Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net) Title: Rivendell Reflections (#4341) Author: Senta Chapters: 9 Archive: Tolkien Category: Lord of the Rings Description: A series of stories concerning Aragorn's childhood. Published: 08 May 2011 Updated: 11 Jun 2015 Warnings: Type: General Characters: Aragorn;Gilraen;Elrond Chapter 1 - Star of Hope These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain. Warning - This story is rated PG13 and not suitable for young children. Star of Hope A story in honour of Aragorn’s birthday on March 1st With grateful thanks to Raksha "I saw a star that was falling, I wish'd the wish of my soul." - Traditional Irish song ~~~ “You wished to see me,Mistress Gilraen?” I shuffled my feet nervously. Master Elrond was never other than courteous towards me, but I still felt like a timid little girl in his presence. “It is my son’s third birthday tomorrow. I should like some small celebration to mark the occasion for him.” “Ah, yes, Mistress Gilraen, the tradition of Men to mark the day of birth, since the day of begetting is so rarely recalled amongst my brother’s kindred.” I lowered my eyes, hoping Master Elrond would not see the light of memory in my eyes that his wordskindled. Oh, but I did know the day of Aragorn’s begetting, that special night is still as clear in my memory as if it were yesterday. These memories are too precious and private to ever speak of to Master Elrond, kindly though he is. Maybe, one day I will tell my son that he was begotten upon an auspicious day. Maybe… It was a rare gathering for the Dúnedain. As many who were able came from the scattered villages amidst the ruins of the old capital, Annuminas, where they made camp and prepared to celebrate Loëndë. The celebrations began on the shortest night of the year, a night feared by the servants of darkness. My parents were amongst those present. I gladly greeted them, having not laid eyes on my mother and father since my wedding day. “Are you happy in your marriage to Arathorn?” my mother enquired of me later that night, taking me aside, her keen gaze scanning my still slender form. I could sense her disappointment that I was not yet with child. “He is kindly and treats me always with respect,” I answered. Truth to tell, I still hardly knew my husband. He had been away most of the time even before the Lord Arador's death. Since he had become Chieftain earlier that year, Arathorn had even less time for home and hearth. As Lord of the Dúnedain, he was needed to care for our people and lead the fight against the minions of Shadow. I tried to be a good wife and ease his cares when he was at home. I had not opposed my mother's wish for the marriage; and I was content enough, honoured to be wed to so worthy a lord. “Have you grown to love your husband?” my mother persisted. I could only say. “He is a good man." I had never lied to my mother. It was useless, for Ivorwen’s gift of farsight always enabled her to see into my mind. My mother frowned but said no more on the matter, instead encouraging me to try the wine, a gift from Elrond of Rivendell. The sun sets on even the longest day. We sat watching it sink below the hills while we told tales of old Númenor and sang of the great deeds of the Sea Kings and the Faithful. “Will you walk with me, my lady?” Arathorn appeared beside me as if out of nowhere, my cloak in his hand. He draped the soft woollen mantle around my shoulders. Arathorn slowed his pace to match mine, and took my hand as he led me along the shore of Lake Nenuial. The moon had risen and cast a silvery glow across the rippling waters. “To think that these ruins were once a great and prosperous city,” my husband sighed, his voice full of sorrow. “Alas, for our people!” “Maybe one day it will be rebuilt,” I said, wondering why I should voice such wild dreams. Tonight they appeared almost as a certainty to me. It was as if I could see a fair city, where now there lay only tumbled stones. “The young may have their dreams still,” Arathorn said sadly. I pressed his hand. We stood there for I know not how long, watching the bright path of the Star of Eärendil across the evening sky, the silence broken only the music of the waves gently lapping against the shore. Suddenly, a light flashed in the West. “Look!” said my husband, a smile easing the grim cast of his features; “a shooting star. You should make a wish, Gilraen.” I silently wished that I might give him the heir he longed for, the heir we all needed. We watched star after star streak across the sky under the sovereign eye of Gil-Estel. “Come,” Arathorn said at last, “it grows cold.” He let me back to our large and well-appointed tent, set a little aside from the others as befit the Chieftain and his lady. Arathorn took me in his arms and kissed me. I found myself responding with a newfound fervour; pulling at the fastenings on his cloak as he bore me down to our warm nest of hides and furs. That night I was not just a dutiful wife, but also a happy one. Perhaps it was the wine, or the stone remnants of our people's past glory surrounding us, that awakened my heart. I know not. I know only that I enjoyed the intimacies of marriage for the first time. My passion equalled his as I freely and joyously surrendered to my lord. “Never have I seen so many shooting stars as there were last night!” my mother remarked over breakfast the next morning. ”You look well, today, child. That Elvish wine must have suited you.” Alas, my joy would be short-lived. Arathorn had to ride away again ere nightfall when a report arrived of Orcs gathering in the East. When he returned a few weeks later, I had news for him. “I carry our child, my lord,” I said. My husband's weary face lightened. I will never forget the joy that lit his deepgrey eyes as he smiled and tenderly embraced me. Arathorn was at my side more often during the following months. I grew large with his child and spent my days dreaming of filling our home with the laughter of many sons and daughters. Soon after the turn of the year, my mother arrived to care for me. We expected the child in mid-March, but our Aragorn was eager to enter the world and arrived as soon as February took its leave. The moment I first held my son was the happiest I have ever known. “You are smiling, Mistress Gilraen. Do you find our customs amusing?” Master Elrond’s words interrupted my memories. “Indeed not, lord, but my son is a child of Man, not an Elf.” “Your son is the Hope of Men, mistress,” Elrond said gravely. "He will learn of his lineage when the time is ripe. I shall ask the cooks to prepare special treats in celebration for his birthday on the morrow; and we will have gifts and games. Our Estel cannot yet know his true name, but he shall know that he is loved.” I smiled my thanks. For now, my Aragorn must remain hidden, but in the fullness of time he will blaze forth, as a star of hope for our people. Until then, I can only wait and hope. Chapter 2 - A Mother's Hope Mother's