Aure Entuluva
by: Angel Wings Rinoa (Cathy-chan)
Chapter 3
During the hours before dawn, Aragorn laid on the bed fully awake. Parts of his body were aching or stinging from the wounds he covered with disgarded cloths. Yet weariness kept not his attentive mind at bay. One could say his over-pondering was an incurable vexation. While staring at the ceiling, he allowed the thoughts to stray towards various matters. Some concerned what lay ahead of his journey. Many were questions interweaving into more questions. Were so many of his people as ruined as the Easterlings? Was there any honour, fellowship or loyalty left in them? Then he was reminded of the fellowship with his foster-brothers, and his bond with Elrond, the only father he remembered. A family he loved and respected. Terribly did he missed Rivendell and its people. Greatly did he want to look upon his mother's sad eyes, and tell her there was still hope. He longed to look upon Arwen; to declare his love.
An inaudible curse escaped his mouth. The same vision of a white, feminine light amongst tall trees always came to him last. She had a smile of wondrous beauty that was ever graceful and shimmering. She was noble and innocent, yet with an air of a secret desire lingered in her gaze. He was besotted by the mere thought of her, yet he was troubled. For rekindling his lust would only worsen the torture of his predicament. Though admittedly, it was utterly futile to fight it. Why even consider trying? By the deep yearning of his heart, he was reminded of the elf-maiden's gentleness. The summer twilight's breath he yearned to feel in her kiss. In his being, he desired to know the warmth of her light. He was yanked out of the wonderful dream by a loud crash. Near the door he saw a girl hardly nigh a score of years kneeling on the floor. She had accidentally dropped a wooden bowl. Common courtesy prevented him from uttering another expletive.
'P-Pardon me.' she apologized. 'I thought ye might want to wash your face before breaking your fast...I hope I didn't disturb you.' She looked puzzled at Aragorn's face. 'Is the clothes my father gave you too hot?'
Quickly Aragorn turned his face away. He could not believe himself; he was actually caught blushing. 'Nay, it is sufficient,' he answered, trying hard to gain back his composure. Thankfully the girl thought his garbs burned him, and not by something else. If she knew what roused his redness, he would be thoroughly humiliated.
Rays of dim light filled the room. Amazingly, a whole night thinking and staring at the ceiling had passed by him unnoticed. Dawn would break soon by the waking of the sun.
After picking up the pieces of the bowl, the girl stepped a pace closer. 'I...saw how you fought those hooligans.' She paused to look down at her apron, fingering it shakily. 'I thought it was rather heroic of you, even if...if everybody else said you were a bad person. Me father doesn't like to-dos an' all in his inn, b-but 'twas darn about time someone did something about The Six Men-orcs.'
He smiled kindly. At least one person in Bree did not despise him. Her comment had also revealed something else less comforting. It was not the first time Easterlings had harassed the town. In fact they had notoriously received a title within Bree. Concerned by this revelation, he asked, 'What are their usual businesses with the town?'
She shrugged. 'Oh them? This and that. Mostly bullying a few folks for some ill-deserved luxury or wealth...Sometimes they might stay and eat at our inn for free or hassle a few people. They like picking on Hobbits the most.'
'Hobbits?' he asked, perplexed.
'Halflings. Lil' People that sometimes go to Bree. Hardly the size of children and pretty weak.' Then solemnly she added, 'But that doesn't seem to stop them from hurting Hobbits. Poor things.' She shrugged again. 'But that's about it, nothing more.'
He was surprised at her casually speaking of it. To her it was a common occurrence. To him it emphasized the lowest extent of Sauron's thralls; tormenting smaller, weaker people for their own fell pleasures verily apalled him. 'For how long had they done this?' His voice was stern, veiling any trace of emotion. The girl was taken aback by the intensity of his gaze.
'Well...f-for about a time before I was born,' she mumbled hastily.
