Chapter one: The Loneliness River
Gilraen was growing old. Though her thoughts were full of youth, her days were coming and going less smoothly then they used to. She was staying, at this moment, with her good friend in the heaven-like Rivendell where her 'children' were both raised. She loved it there, and yet her heart ached when she slept beneath the silver rooves of the Lord Elrond. She did not belong there.
Though, she cared not. She had a great son who could bring her pride in a simple smile, and she had a daughter— though she was not of her blood— but Gilraen held her just as dear. The girl was half the age of Gilraen's son, and Gilraen was relieved at least that if she were to fled from the word, that her Estel would protect his sister from harm and would be the right age and have enough maturity to do so well.
Gilraen did admit that her son had led the girl into the world, as Gilraen tried her best to keep her from it. It was she who had shown the girl the path to grow up, but it was her son who walked her through it, which showed in the girl taking on many of Aragorn's mannerisms, many for a woman was not ideal, such as an adventurous spirit.
Travelling under the right conditions and correct clothing was fine for Niphrediel, though no one ever noticed. But she had to stay away indoors at sunrise, for that was the only time that no material would be strong enough to keep her skin safe. It was a sad fact, but Niphrediel knew no other way. Keeping the truth hidden was simple, people believed not in silly superstitious stories. Gilraen wished not for Niphrediel to go outside, for danger for the girl was everywhere, but she could not hold her back and Aragorn promised he would keep Niphrediel's skin out of the sun every time. Gilraen abided by that with only distaste, and she and Aragorn spoke not to each other for seven entire months once when Gilraen found out he was teaching Niphrediel the art of combat.
Oh what would Niphrediel's mother think of me, Gilraen would often wonder. Niphrediel knew not that she was a child borne to another, only Gilraen, Elrond, Galadriel and the lord Glorfindel and, of course, her nurse and handmaiden knew the truth—and all were sworn to secrecy. Gilraen would often imagine if she had done the right thing by not telling Niphrediel the truth. Was that what her true mother would have wanted? Not even Aragorn knew, and Gilraen knew his reaction would be the worst.
Looking at Niphrediel at times, Gilraen regretted that she had not raised her to be a proper lady. Or a lady at all. Though, Aragorn was a grand man, and if Niphrediel was the first result of his guidance then he was to be a splendid father— especially to a son. Gilraen suspected Arwen would be there to settle those imperfections of Aragorn's with a girl-child though. She would never say so though.
Gilraen looked through the window at the waning moon. The night was Niphrediel's day, and the moon was her sun.
"Oh, my children," she whispered, to no one in particular, as she laid her pale head down on her pillow. She turned around and cuddled up to the young girl that napped against her breast, and began to stroke her hair. The finest strands of raven-dark silk. Her child. Her baby. Her Niphrediel. Gilraen lowered her chin and kissed the crown of her head with her wrinkled, thin lips and let out a long sigh. "I love you."
Two years later, Gilraen died.
Eleven years later...
Niphrediel casually sat on the bridge overlooking the garden and waterfalls surrounding the silver crystal-town, one of her arms hung on the tip of a bent knee. Her other leg dangled freely over the edge— taunting the water bellow, flowing through from the waterfall.
Though Niphrediel and Aragorn were not blood, there was a certain likeliness about them. Their eyes were the same shade of sparkling mix of blue and grey. But it was not just that, their faces held similar striking and dark features. Their hair was dark with the same ammount of waviness upon each head. It was almost odd. If they stood side-by-side one would not think them brother and sister. Rather, they would think father and daughter. Neither of them minded.
She was not a beautiful girl, but her race was one where beautiful women were no rare jewels. Perhaps, one day, she would be so lovely. Her face was an adequate shape and size; oval-shaped with noble cheekbones (typical of the Gondorian and Arnorian women) and her prominent jaw mounted a full mouth. She had great promise... though, ladies who had been far prettier than her had turned into frizzy-haired big-nosed witches during womanhood! It all depended on the kindness of Fate.