Hope Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain With grateful thanks to Virtuella and Raksha Gilraen awoke at dawn with a feeling of deep foreboding that she could not explain. She was accustomed to her husband being away and little Aragorn was well. Gilraen inwardly chided herself. She ought to be happy; Arathorn was expected home within a few days and her mother, Ivorwen, was visiting her. The two were rarely together as often as they would have liked and the older woman was delighting in the company of her daughter and first grandchild. Gilraen looked fondly at her son while Ivorwen played with the toddler. She could still hardly believe that she and Arathorn had created one so perfect. Aragorn was the fairest little boy with chubby limbs and a winning smile. He had learned to walk when he was but a year old and now he was two, he could talk well and everyone said he was advanced for his age. Not only that, but the child had a loving and sunny disposition. Yet he seemed restless today too, quickly tiring of the game and crying for no reason, which was most unlike him. "There is something amiss today," said Ivorwen. "My foresight senses it. Maybe a storm is brewing?" Gilraen sat down at her loom taking the opportunity to weave cloth for a new cloak for Arathorn while her mother watched Aragorn. She must have worked for an hour or so when she was suddenly overwhelmed by a dreadful feeling of emptiness in her soul. She gave a cry and almost swooned. Aragorn started to scream. "What ails you, daughter?" Ivorwen hastened to her side and put her arms around her child. "Arathorn is dead!" Gilraen whispered. "I can no longer feel him in my heart." "Alas, I know now what my foresight portended!" cried Ivorwen. Little Aragorn ran to his mother. Gilraen scooped him up in a fierce hug; suddenly terrified he would be snatched from her too. Gilraen wept. She grieved not only for her husband, but also for her son, now without a father's protection in a harsh world, and for the other children she had longed to share with Arathorn. Never again would she awake with Arathorn's loving arms around her! Never again would she see Arathorn smile! Never again would she hear Arathorn's laughter, so rare in her quiet, grim husband, when he played with their son. A few hours later when two Elf Lords, identical in appearance, arrived at the house, Gilraen was already in mourning. She recognised the sombre faced warriors as Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Elrond. "I know you bring ill tidings, my lords," she said, her pale face and red rimmed eyes belying her calm demeanour. "It grieves me to tell you, Lady Gilraen, that an Orc arrow struck down your husband this morning," said Elladan. "We overcame the Orcs, but it was too late for Lord Arathorn. Your son is now the Chieftain of the Dúnedain. Alas, Arathorn was the most noble and valiant of men! Our hearts are heavy today. His death is a grievous loss for us all." "Where is my husband?" asked Gilraen. She noticed now that the Elves looked haggard and distressed. One had blood upon his sleeve. She shuddered. "We buried him where he fell, lady," said Elrohir. "We bring you these tokens." He held out Arathorn's star shaped brooch together with the ancient emblem of the Kings of Westernesse, the Ring of Barahir. How small that Ring looked now, sitting on an Elf's palm instead of Arathorn's finger! "He would never part with those tokens in life," said Gilraen. "I know that you speak truly." "We have come to take you and your son to Imladris," said Elladan. "Our father fears for your safety and that of your child. There are too few men folk to protect you both until your son reaches manhood. Also, our father will hold the mourning rites for Arathorn at Imladris. Gilraen swayed slightly and grasped the doorpost for support. "You want me to leave my kinsfolk and my friends? Is it not enough that I have lost my husband?" Elladan and Elrohir regarded her sadly. "We know it will not be easy, Lady Gilraen," said Elrohir. "Our father believes, though, that the servants of the Enemy are determined to destroy the heirs of Elendil. Only at Rivendell can the child grow up in safety. Once he is settled, Lady Gilraen, you could always return here if you so wished, and let the world believe that the child is no more." Gilraen let go of the doorpost and drew herself up to her full height. Her grey eyes flashed. "I may no longer be a wife," she said, "But I will always be Aragorn's mother! If my son must grow up far from his own people, he will need me all the more. Wise your folk might be, but my son is mortal and should be raised by one of his own kind. " She sighed, her brief outburst of anger spent. "I will do whatever it takes to protect my child." "We should leave at once then," said the Elrohir. "There is no need for you to pack. Our father will provide everything you need." "Your father will not have my son's favourite toys, the blanket he likes to sleep under, or the coat his grandmother made for him," said Gilraen. "I will come, but give me a few moments." "Very well, but make haste," said Elladan. "We will wait here." Assisted by her mother, Gilraen bundled up Aragorn's favourite possessions. She packed also her best gown, the one she had worn at her wedding, a shawl her mother had woven for her soon after Aragorn was born, and her jewellery, gifts both from her parents and from Arathorn. The sons of Elrond called from outside telling her it was time to leave. Gilraen clung to Ivorwen. "Mother!" she cried. "I do not want to leave you. When will I see you again?" "We must leave that in the hands of the Valar. You must be strong," Ivorwen said gravely. "Take heart, daughter, you are the mother of our people's hope." "Naneth?" Aragorn clutched at his mother's skirts and looked at her anxiously. "All is well, darling. Naneth is taking you to see the Elves." Gilraen collected herself with a mighty effort. "Elves?" Aragorn beamed happily for the first time that day. Clasping her son's small fingers with one hand and clutching the bundle that contained all that was left of her old life in the other, Gilraen walked out of the home she had shared with Arathorn for the last time. Her heart was breaking, but her head was held high. For Aragorn's sake she smiled as they rode away. Chapter 3 - Hope of Spring Title: The Hope of Spring Author: Linda Hoyland Characters/Pairing: Gilraen Aragorn Rating: G Warnings: none Book/Source: LOTR book-verse Summary – Gilraen and Aragorn go for a walk. Written in honour of Aragorn’s birthday and as a belated birthday gift for Estelcontar Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain. Spring was in the air, despite the lingering chill. It came early to this Elven haven. Gilraen looked out of the window and was greeted by the joyous singing of the birds. The crocuses were in full bloom, covering the ground with a brilliant carpet of yellow and purple. Gilraen dressed her young son warmly. Aragorn; or Estel, as she must how call him, chattered happily as