But Aragorn heard it completely. In other words: there was no telling how many years exactly, but clearly for many a year beyond the girl's age. This was ill news. He had not guessed the enormity of the land's peril. How could a populated town let themselves be conquered by a few Easterlings?
'Oh, but none had been killed! 'Tis just a few punches and yelling,' she countered when she saw Aragorn's shocked expression. 'Me father thought you were just as bad as them. Saying "'Tis another one of their kind. Maybe even their master. I be no welcoming some dark lord in my inn, jus' as sure as the town's name be Bree!" but I know he's wrong. I was so sure you're an Elf-warrior.' All manner of coyness left her. Staring directly at his eyes she said, 'You're much too handsome like an elf to be like them.' Then was embarrassed by her own implying tone.
Aragorn was abashed as well. Her face glowed from flushing admiration. It wondered him to find a girl shyly glancing at him affectionately with the tattered raiment he now wore. He thought perhaps it was because of the elven hint in his mannerism. It was a weak assumption, however, for he was ignorant of the females' refined passion. Unknowingly to him, it was his whole figure that caught her entranced. He was unaware that his stern face and prominent height was the likeness to a powerful yet winsome lord.
The girl became suddenly tense at the sight of arrows wailing pass the open window. An unnumbered lot of them flew at every direction, one grazing the girl's skin. She froze in panic at the spot, even with the long gash that trickled blood on her leg. In a rapid movement, Aragorn evaded an arrow headed for his chest, grabbed her wrist and opened the door. Then three spears with furious mercenaries confronted them at the flight of stairs. He had to fend off broad men away from the girl, shoving them down the stairs for them to descend. To-do, as the girl put it, was an understatement at the next events. With the men tumbling, crashing, flying or every vicious momentum contacting the tables and customers, it was adequate to send the host in tremors of fury. He would have tried murdering Aragorn too, if granted the courage and wits to do so. His anger fared worse at a glimpse of his daughter pursuing the turmoil's catalyst.
Knives with the Red-eye lunged at Aragorn, marking the same attackers from the previous night. Only now it felt as if thrice more wanted him dead. Yelling and profanity came from one direction; crashing and screaming from another. Aragorn was only given one choice: to fly out of the inn as fast as his feet could muster. Four tables and a mass of bodies scattered the ground by the time he had thrust through the inn's door. Remarkably the girl, with a painful cut on her leg, followed him outside.
The fresh air was a welcome to Aragorn's lungs. He was relieved at the open space away from blades; a good number of them had marred his flesh. But his relief was instantly taken away by an all too familiar girth of an Easterling. His true cowardly self lay hidden in a smug expression and a pack of armed men. 'Hail the mighty, faerie boy!' he mocked, bowing over theatrically; his men responded in a roar of laughter. 'Ye don't look so almighty now, do ye? I told ye, a bloody youngster can't shoo awie Easterlings so easily. Right, men?' The mass responded with grunts and upraised arms. The wide man walked forward, intentionally neglecting his shameful defeat the night before. On the tips of his toes, he glared fiendishly at Aragorn. His putrid stench burned on the young man's chin. 'Feelin' scared, boy?' A fouler smell came from his breath.
No fear besetted Aragorn's stance. Truthfully he was tempted to smirk at the shorter man's attempt of threats. The man began mocking and taunting him, buying time for Aragorn to plan his next moves. Force and physical brute would not win at this dilemma, therefore a brusque departure was necessary. But how? He was caught betwixt a semi-circle of angry faces and an unfriendly inn; a very fragile predicament that could still worsen. And in addition to it, an innocent girl was caught with him. The wide man became well aware of the girl's shaking figure. He took sick pleasure in tormenting fragile creatures, particularly females. 'Look 'ere. Has the faerie boy got himself a lil' toy to play with?' The girl shuddered at his vulgar gestures and groping.
