Chapter 7
To The One Who Knows
The boy struggled weakly in the arms of his guard, but in moments the last of the fight he had in him ebbed away. Pain consumed him, ripping apart his mind in detrimental ways.
Ralorn had not been kidding and Mayroniel had done all that was required of him. The boy wanted to scream, wanted to yell at the guards to just let him die in peace, wanted, for just a moment... to be free. Not left in this pain-filled world where he could find no peace of mind, where nothing was his own and no one on his side.
He was pathetic, he was weak. Ralorn and his men had never failed to remind him of the faults he could not control. But Ralorn was wrong. To survive as a prisoner under the leadership of the elf required a strength of mind and will. Required a hardness of heart to all beings and all hurt, and such qualities the boy did possess.
Hot waves of agony filtered though his senses and the boy could notice little else. He clutched his leg just above the knee, literally trying to cut off blood flow so the pain would lessen. The guard was not handling him gently, but not roughly either, just lazily. The boy just clenched his jaw tightly, though he could tell the injury was quickly going to get the best of him.
He had never been injured this badly before. Ralorn had always been intent on all his captives being able to travel under any circumstances, but now it was different. It seemed that Ralorn had been more than telling the truth earlier, no, he was enforcing it by living it.
Two guards where accompanying him to a certain room, the only one apparently in this cave that had both a door and a lock. In a cave, that also meant no windows. If they left him there in the dark the boy knew he would never come back out. He could feel his body slipping away from his control.
There was a click of a lock and wood groaned slightly under the small effort to push it away. The boy barely registered it when the elf that held him set him down on the ground a bit roughly. He hunched where he lay, curling his upper body over his leg and still clutched it in the same place. He was not chained in place as he expected to be, the guards must have figured he wouldn't be able to handle that. The boy realized that the guards hadn't left immediately, apparently talking to another person in the room a moment before leaving and closing the door behind them.
After what felt like a moment or an eternity, the boy felt himself being lifted up into another set of strong arms, but this time all actions were of the utmost gentleness as he was settled against one wall. Hands suddenly touched his own, trying to get him to let go of his leg. The boy could feel blood running down the side of his face from some injury to his head, but he couldn't feel the sharpness of that injury as he could feel the deep ache of his knee. Pain flared hotly as his grip was broken, and with a rush of darkness over his mind the boy knew no more.
Aragorn quickly checked the boy's vitals and discovered he had blacked out only, but his body went limp and his breathing ragged. As painful as it must be, the man knew it would be better this way. He had best do what he could about the leg before any more damage was done, and immediately set to work, bringing closer the lantern the guards had left behind for him, the only tool he had been given.
As he worked, Aragorn was raging in his head. So this was the result of the faint yelling he had heard earlier. The boy's knee had been dislocated and his kneecap cracked. The middle of his leg was swelling to three times its size. It was not the only injury he bore, but it was the worst.
The healer within the ranger took over. With a firm and steady hand he reset the bones in place in the most painless way he knew how, holding the boy down gently as his body arched painfully without any of the mind's consent. Aragorn was frustrated by the fact that there was nothing he could use to bind the injury effectively; the boy would just have to avoid using his leg as much as possible. Using strips from his tunic the man bound the freely bleeding wounds that decorated the sides of the younger man's face, pinching off the tears in the skin until they would repair themselves.
When he had done all he could do, Aragorn sat back and looked at the boy carefully. He was resting easier now, his breathing less ragged and his body no longer moving in distressed motions. But his face was anything but peaceful, anything but the sound and relaxed expression that attested to the promise of healing in sleep. The boy's face was wincing and his jaw clenched tightly in pain and desperate fear. One of the last driving instincts held him still, the fear of falling unconscious alone and the knowledge of how very alone he felt, remembering nothing that would convince him that he was not.
Aragorn's heart went out to the boy, wanting above all else to forever remove the fear from the young face and replace it with confidence he deserved. But he couldn't do that yet, couldn't do it in the blink of an eye. It would take time and patience on his part. But there was something he could give the boy now, by being a beacon of light in this dark place. So Aragorn gathered the unresponsive boy into his arms so he could gain strength from the assurance that he was not alone, and at last began to sing, the ranger's voice deep and soft as he recounted the words of the song he had sung on that not too distant day in Ilmgalad. The boy began shaking his head weakly, his mind being drawn to the conscious world at the sound of another speaking.
"A Elbereth Gilthoniel, silivren penna míriel, o menel aglar elenath!"
The boy tensed in his arms, vividly hearing the elvish words and his body easily responding to what it believed to be the words of anger and hate. But then suddenly he stopped moving. These elvish words sounded almost... different to him. Not angry, but endearing and peaceful, almost another language entirely by the sound of it alone. And he had heard it just once before, the memory allowing his wary body to relax slowly, caught up in the soft tenor of the older man's voice.
"Na-chaered palan-díriel, o galadhremmin ennorath, Fanuilos, le linnathon-"
"I remember that song." A soft, slightly raspy voice unexpectedly gave praise to the song.
Aragorn jumped at the unfamiliar voice, looking wildly about the room in search of the cause. The lantern flickered brightly, revealing no one aside from him and the boy. Then who-
"I remember that song," the voice persisted again, and this time Aragorn looked down at the boy to find the teenager looking right back at him. The ranger's eyes widened in sheer surprise.
"You can speak?" Aragorn whispered, completely taken aback. Mayroniel had told him the boy hadn't spoken in years, but he had failed to mention that it was of the boy's own choice.
