Chapter 1

It was a warm midsummer morning. It was ten years to the day since Gilraen had given up her only child to the elves. The recollection of the day still burned in her memory. She woke up each morning to nothing but silence and solitude. She lost her husband and was forced to give up her son. She never once considered she would end up so alone.

The woman nearly smothered herself from grief. The children of Ithilien, the city in which she dwelt, believed her to be a witch. She rarely left her house during the day. Sometimes at night she could be seen wandering in the moonlight. Often if you would walk past her home you would smell the scent of boiling herbs. The children thought of this as her brewing potions.

In a way she was brewing potions. She dedicated most of her time to boiling herbal concoctions for the Houses of Healing. She wanted to help save the lives of others' loved ones to make up for ones she lost to fate.

On this particular morning she was preparing to deliver one of her medicines, a mixture of the leaves from a bufior tree and the petals of an athelas, otherwise known as kingsfoil. This mixture is used to sooth severe burns of other skin irritations.

Gilraen had become very knowledgeable in the field of healing after so many years of 'brewing potions.' She had often considered becoming a healer herself, until she realized that it is a job that would require her to be sociable, and she definitely wasn't up for that.

She woke up especially early this morning so she could avoid crowds. She grabbed her large kettle and stepped out into the sun. The sunlight beat upon her fair, porcelain skin that looked as though it hadn't seen the light of day. She blinked at the sun as she let her eyes adjust to the daylight. She walked slowly towards the House of Healing. Carefully protecting her kettle from spilling into the street.

She heard a bird singing its morning lullaby. As she looked up she noticed the song was coming from directly above her. There were three little birds sitting in a small nest. It was a mother bird and her two babies. Now even the birds had what Gilraen did not. And to be jealous of the birds seemed almost pitiful.

"Ah! What is it you bring for me today Lady Gilraen?" Ioreth, the head healer, asked her as he looked up from his patient and saw Gilraen walk into the House.

"It is a simple mixture of leaves of a bufior tree and the petals of an athelas," she replied.

"And just in the knick of time. Beregond here has received some mildly severe burns. This will do the trick," he said as he dipped a cloth into the mixture and brought it over to the boy named Beregond.

"Mildly severe burns you say?" Gilraen played along. She looked down at the wound and saw no more than a small blister. "It looks pretty severe to me."

"You aren't going to put that on me are you, sir?" The boy said looking down at his injured hand. "She's a witch! It's poison!"

Ioreth just laughed as he dabbed it onto the boy's hand, "Children these days. How wild their imaginations have grown!" As he turned around he noticed that the women was no longer standing in the doorway where he had left her, "Gilraen?" He turned to the boy, "now look what you have done!" He stepped outside the door to see if he could still see the women walking down the path. He had never gotten an opportunity to show her his gratitude. He saw no one.

Gilraen noticed a strange absence of patients in the House of Healing on this day. There was the young boy called Beregond with whom she assumed to be his mother, an older woman lying on the bed next to him who seemed to be asleep, and a strange, cloaked man who was lying on a bed in the darkest corner of the room. The man was surrounded by three of the other healers. His case seemed to be severe. Something about the man drew Gilraen closer to where he lie in the corner.

"Please, Ironeth, fetch me some more Galenas. He's beginning to come around. He shall begin to feel the pain," an old gray-haired man asked of the young looking lady standing next to him as he looked briefly up from his patient.

"I beg your pardon, sir, what is it you want?" The women asked as she walked over to the cabinet where the herbs were stored. Gilraen recognized the woman to be a younger girl who has recently taken over an apprenticeship to become a healer herself.

"Galenas, dear girl, Galenas. Westmansweed in the tongue ofthe Westternesse," the old man seemed to be a bit irritated with the girl. She seemed to understand now for she grabbed a small jar from the cupboard and carried it over to the man.

Gilraen crept closer attempting to avoid being seen by the healers. A strange feeling came over her as though there were something she could do for the poor man to spare his life. Although she did not yet know what had happened to him.

"Elven medicine has been used here. Medicine that is out of my reach of knowledge. When did he arrive?" The man seemed curious now.

A quiver ran down Gilraen's spine. Elven medicine? Could it be? After so many years he was really here after all. Her heart fluttered as she inched closer to the bed. She could still not make out a face for the bed was just out of range of vision.

"He just arrived this mornin' aroun' dawn," the other healer answered.