she led him by the hand outside. His childish fingers already grasped hers with an unusual strength for a child so young. He laughed happily as she let him lead her to where the young lambs were frisking in a nearby field. Despite the lingering sorrow in her heart, Gilraen felt a sudden surge of joy. Her child was thriving and had reached his fourth birthday unscathed, and safely hidden. Every day her love for her son increased until it almost overwhelmed her. He was growing tall and strong, a lively child with a warm and loving heart. “Hope” they called him, and if any hope remained for their people, it was through this child. How could any mother not rejoice in such a son? As winter gave way to spring, she had borne him; and like the spring he had brought new life to the weary Dúnedain. His smile had melted the frost that had threatened to engulf her heart when Arathorn fell. Spring though, must give way to summer; a child must become a man. A flash of foresight came upon Gilraen and for an instant; there was no longer a child before her, but a man, robed in splendour, a star blazing upon his brow, a green jewel upon his breast and a mighty sword in his hand. Gilraen swayed as if she were about to swoon. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. “Naneth, don’t be sad, Estel will make it better!” Gilraen smiled as Estel’s warm fingers pressed a flower in her hand. She stooped and he reached up to kiss her cheek. Maybe her son was destined to break the grip of the Dark Lord’s winter? She scooped him up in her arms and said, “ No, I am not sad, Estel. Your naneth is happy today for it is your birthday and who could be heavy of heart when spring is almost here?” A skylark soared above, flying ever higher, singing exultantly as it sought its mate. Chapter 4 - Only Human Only Human Warning - This story is rated PG13 and not suitable for young children. The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story. Co authored with Raksha the Demon Estel could scarcely contain his excitement as he ran to the banks of the Bruinen. His lessons for today had been cancelled, since as Master Elrond and his advisers were entertaining King Thranduil and his retinue from Mirkwood. Estel made his way to the river. It was a perfect day for swimming. He loved to swim, and he knew the perfect spot - deep, but not encumbered with too many underwater rocks or strangling weeds. As he swam with the mild current, Estel wondered what Thranduil and his folk would be like. Master Elrond had said that Estel could meet Thranduil after the feast tonight. In all his thirteen years, Estel had never met Elves other than those of Imladris, who he believed must be the grandest and wisest Elves left this side of the Sundering Sea. But still, Elves who lived in forests and in caves would be worth knowing; and he had heard the great tales of the valour of the Mirkwood Elves in the battle of Erebor. After one last, lovely dive into the River's cool depths, Estel returned to the shore, shook out his wet hair, and stretched out on the blanket he had left under his favourite tree. The warm sun would soon dry his soaked body; all he had to do was wait, and enjoy the sensation of the heat on his naked skin. “What is that creature?” A strange voice startled the boy from perhaps twenty paces away. Estel had very good hearing; and the speaker was not troubling to lower his voice. The language was slightly different from the Sindarin he knew so well, a Silvan variant that Estel had studied last year. Estel raised his eyelids just enough to peer out through his eyelashes; a trick that Elrohir had taught him. He saw a group of some three tall Elves, divesting themselves of their raiment; perhaps to take a swim as well. This was awkward. Estel was close to manhood now, too old to play possum and jump up to ambush them, as he had done in jest with his tutors and friends many times. Best to stay quiet awhile, and then make a show of awakening slowly, so as not to embarrass those who were surely his foster-father's guests. "It looks like a leafless Ent, or a very strange frog!" the speaker said with a laugh. "Come, Lalforn, you have seen Men before, and their young ones!" Another voice said, perhaps deriding the first speaker. "I have heard it said that Master Elrond has often fostered the sons of Men." "I suppose then, that this is the latest in his collection," the first speaker said. "I have never seen a child of Men unclothed; such a graceless, puny thing." Another voice added: "You are right there, Lalforn, the sprout is an odd-looking sort; long legs and arms, but no breadth to the rest of him. How do they manage then, to grow enough to father others?" More laughter. Estel felt his cheeks burn, and prayed that they could not see. He would have to get up and defend himself, or say something, soon, but what? He wished he could return to the river's comforting embrace and not come out until these strangers were gone! "Have a care, you two;" said a third voice, perhaps older than the others. "He might be able to hear you." "So what if he can, Legolas," the one called Lalforn answered; and Estel could hear the derision behind the words. "He would not know our tongue." "Are you certain?" The third speaker asked, with some sternness. "The Lord Elrond would not raise fools. And even if he cannot understand us, he can hear your tones if he wakes. We are guests here, it is ill done to mock those of our host's household, especially a lad so young. And I have heard that this poor lad is fatherless, the more reason to treat the child kindly rather than laugh at him." Oh, that was the worst! The mockery was cruel, but Estel found the pity intolerable. Burning with humiliation, he stood up and scrambled into his clothes as hastily as possible. He tried to march away with head held high; but the look of sympathy on the face of the oldest of the three destroyed what little dignity he had. Estel turned and ran for home. 000 Gilraen was walking past her son’s closed door. Estel was growing up and was allowed some privacy now he was almost a man. Gilraen sighed. Often she wished that Arathorn had lived long enough to give her a daughter too. A child who would not grow away from her and ride into danger would have been such a comfort. A muffled sob made the woman pause. Estel may not be a small child any longer, but her boy still had need of his mother! She found the lad lying sprawled across his bed, his face buried in a pillow. “Estel, what ails you?” The boy did not answer. Gilraen sat down on the edge of the bed and put her arms around her son. Estel sighed, but did not attempt to move away. “What ails you?” she repeated. “Nothing.” Estel gave a loud sniff then determinedly dried his eyes with his sleeve. “I thought you planned to go swimming while your tutors were meeting with King Thranduil? Estel, I know there is something wrong. You cannot deceive your mother!” “Never again will I go swimming when strangers might be nearby!” Estel exclaimed before