Aragorn's sudden rage overthrew all thoughts of a plan. Death marked the Easterling's head by his cold eyes. In a blur, he unleashed his sword upon the man's lecherous hand; cutting the whole hand asunder along with his forearm. Even in the man's throes, he was not spared from the young warrior's glare. His eyes burned and punished like Narsil's silver shards. The other Easterlings were too shocked to help their leader. 'Spare me!' he cried, kneeling and whimpering on the soil. But forgiveness was seldom given twice.
'What have you done to be spared? Answer me! Lest mercy and pity fails, and I bestow your final doom.' His voice reverberated, crushing the man's form. 'Mercy is a word galled at thy tongue who wouldst violate a lady.'
'I didn' mean to hurt her! I swear!' he pleaded. Desperately, his voice changed into a squeaked warning. 'An' what makes ye think ye'd still win!? My men can hew yer neck off! What say ye now, faerie boy?'
The Easterlings hesitated a moment before obeying him. Slowly they pointed their blades at Aragorn. Astoundingly, a score of men doubted themselves before one man. Yet to them Isildur's heir was a man no longer, but a terrible phantom of the Kings of the West. His full stature and valour held true in his eyes. His youthful age did nothing to mask his real form. However the Easterlings thought still to foolishly quell him by the ruin of many deadly arms.
'Any hewing and you will answer to us,' a voice answered behind them.
Turning about the Easterlings found a company of hooded riders. The arriving group with swords easily outnumbered their score. A leader strode forward with his sturdy horse. 'For any threat to Sauron's army is a friend of the Rangers.'
Fate had been spun around again, Aragorn delightedly thought. Only this time, the positive side of his search, instead of the negative one, had found him. The Rangers of the North. His mother's kinsmen appeared unlooked-for. He grinned. Indeed the words of Elladan be true.
The Easterlings could stand no more of mysterious, intimidating foes. Like a departing breeze of foul odour, their strong structure weakened and dissipated, leaving only one on his knees. Terrified and in pain, the wide man could not follow his men.
A quick gesture from the Ranger's captain lowered the riders' swords. He dismounted and approached, giving the wide man a disgusted glance. 'What punishment do you wish for this lowly vassal?' he asked Aragorn.
'He is of no concern to me.' Aragorn turned to the sobbing man. 'Get thee gone, thrall. Go back to whence thou came.' In a scramble of pudgy feet, Aragorn watched the wide man flee again with a scream. A sundered, bleeding arm was dragged at his side. Then Aragorn gallantly lowered his weapon, placed his hand upon his heart and said, 'Hail the Dunedain of Arnor!'
'So a young one from afar knows of us.' The Ranger uncovered his hood. He had the dark hair and strong height of the Men from the North. 'Unfold yourself, the one who brought terror at a score of Easterlings, a feat only known to the Kings from our tales.'
'Of my true name I cannot reveal openly, and I am no figure of your legends,' Aragorn replied. 'Though I can speak of this: Gilraen my mother had counselled me to search for the Rangers of the North. Of whom I give my allegiance and, perhaps, good tidings from Men afar.'
'We know of the Lady Gilraen,' the leader said. 'Yet our trust and allegiance cannot be given by mere words. I desire to know more of you and your errand.'
'Nay, it is no errand I bear.' Aragorn's eyes darkened into smoke and hidden fire. 'Fate has brought me upon the northern lands. To seek peril and the crown of once united kingdoms. My path seeks the Dark Lord's demise and to free the lands of Middle-earth.'
The leader and his riders stilled with wonder. It was then they saw the emerald and silver proof upon his finger. History and ancestry gave them no doubt or lies. Their last light against evil stood before them with a staid expression. The girl too was shocked. He was no Elf-warrior or demon lord, but someone as mighty. Or perhaps even more so, and more crucial than they.
Hope was a cold lord, covered with black and blood.
'An ill path is upon you,' the leader finally spoke after a silence. Then to the girl's astonishment, he knelt and kissed Aragorn's hand. 'But we will tread this path with you, my lord. What dost thou desire of the Rangers?'
'To stand and hail me no more.' Aragorn pulled the man to his feet and shook his head. 'I am not worthy of your praise and love. I only ask for your guidance, and in return, I offer to you my service.'
