Disclaimer: I own nothing of Middle-earth, though I do thank J.R.R. Tolkien for creating this wonderful world. The characters and places are used for non-profit purposes only, so please don't sue me.
Author's Notes: I am not a Tolkien-expert nor do I claim to be one. Any errors that might occur in canon, language etc. are entirely my fault. Please feel free to point them out in a friendly manner, constructive criticism is welcome.
Additional A/N: Many of my stories and certainly my way of describing the characters' relationships are inspired by Cassia and Siobhan's wonderful "Mellon Chronicles".
I too work with the idea that both of Aragorn's parents died when he was young and he was therefore raised in the House of Elrond like a son and that Elladan and Elrohir are his older brothers by all but blood.
J.R.R. Tolkien did say that Aragorn "was raised in the House of Elrond", all else is just artistic license and I ask you to please not take offence in it.
Aragorn is a man of many names and I believe I have used them all. ;)
He is Estel to his family and close friends, Aragorn to those who knew him during the War of the Ring and to the Dúnedain Rangers and Elessar to the people of his Kingdom.
I have tried my best to get the Elvish words and phrases right, but if you do find an error, please let me know.
Words/phrases that are not translated directly in the text can be found at the end.
Special A/N: Above and beyond all, I would like to thank my best friend Phil for her inspiration and patience and for reading and re-reading all my drafts over and over again. Hannon le, muinthel-nîn!
CHAPTER 1
Winter was finally retreating from the realms of Middle-earth and the milky sunlight gained more warmth with every passing day.
On a few extremely sunny patches spring blooms were peeking through the frozen earth, first signs of yellow, pink and green amidst the endless white.
None of this beauty was seen though by the solitary figure standing in a snow-covered glade, bow raised, arrow notched – frozen.
With barely the slightest movement of the man's fingers the arrow flew across the glade and struck it's target true. Well almost.
Shaking his head Estel, youngest son of Lord Elrond of Rivendell, retrieved his arrow and stared hard at the trunk of the tree he had selected as a mark.
He had missed the broken branch by mere inches, and yet he had missed.
"I swear you become more of an Elf with each passing day." A soft voice behind the young man spoke, yet it did not startle him for he was well versed in detecting even the soft footfall of Elves.
Estel turned around, smiling at the man whom he loved more dearly than anybody else. "Ada. Have you come to spy on me?" He walked towards Lord Elrond, retrieving his discarded cloak in passing.
Elrond smiled fondly at his youngest. The boy had grown fast, much faster in fact than Elves did, but then again Estel was no Elf.
Today was the boy's twentieth birthday,
he was now no longer a child according to the count of humans. And it was true, Estel had matured much in the last few years.
The time had finally come…
"Walk with me, ion-nîn." Laying an arm across the lean yet muscular shoulders Elrond started walking back towards the house.
After a few minutes of walking in silence Estel could stand it no longer, his father's face was tense and something seemed to bother the Elf Lord.
"Has something happened?" Estel asked concerned. Somehow he felt that something was amiss.
Elrond looked at his son, dark blue eyes searching silver ones, and shook his head. "Nothing has happened, but I wish to talk to you. You are a grown man now."
Estel's brow furrowed but anything he would have liked to reply was cut off by a motion of his father's hand. "We will not talk here. In my study we have all the privacy required."
Wondering as to what could be so important that it had to be spoken of in private the young human did as he was asked and silence descended once more on father and son.
The study was a large, sunny room filled with books, memorabilia and odd bits of weaponry that the Lord of Imladris held dear even after laying down his sword many millennia ago.
Estel had always loved this room, he had many fond memories of lying on the thick rug before the fire and playing with his toys or reading in one of the books.
But never was he happier than sitting on his father's lap as a child and listening to the Elven Lord tell the most breathtaking tales.
Today though Estel did not feel any of the comfort the familiar surroundings usually offered and sat down in one of the large overstuffed chairs pensively, watching Elrond look out of the large picture-window that offered a view of the deep gorge Imladris had been built into.
Growing up as a human amongst an immortal race such as the Elves had taught Estel above all one thing – patience.
So he waited. When he was ready Elrond would talk.
"Estel, do you remember that day many summers ago when you asked me who your human parents were?" Elrond took a seat opposite his son, looking at the youngster and trying to gauge his feelings.
"Aye," the younger man answered, wondering what prompted his father to mention that subject. "But you told me that I was too young and that in time I would learn all about them."