blurting out the whole story. Gilraen’s features became grave as she listened. Long had she feared something like this. The Elves in Master Elrond’s house had never treated either her or Estel with anything other than kindness and respect, but Gilraen had always known that she and her son were not of the same kind as the other inhabitants of Imladris. Once she had asked if some playmates of his own kind from amongst the Dúnedain villages could be found for Estel, but Master Elrond had said it was far too dangerous and might lead to the Enemy discovering her son. “Nana, why did he call me a ‘thing’?” Estel asked fixing her with wide grey eyes, so like his father’s. “He and his fellows are ill mannered and ignorant. King Thranduil’s folk were long suspicious of outsiders, I am told, while Master Elrond has ever welcomed strangers, ” said Gilraen. “Unlike Imladris, they are not protected from the forces of Darkness. And you are no ‘thing’: you are a child of Eru, just as much as are they. You are different than an Elf, but of no less worth. Many would count you fair amongst Men, my son.” “Why do you never speak of my father?” Estel demanded. “Did he do something wrong?” “Indeed not!” Gilraen said fiercely. “You father was a good man and a brave warrior. I was proud when he asked me to wed him, and I grieve still for his death. I promise I will tell you more when you are older. He would be proud of you, were he still living, Estel, as proud as you make Master Elrond and me.” Estel sat up straight, his usual high spirits almost restored. Gilraen studied his face, the boyish chubbiness already giving way to the fine boned structure of a Man of Númenor. Her little one would come of age in just a few more years. She could see her own father in his face, as well as Arathorn. Later she would speak to Master Elrond and tell him it was time Estel accompanied his sons on their visits to the Dúnedain villages, if only occasionally. They would have to think of some tale to explain his presence, but her boy was Edain--human-- and needed to see others of his kind. As for the Elves who had mocked her kind-hearted and courteous son...Gilraen forced down her fury. Right now she would gladly make a gift of them to the hill-trolls, but that was not possible. Gilraen smiled coldly. Master Elrond loved her son too. Once he learned of their churlish behaviour, and she would make sure the Elf-lord learned of it, the King of Mirkwood would have to send another envoys. Those cruel strangers would never again set foot in Imladris, except for the one called Legolas, who had spoken on her son's behalf. A/N this was written to explain the reason for Aragorn’s shyness in Linda’s stories. and written for the AA List prompt “Human”. Raksha then considerably polished and expanded it. Neither Raksha nor Linda believes that Aragorn and Legolas were friends before the Ring War, but we believe it is plausible they might have briefly met Chapter 5 - Boys will be Boys Title: Boys will be Boys Author: Linda Hoyland Characters/Pairing: Gilraen, Aragorn, Elrond Rating: PG Warnings: blood, minor injury Book/Source: LOTR book-verse Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain. She knelt on the floor, carefully picking up the shards of glass. Why did it have to be this one that broke? Gilraen bit back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. At home everything was made of much more solid materials, wood, pewter and earthenware, not this fragile flimsy glass! Even after two years living here, she had not become accustomed to being surrounded by such dainty objects, though until now, she had managed to avoid breaking any and prevent Estel from doing so either. For something polite to say, Gilraen had admired the glass vase when a well meaning Elf had brought the flowers to her room. The Elf had gravely informed her that the vase was two thousand years old and had belonged to Master Elrond's wife. "I'm sorry, naneth." Estel gazed at her wide eyed. "I didn't mean to break it. I'll help!" Before she could stop him,Estel had reached out a chubby hand to pick up a shard of glass. It cut through his tender flesh and the little boy screamed as blood dripped from the wound. It was the last straw for Gilraen and she burst into tears. Her child was hurt and blood was dripping on to the carpet, no doubt as old and priceless as the vase to its owners. She tried to staunch the wound with the skirt of her gown, simple homespun of her own weaving. She had insisted on continuing to wear her own clothes for most of the time, rather than the elaborate and impractical garments they had given her. "What is the matter, Mistress Gilraen?" To her horror, Master Elrond appeared in the open doorway. She hardly knew the Master of Imladris, though he had always been gravely courteous to her on the few occasions that they did meet, but she did know that he was very wise as well as being ancient and powerful. That they were dependent on his charity was hard enough to bear and now they would be even further indebted! "He is only a little boy. He didn't mean to break your vase!" she said defiantly, wiping away the tears with her sleeve. "I will not have him punished." "I am not concerned about the vase, Lady Gilraen, but about your son. He is hurt is he not?" "He has cut himself. Could you tell me where I might find a bandage?" "I am a healer. If you would permit me to tend the cut? I have healing supplies in my chambers." Surprised at this mild reaction, Gilraen could only nod mutely. She scooped up Estel in her arms and prepared to follow Master Elrond to his chambers. "I will carry him, he has grown rather heavy for you,my lady." "He will get blood over your robes!" Gilraen protested, looking doubtfully at Elrond's elaborate silk garments. "They can be washed. I have known far worse." "Master Elrond is going to make your hand better," Gilraen told Estel. She finally permitted Elrond to take him. "The children of Men grow so fast," Elrond remarked as she walked along beside him. "It seems but yesterday that I was fostering this little one's great grandsire! I think I will take him to my workroom." He led the way to a cluttered chamber with shelves piled high with books and jars filled with potions. Bunches of drying herbs were hanging from the walls. Gilraen had some healing knowledge and recognised many of them. This room actually had a homely, lived in feel about it, unlike the pristine chambers that she and Estel had been allocated. Elrond indicated a chair where she might sit and put Estel down. The child clambered on to her lap. He had stopped crying and was watching everything wide eyed. Elrond poured some water into a bowl and put it to heat on a small brazier. He then busied himself selecting a salve and bandages. "Let me see your hand, Estel," said Master Elrond. Estel shyly held out the bloodied palm. "It is just a little cut. It will not need stitching." Elrond turned his attention from Estel and regarded the child's mother thoughtfully with keen but