AUTHORS NOTE: Finally chapter 9! I totally agree with you fearlessfreak...Legolas and Aragorn love stories are really disgusting in my viewpoint as well as all the other slash :P. I have more of Tolkien's dialogue in this chap. when Aragorn and Gilraen are near the end of speaking together, so just to let you know. And there's a bit of Aragorn's journeys in the North where he wards evil from the land, so there's some battling in here because it leads up to a really beautiful moment in the next chap, so ch. 9 is PG-13 I suppose. Enjoy:)
Not long after Arwen and Gilraen's meeting—in the reckoning of Elves—Gilraen felt it was time to return to her own kindred far from the borders of Imladris. A need was upon her, and Elrond could not dissuade her. Arwen heard of her decision, so she went to speak with her one last time for they would not meet again on the earth. She found her readying a pack to carry on her horse for the journey and thinking silently.
"You truly are leaving?" Arwen asked softly.
Gilraen started and looked up into her glimmering eyes. "Yes, for my years are dwindling, and I have been long away from my kin."
Arwen nodded and paused a moment before speaking. "Now I understand a little of the mortality of Men. I have chosen a difficult path."
"Yet the more difficult path leads to a greater end," said Gilraen. "You did not choose the easy road, and so our life is wholly blessed."
"Some Elves say that the Lesser Folk are not very wise, however...I believe some are as wise as they."
Gilraen smiled sadly as tears sprang into her pale eyes. "Thank you, Evenstar. The Elves are more courteous than any race I have ever met."
And so later in the day Gilraen was ready to depart. Master Elrond had given her an escort of three Elves to guide her safely through the lands and was there to bid farewell. "You have been with us long, and I regret you departing this day." He clasped her hands. "You have born a child who has brought hope to the world of Men and hope of Middle-earth kept safe to the Elves. There was none better to raise him."
Gilraen squeezed his hands and stepped back. "You have protected that which I love most and taught him Elven wisdom. You also gave us a place to stay when nowhere else was safe or so protected so that he was raised in the greatest dwelling and kingdom of all. And it is not only he that received such gifts."
"We shall not meet again," said Elrond gravely. "Namárië, Gilraen, and may all the blessings of the Elves go with you and the Valar guard your path."
The three Elves led their glistening horses forward as Gilraen followed among them with one she had been given as a gift by Elrond, Lord of Rivendell. Arwen suddenly appeared at his side in shining white apparel, glimmering in the sun, and she raised a hand in farewell to the mortal woman who had become well-known to her. Gilraen paused to return the farewell with a warm smile gracing her noble face.
"Will she ever return?" Arwen murmured as to herself.
Elrond's eyes were distant. "Not in life but in death for this is the last journey of Lady Gilraen, noble woman of the Dúnedain."
There she passed to return to her lost kin she had forsaken many years ago, into the shadows and shrouded by sorrow in her last days. There would be no return to the fair valley of Imladris while breath remained in her body.
Aragorn entered the room to find his ageing mother sitting by a warm fire. His heart was rent at the sight of her so frail and troubled. It contrasted greatly to what he knew in past days. Sorrow was written on her face and in her eyes from all the troubles she had passed through and endured. Her eyes still gleamed in the firelight and brightened at seeing her beloved son standing near her in the room.
Gilraen beckoned Aragorn to come forward and sit with her by the fire. He pulled up a wooden chair close to his mother. "You have come," she said in a quiet voice with a hint of a smile on her pale lips.
"Of course I have. I could not bear to be away from you any longer, my dear mother," said Aragorn. He kissed her cheek. "It has been some time since I saw you."
They spoke briefly of the Dúnedain, the happenings in the South lands, and briefly of Lord Elrond. Then Gilraen broached a delicate subject that was continually surfacing in Aragorn's thoughts.
"At last I have glimpsed this star—glimpsed for none can understand her of mortals fully but you—that you have seen before you. She is brightest and fairest of all that live. Now I understand your yearning of her love for she is also wisest and noblest…as I said before many, many years gone when you first knew of her."
Aragorn smiled softly. "Arwen Undómiel. I am glad you have met before the end."
"As am I," she murmured. "I almost wish to have had more time with the woman who is to wed my son."
"Only if the darkness is broken and all hopes are fulfilled. There is a great battle to come when all forces clash at last, and then we shall see who prevails at the end. Only then, when I come to the Throne of Gondor and Men, will Elrond lay her hand in mine when I am worthy of it."
