Chapter 2
Long streams of sunlight from the tall windows at the end of the corridor lit the hallway. Estel carefully hopped from stone to stone that composed the hall in order to avoid stepping on the cracks. In one hand he clung to a black cat with white paws, and in the other held a bouquet of lilacs.
Today he was going to see Mama. He saw her more often now. Since his birthday two years ago, Mama had left her room sporadically; but she was still a recluse. She liked seeing her son; Ada said it was helping her feel better. She enjoyed hearing his chatter. Sometimes, like today, Estel brought her flowers to replenish the vase he had found empty years ago.
The cat squirmed in Estel's arms and tried to escape his grasp. "Ciryatur," he admonished lightly. "Behave, or I'll beg Ada to let me bring Raumo next time I come."
Ciryatur seemed to sniff as if he knew how ridiculous that idea was. Ada would never allow that filthy hound in the house. Raumo was often filthier than the boy—and liked baths even less!
Estel almost slipped as he hopped over the last crack before his Mama's bedroom door. Something felt wrong, out of place. No light shone from under the door and the hall had taken on the stifling silence of a graveyard.
Pushing aside the inkling of doubt, Estel first knocked, as was his custom, and then entered the room. An eerie light shone through the rose-coloured curtains pulled shut against the sun. Mama was not in bed. He could not see where she was in the dim light; maybe she was out of the room.
Placing the fragrant blooms on the dresser, Estel let Ciryatur escape from his grasp and find some new mischief to get into. As he opened the curtains on one of the windows, he saw Mama. She sat in a hard strait back chair near the unlit fireplace. Her dress was the same one she had been wearing two days ago when he visited her last and her arms were wound tightly around her middle.
What scarred Estel the most was the vacant expression in her eyes. She sat staring beyond everything present into sometime in the past.
Ciryatur rubbed Mama's ankles, but she did not smile or even react to his presence. Estel ran to Mama and knelt before her chair. He placed a hand on her knee and looked up into her stoic face.
"Mama?" He spoke softly, hoping to pull her from this waking dream. "Mama?"
Still she did not answer. Sometimes she spoke in Elvish now--maybe she would respond to that. "Nana?"
At the sound of his voice calling in Elvish, Mama seemed to shrink back in the chair. As if it were possible, her eyes opened even wider; her breathing grew raspy. Suddenly, she screamed, "No!"
"Mama, what's wrong?"
"Elladan, tell me this isn't happening." Her panicked face contorted in pain. "Elrohir, tell me he's lying. He can't be dead. He can't be dead." Mama sobbed. Her body shook with every gasping breath she could manage.
Frightened at this sudden outburst, Estel tried to stand, but Mama grabbed his arm. "Don't leave me, Arathorn, don't leave me. They'll kill you." Her grasp tightened as her wails grew more intense.
"Mama, I'm Estel." He looked her in the eyes, but she was not seeing him; she was looking past him into someone else's eyes. "Mama, please let go. You're hurting me."
Her fingers just tightened, she would not let go this time.
Desperate with fear, yet full of pity, he pried her tightening grasp away with his other hand. "No," she moaned. "Don't leave me!"
Estel did not know what to do--but Ada would. Stepping away from the chair, he broke into a quick run to find Ada. As he left, he heard Mama once again begging Elladan and Elrohir to tell her someone was not dead.
***
Though physically alone in the room, Gilraen was far from alone. Shadows of her past still haunted her. In her mind, she sat not in the house of Lord Elrond, but in the house she and Arathorn shared.
The main room was small, the house was nothing more than a peasant's home--surely no place for a king--but it was home. Toddler Aragorn played with toy horses on the floor. The curly-haired tot made the horses gallop across the braided rug on which he sprawled. "Da. Look horsie." He lifted the toy in his chubby little hand for Arathorn's inspection.
"It's a very nice horse, Aragorn." Arathorn knelt down beside his son and took the horse from the outstretched hand. "Does he have a name?"
"Horsie," the boy said proudly. Seeing Arathorn had donned his worn ranger jacket, Aragorn cocked his head and looked at his Da with his big grey eyes. "Da go bye-bye?"
"Yes, for a while. Da has work to do." He smiled at his son. With the foresight of his people, Arathorn knew that Aragorn would be a great leader someday. "Be good for Mama."
"Yes, Da, I aways good." He stared innocently up at his Da. Gilraen laughed with her husband. Estel was a handful, but usually good.
As Arathorn tried to return the toy horse to his son, Aragorn shook his head. "It's a present."
Arathorn placed it in the pocket of his jacket and hugged his boy. "I love you Aragorn, don't ever forget that."
Aragorn squirmed from the hug. "Love you."
