Chapter Eleven: Wise Choices, Hard Choices

When Elrond left the little boy to break his fast, his mien turned serious and his footsteps pondered their way to Glorfindel's quarters. They were empty and quiet. "Outside, surely," he said to himself, and turned that way. The sunny morning promised a cheerful setting for the grave, sad matters that needed to be attended, and as Elrond came to the corner of the terrace they favored for gatherings of certain numbers, he saw that Glorfindel, of the same mind, had preceded him. Deep in thought, he sat on the balustrade gazing at the clusters of red berries among the rowan branches gently waving above.

"They are coming soon," he said to Elrond, "and our brothers of the Council."

"Elrohir will join us as well. He will speak also for Elladan, who is taking the child to the stables and perhaps fishing. They have given much thought to this question, and their counsel is worthy because of their closeness to him."

"Yonder, the Dúnedain," Glorfindel pointed to the stairway leading to the gallery. "I see Haldabar, and Pethion, and his brother Saldan... and Dirhael, father to the lady Gilraen. The others I know by sight, but not their names…"

The group of men, eight in all, climbed swiftly to the terrace and came towards the elf-lords, while from the wide doorway of the main house came Elrohir and four tall, serious elves. They came together under the tree and bowed silently. Elrond spoke.

"Be you all welcome, my friends, and my thanks for your quick response. Have you rested, and have you broken your fast?"

"We have, my lord, and our thanks to you for sustaining us in this terrible passing," said Haldabar. His eyes, and those of all the Dúnedain, showed a night of weeping rather than a good sleep, but they held their emotion in check now.

Elrond waved them to their seats, and took his own. The Dúnedain and the High Elves exchanged silent greetings and settled about the terrace bay. All attended the words of the Lord of Imladris. "Ever have we been united," Elrond began, "our two kindreds, and we Eldar hold dear the blood we share with thee. In our count, it is not far gone that Luthien and Idril were thy foremothers, and Beren and Tuor our forefathers. Ages may pass, but still we feel this loss as one of our own, untimely fallen to chance, and the Enemy." After a moment, Haldabar spoke.

"Thank you, my lord, for your kind words," he said. "Not all of the Dúnedain can claim this high kinship, but those of us who can, even from afar, value it as the supreme inheritance and grace of the Valar. And even the others, not of Luthien's own, hold your society in the greatest regard. And your counsel, lord, on this day of our bright light's extinction." He paused, and sighed. "We are at a loss, Master Elrond. It is not in our history to pass the chieftainship to another, not the Heir of Isildur, and among all the sorrows we have had to survive, it has never befallen that we lose one and are left without a successor. Even now we cannot deviate, though Aragorn is but a small child. And there are none who would say as much."

A murmur of affirmation ran through the company, then Haldabar spoke again. "We are not of one mind, however, on the matter of the best course of action for the child's care and education in these coming years. Lord Arathorn was personally in charge of rearing the Heir of Isildur, both in design and imparting of knowledge. And we his people were all living together in the sanctuary, gathered in anticipation of emerging finally from our ages of silence…the signs seemed to prophesize it…

"But we were mistaken in reading them and now must scatter, leaderless, and await the years for Aragorn's rising. What his lot shall be, now, is the great question that brings us to your counsel, Lord Elrond." The Dúnedain warriors looked to the elf-lord, nodding slightly in assent.

"What says the Lady Gilraen?" inquired Erestor. "We knew she would not be present at this meeting, but surely her word is known to you, Elrond."

"There is none as yet, my Lord Erestor," said Elrohir at a sign from his father. "Just now I have been to see her, but she says little more than this night past…"

"It is our wish, my own, my sons' and kin's, that the Lady and the child make their home in Imladris," Elrond said directly. "A part of Aragorn's fostering would have happened here in any case, even if this terrible event had not occurred. And Gilraen requires healing at the hands of her teacher and the other wise-women. Even then, she will never be as she was. Her only remaining task as Lady of the Dúnedain will be to care for the boy, though she will not be burdened. He will be attended by our entire household, as one of our own." He smiled, briefly. "Though we have not had a child of our own in this house for many a long year…"

The Dúnedain remained silent, seeking each other's eyes, and finally Haldabar said: "We find your counsel wise, as always, Master Elrond, and not unexpected. There are many among us who would take mother and child into our homes, but there is not a place of true safety for them. These are harsh times, and so will be especially this winter, soon coming. I speak for my brothers: we are of one mind with you on this matter, and thankful that Aragorn and his lady mother may enjoy this haven."

The words floated and settled, and though they were correct and meaningful there could not but be a wrenching of many hearts. The Dúnedain Rangers did not show their feelings, more so knowing that the right course had been taken. What they carried away in their hearts, however, would be mulled over around many campfires in years to come. They would miss their lord, even more than they had his own sire, the Lord Arador, for now they would miss them both. And the Lady Gilraen. And the child! His bright joyfulness had lighted the lives of all, and now no more. His childish laughter would ring in these halls and then fade, as he grew, and when he returned to them he would be a man. A score of years, perhaps, during which they would be even more silent and elusive, and so raise the crop of children that would still, in time, be the cohort that would ride with their chieftain to glory…by the grace of the Valar.

