Title: Luthien's flute

Author: B-witched83uk (bwitched83uk@aol.com)

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Aragorn, Arwen and the family travel to Lothlorien after receiving a mysterious letter from Celeborn.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings. The whole of Middle Earth belongs to Tolkien

Chapter 6

A New Addition

They had been riding hard and fast now for the past eight days. Eldarion rode like the wind, with a new found purpose. The sun was high in the azure sky and only a light mist of rain slowed the party down. Eldarion had remained candid about his last conversation with Ithiliwen, but his silence spoke volumes. Arwen sat comfortably on her horse, waiting desperately for Eldarion to speak of Ithiliwen but he would not. Her usually immaculate patience was growing thin.

"What a beautiful young woman Ithiliwen has become." Arwen paused, hoping her son would chip in. Aragorn smiled with amusement at his wife's attempts to coerce their son. She had not been able to rest since they left Edoras, her curiosity constantly getting the better of her. The fact that Eldarion was missing his ring had not escaped his father's notice.

Aragorn, who was riding next to Arwen, lent gently towards her. "Mela, do not rush him. He will speak when he is ready. He is simply enjoying having the secret all to himself. Surely you remember how that felt."

The memorable gleam in his eye was not lost on her. Indeed she remembered a time when she was afraid to mention Aragorn's name, as if sharing their love with the world would somehow make it disappear. She reached out for his hand and like this they rode in silence.

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As dusk approached, the company slowed in search of a place to rest for the night. Luthien was asleep on her mother's horse, resting against Arwen's chest. The eve was peaceful. Eldarion smiled to himself as he rode at the back with Galadwen. The smile, of course, was picked up by her. She was happy for her brother. She only wished that some day she would find love.

She pondered this for a moment, thinking of all the men she knew. Ohtarmir came into her mind. He was the first son of Faramir and Eowyn, a fine warrior and future King of Rohan. No, that wouldn't do. She would have to leave her family once he took the throne.

"Oh curses," she was thinking like one of those women who thought on naught but marrying well. Galadwen shook her head and pushed the thoughts far from her mind, replacing them with the beauty of the country she was ridding through.

A shrill cry alerted the party; forcing them to stop dead in their tracks. Aragorn dismounted his stead and, with his hand resting on the hilt of Anduril, walked with caution toward the cave, his men not far behind.

"Stay there!" He ordered his family. Arwen brought her horse to stand in front of her children's, a clear barrier between them and whatever lay in that cave. Eldarion fell in beside his father, a burning torch lighting their way. The cave was dank and the air smelled stale. The tunnel ran quite deep; the cry must have echoed through it.

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Deeper and deeper they went, arms at the ready, breath hitching in their throats. What could have made such a noise? Aragorn ran through the A-Z of creatures he knew of Middle Earth, trying to pin point it. Once more the cry was heard, and all the men instantly froze. Aragorn glanced toward his son, a look of bravery and determination upon his face, a look Aragorn remembered well. A faint light appeared before them; a flicker of candles. They were approaching their destination, now deep into the cave. They walked with all the quiet they could muster. They knew not what this creature was as of yet and they had no intention of alerting it to their presence.

Four Orcs surrounded a table in the middle of the cave. Another cry screeched round the walls as the gruesome beasts continued their game. Aragorn could not see what was on the table, nor could he see any other adversaries. He swept the room with his eyes and signaled for his men to attack. Aragorn ran straight at an Orc. Anduril's cold steel found the creature's neck no challenge as it sliced right through, leaving the Orc's head to tumble to the floor. Eldarion took out the fourth and last, a blade to the blackened heart. Eldarion looked pleased with himself as he walked towards his father. Aragorn's back was to his son, his shoulders hunched, his hand at his mouth.

On the table before him lay a small boy, his skin ashen as though he had never seen sunlight. His body was slight and underfed, and the leather straps that bound him at the wrists and ankles had left tender and bloodied abrasions. He was naked before them, shivering from the cold, or perhaps from the memories of what had happened to him. He cowered and whimpered like a frightened animal as Aragorn reached out a hand to snap the boys restraints.

"Everybody out. Guard the entrance. Eldarion, stay here with the torch." Aragorn was disgusted at the sight of cruelty before him. He could barely talk. If it hadn't been for the company of his men, he may have broke down and wept for the boy. How could anyone, even Orcs, treat a child in such a way?

Once free, the boy merely lay still, with no energy or strength to fight or run. Aragorn took off his cloak and covered the child's naked frame.

