Thanks very much for all the kind reviews. I had originally seen this story as a one-shot vignette, but now that I'm continuing it I will try to update more quickly.
Elizabeth Goode: I'm glad you're enjoying it! I've found your stories and like them very much, too. Writing Aragorn and Elrond is always fun, isn't it?
NaughtyNat: I've changed the controls now to accept anon reviews. (I'm still kind of new to this posting stories thing.) Thanks for reviewing!
Antigone Q and Frodo: Thanks so much for your encouraging words. I'm glad everyone seems in-character to you. Hope you enjoy this next chapter!
Chapter 3: Difficult Words
In the end, it was a week before the little party escorting Aragorn into the Wild left Rivendell. After the free-for-all in the bathing chamber, Legolas announced that he, too, would accompany his young friend. "You three cannot be trusted on your own," he told the twins. Aragorn, for his part, was grateful to have him. It was one less goodbye he would have to say. It was hard to leave Elrond and all those he had known since childhood, but two partings in particular he was dreading. What would he say to his mother and Arwen?
In the days leading up to their departure there was much to be prepared, so he didn't have time to dwell on farewells. Finally, on the evening before they were to depart, he knew he could delay no longer. There was no more food to pack, no more clothing to fold, no reason to visit the horses in the stable yet again. With foreboding in his heart, Aragorn made his way to his mother's chambers.
Gilraen was reading by the fire. She looked up as her son entered, a smile softening her lined face. She was not old by the standards of the Dunedain, but compared to the ageless elves she seemed worn beyond her years. "Aragorn." She relished the feel of her son's true name on her tongue. Even though she accepted the need for secrecy, it had been hard to call him Estel. She had waited longingly for the day when there would be no more secrets between them.
Aragorn took her hands and kissed her forehead, motioning for her to remain seated. He sank down on the floor at her feet.
Still she held his hands, unwilling to let them go. "Master Elrond says you leave tomorrow morning."
"Yes."
"Elladan and Elrohir go with you?"
"And Legolas."
She nodded. "Master Elrond's sons are the noblest elves I have ever encountered." A ghost of a smile played across her lips at her son's skeptical expression. "You see only their games. I have known them in very different circumstances. When you were a child we would never have reached Rivendell safely if it hadn't been for them. They are magnificent warriors."
"I've tried to learn all I can from them," Aragorn said softly, "but I fear it will not be enough."
"You touch on a matter I wish to speak to you about before you leave." Gray eyes locked with gray. "Do not always compare yourself to elves and despair because you believe your skills are wanting. I've watched you through the years, trying to keep up with the others. I understand your frustration with the limitations of our race. You feel the differences acutely because you've grown up in Rivendell and Rivendell is a special place. But our people need a leader, a man with confidence in his abilities, someone who is not ashamed to be one of them.
"Long ago, our ancestors in Numenor came to grief because they wished to be elves, to share in unending life. Such a thing can never be. Though we live among the Eldar, our lives and theirs are forever sundered." Gilraen squeezed Aragorn's hands tightly. "Be careful as you gaze on the Undying Lands, my son. I see your eyes straying toward them when you walk with Undomiel at twilight. They are not for us, or our people."
Later, walking with Arwen in the twilight as his mother described, Gilraen's words lay heavy on Aragorn's heart. Their fingers were lightly entwined as they strolled beneath the trees. They talked for a while about inconsequential things: the chill in the night air that spoke of autumn, the scroll Elrond misplaced four hundred years ago and had found the previous morning, the colt Arwen's favorite horse had just foaled. Suddenly she stopped, realizing Aragorn had fallen silent. "Estel? Tell me what you are thinking."
He blinked. How could he explain that he was memorizing the curve of her jaw and the way her night-dark hair swept against her cheek? How could he say that, walking so close to her, he was breathing the air she exhaled and tasting her soul? "I'm thinking about how much I will miss you."
She regarded him in a way that made him feel his thoughts were transparent to her. Color rose in his face, hot and unwelcome. "I will miss you, too," she said finally. "Come back to us in the spring, if you are able."