Gilraen stood by the door, her arms folded protectively across her belly. "Must you go?"
"Aye, there are rumors of orcs. We must get rid of them. Don't worry; Lord Elrond's sons will be with us." He placed his arm protectively around her shoulder.
"I know you need to go," she sighed. Something nagged at the back of her mind, but she did not know what it was. "Please be careful. If you don't come home..."
"If I don't come home, you must not lose hope, my love. You must be strong for Aragorn."
"You talk like you are going to die." She did not like this talk of death. Her husband was a Dúnedain and should live a long life.
"We will all die someday. Do not think of death now, but of the life you carry." He touched her belly. "Take care of the little one. I will be back soon."
She raised her head to look up into his eyes. "I will watch out for this one and our little ranger playing on the floor."
"Good." He bent his head so they were equal and kissed her on the lips--one last time.
With a final good-bye, Arathorn walked from their family home, never to return again.
A week later, Gilraen still felt the same familiar nagging that she had experienced since Arathorn left. The weather was rainy, so both Gilraen and Aragorn remained indoors. The tot played once more with his wooden horses, pretending, as he often did, that he and Da were riding them.
A knock shattered the silence of the room. Nausea threatened to keep her seated as Gilraen stood to answer the door. As she opened the heavy wooden door, she gasped at the site of two identical, rather bedraggled, elves--Elladan and Elrohir.
"What's the matter?" she asked, knowing the answer even before they replied.
Elladan spoke first. "Gilraen, I'm afraid your husband is dead. He was shot by an orc arrow."
Gilraen felt her knees weaken and threatened to give way. Elrohir caught her arm to steady her. "You lie." was all she could say.
"I'm sorry, Gilraen, he fought bravely. We lost many valiant..."
"Elrohir," she broke in. She did not want to hear about other valiant men, she wanted her husband. "Tell me he lies."
"I'm afraid he doesn't. I wish I could tell you otherwise." Elrohir ushered Gilraen to a chair. She began weeping to the point she could not breathe. Her arms wrapped protectively around herself, she began to rock back and forth. The only words that could be heard from her were the refrain that he could not be dead.
The elf touched her shoulder in attempt to sooth her fragile emotions. She reeled from his touch and closed deeper into herself--both physically and mentally. She refused to hear the stories the twins told her of her husband's valor, his bravery, his sacrifice. All these tales did was provide fuel for years of nightmares concerning her husband's untimely demise and the source of many tears.
Finally Elladan noticed a very confused and frightened young Aragorn on the floor. Tears pooled in the child's eyes as he watched his mother's sobs wrack her body. Elladan picked him up and sat him on one of his knees. Elrohir drew near Aragorn and his brother. Elladan rubbed the boy's back and whispered soft Elvish words to comfort him. Aragorn clung to a toy horse. Elrohir thought it looked familiar; Arathorn had carried a similar object in his pocket. Reaching into his own deep pocket, Elrohir felt a broken toy horse.
The twins felt responsible for Gilraen, Aragorn, and the unborn child. Arathorn had been their friend and they felt as though they had failed him. They would not fail this family again. The boy crying in Elladan's arms was the future hope of men--leader of the Dúnedain, heir of Isildur, king of men. Gilraen's sobs became muffled gasps for breath, but still she refused comfort. She was in no condition to care for the boy. With the silent form of communication they shared as twins, they agreed on a solution for this family. Gilraen and Aragorn would live at Rivendell for protection and healing.
Finally comforted from his tears, Aragorn slid off Elladan's lap and retrieved two horses. Holding up the first wooden horse to Elladan, he placed it in the elf's hands. Turning around he gave the second to Elrohir.
"They are beautiful horses, Aragorn. What do you want us to do with them?" Elrohir examined the fine workmanship and tried to pass it back to the boy.
"For you." Aragorn took the horse and attempted to stuff it into the large pocket above his eye level. Feeling through the leather, he touched the familiar shape of a horse. Pulling it from the pocket, he saw something familiar. "That's Da's horsie. His present." Aragorn studied the broken pieces. "Why horsie broke? Where Da?" The boy began to cry again. This time Elrohir tried to comfort the child. He was so innocent, so trusting, so loving.
At that moment, the twins could not help but to take Aragorn in as a brother. He needed them and they needed him.
Gilraen could not take it anymore. Her child sat crying in the lap of another, and she could comfort him no more than she could comfort herself. Her life spun out of control. She lost herself in that moment--lost somewhere between drowning and trying to swim. She relived those final days together and the bad news that destroyed her life over and over again. She could not get past the grief.
***
Estel ran through the corridors of Rivendell as fast as he could. Mama's actions had terrified him, but Ada would know what to do. He always knew what to do.
