Foreword: Even since I heard this song, I wanted to write some piece to accompany it. It so happened I thought of Aragorn and Gilraen, who are the ideal mother and son, and whose relationship is somewhat vague. It is understood she was extremely devoted, as she "kept no hope for herself", but beyond that, her thoughts, dreams, and fears for her son are not known. I hope to fill the gap in a little, by providing a simple idea of her perspective. A companion piece, from Aragorn's perspective, is planned.
Warnings: Mildly AU.
Letters from War
Prologue
It was given to him on some past birthday, and it became one of his most valuable possessions. Not for itself, but for what it contained. On one particular day, after his passing, it was discovered in a corner, somewhat meek and forlorn, though not unloved.
Eldarion, by familial obligation, was made to sort through his father's possessions, to see what could be kept, and what re-used or donated. He entered the room to find it glowing with daylight; the large window and accompanying seat overlooking the city had been one of his father's most occupied places. He smiled to see the room alight; it had been so during nearly every time he had entered his father's personal chamber. The sunlight gently touched his father's beloved personal effects, already laid out upon the bed: the ring of Barahir, a few maps, a woven pouch of Northern design, and a small, unassuming key.
As Eldarion examined each item, he wondered at its history. He had certainly been told of his father's greet deeds-and exploits-during the War, but never had he received explanation of personal value of any item in his father's hands. Not unusual, he thought to himself, for his father had been well-known for succinctness and nothing more. Yet he lingered over the key, and resolved to discover its meaning.
For some time he searched for what it might belong to, dismissing the rest of the afternoon duties. It was a time of mourning, and if the newly-crowned king did not appear at the evening meal, his absence would not be questioned overmuch.
It was many hours after the midday meal that he found what the key fit: a wooden chest, lined with a single vein of mithril, forming a delicate design at its base. The lock was simple, and the key turned easily, though obviously the chest had not been opened for quite a while.
Inside was a bundle of letters, tied carefully with leather. Eldarion breathlessly lifted the bundle out, that he might read their contents. His curiosity would not release now, particularly since he did not know the sender of the letters.
He untied the leather, fumbling with the knot-it was tight!-and skimmed through. None of the letters seemed very long, though that did not demean their quality. Indeed, most of the letters were filled with tender words and memories on all range of topics. Quite interested, and with the time to spare, Eldarion moved from the floor to the bed, disregarding the other items placed there. He settled himself against the pillows and blankets, and began to read.
-to be continued-