DISCAIMER: See Prolouge.
SPECIAL MENTIONS: Another thank you to my reviewers: arabella thorne and Hoshi Tamamushiirono.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER FOUR: THE MYSTERY OF ISMENE
Snow settled like stars in her midnight hair as Aragorn stepped closer to Arwen. With the elegance of a princess, she twirled, her black skirts kissing the snow-covered grass as sweet laughter, like the finest music, escaped her perfect lips.
"Arwen..." he whispered, holding his hand out to her. Smiling, she accepted his hands, not protesting as his arms slid securely around her waist. She was so fragile, like an ice sculpture; he feared that, if he let go for but a second, she would melt or shatter in tiny fragments. A trembling hand caressed her face, brushing gently over the curve of her cheek. One finger stroked her pointed ear, so different from his own.
"Aragorn..." Her voice was barely audible, but the sound of his name rolling off her tongue, escaping her lips, sent a prickle down his spine. So beautiful... so very beautiful, mysterious, and familiar...
Then, like a mirage, she vanished, and he was alone in the snowy forest. His head spun frantically, searching for some sign of her; but he was utterly alone. She was gone, slipping from him like a shadow.
"Estel," a low voice called. "Come play with me."
"Ismene?" He replied, the name spilling from his lips before he even realised it. Who was Ismene, and why did her name fill his mind?
A little girl, her dark plaits swaying in the slight breeze, skipped out from the trees. "Come play with me, Estel. Come play with me. Please."
"Ismene," he repeated slowly. "Amin sinta lle?"
Ismene giggled softly. "You are silly, Estel! You are my friend. Come! We can go skating!"
Skating... "What is skating?" he asked. The word, like her name, like Arwen, sounded so familiar... and so inviting.
"You'll see..."
Aragorn followed the little girl, eager to know more about her. They were friends, or so she said. They descended a small hill, before stopping to face the ice-covered lake. "Come," Ismene said, taking his large hand in her smaller gloved one.
"Estel..." The voice filled his ears. He looked up, staring across the lake at the maiden who was calling his name into the wind. "Estel..."
"Arwen..."
He let the child's hand slip from his grasp, and began to walk towards the maiden who beckoned him closer, stepping confidently onto the ice. Arwen began to cross the ice, to meet him in the centre of the frozen pool. His arms snaked around her waist, determined that she would not vanish this time. Their lips met in a gentle kiss.
"Everyone always likes Arwen better than me!" Ismene wailed. Then, it happened.
Aragorn plummeted through the ice, dragging Arwen with him, flaying desperately to stay afloat. Ice-cold water filled his lungs, crushing the air as he slipped beneath the frozen waters....
Covered in sweat, panting for breath, Aragorn sat up in bed, his heart racing. It was just a dream... But it was so vivid! Almost like - no, it was impossible - it could not possibly be... a memory?
Laying his head on the pillow, he closed his eyes, drifting into a dreamless sleep.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ismene... The name echoed in Arwen's mind. How could he know? Had Elrond told him? No - Ada struggled to talk of it himself. But how else could Aragorn know?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Aragorn checked his appearance in the mirror one last time, smoothing a crease from his navy tunic.
"What are you doing, Aragorn?" His mother asked, peering in through the open door.
"Amme! Sorry, I did not see you. Please, come in!"
Gilraen slipped into her son's chamber, offering him a smile before her mouth dropped at the mountain of clothing that had gathered on the polished floor. "Aragorn! What do you call this mess?"
"Um..."
She shook her head in exasperation. "I do not care what you say, but you are not leaving this room until every item of clothing has been folded up and hung in your wardrobe." She eyed him suspiciously. "May I ask why the entire contents of your wardrobe are floor?"
He shuffled his feet, face turning more scarlet than his mother's gown. "I just... want to look smart, that is all. Is that a crime?"