His humility shocked them all. Before them was a man lowering himself after surviving an onslaught of Easterlings; and breaking their will in the process. Although he was not modest for the sake of it; sincerely did he thought of himself undeserving.
The leader laughed merrily and said, 'Truly you have a great heart, young warrior. Gladly will we accept your friendship. Come! You will learn plenty from the wandering Rangers. Of this land and many others we will teach and tread with you.' Undoubtedly true for decades of accompanying the Rangers taught Aragorn the ways of the land and his people, both good and evil.
He was given a steed to ride hence to Arnor, the region above Eriador. The girl called out to him as he was about to mount. She was disheveled and covered with mud from the encounter, yet she beamed happily to him saying, 'I wish you good speed! I am glad to have met you. My only regret is not knowing your name.' Shyly she curtsied. 'I don't think I've told you mine. 'Tis Irieth.'
Aragorn smiled warmly. 'I thank you greatly for your kindness.'
Irieth was startled as he knelt down and bound her injury with a torn cloth. Rising he bowed his head and said, 'I bid you farewell, Lady Irieth.'
Her smile grew. Never in her life had a man called her a lady. 'T-Thank you...f-for saving my life...and everything.' Softly, Irieth placed her hand on his face and whispered, 'You will free Middle-earth. You're no Elf. You're the giver of hope. Just as you've given hope to this town.' She giggled at his look of disbelief. ' 'Tis quite true! I think Easterlings will be too scared of you to bother Bree again.'
Aragorn laughed heartily, enjoying a freedom he had not felt since leaving Rivendell. The comfort of the act brightened his eyes into rich silver. Irieth's simple show of gratitude had turned him away from despondency. Seeing Irieth's gentle bearing, his path seemed less discouraging. Not all of Middle-earth was bound with deception, cruelty and malice. Underneath its dark clouds, sun-lit hearts like Irieth's do loving, kind deeds.
Ere Aragorn's departure, Irieth gave him a fond embrace, bidding him to remember her and her little town. And he promised to one day return to Bree. She waved a cheerful goodbye as he and the riders passed the gates. Ahead many perils and tests lie waiting for Aragorn to either conquer or fail. On that path, hardship and confrontation against his lineage, courage as well as himself as a man awaited every turn. Yet, to his pleasant surprise, the roads were no longer frowning at him. A breathtaking landscape of lush green fields, tall mountains, and forests, spreading far beyond the horizon, greeted him. Loneliness were in them no longer. He felt rhythms of life in the land and sky he beheld. Any sense he had the previous night of despair disappeared at the sight of the Sun. Brightly She shone above the mountains, rejoicing the land and skies with iridescent gold with ribbons of orange and red. She smiled upon Aragorn, reassuring him that his trials could not last forever. One day, the night would vanish from the East, and a dark lord's throne would dwell there no more. And all peoples of Middle-earth would see the rising of a new day.
'Aure entuluva,' he whispered. Day will come again.
The End
Author's Note: Well, what did you think? There's more than one reference to Silmarillion in this fanfic, especially from the tale of Beren and Luthien. If you've read that book by the same author, you'd know Melkor and Morgoth is the same evil Vala. The phrases 'Utulie'n Auta (Night has come)' and 'Aure Entuluva (Day will come again)' are also from the same book. I believe it's Sindarin and was spoken by Hurin as he fought seventy orcs during the war of "Unnumbered Tears". I also tried writing this in the way LOTR was done, keeping true to the archaic language...well, to the best of my knowledge and ability anyway (sorry, I didn't graduate from Tolkien's Anglo Saxon class :P). This was one of those absolutely rare times I had to research Middle-earth's history, and be really mindful of my diction! By the way, the inn in this story is not 'Prancing Pony.' Nor was the host's name Barliman Butterbur. I'm pretty sure Aragorn is older than the bar and Butterbur. Again, thank you for reading and your comments are much appreciated!
