Chapter Twenty-one: Unraveling the Truth
Days in Lothlórien passed without any real beginning or end apart from the sun's rising and setting, although even then, the forest still had an ethereal glow long after sunset. It took Áine a few nights to become accustomed to not being in total darkness, but once the adjustment came, she wondered if she would ever be able to live without it. Something about this place touched her, stirred a life in her that she had never felt before. It was tenuous and faltering but nevertheless there, strikingly alien. She wanted to believe it was some sort of Elvish magic, but not even that seemed right. It was…everything. Not just the trees or the air, but….everything. It soaked into her skin through the sun's rays. She felt its tender caress in the wind's whisper. The creaking of the mallorn branches all around plucked at the strings of her soul like a musician. What is this? Panic lingered at the doorstep but always fled at the arrival of that strange, breathless joy she could not understand.
Her breakfast meetings with the Lady of the Wood became a regular occurrence. Each encounter became less and less awkward as Áine adjusted to her new home, though she still shied away from thinking of Galadriel as her "grandmother." The word tasted strange on her tongue. She's more my mentor than family as of yet. Oftentimes, the two women would spend hours in the Lady's tent, Galadriel playing the maternal role as Áine worked through her many fears and trepidations. With each day, she grew closer to the Elf-queen but also more anxious.
The dresses were ready a mere five days after her initial fitting, much to Áine's surprise. She had figured it would be weeks before the scatterbrained Elf would send for her. Upon entering the little shop tucked away from the hustle of the inner city, Áine found the place to be in a worse state than her first visit. Cloth bolts cascaded down from desks to the floor in colorful waves. Papers rustled in the slight breeze she brought in with her, some wafting across the room to find a new resting place. Half-dressed mannequins stood lifeless along the room's edge, each showing different stages of completion.
No sign of her. Should've expected as much, Áine sighed as she closed the door behind her. Minutes ticked by, one just as tedious as the other.
She had just begun to wonder if maybe she ought to come back later when something caught her eye. Amidst all the myriad patterns for tunics, gowns, and trousers tacked on the walls, she spied a smattering of sketches tucked away in a corner; a closer examination revealed meticulous drawings of plants and flowers, each with notes in the bottom right corner regarding its construction and…medicinal values?
"Oh! Hello!" A bright, cheery voice startled Áine out of her confusion. "I forgot I sent for you! My apologies, hirilnin." The silver-haired Elf wrung her hands briefly to convey her grief before skipping past her guest to a curtained off back room. Before Áine was able to formulate a response to this peculiar occurrence, Alassë had returned with a heaping armful of gowns that almost towered past her sparkling eyes. With a huff, she dumped them on top of a messy table and started rummaging through them, muttering to herself. "…Lagorwen…Lithôniel…Nimwen…Anameleth…ah, Áine!" With a flourish, she pulled out a dark green gown and presented it to the flabbergasted redhead. "The others are very nearly done, but I thought you might like to have one now."
"I…thank you, my lady," Áine stammered, reaching out to take the dress. The material was the same closely knit cloth that her first dress was made of but much lighter, like gossamer. She held it up to her chest and marveled at the quiet whisper the fabric made as it moved against itself. The skirt fell straight down, fluting out as it reached the ground. The sleeves were hemmed into a subtle scallop, floating past her elbows and leaving her lower arms bare. An olive green kirtle peeked out from beneath the v-necked surcoat, coupling an elegance with the simplicity. She glanced up at the vibrant She-Elf and hesitantly asked, "May I try it on?"
Alassë gave a delicate, tinkling laugh. "Of course, my lady." She gleefully stripped the woman down and helped her into the gown, deftly hooking the hidden clasps along the spine and loosely wrapping an olive green underbust corset around her waist. "This is more to help streamline the look rather than tuck in anything unwanted," Alassë assured her as she secured it. "Humans tend to be more sensitive to this sort of thing." With a happy sigh, the Elf stepped back and waved to the floor-length mirror. "Take a look!" Her smile fell away as Áine complied and stood mute, staring at her reflection. "Is it not to your satisfaction?"
"Fó, san…sana bein*," Áine murmured, barely responsive as she looked at this strange person in the mirror. She was still not accustomed to being clad in Elvish attire; it truly changed everything about the wearer, from personal perception to more concrete things like body shape and skin color. It is a real testament to the Elves' otherworldliness when they can make something like this… Aloud, she said in a voice choked with emotion, "Thank you, Alassë. It is more than I could have hoped for."