Checking every door in the main part of the house, Estel quickly found his Ada and brothers. The three sat in the library. The twins lounged comfortably in overstuffed armchairs reading books. Elrond sat at a desk writing, but looked up as he saw the child enter, trembling and panting for breath.
"What is wrong ion-nin?" Elrond pushed his chair away from the desk and opened his arms to receive the child in a comforting embrace.
When he finally caught his breath and let the tears that pooled in his sensitive grey eyes spill, Estel spoke in a soft voice. "Mama is acting strange. She started yelling, and grabbed my arm and wouldn't let go."
Elrond hesitated for a moment and looked at his older sons. The same sad and confused expression which now troubled Estel's gaze had once troubled his other sons' as well. The twins' mother, also unable to handle the pain and grief of her heart, had chosen to leave Middle-Earth; but Gilraen did not have that choice. Neither woman could handle the pain life had handed them, they both suffered tremendously and could not heal. Seeing Estel's pain and concern for his mother caused an ache the twins thought long since buried to resurface. Old memories and pains ripped to the surface and tore at their hearts. The twins longed to protect their brother from this dreadful, familiar pain that burdened their souls.
Tearing his eyes from his oldest sons, Elrond glanced compassionately at his youngest. "Estel, what did she say?"
"She called 'Dan and 'Ro..." he paused and peered at his brothers, "...liars. And then she called me...uh...Arathorn and said I was gonna die. Well, not me--she was looking at me and past me at the same time. And she spoke in Elvish."
Sighing, Elrond gave the boy another hug. He knew what was happening. Gilraen had not had such an occurrence for a long time. He had hoped she was healing, but apparently she was not as far along as he thought. In the past, Estel had only remembered the screams, not the words.
The twins exchanged guilty glances; Arathorn's death still weighed heavily on them. They had been good friends with the man. Since they had failed to protect him, they had sworn to protect his son and wife--even with their own lives.
Placing Estel on the floor, Elrond stood. Addressing all his sons, he spoke, "Come, let us see to Gilraen."
Solemnly, the twins rose, and Estel grabbed Elrond's hand. "I knew you could heal her, Ada." Estel spoke with such hope that it gave credit to his name.
As they walked down the hall, Elrond first addressed his two oldest sons. "Elladan, Elrohir, do not blame yourselves for Gilraen's condition. Like your mother, she cannot find her way through this grief. She does not have the option of choosing to leave this world as your mother did. If she could, I think she would." Next he turned his attention to his youngest. "Estel, do not place your hopes so highly in me. I can heal many wounds, but this wound is one I alone cannot heal. She must open her heart to healing. She must be able to put aside her grief and choose to live. It is not an easy task."
"But Ada, you healed my knee when I scraped it last week and you healed 'Dan's broken arm last year and you healed 'Ro when he got shot by the arrow. And..."
"Yes, Estel. I know my many accomplishments with healing physical injuries, but this one is not the same. Her wound is of the heart, and it will heal neither easily or quickly." As he looked at Estel, a tiny flash of foresight crossed his mind. "I cannot heal her. She will not open to me, but she will to another. Estel, do not lose heart. She will one day be healed, by the hand of another, when she is ready."
***
The waking nightmare which often followed the repetitive pattern of Gilraen's reliving the past exploded with vengeance. She could not see the peaceful room of the last homely house, the smell the scent of the fresh lilacs, or feel the kitten purring at her feet; instead she stood in the middle of battle. It was a battle she experienced every day but never lived; a battle that varied with each experience. Her husband died before her in as many ways in as she had visions; and the battle surrounded her with the intense fervor of death and killing. Yet, her armour was missing, her sword was neither in hand nor scabbard, and she was defenseless against the barrage of thought. Battle chaos rose around her, but she was not injured or seen.
Arathorn rode through the melee of rangers and orcs and shouted instructions. He rode straight towards Gilraen, but he did not see her. His focus was on two young rangers who fought valiantly, guarding each other's backs against their foe; but who would soon lose their lives if they could not escape. Seeing a break in the action, the older man jumped off his horse and broke in between the foul creature and the men. "Run." He called as he masterfully combated the orc.
His sword made quick work of the creature, but soon the dead orc was replaced by two living. The number of enemies around him seemed to grow exponentially. Still, Arathorn refused to be defeated--he had a wife and children to return to.
Despite his valiant effort, it was not his fate to live that day. An orc sat a distance away, watching from a tree with bow drawn and ready. Carefully focusing on the heart of the man who caused them so much trouble, the orc released an arrow.
The arrow flew at blinding speed. Elrohir noticed the tiny, quickly-approaching object first. He called warning to Arathorn, but it was too late. The projectile missed the intended target of the marksman, but still delivered a deadly blow. The arrow entered the head through the eye socket.
