The smooth gait of the horse beneath him slowed as Estel, with Elladan and
Elrohir beside him, rode beneath the gentle eves of the elvenrefuge of
Rivendell. Before them, the scattered buildings spanned through trees and
over brush. Happily, Estel smiled. It's good to be home.
"Come my brothers," Elrohir rode his horse towards the stables. Estel smiled at Elladan and then followed Elrohir down a small, well-trodden path.
By the time he had reached the stables, Elrohir had already dismounted and was stroking his horse's neck. His familiar voice laughed as he spoke to a figure, who's back was faced towards Estel.
Though they had many times returned to Rivendell, it seemed as if Estel had become even older than simply four years time. The once-short brown locks now fell about his shoulders, which were now broad and strong. He no longer rode with both hands securely on the horse as those who simply ride about the valley, he now rode with one hand on the reigns and the other rested at his side easily. Most of all though, his eyes no longer held that youthful glow they once did; instead, they held a fury that only one who had seen many a battle held.
At his approach, the dark-haired figure that stood before him turned, smiling. It was Lord Elrond. Immediately, he noticed the growth in him. "Estel," he warmly greeted him. "Welcome home." Agilely, he lifted one leg and slid down the side of the horse, his cloak flowing down like wind from the mountains.
"Thank you, my lord," he said as he patted the side of his chestnut horse. Then, he walked over to the two elves. Just behind him, Elladan walked up.
"Maar artuile, Ada," Elladan smiled. The four stood for a moment. It seemed that Elrond had something on his mind.
"Welcome home, all of you." A few elves walked over and made themselves busy unsattling and cleaning the three horses. A warm smile crossed his face. "Come! You must tell me of your adventures! Where have you been riding from?"
"We have just come from the far south, Enedwaith and Horandor before that," spoke Elrohir. The two twins looked scarcely tired nor worn by long years of traveling. However, Estel looked to be aged by more than just four years. The wisdom that he had gained shown through like the radiant sunlight. His garb was still that of the elves, though it looked as if it had adapted a few human touches as well.
"And the borders of Gondor and Rhun before that," Estel spoke up, smiling proudly. The three had created a camaraderie between them. They truly were brothers.
"It has almost been a year since you have returned last. I know now why."
The four of them walked down a path through a grove of trees. Though it had be a long time since they had been in Imladris, it was almost unchanged. The leaves on the ground were thicker than the last time they had returned, though it had been earlier in autumn last year.
"It was indeed a long way," Estel smiled. "Though we have finally returned home."
"And this is well indeed, my sons."
The four men walked amongst the gardens for a time, telling tales of their journeys abroad, of deeds and misfortunes. It was a dream come true to be home once more, though, and all three of them agreed. As the sun began to sink beyond the horizon, they made their way towards the banquet hall.
Scents of spices and herbs danced through the air, tingling the scenes as they approached the grand hall. All three of the travelers grinned widely, for they knew that a feast in Imladris was that of kings. Proudly, they strode into the hall where a large host of people awaited their arrival. Amongst them, to the content of Estel was his mother, Gilraen.
The feast wore down and many of the people found themselves wandering into the Hall of Fire to relax and take in a bit of lore and good tales from Elrohir, Estel, and Elladan. Each told tales of bravery and valor.
Near the drawing of the evening, when slowly, the people found themselves nodding off to sleep, they one by one, disappeared back to their rooms to drift peacefully to slumber, Elrond came to Estel. "I wish to speak with you alone," he told him. At first, he was confused, though he trusted Elrond with every bit of his existence, so he agreed and rose from his seat by the fire and followed his foster-father beyond the hall and into the great study.
"Estel," he began as he walked towards a large chest in the corner. "Long have been your years and many have been your great feats." For a moment, he stopped and turned to face the young man. "And here I deem you ready and aged enough to hear what I have to say."
