Tell me why you're crying, my son

I know you're frightened like everyone

Is it the thunder or the distance you fear;

Will it help if I stay very near?

I am here

"Ada!" The tugging on his blanket became more frantic, and Aragorn cracked an eyelid open, to find a pair of wide, frightened blue-grey eyes – much like his own – staring back at him.

He fully opened his eyes, and the room gradually became clear; the curtains at the window facing his and Arwen's bed were frantically fluttering, and as he heard a distant rumble, he understood what drove Eldarion to wake him up – this was his child's first thunderstorm.

Since Sauron was vanquished, the horizon had brightened up considerably, but the thunderstorms were worse than ever. No doubt, the Valar had taken Sauron's spirit for a 'talk' when he arrived in the netherworld, but maybe these thunderstorms were his small way of saying that no matter how many times he would be vanquished, evil will always exist, in some way or other – even if it wasn't clad in black spiky armor and had cultivated a race of slobbering gits that were born to kill.

And if you take my hand, my son

All will be well when the day is done

And if you take my hand, my son

All will be well when the day is done

Aragorn sat up in bed and sighed. As he searched for his slippers with his feet, he felt Arwen's soft touch on his arm.

"What troubles you, Estel?" she murmured. He sighed and replied, "Eldarion is frightened; I am going to speak with him."

Arwen's eyes were closed, but a smile played softly across her features. "Good luck, Estel," she whispered, and gracefully slipped back into slumber.

Do you ask why I'm sighing, my son?

You shall inherit what mankind has done

In a world filled with sorrow and woe

If you ask me why this is so

I really don't know

Taking Eldarion's small hand in his own large, callused one, Aragorn led his son onto the small balcony that branched off his and Arwen's chambers. A stool stood there, and Aragorn hoisted his son onto the perch. Then they both looked East instinctively.

The sky in the East will never be as light as it once used to be, Aragorn reflected inwardly. Outward, he sighed deeply.

"Ada?" His son's sweet voice was inquisitive. "Why are you sad?"

Aragorn turned to his son with a soft smile gracing his features. "I am not sad, my son," he said gently, laying his arm on his son's shoulders affectionately. "I am just disappointed in the race of men," he added under his breath, looking out pensively onto the Field of the Pelennor – once a battlefield, now a young, budding forest. "We have disappointed too many, lost too many and gained honor in the eyes of few."

And if you take my hand, my son

All will be well when the day is done

And if you take my hand, my son

All will be well when the day is done

"Ada?" Eldarion's tentative voice was heard yet again. "Do you remember Meldainiel?"

Aragorn sighed heavily. Meldainiel was the child of one of his younger advisors, Daugion was his name. There was no other man in his counsel that had a purer heart or kinder temperament than this man of Gondor; he could truly be called a descendant of Westernesse. His wife was likewise – good-hearted and wise, she often accompanied her husband to the Citadel and sat by his side when he was advising the king on different matters.

Their daughter was an angelic child, delicate and as fragile as spun glass. Her skin was almost see-through, and her large, luminous violet eyes and spun-sugar golden hair gave her the look of a messenger of Eru himself.

And indeed she was. No matter who it was and how they treated her, she showed everyone love and cherished every word said to her. A smile was always upon her face, and she always had a good word to say to anyone and everyone.

Misfortune had been her share from birth, though. As a babe, she was confined to her bed because of a dreadful disease that locked her limbs in place and did not allow her to control her appendages. She could only move her right hand and head.

The girl had perished a mere month ago from a complication in her condition. Aragorn had summoned the best of Healers, and even tried contacting Elladan and Elrohir to try and bring them to the White City in time to save Meldainiel – but it was too late. Meldainiel perished before the messenger was able to exit the gates.

"Yes," he said heavily. "I remember Meldainiel. You liked her very much, didn't you?" he asked his son softly.

"I did, Ada," Eldarion mumbled; the glint of tears was in his eyes as he surveyed the Pelennor Fields.

Tell me why you're smiling, my son

Is there a secret you can tell everyone?

Do you know more than men that are wise?

Can you see what we all must disguise

From your loving eyes?

"Meldainiel once told me something, Ada," Eldarion started, but was cut off by a rumble of thunder. He whimpered, and his hold on Aragorn's hand tightened. Aragorn covered Eldarion's hand with his other, free hand and murmured soothingly until the rumble passed.

"What did Meldainiel tell you, Dari?" he inquired, using the name that Arwen called her son when she was in a playful mood.

"She told me," Eldarion said while gazing at the clouded sky, craning his neck to see the sliver of blue that had appeared beyond the clouds, "that every Age is different. That no Age is alike. Every one has its weak and strong points. Each Age is good in some places, and bad in some places." He turned his eyes to Aragorn, hope shining in them as bright as the Tower of Ecthelion at sunrise. "Is that true, Ada?" he whispered.

And if you take my hand, my son

All will be well when the day is done

And if you take my hand, my son

All will be well when the day is done

Aragorn closed his eyes. I always knew that that girl was far wiser than any of us would ever be, he reflected wryly, and then opened his eyes and looked at Eldarion; picking up his son, he hugged him tightly.

"It is true, my son," he whispered into his son's hair. "And the best thing about this Age is you."

A/N: Ah, so much fluff I could choke. I hate reading fluff, but I love writing it.

Read and review, please. Oh, and Meldainiel means 'beloved angel', or Tamera. Taken from name translations for girls. Song belongs to Peter, Paul & Mary. Inspiration came at 12:05 after finishing to write a particularly nasty PPC piece involving a Warrior 'Sue and a shtoopid Elrohir. (Story's under my other s/n, 'Agent Mackenzie'.)

Until the next time,

-Gabrielle