Gilraen screamed in horror as once again she watched her husband die. Very little blood escaped from around the filthy black shaft, but a yellowish liquid oozed from the wound. He slumped forward, landing on his face. The shaft hit first. Impact with the immovable ground forced the shaft all the way through the brain and back through the skull. Blood flowed from the opened scalp, staining Arathorn's hair, the withered grass, and Gilraen's memory.
The circumstances of her husband's death were always different, but always the arrow in the eye. She could do nothing to stop it. She could do nothing to save him. She could not keep their longed-for second child. She could not even raise their son. She was a failure--in everything. A weak, pathetic excuse for a Dúnedain, for a woman, for a mother, for a wife.
****
The door opened, and the soft light from the hallway poured into the half-lit room. Estel noted that Mama still sat in the same chair, but the vacant expression in her eyes had been replaced by one of horror. Tears streamed down the pallor of her face and her breaths came out in ragged gasps. Estel started towards his Mama, but Elrond placed a hand on the boy's shoulder holding him back. "Stay with your brothers," he whispered. The boys stood at the side of the room with their backs against the dresser.
The scent of lilacs overwhelmed that corner of the room. Normally, the scent would have been a soothing reminder of the outdoors, but today all they could sense was the overwhelming emotional stuffiness of the room. Elrond slowly walked towards Gilraen and knelt before the woman so he could look her in the eyes. For the first time in days, she did not look beyond the person before her, but peered into his eyes. She recognized the elf lord. The few unshed tears left in her eyes left new wet trails down her pale and trembling cheeks. Elrond gently touched her shoulder. "What is it, Gilraen? What is wrong?"
"The baby..." her voice was soft and raspy due to the hours of screaming and crying. Soft gasps broke her speech. "Lord Elrond, the baby is gone. I lost him."
The room was silent. What did Gilraen mean? What baby? Estel tried to run to his mother's side, but Elladan held him back.
Elrond was the first to understand the woman's ramblings. Even though she recognized him, she was still not in the present. Gently he touched her arm in a comforting gesture. "Gilraen, what child do you mean? Estel is here..."
"Estel is with your sons…they can care for him better than I can...." Her sobs were louder now, but her voice more faint. There was no trace of hope or longing for life in her face. "I lost the baby. Don't you understand? I lost him! Arathorn told me to protect the child I carried and I failed him there as well."
Just as Elrond expected, Gilraen was remembering the day she miscarried her child. On top of all the pain she carried since her husband's death, the loss of her child destroyed her. She blamed herself for her husband's death, she felt unable to care for her son, and now she blamed herself for her unborn child's passing. Five years ago Elrond had tried to comfort the grieving woman, to bring her back from the darkness. But he could not, then; she would let no one into her self-imposed prison.
"Mama, Mama," Estel broke free from his brothers' grasps and ran across the room flinging his arms around his mother. "Mama, I'm here. Please don't hurt. Please let me help you."
Elrond silently moved away from the mother and son. The dark-haired boy rested his head on top of his mother's dark curls as they both softly wept. The three elves watched in amazement as a miracle happened before their eyes. Slowly the void in Gilraen's eyes began to reverse. She saw not only the past, but the present. Recognition returned to the formerly dead eyes. After awhile, Gilraen reached up and touched Estel's arm.
Startled by the change of position, Estel looked up. "Mama?"
"Estel, my son, my son," she spoke clearly and coherently, albeit softly. With both hands she guided the boy around the chair and set him on her lap. As she moved, a small, wooden object she had been holding for days fell to the floor with a little clatter that neither mother nor son noticed. She cradled her son in her arms rocking him softly--an action she had not performed since the day her life fell apart. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"Shh, Mama." Estel ran his fingers through his mother's tangled locks. "I love you."
Glancing at Gilraen's tear-stained face, Estel knew he wanted to heal her if he could. He would become a healer like his Ada. He would be a fighter of injustice, so no one else would need to suffer like his Mama did.
As the two sat taking comfort from each other's presence, Gilraen closed her eyes and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Not wanting to move, Estel curled up next to his Mama and let his eyes close as well.
Elrond motioned for the twins to follow him out of the room, Gilraen and Estel would be fine for now. Before they left, Elrohir moved toward the fallen object near the chair; he thought it looked familiar. He picked up several broken pieces of a toy wooden horse. It was the same one that Arathorn had carried out to his last battle. Gilraen had kept the pieces all these years, as if trying to hold onto their last moments together as a family--but they, like the horse, were broken. Placing the toy in his pocket, Elrohir promised himself he would bring the toy back fixed.
