DISCLAIMER: See Prologue. Oh, I should probably mention that all Elvish and
translations are courtesy of LOTR Heaven and councilofelrond.com.
SPECIAL MENTIONS: Thanks to my reviewers: A. Spencer, chococherry, Melissa Jooty, aragog, Hoshi Tamamushiirono, Exiled Knight and Liz. A thousand thanks!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER FIVE: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS
The first thing Aragorn did when arriving at his chamber was collapse on his bed.
What in the name of Eru had he been thinking when he kissed Arwen? Then, his mother's voice echoed in his head: 'Do not fall in love with an elf!'
Was he falling in love with Arwen? The thought itself was absurd. He was Edain, she was Eldar; she was destined to sail to Valinor when the elves time in Middle Earth was over; he was a mortal Man. All right, Aragorn was of the line of Elros Tar-Minyatur, but that did not bless him with immortality, merely kept his soul free from Mandos' grasp for another few years. But, regardless of what argument his head offered, his heart could not be quelled; Aragorn knew he loved Arwen, and that greatly disturbed him.
Then, there was the Ismene Mystery. Everyone else seemed to know something, something they would not divulge to him.
Sitting up, he sighed, resting his head in his hands. Perhaps he had been living with the elves for too long. His people, the Dunadain, were in need of their Chieftain once more. It was time he stopped fretting about mysteries that could not be solved, and concentrate on more important matters.
"Ah, there you are!" Gilraen's voice drew her son from his thoughts as she slipped into his (now tidy) chamber. "Aragorn, is something wrong?" she asked, her face etched with concern.
"Everything is fine, Amme," he replied, standing. "Actually, I have been thinking. Perhaps it is time I focused more on my duties, by taking up a permanent position as a Ranger of Eriador." His statement stunned Gilraen into silence. "You and Ada have constantly told me that I cannot avoid my responsibilities for much longer, and you are right. I cannot hide behind the protection of the elves for the rest of my life."
"Have you spoken to Elrond about this?" Gilraen said, her voice little more than a whisper as she gripped the table to steady herself.
Aragorn shook his head. "No, not yet. I do, however, intend to bring up the matter with him this evening."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"What?" Elrond stiffened, heart gripped with fear as tears filled his eyes.
"Yesterday," Arwen began, needing to talk to someone to pull her heart from the mire of worry it had sunk into. "Yesterday, he called me Ismene, and he just told me that he dreamt about her last night, he dreamt about himself drowning."
Elrond sat on the stool Estel had vacated moments earlier. "No, it cannot be! The potion... he should have no memories of that day!" Turning urgently to his daughter, a shuddery breath escaped his lips, blood rushing away from his now ashen face. "This is not possible!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Aragorn shuffled nervously along the corridor towards the dining hall, quietly rehearsing what he intended to tell Elrond, but the words fled his minds like birds migrating to the South in the winter. With a sigh, he reached the mahogany doors and pushed them open, straightening his shoulders. Casting a gaze to the top table, the breath was stolen from his lungs. Sitting only two seats away from his chair, involved in an animated conversation with Elrond, Glorfindel and Erestor, was Arwen.
Suddenly, she lifted her eyes, and turned to face him. His heart leapt, though whether it was from nervousness or her sheer, unrivalled beauty, he could not tell, but felt his face burn scarlet. Meeting his gaze for a split second, she offered him a gentle smile, before returning to her conversation with Elrond and his councillors.
However, Aragorn noted one thing: Elrond seemed to be staring at him. The elf-lord's gaze was capable of piercing even the strongest mind and most resolute heart. It was a weapon against which his foster-son had no defense, so the young human dropped his eyes to the floor, focusing on the intricate patterns as he made his way towards the table. His hand trembled as he pulled his chair and sank into it, swallowing apprehensively.
"Quel undome, Estel," Elrond greeted, his expression and voice devoid of the paternal warmth Aragorn had grown so used to. "After dinner, come to my study. We need to talk."
