As soon as he had gotten ready in the morning, Arwen came to visit him.
She looked lovely today, dressed all in white, a green stone hanging around her neck and resting closer to her slightly exposed midriff.
Aragorn was curious about the gem and its origins. It usually glowed with the light of the sun, whatever managed to creep through the thick canopies above, but today the entire sky was overcast.
Arwen looked more beautiful than ever to him, and he couldn't help but walk closer to her and stare straight into her deep eyes.
She snickered where she stood and held his hands with hers and said, "You seem to have the left the darkness behind, eh Estel?"
"My doubts are my own, and I've a lot to prove besides, to Silwin and his like, but I won't keep myself away from the light any longer. There's still hope left in the world, and I won't shirk my responsibilities because I keep none to myself."
Arwen's hands went upward to his shoulders. She grasped his shoulder blades and held tight. "There's always hope, Aragorn."
He nodded.
"The moment we lose hope," Arwen continued, "the Enemy wins."
He nodded yet again, not knowing what to say. She was right. Losing hope would be like surrendering to the Enemy. Nay, he would keep hoping that they would be victorious one day.
Arwen smiled. "Come, Aragorn, Lothlorien awaits you. The elves in the city look to speak with you and hear tales of the outside world for few of what happens in the world of men reaches their ears."
"Yes, I look forward to meeting them."
He hoped though that he wouldn't have to meet with Silwin and his kind. He would rather not have to face someone who would blame him for the fault of his forefather.
Isildur might have taken something precious from Sauron and might be responsible for evil enduring in Middle Earth, but Arwen had been right. He was but his heir, not Isildur himself.
Although, deep inside, he felt that his fortune or misfortune was tied to the fate of Isildur's Bane.
Together, they strode out of the tent.
Arwen led him through the great city of the Galadhrim and pointed out where most of the councilors made home and where the Lord and the Lady held their secretive meetings. She also pointed him her quarters but told him she would show them to him one day when the right time came.
Unfortunately, today was not that day.
He was amazed at how the Galadhrim had made their homes on flets. An entire city was made up of homes set on huge mallorn trees.
Lord Elrond and many of his household including Lord Glorfindel and Lord Erestor had told him much of the city known as Caras Galadhon. Hearing their words had made him want to see the city for himself, but he also knew back then that the way to this city was closed to him. It would only open when he proved to the White Lady he was deserving of visiting the city.
After his deeds in the South as Thorongil, his wishes were answered. The Lord and the Lady had granted him entry into the Golden Wood and housed him as a guest, and an elf-friend no less, in their city.
A city that could hold a kingdom of men.
A city that was a timeless treasure.
The words of Elrond and Erestor and Glorfindel did no justice to the beauty of the city itself. Looking at it sprawl before him made him awestruck.
So much so that he hardly heard what Arwen said. So much so he didn't realize that Arwen had stopped describing and looking at him with a curious expression on her face.
"The city's so beautiful," he said.
"That it is," Arwen agreed. "No other city of the elves matches this, perhaps, except maybe Imladris, but then Imladris was conceived as a fortress for the refugees of Eregion rather than a city itself."
"Right!" he remarked. "But, still, Caras Galadhon is a timeless beauty." He looked around and said, "It feels as though time has stopped in this entire city, in this entire country. The aura around is healing, more preservative."
Arwen smiled. "There's much that happens here that is beyond the understanding of the people who live in this age. Knowledge passed down from the previous ages now long forgotten. Ancient powers that are in the back of everyone's mind but long now kept secret as doubt creeps into the minds of the Free Peoples of this age. But it is my grandmother's grace that the woods of this realm are preserved thus. Time does not seem to pass here, but remember, my beloved Estel, it does pass outside as it has always done. If you're looking to count the hours passed here, it's going to be difficult unless you have lived here for a long time."
Arwen's explanation confused him a little.
"I don't understand, my lady," he said, brows furrowed.
She smiled. "The mornings and the nights pass slowly here. The time you have passed here does not equal the time that's passed outside the borders of this realm. It might seem like four days have passed since you were brought to Caras Galadhon, but to the outside world, you have been in this country for ten days at least. Maybe more."