Long streams of sunlight from the tall windows at the end of the corridor lit the hallway. Estel carefully hopped from stone to stone that composed the hall in order to avoid stepping on the cracks. In one hand he clung to a black cat with white paws, and in the other held a bouquet of lilacs.
Today he was going to see Mama. He saw her more often now. Since his birthday two years ago, Mama had left her room sporadically; but she was still a recluse. She liked seeing her son; Ada said it was helping her feel better. She enjoyed hearing his chatter. Sometimes, like today, Estel brought her flowers to replenish the vase he had found empty years ago.
The cat squirmed in Estel's arms and tried to escape his grasp. "Ciryatur," he admonished lightly. "Behave, or I'll beg Ada to let me bring Raumo next time I come."
Ciryatur seemed to sniff as if he knew how ridiculous that idea was. Ada would never allow that filthy hound in the house. Raumo was often filthier than the boy—and liked baths even less!
Estel almost slipped as he hopped over the last crack before his Mama's bedroom door. Something felt wrong, out of place. No light shone from under the door and the hall had taken on the stifling silence of a graveyard.
Pushing aside the inkling of doubt, Estel first knocked, as was his custom, and then entered the room. An eerie light shone through the rose-coloured curtains pulled shut against the sun. Mama was not in bed. He could not see where she was in the dim light; maybe she was out of the room.
Placing the fragrant blooms on the dresser, Estel let Ciryatur escape from his grasp and find some new mischief to get into. As he opened the curtains on one of the windows, he saw Mama. She sat in a hard strait back chair near the unlit fireplace. Her dress was the same one she had been wearing two days ago when he visited her last and her arms were wound tightly around her middle.
What scarred Estel the most was the vacant expression in her eyes. She sat staring beyond everything present into sometime in the past.
Ciryatur rubbed Mama's ankles, but she did not smile or even react to his presence. Estel ran to Mama and knelt before her chair. He placed a hand on her knee and looked up into her stoic face.
"Mama?" He spoke softly, hoping to pull her from this waking dream. "Mama?"
Still she did not answer. Sometimes she spoke in Elvish now--maybe she would respond to that. "Nana?"
At the sound of his voice calling in Elvish, Mama seemed to shrink back in the chair. As if it were possible, her eyes opened even wider; her breathing grew raspy. Suddenly, she screamed, "No!"
"Mama, what's wrong?"
"Elladan, tell me this isn't happening." Her panicked face contorted in pain. "Elrohir, tell me he's lying. He can't be dead. He can't be dead." Mama sobbed. Her body shook with every gasping breath she could manage.
Frightened at this sudden outburst, Estel tried to stand, but Mama grabbed his arm. "Don't leave me, Arathorn, don't leave me. They'll kill you." Her grasp tightened as her wails grew more intense.
"Mama, I'm Estel." He looked her in the eyes, but she was not seeing him; she was looking past him into someone else's eyes. "Mama, please let go. You're hurting me."
Her fingers just tightened, she would not let go this time.
Desperate with fear, yet full of pity, he pried her tightening grasp away with his other hand. "No," she moaned. "Don't leave me!"
Estel did not know what to do--but Ada would. Stepping away from the chair, he broke into a quick run to find Ada. As he left, he heard Mama once again begging Elladan and Elrohir to tell her someone was not dead.
***
Though physically alone in the room, Gilraen was far from alone. Shadows of her past still haunted her. In her mind, she sat not in the house of Lord Elrond, but in the house she and Arathorn shared.
The main room was small, the house was nothing more than a peasant's home--surely no place for a king--but it was home. Toddler Aragorn played with toy horses on the floor. The curly-haired tot made the horses gallop across the braided rug on which he sprawled. "Da. Look horsie." He lifted the toy in his chubby little hand for Arathorn's inspection.
"It's a very nice horse, Aragorn." Arathorn knelt down beside his son and took the horse from the outstretched hand. "Does he have a name?"
"Horsie," the boy said proudly. Seeing Arathorn had donned his worn ranger jacket, Aragorn cocked his head and looked at his Da with his big grey eyes. "Da go bye-bye?"
"Yes, for a while. Da has work to do." He smiled at his son. With the foresight of his people, Arathorn knew that Aragorn would be a great leader someday. "Be good for Mama."
"Yes, Da, I aways good." He stared innocently up at his Da. Gilraen laughed with her husband. Estel was a handful, but usually good.
As Arathorn tried to return the toy horse to his son, Aragorn shook his head. "It's a present."
Arathorn placed it in the pocket of his jacket and hugged his boy. "I love you Aragorn, don't ever forget that."
Aragorn squirmed from the hug. "Love you."