The boy nodded almost inperceptively, surprisingly comforted a little by the older man's question and obvious amazement. It was of his own choice that he did not speak to those who had destroyed his life, but the ranger was a friend. Now that they were alone for the first time, far away from the wandering eyes and ears of the guards, he would willingly speak to the ranger to ease his heart.
"Yes. I have always been able to, but never in the sight of the guards."
"Why do you not?" Aragorn could barely believe he was having a real conversation with the teenager after so many of only his voice.
The boy shifted uneasily in the man's arms again, though his eyes remained blank. "Because Ralorn killed my father. I do not speak in his presence, or any of those who follow him."
"Why do you speak to me now?" Aragorn shifted around the boy, leaning the teenager against the wall and settling down in front of him, the initial shock wearing away but amazement still in his actions.
"Because you have been my friend from the beginning, and I trust you. Not only that, but I have much to tell that you need to know." The boy winced suddenly, his hands falling back to the injured knee. Unbound, aching, and swollen, it was giving him much trouble. Aragorn however batted his hands away from the injury for fear that he would make it worse if he touched it.
"Your knee has been badly dislocated and I have done what I can, but with nothing to bind and splint it with I fear you will damage it more should you try to move it. Please, Little Brother, don't move your leg."
The boy glanced up vaguely at him, a little confusion lacing his tone. "Little Brother?"
"It's..." Aragorn suddenly felt a little foolish. "It's what I thought I'd begin to call you, since I do not know your real name."
The boy smiled a little around his pain, pressing back against the wall as he relaxed further. "The name my father gave me was Gowen. But I like the name you gave me."
"Gowen?" Aragorn never thought it would be so wonderful to discover a true name! "If you would rather, I will call you by your rightful name."
"No, no, please," Gowen quickly refused. "I would prefer the one you gave me, at least here."
"All right then," Aragorn agreed. "I will call you what you wish, although," the man laughed softly as a thought hit him. "It seems as though neither of us will go by our rightful names."
"I always thought Strider sounded more like a nickname." Gowen smiled again. "What is your true name?"
Aragorn shook his head. "Forgive me, but that would be unwise for me to tell you here. Perhaps one day I will, but not now."
Gowen was not offended. "I understand. But I need to tell you something you may want to hear."
"What happened?" Aragorn was suddenly brought back to the moment, and why they were in these circumstances. "Why were you hurt?"
"Two reasons. My own foolishness, and a conversation about you and your guard, Arahil."
Gowen now found himself claiming all of the ranger's attention and haltingly began to speak, bringing slowly back to memory the conversation that had occurred between Ralorn and Mayroniel. It looked as though Ralorn had not guessed the boy had been eavesdropping, everyone had naturally assumed that he had been trying to escape only. It was very strange to him, having to be the one to talk rather than listen, but Gowen was glad for the change and relieved that he could tell the ranger of what was going to happen, what Ralorn had planned for the man and his brothers.
Aragorn leaned up against the wall next to the boy when Gowen had finished, sighing. Now he knew where Arahil was, and what Ralorn was doing. His outlook was beginning to blacken further. Worry and frustration mixed with his weariness and fear, making everything harder to accept.
"Why does Ralorn hate your brothers so much? They are elves, are they not?"
"Yes, they are elves, and I do not understand why Ralorn would choose to hate them."
"If they are elves, they must be cruel." There was so much bitterness in Gowen's voice. From the way Ralorn and the twins seemed to regard each other, it was easy to assume that elves did not get along with their own kind. It made Aragorn's heart ache. The only contact Gowen had had with the Eldar had been horrifying and at best painful. There was much more he needed to learn. Both of them were aching inside and Aragorn knew he needed to do something about it. Perhaps his brothers, without even being present, could help with that.
"Not my brothers. Trust me Little Brother; you would never meet more light-hearted beings. I grew up with Elladan and Elrohir as my older brothers, not by blood but by the claim of the heart, yet I would love them no less had I been born directly into their family. You must believe me when I say that I do not understand why Ralorn would lay such a blood claim on them. It confuses me and I know there is much I do not know still."
Gowen nodded slowly, though his voice belied the fact that he needed convincing still. Aragorn as of yet had said little of his brothers, fearing the wrath of the guards should someone overhear him, and now the boy was curious. "Can you tell me about them?"
"Where would I start?" Aragorn leaned his head back, wondering. Now that they were alone to speak of any of the heart's desires, the ranger didn't know where to begin. "I lost my parents when I was very young, but they found me and took me to their home, an elven haven called Rivendell."
Gowen nodded slightly. "I have heard that name before, Ralorn has spoken of it a few times, but he does not like to."
"Ai, but it is a wondrous place. It is the realm of a powerful elf lord named Elrond that I know as my foster-father. He is wise and strong in the art of healing. Elladan and Elrohir are his twin sons. I grew up there, and they were my family..."
Aragorn went on, almost losing himself in the warm thoughts and the comfort of thinking about home. The fond memories allowed him to forget the suffocating darkness for a while and also allow a temporary relief to the boy who sat next to him. For a long time Aragorn weaved story after story about his older brothers, telling Gowen about their strength, protectiveness, loyalty, and absolute love for life.
Gowen was amazed by the tales. He had only ever been around elves that were cruel-hearted and terrifying; he had never considered the fact that other elves may not be the same in personality toward all others. Curiosity drove him to ask questions, desiring to know all about the beings that had made such a mark in the man he knew only as Strider, and to which the man was only too happy to comply. Answering a question about talent in archery though, lead to thoughts of Legolas.