Realisation dawned on Gilraen's face, filling her chestnut eyes with wonderment. "That was what I told my mother when your father was courting me!" She said, a nostalgic sigh escaping her lips as her mind drifted back to times when life had been so much simpler, times when she was a young woman, fresh out of childhood, smitten by a handsome Ranger who had befriended her father. Shaking herself back to the present, she stared at her son.
"I am not courting anyone, Amme!" Aragorn said with a half-hearted laugh. "If you must know, I am going to see how Lady Arwen fares after her accident yesterday, that is all."
"Aragorn..." Gilraen's tone became frantic, recognising the glimmer in her son's sea-grey eyes, the faint, ubiquitous grin that he seemed unaware of. "Aragorn, be careful! Do not fall in love with an elf!"
In previous times, Aragorn would have laughed at his mother's comment. Now, however, his heart froze for but a moment. In love... He shook his head to dispell the thought. "Amme, I just want to see how she fares. After all, she is my sister, and besides, I only met the girl yesterday!"
"All right," Gilraen said uncertainly, but she could not quell the fear in her heart, the fear that Aragorn may have to taste the bitterness of rejection before long. "Just... be careful."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Come in, Estel," Arwen called, not looking up from the leather-bound book she was reading.
Aragorn pushed open the door, gazing at the beautiful maiden lying on a bed in the dreary healing room, her injured ankle propped up by a cushion, so engrossed in whatever story she was reading that she had not even acknowledged his presence. "I did not even knock! How did you know it was me?"
Briefly lifting her gaze, Arwen smiled at him, and he felt his stomach flutter. "It was either you, or a damn noisy elf!" She replied with a laugh. "Beside, I have been expecting you. Please, sit down." She motioned to a wooden stool at her bedside, which Aragorn immediately seated himself upon.
For several moments, the young human stared at the room in silence, at the coloured glass bottles that gleamed in the milky winter sunlight, the pristine beds so rarely slept in, but most of all, the luminescent maiden who lay before him, eyeing the ranger quizzically. He blushed, abashed that she had caught him looking at her. "So... what are you reading?"
Arwen closed the book and placed it on a bedside table. "The Tale of Beren and Luthien," she replied, pulling herself up. "But I sense that you did not come here to learn more about my tastes in literature." Folding her arms across her chest, she leaned against the pillow. "Something troubles your heart; a problem to which you have no solution. You believe that I may hold some of the answers that you seek, or least offer some advice as to which path you might tread."
"You truly are your father's daughter," Aragorn replied with a smile. Despite her psychical resemblance to Elrond, there was something about her character, her mannerisms, her innate wisdom that reminded him so much of the elf-lord. "That is correct."
Arwen leaned forward eagerly. "I am listening."
Aragorn took a deep breath. "Do you remember that name I called you yesterday? Ismene?" The elf-maid shuddered, and something flickered in her eyes - pain, possibly? He could not say. "Anyway..."
He told her about his dream - omitting the part about their kiss, of course. "Then, she said that everyone liked you better than her. Do you know what that means?"
Arwen eyes widened, a breath catching in her throat. Tears meandered down her pale cheeks as she sobbed quietly.
Aragorn draped an arm around her shoulders. "Are you all right, Arwen?" he whispered soothingly, confused by her sudden outburst. She buried her face in his shoulders, weeping into his tunic. He stroked her dark hair, like liquid silk, her flowery scent filling her lungs. Finally, she raised her head, sapphire eyes meeting grey.
"Arwen, why did you run away yesterday?" Aragorn asked. "And who is Ismene?"
"I do not know..." she admitted sheepishly. "I was frightened."
"You have nothing to fear from me," he replied with a smile, enclosing his hand over hers. She stared at him intently, and he felt his heart leap. "But you have not answered my second question. Who is Ismene?" As Arwen turned away, he added, "Please tell me, Arwen. I would ask Ada, but something in my heart tells me that he will not answer any of my questions. You are the only person I can ask. Please."
Arwen met his eyes, seeing the flame of determination burning behind his dark pupils. 'He is actually quite handsome, for a human,' she thought for a moment, lifting a hand to brush a stray hair from his face. Her finger traced a path down his cheek, across the jaw line, the stubble on his chin.
