Ariel meets one of the most important people of her life and makes a friend.

Disclaimer: I neither own Tolkien's work not GOT.

Varya-En-Estel

Orcs are still raiding, dangerous and viscious, just as all the other dark things that are creeping about, and Ariel goes ranging again, sometimes with her brothers, sometimes with Glorfindel. Sometimes with the Dúnadain, actually, at first mostly because Elladan and Elrohir like them and drag her along, later because she finds they are good company, most days anyway. Hard men and women but less complicated than elves, more straightforward. A lot of them speak Sindarin, at least a bit, so their language is always a bit of a mix between the common tongue and Elvish words. It's fun, and it's relaxing, and the fine society would hate it. Maybe she has a late teenage rebellion phase because she loves it, even though she cringes sometimes.

While she has been away, a tradition has been started that the heirs of Númenor (yes, Elendil's line still exists, even in the North) are at least partly raised in Imladris, for security and education. Her father takes that job very seriously, though she also understands that he is weary of humans. He thinks they are weak, even the brave ones. She cannot blame him, after all, he has seen Isildur fail. And if Isildur has failed, what chance has anyone else?
Ariel thinks that since the rings are all either with the elves, the Nazgul or the dwarves, one shouldn't worry too much, but still, her ada does. He always seems to, these days, but maybe he is not that wrong. Everything is getting darker, and that wizard Gandalf is visiting more often, and when he does, he seems worried. He has always seemed old, but now he seems oldandtired. Maybe that's why he likes Rivendell, she thinks, because he feels he can relax at least a little bit here. Though, she has also heard him talk of Lórien, so he seems to get around to her grandparents' place as well. She wonders whether he could bring a message to Arwen, but she never asks.

Of course, Ariel is curious about what he is talking about with her ada behind closed doors, it always seems very important and very secret. Glorfindel and Erestor sometimes join them, but for once, her friend won't tell her anything. This makes the whole thing even more interesting and no question, the young lady wants to join their discussions, but Elrond won't let her, at first.

"Why?" She impetiously blocks the exit of their solar so he can't leave.
"It's not your place."
"Why? There is no reason! You don't need to protect me anymore! I have been your messenger in Mirkwood, I am a ranger. I SEE the spreading darkness. I have always been loyal, for almost 3000 years, you have no reason to doubt me, why is this still not enough?"

She is hissing, almost screaming, and probably that's not helping, but she is just so furious. Because that's it, right? Why is shestillnot enough, after all that change? There is still darkness in her, she knows that, and probably there will always be. But she doesn't want to harm her family, and the assumption that she would is insulting.

Elrond rubs the bridge of his nose.

"This is a rise of a darkness like one you have never seen. I want you to be safe. I want you tostaysafe!"

He steps towards her and cups her cheeks.

"You are my daughter and I love you and I still try to protect you. Ariel, I sent you out just to have you come back burnt with your sword arm harmed and everything you have worked so hard for set back. Do you think I take that lightly? That was onmyorders, and my orders harmed you!"

For a moment, Elrond looks crestfallen, but she shakes her head.

"I wanted to go. That's it. And there can be nothing darker than what I have lived through, believe me."

"You have -"

She lifts her hand.

"No no. I very much know what I am talking about. I had four children. And I had four children die on me. I had my brother shoot my father over a -" she struggles, there is no word for that in Sindarin, "- woman. I was a king's plaything until I killed that king for my son. I ruled a kingdom and got challenged by a mad girl with dragons. I had my world being threatened by an army of undead. So, I believe I know enough about darkness and death to get a place at your table."

Her father swallow. Then he nods tightly.

"Very well then. You can join us. But you have to deal with Erestor."

She sighs, but that will be her smallest problem.