Gilraen stood by the door, her arms folded protectively across her belly. "Must you go?"
"Aye, there are rumors of orcs. We must get rid of them. Don't worry; Lord Elrond's sons will be with us." He placed his arm protectively around her shoulder.
"I know you need to go," she sighed. Something nagged at the back of her mind, but she did not know what it was. "Please be careful. If you don't come home..."
"If I don't come home, you must not lose hope, my love. You must be strong for Aragorn."
"You talk like you are going to die." She did not like this talk of death. Her husband was a Dúnedain and should live a long life.
"We will all die someday. Do not think of death now, but of the life you carry." He touched her belly. "Take care of the little one. I will be back soon."
She raised her head to look up into his eyes. "I will watch out for this one and our little ranger playing on the floor."
"Good." He bent his head so they were equal and kissed her on the lips--one last time.
With a final good-bye, Arathorn walked from their family home, never to return again.
A week later, Gilraen still felt the same familiar nagging that she had experienced since Arathorn left. The weather was rainy, so both Gilraen and Aragorn remained indoors. The tot played once more with his wooden horses, pretending, as he often did, that he and Da were riding them.
A knock shattered the silence of the room. Nausea threatened to keep her seated as Gilraen stood to answer the door. As she opened the heavy wooden door, she gasped at the site of two identical, rather bedraggled, elves--Elladan and Elrohir.
"What's the matter?" she asked, knowing the answer even before they replied.
Elladan spoke first. "Gilraen, I'm afraid your husband is dead. He was shot by an orc arrow."
Gilraen felt her knees weaken and threatened to give way. Elrohir caught her arm to steady her. "You lie." was all she could say.
"I'm sorry, Gilraen, he fought bravely. We lost many valiant..."
"Elrohir," she broke in. She did not want to hear about other valiant men, she wanted her husband. "Tell me he lies."
"I'm afraid he doesn't. I wish I could tell you otherwise." Elrohir ushered Gilraen to a chair. She began weeping to the point she could not breathe. Her arms wrapped protectively around herself, she began to rock back and forth. The only words that could be heard from her were the refrain that he could not be dead.
The elf touched her shoulder in attempt to sooth her fragile emotions. She reeled from his touch and closed deeper into herself--both physically and mentally. She refused to hear the stories the twins told her of her husband's valor, his bravery, his sacrifice. All these tales did was provide fuel for years of nightmares concerning her husband's untimely demise and the source of many tears.
Finally Elladan noticed a very confused and frightened young Aragorn on the floor. Tears pooled in the child's eyes as he watched his mother's sobs wrack her body. Elladan picked him up and sat him on one of his knees. Elrohir drew near Aragorn and his brother. Elladan rubbed the boy's back and whispered soft Elvish words to comfort him. Aragorn clung to a toy horse. Elrohir thought it looked familiar; Arathorn had carried a similar object in his pocket. Reaching into his own deep pocket, Elrohir felt a broken toy horse.
The twins felt responsible for Gilraen, Aragorn, and the unborn child. Arathorn had been their friend and they felt as though they had failed him. They would not fail this family again. The boy crying in Elladan's arms was the future hope of men--leader of the Dúnedain, heir of Isildur, king of men. Gilraen's sobs became muffled gasps for breath, but still she refused comfort. She was in no condition to care for the boy. With the silent form of communication they shared as twins, they agreed on a solution for this family. Gilraen and Aragorn would live at Rivendell for protection and healing.
Finally comforted from his tears, Aragorn slid off Elladan's lap and retrieved two horses. Holding up the first wooden horse to Elladan, he placed it in the elf's hands. Turning around he gave the second to Elrohir.
"They are beautiful horses, Aragorn. What do you want us to do with them?" Elrohir examined the fine workmanship and tried to pass it back to the boy.
"For you." Aragorn took the horse and attempted to stuff it into the large pocket above his eye level. Feeling through the leather, he touched the familiar shape of a horse. Pulling it from the pocket, he saw something familiar. "That's Da's horsie. His present." Aragorn studied the broken pieces. "Why horsie broke? Where Da?" The boy began to cry again. This time Elrohir tried to comfort the child. He was so innocent, so trusting, so loving.
At that moment, the twins could not help but to take Aragorn in as a brother. He needed them and they needed him.
Gilraen could not take it anymore. Her child sat crying in the lap of another, and she could comfort him no more than she could comfort herself. Her life spun out of control. She lost herself in that moment--lost somewhere between drowning and trying to swim. She relived those final days together and the bad news that destroyed her life over and over again. She could not get past the grief.
***
Estel ran through the corridors of Rivendell as fast as he could. Mama's actions had terrified him, but Ada would know what to do. He always knew what to do.
