Gilraen stood silently next to Lord Elrond attempting to display strong, motherly confidence. It was rather difficult.
Her eyes glanced sideways for the umpteenth time that morning to the elf standing rigidly beside her. Lainien's face betrayed nothing as she stared resolutely into the trees, not a single twitch in her stance.
While the surrounding elves would see her Guardian's stance as attentive, Gilraen knew better. Lainien was upset. Hoping for some insight, Gilraen cast her eyes over the crowd of gathered elves, seeking a pair of bright blue eyes.
Her sights landed on the Prince of Mirkwood, and her brows furrowed deeper. The elf stood solemnly next to Haedirn, the captain sneaking glances every few moments with a frown upon his face.
Gilraen studied the blond elf carefully, noting the tension in his jaw and the haunted look in his eye. She chanced yet another glance to her silent companion, concern now overpowering curiosity as she catalogued the tension in each line of Lainien's body.
What happened, my angel? her thoughts whispered.
Lainien gave no sign of hearing her mental question.
Gilraen sighed quietly. Would you at least tell me if you are alright? she asked, frowning.
Still, Lainien gave no sign of acknowledgement. Gilraen glanced back at Legolas and watched as Haedirn whispered something in the Prince's ear. Legolas shook his head softly.
Sighing again, Gilraen brushed her hand very lightly against Lainien's arm, concentrating on feelings of warmth, care, and love, hoping the elf would accept the comfort. Lainien blinked and looked down at her. After a brief moment, the elf's lips curved upward slightly and her eyes lost some of their coolness.
Gilraen smiled at her, projecting now a quiet concern. Lainien shook her head softly, leaned gently against her hand, then straightened and pulled away, looking again toward the forest.
Giving up on solving this new puzzle, Gilraen turned her eyes and thoughts to the forest, watching as the morning sun dusted the tops of the trees with golden light.
Her son was returning today.
Long minutes passed with not a sound but the soft music of the forest until Lainien shifted minutely. Gilraen looked up to watch dark eyes narrow, focused intently on one spot in the forest. The woman tensed, waiting for a sign from her elven protector.
After another long moment, Gilraen's anxiety growing every second, Lainien's eyes softened and a small smile grew on her lips.
A moment later, excited chatter ran through the gathering of elves as sensitive ears picked up movement in the forest. Gilraen couldn't help but squint into the dark trees, desperately hoping for a sign of her son.
At last, a large figure appeared in her line of vision, looking bulky and distorted by the shadow of the trees. Gilraen felt her heart skip in her chest. A loud snort broke her concentration. The woman looked up at her companion, surprised, and found the elf's eyes dancing with humor. Before she could pose a question, Gilraen's eyes finally focused on the figure now emerging from the woods.
Estel stepped from the tree line with an easy grace despite the heavy burden carried over his shoulders. Gilraen's eyes widened as they took in the enormous stag slung over her son's back with its antlers measuring several feet long.
"Oh my," she whispered, hand coming up to cover her mouth. Lainien's snort turned into a small chuckle, the humor in her eyes growing as she watched her charge with fond amusement.
Estel marched forward proudly, hitching his kill higher on his shoulders, a blazing fire dancing in his eyes. My son, Gilraen thought, tears welling in her eyes. Your father would be so proud.
Cheers erupted from the crowd as the elves welcomed their young mortal, cries of joy and triumph echoing around the clearing. The warm welcome brought Gilraen closer to tears, as Estel's face lit up with happiness.
Finally, the boy-turned-man halted several paces from the trio standing before the large gathering, his grin turning mischievous.
Beside her, Gilraen heard a soft groan. Turning to look at Lainien in alarm, she noted the elf was watching Estel intently, a frown on her face. What is wrong? Gilraen asked, alarmed. Lainien glanced down at her, humor still dancing in her eyes. The elf shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose, a clear sign of exasperation.
Further questions were rendered unnecessary as Estel moved to the side, Gilraen's eyes following her son intently. What is he up to, now? she wondered, bemused.
The man halted before Lady Arwen, his eyes blazing, and slowly lowered the stag from his shoulders, depositing it carefully at her feet. Gilraen's eyes widened.
You will return at dawn after seven days with a kill worthy of a warrior, and present it to one who holds your loyalty.
"Oh dear."
Lainien snorted again, drawing Gilraen's attention away from the spectacle her son was making. Frowning at the elf in admonishment, Gilraen turned to Lord Elrond.
The elder elf was frowning quite heavily at the display, but was making no move to interrupt. Gilraen gulped as the elf's dark eyes turned to her, his brows rising in a clear question. Do you have an explanation for this?
"Lady Arwen."
Gilraen turned her head back to watch her son.