"When I was a bit older I met another elf who lived in another elven realm across the mountains from my home. He became the best friend I've ever had; he is as dear as a brother to me..."
And the ranger was off again like a barely released bottle of energy.
Gowen became enraptured by the stories of Aragorn, his life, and the people in it. It was so contrastingly different from everything he had known in the majority of his youth. It brought him back to when he was much younger, before Ralorn had come and he, his father, and his older brother had still been a family. He had been so happy in the time before he had lost his sight due to an accident and then his father's murder barely a year later. Life had been as full as the ranger's. Gowen listened to Aragorn's every description of his family and friends, becoming as familiar with Elladan, Elrohir, and even Legolas' personalities as anyone else's, for that was how he learned about others. Since he could not see them, he took in anything he could find about looks and tried to draw a mental picture of each one. Before the ranger had finished, Gowen had vivid pictures in his mind of the ranger's brothers and best friend, and if put to the test, could have probably picked them out of a crowd so long as the man had not exaggerated any of the traits.
It wasn't for nearly an hour that Gowen finally realized how much time had gone by. The ranger had distracted him from both his physical pain and the passing of the day. Almost inperceptively, he could feel his eyes growing heavy, and before he knew what had happened, his head fell forward to rest against his chest and his mind knew no more.
Aragorn was startled at first to find the boy out again, but smiled when he discovered Gowen to be asleep only. As he knew from personal experience, story-telling, especially when it involved his brothers or best friend, was a nearly fool-proof way to distract a patient from whatever ailed them. It had even worked on him too this time. Thinking of home had always lightened his heart, and in this dark place, it was what he needed to go on.
While Gowen slept, Aragorn sat next to him, deep in thought. His eyes lingered on the lines of the young boy's face that was loosing its soft edges, giving way to the firm strong features of an adult. Almost into his sixteenth summer, Gowen had the look and build of a fighter. He was lean and tall, but strong in body as well as mind. Long shoulder-length russet hair spilled about his face and over his shoulders, giving him a very dangerous look, but his eyes gave him away. His lack of sight had given him reason to never truly harden his gaze, and his soft eyes held the deep sparkle of a child. The sparkle was in distress though, and constant abuse and darkness kept pushing it farther away.
The ranger sat close by, watching silently. It was an uneasy sleep the boy had fallen into, neither peaceful nor healing. Gowen's face winced in the pain of his injuries, and soon his body began to tremble; not from cold, but from fear. Aragorn could tell the boy was still afraid of many things, most of which he could not even begin to guess.
Gowen had helped him and listened to him, now perhaps it was time to reverse the roles. Aragorn had a feeling that there was much more Gowen needed to say, and not about the future.
After nearly an hour of fruitless slumber, Gowen rolled sideways farther down the wall and wearily opened his eyes. No matter how hard he tried, it always ended the same. He could never sleep peacefully, he hadn't in years. With the ranger he found rest easier, but only by a little. There was much his body needed to unlearn, but old habits die hard and in his current situation his senses where on fire and nothing would convince it of otherwise.
"Little Brother..." Aragorn's voice beaconed him back to the waking world, though he did not have far to go. Sitting up a bit straighter he passed a hand over his face. His head felt so heavy, and he could give it no respite in this room. There was a lingering evil feeling here that disturbed him.
"Hey, Little Brother." Gowen gave a small smile at the sound of the ranger's voice. It was deep and warm, filled with genuine compassion and concern. After so long of being starved of both qualities, the boy easily accepted them both and allowed them to bring him some measure of peace.
As if there had never been a break in their conversation, Aragorn introduced a question of his own. "So why are you here?"
Gowen shook his head and laughed a little, though the sound of it came off as quite regretful. "A very stupid reason."
"I'm listening."
"In a nutshell? A rumor about a treasure that was never true." Gowen clasped his hands together and rolled his thumbs over each other. "My father was a builder, an artist, a sculptor, and those who knew him loved his work. Some of my earliest memories are of watching him at his desk, carving a piece of wood or painting a trunk he had designed himself."
"So why would Ralorn have any interest in him, or you for that matter?" Aragorn was still confused. Why would an elf such as Ralorn desire anything from humans considering the fact that he obviously held no love for the races of men? It was odd and made no sense.
"He could make almost everything with any kind of compound or material. Fabrics, rock, glass, metal, leather, shells... you name it, he could have used it, and used it well. Because of that, my father became quite well known and his work sought after. My older brother had no real interest in the trade, but I took a liking to it from the time I could walk. He taught me everything I wanted to know. I loved it dearly. My favorite thing to do was sculpt animals, especially horses." There was a flicker of amusement in Gowen's voice that made Aragorn look at the boy more curiously. He was however, not expecting Gowen to say what he said next.
"It's ironic really, since horses are the reason I am blind."
Aragorn's eyes went wide. "You weren't always..?"
"No... no. Until I turned five I was any other child you would normally meet. It was an accident, I know that very well, but still, they are the reason."
"Will you tell me?"
Gowen pushed off the wall and drew his good leg up to his chest, leaning forward as he considered his answer before opening his mouth. "There was a fire in the stables one night. My father and brother woke me late in the evening, wanting to take me with them rather than leave me alone at home. Since my mother passed on almost right after I was born my father was always protective of me, and didn't trust that I would be safe at our house by myself. He bundled me up and the three of us left to help."