Height swung in her favour. She was as tall as a woman of her kind would be, and yet she lacked the curves of a full-grown woman. She was lithe and long; truly, a little bit of plumpness would not have hurt. But she looked healthy. Her dull hair fell down freely with bangs hanging beside her cheeks. From never having been kissed with a ray of sunshine, Niphrediel's skin was a weak pale that made one think she was long deceased if they found her sleeping. It was sickening. Disgusting even, under the most unfortunate lighting.
"When you and Arwen wed, what will become of me?" She refused to turn to Aragorn not too far beside her. Deep inside, she knew, and the answer was something she did not desire. Regardless that it was going to happen, she wanted to hear him make a promise he would not keep. Simply, so that she could pretend to herself. Prolong her inevitable desertion.
There was a strong silence, then. "What do you mean?"
"Will you leave me?"
What answered her, was laughter. She could not tell if he was mocking her, or simply found the idea a thing of foolishness. He probably was laughing at her— shaking his head at her, calling her an idiot for asking such a thing of him. 'As if', she imagined him thinking as he rolled his eyes at her immature insecurities. She could not compete with the love of his life. She did not compare.
Niphrediel frowned. "What humour do you find in the thought in leaving me here?"
Aragorn answered, "It is the thought that you think I would that humours me. You and I are both the next of Isildir's line and so our heritage, both good and bad, shall bind us together forever! I am heir and you are my sister. It is worrying to imagine 'Niphrediel the Woman', asking for her own home away from her old brother. You will have to stay with Arwen and I for always!"
Niphrediel cringed. Though she did not dislike Arwen, it was indeed strange to imagine having to share her brother with someone.. Strange and very awkward. Niphrediel would not enjoy being a third wheel, though many times over her brother assured her she would not be. Aragorn was different when he was around Arwen, as if the world revolved around her and her beauty and ability to love.
Niphrediel only snorted. "I need your permission to be independent?" Yes.
Aragorn simply nodded, "When I know that you can take care of yourself and trouble will keep away from you, then I will allow you to stray, if not then I shall follow you ere time passes fast."
Niphrediel laughed at the thought. After silence came, she thought quietly: "Is your hobbit healing well?"
Aragorn nodded. "His first day of rest. The wound will haunt him forever, though Frodo will be strong. My, it was lucky Glorfindel came at the time he did."
"I would have gone, but Glorfindel did not allow me," Niphrediel told him.
Aragorn obviously agreed with his dear friend. "I would have scorned you if you had jumped off the horse instead of Glorfindel, for you should not have thought to have come to search for us! Glorfindel knew that," he changed the subject before Niphrediel became angry: "There are orcs dangerously close, did you know that?"
Niphrediel nodded. "I did. Lord Elrond asked me to petrol tomorrow if I had the chance. I think he grew tired of my bickering about never being allowed to do anything or go anywhere," Niphrediel smled wide, extremely proud.
Aragorn was surprised. "No one asked me about this!" he exclaimed.
Niphrediel groaned. "It does not matter! I will not stray, or pick fights, or ride too far away from the House."
Aragorn frowned. "It is not orcs that I worry will bring you harm."
"You know I will be wearing my hood," she whinged.
Aragorn shook his head. "Tis not that, for I know you will, but there are riders out there that a more dangerous than orcs. More deadly than the sun when it peers upon your skin."
Niphrediel frowned. "Riders?"
Aragorn nodded. "The Nazgul, dressed in cloaks and on vast horses. They are travellers of great speed. Glorfindel had much struggle riding away from them and though the Bruinen swept them away, I do not think being cautious of them would be wrong. I have told you of them, the Nine... haven't I?"
Niphrediel held her intrigue away. The Nazgul? Here? A challenge.
Aragorn caught her faraway gaze. "Promise me you shall not seek them out!" he ordered, firmly.
Niphrediel nodded, and gnawed on the inside of her cheek to keep a straight expression. She fought with the need to laugh outright at him, keeping her eyes calm and mouth unmoving. Her brows were furrowed, yet not overly so— her visage was that of an honest, serious young woman."I promise." I lie!
Aragorn shook his head. "No . . .Glorfindel will go with you."
Niphrediel took a deep breath and felt like she was going to scream. She turned her head, and her eye caught sight of something in the distance, watching. She clenched her jaw, and closed her eyes as she turned her face away, in anger and frustration. "She is waiting for you."