Gilraen answered not for a long moment. Aragorn reached out a hand to place over hers for he saw a strange emptiness in the far depths of her eyes in the way she gazed into the fire. He drew a steady breath and waited.
Gilraen turned to meet his gaze, her eyes returning. "This is our last parting, Estel, my son. I am aged by care, even as one of lesser Men; and now that it draws near I cannot face the darkness of our time that gathers upon Middle-earth. I shall leave it soon."
Aragorn tried to comfort her saying, "Yet there may be a light beyond the darkness; and if so, I would have you see it and be glad."
But she answered only with this linnod: "Onen i-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim."
Aragorn was troubled by her words, and he departed the next day to make his way into Rhudaur where a shadow had fallen in form of Wargs, yet his heart was grieved at the thought of never seeing his beloved mother again in life.
Arwen watched from a high balcony to the North where she awaited any sort of reassurance that he would be back soon. He had been gone longer than expected, so she tried to put her mind on other things...which almost seemed impossible. Her thoughts watched over him as he travelled.
With Gilraen parted and Elrond lately busy, Cemendur was the only one that was in her company the past few days. She did not particularly take pleasure in the company of many Elves at once, so she remained solitude most of her time. She dearly loved her kindred, yet she had always been a more remote maiden who took comfort in peaceful silence and thought.
A tall, golden-haired Elf drew up behind her, his hair aflame in the sun. His piercing eyes were the colour of the sea in a raging storm as he stepped beside her without a sound.
"Glorfindel, how is father doing? He seemed somewhat hard-pressed from meetings about such dark things and the troubles of the world."
The Elf-lord named Glorfindel turned to her; the wisdom was evident in the lines of his face. "He is managing for nothing is too great a deal for that sturdy, hale lord. Your father is ever-enduring for things such as this; which I believe you know. He is your father."
"Elrond is a wonderful father, but he acts more like my protector most times. I suppose it is because of the innate feeling of having to guard one's daughter more closely than any son one might have."
"Precisely," said Glorfindel with a slight smile. Glorfindel was a high counsellor of Elrond and another powerful Elf-lord who once lived in the West in Eldamar ages ago. The Lord of Rivendell would trust this man with his life and always had with his beautiful daughter who at times took his counsel.
Aragorn had many journeys in all the reaches of Middle-earth, yet this is only one of them for they cannot all easily be told. He was wandering the lands of Rhudaur near the Trollshaws where he had not often been, and was alone as many Rangers are. The land was quiet compared to others he often roamed, but he paid no heed to it. All he set his attention on was what he could see and feel.
His second night there, he had abandoned the thought of a fire to keep away the lonely dark and lay flat on the ground beneath the hanging eaves of a tree. There were not many in this land except for very few sparse woods. He could not sleep even after a few hours and decided to move on.
He had heard word from the Eagles that Wargs had crossed the Misty Mountains when they never had before, so he journeyed into the more desolate lands to make sure the rumour was correct, and if it was...drive them back. He had searched and scouted for two days already, finding no signs until that afternoon: in the midst of a dry field he had discovered tracks like prints of large wolves moving about then retreating to the base of the mountains from days ago. He had seen nothing more but knew they were close...if around at all.
As he was beginning to move out from under the trees, fierce howling broke out, shattering the silence of the shadowed night. Aragorn's hand moved to the hilt of his sword without delay as he crept through the meagre wood instead of in the open field. The horrible clamour was quite close.
It did not take much time for the sturdy Ranger to seek out the foul beasts with the tumult they were creating. They were frenzied in a far field of tall brownish-green grass, with occasional shrubs, around something hidden among them. Aragorn presumed they had been hunting in the night and was glad they had not come upon him at unawares. There seemed to be twelve of them in whole, so Aragorn drew his sword.
The Wargs were so occupied by their kill that they did not observe the slow-moving figure shrouded in shadow who approached with a keen, gleaming blade in his grasp. He crouched in the high grass waiting for the opportune moment to strike like a deadly arrow flown from the bow. He had dealt with such creatures before near Mirkwood and made sure the wind was in his favour. It gently stirred his dark hair, and his eyes glistened in the little light there was. Twelve Wargs was not an easy task; so he set his jaw, gripped his bright sword, and targeted his first quarry with quick calculation. Their death had come.
