Genetics
Apologetic note; I only remembered after I'd finished this that Gandalf sailed to Valinor. And I mangled a line from The Last Continent.
Bells rang out across Minas Tirith. It was a day of jubilation, for Queen Evenstar had that morning (after three days of straining, threats against the life of the King Elessar, and many cries for epidurals) given birth to the next Heir of Isildur and King of Gondor. He was given the name Eldarion, and the city-dwellers rejoiced. (There was a lot of rejoicing in Minas Tirith in those days. They'd have rejoiced if she'd given birth to an orc. Any excuse for a booze-up)
However, euphoric as Aragorn may have been on the day of Eldarion's birth, as the boy grew up, he began to be more suspicious. The kid was blonde, for a start. Aragorn found this slightly suspicious, given that his hair was brownish, and Arwen's was black, but he let it pass. It was the pointy ears that raised a few questions in his mind. He voiced them to Arwen one night as they readied themselves for bed in the grand, impressively decorated but nevertheless extremely cold and uncomfortably draughty stone bedroom. 'Dear?' 'Mmm?' 'About Eldarion. . .' 'Mmm?' Arwen was slightly distracted by her embroidery. Nonetheless Aragorn pushed on. 'Do his ears seem a little, um, pointy, to you?' Arwen transferred her attention from the embroidery to her husband. Aragorn quailed in his wife's glare. 'I'm an elf.' she said frostily. 'My ears are pointy. He's my son. His ears are pointy. It's called genetics, Aragorn.' 'Yes, but umm, I'm sort of part elf too, and my ears aren't pointy. . .' 'The elves in your family tree were a long way back. All your ancestors since then have been human. Therefore you have human shaped ears. Now shut up and go to sleep.' Aragorn turned over and soon dropped off to sleep. But his doubts continued to gnaw at him.
As Eldarion grew up, the evidence accreting in Aragorn's mind formed painful lumps. There was the uncanny way the boy managed to master the basics (and the complicateds as well) of archery the first time he picked up a bow. There was the way he could climb trees. There was very definitely the way he could creep up on people, causing several minor heart-attacks amongst the palace lore-masters.
In Eldarion's eighth year, Mithrandir had been invited back to Minas Tirith to celebrate his rebirth as Gandalf the White. A grand banquet had been planned, with an indoor firework display, courtesy of the wizard himself, expected confidently to outshine even the show given at Bilbo's Birthday Party.
Gandalf readied the fireworks. He put aside one specially, running his fingers proudly over the label he'd made for it; a fiery whip, and two big horns. Something to commemorate his rebirth, definitely.
Aragorn used this opportunity to borrow some of Gandalf's books and do some research. He snuck out of the banqueting hall before the fireworks began, and sat down to read. He learnt many things, the most damning of which were in a report on Elven pregnancies. Itym Onne. Thee tyme thee babe spendes in thee wombe is nigh three yeares. Itym Twoe. Forr moste of thee confinemente, thee Elfe-womann be right shapely stille. Onlye in thee laste nyne monthes doe thee babe show as inne a Morrtal conceptshun. Itym Three. In Elfes, blonde hayre is that coloure wych will showe above browne. . .
A scream went up from the banqueting hall. Sword drawn, Aragorn ran towards the sound, cursing the twisting pathways of Minas Tirith. 'What kind of idiot designs a city around a rock?' he snarled as he thundered down the corridors. He burst in to the room in time to see Eldarion in the last stages of 'slaying' what looked like a firework Balrog. Aragorn stared for a moment, and then as the penny dropped and all the evidence clicked into place, he roared something incoherent and ran back out of the palace in a towering rage. He headed for the stable. 'Give me my horse!' he snapped at the stableboy. 'Wh . . . . Where are you bound, sir?' asked the trembling boy. 'Imladris' said Aragorn grimly.
It all fit! Blonde. Pointy ears. Balrog slaying instinct. Rivendell. The right time period. Glorfindel. That smug bastard.