"I have followed in the noble tradition of my people and have secured my position as a man among my ancestors. As a token of my manhood and a sign of my loyalty, I present this magnificent protector of the forest to you. May you find it evidence of my skill as a warrior befitting a man worthy of being your suitor."
Estel's eyes were bright, a clear challenge in their grey intensity as he looked the fair elven maiden in the eye. Pride and horror fought for dominance as Gilraen watched her son, standing tall before his chosen.
Arwen's eyes widened at his pronouncement, but a soft smile graced her lips as she watched the young man standing resolutely before her. Her bright eyes watched him, seeming to appraise him with her firm gaze. All the while, the youth stood proudly before her, unwavering in his sentiment.
"I am honored by your gift, Estel," she said finally, her musical voice soft upon the air. Gilraen watched a glimmer of hope flare in her son's eyes.
"I will happily accept it as a token of your skill," she continued, her eyes bright and dancing. "For indeed it proves you a masterful huntsman." Estel's shoulders straightened further at her praise.
"However, I must inform you that I am not yet in search of a suitor, and thus, unworthy of the second sentiment you wish to profess with the presentation of your magnificent kill."
Estel seemed to deflate minutely at her words, but Gilraen was proud to see he continued to hold himself bravely before the elf, still holding a determined gleam in his eyes. He nodded slowly, not releasing her from his gaze.
"I understand," he said, his voice not wavering in its confidence. "May I yet come to a day whereupon I can renew these sentiments with a more favorable answer."
Gilraen felt the absurd desire to chuckle at her son's tenacity, but she held back. After a long moment, Estel took a step back, lowered his gaze, and moved to stand before his mother.
Upon catching her gaze, the man sent a decidedly cheeky grin to his guardian, but sobered upon his mother's stern glare.
-:-
Lainien moved swiftly over worn stone as she made her way to Elrond's chambers the next morning.
She had only just returned to the glimmering halls of Imladris as the sun rose lazily in the spring sky, having avoided the celebrations of the prior night by taking to the trees. This morning would mark the first time she came face to face with Legolas, and she hadn't yet decided how she felt about it.
Pushing away thoughts of the Prince, she tightened her grip on her package, steeling her nerves and smoothing away the frown on her face. This day is about Estel, she told herself sternly, coming now upon the door to Elrond's chambers.
"Welcome, Lainien," Elrond greeted warmly as she entered. She nodded to him sharply, eyes scanning the faces of the room quickly.
Gilraen stood next to a seated Elrond at the large desk near the window, the woman's mind full of anxiety. Lainien gave her lady a soft smile in reassurance, and looked to Arwen, sitting gracefully in an armchair next to her father's desk. The elf gave Lainien a bright smile, her eyes dancing, and a soft, "Hello, Lainien."
Elladan stood next to his brother at the largest bookshelf across from the door, and he nodded to Lainien, giving her a small smile in greeting while Elrohir winked at her.
Finally, she turned her eyes to Legolas. The elf was standing at the entrance to the balcony, his back to the view, the sun framing his golden hair in an angelic glow. The beatific image he posed was severely juxtaposed by the harried look on his face and the dark shadows beneath his eyes. Lainien did not need access to his mind to see the stress and indecision on his face.
He feels guilty, she mused, rather contentedly. As he should.
Turning away from his bright eyes, she set her gaze upon the final occupant of the room.
Estel sat with poorly disguised excitement on the edge of his chair, eyes sparkling as they watched her. Quit stalling, Lana, he thought, projecting his impatience mentally. Rolling her eyes, she moved quickly to her appointed chair in the far corner of the room, next to Estel.
"Now that we are all present," Elrond began, his tone firm, but his dark eyes holding fondness as he gazed over at Estel. "We will begin. I am sure you are intrigued over the nature of this ceremony," he continued, a small smile forming on his lips.
Lainien snorted, receiving an unimpressed glare from her Lady. Intrigued? she mused. The child has been pestering me for months.
"As you have undoubtedly been told, Estel," Elrond continued, folding his hands together atop his desk. "This ceremony is in celebration of your coming of age, and would not have taken place had you failed in your hunt." At the mention of the hunt, Elrond's brows furrowed and his mouth turned down minutely. Lainien fought back a chuckle.
"Following tradition set by your ancestors, in recognition of your success, your clan chief and your family members have prepared gifts for you."
Estel's eyes took on a suspiciously watery quality as he watched the elves in the room each produce a range of wrapped items, taking in the meaning of Elrond's words. Family…his thoughts murmured, happiness and belonging growing in his chest. Lainien turned soft eyes to her charge.
Elrohir and Elladan stepped forward, identical fond smiles adorning their lips, and Elladan presented a large bundle to Estel.
