Update 12/25/15 6:30pm Pacific: Formatting issues fixed for the later half of the chapter, along with some spelling/grammar mistakes :P
Author's note: Happy holidays everyone! My family celebrates Christmas, so I send this out to you all as a little gift. I am so very sorry for the gap, and I promise to you all that I have not abandoned this story! Enjoy your Christmas gift, and look for the notes at the end of this (very long) chapter. Happy Holidays, and I wish you and your families all the best.
-:-
Spring 2951
Aragorn teetered on the edge of the precipice, eyes squeezed shut, with equal parts terror and excitement sending his heart into a staccato rhythm against his chest. Slowly, he willed his eyes open, and looked down.
The tips of his worn, familiar boots toed the edge of the tree line marking the end of the Trollshaw Forest, and the end of everything he'd ever known.
The tall pines opened to reveal the vast lands east of Imladris, into a world completely foreign to him. Aragorn turned around to gaze back at the tall, familiar trees that had surrounded him throughout his childhood. He was leaving this place behind to face the world alone.
Not alone, he thought, shaking his head to rid himself of his childish fears. I am not alone. Grey eyes turned to capture his companion.
Lainien strode forward with sure steps, swords and bow fit snugly against her shoulder blades, seemingly ignorant of his mental turmoil. Aragorn steadied his resolve, squared his shoulders, and took the great leap into the unknown.
His first few steps were accompanied by no change whatsoever. He felt suddenly foolish for his fear, and hurried to catch up with his steady companion. He reached Lainien's side and fell into step with her, grinning sheepishly at the look she gave him.
Of course he wasn't alone. He had a protector.
Aragorn thought back to the morning, two days earlier, in the small garden at the gate of the city, Lainien's farewell to his mother. Aragorn had said his goodbyes to the twins, and had just been about to give an unnaturally quiet Haedirn a hug, when Lainien's clear voice caught his attention.
"My lady," she had said, her normally quiet tones projected with ferocity. Aragorn turned and watched, open-mouthed, as Lainien knelt at his mother's feet. The subservient position was one Aragorn hadn't ever seen from his guardian, and the picture it made was striking.
"By my own life, I will protect your son. No harm will come to him while I live." Her words took on an even cadence, each syllable ringing in clear promise.
Gilraen had smiled softly and laid a hand on Lainien's head before whispering softly in her ear. Lainien had returned her smile, stood, and then accepted a tight hug.
Aragorn matched Lainien's footsteps, thoughts recalling the other event of that morning.
Lainien had left Arwen's side, receiving a kiss on the cheek from the beautiful elleth, and had come face to face with Legolas.
Aragorn frowned, recalling the icy indifference Lainien had projected toward the Prince since he had returned from his hunt. The elf had refused to speak of it each time Aragorn had approached the topic – and he had done so many times – but she'd sent Legolas frighteningly icy glares when she wasn't actively ignoring him.
Nevertheless, Legolas had approached Lainien with quiet confidence, moving to stand directly in front of her and giving the elleth a tentative smile.
"I regret the way things ended," he had said, meeting her gaze evenly. "I will endeavor to learn how to trust in those I know to be worthy." He had broken her gaze for a moment, seeming to gather himself. "But mostly," he continued, glancing up with an earnest sort of fragility. "I will work to be counted as deserving of other's trust, Lainien."
Aragorn smiled as he recalled the subtle crack in Lainien's well-guarded countenance, recognizing the softening around her eyes and mouth.
Whatever Legolas had done, the man reckoned he was forgiven.
Lainien snorted. Aragorn looked over to catch her eye roll and grinned.
"He is not forgiven."
Aragorn's grin widened. "Is that so?" he asked, nudging her with an elbow.
"Hmm," she hummed, narrowing her eyes at him in warning before picking up her pace.
Aragorn watched her stiff shoulders and smiled softly. You love him, Lana, he whispered to her retreating back. And he loves you.
She halted, and he managed to catch up to her to meet unfathomably dark eyes.
"Love is not always enough," she whispered, her voice soft and strained. She blinked, turned away, and continued walking.
He watched her go, the echo of her forlorn words leaving him with a sense of determination rather than acceptance. Recalling dark ebony waves of hair, slender pale wrists, and a glowing smile, Aragorn shook his head. Love will always be enough, he vowed.
-:-
The two companions moved swiftly through the wild terrain along the East Road, each step taking Aragorn further from his home along the mountains and valleys of Imladris. Lainien let him ruminate in silence, while occasionally drawing his attention to landmarks or plants that needed remembering.
"Become familiar with the land, Estel," she had said one evening from her cross-legged position beneath a tall tree. "And you will never again be without."
And so they walked, keeping a steady pace westward, each day bringing new sights. And each step they took, something awoke within his guardian.
Gone was the stern, clenched jaw, the guarded steel eyes, and the deep frown along sharp brows. The elf beside him seemed to blossom with the trees, grow tall with the long grasses, and brighten with the glowing sunrise each passing day.
Then one morning, while packing their meager bedrolls into packs, Aragorn caught her humming.
"Lana?" he'd asked, almost cautious. She turned bright eyes to him, lifting a brow. Things hadn't changed quite so much, then.
He found he couldn't quite phrase his question, and instead, projected his thoughts in a swirling array of images from the time since their departure: Lainien's easy smile as she prepared their dinner; her relaxed lounge next to their camp fire; and her gentle caress of soft flower petals as they walked through a small glade.
You are lighter, he mused, coming back to the present to watch his guardian. You are happier.
Lainien watched him for a moment, head tilted, contemplating him. Finally, she tied her pack and set it aside.
"I am," she said simply. "Both lighter and happier," she clarified at his frown. At his continued confusion, she sighed. How to explain?
The change she felt was immense and beyond any sort of words her charge could understand. Because Lainien was intensely, immeasurably relieved. She cast her mind around to find the words, and could come up with none.
Here, in the wild, she could open her mind as far and wide as it could go, and in each direction, she was met only by the gentle hum of nature. In the wild fields, she could run and shout and dance if she were so inclined, and there would be none to watch her with reproach or contempt.
Here, she felt powerful in a different sense. Surrounded by trees and grass, hills and mountains, lakes and streams, she was free.
And after twenty years, the freedom was euphoric.
She turned her eyes to her young charge standing patiently, and could only smile.
"I am free, Estel," she said, bringing both hands up to gesture widely to the open field and bright spring sky. "Free of the weight of minds pressing down upon my own, of stares slanted in my direction, of fearful whispers behind hands – I am free from all of it."
She smiled again, and Aragorn realized with a start that he had seen his guardian smile more in the past week than he had in a year's time in Imladris. He bowed his head, suddenly feeling the weight of guilt settle heavy in his stomach.
