AN: This story was written while listening to the movie soundtracks. When it was time to name the chapters, it seemed an obvious step to title them after track titles or song lyrics. When I saw this track title, I knew it was perfect. The different spelling is, of course, on purpose.
Dedication: This story is dedicated to my beta reader, without whom it would not be nearly as polished. Thanks so much for all your help.
Chapter Three: The Counsel of Elrond
Six days passed—six days and six sleepless nights. Aragorn managed his emotions well enough during waking hours, but he did not attempt to conquer the world of dreams again. Instead, he spent his nights as he spent his days: reading the tedious piles of law and edict that came with the end of a war and the reunification of two kingdoms which had been separate for three thousand years.
He allowed himself only what little sleep he could gain in the twilight hours just before dawn. Exhaustion kept the dreams at bay, but it also coated his eyes with a layer of sand. It was past midnight on the sixth night when he pushed away the papers he had been reading. "That is enough for now." He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his aching temples.
Of their own volition, his eyelids drooped. Sleep had almost pulled him under when he sat upright. "Too early for that yet," he muttered, but he knew he could do not more work. With one last look, he left his study.
The lights of the palace gleamed bright. Though Aragorn did not look at the tree he had planted in great hopes only the week before, it cast a long shadow across the courtyard which he could not avoid. From the darkness, a voice said, "You have been working late into the night, Estel."
He stopped but did not turn. "There is much to be done, my Lord Elrond. Surely you can understand that, having governed your own people for so long."
"I can indeed," he agreed. "However I also know that sometimes it is necessary to take care of yourself. Sleep is not an inconvenience to be avoided, Your Highness. Your countenance tells me you have not seen your bed in many days."
The fatherly concern in Elrond's voice got past the outer walls Aragorn had put up around his emotions, and he finally, truly felt how weary he was. "I confess, sleep has been hard coming of late."
"Perhaps you would benefit from some friendly conversation."
Aragorn looked at him for the first time since they started talking, thinking to refuse the not so subtle request. The words died on his lips however when he saw the unwavering determination in the other man's eyes. He knew he could not avoid the coming discussion and only hoped it would not be as painful as their last encounter. With a wave of his hand, he gestured for the Elf to follow him while he led the way to the library he had chosen as an informal audience chamber.
Once there however he was not sure he wanted to face Elrond. Instead, he busied himself with pouring two glasses of wine. He handed one to the Elf, who had sat down in front of the empty fireplace. Though he took the opposite chair, he did not look up at his companion. He kept his gaze focused on the goblet in his hands, twisting it slightly between his fingers. He heard a sigh and tensed, knowing the conversation was to begin whether he was ready or not.
"You cannot go on as you are, Aragorn," he said quietly.
His grip on the goblet was so tight that a distant part of his mind was surprised it did not bend. "I do not understand your meaning, my lord."
The click of metal against stone told him that Elrond had set his goblet down on the hearth. Knowing him as he did, Aragorn could picture his posture in his mind's eye—hands steepled in front of him as he gazed steadily at his son. "You cannot continue to close yourself off from everyone and everything that might remind you of Arwen."
The name finally drew his eyes up. "I beg you allow me to handle my grief in my own manner," he said, his tone icy.
Elrond nodded, though to Aragorn it seemed an impatient gesture rather than one of agreement. "Aye, you will handle it as you will. However, pretending it does not exist will only make it hurt more. Do you think I have not noticed that Arwen's banner has not flown from this tower since the day I arrived?"
Aragorn's face twisted. The order to replace the finely wrought standard with one of the ancient banners that had been stored in the attics had been one of the few allowances he had made for his sorrow. "It reminded me of her."
"As it did for me," Elrond agreed. "You did not see her working on it lovingly over the years. She fashioned it out of a hope that one day you would be here in this city, ruling these people as the king you were born to be."
"She made it with the hope that she would be here, ruling by my side," Aragorn countered.
Elrond leaned forward and put his hand on Aragorn's knee. "That is only a part of the truth, Estel," he said, his face and tone earnest. "If you wish to honor Arwen, you will remember all that she was. Much as she loved you and longed for your life together, she also hated the Shadow and longed for a day when it would not threaten Middle-earth. Rejoice with her that this much has been accomplished."
Aragorn set his own goblet down and rubbed his hands over his face. "Yes, I have fulfilled my destiny—Sauron is defeated. This brings me joy even in the midst of my pain." Grief demanded release and he fought for control. "But losing Arwen… Sweet Eru, it hurts!" He swallowed back tears before he continued. "Knowing she is alive somewhere… that only makes it worse—I do not know what to feel, and if I try to feel everything, it will drive me mad."
"You speak true, Aragorn—the emotion will drive you mad if you do not let them out. You must allow yourself to grieve."
That was so contradictory to what his own logic told him that he could not help but laugh—a harsh, joyless sound that echoed loudly against the stone walls. "How do I grieve without letting the pain consume me?" he questioned. "I cannot sleep at night, for in my dreams she is here. The pain I feel when I wake and realize she is gone… I cannot handle that. How do I keep the grief from ruling my every thought, waking or sleeping?"
While he waited for Elrond's answer, Aragorn reached for his cup and took a large swig of the wine. The sweet liquid flowed smoothly over his tongue and down his throat, putting warmth in his veins.
At last Elrond spoke. "You must find your own path in this, Aragorn. There are no answers I could give that would explain it for you. But if you do not allow yourself to grieve, that pain will destroy you from the inside out."