Estel took the bulky package reverently and began unfolding the soft parchment paper wrapping. Excitement thrummed in his thoughts and his eyes as he held up a thick traveling cloak that seemed to ripple in color between dark green and brown.
"This cloak was given to us from the leader of the Dunedain during our last trip north," Elladan explained, smiling at Estel's wonderment.
"It is made in their fashion, and will help shield you from unwanted eyes," Elrohir finished, beaming down at the man.
"It's perfect," Estel breathed, running the fabric between his fingers and watching the colors play in the light. "Hannon le, Elladan, Elrohir," he said, looking up and beaming at the two elves. Elladan nodded and Elrohir gave him a cheeky wink before stepping back to their position near the bookshelf. *Thank you
Next, Arwen rose gracefully from her armchair and padded over softly to Estel, grinning lightly at the youth's reddening cheeks. She held out her hand, presenting a small item wrapped in thick skins.
Estel took the package after meeting her warm gaze for a moment. Inside the skins rested a slightly curved dagger with a perfectly smooth wooden hilt. Sweeping lines arched gracefully into the wood, and the silver of the blade had elvish lettering engraved from hilt to tip.
"The hilt is made from the tree outside your balcony," Arwen said, her eyes glancing to Lainien as she spoke. "To remind you of the protection of home. And down the blade," she continued, brushing the silver lightly, "Your elvish name is written to remind you where you come from, and your place here among us."
Estel gripped the hilt tightly, his thumb brushing the blade where "Estel" was written in elegant script. Looking up at Arwen, his eyes again glossy, he whispered a quiet, "Thank you." She gave him an encouraging smile and moved back to her chair.
Legolas strode forward now, a soft smile on his face for Estel, and unbelted the quiver he wore across his shoulders.
"It is a tradition in my family," he began, his smile warming as he looked at Estel, "to present upon maturity a weapon handmade by the father to his son."
Lainien's heart clenched at the words and their meaning. Fondness for the elf warmed her heart, and she stared at the obvious affection gleaming in Legolas' eyes.
"After many years of believing I would not have the chance to continue this tradition, I am honored now to have the opportunity to present this to you, Estel." Legolas' smile seemed sad now as he met Estel's eyes. Estel, too, shared a sad smile with Legolas, and Lainien felt the swirling of emotion stirring from her charge.
The Prince's heartfelt admission effected Lainien as well. Her throat tightened as she felt his sadness even through the shielding of his mind.
"Thank you for this opportunity, Estel, and for gifting me with your friendship."
The elf held out the quiver of delicate arrows, each ending with a pearly white feather, the shaft made of dark wood. Lainien was rather enamored by the beautiful fletching, and her eyes made out the intricate carving down the shaft of each arrow.
It is an example of exquisite work, she noted, utterly in awe of Legolas' skill.
Estel obviously shared Lainien's admiration as he lightly ran his finger across the feathers and observed the workmanship of the shaft.
"These are absolutely beautiful, Legolas," he said, eyes still roving over the fletching of arrows reverently. He looked up to meet his friend's eyes. "I am so very happy to be included in your tradition," he said, eyes filling again with emotion.
Legolas nodded and clasped Estel tightly on the shoulder. Lainien could see his jaw working, likely fighting off a deep swell of emotion. Turning swiftly, the elf moved back to his post near the balcony as all eyes moved to face Lainien.
Faced with the moment, Lainien felt doubt swirl in her mind. My gift is not nearly of the same caliber as the others', she mused, suddenly anxious.
The gift of your guidance and friendship means more to me than any possession or trinket you could offer me, Lana, whispered Estel's thoughts. Lainien turned her gaze on him to receive a small, encouraging smile.
Emboldened byhis assurances, Lainien stood slowly and pressed her lightly wrapped package into Estel's hands with a tight smile. Estel returned her smile with one of his own, his hand coming down atop hers.
Slowly, Estel unwrapped the parcel and gasped.
The book he held in his hands was old and tattered, water-damaged in some places, and singed in others. The title was unreadable, and pages peaked out of their binding haphazardly. It was the most precious thing Estel had ever seen.
"Your book," he whispered, running tentative fingers across the worn cover.
Elladan and Elrohir looked on with matching expression of confusion while Arwen watched Lainien carefully. Elrond was smiling softly and Gilraen wiped away a tear discretely. Legolas stared, his heart clenching.
"Lana," Estel began, his voice thick. "I can't accept this," he said, looking up at his guardian. "This…this is one of your treasures." Despite his words, he pulled the book tightly against his chest.
Lainien shook her head. "I have held that book dear to me for centuries," she said softly, her eyes warm. "It is time now to find a new owner. And I would have it go to no one else but you, my Estel."
