Betad by Wendwriter - thanks :)
Sleep did not visit Estel that night. He was always restless in the days following a battle, and in the last three weeks he had seen battles indeed!
"Elladan! To your left!" Estel roared, wrenching his sword free from where he had buried it in a orc's stomach. Even as another bore down on him with a hideous grin on its discoloured features, Estel watched the graceful arc of Elladan's sword as it decapitated the foul creature, which had been attacking him from the left. For the briefest of seconds, he and Elladan met each other's eyes and shared a triumphant grin.
His heart on fire, blood rushing through his veins, Estel turned away again, hefting his sword with a roar and throwing himself at those he had yet to despatch.
But suddenly, time froze, as if everything was moving at one thousandth of its real speed. Elrohir was down, dazed, and struggling regain a hold of himself. The last orc charged towards him, a grin of evil pleasure on its face, its ugly and clumsy sword raised high above its head.
In a heartbeat, Elrohir would be dead!
His heart chilled with horror at the thought of his brother being slain. Estel wrenched his slender dagger from its scabbard on the belt of his tunic and hurled it with all his might at the orc as it ran towards them. His aim was true, even in the heat of battle, and Estel's heart erupted with a blaze of triumph as he watched the knife strike the orc through the throat. With a bubbling hiss, the foul beast toppled backwards.
Estel let out a breath he didn't even realise he had been holding, as his heart thundered in his ears. It was over – more than a dozen dead orcs were scattered across the plain, their black blood staining his clothes and splattered across his face.
"Are you all right? Are you wounded?" Elladan said urgently, pulling his twin up from the grass and searching him for signs of injuries.
"No, I am fine!" Elrohir was gasping, an arm wrapped around his stomach. He had taken a glancing blow to the ribs. He looked over at Estel as he approached and offered him a rueful smile. "I think I have you to thank for that, little brother! Were it not for your quick thinking, that orc would have had me through the stomach!"
"Watch your back next time!" said Estel with tired grin, trying not to show the pride he felt as both the twins clapped him on the back and tousled his hair.
"You have come on so much this past year," said Elladan with a proud grin, still supporting the breathless Elrohir.
"Indeed," Elrohir added, wincing as he placed the flat of his hand over his sore ribs. "You fight like an elf!"
Estel's smile had almost split his face after that remark; the highest compliment either of the twins could ever have paid him!
Adrenaline rushed through him once more as he recalled the fast-paced and exhilarating fight, and again his cheeks flushed with pride as he remembered how his brothers had praised his courage and his quick thinking. This tale of this bravery had much impressed Elrond, which had led the elf-lord to reveal the many secrets of his foster-son's past that morning.
The young human paced up and down his room, watching through the window as the sun began to set, thinking over all that had happened that day. Now that the initial shock had worn off, he was able to think over the matter clearly and sensibly.
In a mercurial swing of emotions, so common in the time of mortal youth, Estel suddenly found that he was no longer distressed or angry about the information he had learned that day. His second talk with his father had helped him clear his head a little and properly understand his lineage. This was his destiny, his birthright; the purpose of his life. He would not run from it. He would face it, and he would be a greater man than his forefathers before him had been.
He gently took up the hilt of Narsil, wrapping the fingers of his right hand tightly around it and holding the broken heirloom at arm's length so that it glinted in the rich red glow of the sunset.
"With you, I will accomplish great things," he swore.
His heart light, his head still full of dreams, almost giddy with sudden pride and delight, Estel decided that as he was too restless to sleep, he might as well walk amongst the trees for a few hours. Gathering up his cloak and boots, he left his room and headed towards the woods.
"The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinuviel was dancing there
To music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
And in her rainment glimmering.
There Beren came from mountains cold.
And lost he wandered under leaves,
And where the Elven-river rolled
He walked alone and sorrowing.
He peered between the hemlock-leaves
And saw in wonder flowers of gold
Upon her mantle and her sleeves,
And her hair like shadow following."
Estel sang as he walked amongst the birch trees, his heart now high within him. Tonight, he decided, the world was fair.
Then he saw the figure of the most beautiful elleth he had ever seen dancing in the clearing before him. Clad in a mantle of silver and blue, she was tall and slim, like the rest of her kind, with flawless white skin and a wealth of ebony-black hair. It was as though Luthien herself was walking before him!
Afraid that this vision would pass away and never be seen again, the young human quickened his step towards her; calling out: "Tinúviel! Tinúviel!"