"I am sorry," he whispered. Sorry for being the reason you were trapped.
He almost startled when warm, familiar fingers closed around his own. Looking up, he met dark blue eyes.
"I am not," she said simply, giving him a soft smile. "You and your mother were worth it. And I will never be sorry for the time I spent with you there."
Lainien watched her charge smile, felt the guilt sweep away from his thoughts, and let go.
"Come," she said, turning back to her pack. "We have yet a ways to go."
-:-
Summer 2951
Aragorn sat back on his heels, both his and Lainien's bedrolls laid out before him, and reached out with his right hand.
A thick log was dropped into his outstretched palm, and he turned to place it into the small pit he'd made in the ground near their bedrolls. Another log followed the first, and in seconds, he'd made a small pile of wood, which he then lit with a flick of his flint.
As the first flames licked at the wood, he stepped back and faced his companion. Lainien had two rabbits almost completely prepared, and Aragorn reached down to begin threading the meat through thin sticks, placing them near the flames to cook.
After washing off her hands from their water skins, Lainien took her customary seat beside him, and looked skywards.
"It will rain tomorrow," she said softly. Aragorn matched her pose, turning his gaze skyward. Insects chirpedin the dark, and the gentle breeze had the thick pines whistling.
They had begun their trek north after reaching the old watchtower of Amun Súl, spending a night amid the crumbling stone walls, and had made it through the Midgewater Marshes to camp for the night in the trees beneath the small peaks of the Weather Hills.
Aragorn hummed quietly beside her, crossing his legs comfortably before the fire, and settled in to wait for the rabbit.
Meat sizzling, Aragorn reached forward and proffered two of the sticks to his companion, before taking his own, munching quietly.
Then, Lainien stiffened.
Immediately, Aragorn dropped his rabbit and reached for his sword.
Lainien raised a hand to still his movement, eyes closed and head tilted toward the trees to their left.
"It would seem," she said calmly, "The very ones we have been trying to find, have found us."
She opened her eyes to meet his gaze, a hint of mischief reflecting in their depths.
"What do you say to welcoming our guests with a bit of hospitality?"
-:-
The arrival of the hunters went unheard to Aragorn's less sensitive ears, but the slight tension in Lainien's shoulders and the subtle tilt of her head directed the man to their guest's direction.
"Come, friends," he said, allowing his voice to carry. "There is more than enough food here to share."
After a long moment, three shadows moved out from the trees and into the light of their campfire.
Aragorn's eyes were drawn first to an extremely tall, broad-shouldered man with a clean face and a strong jaw. The man's dark eyes flickered around the small clearing, passing over Aragorn, and landed on Lainien, cautious assessment in his gaze.
The second man was smaller, leaner, and sported a small smirk on his lips and a dancing humor in his light brown eyes that spoke immediately of trouble. The man's eyes took in the two companions, letting his gaze linger playfully on Lainien, before turning fully to Aragorn and giving the younger man a blazing, daring smile.
The last man was similar in height to the second, but that was where the comparison ended. He was sturdy, a steady strength in his gait and bearing, and rough in every sense of the word – from the unshaven beard upon his face, to the patches in his clothing. He was easily ten years older than his two companions, and there was both wisdom and calculation in the depths of his dark blue eyes.
After his first observations, Aragorn reached over and proffered the meat to their guests, giving them a cheeky grin.
"Don't mind if we do," the second man drawled, striding over confidently and plucking the meat-laden stick from Aragorn's fingers. He sprawled out on the ground next to Lainien, offering a wink, and began munching on the meat.
The largest man shot his smaller companion a questioning look before joining the boisterous man, settling his bulk down with surprising elegance.
The last man held his ground.
"You know who we are, then?" he finally asked after a long moment of silence. His deep voice was gruff, and his accent thick to Aragorn's ears.
Lainien nodded, eyes watching the man with an intensity that would make many men – and elves – balk. This man, however, took her gaze evenly before huffing and joining the other two men around the fire.
"Good," he grunted. "It'll make things easier." He plucked the stick of meat from the boisterous man's hands and pulled off a thick chunk.
"You've been told your ancestry?" he demanded bluntly, meeting Aragorn's eyes.
Aragorn nodded.
"You're aware of your role?"
Another nod.
The man narrowed his eyes, surveying Aragorn sternly. "You're prepared?"
Aragorn watched the gruff man for a moment, his head tilting to the side slightly.
"No," he said finally, not breaking eye contact. "I don't think I am."
Lainien held back a smile. The gruff man held Aragorn's eyes for another moment, obviously assessing the youth. Aragorn would quell under the stern gaze had he not been the victim of many of Lainien's similar glares over the previous twenty years.
"Good," the man grunted again, turning his gaze back to the rabbit, ripping a chunk off cleanly with his teeth. His two companions traded smiles.
"Listen here," the man continued, chucking his now-empty stick into the fire. He met Aragorn's eyes again, his own shining with a blazing fire.
"Our people may not be large in number anymore, but we're a sturdy people – hard working, proud, and skilled." He narrowed his dark eyes at Aragorn over the fire. "Our people deserve a chief worthy of his title, and I won't step aside unless I believe you can serve them well."
The two companions shifted slightly, each tensing minutely as if preparing for Aragorn to protest, but Aragorn ignored them, preoccupied with the man's statement.
This was the chief. This unassuming, rough man lacking both eloquence and noticeable power was the chieftain of the dunedain. Suddenly, the frighteningly unattainable image of himself with flowing robes like Lord Elrond, carrying a staff of immeasurable power, shattered.
Aragorn's eyes took in the thick, dirtied hands of the man before him, the knotted dark locks corralled into a small knot at the back of his head, and the disgruntled glare he leveled at him. Then he smiled.
"Then I will work tirelessly until I prove myself worthy."
The man's frown didn't disappear, but his glare seemed to soften minutely – the youth had been around Lainien long enough to recognize the barely-noticeable softening around the eyes.
"I'll hold you to that, Aragorn, son of Arathorn."
-:-
Winter 2951
Lainien frowned down at the arrowhead she was carving, and resisted the desire to check in with her charge for the second time that minute. She failed.
Dark blue eyes flickered below their owner's high perch, and onto the pair of men huddled on the frozen lake below.
Just as he was, not a minute ago, Aragorn sat on a small pile of furs, staring intently at his fishing pole sticking out of the small hole. Lainien's eyes narrowed in on the condition of the ice around her charge, checking for any signs of cracks or fissures with a keen and paranoid eye.
Grey eyes met blue, and Lainien quickly pulled her attention back to her arrowhead.