"What is the book?" Elrohir asked, leaning forward and squinting his eyes to try to decipher the cover. Lainien jumped slightly, having forgotten that there were others here in the room.
"The Akallabêth," Legolas said quickly, eyes watching Lainien. She avoided meeting his gaze.
"The tale of the Numenor," Elladan said, gazing sternly at Lainien. She felt reproach in the warm breeze of his mind, but she ignored it.
"It is Estel's favorite story," Legolas said, returning his gaze to the man, smiling lightly.
The other elves in the room were silent as they pondered the coincidence.
"If it is indeed your will, Lana," Estel said, his voice soft, "I will accept this gift and cherish it for the rest of my life."
Lainien felt her throat close and her chest tighten at her charge's words, emotions overwhelming her for several seconds. She nodded stiffly in response, locking her eyes on the forest outside the balcony, willing her traitorous eyes to stay dry.
"It is the perfect gift," Elrond said, capturing the youth's attention. Lainien took the distraction to collect herself silently. "Considering the others you are about to receive."
Lainien's emotional upheaval was quickly dismissed as she tensed in her chair. It was time.
Estel was frowning at Elrond in confusion. "I don't understand," he admitted, looking now to his mother.
In response, Gilraen stepped forward and presented a small box to her son.
Warring excitement and anxiety made Estel's fingers tremble as he took the box from his mother. Grey eyes flickered to meet Lainien's, questions thrumming in his mind.
Slowly, he lifted the lid and peered inside.
Upon soft maroon velvet lay a large ornate silver ring. Two snakes intertwined gracefully, their eyes inlaid with gleaming emeralds, one holding a crown of flowers, the other devouring it. The morning sunlight caught the glimmering jewels, enhancing their color and brightening the silver.
"The ring of Barahir," Estel whispered quietly.
"Given to him by Lord Finrod Felagund," Elrond continued for him in his deep baritone. "And passed down through the ages to each of Barahir's descendants."
Estel jerked his head up at that, his eyes wide. Lainien could hear his thoughts stutter as he took in the implications. A second later, and names and family trees began flashing through his mind.
Beren, Dior, Elwing, Elros, he thoughts whirled. But it was lost, he thought, a frown forming. Lost when the last King, Eärnur, fell almost 900 years ago in the darkness of Minas Morgul.
"How did you come upon this?" he asked, almost breathless in his awe.
Elrond smiled softly, eyes bright as he surveyed the young man. "It has been safe-guarded by the Dunedain after they recovered it from traders in the north shortly after King Eärnur's demise."
Estel nodded weakly and returned his eyes to the ring. Lainien followed his wayward thoughts carefully, noting her charge's shock.
"This ring," Gilraen said slowly, bringing up her hand to cup her son's cheek gently. "Was given to your father by his father, and I give it to you now, my son, in his stead."
Estel met his mother's eyes in barely concealed disbelief, his breathing picking up.
Elrond rose from his seat to come stand next to Gilraen, his eyes still shining. "We present this ring, this token of the King, to you, O descendant of Elendil. May it prove to you and all the land that the crown of kings shall rest upon your brow."
Still smiling, the elf took the ring from its velvet protection and held up his hand. After a short moment, Estel extended his own hand, laying it gently in Elrond's large palm. With deliberate slowness, Elrond placed the ring on the forefinger of Estel's left hand, the silver coming to rest perfectly on the finger, gleaming brightly against his tanned skin.
Estel's eyes stared, transfixed upon the ring, and Lainien listened to his scattered thoughts work to take in everything the elven lord was saying.
"Descendent of Elendil," Estel repeated, blinking slowly. Finally, he turned to look at his guardian.
Even if his thoughts could not form the exact words, Lainien could feel the need for her assurance. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she began to sing.
"Et Eärello
Endorenna utúlien
Sinome Maruvan
Ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-Metta"
*Out of the Great Sea to Middle-Earth I am come.
In this place I will abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world (1)
The discomfort she felt was washed away in Estel's bright smile positively beaming at her. She responded with a small smile of her own.
Elrond too was smiling at Lainien, a shimmering of pride in his deep eyes. She looked away from the warmth, exceedingly embarrassed at the silent praise.
"Elendil was a magnificent ruler, a brave warrior, and a singularly kind and warm man," Elrond said, turning his gaze to Estel. "Of all his descendants, it is you, my dear Estel, who claims the most resemblance."
Estel's eyes widened at this proclamation. "Me?" he asked weakly. Elrond nodded, observing the young man keenly. Estel turned to Lainien.
"But," he began. "I am just…" His voice failed slightly, his thoughts turning inward. Lainien let him struggle to find the words, knowing that this was important for him to express.