The elleth in the clearing turned to him and smiled; a serene and lovely smile. "Who are you?" she asked in a voice rich and warm. "And why do you call me by that name?"
"Because..." Estel found that his throat was suddenly dry. "Because I believed that you were indeed Lúthien Tinúviel, of whom I was singing. But if you are not she, then you walk in her likeness!"
"So many have said," the dark-haired elleth replied gravely, after a thoughtful pause. "Yet her name is not mine. Perhaps though, my own doom will be not unlike hers. But who are you?"
"Estel I was called," he replied, suddenly drawing himself up a little straighter. At that point, he decided more firmly than ever that he would become who he had been born to be. No more would he be Estel. "But I am Aragorn, Arathorn's son, Isildur's heir, Lord of the Dúnedain."
"Then we are akin from afar!" cried the elleth with a merry laugh. "For I am Arwen, Elrond's daughter."
Elrond's daughter? Confusion suddenly slapped Aragorn sharply across the face. His foster father had another daughter?! One that he had never met, and, indeed, never heard of? How could that be? He had lived in Imladris for nigh on twenty years – how could it be that neither Elrond, nor the twins, nor Faelwen ever spoke of this lovely vision of beauty who had captured his heart the moment he laid eyes upon her?
"Often it is seen," he said, with a blushing attempt at gallantry. "That in dangerous days men hide their chief treasures. Yet I marvel at my foster father...and the twins and Faelwen too! For I have dwelt in this house since childhood, and yet have never heard of you! How is it that we have never met before? Surely you have not been kept locked in the hoard?"
"No," Arwen assured him with a smile, looking up at the mountains which rose in the east. "I have dwelt for many years in land of my mother's kin, in Lothlorien. It is many years since I walked in Imladris. It is only today that I have returned to my father's house."
Then Aragorn looked once more into her eyes, and fell utterly and hopelessly in love...
In the days that followed, even as the rest of Imladris gave over to merriment at Arwen's return, Aragorn became silent and grave, much to the surprise of the twins and Faelwen. Initially, they thought that it was the question of his lineage and past which was troubling him and so they considerately let him alone to think the matter over. When almost a week passed, however, and there remained no change in his manner, Elrohir decided to seek him out and question him.
After spending several hours talking to his foster brother, Elrohir left Aragorn's chamber with a very solemn look on his face. He made straight for the library in the knowledge that Elladan and Faelwen had gone there after supper to find a book in order to settle an argument about some fact to do with the fall of Gondolin.
He found that they were still there when he arrived, and that Elladan was teasing Faelwen, gloating in the knowledge that he, had been right.
"Listen to the older and wiser one next time, sister dear," he was saying to Faelwen. "It will save a lot of time!"
"We have a problem on our hands," Elrohir said seriously, sitting down at the table beside them as Faelwen opened her mouth to reply. "It's Estel."
"What about him?" said Elladan, sobering at once. "Did you discover what was troubling him?"
"Oh yes," said Elrohir wryly. "Yes I did. Our little brother has fallen in love, it seems."
"Oh, leave him alone, then!" cried Faelwen good-humouredly. "Do not torment him about it – you tease him enough already! Just let him be!"
"No, no you misunderstand me," Elrohir assured his sister. "That in itself is not the problem. It is not that simple I am afraid. The problem is – he has fallen in love with Arwen!"
For several minutes, neither Faelwen nor Elladan replied. They simply looked at each other in bewilderment and horror. It seemed an almost impossible situation! Impossible and, potentially, terrible!
"Well, what do you think?" Elrohir asked simply, when the silence began to grow unnerving.
"I do not know what to think!" confessed Faelwen, pinching the bridge of her nose, as Elladan just shrugged blankly. "If it came to pass that the two of them were wed - it would end in disaster!"
"She's right," agreed Elladan quietly, nodding.
"Either Estel shall have his heart broken," Faelwen continued. "Or Arwen takes on the burden of mortality and dies. There is no happy ending!"
"Does Ada know of this?" Elladan asked his twin.
"No, not yet," Elrohir replied. "Estel begged me not to reveal this to him."
"Then we had best not do so," said Faelwen gravely. "Perhaps it will all blow over."
"I doubt it, Faelwen," said Elrohir seriously. "You did not see the fervour in his eyes. I do not think this is some passing infatuation! And from what he told me, I do not think Arwen said anything todiscourage him."
