2626
BS
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
Friday, July 23, 2004

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all its characters, places, plot, etc. belong to other people. Too many to list them all. No infringement intended. Not claiming it as my own . . . not that it really matters. -sigh-
Warnings: Angst and AU-ness.
Notes: Hah ha! Oh ho oho ho. Umm . . . hahaha. It's just one of those fics. Hahaha.
The poem is from the New England Primer. o-o
History of Middle-Earth helped greatly here for dates and odd facts.

Ephemeral

chapter eight

He dressed casually to meet his doom, simple slippers and a black tunic and black trousers. He left his hair loose and walked with a pained step from his room to Elrond's study. He forwent breakfast, and his stomach grumbled in protest. He entered his father's study and sat opposite a large writing desk. His eyes scanned the small collection of books to his right, looking for something to occupy his mind until Elrond came to him. He was shaking in worry and anticipation. He did not think that his father would keep something from him, but the previous night's conversation had proven him wrong. Perhaps he had read incorrectly . . . He selected a book on identifying Orc types, and skimmed through the pages as he waited.

Elrond entered shortly and patted Estel on the shoulder as he walked to the desk and sat behind it. He folded his hands on the wooden surface, then exhaled deeply. "My son," he began. Estel paid extra attention to reading his father's words. Elrond took care to talk slowly. That meant that whatever he had to say was important and he did not want Estel to misread. Estel had perfected his art, and he seldom did not understand so long as he was looking directly at the speaker. If he were confused, he would repeat the words and wait for the affirming nod or negatory shake of a head to indicate his comprehension. Elrond reached under his desk and retrieved an object wrapped in a gray cloth. "In the merriment last night, it was forgotten to give you your gift." He held the object forth and Estel accepted it. "It is rightly yours, although you have not known of its existence here," Elrond said mysteriously.

Estel unwrapped the cloth and looked down on the hilt and broken shards of a sword. He held the hilt in his hands and turned it experimentally. A broken sword? He looked up to his father with a bewildered face. "I was not expecting this," he said honestly. He had little skill in the sword. He could defend himself, if the need arose. He remembered when he had been fifteen and had reluctantly recounted his attack on the road by highwaymen. Aghast, his brothers had insisted that he learn to wield a weapon. They had taught him themselves, not even going orc-hunting until they were satisfied that he wouldn't accidentally stab himself if he tried to use the blade. He was proficient, but he did not enjoy the art. He knew that his father was aware of this. Elrond also knew that Estel had a short sword that he kept in the trunk at the foot of his bed, seldom used. What good was a broken sword to anyone?

"My son, I will explain." Elrond tapped his shoulder before speaking as Estel's attention had been drawn back to the blade. "You know that you are my son." Estel nodded. "I love you as though you were my own." He waited until Estel nodded again. "You also know that you are not my son by blood or race." Estel hung his head and nodded again. "When you were an infant, Estel, your father sent your mother and you to live here. You were to be raised in Rivendell until old enough to join your father and the other Rangers in the north." Estel watched with a blank face. Elrond paused and seemed to be thinking on his next words. "However, when your father was killed, your mother and I agreed that I would see to your safekeeping and assume the role of your father. Your mother left to live with her parents yonder." He appeared somewhat guilty as he said, "This is the day we celebrate, when you came permanently under my care." Estel started to ask where 'yonder' was, but stopped himself and waited to hear all of his father's explanation. "We have not heard word from Gilraen in many years."

Estel looked at him with troubled eyes. "Then . . . when is my birthday?"

Elrond crossed his hands in front of him and thought, then said, "Your date of birth is the first of March." Estel nodded numbly. He stopped then and wandered over to the shelf on the side of the desk and picked up a decanter. He poured a glass of miruvor for himself and one for Estel. When he turned around, he had been speaking and Estel gazed at him, waiting for Elrond to realize that he had not heard this part of the explanation.

