Attention: I have just revised this. Fanfiction cut out some of the paragraphs I typed due to technical problems, but I have fixed the problem. (8/25/07)

A/N: I will try to put more chapters up more frequently. Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed. Your words of encouragement help. Flames will not be heeded. If you don't like, don't read.

There are 11 more years left before the year Frodo begins his journey. In this chapter we will see a close relationship between Aragorn and Arnen. Enjoy! R&R please.

Cinnamon and a Ring

"It is good to have you back, Arnen," Lord Elrond smiled kindly. He motioned to two maidservants walking past his study. "Linde and Irima, ready Lady Arnen's chambers and lay out fresh garments for her."

They bowed then left to do as told. Closing the study door after them, Elrond eyed the young woman who sat beside Gandalf soaked to the bone. Sighing, he made his way over to the chair to the right of Arnen. Taking her hand into his he looked into her eyes. Sadness was still present, but not as severe as what he had seen during Gilraen's funeral. Searching deeper he found loneliness.

Arnen did not squirm under his deep, penetrating stare. She was accustomed to the way he searched. It was a gift she herself tried to master under his guidance; yet she couldn't succeed. He had taught her many things about the past, prophecies, spells, and subjects of that nature. When she wasn't with Gandalf learning, she was normally with Elrond. Thinking all these thoughts, she patiently waited for him to speak.

"Now," he began softly, "how do you fare?"

Arnen almost rolled her eyes, but she knew he was being sincere. 'Atar knows what it is like to lose both his mother and father…in a sense.'

Sighing, she spoke to Elrond for the first time in a week. "It hurts."

"Yes, it will for a time. But your gift, child. How do you feel physically? I need to know."

"I feel alight. I am a bit tired, though."

"Then go and sleep. This has been a hard week."

Arnen smiled softly and rose to leave. Elrond stood and kissed her on the forehead. "Be at peace, Arnen."

"Thank you, atar."

Just as she was about to leave the study, Gandalf called out. "Arnen, remember to go to your brother once you awaken. He will need you."

For the first time since she ran from the fortress Arnen thought about Estel. Overcome with guilt for forgetting her elder brother she ran out of the study. She did not go to her room but instead went to the chamber of her naneth. Standing silently outside of the doors she pressed her ear against the cool cherry wood. Not a sound came from the room. He was in there, though, she was certain. Opening the door she hesitated. She had not been inside the room since her mother died. Taking a deep breath she entered the room.

The air smelled of eglantine, Gilraen's favorite flower. Laced among the floral scent was cinnamon.

'Naneth loved the way cinnamon smells.' Arnen smiled at a distant memory.

'Nana, what is this powder?' seven-year-old Arnen asked. Reaching into a crystal bowl on her mother's vanity she fingered the brown substance inside. Taking her hand out, she licked the sweet smelling matter on her fingers. Instantly, she regretted doing so. Screwing up her face she attempted to spit the horrible taste from her mouth. Gilraen laughed merrily at the child's discovery of her favorite spice.

'That, my child,' she said to the sputtering girl, 'is cinnamon.'

'Cimanon,' Arnen tried the word.

'No. Cin-na-mon. I place a little of it in water each day. Then, I use the water to cleanse my hands.' She held out her palm. Arnen came forward and place he little nose on the outstretched hand; she breathed in deeply. The sweet and spicy smell of cinnamon tingled her senses.

'Mmmm,' she giggled cheerfully, 'cimanon.'

"Cinnamon," she whispered.

"Her favorite," Aragorn's voice made her jump.

Looking towards the window she saw him sitting in a green velvet armchair. He looked worn and weary. His beard had grown out. Drawing closer she saw his eyes were red, from lack of sleep or crying she did not know. Arnen pulled the wooden stool from Gilraen's vanity beside Aragorn. Neither spoke for a while but looked out the window, each with their own thoughts. Arnen worried about Aragorn while Aragorn thought about his mother's last words to him.

'Come here, son,' Gilraen whispered.

Aragorn knelt by her bedside. Gilraen reached out and stroked his hair.

'You were too young when your father died to remember him, were you not?'

He knew the question was not meant to be answered.

'Now, you look just as he did, apart from your eyes. Those eyes are my grey.' She smiled. 'Aragorn, you have grown to be an honorable man. Already you have earned the respect of many…'

'The choice of my path…'

'Is not,' Gilraen stopped him, 'and never really was a choice at all. Your destiny has been set in stone. You must take up the crown, or I fear all will be lost for the race of Men.'

The urgency in his mother's eyes stilled him into silence. She had never spoken with him upon this subject with such force.

'Your life is no longer your own, my son. Prepare for what is to come.' As she said this, the dying woman pulled a leather thong from around her neck. She opened the small pouch that hung at the end of the cord.

'Hold out your hand, Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor.' Her voice had become stronger.

Holding out his right hand, palm up, he awaited the gift. Gilraen turned his hand over and placed upon his middle finger a ring. Intertwining silver dragons created the thick band about his finger. In the center of the base of his middle digit their gaping mouths met and there sat a glimmering emerald. He marveled at the detail of the dragons' scales and the brilliance of the gem.

'Your father was never without this ring. It belonged to his father and his grandfather and his great-grandfather all in turn. The first bearer of this ring was Elros-Tar-Minyatur, the brother of Lord Elrond, the first king of the Numenoreans. It has been passed down to the heir of the throne when the time has come for him to take his place as king. So, take this ring, Aragorn, as a memory of your duty, your people, your kin, your father, and me.

A single tear slipped down his cheek. He was startled when a white handkerchief wiped the drop from his face. Turning toward Arnen he blinked as he tried to place who she was. Slowly he drew himself out of his mind and remembered his sister. "You are soaked. Where have you been, nethig? You had us all so worried."

"I am sorry, Aragorn. I just could not…I did not…I…," her voice trailed off as tears threatened to pour again.

Aragorn pulled the gasping youth into his lap. For a time the two shared only silent sobs, but the tears began to subside. Maybe if they had done that days ago they would have been in better condition. Slowly, melancholy gave way to mirth. Arnen chuckled between sniffs causing Aragorn to laugh. Soon, brother and sister were laughing aloud. Neither knew or cared to know what the reason was for this sudden change, instead they basked in their happiness.

When their laughter calmed Arnen answered his question, "I went to E-ngaladh."

Aragorn shook his head in amusement. "I'll never understand why you are constantly drawn to that tree."

Arnen stood up and walked to the deep red doors. "That makes two of us. Freshen up. Everyone is anxious to see if you are still alive."

Well, Arnen is healing from this blow quite nicely. As you have probably figured out, Arnen has named the gnarled tree E-ngaladh (the tree). Yes, it is simple, but that makes it easier to remember. By the way, eglantine is a real flower in Middle-Earth. It is a sweet smelling, wild rose. Review and I will update.