~ 0 ~

There is a young man, she hears, who has stayed in Rivendell for a time when he was younger, called Arathorn. He is Isildur's heir, but to be honest, he looks more like a hedge knight. Actually, he looks quite a bit like a Westerosi Northerner, now that she thinks about it, dark hair and grey eyes, though his face isn't that long. He is actually quite pretty, and the girls seem to think that, too, at least that's what Elladan and Elrohir tell her. They are his friends and they often roam around together, hunting and killing, but generally having a good time. Their area is mostly the Misty Mountains, while Ariel and Glorfindel tend to ride towards the West into the direction of the Fort of the Bruinen. Once, just once, Gandalf asks her to accompany him for a bit while he travels even further, to a place they call the Shire, where other small people, the Halflings, live. Ariel wonders whether it is a test - it probably is, and she doesn't know whether she passes or fails.

Anyway, she never sees these hobbits, and she isn't unhappy about that, but apparently, they are nothing like dwarves. Ariel cannot imagine that.
Her father still loathes to have her go out alone, but even he can't deny that she is somewhat of age now and almost at the level she was before - now with two sword hands, though, though her dragon-hand is still a little bit stiffer and weaker. It probably always will be.

Something else develops, though, probably born out of the necessity of connection when she is finally going roving alone. It starts when she lying on her bedroll staring up at the stars, wondering what Arwen is doing- it's funny how she has come to care for her twin. Maybe it's absence that makes her fonder, the lack of comparison, or maybe it's simply time. Suddenly, a wave of warmth hits her. She sits up, because she is shocked, where did that come from? It feels soft and kind, like a hug, but it's not the way her father or grandparents speak in her mind. It feels night-soft and twinkling and so familiar and yet not, which means there is only one person that it can belong to. But there is also something tentative in it, like a question.
Ariel concentrates, sends back as much warmth as she can - because she is pretty certain that's Arwen, who wants to know how she is doing. Well, maybe she will hit someone else with a wave of feelings in the process, but who cares.
There is no reaction, so she tries again the next evening, and then again, until she can feel a response: twinkling happiness. Her sister, her twin, has understood.
It's not a good or clear way of communication, but it's better than nothing.

Over the next years, it slowly gets clearer. Still no words, but signals. Happiness, suprises, pain, melancholy. Longing and missing. Her connection to Arwen is the clearest, though she notices she can find her other friends as well if she concentrates hard. They all feel different though, and sometimes she wonders what she feels like to them.

~ o ~

She has been out on patrol for a couple of weeks, on horseback this time, and returns a Wednesday afternoon, when she notices something is different, even before she reaches the houses. There is a tension. She can feel it everywhere around her, even though it is sunny and the bees are buzzing. Ariel stops and looks towards the valley, her valley, her home. The many balconies gleam in the light and the gentle hum of the waterfall provides a tender background, mixing with the distant melodies of Elven songs. Every time she returns she is struck again with this place's beauty and the fierce desire to protect it. Her trips aren't just fury and revenge for her mother anymore, they aren't just a strife for glory - no, by now they have mainly become a job that needs to be fulfilled. She doesn't know when that has changed, maybe it already changed while she was guarding Lórien and later Mirkwood. Maybe she just didn't want to see it. Maybe she was holding on toCerseiso tightly she was closing her eyes to the truth. She isn't Cersei anymore. The thought comes with a bit of sadness, but at the same time, it makes her smile, though she doesn't know why. Maybe she will find out some day.

She rides down the winding path and stops in front of the stables to drop of her horse. Lith is a good one, the first one she has actually become truly and hoenstly fond of, probably because the mare is often her only companion. She is dark, as the name supposes, which makes her blend into the forest quite well, with big pretty eyes and a silky coat. Ariel checks her for injuries before she feeds her, then leads her towards the pasture.