Apologetic note; I only remembered after I'd finished this that Gandalf sailed to Valinor. And I mangled a line from The Last Continent.
Bells rang out across Minas Tirith. It was a day of jubilation, for Queen Evenstar had that morning (after three days of straining, threats against the life of the King Elessar, and many cries for epidurals) given birth to the next Heir of Isildur and King of Gondor. He was given the name Eldarion, and the city-dwellers rejoiced. (There was a lot of rejoicing in Minas Tirith in those days. They'd have rejoiced if she'd given birth to an orc. Any excuse for a booze-up)
However, euphoric as Aragorn may have been on the day of Eldarion's birth, as the boy grew up, he began to be more suspicious. The kid was blonde, for a start. Aragorn found this slightly suspicious, given that his hair was brownish, and Arwen's was black, but he let it pass. It was the pointy ears that raised a few questions in his mind. He voiced them to Arwen one night as they readied themselves for bed in the grand, impressively decorated but nevertheless extremely cold and uncomfortably draughty stone bedroom. 'Dear?' 'Mmm?' 'About Eldarion. . .' 'Mmm?' Arwen was slightly distracted by her embroidery. Nonetheless Aragorn pushed on. 'Do his ears seem a little, um, pointy, to you?' Arwen transferred her attention from the embroidery to her husband. Aragorn quailed in his wife's glare. 'I'm an elf.' she said frostily. 'My ears are pointy. He's my son. His ears are pointy. It's called genetics, Aragorn.' 'Yes, but umm, I'm sort of part elf too, and my ears aren't pointy. . .' 'The elves in your family tree were a long way back. All your ancestors since then have been human. Therefore you have human shaped ears. Now shut up and go to sleep.' Aragorn turned over and soon dropped off to sleep. But his doubts continued to gnaw at him.
As Eldarion grew up, the evidence accreting in Aragorn's mind formed painful lumps. There was the uncanny way the boy managed to master the basics (and the complicateds as well) of archery the first time he picked up a bow. There was the way he could climb trees. There was very definitely the way he could creep up on people, causing several minor heart-attacks amongst the palace lore-masters.
In Eldarion's eighth year, Mithrandir had been invited back to Minas Tirith to celebrate his rebirth as Gandalf the White. A grand banquet had been planned, with an indoor firework display, courtesy of the wizard himself, expected confidently to outshine even the show given at Bilbo's Birthday Party.
Gandalf readied the fireworks. He put aside one specially, running his fingers proudly over the label he'd made for it; a fiery whip, and two big horns. Something to commemorate his rebirth, definitely.
Aragorn used this opportunity to borrow some of Gandalf's books and do some research. He snuck out of the banqueting hall before the fireworks began, and sat down to read. He learnt many things, the most damning of which were in a report on Elven pregnancies. Itym Onne. Thee tyme thee babe spendes in thee wombe is nigh three yeares. Itym Twoe. Forr moste of thee confinemente, thee Elfe-womann be right shapely stille. Onlye in thee laste nyne monthes doe thee babe show as inne a Morrtal conceptshun. Itym Three. In Elfes, blonde hayre is that coloure wych will showe above browne. . .
A scream went up from the banqueting hall. Sword drawn, Aragorn ran towards the sound, cursing the twisting pathways of Minas Tirith. 'What kind of idiot designs a city around a rock?' he snarled as he thundered down the corridors. He burst in to the room in time to see Eldarion in the last stages of 'slaying' what looked like a firework Balrog. Aragorn stared for a moment, and then as the penny dropped and all the evidence clicked into place, he roared something incoherent and ran back out of the palace in a towering rage. He headed for the stable. 'Give me my horse!' he snapped at the stableboy. 'Wh . . . . Where are you bound, sir?' asked the trembling boy. 'Imladris' said Aragorn grimly.
It all fit! Blonde. Pointy ears. Balrog slaying instinct. Rivendell. The right time period. Glorfindel. That smug bastard.