Aragorn lay back in a chair, staring blankly in front of him. Undomiel sang
in his head, her clear laughter ringing in his ears, her hair flowing like
a black river, or like a starless night blanketing the Earth, or like a
shadow following, ever chasing the angel that was her. Her vivid, gentle
eyes... It had been weeks now, since his meeting with Arwen, daughter of
Elrond, and he had spoken with her rarely afterwards, and ever just breif
greetings as they passed one another in Rivendell, or shared meals, but she
stayed ever in his mind. He hummed a song to Varda, fairest of all the
Vala, goddess of the stars, the song Arwen had sang to him. Nay, in his
presence, but not to him. She would never sing to him, he told himself. Yet
even as he hummed the familar tune, he questioned the meaning behind the
song. For what grace or beauty had even a Vala next to this nightengale he
had found?
"Aragorn?" asked his mother. She had been sitting beside him the last few minutes, but he had not taken notice. His heard snapped in her direction, suddenly aware of her. "What's wrong, my son? Why have you fallen so silent?"
Aragorn sighed and shook his head. He smiled, for he had fallen under the enchantment of young love, and his heart was singing with an energy and fullness it never had. He was excited at this strange, new feeling. He felt that with this fair lady in mind, he could do anything, run any distance, fight any demon...
His mother's soft, brown eyes searched his face, and finally he could evade them no more. He shared a moment with her, looking at last into her gaze. "Tell me, my son."
Once more he sighed, and finally he answered, "Mother, I have seen her."
"Who?" she asked.
"Tinuviel!" he exclaimed, his gaze turning toward the ceiling. "She is indeed, just as the stories told, the fairest of all the the children of Eru."
Gilrean was confused. But she knew her son well, and knew that he was speaking in riddles. She smiled at his youth and innocence, recognizing one enamored with unreasoned love for another. "My son, Luthien of whom you speak has long passed away from Middle-Earth, beyond the Halls of Mandos... to wherever the Gift of Illuvator intends... It is not possible for you to have seen her," she said, smiling.
"Ah, but I have," he said. "I saw her the other night. She dwells here still, right here in this very house. I saw her in the woods and I called to her. And she spoke to me, and told me her name, and I told her mine. And we sat together in a tree, in my tree."
"She dwells in this house, you say?" said Gilrean, her smile fading. "What was her name?"
"Arwen Undomiel. And would you have guessed, she's Elrond's daughter. I never even knew he had a daughter, did you?"
"Yes," his mother resonded. "Elrond spoke often of her to me... She is more dear to him than any other thing in Middle-Earth."
"Of course she is," he said knowingly.
"She is his only daughter... And all that he has left in Middle-Earth of Celebrian, her mother, Elrond's wife."
"What about Elladan and Elrohir?"
"There are also them, of course. But they are two, and elder than she, and Elrond loves his sons dearly... But the bond between father and daughter is different than that of father and son."
Aragorn nodded, understanding. He paused, remembering a rare occasion years ago, when Elrond had shared with him the loss and greivious memories of his wife, Celebrian, who was waiting for him still, in the Halls of Mandos. After a moment, he shook his head, and turned his thoughts back once more to the magnificent lady. "I will love only her, for the rest of my days," he said proudly, and decidedly.
Gilrean looked up at him, her expression troubled. It was not often that he stated things so finally and confidantly, and she was amazed at his determination to hope and believe in this matter. How ironic that the first time he dared to wish and hope for something, it was beyond his reach? There was so much he could have, but he had never believed it. And now he would believe in something that he could not have. "Your aim is high, my son, even for one descended of many kings. For this lady is the noblest and fairest that now walks the earth. And it is not fit that mortal should wed with the elf-kin."
Aragorn hung his head, hearing the disaproval in her words. But he then looked up again, and persisted, "Yet we have some part in that kinship, if the tale of my forefathers that I have learned is true."
"It is true," said Gilraen, "but that was long ago, and in another age of this world, before our race was diminished. Therefore I am afraid; for without the good will of Master Elrond the Heirs of Isildur will soon come to an end. But I do not think that you will have the good will of Elrond in this matter."
