Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.
(I'm sorry about the delay – work seems to be taking over my life! But I am intending to continue.)
In truth, I do not know exactly where we are going. I know the general direction but the Rangers move their camps from time to time and do not tell others where they are going to settle next. It is my hope that we will pick up a trail, or that we will be found.
We have ridden most of the afternoon and Estel's head is nodding. His questions petered out after an hour or so but they were interesting to answer and gave me some insight into the way his thoughts are growing and beginning to encompass the greater world around him. He has learned some names for trees he has not seen before, and, when we stopped for a few minutes, he came back whistling the song of some birds he could identify only by their call.
Now I have a few questions to ask him. But he must sleep first, for his strength is not yet fully restored and he has begun to cough again. He is not feverish and he grows happier and more relaxed as we go further from Imladris. It is painful to me to admit this but whatever is drawing him to his own people, it is important enough for us to persist in this journey.
As night falls I build a fire for us, in as hidden a place as I can find, and settle Estel in his cloak, my cloak and a blanket. He rests his head on the saddle. I listen to the night, the small rustles and calls as animals move in their own world. And I listen beyond that to the sounds I have heard since my own childhood, the sounds that do not change, that run beneath and through all things in Middle Earth. Then I look to the sky, to the stars and a moon that seems so close tonight. The shadowy patterns on its face have fascinated the child who sleeps by me since he came to live with us. His love of the world and all it has to offer him has brought much joy to my household.
He is like, yet unlike the sons of this line who have been fostered with me in Imladris through the long years. Some have been as studious as he but not as strong-willed; some, like his father, grew up quickly to be strong, stern men, needing little guidance in making their own decisions. To each in their turn have I shown their heritage, and each in turn has gone back to their own people in due time, unable or unwilling to take on the burden of kingship. They knew, each in their own way, that the time was not right, or the man not strong enough to do more than be a chieftain to the Dúnadain. Yet with each son I have looked for someone who might fulfil that destiny.
Estel is different. He looks much as his father did as his age, though he is less heavy-set and he is more open with his feelings. His father learned quickly all the physical skills Estel is coming to master, but Arathorn was not interested in books, maps and pictures, preferring to learn to lead his own people. He gave me his thanks when he left, and I saw him only once after that time, though my sons were often with him.
None before Estel have had these visions, these troubling sights of future or past, I know not which. I do not know if it is an affliction or a blessing. I do not know if such visions should be recorded and interpreted, or driven from him in some way.
My hope is that the boy knows best for himself what he needs to do.
He barely stirs all night. I keep watch but we are undisturbed. I hope my twins reached home safely. The ruse was a simple one, taking Spider with them and leading any pursuit away from us, but I think it will be enough to keep us safe. Elladan will rest, for he has not truly recovered yet, then they may come to escort us home.
I sing quietly to the sun as it rises, and Estel wakes.
"Morning, Papa," he says, before joining his voice to mine. When the golden drop of light that is the sun is revealed by the edge of the world, we are silent for a moment then turn to each other to begin the day.
"Good morning, Estel. You slept well."
He stretches like a cat. "Yes. I'm hungry."
"Then we shall break our fast and continue on our way," I say, reaching for the saddlebags.
"Papa?" Estel says a few minutes later, as he spoons porridge out of his bowl into his mouth. It is a little too hot for him and I can see he is considering spitting it out as he looks at me sideways. Instead, he sucks in air, composes himself and swallows. I nod my approval. He carefully stirs it before trying again.
"Did you wish to ask something?" I say, reminding him of the question he had been on the point of asking.
"Oh, yes. Will we get there today?" He takes another mouthful and then looks up as a bird starts to sing high up in a bare tree, joining the chorus that began before dawn.
"I hope so. Perhaps today. Shall we walk this morning? We have time, and it is a beautiful day. There is more chance we shall see things of interest if we walk."
"Yes, Papa. I'd like that." He smiles, a cheerful, easy smile such as I have not seen him give me for days.
So, once I have shown my son how to erase our presence from the campsite as far as we are able, we begin to walk through the woodlands. Here and there, the smallest pale green leaf is beginning to unfurl, and we stop to admire the way a brown, shiny casing splits to reveal the curled folds of the new leaf.
"Does it grow like that, Papa? Inside? All folded up like that? What makes it flatten out?"
"The sap is rising, Estel. The liquid in the tree flows through the tiny vessels and makes it swell and push aside the brown casing which has held it safe all winter. It is the same as the butterfly you watched last spring, pumping liquid into its wings."
"You mean trees and butterflies do the same thing?" he says, much puzzled. "But they are so different! How can they be the same?"
"The same processes bind all living creatures on the earth, Estel. The same desire to live, to breed the next generation, to grow and fulfil themselves flows through everything. In some things it flows slowly, more slowly than you can imagine. In some, a few days and it is gone."