Aragorn's knuckle gently grazed her cheek, feeling the velvety skin melt under his cautious touch. Her fingers on his face made the very skin feel brimming with life. As one, they leaned forward, foreheads touching. Their eyes slipped shut and their lips met in the gentlest ghost of a kiss...
Suddenly, a bottle toppled from the shelf and smashed against the floor, shattering into hundreds of minute glass fragments. "Mani marte?" Arwen asked, unable to disguise the shock in her voice. Suddenly, she stiffened. "Someone is coming..."
Aragorn was on his feet in an instant, striding across the room to the mahogany door. Motioning Arwen to be silent, he placed a hand on the golden handle. He turned it slowly, carefully, pulling the door open suddenly.
"Estel!" Elrond yelped, visibly gasping for breath. "You scared me to Mandos, Estel!"
"As did you, Ada," the man gasped. "As did you."
Elrond smiled, laying a hand on his chest to steady his heartbeat. "Quel amrun, Arwen. How are you feeling today?"
"I am fine, Ada," she replied, feigning a grin.
Aragorn suddenly blushed, remembering what transpired with Arwen before their interruption. "I... have to go. I promised Amme that I would... clean my chamber!" he said hurriedly as he brushed past Elrond, sparing neither him nor Arwen a backward glance.
The elf-lord stared in confusion at his son's retreating back before turning to his injured daughter. "What was that about, Undomiel?"
Arwen shrugged. "He... had to clean his chamber?" she replied feebly. Elrond narrowed his eyes, but said nothing more on the matter, turning to inspect his daughter's swollrn ankle. "Ada?" she asked meekly.
"Yes, nin iell?" The elf-lord replied, lifting his gaze to meet her worried face.
A lone tear dripped from her eyes. "How does Estel know about Ismene?"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
TRANSLATIONS:
Amin sinta lle = Do I know you?
Quel amrun = Good morning.
Mani marte? = What happened?
SPECIAL MENTIONS: Another thank you to my reviewers: arabella thorne and Hoshi Tamamushiirono.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER FOUR: THE MYSTERY OF ISMENE
Snow settled like stars in her midnight hair as Aragorn stepped closer to Arwen. With the elegance of a princess, she twirled, her black skirts kissing the snow-covered grass as sweet laughter, like the finest music, escaped her perfect lips.
"Arwen..." he whispered, holding his hand out to her. Smiling, she accepted his hands, not protesting as his arms slid securely around her waist. She was so fragile, like an ice sculpture; he feared that, if he let go for but a second, she would melt or shatter in tiny fragments. A trembling hand caressed her face, brushing gently over the curve of her cheek. One finger stroked her pointed ear, so different from his own.
"Aragorn..." Her voice was barely audible, but the sound of his name rolling off her tongue, escaping her lips, sent a prickle down his spine. So beautiful... so very beautiful, mysterious, and familiar...
Then, like a mirage, she vanished, and he was alone in the snowy forest. His head spun frantically, searching for some sign of her; but he was utterly alone. She was gone, slipping from him like a shadow.
"Estel," a low voice called. "Come play with me."
"Ismene?" He replied, the name spilling from his lips before he even realised it. Who was Ismene, and why did her name fill his mind?
A little girl, her dark plaits swaying in the slight breeze, skipped out from the trees. "Come play with me, Estel. Come play with me. Please."
"Ismene," he repeated slowly. "Amin sinta lle?"
Ismene giggled softly. "You are silly, Estel! You are my friend. Come! We can go skating!"
Skating... "What is skating?" he asked. The word, like her name, like Arwen, sounded so familiar... and so inviting.
"You'll see..."
Aragorn followed the little girl, eager to know more about her. They were friends, or so she said. They descended a small hill, before stopping to face the ice-covered lake. "Come," Ismene said, taking his large hand in her smaller gloved one.
