This chapter has been ready for practically a week. But my computer apparently doesn't like posting to this story. Just this one. Not any of my others. I hate my computer. So I'm using the work computer and don't know how often I'll get to update this. Anyway, enjoy what you can get.
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After Ages Part 7, Chapter 6
Home?
***
For all the fierce words, all the talk of death and oaths kept forever, it was remarkably easy getting home. Had the elves' long years bred complacency or just trust? Aragorn didn't know. He kept an eye on Throndil's pale form, ducking beneath branches and following nearly soundless over roots and leaves. It would have been impossible to remember the route, even had he wanted to betray his friend like that. As it was, the stars gave him just enough light not to fall. In fact, they seemed to be growing more dim as they went.
They had walked for nearly an hour when Throndil surprised him by speaking. "So, how long do humans live now?"
Aragorn realized he was trying to make small talk. "Oh, um, around eighty years."
"And you are?"
"Fourteen. Fifteen next month."
Though he couldn't really see, Aragorn got the impression that Throndil was nodding. "You're young. I thought so, but of course I could not be sure. You're so accepting, so filled with possibilites and hope - but then again, that is a trait of all your species."
Aragorn didn't know how to answer that. It sounded like something his grandparents might have said - except for the last part.
"What will you do when you get back?" Throndil asked, keeping his voice neutral and low.
"I don't know. Go to school. Relax, read, hunt. Watch the sky. Eventually go to college. I'm thinking maybe I'll become a Ranger."
The sudden sharp sound of crunching leaves told him Throndil had faltered in his step. "What?"
"A forest Ranger. Maybe even in a national park." Aragorn paused a moment, then continued. "I thought before I might be an explorer, but there's not much left to explore. Although, maybe I could find some more elves." He tried not to let the excitement show in his voice.
"Maybe Avari," Throndil said without emotion. "But not Eldar. Not... elves."
They continued on in silence, content to let eachother pursue their own thoughts, though they wove about the same thing. Throndil kept an even pace, never slowing in fear or reluctance, determined. The darkness had almost begun to lift again when the elf halted.
"Why did we stop?" Aragorn asked.
"We are near the edge of the woods. You cannot see it, but the faint light that breaks through the trees in the distance comes not from above but from the side."
Looking closer, Aragorn recognized the place. "Sharp eyes," he said simply.
Throndil turned to him. "I am glad that you came, whatever strife you brought with you," he said solemnly.
"I - I'm - " Aragorn didn't know what to say, so on impulse he hugged the elf. It was awkward at first, and it occured to Aragorn that Throndil might never have hugged a person before. At that thought, sadness came over him, choking him, until he was almost crying against the smooth fabric of Throndil's shirt. Throndil held him, firmly and briefly, then pulled away, brushing his hand across Aragorn's cheek. He looked at his finger, at the remnant of a tear that lay upon it.
"Throndil - " Aragorn tried to say, but the elf was gone, evaporating, even as his tear must have, into the night.
***
Walking the last mile in the chill darkness, for the first time in Aragorn's life he felt truly alone. He had always kept to himself, and his classmates respected that he'd rather be in the forests or in the library or in his room, on his bed, thinking and dreaming, but now. Now everything seemed different.
He wouldn't be happy. He hadn't made any friends yet, and he wouldn't get any once he was grounded. Not that he was sure he wanted them. Wanted anything besides to turn around and -
"Musn't think that," he said to himself, and walked faster.
Why hadn't he thought of that when he was begging to leave the elven city? Why hadn't he seen beyond his parents worried eyes? If he had thought about it, he would have admitted he wanted to stay, and speak again with Ctctey and Maylin, and walk in the forests with Goldberry, and Throndil and Thranduil and -
"Musn't think that!" He said louder. Regret was useless now. Best to remember why he was coming back, to imagine the joy on his father's face when he returned safe...
He was coming up upon the house. He heard his mother's sharp voice cutting through the night air. "Listen to me. I don't care what your damned rules are! I'm not asking you for the national guard! I know where my son went, he's in the woods somewhere - "
"Mom!" he called out, opening the front door. "Dad? I'm... home."
***
An hour later, he lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was deaf to the remonstrations that still rang about his room. His face was curiously blank, his eyes unfocused and rather looking inward - he pondered the painful thumping of his chest with detachment.
It was already fading against the plaster and plastic. It was a dream or a memory, both as remote as the night before. And he was sorry for whatever it was he had condemned Throndil and Thranduil to, because this house and this country weren't a place worth returning to, even if they had not had to give their lives. And then sorry again for thinking that! Wasn't it enough to ease the haggard, haunted look on his father's face, and stop his mother's trembling chin?