A bath, that would be great now, the young elleth thinks. But maybe she should announce her return first - she wants to know whether her brothers are around. They should be, their horses are here. As she reaches their home - at the same time the main building - she can hear voices, most notably her father. She enters, but before she can walk towards his study, the door already opens. Her father steps out, accompanied by a woman she doesn't recognise. Certainly Dúnedain, judging by the clothing and looks, rather young, with slightly unruly hair. That isn't particularly surprising, they have had even more dishevelled visitors from time to time, but what makes Ariel start is the small child, no more than two years old, in her arms.

The little party stops just as well, the woman's eyes widening slightly as she takes her in. Well, no wonder, she must be quite a sight. Dark clothing still partly cacked in mud and blood, a black leather corset reinforced with mithril together with black shoulder and arm guards with golden inlays. After years of wearing it, her red set of shoulder and arm guards had finally been worn through, so she had switched to something else, something a little bit more protective to give her ada at least a tiny bit of peace while she was away alone. She sometimes thinks she looks horribly similar to that Danaerys bitch, but she likes to think Elven clothing is more delicate, more elegant. Besides, that's what the gold stitching is for, for the distinction, isn't it?
Her hair is still messy from ducking under trees, there are probably a couple of twigs in them, despite the two long, complicated braids. There is no doubt who she is though, and not only because of the quiver on her back, the sword on her hip and the bow in her hand. The green eyes and golden hair are just a dead giveaway.

"Ariel," Elrond calls as she approaches, "there is someone I would like you to meet."

His daughter inclines her head as he gestures to the woman beside him.

"This is Lady Gilraen, of the Dúnedain, and her son, Estel. They will be staying with us for some time."

The way he says it makes quite clear why they will be staying, just like the fact that her brothers are nowhere to be seen. Probably they are already out on a hunt, tracking down what or whoever killed the boy's father. Gilraen, her face lined with fatigue but her eyes bright with determination, manages a weary smile.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady."

Ariel smiles warmly, at least she hopes so, her gaze shifting to the child in Gilraen's arms. The boy keeps hiding his face in his mother's shoulder, clearly distressed.

Gilraen chuckles softly, but it's sad. "He is shy around new people."

Elrond places a reassuring hand on Gilraen's shoulder.

"You will find peace and safety here, Lady Gilraen. Rest now, I will have Lindir show you to your quaters."

The assistant in question appears from somewhere, like a ghost, ready to take the two of them along, but before Gilraen can turn, Estel looks up. His eye meet Ariel's with a mix of wonder and shyness. For a moment, her heart stumbles.

So YOU are who I have been waiting for, she thinks.

~ 0 ~

She meets Gilraen again at dinner, apparently they are to become part of the houshold, at least for now. Well, as long as the woman doesn't turn out to be a bickering imbecile, she doesn't much mind. They go for a walk afterwards, during which Ariel desperatedly searches for something nice to say. Needlessly to say, nice doesn't come easy to her.

"Estel is a very pretty name," she finally settles on.
"It is, isn't it?" Gilaren asks, "though you could call it - let's say it's his mother name. He is only to be told of his real heritage and name once he turns 20 years old. For security."

The gears in Ariel's head turn as she regards the boy next to her again. Dark hair, grey eyes, a little bit sulky. Quiet. Truly, he looks like a miniature of that friend of her brothers'. Which means -

Another king. Without a kingom. A King in the North.

For a moment, she almost freezes. She nods numbly while Gilraen sets Estel down, allowing him to explore. The little boy toddles around, his curiosity getting the better of his shyness. Ariel watches him with a fond smile, before she even realizes she is smiling. He seems so excited, despite all he must have seen.

"You are all so very kind," Gilraen suddenly says, her voice tinged with emotion. "It means a great deal to us to be welcomed so warmly."

The elleth can see unshed tears in the widows's eyes, signs of sorrow for a husband who was truly loved. Ariel nevertheless snorts, then she could have hit herself.

"I am certainly not what people would call kind, my lady. But I promise you, these boarders are protected and Imladris will be a home for you and your son."

"Thank you. I just want him - need him - to be safe!"

