills were inappropriate here. Openness was required.

“Lady Éowyn, while I appreciate your efforts to address me formally, it’s yet another barrier between us that I would shed. We’re alone, and there’s no need for titles. Please call me Arwen.”

Éowyn’s eyes were tightly shut now, her voice a mere whisper. “I cannot.”

“Would it help if I rendered it an imperious command?”

Despite herself a thin, albeit grim, smile came to Éowyn’s lips, and her shoulders relaxed; infinitesimally, perhaps, yet it didn’t escape Arwen’s notice. “No, Quee ... no, Arwen,” she corrected herself, visibly forcing the word past her lips. “It’s not protocol that stays my tongue. Nor is it you, despite the truly unwarranted discourtesy with which I’ve treated you this day. It is, as ever, me.”

“You, Lady Éowyn?”

“Me. Though if we are to insist on informality, then I must be no more than Éowyn. Which is all I ever am and ever shall be, anyway.” She sighed, staring at an indistinct point across the room. Arwen thought it best to wait in silence for her companion to collect her thoughts. Once again, the words that arrived headed in an unexpected direction. “I wish to apologize for my guards. Their behavior was inappropriate.”

Arwen shrugged. “It didn’t bother me. I’m quite used to it.”

“Of course you are, for you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Still...” She blushed as her words ran aground.

“Thank you. I truly do appreciate the generous compliment, especially coming from you. But I’ve had millennia to grow accustomed to such appraisals. Even in Rivendell and Lorien, among Elves considered skilled at concealing their desires, I was an object of constant attention. And the eyes of Men are impossible to restrain. Eyes ... and other things.”

Éowyn’s blush deepened as the suggestive image filled her mind. “Don’t you find it exhausting?”

Without a trace of wickedness in her smile, Arwen answered, “actually, I find it exhilarating.”

A gasp. “You do?”

“Don’t you?”

“What do you ... I don’t ... I mean...”

“They looked at you the same way, you know.”

After a moment of resistance, a resigned sigh. “I know.”

“As, by the way, did my brothers, who aren’t typically quite so distractible. You should consider that a high compliment indeed.”

Éowyn shook her head. “That I can scarcely understand, for I’ve barely seen and have never spoken to them until this day.”

“They are no more immune to unmistakable beauty than anyone else. There was hardly a person at the feast who didn’t at some point look upon you with open admiration, and often quite a bit more.”

Suffused with guilt — for they both knew that Arwen’s tally included King Elessar — Éowyn again hung her head, unable to respond. The Queen slowly nodded, her surmises falling into place one by one, then continued.

“But it’s also true that you, Éowyn, look at others the same way ... though perhaps you veil it well enough to fool all but the observant. It’s unfortunate that you were surrounded by the all-too-observant on this day. For little eludes Aragorn, and nothing at all escapes the penetrating insight of my father. Even less so my grandmother, whose perception is keener than any other who walks Middle-earth ... save, perhaps, Mithrandir. But then who really knows what he does and does not perceive?”

Her eyes shut tight — she knew all too well what the Wizard perceived — Éowyn breathed, “I know.” Perhaps only the ears of the Elves could have heard her barely audible whisper, but it took no particularly developed sense to notice the tears that began coursing down her cheeks.

Arwen knew what she was about to say would increase Éowyn’s immediate distress, but it was time to push past her barriers. “If you will forgive the observation, however, it does not require the insight of the Elves, the Dúnedain, or the Istari to note at whom most of your attention was directed at dinner.”

It was only her iron grip on the chair that kept Éowyn from collapsing. The weight of great shame diminished her strong bearing, dulled the aura that surrounded her, and threatened to sully her beauty under a shroud of misery and self-recrimination. “Quee... Arwen, I’m so sorry. I don’t mean ... I didn’t ... I’m...” Her answer disappeared in a series of shuddering breaths. Whatever the rest of her thought might have been, she’d rendered herself incapable of completing it.

