The wailing continued throughout the morning, and into the afternoon.
Almost parallel to Kathryn's grief, rain fell like a beaded curtain from
outside the marble-white arches of her room. Elrond was troubled as he
walked along the sobbing corridors. He opened the door and saw her hunched
on the floor, crying like her soul poured from her eyes. Elrond placed a
hand on her shaking shoulders.
"He suffers as much as you do." He said softly.
"It isn't your decision, it isn't your decision!" She wailed hysterically. Elrond held her head to his chest, smoothing her hair.
"He loves you very much. I felt the same letting Arwen leave the first time."
"I don't want to hurt him, I don't want to." The crying stopped, but her breathing was still shallow and in jerks.
"He has given a lot to keep you safe. Now he must learn to let you go, to go and face the dangers yourself." Somehow Elrond's firm, reasonable voice was calming.
"Elrond?"
"Yes it is I."
"Are you my uncle?"
A brief smile passed his lips, "Yes. Your mother, Elnaldiriel, was my wife, Celebrian's sister."
"She is dead, my mother." She looked up at him, her eyes flooded with tears. "A foretelling killed her - killed her! 'Seek for the Sword That Was Broken: In Imladris it dwells; There shall be councils taken Stronger than Morgul-spells. There shall be shown a token That Doom is near at hand, For Isildur's Bane shall waken, And the Halfling forth shall stand.'
"Those words killed her! And what use are they? Mere words!"
Elrond looked at her sternly, his tone lecturing, "You under-estimate the power of words." Wisdom deeply filled his stormy-grey eyes.
Still wandering aimlessly in sorrow, she whispered, "Maybe she could have held on if my father had not perished fighting the Witch King of Angmar."
Now his eyes were sympathetic, compassion whirling inside them, "Armelion Taurrandir was a good friend to me, the closest I had to another brother. His valiant fight that diminished the Prince saved Rivendell from his armies. The blood of Númenor ran true in him." Elrond stopped, and there was an awkward silence as if that last sentence had come unbidden. He sighed wistfully.
"Númenor? Why say you that? My father was just a Ranger."
Elrond laughed. "Just a Ranger? Kathryn, 'Just a Ranger' is a contradiction in itself! Rangers are Dúnedain - Men of the West - descendants of the Lords from lost Númenor and from Gondor." He stopped chuckling and his acute eyebrows furrowed inwards. Gravely he spoke. "I think the time is right for you to realise all of your lineage." He got up, walked to the balcony and placed his hands on the ornate rails, looking out to the West. "Your father, Armelion was the second son of Arador, the fifteenth Chieftain of the Dúnedain."
"Who was the first son?"
"Arathorn the second. Now Arador was in direct descent from Isildur, son of Elendil, King of Gondor and Arnor. The line of Númenor had been dwindling, but for once they were gifted with two sons, who in turn had an heir each. You are Armelion's heir." He turned back to face her. "And one of the two rightful heirs to the throne of Gondor."
Kathryn felt detached, unthinking, distant by disbelief. But at the same time curiosity was sparked within her, setting her eyes aflame. "Who is Arathorn's heir?"
"His name is Aragorn." Elrond turned away again, and Kathryn sensed there was something he was keeping back from her, but decided not to pursue the matter today.
Instead she asked, "Does he not take precedence to claiming the throne?"
"No one knows. Besides, it is not yet the time for the claim to be made. A sign will be give, perhaps when the Doom that your mother spoke of is near at hand." He turned around and grasped her shoulder. "I hope you understand, I could not tell you sooner because of the Dark Lord. Even now he seeks for the Heir of Isildur, he fears much the return of Númenor or at least, the union of Arnor and Gondor renewed. Be careful. Namárië an si, Aredylen Dúnien." He smiled and left the room.
Kathryn stared at the closed door. "Names!" she muttered. "As if I needed anymore names!" Aredylen meant something like 'Noble-hidden-heart' or 'Hidden-noble' in Sindarin. She seemed to remember someone saying it before, but deep in the depths of her childhood. It was appropriate, though. And Dúnien was a variation of Dúnadan, but meant Maiden of the West.
