It was riding against the evils befalling Middle~Earth, with Elladan and
Elrohir, the sons of the Lord Elrond, Half-elven, Lord of Rivendell, that
Arathorn was slain by the keen shot of an orc archer. It was then by the
will of Elrond, that his son, Aragorn, and his loving wife, Gilrean, went
to Rivendell. They then lived with the Lord of Rivendell, who became the
missing father in the young life of Aragorn, who was only two at the time.
However, Arathorn had not only left behind a wife and son, but also a
legacy and lineage that all came together in the blood of his only
forbearer, young Aragorn.
"Gilraen," Elrond's voice called to her. Peacefully, she sat at the rail of a balcony overlooking the lush gardens of Imladris. In her lap rested a young child, no more than two and a half years old. At his call, she turned from the baby and looked directly into his eyes. In her eyes he saw sorrow like a wilted flower in the mist of a blossomed garden. "I have long thought about the future of yourself and the child." His words were gentle. Before him was a woman who had not only barely had a chance to grieve for her husband's passing, but was faced with the safety of her son whom she would risk life itself to sustain. "It is not wise to spread news of his survival. I have heard many stories that he is dead, though we know he is definitely living."
Slowly, he walked over. At first sight of him, the child smiled. Although he was only two years of age, Elrond knew that there would yet be a day where he would grieve for the loss of his father, the father he never knew. His father's lineage was a burden all it's own, but for it to be laid on a child so young that was without it's father was almost condemning it to a fate of fear and unrest; for the enemy would forever hunt this young child. "It is not safe, Gilraen, for his lineage to be spread, for the very same forces that defeated Arathorn will yet hunt Aragorn." Though it was not an easy thing to hear, she could only sit there, gently stroking the babe's head as it began to drift off to sweet slumber.
"What can we do?" Gilraen finally spoke. "His blood is his. No magic can take that away from him."
"No. No magic can, but it is not his face the enemy knows, for he his but a child, though they do know his name. And that is what I have come to speak with you about. It would be in his best interest to hide his lineage from him until he is of the right age to hear it." Sadness entered Elrond's heart at the words for he loved the child and only wished the best for him.
Within, she knew that his words were but only another kindness he was offering her, though it hurt her to know that her son would not know of his own lineage. Sullenly, she nodded. For a moment, she could only look at the settling form in her arms; so peaceful, so tranquil, so innocent. "It will be done as you say," she assured him. "Though then what name shall he be called?"
For a moment, Elrond stood for a moment, still lost in thought. "Few names can be chosen at birth and be absolutely true to their bearers, however, there is one name that I know for certain is destined for your child, let it be given by myself then, if you will my lady, the name Estel."
And so it was that from that day forward, his lineage was rumored dead, though the spies of the enemy persisted in their search.
"Gilraen," Elrond's voice called to her. Peacefully, she sat at the rail of a balcony overlooking the lush gardens of Imladris. In her lap rested a young child, no more than two and a half years old. At his call, she turned from the baby and looked directly into his eyes. In her eyes he saw sorrow like a wilted flower in the mist of a blossomed garden. "I have long thought about the future of yourself and the child." His words were gentle. Before him was a woman who had not only barely had a chance to grieve for her husband's passing, but was faced with the safety of her son whom she would risk life itself to sustain. "It is not wise to spread news of his survival. I have heard many stories that he is dead, though we know he is definitely living."
Slowly, he walked over. At first sight of him, the child smiled. Although he was only two years of age, Elrond knew that there would yet be a day where he would grieve for the loss of his father, the father he never knew. His father's lineage was a burden all it's own, but for it to be laid on a child so young that was without it's father was almost condemning it to a fate of fear and unrest; for the enemy would forever hunt this young child. "It is not safe, Gilraen, for his lineage to be spread, for the very same forces that defeated Arathorn will yet hunt Aragorn." Though it was not an easy thing to hear, she could only sit there, gently stroking the babe's head as it began to drift off to sweet slumber.
"What can we do?" Gilraen finally spoke. "His blood is his. No magic can take that away from him."
"No. No magic can, but it is not his face the enemy knows, for he his but a child, though they do know his name. And that is what I have come to speak with you about. It would be in his best interest to hide his lineage from him until he is of the right age to hear it." Sadness entered Elrond's heart at the words for he loved the child and only wished the best for him.
Within, she knew that his words were but only another kindness he was offering her, though it hurt her to know that her son would not know of his own lineage. Sullenly, she nodded. For a moment, she could only look at the settling form in her arms; so peaceful, so tranquil, so innocent. "It will be done as you say," she assured him. "Though then what name shall he be called?"
For a moment, Elrond stood for a moment, still lost in thought. "Few names can be chosen at birth and be absolutely true to their bearers, however, there is one name that I know for certain is destined for your child, let it be given by myself then, if you will my lady, the name Estel."
And so it was that from that day forward, his lineage was rumored dead, though the spies of the enemy persisted in their search.