She made it successfully through another two minutes before looking down again, only to be met with a frustratingly knowing look from her charge. The elf rolled her eyes and abandoned her pretense of the arrowheads, gazing down to watch the pair below her openly.
Time passed quietly until the slow arrival of another mind interrupted Lainien's obsessions over the ice conditions.
As with all humans, this man's mind was muted in its intensity, more of a quiet murmur in contrast to the clear sound of the elves, and lacking in a definite sense of the element that made up his mind. And yet, Halbarad, reigning Chief of the Dunedain, had a surprisingly sturdy and prominent mind – a far-reaching gathering of roots that sprawled deeply, sending his thoughts moving through the roots like life-giving water and nutrients. Despite the man's gruff and prickly nature he'd presented at their first meeting, Lainien realized he was, in actuality, quite nurturing.
Halbarad moved slowly through the trees, hidden from the eyes of the pair of men on the ice, and stopped to observe them. Lainien listened, curious as always around the strange man, as the chief noted her charge's comfortable posture and quiet patience with approval.
In the month since their arrival, Halbarad had introduced Aragorn to the sparse community of Dunedain living in the semi-permanent settlement, and announced that the youth would be taking part in each role of the community.
Thus, Aragorn had taken his first apprenticeship with the clan's fisherman, following the silent, often taciturn older man with earnest enthusiasm – a fact the fisherman often bemoaned loudly, though his mind always told Lainien otherwise.
Halbarad stood in silence against his tree for a half hour, listening to the stunted, one-sided conversation Aragorn often attempted with his companion. The grumpy old man merely grunted in response while eying the youth's pole for any lapses in posture or position, and carried on.
As the sky grew darker, Halbarad lifted off against his perch, and made to leave, but not before his eyes scanned the tree line. He froze when he caught sight of Lainien, held her gaze for a moment, then nodded.
After he turned his back, Lainien grinned.
-:-
Summer 2952
The bright summer sun filtered down through the canopy and warmed Lainien's back through her thin tunic. The gentle hum of insects combined with the content, lazy breeze of the women's thoughts around her left the elf feeling calm and warm. The four women chatted amicably, their hands following a comfortable rhythm known to their fingers for decades.
She set down her needle and now-repaired leggings, unfolded her legs, and lounged back against her hands. The gentle breeze of a new mind alerted Lainien to an addition to their group, and the elf turned to face the arrival.
Gwaine offered her a brilliant smile as he sauntered toward the group, settling himself down lazily beside her, his shoulder knocking into hers. He caught her eye with a wink, and Lainien rolled her eyes.
"'Tis a fine day to take a swim in the river," he said, taking in a deep breath of warm air.
"Hmm."
Playful brown eyes turned to her. "Your young charge shares my opinion," he said, raising his brows and nodding to the stream.
Lainien rolled her eyes again, but moved her gaze to the stream. Aragorn knelt at the river's edge, barefoot, his eyes bright with laughter. Lainien allowed her sights to travel next to the woman at his elbow.
"I daresay," Gwaine continued, a smile in his voice. "I see why our young Aragorn has taken to the task of washing with such excitement." He glanced over at Lainien again. "Quite the young beauty."
Lainien raised a brow in his direction, allowing herself a brief perusal of his breezy tendrils of thought, and found that he sincerely believed there to be interest. She snorted. Turning pack to the pair, Lainien observed them.
As was usual, her charge's bright mind-space was calm and clear, his thoughts unhurried and comfortable. Lainien delved deeper with ease of familiarity and caught his train of thought on the lesson he was giving his companion – identifying the types of moss growing on the rocks by the riverbank.
Content, Lainien moved her focus to the young woman watching Aragorn's face with unhidden awe.
Chestnut brown hair fell in light waves just passed the girl's shoulders, and the youth watched Aragorn with wide blue eyes, a smile pulling at her thin, but well-balanced lips. Indeed, Lainien could see beauty in the arch of her brows, the narrow shape of her chin, and the defined slope of her cheekbones.
Probing the tendril of though stemming from the brunette took only a little more effort for Lainien, and she observed the quiet flow of thoughts streaming along in a shallow river, meandering only slightly, before trickling down the current of deeper consciousness.
She was gentle, happy, and utterly taken with her companion.
"You look unconcerned, Master Elf."
Lainien met her the man's eyes again before shrugging, leaning back on her hands, and surveying the treetops.
"Come now," one of the woman said, saving Lainien from responding. "Surely you can't be quite so oblivious."
Lainien's lips quirked into a small smile.
"Young Elena's feelings are quite unrequited," the woman continued, sympathy is her tone now. "Poor dear."
She'll figure it out soon enough, the woman thought, the gentle warmth churning slowly in her mind. And recover, she will. The fruits of youth…
Gwaine scoffed. "How do you figure that, Rosalyn," he challenged, leaning forward to prop his chin up on his hand.
Rosalyn tsked lightly, picking her thread up again. "For a hunter, dear, you're lacking in the rather important skill of observation."
Lainien chuckled, which she quickly turned into a cough when she caught Gwaine's scowl.
"Enlighten me," he said, turning back to the older woman, grinning and wiggling his brows.
Rosalyn gave him an unimpressed stare, earning her another point in Lainien's proverbial book.
"Our dear Aragorn is obviously already taken with another," she said slowly, as if explaining the idea to a child.
"Pah," Gwaine said, leaning back and waving a hand at the woman. "Nothing a man can't get over."
This was met with another glare.
"Not this time, dear," she argued, turning to face Aragorn down by the stream.
This one has fallen hard, she observed. It's in his eyes.
Lainien met Rosalyn's eyes with a small nod and they shared a small smile.
Men, Rosalyn thought, rolling her eyes. Lainien chuckled.
The elf let her eyes drift back to her charge, watching as he dipped his hand back in the cool water and directed his companion to name each specimen. He finds great pleasure in the simple things, Lainien thought, remembering days of a small child giggling, stumbling around the small flower patch.
"That's quite the smile, there, Master Elf," Gwaine said, interrupting Lainien's thoughts. "Are you perhaps thinking of someone you are quite taken with?" he asked, wiggling his brows and nocking her side with his elbow.
Lainien gave the man a half-hearted glare before turning away, frowning.
If she were truly honest with herself, a practice she normally had no issue with in the past, she would admit that she thought about Legolas far more often than she would like. He had hurt her. Had thrown her trust away. Had honestly thought she was capable of monstrous acts.
He thinks I am a monster.
"Master Elf?"
Lainien blinked and turned her focus back to her companion. Dark brown eyes met hers with curiosity that quickly turned to concern.