kindly eyes. "Tell me, Mistress Gilraen, are you content here?" "My son and I have everything we need, thank you." Elrond looked thoughtful. He carefully cleaned and bandaged Estel's hand. The little boy did not cry again and only wriggled a little. His bright eyes studied the room intently. With his good hand he pointed at a bunch of drying herbs. "They are dandelions!" he said. "Indeed they are!" "And that is comfrey!" "You have a bright boy here, Mistress Gilraen. He is brave too." "He is interested in herbs," Gilraen said proudly. "I have told him the names of those we see when we walk in the gardens, and he remembers them all." "I think Estel is now old enough to begin some simple lessons," said Elrond. "Would you permit me to teach him, Mistress Gilraen. Would you like that, Estel?" The little boy nodded. "I would be honoured, Master Elrond." "I will see him tomorrow then. Now I must return to mixing some potions. You will find the blood and the glass have been cleaned from your carpet, Mistress." "I am truly sorry." Elrond smiled. "This child is only four years old. There are bound to be some accidents with one so young!" Gilraen returned to her chambers with Estel's bandaged hand clutching hers. It seemed that Master Elrond was not so fearsome after all and he, the wise Elf Master of lore, thought her boy was clever. Her heart felt lighter than it had in a long time. A/N This story was written for the BTME 2011 "Lothlórien" Challenge to write a story beginning with the sentence." She knelt on the floor, carefully picking up the shards of glass. Why did it have to be this one that broke?" Chapter 6 - By Any Other Name By any Other Name "What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet." Shakespeare - Romeo and Juliet (II, ii, 1-2) Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain. For a few moments Gilraen had no idea where she was. The soft linen sheets felt unfamiliar, as did the distant sound of rushing water. Then she remembered. Arathorn was dead, and with him her old life. Suddenly terrified, she glanced down to reassure herself that her child had not been snatched away too. Little Aragorn slumbered peacefully, exhausted from the journey the day before and oblivious to the loss of all he had known. There was alight tap on the door and a maidservant entered .She smiled reassuringly at Gilraen. "Good morning, mistress," she said. "I hope you have slept well. I have brought you some breakfast and hot water to wash in. When you are ready, Master Elrond would like to see you and your child." Gilraen thanked her politely. Truth to tell she had little appetite and could only nibble at the soft white bread and selection of fruits elegantly arranged on a large tray. Aragorn then awoke and stared wide eyed at his surroundings, sucking his thumb. Gilraen forced herself to concentrate on practical matters .Her child was hungry and needed his mother. After giving her son his breakfast, Gilraen prepared herself and the boy for the meeting with their host and protector. As the Chieftain's wife, she had briefly met Master Elrond at her wedding ceremony and on the occasion when her child was brought before the people and named. Her husband had often spoken of Rivendell and its lord with great affection and fondly recalled the education he had received there. He had looked forward to their child one day doing the same. Gilraen had not wanted to think about her child going away. The three of them together had been so happy. Master Elrond had spoken to her kindly,but he was a great and ancient lore master whom she held in awe. "Mistress Gilraen?" The lore master himself tapped on her door and interrupted her musings. She bade him enter. "I am grieved to learn of your loss. Arathorn was a good man." Gilraen inclined her head not trusting herself to speak. "And this is your son? How swiftly the children of Men grow!" Aragorn looked up from playing with the toy she had snatched up to bring with them the day before and then returned to his game. "I hope you find these rooms comfortable?" "They are most luxurious, Master Elrond." "Do not fear to ask for anything you need, Mistress Gilraen. This is after all your home now." "You are kind to offer us shelter until the danger is past." "My brother's kin have ever been dear to my heart." Elrond said warmly. His expression became grave as he continued. "I fear the Enemy grows ever stronger. He has not forgotten the part Elendil and Isildur played in his downfall, alas, and seeks relentlessly to destroy any of their line. I would not wish to frighten you, mistress, but the danger is very great." Gilraen lost what little colour she had. "Surely my child is safe here?" "He will be, but none must know that Arathorn's heir lives. Rumours must be put abroad that the child perished from a fever." "That would break my parents' hearts!" Gilraen protested. "My sons will see that they know the truth," Elrond reassured her. "The first thing we must do, though, is change the boy's name." "Change his name?" Gilraen could not hold back her indignation. "Aragorn holds a noble name that my husband and I bestowed upon him. It is who he is!" "And he will always bear that name. It must simply never be spoken aloud, at least not until he comes of age." "And what then am I to call my baby? How will he know when I am addressing him if I call him by a name other than his own?" "Do you not sometimes call him, "my child" or "my son" or "dearest one"? Those names you can call him still. But we must think of a name other than "Aragorn" for him." Gilraen looked sadly towards her son who was now engrossed in pulling his toy horse across the thick carpet. "When Arathorn desired my hand in marriage, my mother was eager that we should wed so that "hope might be born for our people" ,but what hope is there now? My husband is slain and my babe fatherless and in grave peril!" "Yet hope there might yet beyond the darkness and despite all odds against it," said Elrond. "I suggest we name the child, Estel – Hope." Aragorn suddenly tired of his game and came over to his mother and pulled at her skirts, smiling at her with sparkling grey eyes- Arathorn's eyes. Gilraen's aching heart suddenly felt less heavy. She lifted the child on to her lap and said. "Very well, he shall be "Estel", my hope for now and maybe in the future, the hope of his people. A/n Written for the Teitho "Names" Contest. Chapter 7 - Estel's Unexpected Adventure Estel's Unexpected Adventure – Linda Hoyland G The characters, apart from the kittens, belong to Tolkien. No money is being made from this story. What could possibly go wrong when Gilraen asks Estel to keep an eye on a kitten? With thanks to Deandra. Written for the Teitho "Unexpected Adventures" challenge where it was placed second. Estel laughed as the kittens wrestled and pounced. He dangled a bunch of chicken feathers on a stick in front of his especial favourite, a ginger and white boy. It gazed at him unblinkingly with bright green eyes before pouncing on the