Curious and strange at first were the words of Elrond to Estel. Though slowly, he began to understand that this was indeed important; life changing. "When you were a young child, I took in you and your mother after the death of your father, Arathorn, heir to the line of the Kings of Numenor. For your safety, I thought it best that your name hidden for there were many spies of the enemy that sought you. When you were born, you were called Aragorn and from here on, it is your name, though I would advise caution yet." Again, he resumed his stroll towards the chest.
"You are the latest heir to Isildur, Aragorn." Even though he was not facing Aragorn, the man could read it through his voice. He was proud to tell him this and relieved that he now knew. "And here you now know, you know the truth." Again, Elrond turned towards him after he finally reached the chest. For a moment, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, stood in awe of what he had been told.
"Many road lie ahead of you, though I fear that none are clear of obstacles and problems." Slowly, Aragorn walked to Elrond's side before the chest. Reverently, Elrond lifted the lid of the long-closed chest. Within lay a slew of cloths and boxes. Amongst them, Elrond reached within and removed a box about the size of his powerful but care worn hands.
"These are heirlooms of your house," he gestured to the contents of the crate. "And here is one of the many beloved gifts your bloodline bears." Carefully, he lifted the lid to reveal within a ring resting on a pillow of deep navy. "The Ring of Barahir. It has belonged to your kin since the days of Beren and the height of Morgoth."
Carefully, Aragorn lifted the ring, a symbol of two serpents and a crown of flowers. One upheld the crown, while the other seemed to be biting it. Laid within were emeralds that shimmered from the serpents' eyes. After examining it, he easily slid it onto his finger, and surprisingly, it fit perfectly.
Elrond smiled.
On this night, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor and Anor, took up what was once so long forgotten amongst the race of Men. The final chance for the line of the kings of Men was alive and breathing, though unsure of his path.
He would go on into exile, though never forgotten is the tale of the meeting of Aragorn and the lady Arwen Undomiel, daughter of Elrond, beneath the silver birches of the enchanting night. Though ill-fated it seemed, the hope for men lived on through his own means and with hope that one day he would fulfill the dreams that appeared out of the mists of time to bring out the light.
"Come my brothers," Elrohir rode his horse towards the stables. Estel smiled at Elladan and then followed Elrohir down a small, well-trodden path.
By the time he had reached the stables, Elrohir had already dismounted and was stroking his horse's neck. His familiar voice laughed as he spoke to a figure, who's back was faced towards Estel.
Though they had many times returned to Rivendell, it seemed as if Estel had become even older than simply four years time. The once-short brown locks now fell about his shoulders, which were now broad and strong. He no longer rode with both hands securely on the horse as those who simply ride about the valley, he now rode with one hand on the reigns and the other rested at his side easily. Most of all though, his eyes no longer held that youthful glow they once did; instead, they held a fury that only one who had seen many a battle held.
At his approach, the dark-haired figure that stood before him turned, smiling. It was Lord Elrond. Immediately, he noticed the growth in him. "Estel," he warmly greeted him. "Welcome home." Agilely, he lifted one leg and slid down the side of the horse, his cloak flowing down like wind from the mountains.
"Thank you, my lord," he said as he patted the side of his chestnut horse. Then, he walked over to the two elves. Just behind him, Elladan walked up.
"Maar artuile, Ada," Elladan smiled. The four stood for a moment. It seemed that Elrond had something on his mind.
"Welcome home, all of you." A few elves walked over and made themselves busy unsattling and cleaning the three horses. A warm smile crossed his face. "Come! You must tell me of your adventures! Where have you been riding from?"
"We have just come from the far south, Enedwaith and Horandor before that," spoke Elrohir. The two twins looked scarcely tired nor worn by long years of traveling. However, Estel looked to be aged by more than just four years. The wisdom that he had gained shown through like the radiant sunlight. His garb was still that of the elves, though it looked as if it had adapted a few human touches as well.