"Lainien?" he whispered, leaning forward. He studied her for a few moments, frowning slightly. She allowed his observations for a moment before turning away, back to the stream, seeking out the steady calm of her charge's mind.
"If I smile," she said after a few moments, eyes focused on the stream. "It is not from thinking of him."
Gwaine kept still next to her, realizing the significance of her admittance.
Another moment of silence passed, Gwaine determinedly staying still, then, quietly, "He used to make me smile."
Brown eyes flickered to Lainien's face, eyes catching the mix of despair and guilt written there. Without a word, he bumped against her shoulder, then stayed there, letting their arms touch gently in a show of silent support.
Together they sat on the forest floor, surrounded by the soft murmurs and gentle laughs of the women, watching the river flow gently in the summer air.
-:-
Spring 2953
Aragorn grunted as he hammered down on the steel, sweat dripping into his eye. He paused, taking a deep breath and wiping his forehead with a frustrated wipe. Scowling down at the searing hot steel, he adjusted his grip on the hammer, and started again.
I hate this, his thoughts growled, putting extra strength in his next blow before flipping the sword over. He knew how to do this already, so why did he have do spend months making sword after sword, bending over the hot fire all day?
A rough hand caught his wrist before he could make contact with the metal.
"Too rough," Halbarad grunted, grabbing the hammer from his hands gruffly. "Too much force is just as bad as not enough." Dark brown eyes flickered up to him briefly. "Watch again."
Aragorn stood stiffly as he watched Halbarad hammer down on the sword, frustration seeping into the line of his shoulders. He already knew how much pressure to use, he was just angry.
"Each sword has meaning," Halbarad said suddenly, catching Aragorn's attention. "Each piece of metal has a use. Each is important."
Aragorn's frown deepened as he glared at the sword, not willing to try to figure out the elder man's meaning. He wanted to be done - he'd been at this for months.
Halbarad hammered down once more before bringing the sword closer to inspect it. He eyed the blade scrupulously before holding it out to Aragorn. The youth took it in his hand, letting his eyes gaze inspect the steel, finding nothing wrong with it.
"Every sword will be held by someone," Halbarad continued, eying Aragorn fiercely. "Each sword will be someone's lifeline – the thing that keeps them going, keeps them alive." He dropped his gaze to the metal again. "So each sword deserves your attention, your very best work."
Aragorn shifted, a sliver of contrition cooling the burning ire of his thoughts.
Halbarad took the sword from his hands and brought it to the rack to cool before fixing Aragorn with a steely glare.
"Do better."
Aragorn met his glare with one of his own, clenching his hands into fists. Halbarad watched him steadily before turning, leaving Aragorn next to the anvil with clenched fists. When the man disappeared, the youth turned around and began picking up the supplies, packing away the hammer. He took the bucket with water, poured out the water, then paused. He hated this.
Frustration swept through him and he chucked the bucket into the gathering of bushes, growling through clenched teeth. He glared at the wood, now sporting a small crack, before spinning around and collapsing into a sitting position, head buried in his hands.
After a few moments, breaths heaving in his chest, he felt a light presence behind him.
Go away, he projected, not bothering to turn.
He felt more than heard Lainien take a seat beside him, just outside his vision. If he wanted, he could pretend she wasn't there.
He won't let me move on.
Silence accompanied his mental admission for several long moments, but he waited patiently.
"He does not feel you are ready."
"Why," he asked, scowling at how childish the word sounded. "I've done all the things he asked!" he continued, rubbing at his eyes, cursing the tears of frustration that threatened to spill over. He felt so useless.
"I spent weeks fishing in the freezing cold, desperately trying to get Bohrs to even speak to me, then a week after that picking herbs and listening to a litany of information that I already knew about, then baking bread, then leather-working, then laundry, then gardening, and now I'm hunched over every day, hammering in the hot sun and he won't even tell me what he wants!"
At the last word, he tightened his fist and punched the ground, only receiving a dull pain and embarrassment for his effort.
Thin, familiar fingers wrapped around his wrist and unclenched his fist. His ire smoothed away as the fingers gently swiped away dirt, then it turned to surprise as the fingers rested lightly atop his. He turned to meet Lainien's eyes.
"He wants to teach you something," she said softly, holding his gaze evenly. Aragorn met her eyes briefly before looking down to her hand on his. "He wants you to learn." He mentally scoffed.
"That means he cares, Estel," Lainien prodded gently. Aragorn met her gaze again, noting the warm fondness sparkling in her eyes. "Try to learn."
He breathed out heavily and closed his eyes, letting his frustration leave his body with the air.
"What's he trying to teach me?" he mumbled, rubbing his hand against his face.
Lainien snorted, drawing his eyes to her. He turned back to her to receive a very high eyebrow from his companion.
"That's for you to figure it out."
Aragorn rolled his eyes.
-:-
Aragorn reached the top branch and hauled himself onto it, finding his poor mood melting away as he settled against the rough bark.
He ran his hand along the trunk, the ragged bark so very different from the trees of his home, now familiar in the years he'd been here. Two years. He'd been among the dunedain, his people, for two years, and what did he have to show for it?
He knew nothing more about what it took to be a king, a leader of people. He knew nothing about his future, nothing about any plan for him to even become king – none of his bloodline had sat on the throne of Gondor in 900 years. How was he supposed to be king when no man alive could remember a time when someone sat on the throne?
What was he doing here if he wasn't answering those questions? He was fishing, baking, planting, sewing, washing, and smithing. Sure, he knew all those in his tribe, all the people who made up the last of the dying race of Numenor. But how would that prepare him?
Each sword has meaning…each is important.
He readjusted his back against the tree, folding his arms across his chest and settling down further to think. To learn, as Lainien had told him. Do better…try to learn.
For the first time in a long while, Aragorn truly missed Imladris. What was he doing here? He was supposed to be learning how to fulfill his role. Why was he learning trivial things when he was facing the challenge of being a ruler?
Why wasn't he learning about battle strategy, or running an economy? He didn't know how to run a city, much less an entire kingdom.
Aragorn took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Steady, he thought. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Lainien's whispered, think of what you are being taught.
Halbarad had a point, Aragorn mused. The man was like Lainien that way – he moved with purpose. Aragorn just needed to figure out what it was. What had he learned?
He now knew how to sit patiently for hours, knew just how deep to bury a potato so it could grow again, how to keep his stitches tight. But why? What did Halbarad do with this information? Aragorn thought of him, brought up the grizzly old man in his mind as he moved through camp, checking on each post.
Each is important.
