This story is dedicated to a friend, whose dad just died a few days ago. Yes, I know Ribbons, its more angst. Sorry.

Aragorn was only two years old when the twins came back to camp with Arathorn on an improvised sled of boughs. Gilraen took only one look at the sleigh and fled back into the hut without a word. She scooped the little Aragorn out of the dust and held him while the tears began to flow.

Aragorn did not know what had happened, but he knew his mother hardly ever cried. The last time she had was when Halbarad brought the news of another burnt village, presumably plundered by orcs. This had been over two months ago. He snuggled against her shoulder and in soft baby-talk noises, tried to comfort her. The only three words he knew were mama, dada, and sword, which he pronounced something like "swaade." Gilraen could hear his soft gabble, but every time he said dada she began to sob again.

"Aragorn, my child, your dada…" here she gave into sobs once more. Once the sobs left her, she pulled herself together and resolved to push through to the end.

"Your father, Arathorn, has fallen. He was out hunting with your uncles, Elladan and Elrohir, and was shot by an orc. He's dead, Aragorn! Dead!" The two-year-old Aragorn could not realize the significance of the word. Nonetheless, he knew something about dada was upsetting his mother, so he stopped talking. Gilraen did not notice the change. Once she had begun, she must finish.

"Why would Eru take him from me to Mandos' halls, in the prime of his years? He was hardly sixty when he fell! I know my father Dirhael warned me he would be short-lived, but this short? Only four swift years I have had with him! And Aragorn, you are deprived of a father so soon! You have only known to say dada for a month yet! Oh Ivorwen, Dirhael, why did you not warn me not to love him in the beginning! Why not keep me from marrying him the first place! Ai Eru, why? Why so soon? Why now, when the Enemy is ever moving closer? Why?

Gilraen could speak no longer. The sobs overcame her, and she wept long and tumultuously. No one came to comfort her, to hold her and to wipe away her tears. They must have all abandoned her to her sorrow.

"Oh Aragorn, whatever am I to do with you? We cannot stay here, unprotected by your father, no longer chief of the tribe! They will want this hut soon for the new chief, and we will have to go. Why would they trust an outsider, indeed? They might keep me for the sake of you, my child, but what could I do? They would not need me! Ai! Arathorn, if only you had never left with the twins the last time! If only you did not find so much joy in the battlefield! Then, perhaps, we might still spend a few years together, before the final battle of the race of men you spoke of so much!"

Aragorn apparently decided his mother had been crying far too long. Making little cooing noises, he climbed up on the bed and began to pet her hair. It was his own little way of comforting her. Gilraen almost laughed through her tears, but instead choked. Drawing him close beside her, she kissed the top of his head.

"So now I know, little one, what hope I have left? You will be my comfort, will you not? We can run from here, and go to Elrond the Half-elven's house; he will receive you well. It was always the customary resting place of the heirs of Isildur. Ai! Eru, you take who you must, and no one should question your will, but what grace is left to me, protect him with it. For you, little Aragorn, are our only hope for the last battle of men against the Dark Lord. Be well, my little Hope! I am comforted."

Sighing deeply, she placed Aragorn on the floor and, composing herself, walked outside to face the preparations for the burial of her husband.