AUTHOR'S NOTE: Valia-Elf: Thank you very much for reading my story! I love reading your reviews :) and I am glad you enjoy it so much. You really make we want to keep writing. lindahoyland: You also have kept me writing this story because of your lovely reviews and how you've been there since ch. 1 :). Thank you very much. And thank you to everyone else on here (Eldarwen Elanesse). PLEASE REVIEW!! Enjoy ch. 13!!!
Aragorn held a shining smile as he went his own way to his quarters which was in the same area where Elves abided and travellers also. He hurriedly splashed his face and hands clean with crystal water in a large bowl covered with vines and leaves of emerald green set on sky blue. It was made of thin porcelain. He glanced at himself in a mirror that hung in a corner unused, grimacing at the site of his hair and clothes.
I cannot go about Rivendell like this, he thought. He hurriedly had a bath drawn up to wash away the grime of travel but quickly cleansed himself so that the twins would not have to wait long.
By the time he had freshened up, changed into clean garments, and grabbed his elven-made bow, time had passed quickly. Elladan and Elrohir would give him a tongue-lashing for taking so long. He suddenly felt as if time had shifted to when he was first learning to use the bow properly by the elven- twins. A memory from that time rushed to him:
The sun slanted through the eaves of the trees and through the leaves setting them alight with gold. The clearing in the forest in Imladris was carpeted with thick, lush grass, and small lavender flowers flourished in the shadows of the mighty trees along the edge where tree roots and grass merged. In the clearing laden with gold light of the setting sun, two tall Elves with dark, glimmering hair stood leaning on bows of yew wood, engraved with silver leaves all along their slender length. The two Elves' faces looked so much alike that it was difficult to tell them apart. Elladan and Elrohir were the sons of Elrond and brothers to the Heir of Isildur...if not by blood. Estel had been taken in at two years of age when his father, Arathorn, was slain fighting Orcs. Gilraen, Estel's mother, had also come to Rivendell. Estel was actually Aragorn II but he was named 'hope' in the Elvish tongue to hide his lineage till the time came for him to know everything; the truth of his birth.
Estel was ten and eight years of age now; tall, extremely handsome, and skilled with sword and bow, if not as well with the latter. That was the reason for being there in the clearing with the sons of Elrond who were as close brothers to him. They had taught him many things others would not just because he was a Man, not of Elfkind. Elrohir and Elladan always came to his defence when other Elves thought of him as a lesser being not worth teaching, but through the years he had grown and in more ways than one. With that growth came admiration from those who had scorned him as a child. With knowledge and wisdom of an Elf, movement and voice of an Elf, and healing and greatness of one he became renowned among both Men and Elves even at his age. They often spoke of his future and who he would become when the time finally came for him. There had been no men like unto him in many ages of this world.
But now his 'brothers' were giving him lessons with the longbow. Estel was now as tall as they which irked them at times. He stood at their side listening and watching as a student to a teacher; well...almost. A sly grin pushed the corners of his mouth whenever the twins began to speak of their ability—and all Elves as a matter of fact—with shooting arrows.
His smile always seemed to turn heads, although they were in the elven-city of Rivendell. Elrond did not mention Estel's true lineage to anyone that inquired of him that did not already know. Even the Elves were not given the implacable secret kept for so long. Elrond knew that the day was nigh approaching that he would have to reveal to Estel what he had not spoken of in years.
"Pull it back as far as you can, but since we are practising you might let it loosen a little," Elladan said demonstrating with his own bow stretching it as far as he could. Estel concealed another grin as he watched with his keen grey eyes holding a light like that of the Elves.
Elrohir also demonstrated but he actually fired a shot into a thick bole of a tree about two hundred yards. Estel nodded his approval of the good shot. It hit the tree solidly in the middle where Elladan's own arrow struck moments later. The two arrows were stuck together.
"Well done, toronnya," Elrohir laughed. "Now let us see how Estel our younger brother fares. Take a shot and we shall see how you do."
Estel smiled that brilliant smile and drew an arrow from his quiver, strung it in his own elven-made bow, and shot in one fluid movement as quick as the Elves. The silver tipped arrow struck the tree right on top of the other arrows before it. Elladan and Elrohir suppressed faces of surprise as they stared at the bole of the large tree.
Elrohir cleared his throat after a long moment of silence. "I...well...good shot," he said. Elladan only nodded his head. Estel glanced at them trying to keep his composure instead of bursting into laughter at the expression on their faces. They were contorted with astonishment and awe at the same time for it had been long since they had seen him use the bow.