"I am just Estel," he said finally. "Just a boy."
Gilraen chuckled softly, her eyes glimmering. "I do believe you are a man now, my son." Estel met her statement with a small smile of his own. "And you are more than just Estel," she continued.
"You are Aragorn, son of Arathorn, a descendant of Numenor, and heir to the throne of Men."
-:-
Tanned, nimble fingers toyed with an ornate silver ring, allowing the sunlight to glint off emeralds as their owner sat contemplating.
I am of the Dunedain, he thought, turning the ring over in his fingers.
A descendant of Numenor. His fingers ceased their movements as he thought of the tattered book that lay covered in his wardrobe. How many times have I stayed awake listening to Lana recite their history?
And I am one of them. I am a descendent of Kings.
"I should have known you would take to moping," an amused voice called from behind. "Your guardian is quite proficient at the skill."
The young man spun around to face the newcomer, nearly losing his balance on the high wall upon which he was sitting.
The wizard chuckled and leaned more of his weight on his great staff as he observed the man before him.
"You look quite troubled, young Aragorn."
Aragorn frowned at the name, unaccustomed to being addressed by what he had considered his middle name for twenty years.
"It is true," he said, finally speaking. "For I have come upon some troubling information." Aragorn settled himself again on the wall and turned his eyes back down to the ring upon his finger.
"News is only as troubling as you make it," the wizard informed him, coming to stand next to him at the wall. Aragorn chuckled weakly.
"Come now, unburden your thoughts upon this old man," Mithrandir said, moving his staff into his left hand while leaning again the wall with his right.
Aragorn sighed before sliding off the wall to stand next to the wizard.
"Lord Elrond said I have a choice," he admitted, clasping his hands together. At the wizard's nod, he continued. "I can stay, live the life I have begun here in Imladris, grow old surrounded by the peace and constant of the elves."
Mithrandir nodded, humming, and stared out across the gleaming rooftops of the city. "It is a life of peace that which many before you have greatly desired," the wizard said, eyes flickering with longing before turning back to the young man.
"Or, I can travel into the Wild, find the Dunedain, and assume my title as Chief of their people."
Silence accompanied his words, and Aragorn looked up to the wizard, hoping to catch his eye.
"Leaving these protected halls has always been a desire for you, I think," the wizard said, smiling softly at him. Aragorn nodded, turning around to join the wizard in observing the sight of Imladris.
"Yes," he admitted. "But if I should join the Dunedain, it would not be in idle travel. It would be accepting my position as chief. It would mean accepting my title as…"
He found he couldn't quite say the word. Conflicted, Aragorn lowered his eyes to the ring again. The wizard stood by his side quietly, allowing him silence for his contemplations.
"How can I know what is the right path?" he asked finally, looking up to Mithrandir with shining eyes, desperation coloring his tone. "How can I be worthy of such an important destiny?"
Mithrandir shocked him by a boisterous laugh, echoing brightly. Aragorn frowned at the wizard.
"Forgive me, my dear boy," he said, still chortling. "But you are not the first to ask that question, and it merely struck me as quite endearing that both of you should ask that of me with such similar looks upon your faces." The wizard continued his chuckling.
"Who was the other to ask that of you?" Aragorn questioned when the wizard finally ceased his mirth.
"Surprising as it may be to you, young Aragorn," he said, the boy frowning again at the use of the name. "It was your Guardian who voiced those same concerns."
Aragorn's mouth opened in surprise, giving rise to another bout of chuckling from the wizard.
"I believe I shall tell you what I told her at the time, dear boy," the wizard said, the smile fading from his face as he looked solemnly down at the youth. "It is our choices that drive our destiny and determine our strengths and greatness."
Aragorn looked down again at his ring, ruminating over the wizard's words.
"You may have been born of the blood of kings," Mithrandir continued, observing the man keenly. "But your blood does not define you. Should you wish it, none would oppose you staying in Imladris as Estel until the end of your days."
The man thought on that for a long moment. If he were truly honest with himself, the thought of staying in Imladris was stifling. He longed for the world he'd heard about in Lainien's tales. The wide open plains of Rohan, the dark mystery of Fanghorn Forest, the lush fields of Bree – he ached to explore such that some nights found him lying awake for hours as he thought of it.
"I could not stay," he admitted quietly.
"Indeed," the wizard agreed, nodding. "Even if you had no knowledge of your heritage, you would choose to leave the shelter of the elves. If this does not provide you with an answer to your question, I fear nothing will."
"But that does not help me decide about…" he trailed off, frowning, and toyed with his ring again.
Mithrandir sighed, turning toward the youth. "You do not need to decide now," he said softly, laying a wizened hand upon the man's shoulder. "In fact, I suggest you do not. For the young are often too hasty in making decisions, even as the old dither on for far too long."