toy. Gilraen regarded the kittens intently as they scampered across the lawn. "That one, I think," she said, gesturing towards a kitten in such a variety of colours that its fur resembled a patchwork quilt. Its face was equal measures of orange and black was divided down the centre, giving the kitten the illusion of wearing a mask. "I think that little girl would be the perfect kitten to send to Master Bilbo of the Shire," she pronounced. "She has the look of a good mouser about her and is very friendly." Her gaze then turned to the ginger and white. "I think we need a cat to scare mice away from our rooms. What do you think about keeping this one, Estel?" Estel jumped up and embraced his mother. "Thank you, Naneth. I so feared that Kuluino would be sent away now the kittens are old enough to leave their mother." "I have eyes and could see that you were taken with him, and he with you by the look of things," said Gilraen. "A she- cat should suit Master Bilbo better, as in time there will be more kittens to help keep his storerooms free from mice. Master Elrond's sons' travels are taking them near the Shire so they can deliver the Hobbit's kitten. They are setting out in a few hours." "Don't they have cats in the Shire?" Estel asked curiously. "I'm certain they have plenty, but Master Bilbo believes a cat raised in Rivendell might prove better at protecting his pantries. A mere fancy, I'm sure as the cat we had in the house I grew up was an excellent mouser." She sighed then closed her eyes lost in thought. When she opened them again she changed the subject. "How were your lessons today, Estel?" Estel turned his attention back to the ginger and white kitten, which scrambled on to his lap. The mother cat was lying the centre of the lawn, half- heartedly washing the patchwork coloured kitten's ears while two brindle- coloured kittens suckled from her. "Those kittens have large appetites," Estel observed. "They have just eaten a plate of chicken scraps and a mouse their mother caught earlier." "I asked about your lessons, Estel," Gilraen persisted. The boy sighed. "They were boring as usual. Why do I have to learn about long ago kings? There are no great kings left now." "There are kings in Rohan and in Dale," Gilraen replied. "Then who knows who rules in the faraway lands of the South and East?" "I don't see what they have to do with us," Estel said rather crossly. The kitten was started by his change of tone and darted away back to his mother, who began to wash his ears too. Gilraen was silent for a few moments. "All knowledge can be useful," she said at last. "The Kings are not that distant. I have told you often that our family has some royal blood. My family is descended from King Arvedui." "That was a very long time ago, though," said Estel. The ginger and white kitten escaped from his mother's ablutions and ran back towards the boy, rubbing his small head against his hand. "The kings of old had many adventures and we never have any adventures at all." Gilraen's face grew grave. "When you are older you might well have adventures," she said solemnly. Before Estel could reply, an Elf appeared on the lawn. "Mistress Gilraen," he said, "Master Elrond wishes to see you." Gilraen turned to follow him. "I had forgotten that he wanted to discuss your healing lessons with me, Estel," she said. "Will you keep an eye on the kittens while I'm gone? I don't want the one I've chosen for Master Bilbo to wander off." "I will," Estel replied, but Gilraen was already out of sight. Estel continued to play with the ginger and white kitten, while keeping a close eye upon the others. The two brown kittens eventually fell asleep, while the patchwork one continued to explore. For a while, she was content to wander around the lawn, sniffing at anything that took her interest then she started to wander off making her way towards a path that led to the woods. Estel called her back, but she ignored him. He gently put the orange and white kitten from his lap and leapt to his feet. He followed the kitten down the path, hoping she would not disappear into the undergrowth. He tried to catch the little creature, but she was far swifter than he was and determined to outrun him, thinking he was playing with her. Eventually, she stopped at the base of a large oak tree to sharpen her claws. Estel prepared to catch hold of her, but she clambered up the tree. Despite being young and not all that steady on her feet, she managed to evade Estel's grasp, lashing out with needle sharp claws. She continued to clamber up until she reached a high branch. Then she stopped and began to mew pitifully. Estel called to her to come down and held out his arms, but she seemed too frightened to move. He sighed. He would have to climb up the tree to fetch her. He loved climbing trees, but his mother had said he should only do so when he was wearing old clothes. He was dressed in the tunic and breeches he usually wore for lessons and Gilraen would surely scold if he damaged it. Still, she had told him to watch the patchwork kitten! Nimbly, he climbed up the tree until he reached the kitten. He managed to grab hold of her and descend the oak with her in his arms. As soon as they reached the bottom, she wriggled free and ran off at great speed. Estel could only try to keep up as she scampered along the woodland path. The boy ran after her. She was moving more slowly now. Surely, he would catch her soon. The kitten had other ideas, though and remained out of reach. Estel raced after her until they reached a clearing. There was a deserted summerhouse there. Estel recalled that Elrohir had once told him that the summerhouse had belonged to their mother and fallen into disuse since she had sailed away. The door stood open and the kitten darted inside. Estel smiled. At last, he would be able to capture her. He followed her within. The spacious interior of the summerhouse was covered in a thick layer of dust. It was furnished with two chairs, a small table, and a couch devoid of most of its stuffing. The kitten leapt on one of the chairs. Estel tried to grab her, but she dived away from him. He chased her around the room, catching the door as he did so. It closed with a resounding thud. The kitten leapt on the table and Estel finally caught her. She purred in his arms and immediately fell asleep. Vastly relieved, Estel grinned triumphantly. He hoped he could return with the kitten before anyone noticed she was missing. His hand reached for the doorknob to open the door. It came away in his hand. Estel was annoyed. He would have to put down the sleeping kitten in order to open the door. No doubt, she would wake up and escape again. He did not want to spend all afternoon chasing her when he could be playing with Kuluino. He would have lessons for most of the day tomorrow and be confined in Master Elrond's study. The kitten squeaked indignantly as he placed her on the floor. She then moistened a tiny paw and began to wash behind her ears. Estel gave the door a push. Nothing