IN THE MIND’S EYE

Chapter 11: A Soft Summer Day

And on the evening of Midsummer Aragorn, Arathorn's son, and Arwen daughter of Elrond went to the fair hill, Cerin Amroth, in the midst of the land, and they walked unshod on the undying grass with elanor and niphredil about their feet. And there upon that hill they looked east to the Shadow and west to the Twilight, and they plighted their troth and were glad.

'And Arwen said: "Dark is the Shadow, and yet my heart rejoices; for you, Estel, shall be among the great whose valour will destroy it."

'But Aragorn answered: "Alas! I cannot foresee it, and how it may come to pass is hidden from me. Yet with your hope I will hope.'

‘Appendix A’, The Return of the King

When Elrond returned with Arwen, the hobbits reluctantly agreed to leave the room. As they filed out, each looked back with a hopeful glance. Arwen smiled when Pippin called out, “We left some cake for Strider when he wakes up!” Elrond closed the door, then sat down with his daughter next to Aragorn’s bed and gazed into her eyes. In them, he saw strength and fear in equal measure.

“The hobbits have no doubt that you will succeed; nor do I,” he said gently. “Aragorn accompanies Frodo on a long journey soon, perhaps the greatest of his life. I foresee very little of the path ahead for him, or for any of Frodo’s companions. What you do now will bring him back to us, and strengthen your bond; it may be that in the days ahead this connection between you will be of great benefit to you both.”

“How do I begin?” Arwen asked. Her eyes strayed to Aragorn, who lay deeply asleep, still flushed with a fever that would not abate.

“Consider your weaving,” her father advised. “You begin with a vision of a completed tapestry or garment, then use your skill to bring the vision to fruition. It is much the same when guiding a wandering fëa. When you reach the lost one, share your vision with him. You must see, hear, and feel it so strongly that it becomes reality for you both. Once Aragorn’s consciousness has reached a place of safety and peace, healing can begin.”

“Did you attempt this for... mother?” Arwen asked hesitantly.

“I did,” Elrond said quietly. “On many nights, after her return from captivity, she was plagued by black and unrelenting dreams.” He took a deep breath, forcing his mind to unveil memories long buried. “Her only relief came when I would guide her, in thought, to a time and place that held joyous and peaceful memories.” He sighed. “It would help… for a time.”

A tear slid down Arwen’s cheek.

“Do not despair,” Elrond said, taking her hands in his own. “Aragorn is not gravely wounded in body and spirit, as was your mother. He wanders in confusion, lost in darkness without guide or path. His mind has been deceived by an enemy subtle and malicious, of whose presence he was not aware. The vision you weave must be strong enough to break its hold on him. Hear me, daughter; choose a place -- a moment -- which will fill Aragorn’s heart and mind with light and joy. Reassure him that he is not alone, and that the darkness, in the end, does not prevail.”

“I understand,” Arwen said, her voice now steady.

Elrond rose to his feet, then bent to kiss his daughter’s brow. “I will be close by.” He moved silently to the other side of the room.

Arwen sat quietly for several minutes, gazing at her beloved’s face. She slowed her breathing, then reached out to lay one cool hand on Aragorn’s brow, another touching his bare chest lightly. “Estel,” she whispered, again and again. “Estel.” She closed her eyes, clearing her mind of everything save the energy that pulsed between them, the love she felt, the calm joy she knew when he was near. Her body grew light, and there was a dizzying rush as her fëa flew as straight as an arrow shot from an Elven bow. Through a black void she plunged, on and on, at last finding herself at rest in a dark cavern, the air smotheringly hot. At the foot of a sheer wall Aragorn lay crumpled, exhausted from his efforts to free himself from this place.

“Estel.”

Aragorn slowly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as his blurred vision cleared.

“Arwen!” he gasped through parched lips. “How did you get here? Or is this another trick?” He reached out a shaking hand, wondering if this image, like the others, would dissolve into nothingness, leaving behind mocking laughter. But this was no dream; his fingers brushed against her shining hair, and gently touched the petal-soft skin and lips of his beloved.

“It is I in truth, Estel,” came Arwen’s low, soft voice. “You have been trapped here long enough. Do you trust me to lead you home?”

“There is no way out,” Aragorn moaned in despair. “For days I have searched.”

“It is only your mind which is trapped,” Arwen said forcefully. “Your body lies in Rivendell, burning with fever.”

“Fever?” Aragorn was afraid to hope, and yet... “I remember that Gandalf said I was ill...”

“Yes,” Arwen said. Her eyes shone with love, and she caressed his face. “Let me take you home.”

“How?”

“Do you remember that day on Cerin Amroth, beloved? We walked among the flowers, and the wind carried the fragrance of sweet plums and ripe berries.”

“I will never forget it,” Aragorn whispered. For a moment, he imagined he could feel the wind in his hair, the song in his heart. And then the cavern walls closed about him once again.

Arwen drew Aragorn to his feet. “We were barefoot, and the soft grass yielded beneath our feet, taking no hurt as we passed.” She concentrated as never before in her long life, holding his eyes in a steady gaze, expanding her clear memory of that joyous day so that it enveloped Aragorn’s fëa, filled his every sense. “Feel the summer breeze. Feel the grass cool beneath our feet.” She felt him trembling, the dark walls surrounding them beginning to shudder.

“I feel it,” Aragorn whispered. “I feel it, beloved.” As her strength of memory became his, there was a thunderous crack as the dark walls shattered and the cavern flooded with light. And then they were standing together on a fair green hill on a soft summer day, with the gentle radiance of Lothlórien all about them. Arwen stood before him, as she had then, aglow with love and sweet laughter. And as he laughed with her, spinning her about, the last clinging remnants of heat and darkness and fear drained from his body and mind.

Then he slumped to his knees, weary and dizzied, but at peace, with Arwen’s arms holding him and the sweet fragrance of her hair filling his senses.

“Arwen.”

She heard a voice from afar, calling to her over and over in a firm, soft voice. Her father’s voice. With an effort, Arwen remembered that she was in Rivendell, not her grandmother’s realm. Still holding tightly onto Aragorn, she imagined herself back in his room, seated upon the bed. There was a pull, a rushing wind, and the energy about her shifted subtly from a summer day in Lothlorien to that of autumn in Imladris.

“Welcome back, my daughter.” Elrond knelt before her, his eyes shining. “His fever has broken. I am very proud of you.”

“It worked,” Arwen whispered, then began to sob with joy as Aragorn’s eyelids flickered, and his eyes opened.

“Do not try to speak yet, my son,” Elrond said at once. He was ready with a cup of cool water, which he held to Aragorn’s lips.  After draining the cup, Aragorn reached out and touched Arwen’s face.

“I dreamed... or was it real?”

In answer, she took up his hand and kissed it.

“I will leave you for a time,” Elrond said, but Aragorn called him back.

“Ada, what happened?”

“A great deal happened,” Elrond said with a smile. “You will hear the story in full after you have bathed and eaten, and rested once more.”

“As you wish,” Aragorn murmured, still groggy. “Ada...”  Elrond bent close to hear him.  “How long were the hobbits here?”

“How do you know they were here, Estel?” Arwen asked.

Aragorn smiled sleepily.  “I smell apple cake.”

** TBC **