Chapter Seven: This is Home
The sun was setting at the riders' backs when they rounded the final hilltop and the valley of Imladris opened at their feet. They had galloped over wide moors, clambered up mountain paths, forded fens and streams, almost always following trackless secret ways. More than once they had taken refuge in small glens while outriders scouted ahead or doubled back on their trail quietly to make sure the company was not being followed. During these brief halts Gilraen and Aragorn had slipped from the saddle and walked about, stretching their legs unused to so many hours of riding.
Now, at the sight of the candles lighting in Elrond's windows, a terrible weariness came upon Gilraen. She had held up in silence, half-numb, half-alert, during the long hours of the ride, and had bound Aragorn to her for safety soon after the sun began to journey down from its summit. Even now, the child stirred and struggled against his fastenings, as he looked down for the first time on the great houses and terraces in the valley, built along the river bed and into the mounds and crevices of the hillsides.
"Momo," he asked, "what is that?"
"It is the house of Master Elrond, our kinsman," she answered.
"Beautiful, Momo," said the little boy, "it is so beautiful."
Indeed it was. As the company descended, Aragorn was all eyes, looking raptly from left to right, and above their heads. The stonework was ancient and colored into the rocks of the mountain, but of such exquisite lattice and carving as to seem to take flight into any strong wind. Trees were everywhere, some bare-branched, others still clinging to their red and golden leaves, others safe in their ever-greenness, here and there one still strangely in flower. The growing shadows hid more and more from the child's sight, but as they reached the bridge the entire valley and hillside seemed to mirror the starry skies of Varda on a windy winter's night.
"For you, little cousin," said Elrohir. "Imladris greets you with many candles to light your way."
"Why?" asked Aragorn.
"Because you are here beloved and awaited, and this will be home for you and for your lady mother," answered the elf. "Come, we must dismount and cross the narrow bridge on our own feet."
"Take my hand, lady," said Elladan. "Aragorn will cross behind us, leading Rogarin."
She did as he bade her, but seeking out her little son with her eyes. So small, yet, and thrust into duties far beyond his strength… or were they? She came across the bridge and turned anxiously to see him. He was so small that for him the bridge was wide enough, and he walked without fear leading his great horse. The animal, head low and close behind the boy, stepped carefully and nickered as if in speech.
Once across, the riders took the path to the stables to bed down their mounts, and later to their own quarters. Elladan went with Aragorn, leading Rogarin to his stable quietly, and would later bring him to Elrond. Glorfindel and Elrohir took Gilraen between them, each lending an arm, and led her up to the gallery above the wide terrace. She seemed to be walking asleep, and asked no questions nor looked to one side or the other. They crossed the covered passage, its lattices wound with fragrant vines, and came to the main entrance of the house. Elrond himself stood at the door, and held his arms out to her as she came near.
"Little cousin," he said as he wrapped her in a close embrace, "this is your home. You will be safe here, and the boy, and you will be comforted in time."
"I thank you so, dearest uncle," she said, "but my words can hardly express any sense at all. I know I am safe, but my mind is numb and hardly know where I am, or indeed who I am, now…" Tears began to flow from beneath her tightly closed eyes.
"You are in Rivendell, my dear, with your long elven-kin," he said, turning her face to him. "Open your eyes, Gilraen. Gilraen, Lady of the Dúnedain, wife and mother of chieftains, though this must be kept secret for a time. This is your home now, and the home of your son. Here he will grow to manhood, and learn what he needs to fulfill his high office in times of strife… But this can wait until the morrow," he added as new tears welled in her eyes. "You must rest now, or bathe first if you wish, and surely eat something before giving yourself to a long, soothing sleep."
She let herself be led into the high-ceilinged hall, and three elf ladies came towards them. At the sight of one, she dropped Elrond's hand and leaped into the arms of Lynael. "Oh, my foster-mother, my darling teacher… oh, my friend…" she looked at her suddenly. "He is gone, mother… he is—"
"Do not say it," she said, putting a finger on Gilraen's lips. "Say nothing, my dear lovely lady. Come with me and think of nothing. Later, we will see. There will be time enough to sort everything out."
"And there is another thing," she whispered as the three guided her out, "I must tell you… I am afraid…" They went, the three soothing the one, and the others watched in relief until the women turned into a corridor and out of view.
They followed Elrond into the Hall of Fire, where a low table near the hearth was set with plates and covered platters, a tall flagon and goblets. There were deep chairs around, and one small one with several cushions. "Build up the fire, my son," said Elrond, "and then take your chair. Yourself as well, my friend," he said to Glorfindel with a gesture as he settled into his favorite seat.
"Elladan is at the stables with little Aragorn, bedding down the Lord Arathorn's horse. It is the child's now," said Elrohir as he fed small logs into the rising flames.
"It all fell together as a blessing," said Glorfindel. "The boy struck by the coldness of death…we know not how it would have gone, had Elladan not called him out to care for the animal."
"Who was himself bereft," put in the twin straightening up from the hearth, "and would not heed even my hand. His pain was terrible. Fearful and furious at the least movement in his direction." Elrohir sat in the chair nearest the hearth, and gazed into the fire. "When Aragorn came out to him and spoke his name, Elladan swears the animal broke down as if in tears and became gentle as a summer breeze."
