A/N: Woohoo! Finally, an update! This is what happens when all of my plot bunnies decide to die at once. xD But yes, thank the Furb-meister for this update. Rawr. Pen-neth

Chapter Two: Good Morning! Alas, but young Aragorn was unable to take in very much else of his new home the first time he was carried into it. He did not stay awake long enough. He could not help but to let his head fall into the curve of his mother's shoulder, or to let his heavy eyelids droop over his sea-grey eyes. A thunderous yawn pulled from his lips, and the next thing he knew, he was lying in the most comfortable bed he had ever been in. Gilraen was trying to wake him up, telling him that it was time for breakfast. She was not being very successful in this act, however. Aragorn felt that he was literally buried in a nest of humongous blankets and fluffy pillows, and everything was so warm and cozy that he was loath to let himself be awoken.

Better yet, his dreams had been nice, and did not contain memories and visions of a father that he would never see again. However, unlike the last time Gilraen tried to rouse him, he was not being difficult because he wanted to pretend he was somewhere else - quite the contrary! He was so pleased with his current situation that he wanted to stay exactly where he was. The reposed little boy whined and whimpered as his mother bent over him, occasionally nudging him and trying her hardest to wake the little creature. Sleep was such a good thing. His mother went to such lengths usually to put him to sleep, why was she so set on waking him now? The boy let out a little whine sounding something like 'no!' and scrambled even further under the blankets, pulling them over his head hiding somewhere in the middle of the mattress and mass of bedclothes, deeper into the stifling warmth. Gilraen gave a soft chuckle, and briefly her hand lighted over his head from the other side of the thick comforter. The woman rose gracefully to her feet. Aragorn only knew of this because he felt the mattress shift as she withdrew her weight. He laid very still, and heard her footsteps padding softly along the flagstones of the floor as she began to walk away.

"Have it your way, then, my little one!" she called. "I suppose I shall just go on my way, then. I will have to eat all of master Elrond's fine food by myself." What? She was leaving him? Alone? In this strange land of elves and - big beds that had spells woven about them that made you want to sleep in them forever and ever and ever until you die an old man from starvation!? "NO!" he exclaimed, struggling with the now-suffocating layer of blankets, which suddenly now seemed threatening, dangerous and cold without the warmth of his mother nearby. "NO! Wait! I'm coming!" The little boy erupted from his cozy nest in the time it took her to take another step. Once perched on the edge of the mattress, the small boy watched his mother with a wide, plaintive expression in his eyes. His mother halted at once, and turned a gentle smile on him. A very pretty lady was his mother, the most beautiful in the world in his opinion. She was not a very tall or doughty woman - indeed, she was rather small, slender and lithe, though she had a quiet inner strength of her own that made Aragorn feel safer with her than in the company of a hundred other warriors. She returned to her son, and he reached out for her. She sat down upon the bed beside him, gathering her little one in her arms. "Did you have a nice sleep, my son?" He merely nodded a little. His head safely on her shoulder, he began to look about him, observing the room that he had spent the night in. His mother had slept in the bed with him, much to his relief - he did not want to have to sleep all alone in a strange place his first night. It was not a very big room, though it was bigger than the one he had had at home. The bed was humongous in his opinion. There was a desk underneath a window upon the wall across from them. A pattern of pale gold made of sunlight filtering through the branches of trees was flickering over the smooth flagstones, making its way ever closer to the bed. The furniture – the bed, the desk, the chairs, nightstand and things of the sort – all looked like things that had been taken out of the great stories of old, straight from the great castles and fortresses in which there were valiant elven kings, rich beyond measure, and princesses, and great quests of which there were many endings - most everything was carved in some way. Even the bedposts had some sort of decoration etched into the dark wood. It was a very fair and beautiful place, but it was nothing... absolutely nothing like his home. "I want to go home," he said in a quiet, rather tearful tone. "I miss it. Why do we have to stay here?" Gilraen's tone had a slightly stern note to it as she answered, though she stroked his ruffled bangs tenderly as she spoke. "The lord Elrond has been very kind to let us come, little one. You must be thankful that he lets us stay here." "I don't want to stay here! I want to go home." "Aragorn," she was sterner still. "We cannot go home. We have to stay here for a little while at least. Please, my son, think of Imladris as your home for a while. We shall be safe here, and no harm shall come to us. We are with friends. Do you not remember how well lord Elrond spoke of you? Will you let us down, son of Arathorn?" With a small sigh, Aragorn shook his head. When would he ever let his mother down? His heart longed for the home of his father, but he was beginning to accept the fact that nothing was going to be the same as it was beforehand. "No, mother." "Good. We shall go down to break our fast with Elrond and his house, now. Let us get you dressed!" A few minutes later, the two were ready to go out in search of breakfast. Imladris had to be the most stunning place Aragorn had ever seen. It was the stuff of dreams! There seemed to be windows everywhere, and if he peered outside he could see a glimpse of golden sunlight, blue sky, purple mountains or the dark green of dense forest. As his mother led him down the halls, Aragorn walked beside her, though his little hand was fervently clutching hers. He was afraid of getting lost in this vast place. There were shelves of books, there were sculptures, there were candlesticks that were twice the size of he, there were tapestries and paintings that depicted scenes of things he had never even heard about, and everywhere there were elves. Tall and fair were they, even taller Aragorn guessed than his father, although he would like to have thought that his father was the tallest, strongest and most handsome man in all of Middle-Earth. Some laughed and hailed he and his mother joyfully as the two made their way to the dining hall, and some just nodded solemnly to them and went on to their own affairs. Aragorn was huddling close to his mother when the unmistakable aroma of food came to him, and his stomach growled. Ahead of him the hall stopped, and there was an archway in the wall that led out to an even bigger room. This, Aragorn guessed, was the dining hall. Hunger having momentarily chased away his fear, he started to tug on his mother's hand, urging her to go a bit quicker. "It's just in there, mother! Hurry! I'm hungry!"