A wave of anger swept over Aragorn. That he should be tutored in grief by an Elf was almost too much to bear. "How did you become such an expert? How? Tell me, Elrond. When have you ever experienced anything like this? All that you have lost will be given back to you once you reach the Undying Lands. You know nothing of true loss."
He caught a glimpse of anger in Elrond's eyes before the Elf stood and turned away from him. "You think I do not understand the pain of losing a loved one forever? Have you forgotten that I lost my own twin brother to the Doom of Men?"
Aragorn winced—he had forgotten. "My lord, I apologize…"
But Elrond was not through. He turned back to Aragorn, and when he looked at him, Aragorn could not tell which emotion was stronger, anger or grief. "I have lain awake at night, wondering what will happen at the end of the age when Arda is no more. What will be the fate of the Firstborn? None know, but I would like to believe that there will be… something, somewhere… that all the Children of Iluvatar may be reunited. Then perhaps I will see my brother… my twin… he who once understood me better than anyone, and now is lost to me forever."
Elrond paused, his breathing ragged and tears on his cheeks. "This is what I mean," he said, his voice harsh. "This pain, this grief, has shaped all that I am. It is why I could allow Celebrian to go over the Sea before me, knowing that I would see her again." Aragorn had the uncomfortable feeling that he was blushing. How much he had forgotten in his own anger! "This is why I was reluctant to let you court Arwen, for I knew that I would lose another loved one to the Doom of Men if you did."
Aragorn felt a stirring of surprise, a welcome change from the embarrassment he had suffered during Elrond's speech. He raised his eyebrows, and Elrond said, "Yes, I knew, Aragorn. I knew that she would love you, for that has ever been her fate since the first moment you laid eyes on each other."
When Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, Elrond continued on, heedless of what he might say in his defense. "So do not tell me that I do not understand, and do not tell me that I do not know what I mean when I tell you that if you allow it, this grief you now carry can shape who you are. I would not have all the decisions you make for the rest of you life be shaped by the loss of Arwen, nor would she have it that way. Grieve now, for a time. Allow yourself to feel the pain, to experience the fullness of what you have lost. Then, when the time is right, let it go."
His anger finally spent, his voice and expression softened slightly. "I do not say let go of her, or of you love for her, but let go of the pain. You have defeated the Shadow—do not let this grief become a shadow within your heart. I would not have that for you, my son, and neither would Arwen."
Aragorn was quiet for a long moment. "I see the wisdom in what you say, Ada, but I cannot," he said finally. "I cannot let go."
He watched Elrond's vision go distant, as if he saw something invisible to the eyes of most men. He had only seen this a few times in his life, but he knew what it meant and he felt a tremor of trepidation. What vision will he share?
A moment later Elrond's eyes cleared, leaving a grim smile on his face. "That is your choice, King Elessar, but until you can let go of the past and accept your new future, the White Tree will not flower, nor will its one blossom open."
He walked away, leaving Aragorn sitting in his study, staring at his glass of wine. Elrond's words had struck deeply, but he did not know how he could possibly follow the advice they held. How could he let go of his grief enough to learn to see past it? Even now, if he allowed himself to truly feel his pain, he was so blinded by it that he could feel nothing else. How could he rule a country when he could not even govern his own emotions?
This question still plagued him weeks later when he stood face to face with Elrond once more, this time with Isengard in the background. They had come many miles together in the funeral procession of Theoden and the journey across Rohan, but they had not talked since that night. Now Elrond had asked to speak with him before he returned to Minas Tirith, and as he had been then, he was reluctant to grant the request.
As if he were reading his mind, Elrond spoke again. "Can a father not wish to say good bye to his son?"
Aragorn caught a hint of finality in the words and frowned. "I will not see you again," he realized.
"No, you will not. When I return to Imladris, I will begin preparations for my own trip to Mithlond and Valinor. I will not have time to make another journey this way, and your duties will keep you close to Minas Tirith for many months."
New grief swept over him, lancing wounds that had not yet begun to heal. To lose his father so soon after losing Arwen was a blow he had not anticipated, though in truth he had always known that once the One Ring was destroyed, Elrond would not stay long in Middle-earth. He was not sure he was strong enough yet to speak with anyone without giving way to his emotions, but if this was to be the last time he saw Elrond, he would not toss it away.
He looked at this Elf-lord who had been a father to him. "My lord…" One sharp brow rose, and he corrected himself. "Ada…" But he could not find the words he wanted to say, words that would ease the breach between them.
In the end, it was Elrond who made the first move. "Estel, I am sorry if my words caused you pain."
"Do not speak of it, Ada. We must agree to disagree on this point, shall we not?" Elrond nodded, and at least part of the burden was lifted from Aragorn's heart. He did not see how he could ever follow the advice he had given, but he did not want to part with his father on poor terms.
There was one more thing he wished to ask, but the restrictions he had placed on himself kept him silent. He knew that Elrond would not deny him, and yet he felt strangely vulnerable before him. "Did you wish me to take a message to Arwen?" Elrond finally asked with compassion in his eyes.
"Tell her…" He swallowed against the lump in his throat. "Tell her that the love she has borne away into the West shall live on evergreen, not only in memory but also in my heart."
"Aye. I will tell her this."
"Thank you, Ada. Sílo Anor bo men lín."
"Goodbye, my son. No i Melain na le."
Translations:
Sílo Anor bo men lín.-- May the sun shine on your road.
No i Melain na le.—May the Valar be with you.