Each evening, Halbarad stopped by Rosalyn, ordering her gruffly away from her washing before her hands grew too stiff. He'd often keep vigil with Bohrs, silent for hours as he sat next to the man, offering only his presence in the cold day. Halbarad knew each person, each job.
Because each person is important. Aragorn smiled. He knew what to do.
-:-
Focused grey eyes narrowed in concentration as Aragorn hammered the steel. Each swing sent a jolt through his arm, but he continued steadily, each stroke with a precise amount of pressure. Because each stroke counts.
He continued as the sun moved slowly across the sky, determined to finish the blade and present it to Halbarad. To show him what I have learned.
At last, he straightened, wiping the sweat from his brow. He lowered the blade once again into the water, relishing the hiss of steam, then held it up for inspection. Perfect, he noted, eyes trailing the edges.
He felt the older ranger move into the clearing behind him, and he lifted the sword.
"Each strike needs the same pressure," he announced. Halbarad stayed silent.
"Each strike is careful, measured, each single strike is vital to the sword as a whole," he continued, turning the sword over. "No matter the size, if even one is too heavy or too light, the sword will be unbalanced."
He turned to look at the older man, meeting his stern gaze. "A smith needs to know each stroke, where it lands, and how it works into the sword as a whole if he is to make a strong weapon." He lowered his gaze to the glittering weapon.
"Neglected, and it will be weak. With care and thought, attention and knowledge, it can be strong." Halbarad watched him evenly for a long moment. Then he strode over, held his gaze for a second, then took the newly forged sword from Aragorn's hands.
His eyes assessed it carefully for a long moment. "You've done well," he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. He looked back up at the youth, a small smile on his lips. Aragorn basked in the praise before the old ranger snorted. "Finally," he huffed, thrusting the sword back into Aragorn's hands. "Go on," he said, waiving his hand at his companion. "Let me have some peace and quiet 'round here."
Aragorn chuckled, stowing the sword on one of the racks. "Yes, sir," he replied quietly, turning. He got to the edge of the clearing before turning. Halbarad had moved to face the sword rack, his back to Aragorn.
"Thank you," the youth whispered.
Summer 2956
The sharp clang of two swords rang through the small camp, followed by an appreciative murmur of the few spectators gathered around a fast-moving pair.
There is no way she is that good.
Lainien smirked as she parried yet another blow from her increasingly frustrated partner, following the movement with two quick forward steps and a bruising strike to the man's arm.
She was rewarded for her efforts with an indignant hiss at the contact, and she easily sidestepped the rogue retaliatory slash in response.
"Damn," Gwaine cursed, taking two steps back and dropping his eyes to his right forearm. "That's going to bruise."
Lainien fought back another smirk, rather unsuccessfully. Gwaine looked over and scowled.
"Oh stuff it, elf," he growled. "No one likes a gloater."
She smirked at him once more, spinning her sword with one hand. Gwaine rolled his eyes.
"My, you sure look happier than when we last met, Lainien Saerosiel."
Lainien whipped her head around, both swords rising to attack. And glared.
Mithrandir stood at the edge of the clearing, leaning on his staff and smirking at her with his insufferable twinkle.
"The man is quite correct," the wizard continued, ignoring her impressive glare. "Cocky is not a good look on anyone, my dear."
"Mithrandir!"
The wizard was likely saved from violence by Aragorn's outcry. The youth ran over to clap him on the shoulder, beaming at him.
"You look well, young Aragorn," he said, turning his twinkle upon the man. "And taller," he added, chuckling.
Aragorn grinned, standing a little straighter, earning a snort from his guardian.
"Gandalf."
Lainien turned to face Halbarad as the man walked into the clearing and stopped, leaning against a tree. He looked extremely unimpressed.
What does the old man want from us now?
Lainien beamed at him, her opinion of the older ranger growing exponentially.
Mithrandir looked to Halbarad and bowed his head. "Good to see you, old friend."
A look passed between the two and Halbarad sighed before pushing off the tree.
"Come on then," he huffed, turning and walking off between the trees. "Let's get this over with."
Mithrandir chuckled again, winking at Aragorn. "You should join us," he added, nodding to Halbarad's retreating back. "You might hear something of interest."
Lainien rolled her eyes, stored her knives, and followed behind the two, muttering darkly about meddlesome wizards.
-:-
The fire flickered, lighting up four faces gathered around the small camp. "Well," Halbarad prompted, leaning back on his log and crossing his arms.
"Let's hear it. What can we do for you, Gandalf."
The wizard smiled benignly over the fire, meeting Lainien's eyes for a moment, before he too leaned back. "How goes the Shire these days?" he asked after a moment.
"Green," the man grunted, narrowing his eyes at the wizard.
"Is it now?" Mithrandir responded. "Well, I have a sneaking suspicion that it should not be the case for much longer."
"Speak plainly," Halbarad grumbled. "I've not the time or patience to parse riddles with a wizard today."
Mithrandir chuckled. "Very well," he agreed, sobering and fixing his gaze on the gruff man. "I would like to have eyes on all entrances to the Shire."
"Why?"
Mithrandir studied the man for a long moment, assessment heavy in his gaze. "Have you ever met a hobbit?"
Halbarad lifted a brow. "I've had dealings with hobbits of Bree," he admitted.
"Not of the Shire?" Halbarad shook his head.
"No? Then it should be a splendid learning opportunity for you, dear Halbarad." The man frowned. "And you as well, Young Aragorn," Mithradir added, turning his twinkling smile toward the youth.
-:-
Lainien stood as Aragorn exited their tent, hoisting his pack and adjusting his scabbard.
Grey eyes rose to meet blue and the man paused.
Lainien lifted a brow at the slight flicker of annoyance in her charge's mind. It was quickly smoothed away and the man recovered, moving about their camp with a determined air of nonchalance. Lainien wasn't fooled.
"What is on your mind?" she asked, watching him keenly.
Annoyance flickered again, surprising the elf. "Nothing," he grunted, finishing his task of covering the campfire with dirt.
Lainien shot him a disbelieving brow. And was ignored.
Aragorn turned on his heel, heading out.
"Stop," Lainien commanded, frowning as she focused on her charge's usually clear mind.
It was breezy, turbulent thoughts whirling despite the man's best efforts to calm them. He complied, his shoulders tensing.
"Halbarad is waiting," he huffed.
"And he will continue doing so," she responded easily, coming to his side and watching his face. "What is on your mind?"
"Like you don't know," Aragorn replied bitterly.
The tone raised the elf's hackles automatically, but she kept her face bland and calm.
"You know I am not in the habit of intruding upon privacy," she reminded him, attempting in vain to keep the ice from her tone.
Aragorn scoffed, serving to raise Lainien's ire.
