The eyes, he finally decided. A crack of thunder pealed as if in confirmation, reverberations thrumming lightly through the ground beneath his feet. The old wizard's body was old, seemingly frail - but his eyes held knowledge that was older still, infinitely discerning, and sometimes there was a sadness in those eyes that Aragorn had only previously beheld in the eyes of elves.
Right now, though, those eyes were hidden beneath the brim of Gandalf's stare-worthy old hat, and Aragorn did not feel like thinking on what he made of the elves. The rain was unpleasant enough to steal his attention, in any case.
Just as suddenly as it had started, the rain trickled and drizzled to a stop - with that, the sun struggled forth again, sending sticky-warm humidity gusting after the showers. The only thing Aragorn found himself grateful for was that there were no flies.
"You know of Thranduil's son, do you not?"
Gandalf's voice interrupted Aragorn while he was trying to pull his foot out of a particularly deep rut of mud without leaving his boot behind. He looked up - the wizard was standing clear of the rut, watching amusedly. And finally the mud relinquished his foot and boot, both pulling forth from its depths with a loud glop. "The Greenleaf? Aye, I know him."
Those eyes twinkled again in mirth as they started walking. "Your brothers were most upset that he had seen you when they had not."
Aragorn did not answer for another few moments. When he did, it was to ask, "When did you go to Imladris?"
"Some time ago. Not long before I came to Rohan."
"You saw my brothers, and Elrond." Gandalf nodded, and Aragorn sidestepped a mud-filled dip in the ground. "My mother?" There was no response, and he peered over at Gandalf with a slight frown and a peremptory, "Gandalf?"
The old wizard prodded a stone out of his path with his staff. "Your mother was not in Rivendell, Aragorn. She returned to her people in Eriador not long after you left. She only stayed in Imladris in the first place because of you."
"She is still well, though?"
"The last I saw her, yes."
Aragorn lapsed back into silence again, turning his eyes down to the mud in his path. In the distance, thunder tolled once more, its rumble distant and fading, but there was no rain to follow.
--------------
Mirkwood loomed, oppressive and dark against Aragorn's recent memories of Rohan's golden grasses. The rain had followed their path north, reaching even to the heart of the forests; the air within the trees was cool and clammy, and Aragorn wondered if the Bruinen's annual snowmelt had flooded the river's banks near Imladris yet.
Gandalf had been all but silent, too, for the past few days, and Aragorn had made no move to break the silence. It was an easy sort of quiet, and now in the wood, it seemed as if the sound of a leaf falling would echo harshly, let alone a voice. Even the mere thought of noise was alien. He found himself searching the trees for scouts, and seeing nothing but dark leaves and darker wood.
They reached the palace without a single sentry stopping them on their path. He didn't know if that was a good sign, or a bad one.
Gandalf left him in the emptied central hall with a murmured order to stay there and await his return. Aragorn nodded, watching the old wizard stride off down a darkened corridor.
Long moments passed, and he was abruptly aware of movement behind him - some whisper in the shadows, some darting shimmer at the corner of his eye. He whirled, and was greeted with the sight of an elf.
No, two elves.
He gaped. "What are you doing here?"
Elladan snorted in amusement as Elrohir pulled Aragorn into a fierce hug, laughing outright at the man's still-surprised expression. "We are doing perfectly well, Estel," he drawled with a grin, "thank you for asking - though it can imagined that your manners haven't."
"As if he could be expected to keep up with that, living with the Rohirrim for three years," Elrohir laughed, releasing Aragorn only to hold him out at arm's length and give him a rough shake by the shoulders. "If you ever, ever leave home like that again--" He drew the man back in for another embrace.
"You'll what, strangle him to death by breaking all of his ribs like that?"
Aragorn's dumbfounded shock was quickly wearing away into amazement, and a sudden rush of joy. "Enough, enough!" he cried laughingly, gently prying Elrohir off of him. "What are you doing here?"
"We've been relegated to messenger duty for the next few years," Elladan explained, accepting the quick hug Aragorn gave him. "Shift rotation, if you will."
"A mundane demotion, if you will," Elrohir added in the exact same tone as Elladan had used, garnering a mock-glare and a light swat on the back of his head from Elladan.
"Ai, what this world has come to when I am brother to a mere pair of messengers!" And Aragorn found himself slipping between the elvish tongue and Westron, in his laughter, and to the twins' merriment.
