A/N: Thank you dshael, Gionareth, crazyLOTRfan, and grumpy for reviewing and giving me reason to keep writing this. Sorry for taking so long to update.
-Unveiling-
The dark figure trudged through the storm towards the last homely house, a vague grin passing on its pale face. It was exhilarating to be back in the realm of the living. Already it had retrieved his first victim, the spirit from the man had been strong. There was something distinctly different about his race. But more pressing on his mind was the clear presence of Elves from not far off. The spirits of Elves were harder to ensnare, but it was worth it once he had it.
(~*~)
"I don't understand what's going on!" Aragorn cried as he followed Fate through the tower that he supposed was some sort of after life. "You said I wasn't supposed be here… That something out of your control is happening. You said Arwen may be in danger!"
"Yes, yes, and yes," Fate replied shortly. "Aragorn… I can't give you any definite answers."
"Then tell me what you can," he pleaded. She stopped and turned to face him, her eyes grave.
"If what I think has happened… A soul has found a way to cross over into Life. Until they have fully become a part of Life again, they have the ability to exist in both realms…" she finished, her face pale and it seemed as though she did not care much to continue.
The man was watching the floor, his voice catching, afraid to know the answer. "And how do they… sustain this ability to exist in Life?"
Fate met his gaze, regret and sorrow in her eyes. "By taking the lives of the living… That's what happened to you."
His dark gaze was filled with realization. "That's what I saw in the clearing… what forced me back to the wargs…" Suddenly he looked down at his own hand, his memory flashing to what had crossed his eyes before he lost consciousness in the snow. "And it was headed for Rivendell… I have to stop it!"
"There is nothing that you can do…"
"Arwen's in Rivendell! I have to stop it!" he cried desperately. He searched the young woman's face, though she would not return his gaze, he could tell the look about her was sympathetic. "Please, there must be something I can do… Anything?"
"If you can identify the spirit, when it comes back to the realm of the Dead… You can send it to a deeper place of Death, where there is no way back into Life…" she replied at length.
"And what happens when he doesn't need to retreat to Death?" Aragorn asked apprehensively.
"I don't know… This is the first time anyone has ever been successful in crossing over." She paused and drew a breath, and he could see that she was shaking from the novelty of the situation. "I must leave you now, but not for too long." Fate was about to take another corridor out of that particular hall, but Aragorn grabbed her hand.
"Wait, one more question… Is there… Is there any way for me to… live again?" he asked, his voice cracking.
"I have to go, Aragorn…" she said slowly, than turned away, leaving him alone in the hall, the torch nearby on the wall flickering and casting a somewhat eerie and sorrowful light upon his face.
(~*~)
The snow was falling gently from the gray sky overhead, the Elf's raven like hair catching the flakes, making them radiate brilliantly in the dim late afternoon light. The surrounding trees seemed to bend away from the Elf-maiden's tears, as if they did not wish to disturb her. Arwen sniffed softly at the sound of approaching footsteps. Assuming that her father had sent someone to bring her in from the cold she snapped bitterly at them.
"Leave me alone! Can't you see that I'd rather not to speak to anyone right now!?"
"Forgive me," said a smooth voice that she did not recognize. "I heard a sound, and wasn't quite sure what it was."
Arwen turned around to see a tall, thin man standing on the edge of the clearing. "My apologies, milord, I did not mean to speak so harshly. I've just been…" she trailed off, turning away and subsided back to her tears.
The man came closer to her, and now that she could see him more properly she realized that he was in fact in Elf, but not from Imladris. He surveyed her with dark eyes that looked through a veil of auburn hair, his brow furrowed. "Why should a maiden as beautiful as yourself be so plagued with such mourning?"
"Forgive me, sir, but I don't know you and it's… something I rather not speak of," she replied softly.
"I understand," he said. "But if I may ask, am I far from Imladris?"
"No," Arwen replied shortly, shaking her head. "Hardly half a league from here." She turned away from him again. As soon as she had turned away, he felt himself falter back to the cloaked figure, losing a grip on his physical form. He groaned slightly, feeling himself begin to slip back into the world of the Dead. The Elf-maiden could live a little longer.
(~*~)
Aragorn paced the hallway of the tower anxiously, waiting for Fate to return, hoping that he could think of something he could do. But he couldn't ignore the growing pit in his stomach, he was afraid for Arwen, afraid of what may happen to her. What probably would happen to her. He felt helpless, for the first time Aragorn felt completely at a loss.
At some point during his pacing he was stopped when he walked into another soul that had probably been aimlessly drifting about the tower. He muttered in apology to whomever he may have run into, but hadn't been quite expecting the person to reply.
"I'm sorry, sir, I wasn't watching where I was going."
Aragorn looked up to find himself looking at a tall, thin Elf with dark eyes and auburn hair. Something about him made Aragorn feel as though he'd been better off if he hadn't bumped into the Elf. "It's quite alright," he murmured dismissively.
