* Hi! I know this is a bit short but enjoy anyway! You know I always
appreciate comments *hint, hint*! Um hopefully in the following chapters
Kathryn will seem a bit more realistic.hopefully! *
Her feet took her into the place she haunted every visit that she made to Rivendell. Ascending a flight of stairs, she found the gallery. Guarded by silent statues, it took her back to the past as she walked along with paintings of its ancient history on her right and remnants of ruined glory upon her left.
Silent with reverence she strode up to one statue to look long upon its cherished possession cradled in its arms. There lay the shards of Narsil, Elendil's sword.
"The Sword-That-Was-Broken." She recollected quietly from her mother's sole legacy to her. Then she corrected herself, bitterly. "The Sword-That- Is-Broken."
As she lifted the stunted hilt, she wondered if it would ever be reforged. And if so, who would reclaim it? Would the strife of two heirs tear apart what hope is left against.
".against the Shadow?" Her thoughts slipped out between her parted lips. Quickly but carefully she placed it back. Did she deserve the sword of great Kings? It was her forefather that had broken the line of Kings. Did she have the strength to reforge that?
A hand comforted her shoulder. She shrugged under it, turning; she was losing faith. It was Aragorn.
"I know now the shadow weighing upon you Estel.Aragorn." She grimaced.
"It pains me to see you share the burden, cousin." He said softly.
Leaning against the railings she looked at the floor. "Can I resist the Ring? Should I be trusted to be so near to its lure?" She questioned herself. Aragorn gripped the railing, looking down to the library below. "I do not know what strength is in our blood. But I know anything that happens will have to fight strongly against your will." Neither moved their gaze. "I wish it were that easy." was all she said. She walked away, sitting on a bench further along the gallery, out of sight, wrapped in her brooding thoughts.
"Why do you fear the past?" A woman's voice asked behind Aragorn. Her voice burdened with wisdom and age but a counterbalancing waterfall of merriment ran through its discourse. "You are Isildur's heir - not Isildur himself. You are not bound to his fate." Aragorn turned and saw a lady clad in gently glowing white; dark hair flowing down her shoulders. His love.
"The same blood flows through my veins. The same weakness." His grey eyes shone, declaring his troubling lineage.
"Your time will come. You will face the same evil and you will defeat it." Her eyes were sad, but certainty dwelt like a rock within them. Caressing his unshaven cheek, she whispered comforting words. "A si i- Dhúath ú-arthor, Aragorn. Ú or le, a ú or nin (The Shadow does not hold sway yet, Aragorn. Not over you and not over me). She took his hand and they walked outside, embracing twilight.
Her feet took her into the place she haunted every visit that she made to Rivendell. Ascending a flight of stairs, she found the gallery. Guarded by silent statues, it took her back to the past as she walked along with paintings of its ancient history on her right and remnants of ruined glory upon her left.
Silent with reverence she strode up to one statue to look long upon its cherished possession cradled in its arms. There lay the shards of Narsil, Elendil's sword.
"The Sword-That-Was-Broken." She recollected quietly from her mother's sole legacy to her. Then she corrected herself, bitterly. "The Sword-That- Is-Broken."
As she lifted the stunted hilt, she wondered if it would ever be reforged. And if so, who would reclaim it? Would the strife of two heirs tear apart what hope is left against.
".against the Shadow?" Her thoughts slipped out between her parted lips. Quickly but carefully she placed it back. Did she deserve the sword of great Kings? It was her forefather that had broken the line of Kings. Did she have the strength to reforge that?
A hand comforted her shoulder. She shrugged under it, turning; she was losing faith. It was Aragorn.
"I know now the shadow weighing upon you Estel.Aragorn." She grimaced.
"It pains me to see you share the burden, cousin." He said softly.
Leaning against the railings she looked at the floor. "Can I resist the Ring? Should I be trusted to be so near to its lure?" She questioned herself. Aragorn gripped the railing, looking down to the library below. "I do not know what strength is in our blood. But I know anything that happens will have to fight strongly against your will." Neither moved their gaze. "I wish it were that easy." was all she said. She walked away, sitting on a bench further along the gallery, out of sight, wrapped in her brooding thoughts.
"Why do you fear the past?" A woman's voice asked behind Aragorn. Her voice burdened with wisdom and age but a counterbalancing waterfall of merriment ran through its discourse. "You are Isildur's heir - not Isildur himself. You are not bound to his fate." Aragorn turned and saw a lady clad in gently glowing white; dark hair flowing down her shoulders. His love.
"The same blood flows through my veins. The same weakness." His grey eyes shone, declaring his troubling lineage.
"Your time will come. You will face the same evil and you will defeat it." Her eyes were sad, but certainty dwelt like a rock within them. Caressing his unshaven cheek, she whispered comforting words. "A si i- Dhúath ú-arthor, Aragorn. Ú or le, a ú or nin (The Shadow does not hold sway yet, Aragorn. Not over you and not over me). She took his hand and they walked outside, embracing twilight.