Gowen's blank eyes squinted a bit in frustration, for it was so hard for him to remember all that had happened, the end result having stolen some of his memory of that night – fragments he could never find though he tried. "Much of what happened escapes me, though I do remember wanting to help my family save the horses. Ignoring the request of my father to stay away from the burning stable I ran to help, but somehow the stable door burst open and the horses ran outside to escape the fire. They were badly frightened, and soon so was I. Caught in the middle of a stampede, I tried to escape them, but one reared up and struck down on the back of my head. I remember little of the actual event, other than what others have told me."
The boy leaned over slightly and pushed some of his hair away from the nape of his neck, exposing a half moon shaped scar. From the size and depth of the mark, Aragorn could tell the horse had struck hard and deep, cutting vital muscles and completely severing Gowen's ability to see. Gently, he touched the white scar, fingering it as Gowen began again, sighing gently as he sifted through his next thoughts.
"At first, I can recall seeing blurred ghosts, then shapes, then shadows... and then finally, my world went black." There was a touch of such utter misery in the boy's voice, such complete heartache. More than anything else Gowen desired to see the world as he used too, but such things were beyond the local healer's skill to heal. Gowen had to learn to see the world in a different way, very slowly, step by step. "For the next year, my father helped me every day to become confident on my feet. I was much younger and willing to learn, so together we figured out ways that I could get around without much assistance at all. There were times that my father said I was so confident he could barely tell I was blind..." Gowen's voice drifted off, as if caught in a distant dream for a moment.
"I'm sure you're wondering why I'm telling you this, but I promise, it plays a part in why Ralorn took such an interest in my father and I." Gowen clarified quickly, suddenly realizing just how off topic this conversation sounded like it was going. "A few months after my accident, my brother left on a two year training course to learn more about the medial arts, partly in hopes that he could find a way to restore my sight... but I never saw him again."
"Little Brother, you don't have to-" Aragorn was afraid of working up the boy, that was not his intention at all in this.
"Yes, I do! Do not get me wrong, I love my brother dearly and I miss him very much... but if he had not left he surely would have died as my father did, and that is my only relief that he was not there the day Ralorn came. It is good to know that he at least could still be alive."
"Why did Ralorn come at all?"
"Like a told you before, a rumor. Not long after my brother left home, my father made me a special gift – a hollow walnut shell that he decorated with silver and padded the inside with wool. It was a case, capable of being opened but it was so hard to do, yet not without a purpose. For inside the walnut shell held a great treasure, one that my father worked countless hours to complete."
"What was inside?" Aragorn leaned closer, completely enraptured.
"A single glass athelas leaf, encircled by the body of a dragon; small enough to lie in full across two fingers. It was one of the most prized creations my father had ever made, and he made it for me to represent strength and healing. When he let me hold it for the first time he told me of a legend that involved a plant called athelas; it had touched him and he made his own. The dragon was of no real influence, other than that we both loved stories wandering folk would tell about the old dragons, and to us they were strong and brave. He never wanted me to forget either, wanting me to be strong and open to healing. It was placed in the walnut shell to be kept safe since it was so fragile, and from that day forward I wore the walnut shell on a leather thong around my neck.
"Well, you know how word travels and some people tend to exaggerate. When Ralorn heard about it, the small gift had been claimed to be worth riches without end, and he set out to find us. He asked my father for the treasure he had made, wanting to know so much about it, but mostly if he could obtain it. But my father refused to tell him anything of true worth, saying only that he had made it for me and me only. Knowing I was the only one to liberate to get results Ralorn tried to talk to me but my father would have none of it, demanding that the elves leave. It was the first time I had ever had any contact whatsoever with elves, and being six by then and very blind, they frightened me. There was a fight... and my father was killed. I was taken captive."
Aragorn was struck by the cold lack of feeling that the boy radiated. The hard, closed expression that shut out all emotion as the story was recounted, and yet as the ranger watched, the cloudy grey eyes that held no light grew dim and the harshness faded. In a breath they had filled with unshed tears.
Gowen swiped them away before they fell down his face and revealed just how hurt he felt. He had been so small with no way to defend himself or the only family he had ever known. They were broken, shattered, torn apart when his father died, the family of three now in three different places. Then to endure the next nine years of terror, abuse, and the sick feeling of having no one care about him. His life, his security, his family had been crushed like a dry leaf, and whatever he had left was in the clutches of a heartless killer. He hadn't cried in front of anyone since he had listened to his father's dying moan. He couldn't. He thought he had forgotten how, until he realized there was still warm wetness falling down his face.
The man probably didn't know it, but the ranger that defended and befriended him had become his only reason to live. To enjoy a measure of peace in life again was something he didn't think he could lose and continue on as before. He trusted Aragorn with his life. He would have followed the man into anything without question. Gowen listened to Aragorn move closer to him, the ranger's soft breathing growing louder.
Aragorn's heart ached for the teenager that had lost so much in his short life. It had been chilling to watch those blind eyes steel themselves so quickly against the rush of emotion that had touched him so. To see a young one reduced to such firm discipline made his heart wrench. If he could have truly witnessed even a shred of pain that consumed Gowen's soul, the shock of it would have broken a will of stone., though the boy's general easy-going attitude about the whole thing up until the end made it so hard to imagine.
Kneeling in front of the boy and bracketing the sides of the young one's face in his hands, Aragorn tipped the head up and locked his gaze with the unseeing eyes.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes sad and voice soft. "I am so sorry." Gowen had grown up far too fast, endured far more than he should have. His childhood not made up of happy memories, but of horrible nightmares.
"Gowen," Aragorn let the name fall and reverted back to the new nickname, the one Gowen had so quickly become fond of. "Little Brother... I want you to know that you aren't alone anymore. I'm here for you. I'll help you."