Elrond quickly started again, "My son," he said. "I will now be forthwith in this story." He swirled his glass and Estel took a sip of his own. "You are knowledgeable of the Second Age, correct?" Estel nodded slowly. "Thus, you are aware of the Last Alliance of Elves and Men?" Estel nodded again, although with some hesitation. He had seen the woven tapestries depicting valiant battles when he had been younger, and had spent many days researching them. He had been intrigued -- and even more so when he discovered that his father had fought in them -- but was not brave enough to speak of them to those who knew more than he did. ". . . the sword that was broken," he saw his father say and guiltily realized that he had missed the first of the sentence. Estel looked down to the sword in his hands. This was the sword of Elendil? This was . . .

"Narsil," he said aloud. He looked up to his father in shock. Elrond was giving him Narsil?

"My son, these fragments have been passed down and treasured by the descendants of Isildur. For many years, they have been kept here in Rivendell, where they are safe from harm." Elrond paused and drank from his glass. "You are of this line," he said. Estel stared, computing what he had just been told. Elrond continued. "Your father was Arathorn II, son of Arador." Estel felt a shiver jerk through him. Arathorn . . . he had heard that name before. It was familiar, and yet not. He felt Elrond's heavy hand on his shoulder. "Estel, I have named you -- for you were to bring hope to men. But in truth, you are Aragorn II, son of Arathorn II."

Estel felt himself shake. What . . . ? His father had stopped speaking and was watching his reaction. Estel stared at the floor. The thought immediately leapt to his mind, and he muttered it aloud. "You must be strong, Aragorn. There is a heavy burden on your shoulders." He shook his head as he spoke. Just a dream -- only a hallucination of his near-deadly fever. He knew not what his father had said while his eyes were downcast. When he tilted his head upwards, he saw his father staring at him solicitously. He started to speak, but Estel squeezed his eyes closed so that he would not see his words.

Estel stood and the chair toppled over from his abrupt movement. The sword fell from his lap and scattered on the floor. He looked at it as though it were a writhing snake. The sunlight reflected on it in a shimmer. He took a step backwards. He composed himself and exited the room without a word to his father. He wound through long corridors, his head spinning. He passed by Arwen, who was strolling through gardens with someone that he did not take the time to recognize. He saw her look at him worriedly. He passed over the bridge and hurried away from the House. He would not leave the vale, had learned his lesson well the last time. Instead, he wound off the road and walked along the river. He lay on the grass and looked up into the sky. The trees were still green with leaves, and they obscured his view. He closed his eyes and tried not to think of what had been revealed to him.

It was a futile exercise, and as he lay for hours upon the damp grass, he mentally pored over every fact he knew of his lineage. He did not wish to come from such a line, was not ready to accept this burden. He thought of how wonderful life could have been if Elrond had told him that his father had raised pigs for a living. Better yet, had Elrond not told him anything of his blood father. He was content to be Elrond's fosterling until he died, but that goal was crushed. He realized that Elrond had not told him this lightly. Something was needed from him. Whether he was to take the throne of Gondor or ride to the North and join the Rangers, something was needed from him. He sighed loudly and recited a poem that he had read once. "Our days begin with trouble here," He paused and tried to recall the words. "Our life is but a span"; He continued, "And cruel death is always near, So frail a thing is man." He bit his lip in thought, trying to remember in which book he had read the verse.

A piece of parchment fluttered into his vision and landed on his chest. He picked it up and read the elegant handwriting. "How very sad. Did you write such words?" He looked up and saw Arwen standing in front of him. She sat on the grass next to him and gazed motionlessly into the river before them. At length, she turned to Estel and ran her milky-white fingers through his hair. She looked at him sadly, and he turned his face from her. After a moment, he saw her writing on the same piece of parchment with an ink bottle set by her foot and a pen in her hand. She held a flat wooden tablet on her lap and held the paper-parchment against it. She handed him the writing and he read it quickly. "Will you not look at me?" He shook his head, and she wrote again. "I am sure she is a lovely girl."

Estel turned to her sharply. Eyes wide, he said, "What are you speaking of, Sister?"

Arwen looked suddenly apprehensive, her eyes shielded. "You have not spoken with Father?" she asked. Her face was tight and her words were short.

He sat upright upon the grass and stared at her for a lengthy silence. "I have spoken to Father. He has told me of my past, and of my identity as Aragorn." He turned to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "What girl do you speak of?" He narrowed his eyes as he spoke. Arwen met his stare evenly.