Checking every door in the main part of the house, Estel quickly found his Ada and brothers. The three sat in the library. The twins lounged comfortably in overstuffed armchairs reading books. Elrond sat at a desk writing, but looked up as he saw the child enter, trembling and panting for breath.
"What is wrong ion-nin?" Elrond pushed his chair away from the desk and opened his arms to receive the child in a comforting embrace.
When he finally caught his breath and let the tears that pooled in his sensitive grey eyes spill, Estel spoke in a soft voice. "Mama is acting strange. She started yelling, and grabbed my arm and wouldn't let go."
Elrond hesitated for a moment and looked at his older sons. The same sad and confused expression which now troubled Estel's gaze had once troubled his other sons' as well. The twins' mother, also unable to handle the pain and grief of her heart, had chosen to leave Middle-Earth; but Gilraen did not have that choice. Neither woman could handle the pain life had handed them, they both suffered tremendously and could not heal. Seeing Estel's pain and concern for his mother caused an ache the twins thought long since buried to resurface. Old memories and pains ripped to the surface and tore at their hearts. The twins longed to protect their brother from this dreadful, familiar pain that burdened their souls.
Tearing his eyes from his oldest sons, Elrond glanced compassionately at his youngest. "Estel, what did she say?"
"She called 'Dan and 'Ro..." he paused and peered at his brothers, "...liars. And then she called me...uh...Arathorn and said I was gonna die. Well, not me--she was looking at me and past me at the same time. And she spoke in Elvish."
Sighing, Elrond gave the boy another hug. He knew what was happening. Gilraen had not had such an occurrence for a long time. He had hoped she was healing, but apparently she was not as far along as he thought. In the past, Estel had only remembered the screams, not the words.
The twins exchanged guilty glances; Arathorn's death still weighed heavily on them. They had been good friends with the man. Since they had failed to protect him, they had sworn to protect his son and wife--even with their own lives.
Placing Estel on the floor, Elrond stood. Addressing all his sons, he spoke, "Come, let us see to Gilraen."
Solemnly, the twins rose, and Estel grabbed Elrond's hand. "I knew you could heal her, Ada." Estel spoke with such hope that it gave credit to his name.
As they walked down the hall, Elrond first addressed his two oldest sons. "Elladan, Elrohir, do not blame yourselves for Gilraen's condition. Like your mother, she cannot find her way through this grief. She does not have the option of choosing to leave this world as your mother did. If she could, I think she would." Next he turned his attention to his youngest. "Estel, do not place your hopes so highly in me. I can heal many wounds, but this wound is one I alone cannot heal. She must open her heart to healing. She must be able to put aside her grief and choose to live. It is not an easy task."
"But Ada, you healed my knee when I scraped it last week and you healed 'Dan's broken arm last year and you healed 'Ro when he got shot by the arrow. And..."
"Yes, Estel. I know my many accomplishments with healing physical injuries, but this one is not the same. Her wound is of the heart, and it will heal neither easily or quickly." As he looked at Estel, a tiny flash of foresight crossed his mind. "I cannot heal her. She will not open to me, but she will to another. Estel, do not lose heart. She will one day be healed, by the hand of another, when she is ready."
***
The waking nightmare which often followed the repetitive pattern of Gilraen's reliving the past exploded with vengeance. She could not see the peaceful room of the last homely house, the smell the scent of the fresh lilacs, or feel the kitten purring at her feet; instead she stood in the middle of battle. It was a battle she experienced every day but never lived; a battle that varied with each experience. Her husband died before her in as many ways in as she had visions; and the battle surrounded her with the intense fervor of death and killing. Yet, her armour was missing, her sword was neither in hand nor scabbard, and she was defenseless against the barrage of thought. Battle chaos rose around her, but she was not injured or seen.
Arathorn rode through the melee of rangers and orcs and shouted instructions. He rode straight towards Gilraen, but he did not see her. His focus was on two young rangers who fought valiantly, guarding each other's backs against their foe; but who would soon lose their lives if they could not escape. Seeing a break in the action, the older man jumped off his horse and broke in between the foul creature and the men. "Run." He called as he masterfully combated the orc.
His sword made quick work of the creature, but soon the dead orc was replaced by two living. The number of enemies around him seemed to grow exponentially. Still, Arathorn refused to be defeated--he had a wife and children to return to.
Despite his valiant effort, it was not his fate to live that day. An orc sat a distance away, watching from a tree with bow drawn and ready. Carefully focusing on the heart of the man who caused them so much trouble, the orc released an arrow.
The arrow flew at blinding speed. Elrohir noticed the tiny, quickly-approaching object first. He called warning to Arathorn, but it was too late. The projectile missed the intended target of the marksman, but still delivered a deadly blow. The arrow entered the head through the eye socket.