Blank dark eyes suddenly shot up to the direction of Aragorn's voice. Gowen's features were no longer expressionless, but now looked anxious and intense. The thought of having a true friend, an ally... it was something he had never known or enjoyed since he was very small. Anger and despair had been his only constant companions until Strider had come into his life just a few short days ago. His deep voice was awkward and could have been mistaken for a tone and a question from a child much younger than he. "Really?"
The gentle question only hardened the ranger's resolve. Brushing the long hair out of Gowen's eyes Aragorn pulled the boy toward him and held him in a firm embrace. "I promise, Little Brother. I'll take care of you, even if it means my life."
It was the oddest feeling, sitting against the wall with Gowen curled up against his side and finally fast asleep, the dark room echoing no sound save the two companions' breathing. But tired as he was, Aragorn could not sleep.
The name he had given Gowen rolled and rippled through his mind, staying in rhythm with the child's light breathing.
Little Brother...
It was odd how he had chosen this nickname for the young boy, and how much it really meant to him now. Holding Gowen, protecting him and keeping the nightmares away by humming a familiar elvish tune, Aragorn thought about it. He had always been the little brother to his family and friends, the youngest member in many lives. But here and now he began to understand the twins' fierce love and protectiveness of him, and a weight of responsibility he had never felt before settled on his heart. He was the big brother now; he was the love and protection for someone younger than he. It didn't take long for Aragorn to pull Gowen closer and accept it freely. It was a title he knew he would cherish, and with his life prove himself worthy of.
Relaxing farther against the cold wall behind him, Aragorn's eyes dropped slightly. Walking all night without resting and the first conversation with the young boy had wearied him but he fought to stay awake. Gowen needed him and there was no telling when one of the guards or Ralorn would return for them. The ranger wished for Arahil; he had not seen the guard for several hours now but he no longer had to wonder about where the elf was. A haze began to enter his eyes.
No wait, he could see the guard enter the room now, but he was glowing far beyond what was normal for an elven glow and was dressed in white robes... his hair was loose about his face and Aragorn could not really make out the more defined features, but they seemed changed... Arahil was reaching for him, calling to him in a voice that was his and yet sounded different, as if he were hearing it with another's ears... behind him was a white stallion that rivaled Arahil's whiteness, and next to him, a copper-colored stallion was watched him closely before suddenly calling to him as though he was angry or afraid...
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Ralorn sat alone now in the same room he and Mayroniel had occupied before the boy had been caught. He was lost in thought, a dangerously dark look in his eyes. Much of the preparation was complete now. Mayroniel had sent out two of the guards to watch for any intruders, with the orders that all captives should be taken alive if possible. He wanted to be the judge as to whether or not anyone should be given the right to die if they deserved more in life.
Now that he was left to his own devices, Ralorn discovered his thoughts drifting back to the past, finding and recalling the story of his life as a young elfling. Remembering who he had been and why he had become as he was now. When told in brief the story was short, but there was much under the surface that many did not care to discover, much less understand.
He had been quite young when his human mother died giving birth, taking her life and the life of a little sister that would have been. Despair ate away at him as his father grew quiet and still, choosing to lose himself in the training of the horses of Rivendell. Often Ralorn, as he was called, would be at his side helping him. It was then that he gained a significant understanding of the language of horses, surpassing the knowledge of many. In later years, he would be renowned for his experience with the magnificent beasts.
But as Ralorn attempted to move on with his loss, he quickly discovered that he was being indirectly shunned by everyone his age. The others he had grown up with did not understand his loss, many of them still having complete families. They had no idea what to do with him, the one who suddenly had lost something so dear. They feared his presence, and escaped his gaze. Ralorn was left alone.
Months passed by slowly and painfully, and the silence tore at his soul.
But there was one.
A slightly younger elfling with a gentle nature went out of her way to befriend the hurting young boy. With the sweetness of her mother, little Arwen did what she could to get Ralorn out of his shell. She quickly became his one and only support, his only friend.
Then one night several years after his mother's death, while Ralorn was out gathering bedding for the horses, he noticed two young elf warriors run quickly into the darkness after something he could not see, recognizing them as the twin sons of Elrond. In a moment however, it was the last thing on his mind when the crackle and roar of a sudden fire quickly consumed the large haystack from which he was gathering from, and quickly finding better fuel in the wood of the stable walls.
Fear for his father who was still inside and for the horses trapped in their stalls filled him. Without any thought to himself, Ralorn ran into the stables, yelling at another elf close by to get help before disappearing into the growing flame and smoke of the building. He called desperately for his father as he moved from stall to stall, opening doors and sending terrified horses fleeing for the wide open stable doors. As he reached the south-west side the walls were completely aflame. In the back corner was a feed room, the doorway trapped by fallen wood, and a familiar voice calling desperately to him from within.
Determination filled the young elf, and Ralorn rushed to save his father. The smoke was thick and the flames ravenous, consuming all it could find. Ralorn dug into the fallen logs that blocked the feed door with his bare hands, ignoring the bite of the smoldering coals as they burned the flesh of his fingers and palms. Most of it he cleared and his father was able to force the door trapping him open. The head stableman had barely made it out when over half the wall next to them gave way, crashing down toward the both of them. A burning blanket fell from its peg on the crumbling wall and wrapped around the younger elf's body, consuming Ralorn with fire as he tried to escape.