The worried look vanished from the Elf's ethereal features and was replaced with an ecstatic joy. "Thank Elbereth! I never know what humans like, so I am very pleased you are pleased!" Her hands flew up as she beamed. "Now twirl!" She bounced in place when the young mortal acquiesced with a similar enthusiasm. Both women echoed each other's awe as the gown floated around its wearer's feet, reminiscent of waves upon an emerald ocean.
After a few moments more of this, Alassë sighed blissfully and reached out to grasp Áine's hands. "I am afraid I must part now. I have some errands to attend before I settle down with the rest of these." She gestured behind her to the many unfinished projects.
Áine frowned. "Do you not receive any assistance in this? It seems unfair that you alone are responsible for clothing Lothlórien."
"Indeed, I am not alone," Alassë laughed as she gathered up Áine's discarded Rivendell dress. "I have at least three others who do the composition and hemwork. I merely measure, coordinate colors, and cut the fabric, but I can do it all."
"Then why is no one here?"
"They all have other tasks that need attention. One of my seamstresses is also your handmaiden, Lagorwen." Alassë smiled impishly at Áine's resulting shock. "We are not all one dimensional like our northern neighbors; we number fewer and thus our talents must be multi-faceted."
"Forgive me, I did not mean to insinuate that you – "
"No need for apologies," Alassë giggled with a dismissive wave. "This haven is different in many ways than what you are already accustomed to. I harbor no ill will against Imladris, but their ways differ from ours, just as Eryn Galen's customs vary as well. We are as diverse as you humans, but unlike you, we get along better." Her wicked smirk undercut any sting the words might have had otherwise.
Áine gestured to the corner of botanical sketches and asked, "Is that your other task then?"
Alassë followed her finger and brightened. "Oh yes! I study herbalism."
"…You are a healer?"
"Not in the strictest sense," she shrugged. "I mostly examine the plant life, collect some samples for experimentation, and sometimes distill oils. Most Elven 'healers' are less active than the healers you have seen. We research, document, and distribute solutions to those who need it. I am currently examining cyanobacteria and seeing whether or not it can only be used in dyeing cloth." She walked over and took a few papers off the wall, handing them to Áine. "I also am attempting to do a more detailed dichotomy of the elanor flower, coupling that with a distillation test to see if it can just produce a tincture or if I can coax oil from it if I use enough blossoms."
As Áine examined the carefully drawn pages, something sparked within her. A strange longing pulled at her heart, questions she could not formulate begging to be asked. At that same moment, the all too familiar panic sprung to life, locking her in place. With no small effort, she managed to ignore the internal warring and hand the pages back. "That is quite fascinating. I dabbled some in alchemy while at Imladris, but I never did anything beyond reading."
Alassë sputtered in astonishment. "Reading?! You cannot just read about plants – you must go and explore! This above all the sciences must have a hands-on approach, else all is for naught. How else are you to know how Taniquelassë, Vardarianna, and Yavannamírë, while all three are evergreens from Númenor and brought over by the Elves, differ from each other? Certainly not from a book!" She spat the word out as though it were rancid.
"…But all three of those tree species are extinct," Áine contradicted, puzzled.
The She-Elf's eyes took on a coy gleam, her smile mysterious. "Oh indeed? Are you quite positive about that?" She smirked as Áine's eyes widened. "This forest holds many secrets; only those with enduring patience will discover them. Now be off with you. I am needed elsewhere." Without another word, Alassë fished a leather sketchbook from under the mess and skipped past her bewildered guest, leaving the door wide open in her wake.
As always, she is an enthusiastic enigma. Áine returned the sketches to their place on the wall and left, old dress tucked under her arm.
Late that night, Áine found herself chasing after sleep to no avail. Oddly restless, she clambered out of bed and wandered over to one of the "midnight pavilions," as she called them. To her delight, she saw Aragorn idly picking at a plate of greens while deeply involved in a book perched on his lap. "Mae govannen, mellonin!" Áine greeted as she approached.
The Ranger lifted his gaze and met hers, a faint smile on his weary face. "Well met indeed. They stocked this one very nicely." He pointed his fork to the pile of seed cakes and strawberries on the countertop opposite him. "I had an inkling you would join me tonight," he confessed with a wink.
"You are as magical as the Elves!" She bounded up the stairs with a quiet shriek of joy, eyes only for her favorite treats.
"Call it Ranger's intuition, or just knowing the habits of those who make nightly visits to these kitchens," Aragorn snorted. He took another bite of lettuce and peaches as he watched her assemble a heaping bowl before joining him. "Though I take it that this means you are not sleeping well."
She sat down across from him and began nibbling on a strawberry. "Not as well as I would have hoped, no, yet the same can be said of you, my l – er, Aragorn," she corrected at the behest of his pointed stare.
"Agreed. I am becoming more restless as the nights pass, but I doubt you are suffering from the same troubles."