Now Elrond spoke once more, his words intruding on the men's reflections. "There is further to be said, regarding the child." All turned to him. He sighed and continued, "The events yesterday were such that he was overwhelmed, and though displaced he was kept from fear by the closeness of his mother and his new-found charge, the care of Arathorn's great horse."

"That is so, my lord," said one of the Dúnedain. "With all our grief, not one of us but was tickled by Little Aragorn leading Rogarin to stable, following Elladan and the other riders, and we watched them settling the great beast down. The boy seemed happy, and we were grateful…"

"But the rent in his life left by the loss of his father, the chieftain, will swallow him up if we allow it to settle. Though it may seem cruel, or disloyal, I believe it is necessary for the boy to forget all that has passed…even what short life he has known, even the most worthy of fathers, as was his." Elrond paused. The Rangers looked at him in shock and disbelief, but still none spoke. "In time, when he comes of age, all will be revealed to him: name, rank, lineage. His illustrious sire. But from this day on, he will be called by a different name, and we will labor tirelessly to divert him from the memory of his life before."

"He would be raised for the chieftainship. From the coming of summer he was schooled by our lord, and the wise among us. How will the teaching continue, if he knows not who he is?" Haldabar seemed agitated.

"He will come to his station by the long way around, my friends," said Elrond gently. "His learning will be rooted in earth, air and water. The history of Arda as revealed to the Eldar by the Powers themselves, and the stories of the ages…there are some among us that were born in the Blessed Realm; others in Beleriand, as myself at the fading of its day. He shall learn everything, bit by bit, over the years… Númenor, Eregion, Arnor and Gondor…he shall know his friends and his enemies… And when all the pieces but one are in place, that last shall be delivered, and his true name will finally be known to him, and that of his father. This I promise."

The songbirds alone relieved the enduring silence, as elves and men meditated on these words. That they came from the deepest wisdom, this the men knew, for their race had ever been guided by the Eldar in times of strife and doubt. Their alliance of thousands of years was rooted deeply in the heart of each Dúnadan, and in this time of sorrow they chose to trust once again. More was said that day, until the Sun was past her summit and the Dúnedain took their leave and rode the sad path back to the wilds of Eriador.

xxx

Pethion reined his mount in next to Haldabar, when the path widened enough for two riders at their ease. The entire company of the Dúnedain had joined back together at the crossing of the paths, the detail that had ridden to Rivendell with Gilraen and those that had remained to finish their lord's burial and the hiding of his tomb. Sad and tired, they now approached the sanctuary in almost the same force as had ridden out, full of song, barely five days past. Haldabar, now captain of the Rangers, led the men in melancholy silence.

"Have you spoken to our brethren of what was said in the council?" Pethion kept his voice low, for Haldabar's ears alone. He had, himself, been going over Lord Elrond's words, once and again, always coming to the same conclusion… uncertainty.

"I have not, for it must be told to all… to them, to the women, to the elders, especially, and in some simple way, even to the children. All will wonder where the Lady and Little Aragorn are." Haldabar shifted in his saddle, anxious and disturbed. "I would tell the story once only, and then no more. We will call a council at once."

"The people are most assuredly waiting for us at this moment. They need to be told, and we all need comforting." Pethion smiled sadly. "Even we, who know, need to speak out… only once, I know, and then put it away… forever."

"This will be harsh. It does not sit well with me to gather the people and give them such news." Haldabar appealed to his friend. "Let us stay together, my brother, if you please. I will speak as I can, but perhaps you may find better words when mine dwindle away. As they will, I know…"

"We are one, the Dúnedain. We may fall to the Enemy's evil strokes, but we will never cause breakage among ourselves." Smiling, Pethion took his companion's shoulder. "There will not be one voice among the people who will chastise you."

"Not even for leaving the child and the lady?" Haldabar's anguish finally poured out through his tears.

"Even then," answered Pethion quietly. "This burden is not yours alone. We all agreed to Master Elrond's reasons, and we had no better thoughts to offer."

The two friends rode on in silence, followed by the troop of warriors. Soon they were crowning the high ridge over the valley of their chieftain's sanctuary, and Haldabar signaled a halt. He turned his mount to face his companions, and motioned them to approach. "We shall wait a bit, rest our horses and settle our hearts. Dusk is nigh, and I would take the path downwards only after darkness covers our movements. I cannot say, even now, that we are unwatched by servants of the Enemy." Men and mounts shifted uneasily.

"Dismount," said Pethion, and followed suit. Some walked their horses, others loosened saddle cinches and slipped bits from sore mouths. Haldabar set three men to keep watch, and encouraged the rest to stretch their long bones out on the high mountain grass. There was a random low buzz of talk, and finally silence as they watched the night creep up the side of the valley.

When shadows sat thickly on all, aided by scraps of mist from the forest, the men remounted and set off down the path, single file, without a word. Their shapes were quickly swallowed into grayness, and had any eyes been following, they would not have pierced the well-guarded secret of the entrance to the valley.