"Then bitter will my days be, and I will wonder in the woods alone," he muttered, dejectedly.
"That indeed, will be your fate," she agreed sadly. She felt awful, crushing his hopes that way, and she was sad to see his mood change so quickly from dreamy bliss to desolation. But she knew that it was for the best. He could not go on, believing his love would be returned; it would only hurt him more when he was proved wrong.
"Please don't tell anyone about this, Mother," said the young man, looking up earnestly.
"I promise you, I will tell no one."
-------------------------------------
Arwen laughed as she joked with her brothers in the bright afternoon, in the garden. They were reminiscing, recalling their childhoods, and later days that had followed. She told them of everyone in Lorien, and brought them kind words from Galadriel and Celeborn. The conversation turned as she finished telling of her visit in the Southeast, and she inquired about their time in Rivendell without her. They spoke of their friend Arathorn's death, and how horrible it was, and many others events of importance. They told her about the coming of Aragorn, also.
"Oh, Estel!" she said, when they told her. "I met him in the forest the other day. He seemed a very sweet boy, a gentleman I might say."
"Ah, so you've met our young brother, have you? I must tell you, Elrohir and I have formed a bond with this one greater than any of his forefathers. I'm not sure what it is... He's so earnest and willing to learn and help. And yet... he's strange... Almost sad. There's an Elvish air about him. He's more like an Elf than any man I've ever met."
"Father says he reminds him of Elendil," added a Elrohir with a nod. "More than any other of Elendil's heirs."
"And of Elros," said Elladan quietly. It was odd to think that Aragorn had come from the children of their father's brother. So many generations had passed, thousands and thousands. They could hardly even be called kin any more... Yet they called him brother.
"I know what you mean," said Arwen. "I have not spent much time with him at all, yet in the few minute we shared, I saw an intelligent young man, Elf- like as you say, and he was nimble and quick, and ever polite and humble... And, do you know, brothers, he sits in my special spot! In the great, old tree!"
The twins laughed at that. "Aye, he does. He always has. He likes to go off on his own in the woods and think."
"Tell me something about him."
"Like what?"
"I don't know, just a random story. Tell me something queer he's said."
Elrohir sat thinking, searching his mind for a memory of his young friend to tell her. "I have one," said Elladan. "Do you remember when he asked us, brother, who we would imagine ourselves to be if we were one of the people in the Ancient Tales?"
"Oh yes," said Elrohir. "I said Gil-Galad and you said-"
"Earendil, yes."
"What did he say," asked Arwen.
"Turin Turumbar."
"Turumbar?! Why on earth would he want to be Turin?" she exclaimed.
"That's what we said. But he said, 'I did not say who I would wish to be, but who I would be. Turin was more like an Elf than any other man, and you have often said that of me, I know. And he had no father also, and was raised by the kind elf-lord Thingol, just as I am raised by Elrond'."
"Such a tragic story," said Arwen quietly, recalling the Tale of Turin Turumbar, Master of Fate. In the end, it was fate that mastered him. "It disheartens me that such a young boy would chose such a tragic role for himself... Did you ask him then what he would he wished to be?"
"Actually yes," said Elrohir. "He said, 'Once I wished to be Fingolfin, Mighty King of Elves... Now I no longer wish for such glory and fame, or such a sudden, fantastical end... I realize now that none of that matters much, and that I would be content to find happiness and confidance and.. to be loved. So I would say I would be Beren if I could chose. It was a miracle that he was gifted with Luthien's love. Imagine knowing you had been blessed with a miracle...'"
The three of them sat silently for a moment, pondering the words of their young human friend. "When was this?" asked Arwen.
"Three years ago?" asked Elladan, looking to his brother for reassurance. Elrohir nodded. Then he turned to look his sister in the eye. "Have you noted the way he looks at you, little sister? He's falling in love with you, or I am a dwarf."
Arwen laughed and brushed the remark aside. "You say every man I meet is falling in love with me, brother."