"How?" he asked, amazed and confused at the same time.
Arwen fell silent for a time. "That secret is not mine to tell or for any elf to reveal. Not even my father would reveal such a secret. So, if you are searching for a reason that makes Lothlorien the timeless beauty that it is, consider it because of the ancient magic of the elves and let it lie in the depths of your mind."
After that, she would tell no more of the Golden Wood.
She led him to meet several elves who had gathered to see him.
The guest of the White Lady.
A ranger from the North.
The one who called himself Thorongil. The warrior of famed deeds to the far South.
They greeted him in elvish in turn, but he couldn't understand their tongue. It had a different accent to it, and the verbiage sounded different as well. They spoke a variant of Sindarin, he guessed. He was well-versed in Quenya and Sindarin, but this variant he was not familiar with, though Arwen seemed conversant enough.
He returned their greetings in elvish as well, the elvish he knew, the elvish he had learned and spoken much in the valleys of Imladris. When he had spoken so, many of the elves were amazed, though he could see they struggled to understand much of what he said as well. Fortunately, Arwen could easily translate whatever was said between them.
The elves wanted to know more of his adventures and journeys. And he told them much of his deeds in the south, of his ride with King Thengel of Rohan and the politics in the court of Ecthelion of Gondor. He talked about the differences in the culture of the Rohirrim and the remnants of the Numenoreans. He spoke of declining legacies with a sad face and the constant threat they faced with Mordor right on its borders.
A lot of fruitful interaction went on between Aragorn and the other elves. It went on for so long that he didn't notice that morning had turned to noon. It was soon going to be lunchtime.
"It's time for lunch," Arwen mentioned to him and led him to a ginormous spread the elves had prepared for him. Everyone in Caras Galadhon made merry and celebrated with music and food. Trumpets blared in melody; some of the elves even played flutes. There were lesser drums though unlike in the world of men and dwarves. The melody of the elves was uplifting and entrancing, spreading hope through every cell in his body.
He had heard elvish music a lot in Imladris, but the elves of the Golden Wood played a variety of tunes he had never heard before, though the songs were the same. They sang many lays of the ancient world. Of Beleriand and the Fall of Gondolin, of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad and of Turin Turambar. They also had put in rhyme the Akkalabeth: the Fall of Numenor through what they had heard in stories. And very soon as time passed and the noon reached its height, they played the Lay of Beren and Luthien. As they sang the story in verse, his eyes sought out Arwen, and their eyes met each other. Their lips smiled, and each could sense the other's heart beating.
And when the song had been finished, the elves fell silent for a bit, mourning the loss of the fairest elf-maiden, and then suddenly broke into a dance.
Aragorn pulled Arwen into one, and all the elves around noticed. Some were excited and over-merry, though there were others who he thought frowned. Although they celebrated his guesthood in Lorien, they perhaps might not embrace another union of man and elf.
He danced with her as he had always he would, and that long wish of his came true that afternoon.
When the tune ended, Arwen laughed like an overjoyed elf and drew him closer to her and cupped his face, her fingers grazing through his beard. They stood like this for a while, content to be in each other's arms, before Arwen withdrew and found the elves staring at them with askance brows.
Aragorn too looked the other way, feeling awkward, and went on and calmly sat on a wooden log, chomping on a strange kind of bread the elves of Lorien called lembas. Eating it gave him a strange kind of strength. It made him feel like he might not have to sleep for days now.
The festivities proceeded further, and in the midst of it, a messenger came running from the court and handed over a small piece of parchment to Arwen.
She read it and concern became her expression.
Worried himself, he stood up and walked towards her, but Arwen had put the paper inside the deep pockets of her elven dress and raced up the stairway that led to the higher flets of the mallorn tree.
Left alone, he was surrounded by the elves who asked him to sing a song or two.
At first, he refused, saying, "I'm not good at singing. I'm no bard."
