Chapter 10

Aragorn's first horse ride was uneventful, although that was to be expected as they insisted upon riding only the most level of paths and Elladan and Elrohir flanked him closely all the way. Still, the young chieftain was pleased to be able to sit a horse again and very pleased with Baranfaer, who proved to be as intelligent as he was magnificent; not that he expected any lesser beast to be chosen for him by Elrohir.

The air was crisp and fresh and plumes of vapour rose from the nostrils of riders and mounts. All too soon it seemed to Aragorn they were clattering back into the courtyard. Elrohir leapt lightly from his horse, standing by Aragorn's stirrup as the youth dismounted. Aragorn frowned, resenting the implication that he was not capable and refused his foster brother's assistance, much to the other's amusement.

It was Elrond who strode up to pointedly hand Aragorn his stick. "Did you enjoy your ride?" he asked as he stroked Baranfaer's glossy chestnut flank.

Aragorn glowered at his brothers who had both now dismounted. "I would have enjoyed it more if we had actually done some riding. All I did was sit in a saddle like a piece of baggage."

Elrond waived away his sons and they led the horses around the corner of the house in the direction of the stables. "It is scant weeks since you found difficulty even sitting in a chair. And your body will take time to reacustom itself to exercise. Muscles must be rebuilt slowly and carefully after such a long period of inactivity." He beckoned Aragorn to his side as they mounted the steps to the doors. As he stripped off his gloves Aragorn was annoyed to find that his foster father's words were true. His thighs were aching, as was his back and he noted that Elrond accommodated his discomfort without comment, strolling more slowly than was usual, down the hallway to his private study.

"Although I understand that you have been walking much of late. That has helped restore some muscle." Elrond's bland comment set alarm bells ringing within Aragorn's mind. "I have a fire lit in my study. Come and share a glass of wine." The alarm bells began to ring much louder. Elrond did not need a fire, nor was he accustomed to request Aragorn's presence in his inner sanctum.

Elrond ushered him in, waiving him to one of the comfortable chairs by the hearth. He turned to pour two cups of fine spiced red wine, pausing to dip a hot poker into both before handing one to his foster son. Aragorn sipped appreciatively, holding his cup between both hands to warm them. When his foster father said nothing, merely sipping from his own cup, Aragorn decided to get this . . . whatever it was . . . over with. "Did you wish to speak to me about something, Adar?"

Elrond shook his head. "I do not think I will ever grow used to the impatience of mortals. Most particularly young mortals."

Aragorn shrugged stiff shoulders. "We do not have the luxury of centuries to come to the point."

Elrond tipped his cup to his foster son, in acknowledgement of the hit. "Very well." He set down his cup upon the hearth. "Foresight shows me that a great doom awaits you, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You will either rise above your sires or you will fall into darkness with all of your kin. Your path will be bitter and hard." His gaze bored deep into Aragorn's. "Do you then consider it wise to bind any woman to you until the outcome is known?"

Aragorn set down his own cup, deciding that it would be wise to keep his wits about him in this conversation. "Has my mother spoken to you?"

"She has been a loving and dutiful mother. She did not need to speak. I can see it in your eyes whenever you look upon my daughter." Elrond's gaze was as sharp as the edge of a new broken ice flow. "Even were I willing to approve your suit I doubt Arwen would look upon it favourably. She is already many mortal generations older than you. You are but a stripling tree to her oak in full strength."

"I know that my gaze is set too high and yet I love her and I will not deny that fact," Aragorn replied firmly. "Have you sought out Arwen's heart? You say that you have seen how I look at her. Have you then noted the way that she looks at me?"

Elrond sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. When next he spoke his voice had aged a hundred years. "As her father I do not wish to stand between Arwen and the potential love of her life. But if you decide to take up your mantle and fail what of Arwen? Can you ask her to give up eternity with her people to spend just a few years or even months with you? If you wed tomorrow she could be widowed next week. Consider your mother's life."

Mention of his mother's long years of loneliness brought Aragorn pause. Could he ask any woman, elf or mortal, to accept that? How much worse would it be for an immortal elf? Certainly, not all the Chieftain's of the Dunadain died young, but darkness was growing and the odds were stacking up against him. Which would be better - to wed Arwen, only to be struck down within a few months, leaving her to mourn for the rest of eternity - or to leave now and hope that this feeling he thought they shared was but an illusion destined to fade with absence.

Even as he considered this Aragorn knew that it was no illusion on his part. But although he sensed something from the lady, he had not yet dared to seek out her full feelings on the matter. Perhaps he was fooling himself regarding her reactions. He would not be the first youth to mistake a lady's polite responses for something more.

How long he stared into the fire Aragorn could not tell but, as always, Elrond waited patiently. When he focussed once more upon his foster father Elrond nodded. "Even you still have some time. Let the years bring what they will. If Sauron is defeated and you claim your throne matters may be different. At least then, if you persuade her to wed, you will have some years together." He lifted his cup once more and, unable to think of anything else to say, Aragorn joined him.

For long minutes both sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts, staring into the flames and sipping the warm wine. Finally, Aragorn set down his empty cup and stood. "I think it is time that I departed, Adar."

Elrond remained seated but considered his foster son for several moments. It was clear that Aragorn was not speaking of simply leaving the room. "You have decided upon your course." It was not a question.

Aragorn nodded. "I have a role to play in coming events it seems. I had best learn the skills needed to ensure that I and my people survive them." He squared his shoulders. "It may fall to me to reclaim the throne of the High King. Until that day I can best prepare by discovering as much as I can about the lands and people of that kingdom."

Elrond arose, moving to stand before the man he had helped nurture. "No matter what befalls either of us, you will always be welcome here, Estel." With the childhood name on his lips Elrond reached out and drew Aragorn into his fatherly embrace for long moments.

When they parted both faces were tearful. No more words were spoken and Aragorn departed swiftly. Elrond leaned a hand upon the mantel, staring long at Aragorn's abandoned stick. Then he lifted it tenderly to lean it against the wall beside the fireplace. "Be safe, child of my heart."

END

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