Aragorn snorted softly. He couldn't imagine Lord Elrond 'dithering', nor Lainien acting 'hasty'.
Mithrandir seemed to follow his train of thought, as he smiled down at him gently.
"You have grown into a fine young man, Estel," Mithrandir said, still smiling at him, a bright twinkle in his eye. "I have no doubt that whatever you choose, you will do well."
Aragorn returned the wizard's smile, head spinning now with new questions.
-:-
The glimmering gold light of early morning warmed Aragorn's back as he strode over worn stone, the soft soles of his boots leaving no noise to disturb the morning stillness.
He had spent a long afternoon ruminating over the old wizard's words, an evening in the woods hunting for his dinner, and an immeasurably long night laying awake in his bed. Today he was going to face his worries.
He almost ran into the door to Elrond's study, distracted as he was. Catching his footing and stilling his anxious mind, Aragorn knocked on the door.
"Enter."
Long fingers shook slightly, betraying his nerves. Stubbornly, he willed his traitorous digits to behave, and passed the threshold into Elrond's chambers.
"Ah, good morning," Elrond welcomed, standing from his seat at his desk. Striding fluidly over, the elf bowed his head and gestured to the collection of chairs.
With a murmur of thanks, Aragorn settled himself in Lainien's usual chair, taking courage in the fabric as he would in Lainien's presence.
The elven lord moved to the high-backed chair across from him, settling in gracefully, arranging his billowing robes with a casual flick of his wrist. Aragorn watched the display with more intensity than usual. This was a vision of a ruler.
Elrond merely watched him steadily, eyes open and warm, face neutral, waiting for him to speak. Aragorn held his gaze, arranging his thoughts with care. Several long minutes passed in comfortable silence, the elf before him waiting with patience born of living through ages of this world.
"I know now why I have been given the education I have received these past years," he finally announced, weighing the words carefully. Elrond met his statement with a slow nod.
"I have learned theories of war and politics, studied the history of Middle Earth, and practiced the ways of the sword." Aragorn paused, taking a moment to observe his fingers, evidence of the years of training he had just described written with callouses, scars, and sinewy strength.
"But there is so much more," he whispered, clenching his fingers. "So much more that I cannot simply learn through books."
"No ruler takes their position with all the skills needed within their grasp," Elrond said patiently, drawing Aragorn's eyes to his. "It will take you time and experience, just as it has for all those who came before you."
Aragorn met the elf's gaze. The earnest, patient warmth he met served to both calm him, and spread the doubt that squirmed in his stomach. Would he ever be able to exude the calm strength that radiated from the elf before him? Would he ever be able to earn the same unwavering trust from those around him simply by his presence?
"There are some things that can't be learned, I think," he admitted, lowering his gaze. "Even with experience."
Elrond was silent for a moment as he surveyed him. "That is indeed true," he acquiesced, leaning back in his chair and bringing his hands together. Aragorn winced.
"What is it that you think you are lacking, Aragorn?"
He almost winced again. He hadn't yet heard his true name spoken by the elf. Somehow, it made it more real when spoken by Elrond.
Nevertheless, he focused on trying to name exactly what it was that he was missing. It was difficult. He wished he could just motion to the elf across him, as if the entirety of him would explain Aragorn's own deficiencies.
"Do I have what it takes to lead people?" he asked finally. "To inspire faith?"
He glanced up at the elf and was met with a glimmer of surprise flickering across Elrond's face.
"I admit, I would not have considered that to be your primary concern," he said, schooling his features smoothly. It was Aragorn's turn for surprise.
"For I believe," Elrond continued, raising his hand against Aragorn's words. "That the proof of your abilities is quite evident through the myriad lives you've touched in your short time here."
Aragorn closed his mouth and frowned in thought.
"Can you not see the love you inspire in all those you come across?" Elrond asked softly, observing the young man intently. "I would think winning the heart and loyalty of one so determined to feel none at all would prove you capable of endearing anyone to you."
Aragorn blinked, surprised. The elf's eyes danced as he smiled at the man. "Lainien bows to no King, and yet she is loyal to you. Her trust is no light trinket."
The young man looked down at his hands again.
"Furthermore," Elrond continued through his silence. "You have earned to respect and friendship of Imladris' finest warriors, if I may be so bold to call my own sons thusly." The corner of the elf's lips lifted in a small smirk.
"It is not just the actions of a commander in a battlefield, or profound knowledge of history and politics that show strength as a leader," the elf said quietly. "It's often the actions of every day occurrences that give evidence to compassion and character." Aragorn met his earnest dark eyes.