The young human visibly trembled. Had Arwen told her father of their kiss? What would Elrond? Kill Aragorn on the spot? Maybe; after all, Elrond had been - and still was - a skilled swordsman - but then again, he was also a healer. Intentionally causing pain was out with his nature. But, like the saying said, there was more than one way to flay an Orc. As dinner progressed, this Orc grew more and more uncomfortable.
When Elrond was involved in a conversation with Glorfindel concerning the increasing number of Orc sightings in the Misty Mountains, Aragorn slipped out of the dining room, grabbing his cloak from the entrance hall before stepping outside.
A chill breeze whipped his hair into his face, but he paid it no heed. An all-consuming dread filled his veins, coursing like poison in his blood. 'This may be the last night I ever spend in Imladris...' he thought with a sigh, sinking onto a marble bench on the balcony, absorbing the ethereal beauty of the only home he had ever know.
Sudden, a prickle reverberated down his spine: he was being watched. Turning sharply, eyes ablaze with apprehension, a sigh escaped his lips.
"I pray that you do not take this as insult, Estel, but for a ranger, you are easily caught off your guard." Arwen was unable to hide the amusement in her voice and the bemused smile that crossed her perfect, rose-coloured lips as she sat down beside the young man.
Aragorn's face reddened as the memory as their earlier interlude flooded his mind, and he recoiled, his throat suddenly dry. "Lady Arwen, I wish to apologise for what happened earlier. It was completely unacceptable, and I was out of order and -"
Arwen stilled him with her finger. "Estel, I am not angry at you, and you need not fear me. What happened today will stay strictly between us." She removed her finger from his lips, slowly, gently tracing the stubble on his chin. His eyes slipped shut as she stroked his cheek, nimble fingers dancing across the skin.
The sound of a waltz being played drew Aragorn from his reverie. He opened his eyes to find that Arwen had closed hers and was swaying gently in time with the music. Her eyes fluttered open, and she offered the young human an apologetic smile. "Do you dance, Estel?" She asked suddenly.
Aragorn shook his head. "'Tis a skill I could never be bothered to learn."
She eyed him quizzically. "Well, we will have to do something about that." Then, as an afterthought, she added, "Are you telling me that Ada has not held one of his famed balls since I left for Lorien nigh on a century ago?"
He shrugged. "Not in my lifetime, although he still insists that music be played after every meal as it -"
"Aids his digestion!" They said in unison, bursting into fits of laughter.
"Well, Ada has always been slightly eccentric. It comes of being so old and having seen so much." Arwen rose, smoothing the skirts of her cream dress. Illuminated the light of the moon, she looked like a handmaiden of Elbereth; though Aragorn doubted that even the elven goddess was as fair as she who stood before him. "I must go now. Ada insists that I rest often."
"How is your ankle, by the way?" Aragorn inquired. "Do you need any help?"
"Thank you for your concern, Estel, but I shall fine," she offered him a friendly smile that caused his heart to somersault. "Tenna' tul're."
"Tenna' tul're," he whispered in reply, watching her stride easily into the House, her elven metabolism obviously having healed her injury. "Meleth- nin."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It was late evening when Aragorn stood, having rehearsed and re-rehearsed his speech to Elrond, and mused over innumerable theories as to why his foster-father wanted to talk to him. Casting one last look at the night sky, he sighed, before turning towards the entrance.
"Estel..." A soft voice called, barely audible above the gentle, whistling breeze. "Tula sinome, mellon amin."
"Ya naa lle?" He called, a chill reverberating down his spine. But somewhere, in the deepest caverns of his mind, Aragorn already knew the answer. Ismene.
"Lle naa tulien?" The child called, appearing from behind a pillar, dark braids swinging slightly in the wind. Hands folded behind her back, she began to skip happily along the balcony, singing an improvised nonsense song.
'But how can this be?' Aragorn thought, bewilderment etched on his face. 'She was a little girl when I last saw, and that was years ago.'
Suddenly, he hesitated, his head pounding. So he *had* seen her before, when he was younger. But when? And why did her very presence send icicles of anxiety down his spine?