Arwen leaned forward, her words gentle. “Don’t be. Stares follow him everywhere as well. And I will tell you a secret I would ask that you not share with others: I don’t deny that I find a measure of amusement and prideful pleasure in it. Much more, I think, than he does.”

Éowyn accepted the absolution of her unfinished yet obviously well-understood confession with surprising equanimity. After taking a few moments to calm herself, she was able to reply, “still, it’s a wrong that I do both of you. Especially you.”

“Looking at him is no wrong, to either of us. It’s not as if you’ve...” She trailed off, seeing the riot of emotions exploding across Éowyn’s face. Rising quickly from her seat, she moved to face her, hands gripping the blonde’s muscular upper arms. The sinews within trembled uncontrollably, as if on the precipice of complete breakdown.

“Tell me what happened.” She said it with as little accusation as she could muster, yet she was almost desperate to know ... for here was the key to unlocking the agonized vessel of Éowyn’s mind. They did not actually have sex. I am sure of it. Or did they? Does my insight fail at last?

Summoning a deep reserve of emotional strength, Éowyn opened her eyes and looked down into Arwen’s. In a blink, much was revealed. Though far from all, Arwen concluded. Still, it is a beginning.

As a dam long overweighted by immense pressure finally giving way, Éowyn started sobbing. Arwen took her into her arms — a position of comfort somewhat undermined by the difference in their heights — and waited for the worst of it to pass. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so terribly sorry,” she wept into Arwen’s gown-padded shoulder, quickly soaking it through as it absorbed her free-flowing tears.

“You need not weep for my sake, Éowyn. Nor need you apologize. Whatever happened, I forgive you. Truly. There’s no way you could have known his heart belonged to another, for this was a secret he held more closely than any other ... save that of the Enemy’s Ring, and yet for far longer. As well he might, for had every single one our greatest hopes not come to full fruition, we would still be apart, now and for all time.” That Éowyn’s own great deed helped make our union possible I should probably leave unspoken for now. “Surely you don’t believe that you were the first to proposition him? It’s far rarer that women don’t, and in fact it continues to this day ... even at times when I’m visibly present. Should I thus harbor eternal resentment against all womankind?”

Éowyn raised her head, backing a few inches away, feeling a persistent and growing desire to unburden herself to this incomprehensibly forgiving woman. “But ... I ... I acted beyond shamefully, and...”

Something essential continues to elude me. “Éowyn, I see enough to tell you this: I hold you blameless. For you don’t just desire him, as many have and as many will in the future. You love him.”

Éowyn fell into panic at this casual observation. “No! No! I looked to him in hope, as an unassailable emblem of my desire to escape the shackles of my life and rise above my station ... as a shining beacon to follow towards great deeds that I couldn’t accomplish by myself. Whatever I felt was only physical, only an illusion. It wasn’t true love, it was a foolish, immature facsimile of love, and I didn’t ... I didn’t...” She broke off, gaping, for to her shock and confusion Arwen was shaking her head and laughing derisively.

“There can only be one source for this ridiculous breed of nonsense. These are the words of a man, are they not? Men think they understand the difference between love and sexual desire, believing their own legendarily poor control over that which lies between to be definitive. And yet, for all their foolish certainty, they understand both only on their own terms: as opposites, one in eternal conflict with the other. They believe their choices are to be honorably buried between the thighs of a life partner or to be dishonorably discharging wherever and whenever they can, and thus must everyone’s choices similarly bifurcate.” Éowyn blushed mightily at Arwen’s abruptly and unexpectedly bawdy turn. “But for us it’s different, isn’t it? You do love him. Though you’ve obviously tried to convince yourself otherwise, and tried to dismiss your interest as no more than a passing sexual fancy, you must realize that you can’t fool yourself any more than you can fool me. Or, it should probably be acknowledged, him. It was, today, plainly written on your face and in your actions, and I assure you that not a moment of it escaped his notice. You love him. Not nearly as much or in the same fashion as you love Faramir, but it’s obvious al the same. And should I now wager that he’s not the only one for whom you have borne — and perhaps still bear — such feelings, would I lose that bet?”