The elves laughed. "You don't need to be a bard, Estel Elrondion, to sing. So sing, hope of our people, sing."
Knowing there was no choice to refuse, he opened his mouth and sang:
A Hadorean, a great lord of man.
A Huorion, a courageous lord of man.
Brave he was, and bearing a word of honor.
Captured by orcs and sold to slavery,
he worked his life as Morgoth's thrall.
Feared by all, he worked and worked,
until the time came of his escape.
Helped about by those his kin,
he went through the Gates of Sirion.
Nevrast was where he spent a year of seven,
when he saw beautiful swans that reminded him of the great Belegaer.
Reached he did, the coasts of Vinyamar.
Found he did, an ancient armor,
bearing the sign of Turgon.
The Great Sea raged, and he came upon it,
saw it frothing white.
From the waters emerged a great figure
Who called himself Ulmo, the Lord of the Waters.
A cloak bestowed, hiding him from his enemies,
he was put on a quest to remind the Noldo King
To remind him of Mandos' Doom.
With a mariner to accompany him,
he went on and on the road eastward.
There he saw his cousin making his way,
though they spoke not any words.
Passed they did through the fell winter,
Soon arriving at the might fortresses of Gondolin.
Taken to the King, the Doom he read,
but the conflict was high in the King.
Gondolin, as fair as proud Tirion, stood strong, he said,
but Tuor argued against.
Loath was Turgon to leave Gondolin, and so he began fortifying the city ever so white.
Rising high in honor, fall in love he did,
with the King's beautiful daughter.
Celebrindal she was called, who loved him in return.
Wed they did, and the child they named Earendil.
When the attack came, Tuor defended it with his will and strength.
Many an orc and many as Easterling he slew that day, he defended the attack from the Great Enemy.
But Gondolin fell, and he led them all out of the city after the King's fall.
Travel they did to the Mouths of Sirion where they rested for a while.
Longing for the West, a journey they took on a ship they named Earrame.
Accepted as elf, Idril and he now stay in fair Valinor.
He stopped and fell silent. The song he had sung was the story of Tuor and Idril Celebrindal. Tuor became the only man to be accepted as one of the Eldar.
"That'd be a mighty song," a familiar voice growled in the midst of the elven company, "though completely undeserving coming out of your mouth."
Aragorn stood up and saw Silwin standing with a company of five elves, their weapons drawn.
The elves around them gasped. Some of them scowled at Silwin for raising weapons against an honored guest of the Lord and the Lady. They made it plain with their shouts and bellows. But Silwin and his cliché ignored them. Perhaps he knew that none of them would come forward and defend a man against the elven kin. Elf wouldn't fight elf, of that Silwin was sure.
Silwin stepped forward. "I warned you yesternight, child of man, that there would be consequences if you court our lady Arwen, and yet you have spent the larger portion of the day with her. You even dared to dance with her and lay your filthy hands on the elf-maiden that's our pride. I wouldn't have a man such as you claim an elf-maiden for a wife. You may be the heir of Isildur, but you're no Beren One-hand. And Arwen is not your Luthien Tinuviel, though she is Luthien's likeness in this age of the world."
Aragorn stepped forward and said, "Arwen's choice is hers to make and yours to respect. If she has made her choice, Lord Silwin, then it is not yours to oppose."
Silwin fumed. "You dare speak against me, mortal?" he bellowed and raised his sword. "You'll die here for this."
Aragorn raised no sword of his. He wouldn't violate his guesthood and bring injury or worse to any elf here. But he wouldn't give up on his right to defend himself.
It wouldn't surprise him if elves here had greater skill than he. Oftentimes, elves had the greater skill. But he, too, had learned from the very best of the elven kindred. They would find he wouldn't go down so easily.
Silwin came at him with his sword and tried to hack at him, but he ducked underneath the narrow steel and pushed Silwin on his back. The elf councilor stumbled forward and fell to the ground.
Seeing their lord's humiliation, the other elves rushed at him.