There is something in her voice, something beside the desperate wish of a mother, heavy with prophecy, and Ariel has to swallow. But she nods.

"Of course. He will be."

I will make sure of that.

~ 0 ~

Estel is like a puppy once he loses the initial shyness, a quiet, moody puppy, but still a puppy. She can see he is excited about the world, especially about pretty things. He likes his wooden toys, especially the ones Glorfindel made for him, a horse and a tree and a wolf and a lion. He also likes stories, a lot, actually, and for some reason he likes Ariel.

He toddles after her and in the beginning, it is overwhelming - sure, she has done that before, the dealing with kids, but not for very very long. And children means love and love means pain, and no, she doesn't want that. But - there is something about him that makes her roll her eyes and take his hand and walk around Imladris whenever she is around. He seems so excited when she comes back from ranging and surely she doesn't deserve that, but he grants her that benefit of the doubt nevertheless.

No, she isn't kind, or nice, but maybe she can be for him.

Gilraen seems happy she doesn't always need to handle the boy on her own, and Ariel realizes how young she is, just like her when she had Joffrey. She is just as alone and confused and sad, though for other reasons - she misses her husband dearly, though Ariel suspects it's even worse than she let's on.

"So, Estel," Glorfindel finally starts after one training, "he's yours, then."

She can't deny it. There is something different about him - it is a feeling beyond motherly, or sisterly, or anything else, really. It just is.

"Now you know how I feel about you," her mentor tells her gently, "though of course I doubt he will give you as much pain."

He pulls her into a half-hug and she lets him.

~ 0 ~

"You are wrong, I think," Gilraen tells her once, "about no being kind. You are always kind to Estel. And to me."

Ariel smiles tightly, it is strange to hear that.

"Many would disagree and tell you I am never nice."

Gilraen smiles faintly. "I said "kind", my lady, I did not say "nice"."

Maybe she is a little bit right, Ariel wonders. She smiles.

"Just Ariel is enough. No title. Estel doesn't use it either."

"And I keep telling him he is supposed to," Gilraen tutts.

Ariel laughs, and still she wonders why it doesn't bother her with this boy, even though she'd bitten off any head in Westeros.

~ 0 ~

She starts training him when he turns five, because the world is a dangerous place and he must protect himself. At first, it's just games, all to build up strength and to make him nimble and quick on his feet. She takes him on little strolls or walks through the forest, though always with someone else to guard the front or the rear. Surprisingly, Gilraen is a good shot and often joins them, though she seems weary of violence. Ariel understands, there is too much darkness, and they both try to protect Estel from it as best as possible, both in their own way. It's maybe the first time she understands Elrond. Or rather, she remembers what she was like, as a mother. The memory doesn't only come with good feelings attached. In fact, most are not. She is not ready to admit all she might ot might have nor messed up, but she certainly will say that things could have gone a lot better. Let's leave it at that.

Maybe that's why she waves her experiences into stories, why she tells Estel about Westeros. Maybe she wants to tell him what others did wrong, so he can do it better. Maybe - and that pains her the most - she simply does not want him to become like Joffrey. Of course, there are things she doesn't talk about yet. He doesn't have to hear about neverending nights just now, there is still time. True, the orcs seem just as bad, but he doesn't know that. He can't remember when they came to their little settlement, he only knows peaceful Rivendell and the gentle parts of the forest.

So, in the evenings when fire dances in the hearth and casts flickering shadows on the walls, she tells funny stories and sweet stories, adventure stories and hopeful stories about everyone and everything, often with the help of the wooden figurines he hords like a dragon. She loves to hear him laugh and giggle, to see his eyes light up in rapt attention when he sits in front of her, bundled up in a blanket. He gasps about the Silver Prince, the best jouster of all. He cheers about the Knight of the Laughing Tree and puzzles with her who it could have been. (She still doesn't know.) Estel however is - like almost everyone back then - convinced it must have been Lionpaw, the cocky young knight who had been sent home early.