"I will."
"Promise me."
"I promise." He wanted to be brave enough to take her in his arms, but in the back of his mind he could still hear his mother's words: Be careful as you gaze on the Undying Lands. They are not for us, or our people.
Arwen moved closer, her hands reaching around his waist. "The Wild is a very dangerous place," she breathed. "Take care of yourself, Estel, and listen to your brothers." Then she kissed the side of his mouth, a gesture somewhere between that of a sister and a lover. Before he could respond she was walking back toward the great house, leaving him alone and wondering.
###
Listen to your brothers, Aragorn thought grumpily. Why did Arwen have to speak to me as if I was a child when we parted? Elladan and Elrohir are the ones who are hopelessly immature!
"Stewed!"
"Roasted!"
They were ten days out from Rivendell and camping in the shadow of Weathertop. Aragorn was fascinated by the ruined watchtower and spent most of the afternoon sifting through the stone circle on the hill with Legolas while his brothers hunted for their dinner. The twins came back with three plump rabbits, which should have made the evening merry enough, but then the trouble began
"You cannot stew a rabbit without potatoes," Elladan said patiently, as if he were speaking to a five-year old. "Do you have any potatoes in your pack, Elrohir? Do you?"
"You sound like a halfling," his twin snarled, looking up from the rabbit he was skinning and brandishing his knife menacingly. "Besides, you cannot roast a rabbit properly without onions."
"Maybe Estel would like to go dig for some?"
"Maybe he wouldn't," Aragorn said.
"I think the rabbits will be fine however you cook them," Legolas said, "as long as you do it sometime tonight."
"Ah, our woodland cousins," Elladan said. "Like dwarves, they will eat anything."
"Just a moment now--" Legolas began haughtily. He never finished the sentence. A howl in the distance broke the stillness of the surrounding night. It was answered by another, closer at hand.
"Stay by the fire and look to the horses, Estel," said Elrohir smoothly, retrieving his bow from where it lay on the ground. "Legolas?"
The Prince of Mirkwood nodded wordlessly and before Aragorn could blink they both disappeared into the darkness. Elladan stoked the fire and picked up the rabbit Elrohir had been skinning.
"Aren't you worried about them?" Aragorn hunched down beside his brother. The unearthly howls raised the hair on the back of his neck, but he was pleased that his voice sounded calm.
"Elrohir and Legolas won't be caught by wolves." Elladan looked up and smiled reassuringly at the young man. "Still," the smile faded and something moved behind the elf's ageless eyes, "it's strange for wolves to be this far south so early in the year." He finished skinning the rabbits in silence and when he looked up again, whatever Aragorn had seen in his eyes was now hidden. "Well," Elladan said brightly, "our brave elves are bound to be hungry when they return. Let's greet them with some nice roasted rabbits, shall we?"
###
From Weathertop they turned north and continued on for another ten days. They didn't encounter any wolves, although they heard them from time to time. Aragorn knew his brothers were still wary, and they always set a watch at night.
As the days passed Aragorn noticed a change in his brothers, one that became more pronounced the deeper they traveled into the Wild. The banter between the twins died away; they spoke less frequently and in low voices. Even Legolas seemed subdued.
Watching them, Aragorn realized how little he truly knew his three companions. He counted them among his closest friends, but away from the familiar surroundings of Rivendell they seemed almost like strangers. Is this what will become of me, he thought. In time, will I cease to recognize myself?
On the tenth night they camped in a dell between low hills. It was Legolas's turn to find their dinner, so the twins and Aragorn built a fire while they waited for him to return.
"It's good that Legolas is hunting this evening," Elladan said.
"Yes, he makes his kill faster than either of you," Aragorn teased. "I'm starving."
"That's not what I meant." Elladan glanced at his twin, who was studying a patch of grass between his feet. "Elrohir and I have things we must say to you, difficult things that may be hard for you to hear. We have delayed speaking about them as long as possible, but we may encounter the Rangers any day now. We can delay no longer."