In the middle of her musings, realisation hit her. An heir to a kingdom, by the Valar! Her first instinct was to tell Estel, but then she remembered the void between them. Another tear ran down her cheek.
"He suffers as much as you do." He said softly.
"It isn't your decision, it isn't your decision!" She wailed hysterically. Elrond held her head to his chest, smoothing her hair.
"He loves you very much. I felt the same letting Arwen leave the first time."
"I don't want to hurt him, I don't want to." The crying stopped, but her breathing was still shallow and in jerks.
"He has given a lot to keep you safe. Now he must learn to let you go, to go and face the dangers yourself." Somehow Elrond's firm, reasonable voice was calming.
"Elrond?"
"Yes it is I."
"Are you my uncle?"
A brief smile passed his lips, "Yes. Your mother, Elnaldiriel, was my wife, Celebrian's sister."
"She is dead, my mother." She looked up at him, her eyes flooded with tears. "A foretelling killed her - killed her! 'Seek for the Sword That Was Broken: In Imladris it dwells; There shall be councils taken Stronger than Morgul-spells. There shall be shown a token That Doom is near at hand, For Isildur's Bane shall waken, And the Halfling forth shall stand.'
"Those words killed her! And what use are they? Mere words!"
Elrond looked at her sternly, his tone lecturing, "You under-estimate the power of words." Wisdom deeply filled his stormy-grey eyes.
Still wandering aimlessly in sorrow, she whispered, "Maybe she could have held on if my father had not perished fighting the Witch King of Angmar."
Now his eyes were sympathetic, compassion whirling inside them, "Armelion Taurrandir was a good friend to me, the closest I had to another brother. His valiant fight that diminished the Prince saved Rivendell from his armies. The blood of Númenor ran true in him." Elrond stopped, and there was an awkward silence as if that last sentence had come unbidden. He sighed wistfully.
"Númenor? Why say you that? My father was just a Ranger."
Elrond laughed. "Just a Ranger? Kathryn, 'Just a Ranger' is a contradiction in itself! Rangers are Dúnedain - Men of the West - descendants of the Lords from lost Númenor and from Gondor." He stopped chuckling and his acute eyebrows furrowed inwards. Gravely he spoke. "I think the time is right for you to realise all of your lineage." He got up, walked to the balcony and placed his hands on the ornate rails, looking out to the West. "Your father, Armelion was the second son of Arador, the fifteenth Chieftain of the Dúnedain."
"Who was the first son?"
"Arathorn the second. Now Arador was in direct descent from Isildur, son of Elendil, King of Gondor and Arnor. The line of Númenor had been dwindling, but for once they were gifted with two sons, who in turn had an heir each. You are Armelion's heir." He turned back to face her. "And one of the two rightful heirs to the throne of Gondor."
Kathryn felt detached, unthinking, distant by disbelief. But at the same time curiosity was sparked within her, setting her eyes aflame. "Who is Arathorn's heir?"
"His name is Aragorn." Elrond turned away again, and Kathryn sensed there was something he was keeping back from her, but decided not to pursue the matter today.
Instead she asked, "Does he not take precedence to claiming the throne?"
"No one knows. Besides, it is not yet the time for the claim to be made. A sign will be give, perhaps when the Doom that your mother spoke of is near at hand." He turned around and grasped her shoulder. "I hope you understand, I could not tell you sooner because of the Dark Lord. Even now he seeks for the Heir of Isildur, he fears much the return of Númenor or at least, the union of Arnor and Gondor renewed. Be careful. Namárië an si, Aredylen Dúnien." He smiled and left the room.
Kathryn stared at the closed door. "Names!" she muttered. "As if I needed anymore names!" Aredylen meant something like 'Noble-hidden-heart' or 'Hidden-noble' in Sindarin. She seemed to remember someone saying it before, but deep in the depths of her childhood. It was appropriate, though. And Dúnien was a variation of Dúnadan, but meant Maiden of the West.
In the middle of her musings, realisation hit her. An heir to a kingdom, by the Valar! Her first instinct was to tell Estel, but then she remembered the void between them. Another tear ran down her cheek.