Áine leaned forward, concerned by the distant pain in his eyes. "Will it help to talk about it? Or can I not know?"
Aragorn shook his head as he reclined against the wall. "It is no secret that the Fellowship is leaving Lothlórien within the week, but as to why I am troubled…" a hesitant pause, "…I worry about my ability to lead in the wake of Gandalf's death. He trusted me, yet I feel I am becoming overwhelmed."
"Your time here has not been restful?"
"Oh, yes, it has. That does not mean I escape my responsibilities or their impending results. We are continuing our journey towards the enemy and I cannot help this persistent foreboding that ceaselessly hounds me. Gandalf could see things that no other could, and I fear for those under my care."
Áine rested a hand on his, squeezing gently. "Have you spoken to the Lady about this?"
"She knows." The phrase was uttered sharply, as though it carried an unpleasant memory with it. Feeling chastened and vastly out of her element, the redhead pulled back a bit, unsure of what else to say.
When the silence grew uncomfortable, Áine heard herself saying, "What makes you think you must be confident in everything?" Aragorn's gaze snapped to hers, grey eyes sharp yet confused. "You are their leader, chosen through trial but revered nonetheless. If Gandalf trusted you, it must be because he knew what you were capable of. No one will always know what to do in times of crisis, but having the control of self is what will distinguish you as a leader. Stand by your choices, be they successful or failed, and learn to persist in the darkest of times."
The Dúnedain's dark brows raised in surprise. "It seems that the Elves' wisdom has rubbed off on you, Áine of Rohan."
"The Elves did not teach me this…my father did." A twinge of pain colored her voice but otherwise, she was serene. "He would often recount battles and talk long of those who led in them. He had great respect for the leaders borne of hardship; he felt that they truly earned their position."
Aragorn looked intrigued by this new morsel about her past. "Your father served in many wars?"
"A few. He fought alongside the Rangers of the North before marrying my mother." She stopped short at the shock that flew across his haggard features. "What?"
"You had told others that your father was a well-off Rohirric farmer." He arched a brow, now cautious. "Which of these is the truth, if I may be so bold?"
"Both." Áine stifled the flare of defensive anger in her chest and sought to maintain a very Elf-like calm. "My father's mother was born into a family who owned a lot of land in the East Emnet, all of which had been tended for generations prior. Her father, against the better wishes of his family, handed the entire estate to her upon her twenty-first birthday in keeping with the tradition of having the eldest inherit the legacy. This caused some understandable strife that extended beyond immediate relations, so to keep the peace, Gran divided the land into several large portions. This way, she could keep the house and its surrounding farmland while giving her four brothers what they wanted and keeping the family whole.
"To everyone's surprise, Gran married right after her twenty-third birthday. No one knew anything about him, save that he had fought in many battles and traveled the length and breadth of both Eriador and Rhovanion – and that he was at least ten years her senior; they had Da less than a year later. I don't know much else about them, but Da told me that they were good people. He ended traveling like Grandad did, though he eventually returned home and took up farming after they died."
"What is your father's name?" Aragorn interjected.
"Târik, but I don't know his birth name. Da says it's different."
A faint smile spread across his face. "I knew of him, though only by association. He was close with Bâragan and Dagorlir, two other Rangers. They all aided Halbarad in the patrol of Eriador's southern borders, but your father would often venture east with Dírhael, another commander. I met the three in passing when I was by that way."
Áine looked misty-eyed. "What were they like?"
Aragorn chuckled. "It has been many years since last I saw them, and even then, we had barely spoken two words to each other. Like I said, I only knew of them from what Halbarad and Dírhael reported. All three were valiant fighters and skilled swordsmen, and if I recall correctly, Târik became a captain of his own squad." He leaned forward and looked directly at her, gaze shrewd. "Did your father ever explain why your grandfather traveled with the Rangers? Was he one?"
She paused, suddenly uncertain. "I…after reading in Rivendell about the Dúnedain of Arnor, I did begin to wonder…but why would he lie to me like that? How do you know he is?" Her last question held a note of accusation.
"I do not know that he is. I am simply curious because I know for a fact that you cannot join the Rangers if you are not Dúnedain."
Áine felt like she had been slapped. It never occurred to her that her father could have been lying about his heritage. "But why do you think this?" she insisted, feeling foolish but stubborn.