Ralorn remembered almost nothing of the time after the blanket wrapped about him, violently throwing his balance and he fell to the ground, becoming trapped among the wood he had just struggled to clear away. Afterward, he could remember the smell of the flames and the agony of his growing burns, his father's voice calling to him... shreds of someone picking him up still wrapped partially in that horse blanket, wisps of being dropped suddenly as a deafening crash sounded and something landing hard on him, knocking him out and whoever had carried him. After that, all had faded from his memory.
He didn't know who found him, protected by his father's body, barely alive and almost unrecognizable. Didn't know who cared for him during the first long, cold, pain-filled nights of his delirious moans and weeping that came in response to his horrible pain.
It was not until long after the fire that he discovered his father had perished in the flames, valiantly attempting to get his only son out. Recovery for Ralorn was long and slow, perhaps due to his anger and unwillingness to live. The staggering shock at the fresh loss left even deeper wounds that that of his human mother and the burn scars. Half his skin was now horribly disfigured, including the left side of his face, the most prominent feature that could always be seen. Without a tie to anyone he knew, he could find little reason to live.
He recalled the night of the fire and the memory of the twins running from the stables, moments before the haystacks were overcome with fire. He put the two together, and his anger against the elves that had unknowingly wronged him flared hot within him. They were the cause of his loss, and he wanted them to pay for it. But anyone he told only replied that he was not remembering correctly, that his injuries had affected a part of his memory of that night and no blame was ever placed on the twins. The injustice of it burned Ralorn.
Arwen continued to try and console him, but if Ralorn was angry before, he was violent now. Several months later, a few teasing remarks from some of the younger elves who found the marks amusing and not knowing the true reason why they were there began to reveal some of the dark anger building in Ralorn's young heart. One unwise comment about his scars that refused to heal found an elfling with a broken arm. They knew nothing of his pain, too careless about what they thought and said. None of them understood. Unmercifully, he began to turn his back on them all, his darkening heart encouraging him to raise an iron fist to the world and forget the lessons of honor and discipline taught by his father. Sarcasm and insults got him into frequent fights.
Elladan and Elrohir were of the few that had done nothing to neither help the problem nor add fuel to the flame. They remained in the background, unsure of what to do and still unknowing of Ralorn's hatred of them. Doing nothing to stop Arwen from trying to break through Ralorn's growing fierceness, they feared for Arwen and what Ralorn may do to her.
One night, they got their answer. When the sun was setting beyond the horizon and the twins walking together in the gardens, they overheard a heated argument. Recognizing both voices, they rushed through a few dense trees to witness Ralorn striking Arwen hard across the face. The usual light and mirth that graced the twins was forgotten, their anger now just as fierce as their joy. They tackled Ralorn and got him away from their little sister, just as Ralorn realized the seriousness of what he had done. Brotherly protection and anger flared in the twin elves, and missing the horror written in Ralorn's face Elladan told Ralorn to never come near his sister again.
Ralorn was already horrified that he had reacted so rashly, slapping Arwen because she was telling him to stop lashing out in the way he was. He had been so angry and he still was, and her advice wasn't nearly close to what he wanted to hear. He tried to tell the twins that he hadn't meant to do something so awful, but neither of them were willing to listen to him anymore. Again they told him to stay away from Arwen and left him quickly, taking away his only friend. For a long time, he could not move, could barely breathe.
He was gone the next day. No trace could be found of him, and there weren't too many who really cared. Only Arwen feared for the hardened young elf, but she had been forbidden to go look for him herself. All of the older adults knew of his rashness and because Ralorn was old enough to take care of himself, they let him go his own way.
Ralorn escaped into the mountains, making his home the rocky plateaus and thick trees, and eventually several miles away from Rivendell near the northern mountains he discovered the cave that now housed both he and his men. He grew wise living off the land, and for years he lived in isolation from the world. Then one night he returned to leave the twins a message. It read that someday, somehow he was going to return to them the pain they had given him.
Elladan and Elrohir were amazed to hear from the elf again and knowing of his anger they again began to fear for Arwen, afraid that Ralorn would try to use her against them. Not much time had passed before the twins' and Arwen's own mother was brutally taken from them. Celebrían was taken by orcs and cruelly tortured, and after only a year of struggling recovery ended with the little family seeing her make her final journey to the sea. Arwen left Rivendell to live with her mother's kin in Lorien, and the twins were glad to see her go somewhere that Ralorn couldn't attack her and find the solace to ease her own pain while they stayed with their father and tried to soothe their own.
Years melted away and Ralorn's threat was nearly forgotten, and the fear ebbed away to a shadowed corner of the past.
But Ralorn had not forgotten, and now they were already paying the price.
Ralorn had plans to make good of his threat, but he had not taken it out on Arwen as they had always feared, but rather taken some of his twisted revenge out on Aragorn, their young human brother. For all his anger Ralorn never would hurt Arwen physically in any way despite what her older brothers may think, but he had no problem seeking retribution on the twins through Aragorn instead. The fact that he bore no love for men or the relationship between men and elves did not help, and as his prime target was to hurt the twins there was left no barrier of guilt.
Ralorn's lip curled as he remembered it all. If he was lucky, they would all end up dead and the world would be rid of their despicable presence. He would be rid of his tormentors. And perhaps when they were gone, he could find some peace of mind.
Mayroniel suddenly entered the room, catching Ralorn slightly off guard as few could do.
"My lord," the guard said quickly, bowing to his superior. "The guards have found something that you may want to see."
Ralorn stood to his feet and followed the other elf down the cave's hallway toward the entrance. "What did you find?"
"A stallion, my lord," Mayroniel smiled a bit. "A rider-less stallion from Rivendell."