"That is because most every man you meet does fall in love with you." Again, Arwen dismissed him with a laugh.
Elladan smiled at his siblings, but remained quiet for a moment. It was true that Elrohir seemed to always claim people were falling in love with his sister. He was always slightly over-protective of his younger sister, despite the fact that most of his claims were true. Elladan, though his love for Arwen was no less, felt that she was more than capable of taking care of herself. After all, she was nearly 3,000 years old.
"Aragorn?" asked his mother. She had been sitting beside him the last few minutes, but he had not taken notice. His heard snapped in her direction, suddenly aware of her. "What's wrong, my son? Why have you fallen so silent?"
Aragorn sighed and shook his head. He smiled, for he had fallen under the enchantment of young love, and his heart was singing with an energy and fullness it never had. He was excited at this strange, new feeling. He felt that with this fair lady in mind, he could do anything, run any distance, fight any demon...
His mother's soft, brown eyes searched his face, and finally he could evade them no more. He shared a moment with her, looking at last into her gaze. "Tell me, my son."
Once more he sighed, and finally he answered, "Mother, I have seen her."
"Who?" she asked.
"Tinuviel!" he exclaimed, his gaze turning toward the ceiling. "She is indeed, just as the stories told, the fairest of all the the children of Eru."
Gilrean was confused. But she knew her son well, and knew that he was speaking in riddles. She smiled at his youth and innocence, recognizing one enamored with unreasoned love for another. "My son, Luthien of whom you speak has long passed away from Middle-Earth, beyond the Halls of Mandos... to wherever the Gift of Illuvator intends... It is not possible for you to have seen her," she said, smiling.
"Ah, but I have," he said. "I saw her the other night. She dwells here still, right here in this very house. I saw her in the woods and I called to her. And she spoke to me, and told me her name, and I told her mine. And we sat together in a tree, in my tree."
"She dwells in this house, you say?" said Gilrean, her smile fading. "What was her name?"
"Arwen Undomiel. And would you have guessed, she's Elrond's daughter. I never even knew he had a daughter, did you?"
"Yes," his mother resonded. "Elrond spoke often of her to me... She is more dear to him than any other thing in Middle-Earth."
"Of course she is," he said knowingly.
"She is his only daughter... And all that he has left in Middle-Earth of Celebrian, her mother, Elrond's wife."
"What about Elladan and Elrohir?"
"There are also them, of course. But they are two, and elder than she, and Elrond loves his sons dearly... But the bond between father and daughter is different than that of father and son."
Aragorn nodded, understanding. He paused, remembering a rare occasion years ago, when Elrond had shared with him the loss and greivious memories of his wife, Celebrian, who was waiting for him still, in the Halls of Mandos. After a moment, he shook his head, and turned his thoughts back once more to the magnificent lady. "I will love only her, for the rest of my days," he said proudly, and decidedly.
Gilrean looked up at him, her expression troubled. It was not often that he stated things so finally and confidantly, and she was amazed at his determination to hope and believe in this matter. How ironic that the first time he dared to wish and hope for something, it was beyond his reach? There was so much he could have, but he had never believed it. And now he would believe in something that he could not have. "Your aim is high, my son, even for one descended of many kings. For this lady is the noblest and fairest that now walks the earth. And it is not fit that mortal should wed with the elf-kin."
Aragorn hung his head, hearing the disaproval in her words. But he then looked up again, and persisted, "Yet we have some part in that kinship, if the tale of my forefathers that I have learned is true."
"It is true," said Gilraen, "but that was long ago, and in another age of this world, before our race was diminished. Therefore I am afraid; for without the good will of Master Elrond the Heirs of Isildur will soon come to an end. But I do not think that you will have the good will of Elrond in this matter."
"Then bitter will my days be, and I will wonder in the woods alone," he muttered, dejectedly.
"That indeed, will be your fate," she agreed sadly. She felt awful, crushing his hopes that way, and she was sad to see his mood change so quickly from dreamy bliss to desolation. But she knew that it was for the best. He could not go on, believing his love would be returned; it would only hurt him more when he was proved wrong.