"I will not hurt you, boy." Aragorn reached out to stroke his head, sickened by the condition of him. The boy looked up at Aragorn, his eyes cold and dim, a dirty green.

"We must take him with us. I fear he is close to death." Eldarion also took off his cloak and handed it to his father. Aragorn picked the child up and held him close in an attempt to warm him.

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"Oh no! Lay him down on this blanket," Arwen informed her husband as he immerged from the cave carrying the boy. Aragorn placed him on the blanket, the night now approaching.

"What monster would do this to a child?" Galadwen wept as she surveyed the quivering life. Aragorn motioned for everyone to get back. He looked at Arwen and nodded. She bent down over the boy; his breathing shallow and forced, his lungs gurgling. She opened her arms and the boy instantly, without knowing why, sat forward and fell into her embrace. The child grasped her arms and held on for dear life, as though he had never felt a mother's touch. Arwen's single tear fell on to his cold, bruised skin; a silver star, rejuvenating.

"What grace is given me, let it pass to him. Let him be spared."

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The boy awoke in such comfort he had never known. He was inside a tent, lying on a bed of blankets beside a basin of Athelas and hot water. Aragorn smiled down at him, still bathing his abrasions with the herbed water.

"You are safe here boy. I will let no harm come to you."

The boy looked around at the others. Galadwen was sitting with Luthien, waiting with baited breath. Arwen, Eldarion and Celebriel were outside with the rest of the party.

"Will he be alright, Ada?" Luthien came beside the boy's bed and held his hand.

"We will stay here for a few days, until he is able to ride, but yes, I think he will be well."

Aragorn covered the small boy once more, taking extra care not to be too rough with him. "Tell me your name boy." His voice was soft and comforting. The boy, who hadn't spoken a word until now, shook a little when he answered.

"My name is Maitelea." His voice was deeper and older then Aragorn had expected.

"Meaning skilled sight!" Luthien watched him with sorrow. "You are most welcome, Maitelea. You will remain in our care for now."

Aragorn's eyes narrowed. "How old are you?"

The boy looked ashamed of himself as he answered his tall rescuer. "I am 14 years old, my Lord." The royal three gasped. This saddened Aragorn deeper still. He was so malnourished, he appeared no older then eight. Composing himself, Aragorn added, "Sleep well, Maitelea. We will speak more together on the morrow." Aragorn stood and held out his hand for his youngest to take.

"May I stay with him a little longer? I can sing until he sleeps," said Luthien. Galadwen smiled at her sister's kind heart.

"Very well Luthien, but do not tire him." Aragorn looked down at the boy once more and managed a warm smile in an attempt to bring comfort.

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Aragorn lay still with his wife in his arms. They had retired for the evening, with the need to hold on to something that was good in this world. Arwen rested her head on her lover's shoulder, her hands stroking his chest, soothing away the cruelty he had witnessed this day.

"What will we do with him? Take him back to Minas Tirith? Try and find his parents?" Aragorn knew not what to do for the best and hoped that his wise wife could shed some light.

"Maitelea has no parents. I felt it when I held him, Estel. Oh, the things I saw." Aragorn had not realized she needed comforting as much as he.

"Tell me?" He wished not to hurt his wife with memories but he needed to know. Arwen stayed still, her mouth suddenly dry. She closed her eyes and let the pain Maitelea had known wash over her.

"His own mother sold him for a price to a dark man of magic. He was so small, no more then seven years." Her voice began to break and Aragorn stopped her from continuing with a gentle kiss. They needed to be soothed desperately, to feel something good, pure. She looked into his eyes, her own dampened.

"Make love to me?" She needed his touch, his warmth. Aragorn moved so that he was on top of her, his hand brushing her hair away from her face.

"Always."

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Luthien sat before Maitelea, holding his hand in hers. He closed his eyes and listened to her beautiful song. It was in Elvish and knew not what the words meant, but the melody was enchanting. His fears and woes seemed to dispel. Luthien stroked his hand, saddened at how badly he had been treated. Maitelea pulled his hand away suddenly and gasped as her fingers stroked over a large scratch.

"I am sorry. I meant not to hurt you." Luthien was angry at herself for being so careless.

"Please do not think on it, and please do not stop singing. It eases my pain." He held out his hand for her to again take.

"I will be more gentle with you." Luthien took Maitelea's hand and continued to sing, her voice sending him into a deep and undisturbed slumber.