He ducked underneath another swing of the sword and then held the arms of another elf and pushed him away. The third elf he kicked on his shin before the elf could stab him, and the fourth he jumped and threw his feet at the elf's face. The last elf came at him, yelling at the top of his voice. He parried his attack swiftly by placing his open palms against each other and crushing the blade of the elven scimitar. Its blade was inches away from his nose. The elf tried to push at him with every ounce of his strength, but Aragorn resisted with a strong will of his own.
Pulling hard at the elf, he drove his elbow onto the latter's nose, drawing blood.
Two of the elves then drove at him with their swords from each side, but he staggered a few steps. The elves, losing control, stabbed each other, their life force leaving them.
Aragorn sighed and felt sad at their deaths.
The other three of Silwin's supporters, seeing the deaths of their comrades, ran away, dropping their weapons while Silwin yelled at them for being cowards.
"Duel me, son of Isildur," Silwin bellowed at him. "Fight me."
"I'm not going to fight you, Lord Silwin," Aragorn said. "Enough blood has been spilled this evening on your account."
The other elves who watched the entire fight silently agreed with him. One of the elves he had met yesterday, Vanir, stepped forward and said, "Put down your weapons, Lord Silwin, do not break any more laws. Everyone here has borne witness to your blatant disregard for guest right."
"This man here," Silwin snarled, pointing his finger at him, "dares to court Lady Arwen right in our midst. Tell me, Vanir, that he does not violate his guest right by laying a finger on her and dancing with her so close as though they were man and wife."
"The Lady Arwen, my lord Silwin, had no problem dancing with Lord Estel here. If she did have a problem, I figure our lady can take care of herself quite well."
"The Lady Arwen is naive, my elves, she has fallen under a spell cast by this uncouth ranger from the north. He might be a great leader of men, mayhap wrought admirable deeds in the south, but he has also brought along with him an army of orcs and trolls that now surround our once peaceful realm. And this was not enough... he dares to steal our elf-maidens from right under our eyes and ears. What's he then other than a weapon of our Enemy sent to strike at the heart of this wondrous realm of our people?"
Aragorn grew angry at Silwin now. "I'm not a servant of the Enemy, Lord Silwin," he countered. "Have you forgotten that I have been fighting against Sauron since I have taken birth in this world?"
"The shadow of Mordor works in mysterious ways, Aragorn," Silwin spat. "Isildur and his heirs might just be working for the evil of Sauron. His ancestor, Isildur, took something from Sauron's hands and took it as wereguild for his losses in the war and allowed evil to endure in Middle Earth. We elves lost much in those wars and hoped that we would put down the Shadow once and for all. We deserve peace after two ages of never-ending war. But what does a man of his ilk do? He takes something from the Enemy as a prize and allows the Enemy to wage war upon all of us yet again. For three ages of this world, my lords and ladies, we have fought the long defeat. All because of Isildur and his heirs. They might be working for the Enemy for all we know. And their fight against the growing Shadow must be a feint, to show the Free Peoples that they are all on their side. Haven't we known all these years the treachery of men? Hasn't their betrayal caused us unnumbered tears? This man here works for the Enemy and so did his ancestors."
Aragorn clenched his fists and moved forward.
Sensing the growing tension, Vanir stepped forward and said, "These are unfounded accusations, Lord Silwin. You would be wise to take them back. The Lord and the Lady might not like it if you raised a weapon here inside the Naith."
"Laws may be disregarded in case of a perceived enemy inside of the walls of Caras Galadhon. This one I perceive is one who works for Sauron."
Aragorn could not stand it anymore.
Pushing Vanir aside, he jumped on a surprised Silwin and started to punch his face until it got all bloodied. He wouldn't stop–he was in such a rage.
Vanir and the other elves had to pull him off the lordling.
Aragorn calmed down at Vanir's request and then saw what he had done to the elf-lord.
Knowing this would not go well with the high command of the Golden Wood, he grunted and made his way down the winded staircase until he reached the soft ground. Walking, he made his way to the gates of the great city of the Galadhrim and vanished into the woods as the night closed in, telling himself that he should simply leave the city for the safety of Imladris.