He neared one of the unsightly beasts idly trotting about the others and, with a swift thrust, ran his sword into its heart. It was so quick and surprised it so completely that it gave off no warning; yet the wind shifted at Aragorn's back. He sensed the change and foresaw what happened next.
All the remaining Wargs caught his scent and whirled around with fierce snarls and teeth bared to seek him out. He bounded to his feet, slicing the head of one and stabbing another in the stomach when it leaped for him. He lifted his sword from the pierced flesh and gazed upon his enemies with a perilous, raging flame in his eyes that the large wolves would have been wise to notice. They did not understand who they were daring to attack: he was the Heir of Isildur, hardiest of Men and Elves, and the deadliest warrior a creature of the Enemy could face.
He waited for them with frightening patience in his relaxed stance, almost beckoning them to come. The Wargs stood amazed for a moment for no one man had ever challenged more than five of them at once. There were now eleven facing this strange man.
One of the bulkier of them charged with two others following close on his heels. The first went down in two quick strokes, the next two with one each. Aragorn lowered his sword and only had a brief second before the rest leaped forward to assail him. Some took more than one or two blows, and so Aragorn fought on, determined to slay each of them. One by one they fell to the Heir of Elendil's keen blade as he carried out the dance of battle. His limbs flowed like water, and the elven blade became another limb. The creatures realised too late that they had challenged the wrong man.
Aragorn lowered his cold blade stained with dark blood to the earth and swiped it clean upon the grass. He looked upon the dead and stopped all he was doing immediately. There were only eleven; one was missing. He slowly positioned himself for a sudden attack from any direction and drew a deep breath. His muscles tensed, creating a mighty rippling beneath his garments that any wise man or orc would fear.
The adept Ranger stepped lightly over the earth searching about the field because Wargs never fled or went to report anything when there were deaths to avenge. His breathing slowed and his heart beat normally again after the exertion of the fight. He had better show himself soon, he thought as he neared the trees. At times such as this, I wish Men had such smelling as they did. He was wondering where such a strange thought had appeared from when a great, dark mass flew out of the shadows of the trees upon him. He had tried to leap out of its path, yet could not evade the large creature with its great bulk. His sword dropped not far from his hand, but he was too occupied with the warg to reach out for it. He cried out in pain when sharp claws ripped into his flesh in his side, letting fly his hand to grasp his sword and run it straight through the warg's heart.
It was stunned for a moment and finally fell away to the earth with its foul blood soaking the grass. Aragorn rose to his feet and flinched when he felt the pain in his side. Even with the throbbing injury, he travelled on to another place where he could safely tend it without disturbance in the remainder of the night. He let the beasts lie where they were for he wished not the trouble of discarding them.
Aragorn was thankful he always carried athelas in his pouch that dark night. He boiled it in water to cleanse and heal the tearing of the claws in his side before binding it to keep protected and from bleeding any more. His eyes fell with weariness and his limbs stiffened, so he lay down upon the earth to rest for the night.
Elrond entered Aragorn's chambers silently. He had returned from his many journeys once again to find peace in the cleansing rest of Rivendell. Whenever his foster-son came, it was only for a short while, but this instance Aragorn was visibly different. He had been embraced by Glorfindel at his arrival who barely glimpsed the flash of pain cross Aragorn's face and the sorrowful glint in his eyes when he did.
"Aragorn," said Elrond when he saw him gazing out upon the land, "it is pleasant to see you again after so long."
He turned to meet the Elf's gaze. "And I am pleased to see you again, Lord Elrond." He had stopped calling him father long years ago, though at times it surfaced when he was not paying much attention.
"You seem displeased this day. Does something trouble you that you have not spoken of?"
"Yes, yet I still would not speak of it for I must first rest and re-approach my thoughts with a lighter spirit. It is my own fault I have fallen into despair, so it will be me that repairs the damage. Being here has already begun its work in my heart." He smiled. "Perhaps I was never despaired in the first instance, and I only feel weary of my journeys. Either way...peaceful sleep will ease the feeling from my heart."
"Then I shall let you rest, my son, but food and drink would do much good for you," said Elrond grasping his son's shoulder.
Aragorn laughed. "You are beginning to sound like a Halfling telling me of food and drink!...To think of them safe in their lands by the Dúnedain's hands lightens my spirit."
"That is well," Elrond smiled, "for they also lighten my spirit. Such jovial creatures cannot help but spread their unquenchable joy. I wish you well, Aragorn, and may you feel better in time."
"Thank you," Aragorn murmured. "You are much too generous, father."