by: Angel Wings Rinoa (Cathy-chan)
Chapter 3
During the hours before dawn, Aragorn laid on the bed fully awake. Parts of his body were aching or stinging from the wounds he covered with disgarded cloths. Yet weariness kept not his attentive mind at bay. One could say his over-pondering was an incurable vexation. While staring at the ceiling, he allowed the thoughts to stray towards various matters. Some concerned what lay ahead of his journey. Many were questions interweaving into more questions. Were so many of his people as ruined as the Easterlings? Was there any honour, fellowship or loyalty left in them? Then he was reminded of the fellowship with his foster-brothers, and his bond with Elrond, the only father he remembered. A family he loved and respected. Terribly did he missed Rivendell and its people. Greatly did he want to look upon his mother's sad eyes, and tell her there was still hope. He longed to look upon Arwen; to declare his love.
An inaudible curse escaped his mouth. The same vision of a white, feminine light amongst tall trees always came to him last. She had a smile of wondrous beauty that was ever graceful and shimmering. She was noble and innocent, yet with an air of a secret desire lingered in her gaze. He was besotted by the mere thought of her, yet he was troubled. For rekindling his lust would only worsen the torture of his predicament. Though admittedly, it was utterly futile to fight it. Why even consider trying? By the deep yearning of his heart, he was reminded of the elf-maiden's gentleness. The summer twilight's breath he yearned to feel in her kiss. In his being, he desired to know the warmth of her light. He was yanked out of the wonderful dream by a loud crash. Near the door he saw a girl hardly nigh a score of years kneeling on the floor. She had accidentally dropped a wooden bowl. Common courtesy prevented him from uttering another expletive.
'P-Pardon me.' she apologized. 'I thought ye might want to wash your face before breaking your fast...I hope I didn't disturb you.' She looked puzzled at Aragorn's face. 'Is the clothes my father gave you too hot?'
Quickly Aragorn turned his face away. He could not believe himself; he was actually caught blushing. 'Nay, it is sufficient,' he answered, trying hard to gain back his composure. Thankfully the girl thought his garbs burned him, and not by something else. If she knew what roused his redness, he would be thoroughly humiliated.
Rays of dim light filled the room. Amazingly, a whole night thinking and staring at the ceiling had passed by him unnoticed. Dawn would break soon by the waking of the sun.
After picking up the pieces of the bowl, the girl stepped a pace closer. 'I...saw how you fought those hooligans.' She paused to look down at her apron, fingering it shakily. 'I thought it was rather heroic of you, even if...if everybody else said you were a bad person. Me father doesn't like to-dos an' all in his inn, b-but 'twas darn about time someone did something about The Six Men-orcs.'
He smiled kindly. At least one person in Bree did not despise him. Her comment had also revealed something else less comforting. It was not the first time Easterlings had harassed the town. In fact they had notoriously received a title within Bree. Concerned by this revelation, he asked, 'What are their usual businesses with the town?'
She shrugged. 'Oh them? This and that. Mostly bullying a few folks for some ill-deserved luxury or wealth...Sometimes they might stay and eat at our inn for free or hassle a few people. They like picking on Hobbits the most.'
'Hobbits?' he asked, perplexed.
'Halflings. Lil' People that sometimes go to Bree. Hardly the size of children and pretty weak.' Then solemnly she added, 'But that doesn't seem to stop them from hurting Hobbits. Poor things.' She shrugged again. 'But that's about it, nothing more.'
He was surprised at her casually speaking of it. To her it was a common occurrence. To him it emphasized the lowest extent of Sauron's thralls; tormenting smaller, weaker people for their own fell pleasures verily apalled him. 'For how long had they done this?' His voice was stern, veiling any trace of emotion. The girl was taken aback by the intensity of his gaze.
'Well...f-for about a time before I was born,' she mumbled hastily.
