Note: This chapter contains snippets from the Lay of Leithian.
Aragorn could not sleep the night. He thought–and perhaps overthought–on the words the elf councilor, Silwin, had spoken in the throne room.
The elf had seen his kind to be weak. He had as well blamed his forefather, Isildur, for not having the courage to destroy the evil of Sauron when he should have done. Instead, he had embraced the darkness as wereguild for his losses in the war.
If a great man like Isildur can be weak, what chance did he have against the darkness that rises again in Mordor? What chance did he have should this Isildur's Bane be found again?
Some of the Wise told everyone that Isildur's Bane would never be found again in Middle Earth, yet there was a forethought growing in his mind that, soon, Isildur's Bane would show itself in the light. Flashes of a golden fire circling itself against the backdrop of an ashen stone flared itself in his visions, and in the midst of it a glaring Eye kept flashing.
Should this Isildur's Bane be found again and brought among the Wise of Middle Earth, would he be able to withstand the dark words of Sauron? Would he be able to deny taking its power like Isildur deigned to?
The elves in Imladris spoke highly of Isildur and never much about his faults except for the fact that they were disappointed with Isildur's actions at the end of the war. They were however unaware at that time that the evil of Sauron would endure because Isildur refused the counsels of elven-wise.
But many of the elves in Lothlorien remembered what Isildur did and saw him for his weakness rather than his courage facing the Dark Lord. Most of them thought that the deaths of their kings and so many of their kith and kin were in vain. By a man's actions, the evil was allowed to endure.
He understood Silwin's hate for him. He might have lost people in the wars of the Last Alliance.
The curtains flapped near the mouth of the huge golden tent he was housed in. A cold wind gusted from the east, and he could see that he liked it not for the east wind bore the Shadow's thoughts. A raspy voice came riding upon its wings and whispered nasty things in his ears.
The elf is right. Men are weak. You may as well surrender to the Shadow.
I smell it on you, you of Numenorean blood, but it will not save you from me.
You're unbecoming of being a lord. You're weak. You shall soon succumb to my webs of darkness.
And then, just like the east wind had come, a west wind blew as well, driving it away from the eaves of the golden trees. It brought voices along with it too.
The blood of kings run deep within you. So, despair not of the Shadow and heed the words of the Wise. Heed, and you shall succeed.
Remember, there's always hope.
Toil away against the Shadow, and you shall rise. You're stronger than you know, of a power of will that will even faze the Shadow.
And though the Shadow weaves a web of darkness, you shall weave a web of your own as long as you remember in your heart the light bequeathed to you by the Wise.
The words from the West Wind brought solace to his heart and calmed the thoughts in his mind, yet not all doubt was driven away. The West Wind alone wouldn't prove Silwin wrong in his assessment. He wished he could find a way to prove himself to Silwin. Prove that he was not weak.
He removed a ring from his finger and held it aloft in front of his eyes. It had the likeness of two serpents intertwined with eyes made of green jewels. These serpents met beneath a crown of golden flowers that one upheld and one devoured. Lord Elrond had told him that the jewels were crafted in Valinor and sometimes burned with green fire.
Looking at it, he remembered the Lay of Leithian:
Proud are the words, and all there turned
to see the jewels green that burned
in Beren's ring. These Gnomes had set
as eyes of serpents twined that met
beneath a golden crown of flowers,
that one upholds and one devours:
the badge that Finrod made of yore
and Felagund his son now bore.
"Interesting choice of a poem to now remember, especially in this land, Estel," he heard Arwen speak. "For know you that my grandmother is the sister of the one who gifted your ancestors that ring."
He had known about it of course. Back in Imladris, his tutoring had him read through family trees of the Eldar and the Three Houses of Edain. He remembered the Lady Galadriel being Finrod's sister.
"Arwen," he cried, putting the ring back on his finger, "why are you here?"