"Estel..." The voice filled his ears. He looked up, staring across the lake at the maiden who was calling his name into the wind. "Estel..."
"Arwen..."
He let the child's hand slip from his grasp, and began to walk towards the maiden who beckoned him closer, stepping confidently onto the ice. Arwen began to cross the ice, to meet him in the centre of the frozen pool. His arms snaked around her waist, determined that she would not vanish this time. Their lips met in a gentle kiss.
"Everyone always likes Arwen better than me!" Ismene wailed. Then, it happened.
Aragorn plummeted through the ice, dragging Arwen with him, flaying desperately to stay afloat. Ice-cold water filled his lungs, crushing the air as he slipped beneath the frozen waters....
Covered in sweat, panting for breath, Aragorn sat up in bed, his heart racing. It was just a dream... But it was so vivid! Almost like - no, it was impossible - it could not possibly be... a memory?
Laying his head on the pillow, he closed his eyes, drifting into a dreamless sleep.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ismene... The name echoed in Arwen's mind. How could he know? Had Elrond told him? No - Ada struggled to talk of it himself. But how else could Aragorn know?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Aragorn checked his appearance in the mirror one last time, smoothing a crease from his navy tunic.
"What are you doing, Aragorn?" His mother asked, peering in through the open door.
"Amme! Sorry, I did not see you. Please, come in!"
Gilraen slipped into her son's chamber, offering him a smile before her mouth dropped at the mountain of clothing that had gathered on the polished floor. "Aragorn! What do you call this mess?"
"Um..."
She shook her head in exasperation. "I do not care what you say, but you are not leaving this room until every item of clothing has been folded up and hung in your wardrobe." She eyed him suspiciously. "May I ask why the entire contents of your wardrobe are floor?"
He shuffled his feet, face turning more scarlet than his mother's gown. "I just... want to look smart, that is all. Is that a crime?"
Realisation dawned on Gilraen's face, filling her chestnut eyes with wonderment. "That was what I told my mother when your father was courting me!" She said, a nostalgic sigh escaping her lips as her mind drifted back to times when life had been so much simpler, times when she was a young woman, fresh out of childhood, smitten by a handsome Ranger who had befriended her father. Shaking herself back to the present, she stared at her son.
"I am not courting anyone, Amme!" Aragorn said with a half-hearted laugh. "If you must know, I am going to see how Lady Arwen fares after her accident yesterday, that is all."
"Aragorn..." Gilraen's tone became frantic, recognising the glimmer in her son's sea-grey eyes, the faint, ubiquitous grin that he seemed unaware of. "Aragorn, be careful! Do not fall in love with an elf!"
In previous times, Aragorn would have laughed at his mother's comment. Now, however, his heart froze for but a moment. In love... He shook his head to dispell the thought. "Amme, I just want to see how she fares. After all, she is my sister, and besides, I only met the girl yesterday!"
"All right," Gilraen said uncertainly, but she could not quell the fear in her heart, the fear that Aragorn may have to taste the bitterness of rejection before long. "Just... be careful."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Come in, Estel," Arwen called, not looking up from the leather-bound book she was reading.
Aragorn pushed open the door, gazing at the beautiful maiden lying on a bed in the dreary healing room, her injured ankle propped up by a cushion, so engrossed in whatever story she was reading that she had not even acknowledged his presence. "I did not even knock! How did you know it was me?"
Briefly lifting her gaze, Arwen smiled at him, and he felt his stomach flutter. "It was either you, or a damn noisy elf!" She replied with a laugh. "Beside, I have been expecting you. Please, sit down." She motioned to a wooden stool at her bedside, which Aragorn immediately seated himself upon.
For several moments, the young human stared at the room in silence, at the coloured glass bottles that gleamed in the milky winter sunlight, the pristine beds so rarely slept in, but most of all, the luminescent maiden who lay before him, eyeing the ranger quizzically. He blushed, abashed that she had caught him looking at her. "So... what are you reading?"