"And at any rate – do we not do them both a disservice by hoping that?" said Elladan thoughtfully. "We would show little compassion for their feelings if we did so. I agree, I do not think it will turn out well, but we cannot tell them who they can and cannot fall in love with. If you were told that you must stop loving Haldir, Faelwen, do you think you would be able to do so?"
"No," sighed Faelwen contritely, ashamed of what she had just said. "You are right. We should support him. But I still think this will end badly."
"I'm inclined to agree," said Elrohir. "And it does feel a little well...strange...to think that Estel is in love with our sister. But only time will tell..."
Over the course of the following day, Aragorn became very much aware that the twins and Faelwen felt a little uncomfortable around him. As far as their words and actions were concerned, they were just as kind and warm towards him as they had been for the past score of years, but the young human had a great gift for reading people, and he could see the hint of awkwardness that was betrayed in their eyes when they conversed with him. In the evening, he sought Faelwen out to speak about it, for he had seldom been at odds with his siblings and did not wish to be so now.
He knew where to find her; she had been moping rather a lot recently because a sudden increase in the number of Orcs abroad in Middle Earth meant that Haldir had not been able to visit her in the last four months, nor she him. They had come to depend on an irregular and hurried correspondence - a poor substitute for the routine of going no longer than six weeks without seeing each other, which they were used to. As a result, Faelwen had taken to sitting in one of the bowers in the gardens of an evening, reading and re-reading the letters.
Here Aragorn found her at sunset, looking rather forlorn as she watched the clouds in the sky turn first pink, then russet, then a glowing orange. She held a bundle of well-thumbed letters in her lap and was absent-mindedly gliding her fingers over the one at the top of the pile.
"Is there room for another?" Aragorn called with a sympathetic smile, as he walked down the path towards her.
"Of course there is," she answered with a strained attempt at a smile, sliding over the bench to make a space for him.
As he sat, Aragorn noticed that her eyes looked suspiciously pink – it looked as though she had been crying. "You really do miss Haldir, do you not?" he said sympathetically; and the sentence had the tone of a statement, not a question.
"More and more every day," sighed Faelwen, fidgeting with the letters again. Aragorn extended his hand towards her and she took it, giving it a gentle squeeze.
They sat there in a somewhat companionable silence for the next ten minutes or so, before Aragorn raised the subject he had sought her out to discuss. "Elrohir told you, didn't he?"
"He told me that you have fallen in love with Arwen, yes," said Faelwen solemnly.
"Do not think ill of me, Faelwen, I beg you!" said Aragorn earnestly, squeezing her hand in turn. "I could not bear it if you thought badly of me! I did not choose to fall in love like this!"
"I know, young one," she said, patting his hand with a weak smile. "And I do not think badly of you – I never could. I was just surprised to learn of it, that was all – for I do not wish for either of you to be hurt. However, if you are decided that Arwen is the one your heart desires, then I shall support you every step of the way. So shall the twins."
"Thank you Faelwen," exclaimed Aragorn, his breaking out into a happy smile, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "You are a gem! That means more to me than you realise. Please do not tell Ada yet though – I do not think he will approve, and I do not want him to send me away!"
"Gwador, Ada would never send you away!" said Faelwen. "You know in your heart that he would never do such a thing! I will do as you ask though and say nothing to him of this, but you are forgetting, pen-neth; Adar is one of the most observant and far-seeing elves in all of Arda. I will wager he knows of the matter before you decide to raise it with him."
Faelwen was right. Imladris was not a good place for keeping secrets of any nature, and as autumn began to draw nigh, Elrond – who had long since known of the of Aragorn's love for Arwen – decided that it was time he talked with his foster son.
And so Aragorn found himself summoned to his foster father's study, just as he had been several months before. One again, Lord Elrond explained everything. He was neither harsh nor unkind, but he was firm; making it clear to Aragorn that Arwen, a lady of Imladris and the Evenstar of her people, was – at that moment – an unreachable dream for him.
"But I do not speak for my daughter alone," added Elrond mildly, taking any sting there might have been out of his words. "You shall be betrothed to no man's child as yet. You have a difficult future ahead of you, my son, and much to accomplish."
Aragorn nodded. He understood exactly what Elrond was telling him. The future was uncertain, but if he truly did want to bind himself to Arwen Elrondiel in the years to come, then he would have to prove himself worthy of the hand of a maiden whose lineage was greater than his own. He would have to earn her hand.
It was time for him to leave Imladris.