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Aragorn snapped awake. He hardly had time to chastise himself for drifting off before he noticed the neigh he had heard in his dream was not fading away, it was real. An anger filled cry that came from a horse and from the tone the ranger guessed a stallion. Recalling his dream, he wondered if it was a call from a horse he knew...
He barely had time to think about it before the ranger realized he had jerked Gowen awake. The boy jumped up, quite frightened, but before he got far Aragorn again pulled him close and quickly shushed him. Both of the prisoners could hear distressed calls of a horse that echoed through the cave walls and Aragorn stood slowly. He knew those calls, the odd, yet familiar ringing in the horse's voice hammered into him, striking a cord in his memory and a chill in his heart.
"Tole?" the image of the copper horse galloped in front of his eyes and the conformation of the calls cleared all doubt.
Gowen opened his mouth to question the ranger, but Aragorn silenced him again before the boy could make a sound. Outside the wooden door he heard the faint rumbles of running on the dirt floor. Their guards were running toward the frantic roaring of the stallion. Without thought Aragorn turned and picked his young friend up off the ground. Gowen's leg hardly had time to heal and it would do him no good to walk on it now.
Aragorn tested the handle and was amazed to discover it unlocked. Arahil had been careful to lock the door, but in the guard's haste they had foolishly forgotten where Arahil would have not. Easing the heavy door open the fleet-footed ranger escaped stealthily down the tunnel the guards had just run down.
Aragorn recalled being forced into this cave, pushed and shoved quite a distance by Lom, deep into the cold, stony, muddy depths. Torches now lit the tunnels with their bright, flickering light every several feet, and the ranger could tell immediately that they were headed toward the surface; the original decent down into the cave he could clearly recall from a few hours before was creeping upwards.
Both the ranger and the boy could make out faint sounds of a struggle now; the elves were trying to get a resisting horse under control. Aragorn kept running, though no food and little water had taken a severe toll on his energy. Panting slightly, he barely had time to react before he heard a yelled order.
"Lom! What are you doing here! Get back to your patrol! Don't worry about this... Get moving!"
Aragorn glanced about him desperately, searching for a tunnel to dart into. He wouldn't let either one of them be caught, not now... he swung around and dove into the shadows of a connecting tunnel, pressing Gowen back against the wall and shielding the boy with his own body. Not two seconds later Lom and another guard turned back down the tunnel they had just disappeared from.
Gowen was trembling against Aragorn, for he had no idea what the man was planning and nearly being caught like this would mean horrible consequences for the both of them. He didn't dwell on it long, for outside they heard the snap of a whip over and over, the stallion's roars turning to cries of anger and pain.
Aragorn left the tunnel and crept toward the narrow opening of the cave. Fresh morning air rushed into his lungs and caressed his face, the scent of the mountains easing a piece of his heart, quite literally the best breath he had taken since entering the cave. But he tensed again and his heart flared when he could no longer hear the stallion, or the whip.
"Stubborn bull-headed heap. I'm done with this. My lord, he's far too willful and I don't have time or the means to tame him to my will. He's already injured, just let me kill him and put the beast out of his misery."
Aragorn listened to Ralorn sigh in disgust and defeat. The stallion was a fine animal, one he would have readily claimed, but the horse's heart was obviously given to another and there was nothing he could do to change that. Besides, catching horses was not his main concern, although this was a good sign that someone was coming, and that was an encouraging thought. "All right. I can't believe he followed us all the way out here anyway. If he were stronger..."
Once again Aragorn barely had time to hide himself and the boy before Ralorn and Mayroniel found them. Pulling back into a dark corner two feet away from the narrow entrance, Aragorn put himself between the boy and their captors, not even daring to breathe. Gowen buried his face against the ranger's rough tunic, not trusting his voice. In silence, they waited.
Ralorn and Mayroniel entered the cave and walked down the descending tunnel, disappearing around the corner moments later. Neither of them heard nor noticed the two escapees hiding in the corner as they conversed back and forth about the stallion. Aragorn couldn't believe his luck. He waited for a few moments before bolting out the cave entrance like one possessed.
Outside, he found what he wanted and secretly expected.
The ranger knew the horse in front of him, the dark copper coat and the deep brown eyes. The stallion's head hung low, his sides heaving. A few red stripes covered the sides of his body and one front leg had been injured badly somehow, gashed open from knee to hoof and bleeding.
"Tole," Aragorn whispered, rushing to his stallion and placing Gowen on the ground. He wrapped his arms around the horse's head and hugged him close for a moment. "What happened to you, you old nag?"
Tole nickered wearily in response.
Aragorn knelt down next to the front left leg and inspected the gash, picking up the leg and carefully pulling it forward. Tole stiffened but Aragorn quickly shushed him. "Easy, Tole, it's all right. I'm sorry, Tole... I never thought you'd follow me..." The ranger sounded worried and perplexed.
Not that Aragorn knew, but Tole had still been awake on that night not long distant. The rain had just begun and the stallion had been awoken by something he could not place; it disturbed him and he could find no rest. Shortly, strange noises came from just outside the stable walls, caught by his sharp hearing. Tole heard and perked up as Aragorn's voice manifested itself distinctly, though the sound of it was quite groggy. He sounded like he was in trouble. Another voice, unfamiliar and cold, joined his master's, and all too quickly Aragorn ceased to speak. Fear filled the stallion. Tole bore his teeth and slammed his front feet into the stall door. It gave way under a few powerful hits and allowed him passage. The stallion raced out into the rain to discover a fading disfigured being in the distance. He followed, leaving Rivendell and his friends behind without a second glance.