Arwen closed the book and placed it on a bedside table. "The Tale of Beren and Luthien," she replied, pulling herself up. "But I sense that you did not come here to learn more about my tastes in literature." Folding her arms across her chest, she leaned against the pillow. "Something troubles your heart; a problem to which you have no solution. You believe that I may hold some of the answers that you seek, or least offer some advice as to which path you might tread."
"You truly are your father's daughter," Aragorn replied with a smile. Despite her psychical resemblance to Elrond, there was something about her character, her mannerisms, her innate wisdom that reminded him so much of the elf-lord. "That is correct."
Arwen leaned forward eagerly. "I am listening."
Aragorn took a deep breath. "Do you remember that name I called you yesterday? Ismene?" The elf-maid shuddered, and something flickered in her eyes - pain, possibly? He could not say. "Anyway..."
He told her about his dream - omitting the part about their kiss, of course. "Then, she said that everyone liked you better than her. Do you know what that means?"
Arwen eyes widened, a breath catching in her throat. Tears meandered down her pale cheeks as she sobbed quietly.
Aragorn draped an arm around her shoulders. "Are you all right, Arwen?" he whispered soothingly, confused by her sudden outburst. She buried her face in his shoulders, weeping into his tunic. He stroked her dark hair, like liquid silk, her flowery scent filling her lungs. Finally, she raised her head, sapphire eyes meeting grey.
"Arwen, why did you run away yesterday?" Aragorn asked. "And who is Ismene?"
"I do not know..." she admitted sheepishly. "I was frightened."
"You have nothing to fear from me," he replied with a smile, enclosing his hand over hers. She stared at him intently, and he felt his heart leap. "But you have not answered my second question. Who is Ismene?" As Arwen turned away, he added, "Please tell me, Arwen. I would ask Ada, but something in my heart tells me that he will not answer any of my questions. You are the only person I can ask. Please."
Arwen met his eyes, seeing the flame of determination burning behind his dark pupils. 'He is actually quite handsome, for a human,' she thought for a moment, lifting a hand to brush a stray hair from his face. Her finger traced a path down his cheek, across the jaw line, the stubble on his chin.
Aragorn's knuckle gently grazed her cheek, feeling the velvety skin melt under his cautious touch. Her fingers on his face made the very skin feel brimming with life. As one, they leaned forward, foreheads touching. Their eyes slipped shut and their lips met in the gentlest ghost of a kiss...
Suddenly, a bottle toppled from the shelf and smashed against the floor, shattering into hundreds of minute glass fragments. "Mani marte?" Arwen asked, unable to disguise the shock in her voice. Suddenly, she stiffened. "Someone is coming..."
Aragorn was on his feet in an instant, striding across the room to the mahogany door. Motioning Arwen to be silent, he placed a hand on the golden handle. He turned it slowly, carefully, pulling the door open suddenly.
"Estel!" Elrond yelped, visibly gasping for breath. "You scared me to Mandos, Estel!"
"As did you, Ada," the man gasped. "As did you."
Elrond smiled, laying a hand on his chest to steady his heartbeat. "Quel amrun, Arwen. How are you feeling today?"
"I am fine, Ada," she replied, feigning a grin.
Aragorn suddenly blushed, remembering what transpired with Arwen before their interruption. "I... have to go. I promised Amme that I would... clean my chamber!" he said hurriedly as he brushed past Elrond, sparing neither him nor Arwen a backward glance.
The elf-lord stared in confusion at his son's retreating back before turning to his injured daughter. "What was that about, Undomiel?"
Arwen shrugged. "He... had to clean his chamber?" she replied feebly. Elrond narrowed his eyes, but said nothing more on the matter, turning to inspect his daughter's swollrn ankle. "Ada?" she asked meekly.
"Yes, nin iell?" The elf-lord replied, lifting his gaze to meet her worried face.
A lone tear dripped from her eyes. "How does Estel know about Ismene?"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
TRANSLATIONS:
Amin sinta lle = Do I know you?
Quel amrun = Good morning.
Mani marte? = What happened?