The Elf, whom was slightly taller than Aragorn, smiled briefly. "New to the Tower, are you?"
"Yes," he retorted, trying to shirk off the Elf who now just felt like uncomfortable company.
"Died young, I see," the Elf continued casually, obviously not to have realized the man really wished him to be gone.
Aragorn clenched his jaw, trying to control his rising anger. "I don't mean to be rude, but if you could…" he stopped short as he glanced over the Elf a second time, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as he saw the skeleton-like hand of the other soul. "…please, let me be," he finished more quietly.
"Is something wrong?" asked the Elf in an offhanded tone.
"No…" Aragorn furrowed his brow in deep thought. "Well… No… Do, do I know you?"
"I can't say that I ever knew you in your previous life or mine," the other replied, sighing a little. There was a silence that only lasted a few seconds, but to the spirit of the man, it felt like an age as the uneasy feeling set in quite comfortably on his mind. "Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Harmor."
He paused upon hearing the name, it sounded familiar, as though he had heard it before. It was slowly coming back to him, the stories he had heard pertaining to the name had not been positive ones, they revolved around dark lore that was not for those of the faint of heart. "I'm Strider," he replied shortly.
The Elf laughed, there was an uncanny quality to the sound as it ricocheted off the walls. "This is not your true name, surely? You were not very trusting in life, were you? There's no harm in such trivial things now."
"Aragorn…" he murmured softly. "In life I was called Aragorn." He raised his voice slightly, making it more audible. "But like you said, a name is so trivial now."
(~*~)
Lord Elrond stood over the body of his foster son, the small room devoid of any light but the moonlight that was scattered across the room. Estel's passing had been too short a time ago for Elrond to allow him to be buried. He had been too young for death, even young by the standards of men. Burying Estel felt far too much like forgetting him. A headstone. A distant memory. Not a man. He watched Aragorn's face, hoping against all hope that his eyes would open and it would never had happened. Even the serene look of death felt like a lie to Elrond. Every time he closed his eyes it was all he could think of was Aragorn's final moments.
Why did it have to be so painful for you? he thought. The blood, the wounds, the shallow breathing. Every time the Elf's eyes closed it was like he was reliving it all over again. He turned away, leaving the room for now. A small part of Imladris that few ever walked, it was a place for the dead that had not been gone long enough to be left out of memory so soon.
The warm candlelight that illuminated the main hall of Rivendell washed over Elrond as he came to see an Elf who was not of Imladris looking over the interior as if he were waiting for someone.
"May I help you?" Elrond inquired warily. He was careful to take into account that he carried no weapon and perhaps was a servant of something wicked that did not require him to walk the wilds, which were dangerous in their own rite, with no visible way to protect himself.
The Elf bowed elegantly, his thin frame nearly doubled over. "I am just a traveler passing through, the graciousness of your hospitality would be greatly appreciated."
"What is your name?" the other asked, still in a cautious manner as he spoke.
"My name is Harmor, I hail from the Golden Wood of Lothlorien," he responded regally.
Elrond surveyed the Elf's garb. He was dressed simply enough, his clothes betraying him for what other's would consider to be a man, a Ranger, not unlike Aragorn. Elrond drew a breath, thinking about the name and careful arranging his next words. "Your name is not unknown to me, though you share it with someone of heinous deeds and similar lineage."
"Ah, yes," replied the Elf a bit slowly. "Protected the walls of Lorien from an onslaught of Orcs."
"Then later exploited its weaknesses to the servants of the Dark Lord," Elrond stated firmly. "But he no longer walks this Middle-Earth."
"Indeed, no," Harmor murmured softly. "Well, if it is not too much trouble I'd really appreciate a bed to sleep in before a couple of nights before continuing my journey."
Elrond sighed, too weary to carry on the conversation as of late. "Of course, I'll have someone direct you to your chambers."
"One last thing, my lord… I saw something as I approached Imladris that unsettled me," the Elf injected before Elrond could turn away. "A maiden, fairer than any I have seen, wept alone, not far from here, I assume this must be her home. What could cause her such immense grief?"
The Elf-lord's expression became even more disheartened. "The maiden you speak of is my daughter, Arwen Undomiel, Evenstar to her people." He paused and cleared his throat, knowing that if he continued completely unchecked he would loose complete composure of himself. "And the grief of which you speak… someone she cared for very deeply past out of life not to days ago."
A light of settled realization passed onto Harmor's eyes for a moment, but was gone before Elrond could truly identify the expression. The Elf's dark eyes turned somber, though it did not seem genuine in the slightest. "I'm sorry for that…"
"Yes… so am I," he whispered, though he spoke to himself. He looked back at Harmor, his expression grave but somehow established in his words. "The lives of our kin is long lasting, we must endure the regrettable along with the good."