Gilraen screamed in horror as once again she watched her husband die. Very little blood escaped from around the filthy black shaft, but a yellowish liquid oozed from the wound. He slumped forward, landing on his face. The shaft hit first. Impact with the immovable ground forced the shaft all the way through the brain and back through the skull. Blood flowed from the opened scalp, staining Arathorn's hair, the withered grass, and Gilraen's memory.
The circumstances of her husband's death were always different, but always the arrow in the eye. She could do nothing to stop it. She could do nothing to save him. She could not keep their longed-for second child. She could not even raise their son. She was a failure--in everything. A weak, pathetic excuse for a Dúnedain, for a woman, for a mother, for a wife.
****
The door opened, and the soft light from the hallway poured into the half-lit room. Estel noted that Mama still sat in the same chair, but the vacant expression in her eyes had been replaced by one of horror. Tears streamed down the pallor of her face and her breaths came out in ragged gasps. Estel started towards his Mama, but Elrond placed a hand on the boy's shoulder holding him back. "Stay with your brothers," he whispered. The boys stood at the side of the room with their backs against the dresser.
The scent of lilacs overwhelmed that corner of the room. Normally, the scent would have been a soothing reminder of the outdoors, but today all they could sense was the overwhelming emotional stuffiness of the room. Elrond slowly walked towards Gilraen and knelt before the woman so he could look her in the eyes. For the first time in days, she did not look beyond the person before her, but peered into his eyes. She recognized the elf lord. The few unshed tears left in her eyes left new wet trails down her pale and trembling cheeks. Elrond gently touched her shoulder. "What is it, Gilraen? What is wrong?"
"The baby..." her voice was soft and raspy due to the hours of screaming and crying. Soft gasps broke her speech. "Lord Elrond, the baby is gone. I lost him."
The room was silent. What did Gilraen mean? What baby? Estel tried to run to his mother's side, but Elladan held him back.
Elrond was the first to understand the woman's ramblings. Even though she recognized him, she was still not in the present. Gently he touched her arm in a comforting gesture. "Gilraen, what child do you mean? Estel is here..."
"Estel is with your sons…they can care for him better than I can...." Her sobs were louder now, but her voice more faint. There was no trace of hope or longing for life in her face. "I lost the baby. Don't you understand? I lost him! Arathorn told me to protect the child I carried and I failed him there as well."
Just as Elrond expected, Gilraen was remembering the day she miscarried her child. On top of all the pain she carried since her husband's death, the loss of her child destroyed her. She blamed herself for her husband's death, she felt unable to care for her son, and now she blamed herself for her unborn child's passing. Five years ago Elrond had tried to comfort the grieving woman, to bring her back from the darkness. But he could not, then; she would let no one into her self-imposed prison.
"Mama, Mama," Estel broke free from his brothers' grasps and ran across the room flinging his arms around his mother. "Mama, I'm here. Please don't hurt. Please let me help you."
Elrond silently moved away from the mother and son. The dark-haired boy rested his head on top of his mother's dark curls as they both softly wept. The three elves watched in amazement as a miracle happened before their eyes. Slowly the void in Gilraen's eyes began to reverse. She saw not only the past, but the present. Recognition returned to the formerly dead eyes. After awhile, Gilraen reached up and touched Estel's arm.
Startled by the change of position, Estel looked up. "Mama?"
"Estel, my son, my son," she spoke clearly and coherently, albeit softly. With both hands she guided the boy around the chair and set him on her lap. As she moved, a small, wooden object she had been holding for days fell to the floor with a little clatter that neither mother nor son noticed. She cradled her son in her arms rocking him softly--an action she had not performed since the day her life fell apart. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"Shh, Mama." Estel ran his fingers through his mother's tangled locks. "I love you."
Glancing at Gilraen's tear-stained face, Estel knew he wanted to heal her if he could. He would become a healer like his Ada. He would be a fighter of injustice, so no one else would need to suffer like his Mama did.
As the two sat taking comfort from each other's presence, Gilraen closed her eyes and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Not wanting to move, Estel curled up next to his Mama and let his eyes close as well.
Elrond motioned for the twins to follow him out of the room, Gilraen and Estel would be fine for now. Before they left, Elrohir moved toward the fallen object near the chair; he thought it looked familiar. He picked up several broken pieces of a toy wooden horse. It was the same one that Arathorn had carried out to his last battle. Gilraen had kept the pieces all these years, as if trying to hold onto their last moments together as a family--but they, like the horse, were broken. Placing the toy in his pocket, Elrohir promised himself he would bring the toy back fixed.