Estel bowed with his head almost to the ground. He laughed when he straightened. Elrohir and Elladan joined in the laughter not long after even louder than he. Soon Elrohir was sitting on the ground laughing till tears rolled down his cheeks.
He choked out, "Oh Estel, you have shown us what we could not see. We have been humbled."
"Yes, I think this may not be a lesson any longer," Elladan added wiping his fair face with the sleeve of his dark brown tunic. Now they all sat on the ground recuperating after a long needed dose of joy. Elladan's face grew calm again. "Estel, when did you learn to shoot so well? We have not taught you in months."
Estel met the Elf's grey gaze. "You are not the only one to teach me." He sat straighter without thinking. "Glorfindel has quite the skill with the bow." He almost began laughing again when Elladan and Elrohir both stared at him with the exact same expression. He was one of the few who could actually tell the two apart but even for him they looked almost the same.
Elladan rolled his eyes. "Of course! We should have known. Glorfindel has always had a soft spot for you, brother, ever since he saw your potential as a young child. Remember that time you were eight years of age and you began to be taught by different Elves for all sorts of things? You showed much talent in everything you did. Glorfindel did not really realise there was a Man living here in Imladris till then."
"I thank you both for your praise, but it is not needed any more than a horse needs a saddle. Someone may train it to wear one after some time, but if you do things properly the horse has no necessity for that saddle. So is a man who hears praises in his ear too often as the horse trained with the saddle to be ridden."
Aragorn suddenly awakened from his memory and looked about him. No one was there. He let out a breath he had held when he first came out of his deep memory as though it had only occurred the day before. If anyone had passed him in greeting they would have gotten no response. Those last words he remembered coming surprisingly from his lips so many years of Men gone of which the brothers had been surprised to hear. Something had stirred that inside of him that day as if a new life was only just beginning: a path less travelled and the one he must walk upon with no other choice before him though he tried to find another. Now that path was becoming more and more entangled in his mind. More and more dangerous; and glorious. A shudder ran through him. Such thoughts always made him uncomfortable. Thoughts of the future; his future.
When his feet touched the grass-covered earth he began to run. He ran until he came to the same clearing he had first equalled his skill with the sons of Elrond. The two Elves were already there waiting. There were also a few arrows embedded in a sort of target they had made about a hundred yards away.
When he entered the clearing his feet lightly touched the ground, making no noise that even elven-hearing could discern. Elladan and Elrohir were jesting lightly as he came up behind them. As soon as he was within ten feet they did not necessarily hear, but felt him more than anything, and turned round to find Aragorn watching them with a slight smile.
"Ah, he is here at last," Elrohir said tilting his head slightly.
Aragorn gave a slight bow. "Once again we are here hoping to best each other when all other times we have never neared winning. We should give up on the bow, my brothers. Do you really believe one of us might have grown better?"
Elladan shrugged his slim shoulders. "Perhaps. Something could have happened over the years."
Aragorn raised his eyebrows. Something?
"I shall go first," Elladan broke in. "My skin itches to watch you two fall short of what I accomplish." Elladan broke out laughing merrily as Aragorn and Elrohir exchanged amused looks as their brother took his first shot. It was a fine one even for an Elf.
Elrohir huffed loudly. "Is that as well as you can aim, toron?" He strung an arrow and stood studying his target two hundred yards away; as far as the tree the last time they contended with each other, this time the goal was not quite the same width creating a more difficult situation. Elrohir let loose.
"Good," Aragorn murmured. He leaned on his bow decorated with swirling gold colouring in the middle where he put his hand. "Let us see whose luck runs truer."
Gandalf came to Rivendell the next day to give a message in person to the Chieftain of the Dúnedain. Aragorn listened carefully to what Gandalf told him with wonder sparkling in his eyes merging with a trace of dread. The One Ring might have been found. Gandalf did not have to say it plainly; Aragorn sifted through his words enamelled with worry about the strange ring Bilbo had possessed. It was now in the hands of Bilbo's younger cousin because of its dangerous attraction.
"What would you have me do?" Aragorn asked quietly, splaying his hands.
"Your men have done a great service for me...and for the Halflings. I fear I must ask, though, for a sharper and closer guard on the Shire. There is something stirring there I cannot stop, and it worries me that this ring that is now in the keeping of Frodo Baggins may be dangerous. Sometimes I fear for him also..." his voice faded into secret thoughts. Gandalf had a habit—that Aragorn observed after only a few years of knowing him—of speaking his thoughts aloud, yet not this time. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as the seemingly old man pondered things. It was rare for him to be so quiet when thinking. Whatever it was he thought must be important indeed. Of course. Gandalf would not mention the One Ring aloud very readily.