She heard Estel turn and sigh deeply.
Niphrediel opened her eyes, and they were glistening with angry tears.
Niphrediel came second. Arwen . . . . .she came first. The most painful thing was that there was no one she could blame. It was no one's fault; no one was in the wrong. It was the natural course of action. Niphrediel's eyes watered, and she turned her head away so Estel would not be able to see her face, and she also did it out of frustration. She did not want to watch him leave. She was angry to be acting like such a weakling— oh, how she wished she had been born a man! A strong, brave and entirely independent one.
Estel knew she was upset, but there was nothing he could do. Except lie. And he could not force himself to do so.
Niphrediel felt his hand fall upon her shoulder, yet she received no comfort form it. His lips grazed the crown of her head, yet she shrugged off his motion of affection with her teeth clenching her tongue. Niphrediel did not respond to his love. She continued to stare into the darkness and felt Estel hesitate for a moment, before leaving. She tried to be as strong as she could, but as soon as she knew she was entirely alone, her aloof appearance shred away, and she was a little girl again.
She hugged herself tightly, like an orphan, and stared below to the watery bottom as she began to cry.
Naturally, she did not hear the sound of footsteps, but she knew they were coming and she felt the person sit down even though her head was turned the other way.
She sat there for a while her face cold as tears began to run down her cheeks. She sobbed, like a child... for, indeed, that is what she was. An child too developed in body. When an arm came around her, Niphrediel allowed her head to fall sideways onto a comforting shoulder.
"I love you, Glorfindel," she whispered to her the elf beside her, the one she considered her very best friend.
Glorfindel held her, comforting her like an elder brother, almost. For such a long-lived elf, he was one of the few within Elrond's home who had the stamina to put up with Niphrediel's desire to play and do things. He loved her dearly and, sadly, he was one of the only people within dwindling Middle Earth who knew the truth of the girl's parentage. It was a secret that was extremely hard for him to keep.
The girl was convinced she was losing her brother. Perhaps he would keep to his promise, and would never leave her... but she would become an annoyance. When he eventually wants to make his own family, he will still have the responsibility of looking after her. What a bother. Niphrediel knew he would not turn his back on her, but she did not want to be... such a burden.
Glorfindel sat there with her and allowed her to cry. He would have to speak with Estel, just to let him understand why Niphrediel had been acting differently around him these past few days.
Niphrediel's eyes fluttered open.
Her room had windows, beautiful and large with silver carvings around the edges... but they were covered lovely silver shutters that caged out the sunlight.
The room was serene, with statuesque silver columns holding up the high roof. Candles were lit everywhere on ornate candlebras, attached to the sides of the walls, and finely-crafted furniture was put here and there to make it seem less unoccupied. A big fireplace was put against one wall, opposite the bed and a grand painting of a sunrise was put above the mantle piece. Bookshelfs were put on selected walls, littered with volumes of every genre, and a large, anique vanity table with a comfortable stool was place strategically near the matching wardrobe. Curtained doors on the left wall led to a private balcony that Niphrediel and Estel's chambers shared, and overlooked the courtyard.
Niphrediel's bed was the grandest thing in the room. The bed itself was large with white blankets and a line of beautiful pillows and cushions... but the thing that made the bed beautiful was the canopy. It was not a normal one; at the head of the bed was a magnificent silver statue of a beautiful lady, Niphediel assumed it to be the fair Varda, standing straight like the goddess she was, with her arms gracefully lifted up and spanned. Her hands held on to an entwining forest of roots, like a rope made out of silver. They went straight to the posts on the other side, that was shaped like the leaning trunk of a tree. There were even carved birds and flowers ton the silver vines. Satin curtains were hung and tied back to the posts, but the drapes could be let out and conceal the bed if wished for.
Niphrediel stepped out of her bed, dressed in her white night gown and her hair falling about her shoulders and down her back in a reasonable mess. She walked over to the door and left the room. All windows on that floor of the house were closed, at least during the day, and Niphrediel made her way casually to her bathroom chambers and washed herself, getting ready for the long day.