He runs his finger delicately over the new leaf but says nothing, his brow furrowed in thought. I expect another question but it seems the idea I have planted is not an easy one for him to understand, and he is quiet for many minutes as we continue to walk along the side of the hill. The ground grows steeper, the path more difficult and I lead the horse carefully while Estel runs light-footed on ahead. He slips once but regains his feet and turns to face me, laughing, as little stones tumble down the hill.
"I nearly fell over, Papa!" he says, laughing at himself. "I have big feet! Elladan says I will have to grow tall to match them!"
His mirth is balm to my mind, troubled as I have been by his illnesses. I wish to tell him to be careful but I say nothing. He is not being reckless, he is simply running for the joy of running and soon comes back to me with another find.
We stop again to admire the rolled-up little creature in his hand. It is tiny but he says it is armoured as for a great battle, and it rolled into a ball when he picked it up.
"It is kin to the creatures which live in our woods, Estel. See," I say, as the woodlouse warily begins to unroll itself, putting out antennae and then legs and waving them in the air, for it is lying on its back. "But ours do not curl themselves up like this."
"Perhaps it is more dangerous for them out in these woods," he says, putting the woodlouse carefully back on the ground and watching it as it makes its way back under the leaf litter. "There are so many things to see in the world. I want to see them all, all the people, all the animals, the mountains, the rivers. I want to see the sea, Papa! But most of all, I want to see the old man Halbarad told me about."
He looks up at me, and I know that the time has come for him to tell me why we are on this journey.
"The old man?" I say, giving my permission to him to tell me what has been on his mind.
Estel begins to walk again, the way now having widened to accommodate both of us.
"Yes. He is very old, so old he cannot see any more. Halbarad says he is very wise and he knows all about our people – my people." Estel falters.
"Go on, my son. They are your people. Tell me about this man."
He bites his lip. "I didn't want you to think I thought you couldn't make me better, Papa," he says, unwilling to look at me now. "But I thought perhaps this man would know something – something else."
"Did Halbarad say this man has powers as a healer?"
"Yes. He said all his family trust him and he helps them. Maybe if I just explained about, you know, about these sort of dreams I have, he'd understand and help me. Do you think he might?"
I put my arm round my son's shoulders and we walk forward together. "It is worth trying, my son. It is worth trying."
At midday, we stop to rest by a stream. Estel washes his hands and face in the cold water, then tries to drag his fingers through his hair, which is even more unruly than usual.
"Come here," I say, and he moves to me, shaking the water from his hands. I smooth his hair and reach to begin to braid it, then stop. "Shall I tie it back, as Halbarad has his tied back? I think it is how your people wear their hair."
"Yes please!" He looks at me, his face shining with happiness. "Make me into a Ranger!"
So, with only a few tugs and grimaces, we manage to tie his hair back from his face, leaving most of it loose but the front hair tied at the back of his skull with a leather thong. We have a short discussion about whether he should look muddier than he already does to meet the Dúnedain, or whether he should be cleaner. I win and he goes back to the stream to clean his boots. His clothes are mismatched, for he is still wearing his spare shirt while his other clothes dry out.
"I ought to have a weapon," he says when he returns, practising looking bold and grown-up by standing as tall as he can and looking as grim as he can, which in truth is unconvincing. "Will my knife be enough?"
"You're going to visit your people, not fight them, my child! Come, though – let us at least polish up this blade and sharpen it, then you can wear it in your belt. I think you will look sufficiently Rangerish then. Now come, let us have this bread and cheese, then we will ride on this afternoon. I hope we will meet up with your people before tonight, for I have found the trail."
And in the late afternoon, as we pass through a glade of tall, slender trees I rein in my horse and greet two tall, grey-clad men, who appear in front of us and bar the way.
"I am Elrond, of Imladris. I have brought Estel with me to visit you."
I nudge Estel, who had been resting his eyes for a moment, and he looks up. I hear him gasp, for the men looked sternly at him, and they both bear swords. He has seen Rangers before but not in their own country, guarding their people.
One approaches us, sheathing his sword and looking curiously at the boy who sits in front of me.
"Is it you, my boy?" he says. I worry for a moment that this man will forget, and call Aragorn by his true name, but the moment passes. These people have as much reason as I for keeping this child secret. "I am your mother's cousin," he says. He reaches up and Estel allows himself to be plucked from the saddle and then swung up onto the Ranger's shoulders.
"Papa!" he says, grinning. "I'm so tall!"
I jump down from my horse and follow the three, feeling suddenly that my son has become, in a moment, a stranger to me. It is a sad feeling, and I am glad Estel does not see it in my face, for we are heading down into the valley and I can smell woodsmoke and begin to see roundhouses and people.
We are coming in triumph to the Rangers' camp, and Estel will be among his people, and I feel the ghost of the loss that is to come overshadowing my heart.