Aragorn looked up from the map that he and several others were studying
gravely. The hand of Mordor stretched far into every corner of Middle-
Earth, and little hope now seemed left. A guard entered, bowing before
those assembled and addressed Aragorn.
"My Lord Aragorn. There is a lady here to see you; she claims her errand is most important."
Aragorn started, rising from his seat with a grave face, exchanging a knowing glance with Legolas, who stood also. "Did she give you a name?"
"Nay, my lord. Though, if I may say, it was quite a shock, for me at least, to see her here. 'Tis long since we have seen or heard of the elven folk."
He had not even finished when Aragorn swept past him, flinging open the flap that served as a door for the large pavilion. He started as he found Arwen standing before him, her face and arms marked with scratches and her clothes worn and ragged. He gaped for a moment, then hardened, composing himself, though in his eyes was pain. Arwen took Anduril from her belt, holding it forth and sinking to one knee.
"Here is Narsil reforged, blade of kings. I have brought it forth from the North by the bidding of Lady Galadriel. Behold, the world is changing once more. Will you accept now that which you would not before?" She looked at him with pleading eyes, and they both knew in full the double meaning of her words.
"Why have you not gone?" He asked, for he could think of nothing else, not even of the sword she held, gleaming in her pale hands.
"My choice is made, mine as was Luthien's long ago, when the world was young. I will not leave. To depart would be a greater sacrifice then to give my life to you, and to accept your fate in doing so. There is no hope for me beyond the sea; I will find no rest in the light apart from you." Her eyes filled with steely determination. "Lo! Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur! Your path is already set before you. You can no longer fight the darkness in secret, but must march boldly into despair to bring hope. Take now Anduril, which is yours in every right, and fear no longer any weakness, for where your sire fell, you shall stand firm."
Aragorn slowly took the sword from her, drawing it from the elegant sheath. The dying sun flashed red down its keen blade, deadly and biting. His eyes were dark and grave as he thought. At last he raised it, hand clasped tightly, firmly about the hilt, and cried out in a great voice.
"All that is gold does not glitter
Not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither
Deep roots are not reached by the frost
A fire from the ashes shall be woken
A light from the shadows shall spring
Renewed shall be blade that was broken
The crownless again shall be king."
He lowered the blade, buckling the sheath around his waist and slipping the sword into it. "I go to war."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Arwen watched as the lines of soldiers marched by. Aragorn rode at the head, Anduril at his side, face grim and noble. Her eyes gazed long after them, until at last they disappeared from even her keen sight into the shadow. She sighed, taking a deep breath to calm the knot in her stomach.
He would return.
Her hands gripped the cold metal rail, shaking slightly. She began to sing softly in the tongue of her people as she stood in the city of men that would be her home for the rest of her days.
"A Elbereth Gilthoniel.
Silivren penna miriel
O menel aglar elenath
Na-chaered palan-diriel
O galadhremmin ennorath
Fanuilos, le linnathon
Nef aear, si nef aearon"
The gentle notes died away and she turned from the terrace and made her way down to the stables. She slid open the door to Asfaloth's stall, slipping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his silky mane. She drew away and stared at him, eyes filled with tears.
"What if he dies?" she whispered slowly, forcing each word out past the ache in her throat. She nuzzled her forehead against his neck, running her hands along its length.
She sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees, and leaving back against the wall. "Ada..." she whispered, a tear falling down her cheek. Asfaloth nudged her gently with his head and she laughed quietly.
"I know... Aragorn's going to be alright, isn't he?" She stood and stroked him absentmindedly, looking past his lithe form to the East. There was always hope.
"My Lord Aragorn. There is a lady here to see you; she claims her errand is most important."
Aragorn started, rising from his seat with a grave face, exchanging a knowing glance with Legolas, who stood also. "Did she give you a name?"
"Nay, my lord. Though, if I may say, it was quite a shock, for me at least, to see her here. 'Tis long since we have seen or heard of the elven folk."
He had not even finished when Aragorn swept past him, flinging open the flap that served as a door for the large pavilion. He started as he found Arwen standing before him, her face and arms marked with scratches and her clothes worn and ragged. He gaped for a moment, then hardened, composing himself, though in his eyes was pain. Arwen took Anduril from her belt, holding it forth and sinking to one knee.
"Here is Narsil reforged, blade of kings. I have brought it forth from the North by the bidding of Lady Galadriel. Behold, the world is changing once more. Will you accept now that which you would not before?" She looked at him with pleading eyes, and they both knew in full the double meaning of her words.
"Why have you not gone?" He asked, for he could think of nothing else, not even of the sword she held, gleaming in her pale hands.
"My choice is made, mine as was Luthien's long ago, when the world was young. I will not leave. To depart would be a greater sacrifice then to give my life to you, and to accept your fate in doing so. There is no hope for me beyond the sea; I will find no rest in the light apart from you." Her eyes filled with steely determination. "Lo! Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur! Your path is already set before you. You can no longer fight the darkness in secret, but must march boldly into despair to bring hope. Take now Anduril, which is yours in every right, and fear no longer any weakness, for where your sire fell, you shall stand firm."
Aragorn slowly took the sword from her, drawing it from the elegant sheath. The dying sun flashed red down its keen blade, deadly and biting. His eyes were dark and grave as he thought. At last he raised it, hand clasped tightly, firmly about the hilt, and cried out in a great voice.
"All that is gold does not glitter
Not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither
Deep roots are not reached by the frost
A fire from the ashes shall be woken
A light from the shadows shall spring
Renewed shall be blade that was broken
The crownless again shall be king."
He lowered the blade, buckling the sheath around his waist and slipping the sword into it. "I go to war."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Arwen watched as the lines of soldiers marched by. Aragorn rode at the head, Anduril at his side, face grim and noble. Her eyes gazed long after them, until at last they disappeared from even her keen sight into the shadow. She sighed, taking a deep breath to calm the knot in her stomach.
He would return.
Her hands gripped the cold metal rail, shaking slightly. She began to sing softly in the tongue of her people as she stood in the city of men that would be her home for the rest of her days.
"A Elbereth Gilthoniel.
Silivren penna miriel
O menel aglar elenath
Na-chaered palan-diriel
O galadhremmin ennorath
Fanuilos, le linnathon
Nef aear, si nef aearon"
The gentle notes died away and she turned from the terrace and made her way down to the stables. She slid open the door to Asfaloth's stall, slipping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his silky mane. She drew away and stared at him, eyes filled with tears.
"What if he dies?" she whispered slowly, forcing each word out past the ache in her throat. She nuzzled her forehead against his neck, running her hands along its length.
She sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees, and leaving back against the wall. "Ada..." she whispered, a tear falling down her cheek. Asfaloth nudged her gently with his head and she laughed quietly.
"I know... Aragorn's going to be alright, isn't he?" She stood and stroked him absentmindedly, looking past his lithe form to the East. There was always hope.