Thankfully, Aragorn did not seem perturbed by her persistence. "It is a multi-faceted response so I beg your patience." He adjusted in his seat, food forgotten. "Your grandfather, according to what you've been told, was a soldier of some kind who traveled with us Rangers. He instilled this same principle into his son, else I doubt your father would have followed in his footsteps. Were you told your grandfather's name?" When she shook her head, the Ranger arched a dark brow in response, looking not the least bit surprised. "Your father's birth name is unknown to you, but he went by an Adûnaic name – a distinctly Dúnedain practice though we tend to give our children primarily Sindarin names. Because we are reviled by many, it is highly unlikely that a non-Dúnedain family would bestow such a name on someone who has no affiliation with the people; I also can say with utmost assurance that no man aids us without there being some other connection.
"If I had to hazard a guess…" he paused briefly, returning to his plate to grab a bite before continuing (though she suspected that it was to give her a moment to process this), "I'd say your grandfather was a Dúnedain Ranger who left the life and married a Rohirric woman. He chose to keep his heritage a secret to protect his wife from ridicule and humiliation, as it would be a reasonable excuse to remove her as the sole heir if she married someone who could potentially ruin the family. When your father was born, he was probably given two names: one Sindarin and the other Adûnaic. He was raised on the farm yet was also trained in the ways of my people, eventually leading him to join the Rangers of the North when he was old enough. To help protect his father's secret, he went by his Adûnaic name and asserted that he was from one of the more remote Dúnedain villages; we have several scattered about so it was not unfeasible that your father was from one such community. Eventually, your grandparents died, and your father was presented with a choice: journey down his father's path or forge his own. Due to reasons yet unknown, he chose put down the sword and pick up the scythe – and also married sometime inbetween." He finished with a deep sigh and resumed eating, gauging her reaction as he picked at his remaining peach slices.
Although it was yet unconfirmed, Áine reeled at the idea that she had been lied to for so long. A thought struck her, making her chuckle humorlessly. "If this is true, was my mother even Gondorian or could that also be just part of the falsehood?"
"It is very possible that your father, in his travels, met and married a foreign woman, but again, this is my guess, nothing more. Either way, you are some part Dúnedain."
"What good does that do me?" Áine snapped, returning to her seed cakes and strawberries with a renewed vigor.
"Not much, agreed, but at least I got to meet Târik's daughter."
She laughed bitterly around a mouthful, giving him a flinty glance in lieu of a reply. And what a honor that is, to meet the runaway daughter of a former Ranger who didn't have the common decency to tell said daughter anything truthful about his life. This does explain my family's behavior, though – I didn't want to keep the tradition of secrecy, so naturally I chafed against their established plans for me. I still do not understand why I wasn't told…The thought stole some of her anger and replaced it with an all-too-familiar sorrow.
Aragorn's voice broke through the fog of grief. "It may seem like nothing to you, but meeting another of my people warms my heart. I have gone long without for quite a while now." Though his words were light, his gaze was piercing, seeming to read what was carved into her heart of hearts.
Áine flinched under this examination. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to belittle this discovery, for it too brings me happiness. I've never had any other family." She caught herself as his eyes widened just a bit at her words, and she scrambled to explain herself. "I-I know you're not really 'family' but you're closer than anyone else has been, and I only meant that since we're sort of related through blood, that means you could be a cousin or perhaps a second cousin thrice removed or – " She was interrupted by his barking laugh.
"Peace, Áine," Aragorn insisted, still chortling at her flabbergasted demeanor. "I both agree with and echo your sentiments: I am most pleased to have found someone else I can call kin." He reached across the small table and lightly grasped her arm, eyes crinkled by the wideness of his smile. "I am also quite overjoyed to have met the betrothed of my adopted brother; he has chosen a beautiful, wise woman."
Color suffused the flustered woman's ivory cheeks, and her pale gaze flickered away modestly. "You two seem to be of a same mind, though I do not understand it even now."
"And rightly so. A wise person does not think himself – or herself – wise." The Ranger squeezed lightly and got to his feet, grabbing his empty plate and fork. "I think we've given each other enough to sleep on."
Áine inhaled sharply and followed suit, grateful for the change. "Will I see you again before you depart?"
Aragorn glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled. "If our paths do not cross before then, I will make sure of it ere the Fellowship leaves Lothlórien." With a nod, he returned to his dishwashing.
A/N: Apologies for the shortness of this chapter. This was very content heavy, so instead of making it practically a chapter and a half, I opted for a smaller chapter and a normal one instead. If I'd combined both 21 and 22, it would've diminished a lot and rushed things that ought not to be rushed. This will make more sense in the next chapter. As always, thank you for your enduring patience and I hope this was worth the wait! I'm nearly finished with chapter 22, so by the time you're reading this, I'll be done with it and halfway through with chapter 23 (it was my birthday this week, so I've been on vacation and writing furiously). Thanks again!
Elvish translations
*Sana bein: It is beautiful