"I have no doubt you will grow into a fine commander and honorable warrior," he continued, bringing his long fingers together. "But more importantly, you have already shown an abundance of that which cannot be taught or learned." He paused, fixing him with a steady gaze. "Compassion, integrity, and determination." The elf smiled at Aragorn warmly.
-:-
Aragorn leaned against the opening to his balcony, rubbing his thumb slowly across the hilt of his new knife, eyes gazing at his tree.
With its long, elegant branches painted with thick green leaves and splattered with delicate white spring blossoms, this tree stood as his haven. Casting his eyes higher, he could just make out the branch on which Lainien so often slept, ears ever-poised for alarm and mind cast out for malicious intent.
He could remember, when he was a child, opening his eyes in the dead of night, heart racing from a nightmare, and looking to his tree. The swaying branches that caressed the top of the balcony wall lulled him back to sleep better than any words. Because here, in his cozy room encircled by the branches of his tree, he was safe.
Am I ready to leave this behind?
Soft footfall brought his attention away from his thoughts. A gentle whisper of long skirts and the soft scent of sweet flowers accompanied the sound, and Aragorn closed his eyes as a delicate hand came to rest on his shoulder.
Am I ready to leave my mother behind?
The small hand upon his shoulder tightened, and he allowed his mother to turn him around to face her.
Kind, warm brown eyes looked up at him with unhidden concern.
Aragorn allowed her to pull him into her chest, and he sighed into the soft fabric of Gilraen's shoulder as he felt her thin, strong arms hold him. He sniffed.
Gilraen hummed gently, moving her hand up to stroke the top of his head slowly.
"Would you be sad if I left?" he whispered into her shoulder, closing his eyes.
He felt more than heard her small chuckle before she guided him backwards toward his bed. He let her get settled on his bed, leaning against the wall, before following.
Though he had gained several stone and more than several inches since the last time he had done this, his body remembered its path to fold itself into his mother's arms. He felt her light chuckle again as he squirmed in her hold gently to rest his head in the junction of her neck and shoulder, pulling his legs up to drape inelegantly over her lap.
Finally settled, Aragorn felt his mother's chin rest on his head, and he closed his eyes.
"Of course I would be sad, my son," she whispered into his hair. He squeezed his eyes shut against the somber tone of her voice.
"But that is part of being a mother," she continued. "Watching our children leave." Aragorn opened his eyes. "Though it makes me sad, it also fills me with pride. My little boy has grown tall and strong. A man worthy of his title."
"Why didn't you ever tell me?" he asked, surprised at the petulance in his tone.
Gilraen sat silently for several moments. Then, she took his hand in hers, laying a finger on the ring shining on his index finger.
"Your father loved the forest with a reverence that could match Lainien's," she announced quietly. Aragorn smiled lightly at the fondness in his mother's voice, and waited patiently for her to continue.
"He lived for the dark green pines and the sound of the wind whistling through branches. He would have been happiest living a simple life." Aragorn could hear the smile in her voice. "You remind me much of him, my son," she said quietly, giving his hand a squeeze.
"Since you were small, you'd watch the river flow by, giggling as you danced in the shallow water. I've watched you grow, walking a step behind Lainien, gazing up at the trees with the same wonder as your father had."
She halted, her tone trailing off mournfully. "If I could, my darling, I would keep that innocent wonder, that gentle happiness, upon your face for the rest of your years. I saw what the mantle of responsibility and the weight of leadership could do to a free spirit." Her voice hardened.
"Your father loved his people with all his heart, and never once complained, but I could see it in his eyes." At the last word, her voice broke. Sorrow laden in every word.
"He missed the freedom, the simplicity that came before he was burdened with the title of chief and heir to an empty, crumbling kingdom. Because that is what it is, Aragorn." She leaned back and tilted his chin up to meet her eyes.
"Arnor has fallen to ruin, and Gondor has prospered only now during this Watchful Peace," she said firmly, eyes hard. "But the world is changing, my son. This peace will soon end, and I fear for what will be asked of you. I fear the wariness that will settle like a cloud upon your eyes. I fear the resignation that will shroud your soul." She sighed heavily, dropping her blazing gaze. An ominous foreboding gripped Aragorn at her words.
"Do not think for a moment that I lack faith in you, my son," she said, catching his eyes again, contrition in her tone. "I have seen greatness in you, Aragorn, and I know you will be a leader loved by all your people." She smiled at him. "I just wished to give you the chance at a normal life." Her smile grew wistful, tears glimmering in her eyes.
"But I think you are much like your father," she whispered, bringing up a hand to cup his cheek. "You have the same stubborn jaw," she said, her smile widening, tightening her hold on his face. She reached up to tug gently on a lock of hair. "And his general disdain for brushing his hair." She chuckled.