"Asca!" The child called, waving him onwards. Her skips turned to a run, and she raced down the marble stairs, taking them two at a time. "Asca, Estel!"
Shaking off the overwhelming feeling of dread that threatened to consume him, Aragorn decided to play along with Ismene's game. Perhaps she herself would reveal the information that would solve this mystery. "Manka lle merna, Ismene," he replied, slipping after the girl as she scurried into the garden.
She strode across the snow-covered grass, her feet leaving no imprint in the pristine white blanket of ice. Aragorn followed, curiosity flooding his veins. Somehow, he knew that tonight he would find the answers to the questions that pounded like a drum in his head - well, at least some answers. The Arwen debate could wait for the moment.
The child stiffened suddenly, coming to a halt before the tall rowan tree whose bare branches seemed to scrap the very sky, touching the minute diamond stars. It loomed over Ismene like a monster, her fragility becoming obvious in the face of such strength.
"Estel..." She whispered sweetly, a coy smile on her lips. "Estel..."
Like a bee to a spring flower, the man drew closer to the child.
A faint rumble made Aragorn stop, if only briefly. He spun round, but seeing nothing, turned back to the child who stared at him with wide-eyed innocence. Shrugging off the feeling of disquiet in his heart, he took a hesitant step forward.
A flash of lightning crashed to earth, slamming into the rowan tree, stabbing its very heart. Before he could run, a branch snapped away from the bough, and hit Aragorn squarely on the head.
He was falling; falling in blackness. His body numbed, sensation feeling his limbs as he crumpled to the snow-covered ground below, feeling the searing pain against his skull for but a second before being engulfed in the throes of unconsciousness.
"Now you can be my friend forever!" Ismene announced
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
ELVISH TRANSLATIONS:
Quel undome - Good evening
Tenna' tul're - Until tomorrow
Meleth-nin - my love
Tula sinome, mellon amin - Come here, my friend.
Ya naa lle? - Who are you?
Lle naa tulien? - Are you coming?
Asca - Hurry!
Manka lle merna - If you wish.
SPECIAL MENTIONS: Thanks to my reviewers: A. Spencer, chococherry, Melissa Jooty, aragog, Hoshi Tamamushiirono, Exiled Knight and Liz. A thousand thanks!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER FIVE: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS
The first thing Aragorn did when arriving at his chamber was collapse on his bed.
What in the name of Eru had he been thinking when he kissed Arwen? Then, his mother's voice echoed in his head: 'Do not fall in love with an elf!'
Was he falling in love with Arwen? The thought itself was absurd. He was Edain, she was Eldar; she was destined to sail to Valinor when the elves time in Middle Earth was over; he was a mortal Man. All right, Aragorn was of the line of Elros Tar-Minyatur, but that did not bless him with immortality, merely kept his soul free from Mandos' grasp for another few years. But, regardless of what argument his head offered, his heart could not be quelled; Aragorn knew he loved Arwen, and that greatly disturbed him.
Then, there was the Ismene Mystery. Everyone else seemed to know something, something they would not divulge to him.
Sitting up, he sighed, resting his head in his hands. Perhaps he had been living with the elves for too long. His people, the Dunadain, were in need of their Chieftain once more. It was time he stopped fretting about mysteries that could not be solved, and concentrate on more important matters.
"Ah, there you are!" Gilraen's voice drew her son from his thoughts as she slipped into his (now tidy) chamber. "Aragorn, is something wrong?" she asked, her face etched with concern.
"Everything is fine, Amme," he replied, standing. "Actually, I have been thinking. Perhaps it is time I focused more on my duties, by taking up a permanent position as a Ranger of Eriador." His statement stunned Gilraen into silence. "You and Ada have constantly told me that I cannot avoid my responsibilities for much longer, and you are right. I cannot hide behind the protection of the elves for the rest of my life."
"Have you spoken to Elrond about this?" Gilraen said, her voice little more than a whisper as she gripped the table to steady herself.