She quickly changed after drying herself. She could not remember the last time she wore a gown . . . . . The thought bothered her. The suit was a rich rustic brown made of velvet mostly, with long leggings and a snug tunic. It had faintly flared sleeves, a stiff, arched collar that came up and curved at her jaw, and a short train that split in two, falling down to the back of her thighs.
Most of her suits were the same as that one, only in different colours. They were the only ones that were made for her, since her mother had encouraged her to wear gowns so she did not have much of a selection. She did not bother obtaining any more items of clothing than she needed.
Niphrediel struggled to put on her the tough, leather boots and her tough, possum-skin gloves, but she got through it with no more than a hiss. She put a belt around her hips and hooked her elegant dagger into it. She did the best she could do with her hair, tying enough back to keep the rest away from her face, and grabbed her cloak.
She could not go anywhere during the daylight without a cloak, and a scarf around her mouth and nose since sometimes the hood did not shade those areas. It was black and made from satin, with a large hood and flared sleeves. A gold buckle at her chest held it together, as it tidily fell down to reach the back of Niphrediel's knees so she wouldn't trip on it since if it were any longer, she would, no doubt, trip constantly!
Niphrediel was in a rather good mood that day. She grabbed her scarf and walked out the door, not yet deciding to put it on.
October 21st. A good date, she thought, and began to make her way to Glorfindel's chambers. He was going with her, of course.
She was going to get those riders, whether she was with Glorfindel or not. It would be another story to tell her grandchildren! Niphrediel laughed. As if she would have any... No man would ever give up the sun for her. Good dear, if Niphrediel could have it, she would not give it up for someone!
Niphrediel did not even have to knock on the door. Glorfindel walked out just as she neared his door, and smiled at her joyfully in greetings.
He was by far the fairest elf one could ever see. Shinning golden hair, lovely flawless skin, bright blue eyes and the most beautiful smile someone's eyes could ever see. And, what people did not realise upon looking on him; he owned the grandest, most alluring voice. It could make a person weep.
Glorfindel, dressed ready for riding, and Niphrediel began to make their way down. The girl quickly wrapped the scarf around her mouth and pulled the hood up just before they walked into the late morning sunlight... a danger that lurked only a mere stair downward.
Glorfindel and Niphrediel quickly made their way to the stables, taking a couple things from the armoury before saddling their horses.
With every weakness comes a strength, it must be mentioned. For since Niphrediel could see much more clearly at night, her eyesight had a large advantage in sunlight. Though she was no threat to the eyes of an elf, Niphrediel was very gifted in terms of a mortal's capabilities.
Niphrediel took a longbow, and two swords, sheathing one against her belt and the other tied to the knee of the saddle just in case.
Aragorn had taught Niphrediel all-too well about fighting. Like him, her strength was with the grasp of a sword rather than a bow... but she could still use a bow well enough for her liking. Niphrediel's training was not was not something she had spoken of to her mother when she was alive was alive, however. But Gilraen was a smart woman... she knew those bruises did not come from tripping over a rock! She knew those two scars were not bites from an insane rabbit!
Niphrediel climbed onto the back of Draconic's saddle and sighed as she and Glorfindel, armed with a bow and sword, atop of Asfalof, began to ride out at a slow pace, both with their arms limp at their sides. Using the reigns was not entirely necessary at such a slow pace.
Niphrediel could barely feel the breeze, but she could imagine. Oh, how she wished she could lift her head into the sun and feel the wind blow against her cheeks. The wind she could have, at times, but the sun? No.
Niphrediel put one hand on to grip the reigns while the other held onto the hilt of the sword at her knee, ready for any movement, as Glorfindel, who rode in front of her, began to pick up pace. There was no threat so close to the house, but Niphrediel liked to imagine a beast might just jump out at any moment. It made everything fun.
The hood never came down, it was designed that way, but Niphrediel could see in front of her clearly enough.
Glorfindel had packed a lunch, and they rode around the borders all day. They found nothing.
They eventually settled down for lunch under the shade and darkness of a willow tree. It had thick branches that came over the land that guarded its roots, like the curved shape of a flower, and its long vines and leaves kept the sun out, if one moved passed and sat on the grass on the other side. Though some sunbeams sneaked in, it was enough for Niphrediel to be able to take down her hood and scarf to eat. The tree had been around for a long time, and had been used for times like these plenty throughout the years.