But Aragorn heard it completely. In other words: there was no telling how many years exactly, but clearly for many a year beyond the girl's age. This was ill news. He had not guessed the enormity of the land's peril. How could a populated town let themselves be conquered by a few Easterlings?
'Oh, but none had been killed! 'Tis just a few punches and yelling,' she countered when she saw Aragorn's shocked expression. 'Me father thought you were just as bad as them. Saying "'Tis another one of their kind. Maybe even their master. I be no welcoming some dark lord in my inn, jus' as sure as the town's name be Bree!" but I know he's wrong. I was so sure you're an Elf-warrior.' All manner of coyness left her. Staring directly at his eyes she said, 'You're much too handsome like an elf to be like them.' Then was embarrassed by her own implying tone.
Aragorn was abashed as well. Her face glowed from flushing admiration. It wondered him to find a girl shyly glancing at him affectionately with the tattered raiment he now wore. He thought perhaps it was because of the elven hint in his mannerism. It was a weak assumption, however, for he was ignorant of the females' refined passion. Unknowingly to him, it was his whole figure that caught her entranced. He was unaware that his stern face and prominent height was the likeness to a powerful yet winsome lord.
The girl became suddenly tense at the sight of arrows wailing pass the open window. An unnumbered lot of them flew at every direction, one grazing the girl's skin. She froze in panic at the spot, even with the long gash that trickled blood on her leg. In a rapid movement, Aragorn evaded an arrow headed for his chest, grabbed her wrist and opened the door. Then three spears with furious mercenaries confronted them at the flight of stairs. He had to fend off broad men away from the girl, shoving them down the stairs for them to descend. To-do, as the girl put it, was an understatement at the next events. With the men tumbling, crashing, flying or every vicious momentum contacting the tables and customers, it was adequate to send the host in tremors of fury. He would have tried murdering Aragorn too, if granted the courage and wits to do so. His anger fared worse at a glimpse of his daughter pursuing the turmoil's catalyst.
Knives with the Red-eye lunged at Aragorn, marking the same attackers from the previous night. Only now it felt as if thrice more wanted him dead. Yelling and profanity came from one direction; crashing and screaming from another. Aragorn was only given one choice: to fly out of the inn as fast as his feet could muster. Four tables and a mass of bodies scattered the ground by the time he had thrust through the inn's door. Remarkably the girl, with a painful cut on her leg, followed him outside.
The fresh air was a welcome to Aragorn's lungs. He was relieved at the open space away from blades; a good number of them had marred his flesh. But his relief was instantly taken away by an all too familiar girth of an Easterling. His true cowardly self lay hidden in a smug expression and a pack of armed men. 'Hail the mighty, faerie boy!' he mocked, bowing over theatrically; his men responded in a roar of laughter. 'Ye don't look so almighty now, do ye? I told ye, a bloody youngster can't shoo awie Easterlings so easily. Right, men?' The mass responded with grunts and upraised arms. The wide man walked forward, intentionally neglecting his shameful defeat the night before. On the tips of his toes, he glared fiendishly at Aragorn. His putrid stench burned on the young man's chin. 'Feelin' scared, boy?' A fouler smell came from his breath.
No fear besetted Aragorn's stance. Truthfully he was tempted to smirk at the shorter man's attempt of threats. The man began mocking and taunting him, buying time for Aragorn to plan his next moves. Force and physical brute would not win at this dilemma, therefore a brusque departure was necessary. But how? He was caught betwixt a semi-circle of angry faces and an unfriendly inn; a very fragile predicament that could still worsen. And in addition to it, an innocent girl was caught with him. The wide man became well aware of the girl's shaking figure. He took sick pleasure in tormenting fragile creatures, particularly females. 'Look 'ere. Has the faerie boy got himself a lil' toy to play with?' The girl shuddered at his vulgar gestures and groping.