Of course she tells him about Jaime - Lionpaw - and the lady he loved but couldn't marry, Queen Emeralda. She also tells stories about Lionpaw's sister, Goldy, but she never mentions her and the queen were the same person. Somehow she thinks the fact that they were related wouldn't gain her story points in favour, given the drama Túrin and Nienor started once they found out they were related. It's funny, actually, Targaryens married and fucked each other because they were related, her and Jaime simply didn't care, and Túrin and Nienor killed themselves for exactly the same reason. The world is odd, it seems, and all depends on the perspective. Or doesn't it?

Well, the way she tells the story Lionpaw and Emeralda are much more like Beren and Lúthien, including the chopped off hand. Estel wants to be just like the two knights, and somehow Ariel doesn't have the heart to tell him how much unwise love can hurt. He will find out soon enough by himself - they all do.

Their rituals build and their rituals stick - training together, walks in the forest. Him coming down the path to greet her when she had been out in the woods on longer trips. Her stories in the evening. But still, the stories get more serious as the years go on, just like his training. He is talented, beyond what is to be expected, which makes her job relatively easy, but also sometimes makes her forget he is still a child, prone to moods and sulking and tantrums. However, when she gives him a Cersei-look, he usually shuts his mouth very very quickly, to Glorfindel's amusement.

"I wish it would have worked so well with you," he always comments, but she doesn't think he is too serious.

By now she has finally come to understand that he loves her - or rather, how he loves her - and there isn't anyone else she'd rather cross swords with.

~ 0 ~

Estel is almost ten when she tells him about Winterfell for the first time, when her stories finally start to include the Starks. She didn't want to, she never wanted to think of these people again, so she will say it's all Estel's fault since he caught her off guard. In fact, he comes bounding towards her as she sits on her favourite bridge and flops down next to her.

"Shouldn't you be with your nana?" she asks, "and in bed?"

Estel shrugs, but grins slightly, which tells her he probably should.

"I am with you. So it's fine!"

She rolls her eyes, because that's just such a cheap excuse and he is becoming such a little shit. Maybe she shouldn't indulge him so much - but then, he is never cruel. He is good, so inherently horribly decently good that it is hard for her to say no. Sometimes she is afraid what the world will do with that much goodness, how he is supposed to ever retain it.

"Tell me a story, Ariel," Estel pleads, his voice filled with eager curiosity.

She sighs. "But just one. And then off you go to bed."

"Promise!"

Ariel smiles gently at the boy, her heart swelling with affection.

"Very well, Estel," she says. "Tonight, I will tell you about -

"a land far far to the west, beyond the seas, beyond the edges of the world and the realms of time," Estel finishes her sentence.

They always do it like that.

"Exactly. And in this land -"

"there were seven kingdoms."

"Yes. Seven kingdoms. And I am going to tell you about the biggest of all, the North. It was called the North because, well, it was in the North." The boy giggles at that. "It was a cold kingdom, and wild, and rough, with hard men and women. The kingdom had been independent for very very long and still was ruled by the oldest family in the Land of Lands."

"Like Eru's first children?"

"Yes, like the Eldar," she answers, though she grins a bit at the thought of Eddard Stark being compared to an elf. Sansa Stark maybe, though that was grace to her Tully heritage. "Though they were not like the Eldar at all. They were more like the Dúnadain, in fact. They said they had wolfsblood running through their veins which made them like that, and they always kept together in their pack, their family. They lived in a grand castle made from grey stone, Winter Hall. Their lord and their lady, they had four children, three boys and a girl. And they all went to the tourney at Harrenhal."

"So one of them was the mystery knight?" Estel asks, and she can only shrug.
"I don't think so."
"What was their names?"
"They called them the Wild Wolf, the Quiet Wolf, the Wolf Maiden, and the Pup."
"So many wolves!"

Ariel snorts. Indeed. Too many.

