Chapter 9

Aragorn took one of the valley's woodland paths. It was the first time he had tackled one of the steeper trails but he felt in need of solitude for his mind was filled to overflowing with information.

He had been too tired to speak to his mother after the meeting with Elrond the previous day and had taken to his bed. It seemed that while he slept Elrond's words had settled into place, like the missing pieces of some puzzle that had vexed him by their absence all his life.

This morning Gilraen had come to him. At first it was clear that she was a little cross at Elrond's actions but, Elrond having dropped the stone in the pond, Gilraen had obviously decided that it was a mother's duty to help to steer her son safely through the resulting waves.

For a large portion of the day they remained closeted in Aragorn's chamber and at last he learned of his father and grandparents. At first it was general information about his line of descent but, when they had eaten the lunch Elrond sent and drunk the fine wine that came with it, talk turned to simpler things. At last, Aragorn learned what manner of man his father was; wise and stern, brave and loving. When Gilraen finally spoke of his death at the hand of orcs, when out fighting with the sons of Elrond, he began to understand more clearly her distress at his recent actions and her anger at Elladan and Elrohir.

After she departed Aragorn slept a little but upon waking, discovering that the sun had not yet set, he decided to clear his mind with a walk. Knowing that Elrond would disapprove of him walking so far from the house unaccompanied he avoided the confrontation by the simple expedient of not telling him. He needed to be alone and he knew of a small lake by a glade where he could sit in peace to consider what he would do with this new life that had been thrust upon him.

The air of the valley of Imladris was always milder than the surrounding mountains, even in winter and Aragorn drew it deep into his lungs, smiling when he felt only the faintest tug from his now healed rib. He only needed his stick for the steeper parts of the path and at other times he swung it jauntily. Caught up as he had been in thoughts of his lineage he started to sing the Lay of Luthien, for her husband, Beren was a long distant sire.

It was as he finished the verse depicting the first meeting of Beren and Luthien that a flicker of light at the edge of his vision brought him up short. It had been a long time since he had suffered the strange lights but for a moment his heart stopped in alarm. Then he realised that this was different, not a strange luminous glow but the splintered glint of sunset upon something hard. He turned to find its source and discovered himself beside the glade and there, strolling between the silver stems of the birch trees about its border, was the most beautiful maiden he had ever seen.

His mind refused at first to accept that what he was seeing was not some vision drawn forth by song in an over tired mind. For there, to his seeming, walked Luthien herself, the nightingale, fairest of all elf kind that has lived down all the long ages. She appeared to float, her blue and silver mantle so heavy that it did not stir with her passage. Then a stray breeze lifted the dark fall of her long hair and he saw again the glint that had caught his eye. For her tresses were held back from alabaster brow by a mithril fillet studded with clear white gems like stars, and in youthful fancy Aragorn imagined Elbereth, the star kindler herself, gifting it to the lady; for surely she deserved such an honour?

Growing up as he had amongst the beauty of many elven ladies, yet he had never felt his heart stirred by one. Whether because their faces hid long years that intimidated a young mortal or simply that his heart had not found what it sought, he had never questioned. Now he had his answer. It seemed that, like his long distant elven kin, his heart was bred to love only one.

She turned to leave and, fearful of losing her, Aragorn called out the first name that came to mind, remnant of his song . . . "Tinuviel, Tinuviel!" as Beren had once done upon first seeing Luthien as she danced in a similar glade.

The vision turned once more, gliding across the grass on silent feet to stand before him. When he only stood, tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth, she smiled. "Who are you? And why do you call me by that name?"

"I had been singing the Lay of Luthien and suddenly there you were, just as I had imagined her."

The lady laughed softly and Aragorn was reminded truly of the song of the nightingale he had named her. "I am not she." Then she looked deep into his face and pain flickered briefly in the depths of her eyes. "And yet, perhaps one day I may share her fate." Then she smiled again and Aragorn thought for a moment that he knew her.

Mentally shaking himself, he made a bid to gather in his scattered wits, bowing formally. "I am Es . . . I am Aragorn, Arathorn's son, Isildur's Heir, Lord of the Dunadain." Even as he recited his newly discovered lineage he wanted to stop up his mouth, for such a great line would be as the blink of an eye to elven kind.

She only laughed again. "Then we are distant kin. I am Arwen, whom some call Undomiel."

When Aragorn only continued to stare blankly she added, "The daughter of Elrond."

Aragorn's brows drew down in confusion. "Elrond has a daughter? I have lived here since a babe and never has he mentioned you. Where have you been hiding these years? I thought I knew every corner of this valley."

Arwen lifted a finely arched brow and Aragorn knew now why he had thought her smile familiar. It was a trait used often by her sire and brothers. "I have been living with my mother's kin beyond the mountains. But my grandmother decided it was time I returned to visit my father. It is many lifetimes of mortal men since I have walked here and I have a favourite spot to watch the stars, just beyond this glade."