"So tell me," she repeated, breathing through her nose evenly. "What is wrong?"
Aragorn took a deep breath. "I can manage this assignment on my own."
"Yes," Lainien said slowly. "You can."
The young man shot her a disbelieving stare. "And yet, you're following me."
"Yes," she repeated easily. Aragorn huffed.
"You don't need to."
Lainien rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "I am aware."
To her surprise, Aragorn actually stomped the ground with his foot – an act Lainien hadn't seen in a great many years.
"So why are you here?"
It stung, but Lainien pushed it away, lifting her chin. "I am your guardian, I have and will continue to follow you, even when I am unneeded."
"And what if I don't want you to?" he spit out, mirroring her stance, crossing his arms. "What if I don't want you to follow me everywhere? I can do this on my own, I don't need you."
The sting became a solid weight in her stomach. "I would still follow," she replied, eying him evenly.
He looked away. "I don't want you to," he hissed. "I want to do this alone. Without you."
Lainien's chest tightened. "That is unfortunate, as I will be coming along regardless."
Aragorn growled. "Fine," he spat, turning his back to her. "Do what you want. Follow me. See what I care."
"I shall," she said calmly, watching her charge march away from her with sadness filling her chest. "Until the very end."
She kept her eyes fixed on his retreating back until she lost sight of him, but stayed where she was. It hurt, a heavy hand squeezing her heart as she watched her boy walk away.
"He did not mean his words," a heavy voice said, surprising the elf.
She turned to meet knowing eyes in a lined, wrinkled face.
"Do not take them to heart," Mithrandir said, smiling sadly at her.
She watched him steadily for a moment, basking in the quiet warmth the wizard projected. "I know," she said softly, blinking and looking away.
"He is young," Mithrandir continued, settling heavily on his staff. "He feels the need to prove himself to the world, and he is unable to voice his feelings."
Lainien smiled sadly, remembering her own adolescence.
"I am sure you were the same," Mithrandir chuckled, making Lainien question, not for the first time, if Mithrandir could also read minds.
"Let us hope he does not stoop quite so low as I," Lainien replied wryly. Her rebellious youth had lead her across Middle Earth in search of her treacherous father, murder on her mind.
Mithrandir moved to her side and rested a wizened hand on her shoulder gently. "Sometimes those we love need a gentle reminder of our affection," he said, smiling at her warmly.
-:-
The following day's walk was a study in uncomfortable silences.
Halbarad leveled Aragorn with a weighty glare throughout the majority, and Aragorn stared determinedly straight ahead. Lainien ignored them both, her thoughts turned inward.
Her mind replayed his words, echoing over and over, and with each repetition, she grew more frustrated.
The foolish child has no idea.
She didn't follow him because he needed it. He truly needed very little protection any more, least of all out in the wild during relatively peaceful times. It is not for his protection, really, she thought.
Why can he not see that? Where else would I go, if not with him?
She frowned, the thought giving her more anxiety than she realized. What would I do without him? This boy had invaded her life and had her wrapped around his finger. The most frightening thing was that she couldn't really care less.
This is where I want to be.
Night fell and the trio made camp in the woods, Halbarad informing Aragorn tightly that he would start watch, then burrowing down into his bedding, mumbling darkly. Aragorn's eyes flickered to Lainien's briefly before he trained his gaze toward the forest. With nothing else to do, Lainien sat cross-legged and began whittling a small branch with a dagger.
Silence reigned, until, "You were not more than a year old the first time I met you."
Aragorn's back straightened slightly, but he didn't turn at her sudden statement.
Lainien sighed and looked skyward, recalling the tang of blood in the air and clash of swords. "It had been 300 years since I had contact with the children of men," she continued, "And after all those years of solitude, of only the flash of images from the mind's of my wolf pack, the emotion was shocking and overwhelming."
Lainien smiled wistfully. "I can remember the deep and profound love that burned through your father's thoughts," she said. "A raging fire of passion and devotion for his family."
Lainien sighed, closing her eyes. "Some small childish part of myself – a part that hadn't managed to burn along with the rest of my home – wanted to preserve that love in any way I could," she admitted softly. "So, I took you and your mother into my arms and pledged to him, by my own life, to keep you both safe."
She opened her eyes to gaze at Aragorn's back, the line of his shoulders softening. "Not a year later," she continued, "I turned my back on isolation and freedom, on the chance to escape the constancy of distrust that haunted my every step."
She forced the bitterness from her tones with effort. "Because I had lived my entire existence with only one law guiding me," she said looking down at her hands. "I refused to follow the rule of any King, but my own word was my law. And I would not allow myself to break my word, for there lay madness in lawlessness."
Aragorn finally turned slightly, curiosity peaked slightly at a topic never before breached with his guardian.
"So," she continued, "I turned my back on the trees and returned to Imladris, loyal to the only law I abide."
She let out a deep breath. "Then, you fell through the ice, and I'd never felt such terrifying desperation. I carried you in my arms and ran for my life. But not, this time, out of determination to preserve a kind of love I feared no longer existed, and not because I had given my word, but because I could not imagine an existence without bright childish laughter; unruly, soft curls; and warm little fingers."
She looked up to catch grey eyes. "So I ran for the second time with you in my arms, bringing you back to Imladris."
"And year after year," she continued after a short pause. "I have walked along beside you through the vast halls of our home, before you while we stalked through the trees, and behind you in secret as you ventured out to prove yourself an adult."
Aragorn lifted a surprised brow. Lainien snorted.
"I will always be with you, you ridiculous boy," she said fondly, her lips quirking into a small half-smile. "Whether you walk with sure footsteps over familiar land, or march proudly into battle." A vision of many years ago flashed through her mind - her charge, sword raised high and cloak billowing behind him, leading a great attack.
"And so, my stubborn, headstrong, utterly difficult boy, I will follow you until the very end." Lainien took a deep breath, anxiety fluttering for just a moment as she teetered on the edge of her next words.
"Because that is what you do for the people you love."
She peaked up at her silent charge after a long moment. He was staring at her, his lip quirking minutely, a small flicker that grew until it exploded into a full, beaming smile.
"I love you too, Lana," he said softly. Lainien sniffed and turned her gaze to the sky.
"Yes, I know."
Aragorn had the sheer nerve to chuckle at her, that little whelp.
"Now that's over with," a muffled voice sounded from across the camp fire, "Can a man get some sleep 'round here?"
Halbarad's gruff statement earned another chuckle from the youth before he turned to watch guard once more. Lainien lay back on her bedding, smiling softly at the nearly overwhelming fondness that radiated from the direction of the old ranger.
That old softy, she thought, still smiling as she slipped into her waking dreams.