He felt... as though fate had set a burden down upon him, only it was not heavy and wonderful but cold and lifeless and light. He rolled over on his mattress and tried to forget.
***
***
After Ages Part 7, Chapter 6
Home?
***
For all the fierce words, all the talk of death and oaths kept forever, it was remarkably easy getting home. Had the elves' long years bred complacency or just trust? Aragorn didn't know. He kept an eye on Throndil's pale form, ducking beneath branches and following nearly soundless over roots and leaves. It would have been impossible to remember the route, even had he wanted to betray his friend like that. As it was, the stars gave him just enough light not to fall. In fact, they seemed to be growing more dim as they went.
They had walked for nearly an hour when Throndil surprised him by speaking. "So, how long do humans live now?"
Aragorn realized he was trying to make small talk. "Oh, um, around eighty years."
"And you are?"
"Fourteen. Fifteen next month."
Though he couldn't really see, Aragorn got the impression that Throndil was nodding. "You're young. I thought so, but of course I could not be sure. You're so accepting, so filled with possibilites and hope - but then again, that is a trait of all your species."
Aragorn didn't know how to answer that. It sounded like something his grandparents might have said - except for the last part.
"What will you do when you get back?" Throndil asked, keeping his voice neutral and low.
"I don't know. Go to school. Relax, read, hunt. Watch the sky. Eventually go to college. I'm thinking maybe I'll become a Ranger."
The sudden sharp sound of crunching leaves told him Throndil had faltered in his step. "What?"
"A forest Ranger. Maybe even in a national park." Aragorn paused a moment, then continued. "I thought before I might be an explorer, but there's not much left to explore. Although, maybe I could find some more elves." He tried not to let the excitement show in his voice.
"Maybe Avari," Throndil said without emotion. "But not Eldar. Not... elves."
They continued on in silence, content to let eachother pursue their own thoughts, though they wove about the same thing. Throndil kept an even pace, never slowing in fear or reluctance, determined. The darkness had almost begun to lift again when the elf halted.
"Why did we stop?" Aragorn asked.
"We are near the edge of the woods. You cannot see it, but the faint light that breaks through the trees in the distance comes not from above but from the side."
Looking closer, Aragorn recognized the place. "Sharp eyes," he said simply.
Throndil turned to him. "I am glad that you came, whatever strife you brought with you," he said solemnly.
"I - I'm - " Aragorn didn't know what to say, so on impulse he hugged the elf. It was awkward at first, and it occured to Aragorn that Throndil might never have hugged a person before. At that thought, sadness came over him, choking him, until he was almost crying against the smooth fabric of Throndil's shirt. Throndil held him, firmly and briefly, then pulled away, brushing his hand across Aragorn's cheek. He looked at his finger, at the remnant of a tear that lay upon it.
"Throndil - " Aragorn tried to say, but the elf was gone, evaporating, even as his tear must have, into the night.
***
Walking the last mile in the chill darkness, for the first time in Aragorn's life he felt truly alone. He had always kept to himself, and his classmates respected that he'd rather be in the forests or in the library or in his room, on his bed, thinking and dreaming, but now. Now everything seemed different.
He wouldn't be happy. He hadn't made any friends yet, and he wouldn't get any once he was grounded. Not that he was sure he wanted them. Wanted anything besides to turn around and -
"Musn't think that," he said to himself, and walked faster.
Why hadn't he thought of that when he was begging to leave the elven city? Why hadn't he seen beyond his parents worried eyes? If he had thought about it, he would have admitted he wanted to stay, and speak again with Ctctey and Maylin, and walk in the forests with Goldberry, and Throndil and Thranduil and -
"Musn't think that!" He said louder. Regret was useless now. Best to remember why he was coming back, to imagine the joy on his father's face when he returned safe...
He was coming up upon the house. He heard his mother's sharp voice cutting through the night air. "Listen to me. I don't care what your damned rules are! I'm not asking you for the national guard! I know where my son went, he's in the woods somewhere - "
"Mom!" he called out, opening the front door. "Dad? I'm... home."
***
An hour later, he lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was deaf to the remonstrations that still rang about his room. His face was curiously blank, his eyes unfocused and rather looking inward - he pondered the painful thumping of his chest with detachment.
It was already fading against the plaster and plastic. It was a dream or a memory, both as remote as the night before. And he was sorry for whatever it was he had condemned Throndil and Thranduil to, because this house and this country weren't a place worth returning to, even if they had not had to give their lives. And then sorry again for thinking that! Wasn't it enough to ease the haggard, haunted look on his father's face, and stop his mother's trembling chin?
He felt... as though fate had set a burden down upon him, only it was not heavy and wonderful but cold and lifeless and light. He rolled over on his mattress and tried to forget.
***