Elrond nodded. "And today is that day when you shall learn. You are twenty years old and I deem that that is high time I told you all about your heritage."
Estel's eyebrows rose in surprise. He had always believed that that particular subject caused his father great pain and had therefore never mentioned it again.
Perhaps he had avoided it because his true family was here, in Imladris, no matter whom he had to thank for giving him life.
"Do you remember the day you came here?" Elrond watched his son carefully, noting the way his dark, wavy hair fell into his face that had already lost some of the childish roundness. The silver eyes watching the Elf spoke of a soul much older than mere twenty years and reminded him much of Isildur, Estel's forefather.
"Nay. I don't remember much of my early childhood." Estel admitted somewhat sheepishly.
"No, of course." Elrond smiled. "You were barely two years old when your parents were slain by Orcs. Elladan and Elrohir were there when it happened, though they were unable to stop the killings." Sighing deeply the Elf Lord continued. "You were one of very few that survived the carnage and your brothers deemed it best to bring you here, for they knew the danger you were still in."
"Danger?" Estel watched his father, saw the shadows of memories deep within his dark blue eyes. He had not known that it was Elladan and Elrohir, Lord Elrond's twin sons, that had brought him here.
Elrond nodded. "Yes, you were still in danger, for you are the last descendant of Isildur. Your father was Arathorn, Son of Arador, and you my son are Aragorn, the last Heir to the Throne of Gondor and Arnor."
Estel's jaw dropped and ice seemed to form in the pit of his stomach. That was impossible…
"It cannot be!" No longer able to sit still Estel started pacing the room, trying to make sense of what he had just heard. "Ada…" Huge silver eyes looked forlornly at the Elf.
"Oh my Estel." Elrond stood and pulled the human in a tight embrace, giving him something to hold onto. "I am so sorry, but you had to be told."
"Arathorn was the Chieftain of the Dúnedain Rangers of the North. He was a good man and both he and your mother Gilraen were so happy when you were born." The Elven Lord continued. "Elladan and Elrohir had always been friends to the Rangers, riding with them for long periods of time, and it was no different when Arathorn was appointed Chieftain. He was a good man, Estel."
Holding his son at arm's length Elrond looked into a face that at the moment seemed too young for the burdens he was placing on the shoulders of the young human.
"Do you understand what I am telling you, ion-nîn? *You* are the last of Isildur's descendants, the only one who has within him the power to destroy the Dark Lord of Mordor. It is him we had to hide you from, for Sauron fears you. He would have hunted you all your life."
Panic flashed in the depths of the silver gaze and Estel pulled away from the man whom he had loved as a father as long as he could remember.
All he had heard, all he had learned about himself was too much.
Spinning on his heel he fled from the room and headed for the refuge of the gardens and the woods beyond.
He needed to get out, to breathe. He felt like he was suffocating, he couldn't get his lungs to expand properly.
Brushing past a figure in the hallway Estel jumped down the steps taking two at a time and barely registering Elladan calling his name.
The cold air felt good on his face as he ran over the snow-covered ground into the woods surrounding Imladris.
In the distance the constant rushing of the Bruinen – the Loudwater River – could be heard. It was the only sound besides his laboured breathing for a storm was gathering and weighed heavily on the air.
He could not remember how long he had been running when he finally collapsed against the trunk of a tree that grew near the lake in which he and his brothers often bathed in summer.
Now the lake was just beginning to thaw, a thin membrane of ice still covered most of its dark surface.
His brothers…
Estel leaned his head against the tree and stared up into the bare branches. Hot tears rushed down his cheeks but he didn't bother to wipe them away.
Of course he had known that he was not truly Elrond's son and it didn't bother him that much anymore, not as it had when he was still a child. Back then he had deemed himself unworthy of being called a Son of Elrond because he was not as agile or graceful as an Elf, because he was more susceptible to illness and injuries.
"Aragorn…" He whispered his true name, a name he didn't remember ever being called.
Descendant of Isildur. Heir to the throne of Gondor. Dúnadan. Númenórean.
He had heard many a tale of Isildur's destruction of Sauron and of the One Ring of Power that Isildur hat failed to destroy, letting evil prevail.
Estel had always labelled Isildur weak of will for bending to the power of Mordor and it did not sit well with him that he was directly descended from the one man who could have rid Middle-earth of the shadow that even now started to spread again.
Laying his head on his arms that were crossed over his knees and ignoring the cold that seeped through the thin material of his leggings and tunic Estel gave in to the heart-wrenching pain that still didn't let him breath and wept.