Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places
thereof
Author's note: In this story Aragorn is fifty-nine years old; he has not been Thorongil in nearly a decade.
*****
"Estel."
No response came. Elrond waited. "Estel, you are hurt and in no condition to ride out. If you insist upon leaving you will only worsen your wounds."
Paying him no mind, Aragorn hefted a saddle onto his horse's back. The mare nickered in protest and Aragorn stroked her nose gently. "I know," he said, "but you have had a good rest."
"You have not had any sort of rest, Estel, and Elheri is as tired as you are. Stop this foolishness. Estel, I am speaking to you!"
The sharpness and sudden loudness in his foster father's voice startled Aragorn, and for a moment he did raise his eyes and acknowledge the presence of the elven lord. Then quickly he returned to his tack, muttering soothing words to convince Elheri, his mare, to stop her bloating and allow him to tighten the cinch. "Come on, girl. Do this as a favor to me, won't you?"
Elrond, meanwhile, wandered over to lean on the stall gate. "What do you run from, child?" His voice was soft; his words bent and light that they penetrated Aragorn's defenses. "Your conscience does not stay here."
Aragorn spun angrily on his heel. "My conscience may not stay here, but my memory does, and if you must know it is from this I must run! Be at peace now and leave me be, I pray you; I am no fledgling but fully grown and adult to my people."
Elrond nodded. Idly he reached forward and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind Aragorn's ear. "You are a child to my people," he said. "Estel--"
"This is not my name," Aragorn interrupted. Aragorn looked for only a moment into the wounded face of his foster father, whom he had for so many years loved, before emotion forced him to turn away. He rested his forehead against Elheri's wither and saw nothing but the mare's dark brown hair, shavings of wood and specs of dirt matted together with her coat. He looked with smell and saw damp wood shavings and hay, the sweat of horses and of men, and naturally rain, for it was early winter and the rain accompanied tragedy.
These smells meant peace to Aragorn. Why, then, was he not at rest? Slowly words of apology formed in his throat, and though they lodged there as a lump of bread not quite swallowed, each syllable freed him a little more. "Ada," he said, "I am sorry. I should not have shouted at you. Please forgive me. This is...a difficult time."
Elrond understood. Though he, too, had raised his voice, he had not done so in anger. Now he rested a hand on the shoulder of his son, or the man he viewed as his son, who rested his head upon his horse. "I should not have shouted. Will you come inside the house? There is no reason for you to leave. If you learned anything from your childhood, I should hope that you learned not to run from your problems."
Yet Aragorn remained silent for many long moments. "I have not cried but once since nine and thirty years ago, the night I swore to live my life without this wretched weakness and indulgence of tears. Yet when I look back on that time many nights run together. Only one stands clearly, and that is the night I cried. I knew then that she had gone and, knowing myself to be alone, I wept. Since that night, nearly seven summers ago, I have neither wept nor felt."
He turned to face his father, trembling as he continued, "I cannot feel, Ada, and I hardly know any more if I am alive. What is wrong with me? Why do I not feel sorrow or regret, or anger or fear? Why am I not sad? Did I do something wrong, am I a bad person not to feel anything? What did I do? These question I ask myself and no answers come. Still I cannot mourn, and if I cannot mourn I cannot heal."
"You can heal, Aragorn." Elrond consciously forced himself to say that name and not Estel, as he thought of Aragorn. "Perhaps you simply accept her death."
For a long while Aragorn said nothing. He choked on his words when next he gave utterance to thought. "Do you know the last words she spoke to me? She said, 'I gave Hope to the Dunedain. I have kept no hope for myself.' Her heart broke because I could not be a better son."
"Oh, Estel..." Elrond did not say the name intentionally, but nevertheless he said it. Aragorn did not care. Perhaps he wanted to be Estel that night. He knew that he felt some comfort from being held and spoken to in such tones he might have been soft in the head.
But only one thing Elrond said then truly meant anything, and both men knew it. Both men understood that the words of comfort he spoke were not statements but emotions conveyed. Elrond did say one thing which Aragorn thought made him happier than anything he had ever heard before. He said, "Estel, you're crying."
Later, when Aragorn breathed without embarrassing great hiccoughs of sobs, the two men spoke again.
"You could not have been a better son to your mother, Aragorn. She loved you very much."
"No," Aragorn answered. "Many times I hurt her when I needed not."
To this count Elrond consented, saying that every son hurt his mother, and every mother forgave her son. "You two were never very close, in spirit. Your mother lived a difficult life and by the time you reached manhood her heart was beyond healing. Do not credit yourself with her death, for it is none of your burden to bear."
Again Aragorn wished to cry, and so he said nothing.
"Some day you, too, will pass from this world. Be thankful your mother left in peace and not in violence and pain."
He did beseech Aragorn stay, and Aragorn gave him no answer but turned to sleep for comfort. Elrond too slept, and in the morning awoke to find Aragorn yet asleep. The sun shone brightly through a gap in clouds big- bellied with rains as sails with winds. In his sleep the man seemed young and old, weathered yet innocent. "Oh yes, child. You will heal."