Aragorn shook his head. "No, not yet. I do, however, intend to bring up the matter with him this evening."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"What?" Elrond stiffened, heart gripped with fear as tears filled his eyes.
"Yesterday," Arwen began, needing to talk to someone to pull her heart from the mire of worry it had sunk into. "Yesterday, he called me Ismene, and he just told me that he dreamt about her last night, he dreamt about himself drowning."
Elrond sat on the stool Estel had vacated moments earlier. "No, it cannot be! The potion... he should have no memories of that day!" Turning urgently to his daughter, a shuddery breath escaped his lips, blood rushing away from his now ashen face. "This is not possible!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Aragorn shuffled nervously along the corridor towards the dining hall, quietly rehearsing what he intended to tell Elrond, but the words fled his minds like birds migrating to the South in the winter. With a sigh, he reached the mahogany doors and pushed them open, straightening his shoulders. Casting a gaze to the top table, the breath was stolen from his lungs. Sitting only two seats away from his chair, involved in an animated conversation with Elrond, Glorfindel and Erestor, was Arwen.
Suddenly, she lifted her eyes, and turned to face him. His heart leapt, though whether it was from nervousness or her sheer, unrivalled beauty, he could not tell, but felt his face burn scarlet. Meeting his gaze for a split second, she offered him a gentle smile, before returning to her conversation with Elrond and his councillors.
However, Aragorn noted one thing: Elrond seemed to be staring at him. The elf-lord's gaze was capable of piercing even the strongest mind and most resolute heart. It was a weapon against which his foster-son had no defense, so the young human dropped his eyes to the floor, focusing on the intricate patterns as he made his way towards the table. His hand trembled as he pulled his chair and sank into it, swallowing apprehensively.
"Quel undome, Estel," Elrond greeted, his expression and voice devoid of the paternal warmth Aragorn had grown so used to. "After dinner, come to my study. We need to talk."
The young human visibly trembled. Had Arwen told her father of their kiss? What would Elrond? Kill Aragorn on the spot? Maybe; after all, Elrond had been - and still was - a skilled swordsman - but then again, he was also a healer. Intentionally causing pain was out with his nature. But, like the saying said, there was more than one way to flay an Orc. As dinner progressed, this Orc grew more and more uncomfortable.
When Elrond was involved in a conversation with Glorfindel concerning the increasing number of Orc sightings in the Misty Mountains, Aragorn slipped out of the dining room, grabbing his cloak from the entrance hall before stepping outside.
A chill breeze whipped his hair into his face, but he paid it no heed. An all-consuming dread filled his veins, coursing like poison in his blood. 'This may be the last night I ever spend in Imladris...' he thought with a sigh, sinking onto a marble bench on the balcony, absorbing the ethereal beauty of the only home he had ever know.
Sudden, a prickle reverberated down his spine: he was being watched. Turning sharply, eyes ablaze with apprehension, a sigh escaped his lips.
"I pray that you do not take this as insult, Estel, but for a ranger, you are easily caught off your guard." Arwen was unable to hide the amusement in her voice and the bemused smile that crossed her perfect, rose-coloured lips as she sat down beside the young man.
Aragorn's face reddened as the memory as their earlier interlude flooded his mind, and he recoiled, his throat suddenly dry. "Lady Arwen, I wish to apologise for what happened earlier. It was completely unacceptable, and I was out of order and -"
Arwen stilled him with her finger. "Estel, I am not angry at you, and you need not fear me. What happened today will stay strictly between us." She removed her finger from his lips, slowly, gently tracing the stubble on his chin. His eyes slipped shut as she stroked his cheek, nimble fingers dancing across the skin.
The sound of a waltz being played drew Aragorn from his reverie. He opened his eyes to find that Arwen had closed hers and was swaying gently in time with the music. Her eyes fluttered open, and she offered the young human an apologetic smile. "Do you dance, Estel?" She asked suddenly.
Aragorn shook his head. "'Tis a skill I could never be bothered to learn."