Aragorn's sudden rage overthrew all thoughts of a plan. Death marked the Easterling's head by his cold eyes. In a blur, he unleashed his sword upon the man's lecherous hand; cutting the whole hand asunder along with his forearm. Even in the man's throes, he was not spared from the young warrior's glare. His eyes burned and punished like Narsil's silver shards. The other Easterlings were too shocked to help their leader. 'Spare me!' he cried, kneeling and whimpering on the soil. But forgiveness was seldom given twice.
'What have you done to be spared? Answer me! Lest mercy and pity fails, and I bestow your final doom.' His voice reverberated, crushing the man's form. 'Mercy is a word galled at thy tongue who wouldst violate a lady.'
'I didn' mean to hurt her! I swear!' he pleaded. Desperately, his voice changed into a squeaked warning. 'An' what makes ye think ye'd still win!? My men can hew yer neck off! What say ye now, faerie boy?'
The Easterlings hesitated a moment before obeying him. Slowly they pointed their blades at Aragorn. Astoundingly, a score of men doubted themselves before one man. Yet to them Isildur's heir was a man no longer, but a terrible phantom of the Kings of the West. His full stature and valour held true in his eyes. His youthful age did nothing to mask his real form. However the Easterlings thought still to foolishly quell him by the ruin of many deadly arms.
'Any hewing and you will answer to us,' a voice answered behind them.
Turning about the Easterlings found a company of hooded riders. The arriving group with swords easily outnumbered their score. A leader strode forward with his sturdy horse. 'For any threat to Sauron's army is a friend of the Rangers.'
Fate had been spun around again, Aragorn delightedly thought. Only this time, the positive side of his search, instead of the negative one, had found him. The Rangers of the North. His mother's kinsmen appeared unlooked-for. He grinned. Indeed the words of Elladan be true.
The Easterlings could stand no more of mysterious, intimidating foes. Like a departing breeze of foul odour, their strong structure weakened and dissipated, leaving only one on his knees. Terrified and in pain, the wide man could not follow his men.
A quick gesture from the Ranger's captain lowered the riders' swords. He dismounted and approached, giving the wide man a disgusted glance. 'What punishment do you wish for this lowly vassal?' he asked Aragorn.
'He is of no concern to me.' Aragorn turned to the sobbing man. 'Get thee gone, thrall. Go back to whence thou came.' In a scramble of pudgy feet, Aragorn watched the wide man flee again with a scream. A sundered, bleeding arm was dragged at his side. Then Aragorn gallantly lowered his weapon, placed his hand upon his heart and said, 'Hail the Dunedain of Arnor!'
'So a young one from afar knows of us.' The Ranger uncovered his hood. He had the dark hair and strong height of the Men from the North. 'Unfold yourself, the one who brought terror at a score of Easterlings, a feat only known to the Kings from our tales.'
'Of my true name I cannot reveal openly, and I am no figure of your legends,' Aragorn replied. 'Though I can speak of this: Gilraen my mother had counselled me to search for the Rangers of the North. Of whom I give my allegiance and, perhaps, good tidings from Men afar.'
'We know of the Lady Gilraen,' the leader said. 'Yet our trust and allegiance cannot be given by mere words. I desire to know more of you and your errand.'
'Nay, it is no errand I bear.' Aragorn's eyes darkened into smoke and hidden fire. 'Fate has brought me upon the northern lands. To seek peril and the crown of once united kingdoms. My path seeks the Dark Lord's demise and to free the lands of Middle-earth.'
The leader and his riders stilled with wonder. It was then they saw the emerald and silver proof upon his finger. History and ancestry gave them no doubt or lies. Their last light against evil stood before them with a staid expression. The girl too was shocked. He was no Elf-warrior or demon lord, but someone as mighty. Or perhaps even more so, and more crucial than they.
Hope was a cold lord, covered with black and blood.
'An ill path is upon you,' the leader finally spoke after a silence. Then to the girl's astonishment, he knelt and kissed Aragorn's hand. 'But we will tread this path with you, my lord. What dost thou desire of the Rangers?'
'To stand and hail me no more.' Aragorn pulled the man to his feet and shook his head. 'I am not worthy of your praise and love. I only ask for your guidance, and in return, I offer to you my service.'