*****
The End
Author's note: In this story Aragorn is fifty-nine years old; he has not been Thorongil in nearly a decade.
*****
"Estel."
No response came. Elrond waited. "Estel, you are hurt and in no condition to ride out. If you insist upon leaving you will only worsen your wounds."
Paying him no mind, Aragorn hefted a saddle onto his horse's back. The mare nickered in protest and Aragorn stroked her nose gently. "I know," he said, "but you have had a good rest."
"You have not had any sort of rest, Estel, and Elheri is as tired as you are. Stop this foolishness. Estel, I am speaking to you!"
The sharpness and sudden loudness in his foster father's voice startled Aragorn, and for a moment he did raise his eyes and acknowledge the presence of the elven lord. Then quickly he returned to his tack, muttering soothing words to convince Elheri, his mare, to stop her bloating and allow him to tighten the cinch. "Come on, girl. Do this as a favor to me, won't you?"
Elrond, meanwhile, wandered over to lean on the stall gate. "What do you run from, child?" His voice was soft; his words bent and light that they penetrated Aragorn's defenses. "Your conscience does not stay here."
Aragorn spun angrily on his heel. "My conscience may not stay here, but my memory does, and if you must know it is from this I must run! Be at peace now and leave me be, I pray you; I am no fledgling but fully grown and adult to my people."
Elrond nodded. Idly he reached forward and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind Aragorn's ear. "You are a child to my people," he said. "Estel--"
"This is not my name," Aragorn interrupted. Aragorn looked for only a moment into the wounded face of his foster father, whom he had for so many years loved, before emotion forced him to turn away. He rested his forehead against Elheri's wither and saw nothing but the mare's dark brown hair, shavings of wood and specs of dirt matted together with her coat. He looked with smell and saw damp wood shavings and hay, the sweat of horses and of men, and naturally rain, for it was early winter and the rain accompanied tragedy.
These smells meant peace to Aragorn. Why, then, was he not at rest? Slowly words of apology formed in his throat, and though they lodged there as a lump of bread not quite swallowed, each syllable freed him a little more. "Ada," he said, "I am sorry. I should not have shouted at you. Please forgive me. This is...a difficult time."
Elrond understood. Though he, too, had raised his voice, he had not done so in anger. Now he rested a hand on the shoulder of his son, or the man he viewed as his son, who rested his head upon his horse. "I should not have shouted. Will you come inside the house? There is no reason for you to leave. If you learned anything from your childhood, I should hope that you learned not to run from your problems."
Yet Aragorn remained silent for many long moments. "I have not cried but once since nine and thirty years ago, the night I swore to live my life without this wretched weakness and indulgence of tears. Yet when I look back on that time many nights run together. Only one stands clearly, and that is the night I cried. I knew then that she had gone and, knowing myself to be alone, I wept. Since that night, nearly seven summers ago, I have neither wept nor felt."
He turned to face his father, trembling as he continued, "I cannot feel, Ada, and I hardly know any more if I am alive. What is wrong with me? Why do I not feel sorrow or regret, or anger or fear? Why am I not sad? Did I do something wrong, am I a bad person not to feel anything? What did I do? These question I ask myself and no answers come. Still I cannot mourn, and if I cannot mourn I cannot heal."
"You can heal, Aragorn." Elrond consciously forced himself to say that name and not Estel, as he thought of Aragorn. "Perhaps you simply accept her death."
For a long while Aragorn said nothing. He choked on his words when next he gave utterance to thought. "Do you know the last words she spoke to me? She said, 'I gave Hope to the Dunedain. I have kept no hope for myself.' Her heart broke because I could not be a better son."
"Oh, Estel..." Elrond did not say the name intentionally, but nevertheless he said it. Aragorn did not care. Perhaps he wanted to be Estel that night. He knew that he felt some comfort from being held and spoken to in such tones he might have been soft in the head.
But only one thing Elrond said then truly meant anything, and both men knew it. Both men understood that the words of comfort he spoke were not statements but emotions conveyed. Elrond did say one thing which Aragorn thought made him happier than anything he had ever heard before. He said, "Estel, you're crying."
Later, when Aragorn breathed without embarrassing great hiccoughs of sobs, the two men spoke again.
"You could not have been a better son to your mother, Aragorn. She loved you very much."
"No," Aragorn answered. "Many times I hurt her when I needed not."
To this count Elrond consented, saying that every son hurt his mother, and every mother forgave her son. "You two were never very close, in spirit. Your mother lived a difficult life and by the time you reached manhood her heart was beyond healing. Do not credit yourself with her death, for it is none of your burden to bear."
Again Aragorn wished to cry, and so he said nothing.
"Some day you, too, will pass from this world. Be thankful your mother left in peace and not in violence and pain."
He did beseech Aragorn stay, and Aragorn gave him no answer but turned to sleep for comfort. Elrond too slept, and in the morning awoke to find Aragorn yet asleep. The sun shone brightly through a gap in clouds big- bellied with rains as sails with winds. In his sleep the man seemed young and old, weathered yet innocent. "Oh yes, child. You will heal."
*****
The End