Aragorn looked at him questioningly but said nothing. After a moment, Elladan continued. "It has been eighteen years since you were brought to our house. That is but a short while to us, but to the Rangers it is a long time to keep hope alive in their hearts. While you were growing up in Rivendell, blissfully ignorant of your true name, you were in your people's thoughts every day."
"Isn't that something good?"
"Good and bad," Elrohir said. "The problem is they are not really waiting for you. They are waiting for Arathorn to return to them. And the truth is," he made his voice as gentle as possible, "you are not very like your father, Estel. They will look for him in you, but they will not see him."
"Then what will they see?" Aragorn whispered.
Elladan studied his little brother in silence. Aragorn's face was clean-shaven and smooth, still with a touch of boyish roundness, although his jaw was firm enough. His waist-length dark hair was pulled into a single braid, plaited with silver thread, that hung down his back. Elladan shook his head at the dark brown tunic and leggings, simple in design but made by the finest weavers in Imladris. "They will see an elf," he said simply, "and they will not know what to make of you."
None of them spoke for a long moment, then Elrohir said, "It is not such a thing to be wondered at, really, because they know you have been raised among us. But what one knows with the head and what one hopes for with the heart are two different things."
"I don't want to disappoint them. What should I do? What would my father have done?"
"You can't think like that," Elladan said sharply. "Listen, Estel! Arathorn was a good man and a great Chieftain. He was our friend and we loved him. But there was little joy in his life until he married your mother, and after that what happiness he had was mingled with fear for you and her. One cannot survive dark times without joy and hope, both of which you possess and he did not. Honor his memory, but do not wish to be like him. To do so is to undervalue many of your own good qualities."
"Arathorn was stern and bold," Elrohir said. "You are gentle and brave. Who is to say which traits are better? Only the necessity of the times will tell us."
"We do not say these things to make you worry." Elladan reached out and grasped Aragorn's shoulder. "The Dunedain will come to accept you in time. They are good men and fair judges of character. It is best for you to know, though, what expectations you will face when you meet them."
Aragorn nodded. The fire crackled brightly but he felt a chill settle in his heart.
"There is one other thing," Elladan continued, "and it is far more important." A note of hesitancy crept into his voice, as if he were choosing his words with the utmost care. "We've told you a little about the kind of person Arathorn was. What do you know about the day he died?"
"He was riding with you when you came upon a party of orcs. A goblin archer shot him and he was killed. That's all Ada told me."
"That much is true, but it is not the whole story. Estel, listen carefully to me and do not forget what I am about to say!" Elladan leaned forward, his eyes glowing in the firelight. "Arathorn did not die by chance. It was a clear day when we rode out, but by midday a strange fog surrounded us, confusing our horses. Elrohir and I were separated from your father. We heard him calling to us, but his voice seemed to come from all directions at once. Our horses were fey and we couldn't control them. Then we heard the orcs." He drew in a shuddering breath. "We were desperate with fear for Arathorn, but we could make no headway in the mists until suddenly, as if on a signal, a wind blew them away. The orcs drew off and Elrohir pursued them. I went in search of your father." He broke off and stared wordlessly at the fire for a moment.
"Later, the thought came to me that the mists had cleared the moment Arathorn died. I don't know why I thought that, but the feeling wouldn't leave me. I started to think about your grandfather, killed by hill-trolls only a few years earlier. I spoke to the companions who had been with him on that day, and they told me of a strange fog that had separated them from their Chieftain."
"What are you saying?" Aragorn's voice was harsh and low.
"Only what I have come to believe in my heart: there is some Evil that seeks to destroy the Chieftains of the Dunedain, breaking the only strength that stands against it in the North. Perhaps it is our old enemy, the Dark Lord who has risen again in the East. I do not know. But I do know this: you are the Chieftain of the Dunedain now, Estel. Whatever power murdered your father and grandfather is still potent, though it has slept for eighteen years. Soon it will wake and lay its traps for you."
