Whispers in the Wind
By The Last Evenstar
Disclaimer: How many times do I have to tell you it's not mine? Why won't you believe me?
A/N: This is just a short one-off that I wrote in honor of Aragorn's actual birthday, which would be today, March 1st. And yes, it IS the day that the three riders encounter Gandalf the White for the first time in Fangorn Forest and set off for Rohan. Check the RotK Appendix if you don't believe me.
Also, this story is meant to offer an explanation as to why Aragorn wears the Ring of Barahir in The Two Towers movie when he confronts Wormtongue, who reports back to Saruman of this strange piece of jewelry.
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"They rode on through sunset, and slow dusk, and gathering night. When at last they halted and dismounted, even Aragorn was stiff and weary. Gandalf only allowed them a few hours' rest. Legolas and Gimli slept, and Aragorn lay flat, stretched upon his back." ~J. R. R. Tolkien, The Two Towers, Chapter VI
"Gandalf," he asked at last, "what day is it?"
The wizard peered at his still form. "It is March the first, the first of Rethe to the Shirefolk, and Viresse er to the Elves." He sighed. "You were born this day, were you not, fourscore and seven years ago?"
Aragorn nodded. "It is my birthday. And yet my heart is not gladdened. Memories of happier years still haunt me on this thankless journey."
Like memories of her, he thought wistfully. Of all the years before when she's been with me to celebrate.
Lying there in the soft grass, he suddenly became painfully aware of how much he missed her. Her eyes, her laugh her smile . . . it all seemed like a distant memory. A dream from another lifetime.
We've all changed so much since this quest began, he reflected. Legolas and Gimli were the bet of enemies. Now they're the best of friends.
Two among our number were lost, but one has returned in a lucky twist of fate. Two were taken, but they are safe now.
And two wander alone in the wild, carrying the fate of us all in their tiny hands.
And I? I lie in the grass, and dream of an Elf-maiden who once lay beside me. I remember her words to me this time last year..
"Eina nostare, meleth nin, [Happy birthday, my love]," she whispered in my ear.
And now she is gone. Any chance of seeing her again rests on my shoulders. Too great is this burden for me to bear! She was the best thing that ever happened to me. And it's all up to me to see that she will light up my life once again.
He sighed. Next year, he thought firmly. Next year she will be with me again, and I will no longer suffer this holiday alone.
Gandalf chuckled. "That reminds me. When the Lady of Lorien delivered her message to you," he explained, "she gave me something else. Something born all the way from Rivendell, which was not to be given to you until March the First." He smiled. "I suppose that's today."
Aragorn's heart raced. "Rivendell?" Don't dare to hope, he chided himself. It will be from Elrond – a cloak, or a blade, perhaps.
Gandalf rolled his eyes and handed over a small parcel. "Woe is me, that our last hope in uniting the people of Middle-earth spends his days in desperate remembrance of a lady-love."
Aragorn sat up and grabbed it eagerly. "It's from her?"
"Unless you have another mela-ra."
With trembling hands he broke the seal and withdrew a piece of parchment and a cloth-wrapped object.
Straight, spidery handwriting crept along the page. Arwen!
He read it slowly, wanting to savor each precious word.
A' Estel, mela en coiamin,
Eina nostare, meleth nin. If you are reading this on March the First, Viresse er, then I shall know never to doubt my grandmother again. I went to great lengths to get this letter and gift to you, and yet I fear they shall pale in light of your quest. But that is as it should be, for your first and foremost duty is to your people.
If, Estel, you take time to read this letter, know that it contains no great words of strength or hope, only of love. That is all I can offer in these dark times, and I hope it will be enough to comfort you when night falls and the light of the stars is blocked from sight.
I will always love you, Estel, to my dying day, and it is my truest wish that I should die as a mortal, and beside you. I care not for length or ease of life, only to see you again before it passes. There are no further words for this; my undying devotion.
I know there will be no celebration where you are. The days grow dark and weary, and the Shadow bears closer and closer. But here, in the haven of Imladris, I will light a candle for you, and break bread all alone, imagining that you are somewhere yonder, thinking of me.
Take hope in my faith, Estel, and rise to meet the Shadow whence it comes. Remember all those who believe in you, and all those whom you fight to save. When night seems endless, remember the linnod spoken long ago:
Onen i-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim [I gave Hope to the Dúnadan, I have kept no hope for myself].
Take comfort. I will wait in the walls of Imladris, so fair and yet so like a prison keeping me from you.
Pray that this is not our fate.
Meleth nin ten'oio ar' ilyamenie [My love forever and always],
Undómiel
Aragorn was wiping the tears from his eyes when Gandalf spoke.
"Take counsel in her words, Aragorn, for she believes in you with all her heart. And oftentimes someone's faith can be the greatest thing they have to offer."
A single tear stained the parchment in his hands. "It means more to me than you can ever know." He looked up. "Can you imagine, Gandalf – what it is to be in love? It's all the pain and suffering life brings turned into something wonderful. Because of her."
Gandalf only smoked his pipe.
Aragorn unfolded the cloth parcel. Inside was a silver ring, heavy and solid. Two serpents were intertwined in a never-ending circle around a shining green stone. It was the Ring of Barahir – the heirloom token he had given her so long ago when they plighted their troth atop Cerin Amroth.
The note read:
Meleth nin –
I do not return to you this ring, rather I lend it, for woe should become of me if you fail to bring it back. It is the most precious gift I have ever received, and only hope that it will bring you the strength it has given me.
I will not waste more parchment with meaningless declarations of my love for you. I only seek to wish you a happy birthday, and pray that you accept my gift, which, though humble, was given from my heart.
Amin mela lle,
Undómiel
"Not meaningless," Aragorn whispered to the wind. "Never meaningless."
He slipped the cold metal onto his finger, and at once felt the pride that had inspired so much faith in his beloved. The green stone burned like an ember within him, and for the first time he felt like a king.
"Thank you, Arwen," he murmured, wishing the North Wind could bear his words to Imladris. "I love you."
~~~~~~~
Arwen sat alone. She lit a long, slender candle and carried it outside. She stood, feeling the rush of the wind on her cheek, and sat the candle down softly.
She had sent her message with hope in her heart, and through everything that had happened she chose still to believe. He is alive. He will be victorious.
If only I had a sign . . .
Faintly she heard, as if carried on the wings of the wind itself, a small voice in the back of her mind. "I love you," it whispered, and she smiled, a tear trailing down her soft cheek.
"I love you, Estel," she whispered, cupping a hand about the flickering candle. "Wherever you might be."
Abruptly the wind changed direction and headed South.