"Please don't tell anyone about this, Mother," said the young man, looking up earnestly.
"I promise you, I will tell no one."
-------------------------------------
Arwen laughed as she joked with her brothers in the bright afternoon, in the garden. They were reminiscing, recalling their childhoods, and later days that had followed. She told them of everyone in Lorien, and brought them kind words from Galadriel and Celeborn. The conversation turned as she finished telling of her visit in the Southeast, and she inquired about their time in Rivendell without her. They spoke of their friend Arathorn's death, and how horrible it was, and many others events of importance. They told her about the coming of Aragorn, also.
"Oh, Estel!" she said, when they told her. "I met him in the forest the other day. He seemed a very sweet boy, a gentleman I might say."
"Ah, so you've met our young brother, have you? I must tell you, Elrohir and I have formed a bond with this one greater than any of his forefathers. I'm not sure what it is... He's so earnest and willing to learn and help. And yet... he's strange... Almost sad. There's an Elvish air about him. He's more like an Elf than any man I've ever met."
"Father says he reminds him of Elendil," added a Elrohir with a nod. "More than any other of Elendil's heirs."
"And of Elros," said Elladan quietly. It was odd to think that Aragorn had come from the children of their father's brother. So many generations had passed, thousands and thousands. They could hardly even be called kin any more... Yet they called him brother.
"I know what you mean," said Arwen. "I have not spent much time with him at all, yet in the few minute we shared, I saw an intelligent young man, Elf- like as you say, and he was nimble and quick, and ever polite and humble... And, do you know, brothers, he sits in my special spot! In the great, old tree!"
The twins laughed at that. "Aye, he does. He always has. He likes to go off on his own in the woods and think."
"Tell me something about him."
"Like what?"
"I don't know, just a random story. Tell me something queer he's said."
Elrohir sat thinking, searching his mind for a memory of his young friend to tell her. "I have one," said Elladan. "Do you remember when he asked us, brother, who we would imagine ourselves to be if we were one of the people in the Ancient Tales?"
"Oh yes," said Elrohir. "I said Gil-Galad and you said-"
"Earendil, yes."
"What did he say," asked Arwen.
"Turin Turumbar."
"Turumbar?! Why on earth would he want to be Turin?" she exclaimed.
"That's what we said. But he said, 'I did not say who I would wish to be, but who I would be. Turin was more like an Elf than any other man, and you have often said that of me, I know. And he had no father also, and was raised by the kind elf-lord Thingol, just as I am raised by Elrond'."
"Such a tragic story," said Arwen quietly, recalling the Tale of Turin Turumbar, Master of Fate. In the end, it was fate that mastered him. "It disheartens me that such a young boy would chose such a tragic role for himself... Did you ask him then what he would he wished to be?"
"Actually yes," said Elrohir. "He said, 'Once I wished to be Fingolfin, Mighty King of Elves... Now I no longer wish for such glory and fame, or such a sudden, fantastical end... I realize now that none of that matters much, and that I would be content to find happiness and confidance and.. to be loved. So I would say I would be Beren if I could chose. It was a miracle that he was gifted with Luthien's love. Imagine knowing you had been blessed with a miracle...'"
The three of them sat silently for a moment, pondering the words of their young human friend. "When was this?" asked Arwen.
"Three years ago?" asked Elladan, looking to his brother for reassurance. Elrohir nodded. Then he turned to look his sister in the eye. "Have you noted the way he looks at you, little sister? He's falling in love with you, or I am a dwarf."
Arwen laughed and brushed the remark aside. "You say every man I meet is falling in love with me, brother."
"That is because most every man you meet does fall in love with you." Again, Arwen dismissed him with a laugh.
Elladan smiled at his siblings, but remained quiet for a moment. It was true that Elrohir seemed to always claim people were falling in love with his sister. He was always slightly over-protective of his younger sister, despite the fact that most of his claims were true. Elladan, though his love for Arwen was no less, felt that she was more than capable of taking care of herself. After all, she was nearly 3,000 years old.