-:-
Fall 2956
…so incredibly peaceful.
Lainien smiled softly at her charge's first thought upon seeing the gentle rolling hills of the Shire. Her eyes continued to roam over the lush fields, scatterings of yellow and red leaves blending into the dark green of the forest to the west.
"It's beautiful," Aragorn whispered quietly, eyes alight as they took in the sight.
Halbarad grunted, eyes narrowed to watch for any signs of movement. It was only just sunrise, the golden light adding an ethereal beauty to the scene. After giving his young companion time to take in the sight, Halbarad set off toward the forest, instructing Aragorn on the best inspection route for the border.
"The wizard left us with no instruction," the old ranger growled, his sure feet laying down a path along the invisible borderline. "Only to keep an eye on the 'comings and goings'," he continued, sarcasm flooding into his gruff tone.
"So make your rounds daily and report with anything suspicious." Aragorn's steps halted.
"You won't be staying?" he asked, voice casual, but his thoughts spiking vaguely with alarm. Steely eyes caught his and held the youth's gaze.
"This is your task," Halbarad said, his voice almost gentle. "I won't be needed here."
Aragorn didn't need to read minds to hear what the ranger wasn't saying.
You are ready for this on your own.
The youth nodded, straightening his shoulders. "I understand," he said, meeting the man's hard gaze evenly.
You won't be disappointed, he thought, determination steeling his thoughts.
I have faith in you, Halbarad thought, warmth infusing the deep roots of his mind.
Lainien smiled softly, drawing his gaze.
"Keep alert," he ordered gruffly. "Stay aware."
He gave the two companions another glare before nodding, turning on his heel, and striding back the way they came. Lainien and Aragorn watched his disappear before turning to meet each other's gaze.
"Shall we?" Lainien asked, raising a brow. Aragorn smiled.
"Let's."
-:-
Spring 2957
Lainien didn't look up from her task of whittling as she snatched the small projectile out of the air. Her eyes landed on a small red apple, and the elf rolled her eyes.
"Very mature," she noted dryly to her charge, who peered around the large boulder upon which Lainien was currently perched.
The elf took a large bite of the fruit while the youth grinned and bounded up next to her.
"Budge over," he grunted, elbowing his companion, earing himself a glare.
Aragorn leaned back, eyes roaming over the wide, open plains to the south. It was near midday, and the companions had extended their patrol of the southern border into Tharbad, down to the Dunlands, a spacious land of slight rolling hills, dry grasses, and sharp rocks.
A year in the wilds around the Shire was peaceful, quiet, and humble, the two companions living off the land, switching between several hidden camps. Aragorn enjoyed the companionable silence, and when he needed greater socialization, he wandered into Bree, taking a corner of the local pub, watching the travelers and soaking up any information he could.
For all the peace and quiet, Aragorn wasn't quite content.
He felt a small itch somewhere deep in his soul to explore, to move. Lainien must have noticed, for there patrols were increasing in distance, making ever-lengthening circles away from the Shire and into the southern lands beyond the Bruinen river. Which brought them here, perched together atop a large boulder among a scattering of rocks, taking a respite from their patrol.
Aragorn tucked into his own apple, munching on the crisp skin, and gazed off in the distance. And paused. A disturbance had created billowing clouds of dust on the horizon.
"Lainien," he said quietly, narrowing his eyes to discern any figures.
The elf had already straightened, apparently noting the second his thoughts narrowed in on the discrepancy.
Her eyes zeroed in on the skirmish and she grew absolutely still.
"Orcs," she hissed, her body shooting into motion faster than Aragorn could track.
He leapt up to follow her, briefly touching the hilt of his sword reassuringly, and took off at a run. His heart rate sped up at the echoes of swords clanging reached his ears, and he doubled his pace. Ahead of him, Lainien reached behind her and drew her bow, notched an arrow, and released. His eyes finally focused on the scene.
Three horsemen struck out with elegant spears, aiming at the grotesque creatures that outnumbered the men, their harsh voices hissing and taunting the riders. Aragorn followed Lainien, notching an arrow as he ran, took aim, and felled an orc that had just succeeded in stabbing his crooked sword into the hindquarters of one of the mounts.
The horse let loose a shrill cry as blood flowed sluggishly from her wound, but she stayed upright, aiming a fatal kick at another creature. The ranger ran passed his companion, who had halted and was picking off the orcs one by one, and drew his sword.
He entered the fray with a harsh cry, slicing through another foul creature and moving on swiftly to the remaining few surrounding the horsemen. He dodged a sloppy forward slash and spun, catching the orc across the neck, before using his momentum to cut the next creature down, his sword singing as it whipped through the air.
It took mere seconds to finish off the rest of the creatures, and two expertly thrown daggers to catch the orcs who had attempted to flea. The ranger jogged over to the felled bodies and freed his knives, cleaning them carefully of the dark blood. He returned to the three horsemen, moving to stand next to Lainien, steps careful and eyes assessing.
Each man had a long mane of unruly hair, two golden with messy curls, another with longer, straight brown locks. Dirty bronze armor caked in dust spoke to their time away from home, and their impressive array of weapons marked them as warriors.
"Well met, strangers," one of the blondes spoke, his accent slightly foreign to Aragorn's ears. "Rohan thanks you for your assistance." The man brought a heavy fist to his chest in salute as he bowed his head.
The ranger returned the nod, pressing his hand softly to his sternum.
"Well met, riders of Rohan," he replied, eyes taking in the dirt-stained face with interest. Lainien simply stood silently, head cocked slightly in a familiar gesture that Aragorn had come to mean she was listening to the men's thoughts.
The three men each took off their helmet, repeating the first's gesture, and returned his interested gaze.
"Where do you hale from, strangers?" the man asked, dismounting with exceptional grace for his size and stature. Despite the seemingly heavy armor, he moved with fluid grace akin to Lainien's lithe movements – those of an experienced rider with purpose to each motion. "You make an interesting pair," he added, nodding to Lainien with a kind smile.
Grey eyes met light brown and Aragorn sheathed his two daggers into his boots. "I am a Ranger from the North," he replied. "I was patrolling further south than usual when I spotted your party," he explained. "And this is my companion."
"We are thankful for your change of routine," the large man said sincerely, offering Aragorn a kind, self-deprecating smile. "My horse especially thanks you," he continued, turning to run his hand gently across his steed's back, eying the wound on her flank.
"Here, let me," Aragorn said, moving forward and rummaging through his pack for Athelas.
He approached the warhorse, magnificent and kingly in the stately way she held her head high despite the pain.