She eyed him quizzically. "Well, we will have to do something about that." Then, as an afterthought, she added, "Are you telling me that Ada has not held one of his famed balls since I left for Lorien nigh on a century ago?"
He shrugged. "Not in my lifetime, although he still insists that music be played after every meal as it -"
"Aids his digestion!" They said in unison, bursting into fits of laughter.
"Well, Ada has always been slightly eccentric. It comes of being so old and having seen so much." Arwen rose, smoothing the skirts of her cream dress. Illuminated the light of the moon, she looked like a handmaiden of Elbereth; though Aragorn doubted that even the elven goddess was as fair as she who stood before him. "I must go now. Ada insists that I rest often."
"How is your ankle, by the way?" Aragorn inquired. "Do you need any help?"
"Thank you for your concern, Estel, but I shall fine," she offered him a friendly smile that caused his heart to somersault. "Tenna' tul're."
"Tenna' tul're," he whispered in reply, watching her stride easily into the House, her elven metabolism obviously having healed her injury. "Meleth- nin."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It was late evening when Aragorn stood, having rehearsed and re-rehearsed his speech to Elrond, and mused over innumerable theories as to why his foster-father wanted to talk to him. Casting one last look at the night sky, he sighed, before turning towards the entrance.
"Estel..." A soft voice called, barely audible above the gentle, whistling breeze. "Tula sinome, mellon amin."
"Ya naa lle?" He called, a chill reverberating down his spine. But somewhere, in the deepest caverns of his mind, Aragorn already knew the answer. Ismene.
"Lle naa tulien?" The child called, appearing from behind a pillar, dark braids swinging slightly in the wind. Hands folded behind her back, she began to skip happily along the balcony, singing an improvised nonsense song.
'But how can this be?' Aragorn thought, bewilderment etched on his face. 'She was a little girl when I last saw, and that was years ago.'
Suddenly, he hesitated, his head pounding. So he *had* seen her before, when he was younger. But when? And why did her very presence send icicles of anxiety down his spine?
"Asca!" The child called, waving him onwards. Her skips turned to a run, and she raced down the marble stairs, taking them two at a time. "Asca, Estel!"
Shaking off the overwhelming feeling of dread that threatened to consume him, Aragorn decided to play along with Ismene's game. Perhaps she herself would reveal the information that would solve this mystery. "Manka lle merna, Ismene," he replied, slipping after the girl as she scurried into the garden.
She strode across the snow-covered grass, her feet leaving no imprint in the pristine white blanket of ice. Aragorn followed, curiosity flooding his veins. Somehow, he knew that tonight he would find the answers to the questions that pounded like a drum in his head - well, at least some answers. The Arwen debate could wait for the moment.
The child stiffened suddenly, coming to a halt before the tall rowan tree whose bare branches seemed to scrap the very sky, touching the minute diamond stars. It loomed over Ismene like a monster, her fragility becoming obvious in the face of such strength.
"Estel..." She whispered sweetly, a coy smile on her lips. "Estel..."
Like a bee to a spring flower, the man drew closer to the child.
A faint rumble made Aragorn stop, if only briefly. He spun round, but seeing nothing, turned back to the child who stared at him with wide-eyed innocence. Shrugging off the feeling of disquiet in his heart, he took a hesitant step forward.
A flash of lightning crashed to earth, slamming into the rowan tree, stabbing its very heart. Before he could run, a branch snapped away from the bough, and hit Aragorn squarely on the head.
He was falling; falling in blackness. His body numbed, sensation feeling his limbs as he crumpled to the snow-covered ground below, feeling the searing pain against his skull for but a second before being engulfed in the throes of unconsciousness.
"Now you can be my friend forever!" Ismene announced
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
ELVISH TRANSLATIONS:
Quel undome - Good evening
Tenna' tul're - Until tomorrow
Meleth-nin - my love
Tula sinome, mellon amin - Come here, my friend.
Ya naa lle? - Who are you?
Lle naa tulien? - Are you coming?
Asca - Hurry!
Manka lle merna - If you wish.