"Perhaps you should speak to Father again, Aragorn." She did not meet his gaze.

"Sister, I am not Aragorn." He flinched at the name. "I am Estel, your brother." He rose then and left the river. He walked slowly, trying to sort through his thoughts. He strayed back to the main road and crossed the bridge. He continued walking until he entered the Last Homely House. He returned immediately to the study, only to find it empty. His confusion and anger -- what more was his father keeping from him? -- strong, he searched the house for Elrond. He looked for anyone to direct him to the lord of the house, but the rooms were curiously empty. With much dread, he walked to the stable. He had avoided the area after recovering from his childhood trauma unless necessity had demanded it. His time in Bree had only strengthened his discomfort of being around horses. Still, he pushed closer to the building, then tentatively stepped inside.

Elrohir was grooming a horse when he entered. His brother spotted him and blinked owlishly. He turned to the right and Estel followed his gaze to see Elladan cleaning his saddle. The twins looked at him in shock; indeed, it was rare for Estel to visit this place. "Can we help you, Brother?" they asked.

"I cannot find Father, and I must speak with him." He pressed himself against the wall and lingered by the door. He could feel a thin sheen of sweat covering his face and longed to be outside again. To his left, a horse whinnied -- he could see it stick its massive gray head against the stall door and lunge forward. Estel squealed and backed away. The horse watched him oddly.

"We last saw him in the library," Elrohir said. "He told us that you did not take the news well."

Estel flinched. Did all of Rivendell know of his heritage? Had the joke been played against him to everyone's amusement? It seemed likely. He departed without a parting word and headed toward the house. This time, there were servants scurrying through the halls. They confirmed that Elrond was working in the library, and Estel went there at once. He saw his father reading from a small, recently-written book. The leather on the cover was new and undamaged. Estel sat on the floor in front of him and said angrily, "Tell me, Father, of this girl I am to know about."

Elrond said nothing for a long moment, then folded the book closed and looked at Estel. "I see Arwen has found you before Glorfindel had found her." He handed Estel the book he had been reading and the human glanced at it. There was a horse etched onto the tooled leather. "Estel, this is the most woeful news that I was to tell you this morn." He maintained his equanimous composure as he spoke. "The book in your hand is a history of Rohan." Elrond trusted that Estel knew of Rohan. Estel felt mitigated with this display of confidence. "By no means is it complete, nor was it written by the Rohirrim."

Estel stared at in confusion. He eyed his father warily. "Fengel is the last recorded ruler listed here, for he was in power when this was written. However, his son Thengel is now king." Estel wondered what this had to do with him. "Thengel is married, and has one daughter and one son." Estel started to feel anxious. It was not like his foster-father to be so circuitous. Elrond continued after much thought. "They dwelt in Gondor for some time, and have a like for the people there. Actually, Estel, the queen, Morwen, is in fact from Gondor." Here was his father's true direction, Estel realized suddenly.

". . . Father?" he said after another lengthy pause.

"As much as you should receive the winged crown of Gondor, it is not to be. It is rightfully yours, but no kingdom will have an unfit ruler. They will not accept your loss of hearing and allow you to take the throne." Estel felt his chest grow heavy. He knew this to be true. "You are the last in the line that can assume the throne and be the hope of men." Estel felt his words inflame his body. "For now," Elrond whispered as an afterthought, yet Estel could still read it on his lips. "There is naught to be done for this, my son, and I am sorry that I could not protect you and keep you until you could claim the throne. Not even a missive from Manwë would make them accept you." Estel felt the words strike him deftly.

"There would be hope, Estel, for your son to assume the throne and to fulfill this destiny." Elrond's words filled Estel with some strange emotions.

"My son?" he asked, if only to be sure that he had read the correct word.

Elrond nodded slowly. "I have sent a letter to Thengel. He has replied and agreed. Through barter, you and his wife, Morwen of Lossarnach, will produce an heir to be raised in this house until ready to fulfill this destiny."

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Don't run away! I promise it's not a romance fic! Happy ending in epilogue! Happy ending in epilogue!

Next update: Wednesday, November 10, 2004