Niphrediel had to admit she was disappointed, as she shoved her mouth around a piece of bread. It did not matter all that much though, it was fun enougn being out with Glorfindel in the fresh air. Usually, they would be playing pranks on each other and joking around as much as they could before heading back to Elrond's House. Strangely, they had done nothing of the sort! At least, not yet....
Niphrediel and Glorfindel conversed over lunch, and laughed at each other every now and then at something silly. Niphrediel knew what came next, for every outing was all a routine. Niphrediel's face dropped when Glorfindel said he could hear Aragorn's voice in a close distance coming in their direction not to far away. He was about five minutes away.
She bit her lip, quickly wrapping on her scarf and putting on her hood, as Glorfindel attached his sack back onto the saddle of Asfalof.
She knew what he was going to do and say before he did either one of them.
"I shall quickly refill my flask in the spring!" he yelled, before beginning to walk to the spring, not even looking back to see her prepared to leave.
Niphrediel knew he moved quickly, so she had to move quicker! She did not want to leave him behind, but if she had a head start, he would have trouble catching up. She had done it before; it was a guaranteed victory.
She smiled. It was a fun game.
Niphrediel sprinted for her horse, and vaulted onto the saddle. The manoeuvre had been practised. The last time she attempted to perform it, she did not push off the ground strongly enough and bumped into Draconic's behind, but this time, she only tipped to the side for a couple seconds after landing on the saddle with a thud. Then, she took off!
She headed in the direction she and Glorfindel had been going before making their little stop, encouraging Draconic to run as fast as he could with firm taps of her heels. She smiled, but not for too long, for it even something small like that was putting strain on her ability to concentrate on riding and keeping her balance. She was not the world's greatest or sturdiest rider, but she was undoubtedly the most insane; judging from the speed she made her horse run.
Niphrediel slowed down at the edge of a small canyon. It was old, and was sometimes used to get through the back of Rivendell by invaders, though they never got through the gates.
It was about a twenty-foot straight drop into the green canyon with beautiful willow trees around the edges. Niphrediel prepared to go around it, until she heard neighs and buckles of horses.
Niphrediel's eyes widened, and she quickly got off the horse and crept to the edge.
They were the dangerous cloaked riders. Not really what she expected. She expected them to be big with black cloaks and horses, and metal gauntlets for hands and shadowed faces. These riders had one from the three expectations: and that was... shadowed faces.
Niphrediel slowly strung her bow. She aimed. The riders were going at a slow tread, but she could not get a positive aim because her hands were shaking in fear. Her first kill! How frightening.
She had to go closer. Her aim was not exact, and there were trees in the way. Niphrediel took a deep breath. Do not be afraid. Protect your home!
If she did not get them at that moment, Glorfindel and Aragorn would arrive and the riders could already be in the city. They would have to get through the gates... but if they were as feisty as Aragorn explained, then they very well would.
Niphrediel was afraid, but she had to! She hung her bow against her shoulder so both her arms were free.
She waited for her chance as a rider positioned himself just below her. Niphrediel took a chance, taking a shaky deep breath, and fell straight down.
She positioned her body correctly. On her way down, she grabbed him! Like a snake, or at least her impersonation of one, she spun her body around so that she would not face a landing too harsh for her back. As she met with the ground, she let the soft cloth of the rider's clothes pass from her fingers, and rolled a couple. Adrenaline surged through her veins, and her knees did not even feel the slightest bit of strain when she rolled onto her feet. She felt like a warrior!
Unfortunately, the rider did exactly the same thing. So, in unison, they fixed their eyes on each other and saw, scarily, that they both had their bows strung and ready to fire.
Niphrediel gasped loudly, blinking many times. He was an elf! Evil elves? Niphrediel's heart grew cold. Elves were turning against their own? What?!
Niphrediel looked at the enemy with disgust, though the shadow of her hood hid it well, but the other's features showed it properly as they slowly circled each other like lions.
The elf held his bow with dangerous precise and expertise. Niphrediel did not hold hers so well, but the arrow would still hit if she let it go. It was all that mattered.