"But mostly," she said, sobering. "You have his eyes. Bright grey that can glow with excitement and light up in wonder." She offered him another small smile.
"But they can also harden to steel with determination, and ignite with indignation against any wrongs. You are a son of Elendil, and you have the blood of royalty in your veins. I have no doubt of what your choice will be."
A tear escaped from her lashes and fell down her cheek. It made something in Aragorn's chest ache at the sight, and he carefully swiped it away with a thumb.
She gave him a watery smile. "I am so very proud of you, Aragorn," she said quietly.
He met her smile with one of his own, and together they sat, watching the branches of his tree sway in the light wind.
-:-
Bright green grass crunched merrily underfoot as Aragorn strode slowly through the trees, mind wandering while his feet carried him through the familiar forest.
He wasn't quite looking for Lainien, as previous attempts throughout the years proved that to be a fruitless endeavor. Instead, he meandered casually between lean, moss-covered trees, letting his mind trail through his thoughts. Lainien would find him if she wanted.
And today, he sincerely hoped to be found. He had so many questions.
His guardian had obviously known about his lineage, that much was clear to Aragorn. He frowned, letting his hand trail across the bark of a thin tree. Had she only accepted her position as guardian because of his future title?
The young man stared down at the hand now resting on the tree, eying the callouses built up from years of handling a sword. Had she been training him to become a Ranger? Had she been sharpening his fighting skills to prepare for the wars Lord Elrond warned were coming?
He clenched his fist and continued walking. Was Lainien the guardian to the heir of Elendil, or to Estel, the little child she watched grow?
He paused at the foot of a tall tree and looked skyward. Slowly, he reached up, hand easily finding a steady hold on the lowest branch, and pulled himself into the tree. Branch by branch, Aragorn climbed higher, moving faster, until he found the perfect branch. With the ease of familiarity, he swung himself onto the branch and sat cross-legged, observing his new vantage point with thoughtful eyes.
Taking a deep breath of the fragrant spring air, Aragorn closed his eyes, allowing his thoughts to wander.
He felt more than heard the arrival of another person, and he opened his eyes slowly.
Lainien sat opposite him, her crossed legs mere inches from his, hands folded neatly in her lap, wild braid trailing down her right shoulder. He eyed the messy plait, dark hair escaping the attempted containment with the same stubbornness as the elf before him.
Grey eyes met blue, and Aragorn floundered with the many questions he had scattered through his mind, wondering which one to ask first.
All the while, Lainien watched him openly, the icy, shuttered façade chipped away in a rare show of vulnerability. There was an apology somewhere in those dark eyes, and an earnest affection in the tiny quirk of her lips – minute changes upon a fierce and sharp face. But Aragorn knew this face, he could read the subtle changes on her features and the shift in the light of her eyes. Because sitting here before him was Lana, and it took only a moment for him to decide. There really was only one question he wanted to ask.
"Would you come with me?" he asked quietly, his voice breaking the gentle hum of the forest.
Dark eyes flickered with a dizzying array of minute expressions before blazing with a sudden warmth so strong, it rather shocked the young man.
"Until the very end," she proclaimed, the words ringing in her clear voice, each syllable echoing in Aragorn's mind with the weight of their promise. Then, she smiled.
-:-
1. For those who are curious, this is the song that Aragorn sang in Return of the King at his coronation. This scene was recreated from the book, in which Aragorn sang this same song, as a tribute to Elendil, who sang the song first upon leaving Numenor for the last time.
Author's Note: Thank you everyone for waiting so patiently! The creative process is illusive at the best of times, and with my travels, finding time to sit and write has been difficult! I was lucky enough to visit New Zealand this past month (one reason why it has taken so long to post!), and it was absolutely breathtaking! I recommend visiting to everyone – easily the most beautiful place I have ever seen. The next few chapters will be the end of this story! They will be incredibly long chapters that span almost 60 years – and I'm not quite sure how I want to organize them yet, so bare with me. Special thanks to DragonOwl, brandibuckeye, Rainbor123, lilnightmare17, and the lovely starkidheather who have been with me from the beginning! And a huge shout out to everyone who has reviewed so far, especially Amsim (LOVED reading your comments – they're hilarious and wonderful), AngelicRoses, Azkahdeliah, AlsoKnownAsMatt, and to aqua-empress and birdA, who took the time to write some seriously detailed reviews. To all who've reviewed – thank you most sincerely. I can't begin to tell you how much it means to see support and love for this story. It's a huge undertaking, and I doubt I'd find the will to write it if it weren't for all of you. Each review is a tiny ray of sunshine that keeps the words flowing. All of you are perfection. For all of you, until the very end.