"What happened to them? Did they have adventures?"

Now she snorts again.

"Indeed, they did. But I am afraid they didn't turn out too well."

He looks at her strangely. "But if they are your stories, why don't you just make them end better?"

Truly, she could, and she sometimes changes things to match their world or to make herself look better, if she is honest. However, there is also something that holds her back from switching up too much, like a compulsion that warns her to tell the truth, to honour the dead with their stories.

"Because the ink is already dry, Estel nín," she tells him. He hums. "Your stories are strange. But I like them. Go on!"
"Well - there was a great war, and I will tell you all the stories about that war when you are a bit older, but what I can tell you for now is that two of the four survived. The Quiet Wolf and the Pup both came back, though the Pup then went to the wall."
"What's the wall?"
"The wall was a wall, Estel," she told him, "a huge huge stone wall that cut through the forest and the open plains and kept the wildlings out. And was supposed to keep darker things out as well."
"Why don't we have a wall? There are many dark things here."
"The darkness is different here," she tells him, "it comes from all direction. Back there, it came from only one."

For a moment, she thinks of Angband in the North and whether her comment isn't maybe very very wrong.

"And the Quiet Wolf?"
"He stayed at Winter Hall and he became Lord of the North. He got married and had five children. Actually, no. Six children."
"But he wasn't a king?"
"No, certainly not!"
"What did he look like?"

Estel is always like that, he wants details, even though he then complains about how much her stories ressemble historical retellings. So, she indulges him.

"Normally, the family members had dark hair and long faces and grey eyes."
"Like me?"
"Yes, grey eyes and dark hair like yours. Though your eyes are less icy. You are bright and shining and hope. The Quiet Wolf was a man of unyielding honour, loyalty and duty. He loved his land and his family. But that was also his weakness."
"Why?"
"Because, if you love something, they can take it away. They can hurt you with it. And his honour and duty and loyalty made him blind to what was going on around him."
"So he was dumb?"

Ariel grins for a moment, but then sobers again.

"No, not dumb. Blind."
"Was he good though?"

She hestitates, remembering the complexities of Eddard Stark's life. Then she slowly nods.

"I guess you could say so, yes. He always tried to do the right thing, no matter the cost."

Even if it meant endangering your children and yourself. Oh, and your son killed him for it. No big deal.

Estel's eyes sparkled with admiration. "He sounds like a true hero. Did he have any adventures? You said he did, right?"

He got beheaded by a king. Does that count?

She decides to focus on the aspects that would rather inspire Estel.

"Yes, many. He fought in great battles and he had a great sword, almost as tall as a man, called Icebane."
"I want to be like him. Honourable and brave."

Ariel reaches out, gently brushing a lock of hair from his face.
"No, Estel, you will be better."

He will have to be better becausethis boy, this is not just a steward or a warden. This is a king in the making. Ariel knows it how only prophecy can make you know things. Maybe it also has to do with the cryptic hints Gilly keeps dropping about her son - who knows. In any case, Middle Earth can't afford excessive pride or a know-it-all attitude in a king.

"I will?"
"Yes, my boy, you will. One day, you will." Ariel leans down and kissed his forehead. "Now, it is time for you to rest. Tomorrow brings a new day, and with it, new adventures. And training!"

With a long suffering sigh, the boy scrambles to his feet, impatiently waiting for her to get up, too. Why she has to drop a nine-year-old off at his home is a mystery to Ariel, but she has decided she won't question certain things in her life any longer. Gilraen - Gilly - is leaning in her door and smirks as the two approach.

"I was wondering when you'd come."

She turns towards Ariel.

"Thank you, though, truly."
"DOn't worry about it."

She says her goodbyes and with a final glance at the couple she turns away. As she wonders down the path again through the soft Imaldris air, the echoes of Winterfell slowly fade into the shadows of Rivendell.

Varya-en-estel literally means "protector of the hope" or "Estel's protector".