The elf looked passed Niphrediel at all the others that accompanied him. "Put down your bows!" he told them.
Niphrediel was surprised they did what he asked, even the ones that were very reluctant to. Oh terrific, Niphrediel had jumped on the leader.
It was too late now.
The elf glared with composed ferociousness. Niphrediel's heart beat loudly... it was obvious this elf was not afraid of dying. "Come, black brute," he said, "your hide will be dust. Bows will not be our instruments of battle today." He dropped his bow and looked at the sword sheathed at Niphrediel's side and nodded to a kinsman, who threw one to him.
Niphrediel was relieved, in a way. If she was going to fight and die defending herself with any weapon, she was thankful it would be a sword. She knew more of handling a sword than any other...
But the elf looked even more skilled with the weapon than she was.
Niphrediel had to attack fast, catch him off guard. She did not give any warning, before dropping the bow and spinning around quickly, unsheathing her sword straight away. When she returned around to face him, she lashed out!
It startled him for a moment, but he blocked his neck that would have been severed if he had not, and calmly began to dual with her.
Niphrediel did everything Aragorn had taught her, but he kept on blocking! She attacked his middle, his head, his legs, his arms... but every time she hit outward with her sword, she was met with the clash of metal. He was better than she was. She had to do something!
As he parried an attack to his shoulder, Niphrediel spun around and punched him in the jaw. It was a ruthless hit; it made him stagger backward, and it made her knuckles scream in pain, but it gave Niphrediel a confidence boost. Perhaps she could win!
The elf did, indeed, stagger backward, but in the flash of an eye, he was standing straight and seemingly unruffled. The only change were his eyes; a devilish blue that seemed suddenly all the more intense in its hatred. Niphrediel felt a chill run down her spine as she looked upon these eyes, and her gut suddenly twisted.
All of the sudden, fighting with this fellow felt unnatural. But she had to!
She got ready to lash out again, before she heard--
-"NO!"
Aragorn!
Niphrediel automatically turned her head to see Aragorn and Glorfindel jumping off their horses, far above her on the cliff. She knew they were coming to help her, and, by goodness, she needed it. Niphrediel did not want to fight anymore. It felt wrong.
Niphrediel did not realise her recklessness until she felt a punch to her back with a right hand and the other coming up and ripping her cloak right off her and threw it back, far behind.
Niphrediel watched everything as if in slow motion, as her scarf dropped from her face even before the shade was gone. Her eyes widened and, even before she felt anything, she screaming piercingly.
Niphrediel fell back; the pain seemed to be burning everywhere. She had never felt the burn so powerfully before. Black smoke began to seep from her burning skin and she tried to cover up her face as best she could.
Her eyes darted everywhere, looking for anything that could help, and she heard Aragorn cry out her name.
The evil elf looked down at her as she cried out in pain. He seemed as vulnerable in his eyes as she was in body. Was that confusion she saw on his face? Huh?
Niphrediel kicked away from him and rushed into the shade under a tree.
Aragorn jumped down into the canyon and ran passed the horses and the elves before falling to his knees at Niphrediel's side.
Fire was everywhere! Niphrediel felt her tears run down her cheeks as she clenched her jaw to keep from screaming. It hurt so much; like an explosion of fire that burnt the insides of her skin. The pain was incredible. She was dying.
Aragorn looked at her, his face tear stricken and pale as he wrapped his cloak around her. "Neph?"
Niphrediel coughed, she could feel blood filling her mouth. "It hurts," was the only thing she could weep.
Niphrediel could feel her insides rip open, and bit her lip to keep from crying out. She felt her mind begin to fade, but the pain was still there, and she could no longer move. Her head fell to the side and her body lay lifeless and limp.
Aragorn watched her with helpless torment. "Neph? Neph!"
Aragorn wrapped her up in his cloak and picked her up, holding her close with her head in the nap of his neck.
He looked behind him to Glorfindel, who was explaining the happenings to the riders and the confused leader. "We must be quick."
He raced Niphrediel into the infirmary, shutting all the shutters of the windows, and raced to find Gandalf and Elrond once the healers had come.
Aragorn sat down on the armchair just beside the bed, as the healers did all they could.