His humility shocked them all. Before them was a man lowering himself after surviving an onslaught of Easterlings; and breaking their will in the process. Although he was not modest for the sake of it; sincerely did he thought of himself undeserving.
The leader laughed merrily and said, 'Truly you have a great heart, young warrior. Gladly will we accept your friendship. Come! You will learn plenty from the wandering Rangers. Of this land and many others we will teach and tread with you.' Undoubtedly true for decades of accompanying the Rangers taught Aragorn the ways of the land and his people, both good and evil.
He was given a steed to ride hence to Arnor, the region above Eriador. The girl called out to him as he was about to mount. She was disheveled and covered with mud from the encounter, yet she beamed happily to him saying, 'I wish you good speed! I am glad to have met you. My only regret is not knowing your name.' Shyly she curtsied. 'I don't think I've told you mine. 'Tis Irieth.'
Aragorn smiled warmly. 'I thank you greatly for your kindness.'
Irieth was startled as he knelt down and bound her injury with a torn cloth. Rising he bowed his head and said, 'I bid you farewell, Lady Irieth.'
Her smile grew. Never in her life had a man called her a lady. 'T-Thank you...f-for saving my life...and everything.' Softly, Irieth placed her hand on his face and whispered, 'You will free Middle-earth. You're no Elf. You're the giver of hope. Just as you've given hope to this town.' She giggled at his look of disbelief. ' 'Tis quite true! I think Easterlings will be too scared of you to bother Bree again.'
Aragorn laughed heartily, enjoying a freedom he had not felt since leaving Rivendell. The comfort of the act brightened his eyes into rich silver. Irieth's simple show of gratitude had turned him away from despondency. Seeing Irieth's gentle bearing, his path seemed less discouraging. Not all of Middle-earth was bound with deception, cruelty and malice. Underneath its dark clouds, sun-lit hearts like Irieth's do loving, kind deeds.
Ere Aragorn's departure, Irieth gave him a fond embrace, bidding him to remember her and her little town. And he promised to one day return to Bree. She waved a cheerful goodbye as he and the riders passed the gates. Ahead many perils and tests lie waiting for Aragorn to either conquer or fail. On that path, hardship and confrontation against his lineage, courage as well as himself as a man awaited every turn. Yet, to his pleasant surprise, the roads were no longer frowning at him. A breathtaking landscape of lush green fields, tall mountains, and forests, spreading far beyond the horizon, greeted him. Loneliness were in them no longer. He felt rhythms of life in the land and sky he beheld. Any sense he had the previous night of despair disappeared at the sight of the Sun. Brightly She shone above the mountains, rejoicing the land and skies with iridescent gold with ribbons of orange and red. She smiled upon Aragorn, reassuring him that his trials could not last forever. One day, the night would vanish from the East, and a dark lord's throne would dwell there no more. And all peoples of Middle-earth would see the rising of a new day.
'Aure entuluva,' he whispered. Day will come again.
The End
Author's Note: Well, what did you think? There's more than one reference to Silmarillion in this fanfic, especially from the tale of Beren and Luthien. If you've read that book by the same author, you'd know Melkor and Morgoth is the same evil Vala. The phrases 'Utulie'n Auta (Night has come)' and 'Aure Entuluva (Day will come again)' are also from the same book. I believe it's Sindarin and was spoken by Hurin as he fought seventy orcs during the war of "Unnumbered Tears". I also tried writing this in the way LOTR was done, keeping true to the archaic language...well, to the best of my knowledge and ability anyway (sorry, I didn't graduate from Tolkien's Anglo Saxon class :P). This was one of those absolutely rare times I had to research Middle-earth's history, and be really mindful of my diction! By the way, the inn in this story is not 'Prancing Pony.' Nor was the host's name Barliman Butterbur. I'm pretty sure Aragorn is older than the bar and Butterbur. Again, thank you for reading and your comments are much appreciated!