Her heart fell as though it were a brown leaf on the golden trees of fall. Who was she kidding? Her husband was slain nearly ten years ago. Maybe the children were right. Maybe she was going crazy from grief. She needed to depart before she had any more hallucinations. She turned around to leave, and started for the door.

"It was said that he was brought here by Lord Elrond himself..."

Gilraen stopped in her tracks.

"...And another man. Now I forget who..."

"Yes, I heard that too."

"For the life of me I can't think of his name...oh well, he was some ranger from the north."

Gilraen spun around. Heart racing, she bolted over to the bed in the corner of the House nearly knocking over the healers as she pushed them aside. She knelt over the man on the bed, and gently pulled the hood from over her face. As the healers regained their balance they tried to pull her away from the man. She disregarded them, for nothing else in the world seemed to matter to her, for her husband was alive, lying right in front of her. She reached down and tenderly grasped his soft, cold hand between her own trembling hands, as if to assure her it wasn't a dream. So many nights had she dreamt of her husband returning to her, and until now it had remained no more than a dream.

"Do you know this man?" came the voice of a healer piercing through her mind as though trying to wake her in the middle of a beautiful dream.

She looked up at the healer, but no words would come. As hard as she tried to speak, the words would not come. She turned back to her long desired husband. And she wept. She wept until the tears would come no more. She buried her head in her arm, yet she still refused to release her grip on the man's hand.

The next thing she new she was laying on her back looking up at the ceiling of the great house. It had all been a dream. The fumes of the boiling herbs must have affected her brain.

Ironeth noticed that the women was awake and called for Ioreth.

"What is going on?" Gilraen begged the healer.

"I was hoping you could tell me," was his reply.

"I don't know how I could be of help to you. I don't even know how I wound up here. All I know is that I had another dream."

"Ah, a dream? What about?"

"I dreamt that my husband had returned to me. My husband that was slain over ten years ago. Do you think that I am crazy?"

"Your husband you say? Could you have possibly thought that this man over here is your husband?" The healer asked pointing towards the bed next to hers.

It was real. The whole thing really happened. Her husband was alive!

"It was no dream! He has returned!" Gilraen gasped.

And so Gilraen and Arathorn lived on in happiness for nearly a year. Arathorn new in his heart that now that he was nearly fully recovered, it was his duty to return to the north. He had never mentioned this to his wife for he knows how she hates the thought of losing him again. He has talked to many old friends about her behavior while he was supposedly dead. He learned that she had disconnected herself from all social contact. He also grieved to hear the news of his son's death. He never spoke of it to his wife for he was afraid to breathe life into such a painful wound, and she never spoke of it either for she feared he would not respect her decision to delay the destiny of her son. They lived together in happiness for many weeks both avoiding the inevitable.

Gilraen could no longer keep this from her husband. As each day came to an end Gilraen began to see that no good would come from keeping this from her husband. He would find out the truth. Yet she couldn't seem to find the right thing to say. Many times had she tried to tell him, but failed in the attempt.

One evening as they had both sat down to dinner she made another attempt to tell him the news of her son.

"Arathorn, when I thought you had...died, I was completely devastated, and confused," she began. "Everyone was devastated. There were so many things left that you still needed to accomplish. Arathorn, you are Anarion's heir. Many were afraid that the line had ended after you, but others new of your son who was just an infant at the time. Many of those people came to me, interested in what I was planning for the child. Many of them suggested that I..."

"Gilraen, I understand. Many have told me of the tragic death of our son. It is not important for you to give me the dreadful details for I understand the pain it must cause you to bring to mind the moment. He was an important child, but it was not his destiny to fulfill his heritage. Tis a shame he met his doom at such a young age, but it was his fate," Arathorn tried to calm his wife.

"You do not understand. Our son, Aragorn, isn't dead!"

"Not dead?"

Gilraen explained her decision to her husband. She explained how she had left him in the care of the elves. She recalled every last detail in the matter until there was nothing more to tell.

Arathorn seemed to be very understanding with the choice that Gilraen had made. If the choice were up to him he would've done the same.

"You're right. The boy is not ready to take on his responsibilities. Even now I have survived, yet I do believe he should remain in Rivendell. It is best for everyone if he is kept a secret. Some evil is now stirring in the west. I feel if his identity is to be reveled he would no longer be safe."

They both agreed to no longer speak of the child. Yet it was hard for Gilraen to not think of him every day.

And suddenly through all of the sorrow came a glimpse of joy. Gilraen gave birth to a second child. It was a baby girl. She was given the name of Ellathorn.