That was when Aragorn realised how hopeless was his plight. He was barely twenty years of age and this elven maiden was born before his great, great grandfather. Oh, their bodies looked the same age but the minds within were vastly different. And yet he knew at once that he loved this lady and would never love another. Could the Valar truly be so cruel?

Aragorn's heart saddened as those thoughts found root and, bowing again, he said. "Then I will leave you to your contemplation for it is time that I returned to the house. I suspect your father will already be sending out search parties. I have been ill and was not given permission to stray so far."

Arwen smiled and her eyes twinkled with amusement. "Then you had better return swiftly. My father has an uncanny knack for knowing where to look for his strays."

Turning, Aragorn walked back the way he had come, leaning heavily upon his stick and feeling anew every ache of his mortal body. Arwen watched until he disappeared from site then turned thoughtfully for the small lake and the first evening stars.

O0O

Gilraen noticed a difference in her son when he returned. Thinking he would turn to her eventually she said nothing for many days. But when Aragorn's sombre mood did not lift she approached him directly. Snows had come to the surrounding mountains during the night and although none lay within Imladris the air was sharp enough to prickle the nose and numb uncovered mortal fingers. As was often his wont of late Aragorn sat in the pavilion by the Lady Celebrian's rose garden. He was bundled against the cold in a fur lined cloak and when he saw his mother he lifted a corner of the blanket draped over his legs, by Lindir of course, to allow her to share its warmth.

"Good morning, mother." Aragorn leaned in to kiss her cheek.

"Good morning, Aragorn." She waited, admiring with him the raw boned beauty of the naked garden. When Gilraen could stand the silence no longer she decided it was time to prize open her son's mind. "You have been withdrawn for many days and yet Elrond says you are healing swiftly now and will soon be able to ride again."

Aragorn smiled ruefully and patted the thick blanket covering their legs. "I wish he would explain that to Lindir. Elrohir has already selected a horse for me. He is not Brethel but he is high spirited and strong. He and Elladan will ride out with us tomorrow to see if I and Baranfaer will suit."

His mother laughed. "Well, I for one am grateful for Lindir's care. Even with gloves my hands were beginning to feel the cold." She paused, considering how best to precede now that she knew it was not the enforced inaction that troubled him. Their people had ever been ones for plain dealing so Gilraen decided to simply ask. "You have been distant for many days. What troubles you? Is it your heritage?"

Aragorn shook his head. "Not directly."

Gilraen silently berated the elven foster father who had taught him to remain so close mouthed. "Then indirectly?"

When he turned to face her at last, Gilraen was surprised to see sorrow and hopelessness in his gaze and she fumbled instinctively to take his hands in hers beneath the blanket. "What is it, my son?"

Aragorn looked away. "You have seen the Lady Arwen? She returned recently from Lothlorien."

"Elrond's daughter? I have. Although I have not yet been privileged to speak with her." When her son made no further comment Gilraen considered more closely his words. Elrond had once told her that Arwen lived with her grandparents and would continue to do so. When the lady had arrived, unanounced, a few days ago Elrond had seemed worried rather than pleased. Since then Gilraen had noticed her sons gaze drifting often to the lady in the Hall of Fire and had even noticed Arwen watching her son upon occasion. Her heart sank as she realised the implication. "You cannot believe yourself to be in love with her."

Aragorn's reply was swift and sure. "I do not 'believe' myself to be in love with her. I 'am' in love with her."

"You aim too high, Aragorn. We are from the line of kings, yes. But we are mortal and she is an immortal elf. To marry would be folly, even were she not the daughter of Elrond. Already she has lived many times the age you can hope to achieve. Her wisdom is greater than we can imagine and, even if Elrond were to permit such a union, you will grow old and frail while she remains hale and fair."

Aragorn withdrew his hands from her grasp, turning to survey the empty garden once more. "And yet Beren, our forefather, wed Luthien, the fairest of elvenkind that was in the ancient world."

Gilraen closed her eyes, considering as a mother how Elrond would feel about any union between a mortal and his only daughter. "Luthien chose the path of mortality. She is the only one of her people who did not arrive in the West. Would you wish that upon Arwen? Would you wish it upon her father or her mother? Elrond has protected and raised you as his own."

Aragorn's voice took on a stubborn tone that Gilraen rarely heard. "Perhaps the lady will gainsay her father in this matter and wed without his consent. She is of an age to do so now, as will I be in a few short months."

Gilraen tried to remain calm. "If you were to wed and there was issue of your union how long do you think that child would survive without Elrond's protection? Imladris has provided sanctuary and support for our house for generations past. Our whole line could die out for the sake of your love."

When Aragorn only continued to look out into the garden Gilraen sighed and rose. "Think on what I have said, my son. And choose wisely your path."

It seemed to Aragorn that there was no choosing to be done and he was now destined to walk a dangerous and very lonely path.