The journey through the mountains was hard and often Tole lost the tracks, but he refused to give up. He was by birth wild; but raised since he was young in the understanding of the Rivendell elves. He was at home here, wise in the methods of his quest. The wind and the trees aided him, leading him step by step, mile by mile to this lonely cave deep in the northern Misty Mountains. It was only a few short hours ago that he had suddenly been caught in surprise by an elf whose voice and demeanor was entirely different from the elves of Imladris, or the human he was undyingly loyal to. Tole had blatantly refused to succumb to the elf that frightened and angered him. So the elf, one of the beings of a race he had grown to respect back home, had turned on him... hurt him... but in the end brought him here to the one he searched for.
The gash was long but not deep and Aragorn was relieved to find it new and mostly clean. The edges were not jagged and the ranger figured a sharp knife had been used, but in this manner it was for reasons unknown. Tearing a length of his tunic away, he wrapped it tightly around the wound to pinch off the blood flow and temporarily close off the open injury to infection.
"Tole," he again stood in front of the stallion and spoke to him in the Grey Tongue to calm the horse's nerves and help him understand. "My friend, I need you to do something for me. Are you able to walk?"
Tole gently stamped his injured leg, testing it, and looked at Aragorn curiously.
"Good boy," Aragorn told him, scratching the stallion's forehead. "I need you to take this boy to Rivendell for me. Can you do that?"
Tole grunted softly, giving the blind boy a vague glance before suddenly piercing Aragorn with a firm stare and snorted questioningly.
Aragorn shook his head. "No, Tole, I can't come. You are injured and Gowen will be hard enough. Do not worry for me. Just get Little Brother out of here and send back help." Tole swished his tail and did not protest again. He stood quietly as Aragorn untied the lead rope from the rocks that bordered the entrance, before turning back to the boy who sat on the rough ground, waiting patiently.
Gowen listened as Aragorn worked with his horse fearfully. His last beating wasn't even a half day old and already he was asking for something worse. The two narrow escapes had made his heart jump to his throat and his blind eyes were wide and terrified. He heard Aragorn speak in such a graceful way that the beautiful, strange tongue became even more majestic to him. He wondered what the ranger was saying, and even more what he was up to. Though he had some idea of what it could be, he had learned to never try and guess what crazy idea went through that ranger's head. It was futile.
Aragorn's footsteps suddenly were coming for him again. Strong, gentle arms wrapped themselves securely around his body and he was lifted off the ground. His leg throbbed worse than any other injury, but Aragorn's care had taken away much of the original bite. Gowen heard the soft snorting of the horse, and when Aragorn stopped and pushed his good leg over something smooth and sweaty, he knew. The ranger was putting him on the stallion.
Gowen immediately hunched forward and grabbed fistfuls of long mane. Terror was ripping at his courage, and as soon as Aragorn let go of him he released a small whimper.
"Be still." Aragorn's voice and hands were there again, comforting him a little. A thin strap of leather brushed his face as Aragorn placed a leather thong around his neck. A hand lighted on his shoulder, directing his attention to the man again.
"You need to get out of here. The stallion you are on is named Tole, and he's my horse. He can take you away from here and bear you to Rivendell, my home."
"But why aren't you coming with me? What's this?" Gowen lifted the leather around his neck and discovered something cold, hard, and round attached to it.
"I'm sorry but I can't. Tole's been injured; he has not the strength to carry us both. I must wait here. I've given you my ring, Barahir. When you get to Rivendell, give it to Lord Elrond and tell him what has happened to me. But you must get away! I will not let Ralorn harm you further. Go quickly, before he returns. Also..." Aragorn lost his firm voice, replacing it with a tone filled with a heart's desire. "If you find my brothers or my best friend..."
Gowen finished his sentence, familiar with all three from Aragorn's stories of them. "I will send them to you, I promise. But, Strider!" the boy's voice was edged with fear. "I don't know how to ride a horse!"
"Do not fear Little Brother, Tole won't let you fall. Now go on, get out of here. I will wait for help."
Gowen reached out carefully, searching until he found the man and touched the ranger lightly on the side of his face. "Strider... my friend... thank you."
Aragorn gave the hand a firm squeeze. "May the Valar protect you and I. Now go." The last words were soft. Gowen nodded and gripped Tole's thick tresses tightly, still fearful but doubting no more.
"Sit up straight, Little Brother." The boy smiled a trifle and did as instructed.
Going to his horse's head, Aragorn whispered to Tole desperately. "Take him home Tole, keep him safe, my friend. If you find my brothers or Legolas, go to them. But take Gowen to Rivendell." Tole nickered and Aragorn stroked his neck fondly, leaning on the horse for a moment before directing him back home. "Hannon le, Tole. Each nin er estel."
Thank you, Tole. You are my only hope.
Tole turned and walked away from the ranger as Aragorn directed him to the right path, Gowen holding on steadily. In minutes Tole had disappeared, Gowen with him.
Aragorn turned away from that path and looked to the west, the sun overhead, creeping slowly toward noon-day. Clouds were gathering again though, there would be more rain soon. He tried to enjoy the feel of being free, the touch of fresh air and the view of the mountains around him. He didn't know when he would see them again. His heart was torn though, his thoughts lingering with the boy and his own circumstances now that he was gone.
Just before he turned around to go sneak back inside, a dangerously low voice spoke from behind him.
"And what do you think you're doing?"
Aragorn froze. He had been caught... by Mayroniel. One maimed hand slapped onto his shoulder, and the other expertly connected with the base of his skull.
His world faded and went black.