happened. He pushed again, harder this time, again with no result. The door was well and truly latched! He began to feel scared and called out "Help, help!" There was no answer. But who would hear him deep in the wood? The dust was so thick it looked as if no one had been here for years and years. Estel now remembered Elrohir telling him that it made his father sad to come here since Lady Celebrian had sailed. He was truly frightened now. He was trapped. What if no one ever found him? He might die here all alone. And the poor kitten! She would starve too. He looked around for some other means of escape. There were several windows, which let light into the building, but they were far too small for a boy to climb through. At least the kitten could escape if he broke one. Maybe she would find her way back to her mother. She gave another mew that sounded more like a squeak and started to wash her paws, purring as she did so. Estel was loth to put her out of the window just yet. He sat down on the floor beside her and she clambered on to his lap and promptly fell asleep again. Estel's spirits sank lower with every moment that passed. He was thirsty and starting to get hungry too. He had learned in his history lessons about people who died of hunger during the Fell Winter and it sounded a horrid way to die. He felt like crying but told himself sternly that he was almost grown up now and was too old for crying. Nevertheless, tears trickled down his cheeks. One woke the sleeping kitten, which gave a pathetic surprised squeak before closing her eyes again. She started to purr and the sound soothed the distressed boy. Estel drifted off to sleep too. 000 "Estel, Estel!" The shouts outside woke the sleeping boy with a start. It was almost dark outside. For a few moments he was confused. Why was his bed so hard? The kitten jumped up and started to scratch frantically at the door. From outside came a loud urgent mewing. "Estel!" the voice called again. The boy recognised his mother's beloved familiar voice. "I'm here!" he cried. "The door knob broke off." "We will soon get you out," called another voice, this time Elrohir's. "My brother has gone to fetch some tools." "Are you hurt?" called Gilraen. "No, I just don't like being shut in here," said Estel. "The poor kitten is scared." Gilraen and Elrohir talked to him and it seemed only moments before he could hear the sound of Elladan forcing the door. Gilraen pushed it open and Estel ran into her arms, not caring that he wasn't a baby any more. He was trembling as he hugged her tightly. The kitten ran to her mother and promptly started suckling. "How did you find me?" Estel asked after a few moments. "You can thank the mother cat," said Gilraen. "We soon realised that you and the kitten were missing, but we had no idea where you could be, but the mother cat kept mewing for us to follow her and led us here." "I'm sorry," said Estel. "I did try to watch Master Bilbo's kitten, but she ran off and then the door banged shut and the knob came away in my hand. I didn't mean to cause any damage nor get my clothes dirty." "No one is angry with you, son," said Gilraen. "You tried your best to watch the kitten." "We have decided to leave her with her mother for a few more weeks before taking her to Master Bilbo," said Elrohir. "The poor Hobbit might find her too adventurous at present." Estel suddenly brightened. "I've had a real adventure today, haven't I?" he said. "You have indeed," said Gilraen, "and doubtless given me quite a few grey hairs as result! Now come, it is long past suppertime and I expect you are hungry. We have brought the horses so you can ride home." All the way back to the Last Homely House, Estel smiled, imagining himself as a great adventurer astride a war charger, clad in shining armour and wielding a great sword as he rescued kittens from Orcs and dragons. He had had an adventure. Who knew what might come next? Chapter 8 - Imperfection Author: Linda Hoyland Title: Imperfection Rating: G Theme: Adolescent Angst Elements: Worry about personal appearance (Could be anything from worrying about a blemish, to fear of being too heavy or too thin, too tall or short, or anything that makes him or her different.) Author's Notes: With thanks to Deandra Summary: Gilraen is puzzled by Estel’s strange behaviour Word Count: 1046 Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story. Gilraen studied her reflection carefully in the looking glass. Her dark blue gown complemented her grey eyes and she looked every inch the widow of a Chieftain. It was not often that she chose to join Master Elrond for dinner and for entertainment in the Hall of Fire afterwards, but when she did, she liked to look her best. She hoped Arathorn would be proud of her. Today, the sons of Elrond had brought her letters from her mother and sister in the Angle and knowing that they were well made her feel that she had cause for celebration. She missed them dreadfully, but the letters made them feel less far away. She made her way to her son’s rooms. At 13, her little boy was fast growing up and was already old enough for his own rooms and to escort his mother to dinner. She called to him, “Estel, are you ready?” Estel’s voice called back. “I don’t think I want to come down to the Hall of Fire tonight. I have a great deal of studying to do. Please can I have a tray sent up to my room.” Gilraen shook her head in bewilderment. Usually, Estel would make any excuse not to have to sit poring over his lesson books. She put her head around her son’s door, but could not see him. “Are you well, my love?” she enquired. “I am quite well; I just don’t want to come down tonight.” Estel’s voice called from the small bathing chamber within. You should go now, Mother, you do not wish to be late.” Still shaking her, head, Gilraen left her son to his own devices. Maybe it was his age? Her sister had a few years ago written about how her sweet-natured Halbarad had become a moody young man. In her latest letter, Inzilbeth had reported that such moods were now long since behind him and he was out patrolling with the Rangers and already a valued member of their ranks. Gilraen sighed. Estel had always been of a sweet nature and sunny disposition. She hoped that was not about to change. She made her way to the kitchens and the cook readily agreed to send up a meal to her son. Gilraen tried to put his odd behaviour from her mind and concentrate on the fine foods and wines being served and then later on the minstrels’ sweet voices. It was late when the evening’s entertainment was finally concluded. As was her custom, Gilraen went to bid her son goodnight. His rooms were in darkness, save for a single low burning lamp. Again, that was unusual, Estel never wanted to go to bed when told and always pleaded to be allowed to stay up longer to read the tales of the heroes of long ago. Gilraen tiptoed over to Estel’s bed. He was lying concealed under the bedclothes. Gilraen bent to kiss the top of his head, the only part of