She watched the ranger's measured steps and deft hands grind the plant. She turned her head to keep the man in her sighs, and he extended his hand to hover above the wound, making eye contact and asking for permission. Intelligent eyes held his for a long moment before the mare snorted and turned her head away.
Aragorn smiled softly, then began applying the plant mixture gently. The horse kept impeccable composure, only the twitching in her great shoulders belied any pain as Aragorn tended to her wound. Finally satisfied, Aragorn rested his hand over the wound lightly and praised the mare quietly in elvish.
He stepped back, eyes meeting Lainien's briefly. The elf stood relaxed, and she tilted her chin just slightly – they are no threat.
"Now I am even greater in your debt," the man said, extending a tanned, weathered hand. Aragorn met the man halfway, grasping forearms briefly. "I am Déor," he continued, his booming voice warm and kind. "Husband of beautiful Léofa, sister to our King Thengel."
The large man's smile was infectious, and Aragorn found himself grinning up at him. "Well met, Déor of Rohan."
"How did you come upon the creatures?" Lainien asked, speaking for the first time. "Orcs do not favor the sun."
Déor finally gave his full attention to the elf before him. His amiable smile lessened somewhat as he undoubtedly noted the general sense of danger that radiated from the elleth. His dark eyes assessed quietly for a moment, and Aragorn caught the tiny crinkle of Lainien's lips as she fought showing signs of amusement from whatever observations the man was forming in his thoughts.
"We followed them," came a deep voice from behind Déor.
The larger man turned, seeming content with his assessment of Lainien for now, and gestured to the man who had spoken.
"My apologies," he said, waving forward the slightly thinner brunette. "This is Gram, son of Aldir." Gram nodded his head stiffly, eyes trained on Lainien. "And this, Hamet, son of Hild." The second blonde, nearly equal in size to Déor, nodded in his turn, more affable than his darker companion. "Gram is correct," Déor continued, turning back to Lainien.
"Our borders have been fraught with dark activity of late, and this group was the final surviving few who attacked our western outpost not two days ago."
"They have been unusually active, even in the sun," Hamet noted, frowning lightly.
"Aye," Déor agreed. "Our King has been most wary."
"Have you sent word to Gondor?" Lainien asked.
"Aye," Déor repeated, "but the White City is facing its own trouble of late," he continued, bringing a hand to scratch at his beard. "Ecthelion has only begun his Stewardship on the tides of darkness brewing in the lands of Mordor."
Aragorn felt small chills race up his spine, and he met Lainien's eyes briefly. Darkness awaits on the horizon.
"Have you called for aid from the Rangers?" Aragorn pressed, brushing the prickling of nerves away.
Déor met Aragorn's gaze, still rubbing his beard in thought. "It has been suggested," he admitted. "But we have not seen a Ranger in a great many year."
Aragorn squared his shoulders. "I shall send word to Halbarad," he said, addressing Lainien, who raised a brow at him. "Eyes and ears on the ground here will be of more use than our current post," he explained.
"Your assistance would be welcomed, friends," Déor said, smiling. "Our King welcomes aid wherever it comes, and with skills such as yours, you would provide much." He nodded to Lainien, smiling.
She met his gaze with zero emotion, the thin line of her mouth conveying quite easily her thoughts on flattery. Aragorn smiled.
"By your leave, we can send word north by falcon?" Aragorn asked, turning back to Déor.
"Aye, that can be arranged," he said, clasping his hands together. "Come, Gram will take you, Young Ranger, and Master Elf can ride with Hamet."
He mounted his mare gently, running a hand down her neck soothingly, muttering words of encouragement quietly. Aragorn accepted Gram's hand up as he slid behind the older man, turning to his companion with a brow raised at her hesitance.
Lainien eyed Hamet coolly with sharp blue eyes. The man shifted under such a gaze, but did extend his hand to her regardless, earning him silent praise from Aragorn.
"I would allow you control of the reigns, Master Elf," he said quietly, humor in his light eyes. "If I thought it would make you less wary to have my hands at your side. But something tells me it would not put you any more at ease."
Lainien held her stern gaze for a moment before rolling her eyes. She bypassed his hand altogether and leapt upon the horse's back, lifting her chin as she settled in. Aragorn snickered, earning himself a glare. Gram shifted uncomfortably.
Déor stirred his mare forward, and the three horses set out. "Look sharp, Young Ranger," Déor called from the front. "For we are headed to Meduseld, stronghold of Edoras and the Kingdom of Rohan."
Aragorn caught Lainien's eye as they galloped.
And so our adventure begins, he thought, beaming.
-:-
Author's note: It feels so good to be back! Again, I apologize for the wait, and I want to thank you all for your patience! I am continuously overwhelmed by the great show of support from all my readers – new and old. I absolutely love reading your reviews, and they give me such encouragement!
As for this chapter, I had originally planned to have it span a much greater length of time. However, it just became too long, and I desperately wanted to post something.
I'm following the canon timeline for Aragorn almost exactly – he sets out for the North at 20, lives among the rangers for several years until he is 25, when Gandalf assigns him a post to watch over the Shire. At this point, Gandalf is suspicious about Bilbo, and what he might have brought back from his adventure in 'The Hobbit', so he assigns the Rangers the task of keeping watch around the Shire.
Also per canon, Aragorn travels to Rohan where he assumes a semi secret identity as a common ranger (as opposed to Aragorn, son of Arathorn) and fights for King Thengel (King Theoden's father). Déor in canon is actually the name of an earlier king of Rohan, so Déor in this story in an OC, as are his companions Gram and Hamet. Gram is also the name of another older King, and Hamet is a shortening of Hameth, a son of a King of Rohan. Léofa is actually the nickname of a King, but as Tolkein didn't like to actually name the female children in his written lineages (boooo), I took creative liberty. I shall continue to do so, so please bear with me if you recognize any names in the future.
Per canon, after spending time fighting with Rohan, Aragorn makes it on the radar of Ecthelion, the new Steward of Gondor (and Lord Denethor's father, Boromir's grandfather), and travels to the White City for the first time to help Gondor in a war against the southern men. Also per canon, he disappears after this for some time. I look forward to writing my headcanon for his disappearance!
This chapter was heavily focused on developing Aragorn's character – showing him as a young man with turbulent emotions and conflicted feelings. It was certainly a different kind of angst than I am accustomed to, so I hope it translated well. I found Aragorn was too good, too perfect, and so I wanted to play on his faults. Thus, he gets whiny and petulant! Yay! Next chapter will be less about specific character development, and more action, politics, and adventure, so look forward to that! I anticipate 41 chapters in total.
Thank you all again for your amazing support. Much love and well wishes for this holiday season. xx