"Yes, but the two greatest messengers in all of Imladris--"
"Nay, in all elvendom in Arda!" Elrohir interjected, eyes gleaming with good humor.
"The two slowest, most bumbling messengers of the Age--" Aragorn was interrupted with Elrohir good-naturedly cuffed his ear, face breaking into a wicked grin.
"Insolent elfling," Elladan chuckled.
"Insolent human," Elrohir corrected him, before Aragorn stiffened slightly - the elf blinked, seemed to realize what he'd said. "Oh- Estel, I didn't--"
"Human, elf, or goblin, he would still be our insolent little elfling of a brother," Elladan said quietly. A touch of a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth as Aragorn sent him a swift glance, eyes dark with gratitude - and hope.
"Of course he is," Elrohir was saying as he looped an arm around Aragorn's shoulders, the tension in the air dispelled. "Though I suspect he's more goblin than human or elf."
"Ah, Aragorn," Gandalf sighed, striding back into the hall, "I leave you alone for but a few minutes and look what you get yourself into."
"Mithrandir!" Elladan and Elrohir both turned simultaneously to see the wizard, Elladan greeting him with a bow and a rare grin while Elrohir bestowed Gandalf with a hug not quite as hard as the one he had given Aragorn. "We knew you'd find him," Elrohir enthused with a laugh.
"So you were sent out to find me," Aragorn put in, though with no rancor.
The old wizard smiled, extracting himself from Elrohir and walking toward another hallway. All three followed him in a small cluster. "Not so much to find you and bring you back as just to make sure you were still well."
"Not that we doubted that you could take care of yourself," Elrohir added hastily.
"As I was saying," Gandalf rumbled, with a chiding glance back at Elrohir, "I have brought you anyway. My conference with Thranduil is done."
Aragorn blinked, surprised at the brevity of the 'conference' - most of Elrond's had taken days. But then he remembered the King of Mirkwood's famed brusqueness, and held his tongue as Gandalf continued.
"His son Legolas has gone with a party of elves on a hunting trip, so I fear you may not have as much companionship as you'd hoped for, Aragorn--" Elrohir made a vaguely indignant noise, until Elladan elbowed him in the ribs. "We will stay for another two days before leaving again."
"Leaving again?" Elladan finally spoke up, glancing from Gandalf to Aragorn. "Estel, I thought you were coming back with us." Aragorn stopped; the twins did as well, leaving Gandalf to step silently away within a moment. The man looked from Elladan to Elrohir, gaze then dropping to the ground. "Estel?"
"My name is Aragorn."
"Aragorn, then--" Elrohir looked anxiously at Elladan, at Aragorn whose gaze was still at their feet. "No matter. You're coming home with us?" There was an undercurrent of a plea in his voice, and Aragorn wanted to close his hearing to it as he had blocked the sight of their faces.
Elladan's voice came next, softer and sadder. "He isn't."
Aragorn jerked his head up - his eyes met Elladan's, and he could almost feel the sudden sorrow that coursed through the elf. Sorrow, understanding - "I can't," he whispered, previous joy dissolving into a cold knot of misery.
A hint of a smile touched Elladan's mouth. "I know," he murmured, and turned away.
"What do you mean, you know?" Elrohir would not turn away, and for all the schooled inexpression on his face, his voice shook with disbelief and a hurt that ran nearly to betrayal. "Of course you're coming home, aren't you, Aragorn?"
"I can't," Aragorn repeated, fighting the urge to look over his shoulder to see if Gandalf had come back. "Not--" He stopped, unsure of what he would say if he went on - unsure even of what it was that made him refuse.
Elladan picked up where Aragorn faltered to silence. "It's all right, brother," he sighed; it wasn't clear whether it was Aragorn he spoke to, or Elrohir. He looked toward Aragorn, smile almost wistful. "We will still wait for you in Imladris. Aragorn." He turned away again, and stepped quietly down the hallway, disappearing around a corner. Aragorn watched him go, then turned a beseeching look on Elrohir. The elf's expression had gone stony and closed in a particular manner that the man had never seen before.
"Little brother," Elrohir breathed into the silence after a moment, as Aragorn looked to the ground again. "I'm sorry."
But when the man looked up, the hall was empty.
The next morning, he went down to the stables to find that Elladan and Elrohir had left the previous night. And when he went back to his room, he found a note slid under the door that he had missed before. Elrohir's neat script displayed a single word.
Hope.