"Elbereth watches over us, even in sorrowful crossings," said Elrond. "Before the boy comes to us, tell me briefly what happened. Some things I already know."
"We had the day, Elrond," said Glorfindel. "The orc pack we came upon were fewer in number than ours, and rather on their way back to the high passes with their loot. They did give battle, but we bested them and brought down almost all. A few were quick to escape, and one of these turned somehow to loose a final arrow."
"We paid no mind, at a shaft wildly flung. The orc itself did not stay to see the shot strike target." Elrohir sagged forward, his sorrow suddenly unleashed.
"Arathorn had removed his helm, I know not why," said Glorfindel.
"The day was won," cried Elrohir. "The enemy defeated, the few scampering away…"
"Such happenings are hardly ever written in the mediums of augur," said Elrond sadly, "at least not clearly. I read in the water a cry of warning late, unheeded."
"My cry to him even as the shaft came down upon his head," sighed Glorfindel. "He may have heard me, but he surely heard the whisper of the arrow above him, for he raised his face at that instant. The shot went through his right eye. He died at once."
The three bowed their heads for a moment, each letting his grief flow quietly. They had known the dead chieftain from boyhood, and he had learned much with them, hunting and riding in the endless crusade against orcs and all servants of the Enemy. As always when dealing with the mortal Dúnedain, they had known that they would see him part as they had seen each of his forefathers before him. But not so soon, not when he had held the chieftainship barely three, four years…
"And his late father, Arador, himself taken much before his due," said Elrond, giving voice to the thoughts they shared. "This is beyond all the perils in the years of their history, even the darkest of times. Never before have the Dúnedain of the North been so near to the loss of their kingship and the line of Elendil. Not even when Arnor was sundered, not even when Arthedain was defeated, and Arvedui drowned."
"It happened in Gondor," said Glorfindel.
"Yes," said Elrond, "but we can prevent it happening here. We can harbor and protect the little one until he is ready to take on the burden."
"He is so small," Glorfindel shook his head. "He will total three years this coming spring. It is true he is a bright child, and has behaved wondrously on this trying day, but a score of years must pass before he comes to manhood."
"Much hangs in the balance," reflected Elrond. "I have pondered over the hours, but would have your thoughts as well… Tomorrow we must counsel with the Dúnedain, and with those of the Wise that are here, and I believe we should offer a plan... that can be amended, if need be."
"When I fetched Gilraen and Aragorn from the sanctuary, I instructed the house master and the head woman to close down the household and prepare for dispersal," said Glorfindel. "They were greatly shocked, but I believe they must have been already moving their first lines this day, as we rode here. The forerunners will be scouting the land, some, and others going to their many lairs to pick the best ones for wintering." He sighed again, sadly. "Barely two nights past were we settled around our shrouded fire, and much of the talk was hopeful, if not joyful. They were well into their plan for expansion, to come forth, and now they must melt back into the land, more invisible than ever."
"Your counsel was wise. We must never belittle the power of the Enemy. Perhaps no word of this disaster has passed beyond our borders, but we must not risk the merest chance." Elrond paused, looking deep into the fire. "And your thoughts, my son?" he said finally to Elrohir.
"I believe the Rangers are well-able to disappear into their hidden places in the wild," he answered, "and endure these years to come. Their elders are wise in the ways of survival, and some of them will still find their way to us, come better days, to take part in the safekeeping of our lands and theirs from the cursed goblin and orc hordes." He leaned again towards the fire and added a handful of sticks one by one. "I wonder, however, if they will be content with little Aragorn making his home here with us."
"They will understand the need for safeguarding the Heir of Isildur, whose very existence haunts the meditations of the Dark Lord," said Elrond. "We do not know what he knows, but we cannot be over-careful. The Dúnedain are aware of this, as well, and will have one less hazard to afflict them if the hope of their people is secure in this place of peace and learning."
"This is very true, and most important," put in Glorfindel. "Arathorn and Gilraen were educating Aragorn with the highest intent. We ourselves were already having a hand in it, as you know, Elrond… Equal hours spent in the study of lore and skills of the mind and hand, closeted with the best of teachers, and then in the fields and woods, in the practice of the notions of his learning."
"And now this fine plan has come apart," said Elrohir, "both because the kindred will be dispersed, and because his principal teacher was the chieftain himself. If we are to prevent him from slipping back, muted with shock and sorrow, we must plunge him into a design for learning that will be his daylong living." The twin's face brightened. "What happened with Rogarin is surely a good sign."
"There are lines of learning that we can preserve, most certainly the ones he had with Gilraen and with you twins. You and I, Glorfindel, must devise ways of enchantment for his young mind, a quest for knowledge that will spark his spirit and make him reach for the stars themselves." Elrond's eyes seemed to smile. "There has not been a child in this house since a thousand years…"
"Has it been so long?" asked Glorfindel. "And now this little Dúnadan, on whom such great hopes and dire need are founded."
"Which brings to my mind an earlier thought," said Elrond, serious again. "I firmly believe that his presence in this house must not be shouted from the rooftops. Even his name must be dropped from our speech. He too will forget, and call himself by the one we will find for him, for these years. When he comes of age, we will reveal all to him, and he will take back Aragorn, son of Arathorn."
"And here he comes now, Father," said Elrohir. "I hear Elladan whistling a tune, both to lift their hearts and to tell of their approach."