"And the borders of Gondor and Rhun before that," Estel spoke up, smiling proudly. The three had created a camaraderie between them. They truly were brothers.
"It has almost been a year since you have returned last. I know now why."
The four of them walked down a path through a grove of trees. Though it had be a long time since they had been in Imladris, it was almost unchanged. The leaves on the ground were thicker than the last time they had returned, though it had been earlier in autumn last year.
"It was indeed a long way," Estel smiled. "Though we have finally returned home."
"And this is well indeed, my sons."
The four men walked amongst the gardens for a time, telling tales of their journeys abroad, of deeds and misfortunes. It was a dream come true to be home once more, though, and all three of them agreed. As the sun began to sink beyond the horizon, they made their way towards the banquet hall.
Scents of spices and herbs danced through the air, tingling the scenes as they approached the grand hall. All three of the travelers grinned widely, for they knew that a feast in Imladris was that of kings. Proudly, they strode into the hall where a large host of people awaited their arrival. Amongst them, to the content of Estel was his mother, Gilraen.
The feast wore down and many of the people found themselves wandering into the Hall of Fire to relax and take in a bit of lore and good tales from Elrohir, Estel, and Elladan. Each told tales of bravery and valor.
Near the drawing of the evening, when slowly, the people found themselves nodding off to sleep, they one by one, disappeared back to their rooms to drift peacefully to slumber, Elrond came to Estel. "I wish to speak with you alone," he told him. At first, he was confused, though he trusted Elrond with every bit of his existence, so he agreed and rose from his seat by the fire and followed his foster-father beyond the hall and into the great study.
"Estel," he began as he walked towards a large chest in the corner. "Long have been your years and many have been your great feats." For a moment, he stopped and turned to face the young man. "And here I deem you ready and aged enough to hear what I have to say."
Curious and strange at first were the words of Elrond to Estel. Though slowly, he began to understand that this was indeed important; life changing. "When you were a young child, I took in you and your mother after the death of your father, Arathorn, heir to the line of the Kings of Numenor. For your safety, I thought it best that your name hidden for there were many spies of the enemy that sought you. When you were born, you were called Aragorn and from here on, it is your name, though I would advise caution yet." Again, he resumed his stroll towards the chest.
"You are the latest heir to Isildur, Aragorn." Even though he was not facing Aragorn, the man could read it through his voice. He was proud to tell him this and relieved that he now knew. "And here you now know, you know the truth." Again, Elrond turned towards him after he finally reached the chest. For a moment, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, stood in awe of what he had been told.
"Many road lie ahead of you, though I fear that none are clear of obstacles and problems." Slowly, Aragorn walked to Elrond's side before the chest. Reverently, Elrond lifted the lid of the long-closed chest. Within lay a slew of cloths and boxes. Amongst them, Elrond reached within and removed a box about the size of his powerful but care worn hands.
"These are heirlooms of your house," he gestured to the contents of the crate. "And here is one of the many beloved gifts your bloodline bears." Carefully, he lifted the lid to reveal within a ring resting on a pillow of deep navy. "The Ring of Barahir. It has belonged to your kin since the days of Beren and the height of Morgoth."
Carefully, Aragorn lifted the ring, a symbol of two serpents and a crown of flowers. One upheld the crown, while the other seemed to be biting it. Laid within were emeralds that shimmered from the serpents' eyes. After examining it, he easily slid it onto his finger, and surprisingly, it fit perfectly.
Elrond smiled.
On this night, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor and Anor, took up what was once so long forgotten amongst the race of Men. The final chance for the line of the kings of Men was alive and breathing, though unsure of his path.
He would go on into exile, though never forgotten is the tale of the meeting of Aragorn and the lady Arwen Undomiel, daughter of Elrond, beneath the silver birches of the enchanting night. Though ill-fated it seemed, the hope for men lived on through his own means and with hope that one day he would fulfill the dreams that appeared out of the mists of time to bring out the light.