"I will assist this myself," said Aragorn. "The Dúnedain need me...At least, that is what I feel. They also can feel the shadow rising from the earth. Gandalf, dear friend, the Shire will not be left to the Dark One...or whoever else has taken an interest."
Gandalf smiled through his grey beard that hung to his waist. Gladness and secrecy glinted in his sharp eyes. "Thank you, my friend." He rose slowly to his feet, carefully taking the old, gnarled staff he always carried in his hand. Another gleam lit up his eyes shining out from that face creased with age. "Where is that lovely maiden I hear tell of? Undómiel is it?"
"The Evenstar of her people," he murmured, "who has returned to Lórien to be with her people there in that fair forest." He had not asked Elrond, but the Elf-maiden Elenwë who had spoken with Arwen before. She had departed some time ago after a messenger of Lothlórien had arrived in Rivendell. "If only she..."
He was cut off by a strong, pleasant voice. "Mithrandir! Once again we meet in times of trouble." Elrond's face was broken with a grim smile. Aragorn watched his father move to sit beside his long-time friend, Gandalf the Grey.
Gandalf nodded to him warmly. "It's always a pleasure to come here," he said thoughtfully. "There is no place like it in all of Middle-earth."
Elrond thanked him and met Aragorn's gaze. Aragorn knew what the look meant for he had to discuss certain things with Mithrandir that were not pleasant or things Aragorn needed to hear.
Aragorn also nodded to the tall Elf and stood slowly. "I shall see you tonight as we dine, my friend," he said looking to Gandalf and then to Elrond, "and you as well, 1. atarinya."
Elrond watched the young man—in elven terms—leave the room in silence. He could not help but smile at how Elf-like the Heir of Isildur had become. Everything about him could have matched or surpassed many Elves there in Imladris. His face, framed by glinting dark hair, was chiselled with lines of maturity, making him appear as fair as the Elves; yet perhaps a bit more handsome than beautiful. That was the reason he was precarious in the lands of Men. He attracted attention immediately around lesser Men for he had a noble bearing and face like no other, yet his eyes especially were noticed immediately by others for they shone with the light of the stars. There appeared to be much more Elvish in him than Elendil himself.
Elrond was shaken out of his scrutiny by a clearing of the throat by Gandalf. Sometimes the wizard could be blunt, yet Elrond enjoyed his company each time they met over the many years. "Gandalf, you take a strong liking to the boy."
Gandalf did not smile, but his eyes glinted. "I would not call him a boy, Lord Elrond. Have you really looked at him since he first learned of his lineage?"
Elrond's dark eyebrows rose in amazement at how it seemed Gandalf had read his mind. He should not have been surprised for the Istari had done it before, more than once after knowing him for years uncounted. Had he really seen Aragorn as a matured man till now? He was already seventy-three.
"Gandalf, you walk on tender ground. It seems only a moment ago I realised my mistake. Aragorn is as wise as many who dwell here or in Lothlórien. Be careful," he chuckled, "or he will surpass you some day soon, my friend. That man is growing faster than I can ever keep track...and in more ways than one. I am proud for him."
Elrond leaned on his elbow deep in sudden thought. Gandalf watched carefully and nodded in agreement for Elrond was not the only one to observe the remarkable traits in the Heir of Kings. Something was stirring in him stronger than had been since the First Age.
"Another subject I must ask of," Gandalf began, "is on your beloved daughter. I have seen quite the fiery spirit in her, not much different than you, Elrond." A wide grin spread across his aged face when he saw the indignant look the Elf-lord gave him. He always was the fireheart like the rest of his blood. There is no persuading them once they set their will—as firmly as a rock. "She has been taken by the heart, I fear, and has herself grasped on, never letting go even after death. Yes...death. She will become mortal once the time comes."
"No! I cannot let it be!" Elrond cried jumping to his feet in one fluid motion. "She is too beloved to me to let go. If she is to grasp to something it should be the ship to the Lonely Isle into the West with her own kin."
"Elrond," Gandalf chided as if to a child, "you cannot be with her forever. Her heart is no longer given unto you as her father, but to another who has also given her his full heart and love. There is no other way, my friend. There is no other way. The world will fall if they do not come together at last when all is conquered."
Elrond shook his head in wonder and lowered his head slightly. "Well-hidden inside I feel it, yet...my heart still denies it. She loves him too much to ever abandon him as you said, Gandalf. I fear also that their hearts are entwined so strongly that nothing will separate them, not even me." Gandalf was looking at his feet as well. They both were silent.