He prayed for mercy. Thankfully, he had not been imagining the fall and rise of her chest; she was still alive. He got her covered up just in time.
Her face was burnt... so raw and fragile that not one inch could not be bandaged. Instead, she was covered in a thick layer of ointment. The scars would heal. In a few days, the texture of Niphrediel's skin would be as smooth as it always had been, but the inside of her flesh would take longer. It would be at least two weeks before Niphrediel would be able to smile, frown, raise her eyebrows or use any of her face muscles. They were too damaged.
"Strange," whispered a healer to herself as she prepared to leave the infirmatory for the evening. She had been taking care of Niphrediel; making sure that the ointments were always fresh and Niphrediel's steady breathing continued.
Aragorn barely glanced to the elleth. "What is it?" he asked, to be polite.
"Oh," the healer smiled at Aragorn, her ancient eyes warm. From afar, she had seen the Ranger grow from a child. "Her healing is extraordinary, is all. For a mortal... it is very strange... but I suppose it is rude to scrutinize blessings."
Aragorn nodded once, and listened to the elf maiden leave with the same heavy heart. People came and left, but he remained in his chair. And for some reason, when he was alone, his weeping came to no end.
Niphrediel rested in her white gown. For the first time in a long, long while, she looked like a little girl again.
Aragorn sniffed and stroked her smooth. bare arms lovingly before coming to her long, lifeless hand. He wrapped it in his, and placed it against his heart. Leaning forward, Aragorn was careful not to comb her hair with his fingers. Even her scalp had been burnt.
Aragorn sighed, pleased at least that he was warm, before resting his head on the blankets atop of Niphrediel's stomach. Only her scalp, face, neck and the skin of her chest that the scarf had covered had been scorned. The rest of her was fine; a thousand loving memories wrapped in flawless skin.
He kissed the back of Niphrediel's hand; resting it in front of his mouth. He still held it with his hand, marvelling at how easily life might have fled from each and every limb of her body. He kissed Niphrediel's hand three times.
He remembered when he had woken up once after he had injured himself badly and had been unconscious for days, and he had woken up to see Niphrediel curled into his shoulder. She was only eight years old or so, so tiny and dependent. She had not moved from his side throughout for the three weeks he had been in the infirmary unless it was to change and wash when Gilraen had hauled her out of the room. But all through that time, she had been sobbing and screaming.
He thought of Saruman, and his thoughts darkened for a moment, but then his attention strayed as he slowly feel to sleep. He had a dream. He knew he was dreaming, though he was still in his chair, watching over Niphrediel. The texture of the world was different. Though he moved, he did not feel. It was a subtle difference, but it was obvious to the watchful.
He got a small fright when he heard a voice, and jumped a little in his chair.
"I am sorry, my son."
Aragorn looked over his shoulder as the vision of his mother walked to the other side of Niphrediel's bed.
Aragorn frowned. "Why is that, mother?" he asked.
Gilraen smiled sadly, looking at her daughter. "You have been such a good parent for her. More than I was..."
"Do not say that, mother," Aragorn mumbled, not wanting to hear it.
Gilraen shrugged. "But it is true," she said, looking down with glistening eyes and her face falling. "Think about it, Aragorn. I should be the one sitting with her hand in mine waiting for her to wake up."
Aragorn shook his head. "You are still her mother."
"I know." Gilraen said, "But I am sorry, you may not realise now why I am apologising but you will soon. Now as you say, I am her mother, yet you are the one now who should take care of her"-
"And I am her older brother, I am supposed to take care of her," Aragorn replied, his face dark. "There will be no more to be spoken of this, she may be able to hear us and if we continue this shall turn into an argument and I wish for her not to hear that."
Gilraen smiled, walked around and kissed her son on the crown of his head. "You make me proud. You both do. Remember that I did what I did for her benefit, you will know one day of what I speak of," she said, and adjusted his warm blanket, knowing that he would be on the comfortable armchair all night. She smiled sadly, before shaking her head softly, "I love you, my son."
Aragorn knew he was dreaming. But he liked to think, briefly, that he was not, even if his dreamworld Gilraen had disturbing things to say.