him that was visible then made her way to her own chambers to prepare for bed. The next morning, Gilraen awoke early. Her good mood from the day before still lingered and she dressed swiftly. It promised to be a fine day and she wanted to gather lavender from the gardens. She loved to make lavender bags to keep her clean linens sweetly scented. It reminded her of home. She was surprised not to find Estel already at the breakfast table in the dining room they shared. On fine mornings, her boy liked to be up early to practise swordplay or archery before his lessons with his tutors. Perhaps he was sleeping later today, though. A growing boy needed plenty of sleep. Gilraen began to eat the breakfast that a servant brought for her, expecting Estel to appear any moment. When she had finished eating and there was still no sign of Estel she began to get worried. Leaving her final cup of tea untouched, she went to Estel’s rooms and called to him. “Estel, are you awake?” “Yes, mother.” “Hurry up and come to breakfast then or you will be late for lessons.” “I would rather eat in my room and I ask to be excused lessons today.” “Whatever is the matter?” “Nothing, I just don’t want to leave my room.” Gilraen did not reply. Instead, she pushed open the door and strode into the room. Estel sat hunched on the bed fully dressed. He did not look at her. “Estel, you cannot miss lessons without a good reason. If you are ill, tell me and I will fetch Master Elrond.” “I can’t come out today.” Estel said in a woeful tone of voice. He still did not look at her. “Look at me, Estel!” Gilraen demanded. Slowly and reluctantly, the boy turned to face her. “That’s better, now tell me what is the matter.” “This,” said Estel miserably, pointing to a large red spot on his chin. Gilraen supressed the urge to laugh. Instead, she drew her son close and hugged him. “It is just a spot, my love.” “It looks hideous! The Elves never have any such thing! They will all laugh at me.” “I doubt they will even notice,” said Gilraen. “I fear such spots are simply a part of growing up for Men. I recall having them all over my face when I was your age. It was the time of the Mettarë celebrations and I felt too ashamed to go, but my mother insisted I must. When I got there, I found several of the other maidens were also afflicted. You will be more fortunate than I, though, as I expect Master Elrond will have a salve that will make your spot go away quickly.” “Truly?” “I am certain he will. My mother told me that I should rejoice when the spots appeared, as they were the first sign that I was growing up. Your spot is a sign that you will soon be a man.” Estel smiled. “I want to be a man so I can take care of you and make you proud of me.” Gilraen kissed his brow. “But, I am already proud of you. Now come and have some breakfast and then we will go to Master Elrond.” Chapter 9 - Imperfection Author: Linda Hoyland Title: Imperfection Rating: G Theme: Adolescent Angst Elements: Worry about personal appearance (Could be anything from worrying about a blemish, to fear of being too heavy or too thin, too tall or short, or anything that makes him or her different.) Author's Notes: With thanks to Deandra Summary: Gilraen is puzzled by Estel’s strange behaviour Word Count: 1046 Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story. Gilraen studied her reflection carefully in the looking glass. Her dark blue gown complemented her grey eyes and she looked every inch the widow of a Chieftain. It was not often that she chose to join Master Elrond for dinner and for entertainment in the Hall of Fire afterwards, but when she did, she liked to look her best. She hoped Arathorn would be proud of her. Today, the sons of Elrond had brought her letters from her mother and sister in the Angle and knowing that they were well made her feel that she had cause for celebration. She missed them dreadfully, but the letters made them feel less far away. She made her way to her son’s rooms. At 13, her little boy was fast growing up and was already old enough for his own rooms and to escort his mother to dinner. She called to him, “Estel, are you ready?” Estel’s voice called back. “I don’t think I want to come down to the Hall of Fire tonight. I have a great deal of studying to do. Please can I have a tray sent up to my room.” Gilraen shook her head in bewilderment. Usually, Estel would make any excuse not to have to sit poring over his lesson books. She put her head around her son’s door, but could not see him. “Are you well, my love?” she enquired. “I am quite well; I just don’t want to come down tonight.” Estel’s voice called from the small bathing chamber within. You should go now, Mother, you do not wish to be late.” Still shaking her, head, Gilraen left her son to his own devices. Maybe it was his age? Her sister had a few years ago written about how her sweet-natured Halbarad had become a moody young man. In her latest letter, Inzilbeth had reported that such moods were now long since behind him and he was out patrolling with the Rangers and already a valued member of their ranks. Gilraen sighed. Estel had always been of a sweet nature and sunny disposition. She hoped that was not about to change. She made her way to the kitchens and the cook readily agreed to send up a meal to her son. Gilraen tried to put his odd behaviour from her mind and concentrate on the fine foods and wines being served and then later on the minstrels’ sweet voices. It was late when the evening’s entertainment was finally concluded. As was her custom, Gilraen went to bid her son goodnight. His rooms were in darkness, save for a single low burning lamp. Again, that was unusual, Estel never wanted to go to bed when told and always pleaded to be allowed to stay up longer to read the tales of the heroes of long ago. Gilraen tiptoed over to Estel’s bed. He was lying concealed under the bedclothes. Gilraen bent to kiss the top of his head, the only part of him that was visible then made her way to her own chambers to prepare for bed. The next morning, Gilraen awoke early. Her good mood from the day before still lingered and she dressed swiftly. It promised to be a fine day and she wanted to gather lavender from the gardens. She loved to make lavender bags to keep her clean linens sweetly scented. It reminded her of home. She was surprised not to find Estel already at the breakfast table in the dining room they shared. On fine mornings, her boy liked to be up early to practise swordplay or archery before his lessons with his tutors. Perhaps he was sleeping later today, though. A growing boy needed plenty of sleep. Gilraen began to eat the breakfast that a servant brought for her, expecting Estel to appear any moment. When she had finished eating and there was still no sign of Estel she began to get worried. Leaving her final cup of tea untouched, she went to Estel’s rooms and called to him. “Estel, are you awake?” “Yes, mother.” “Hurry up and come to breakfast then or you will be late for lessons.” “I would rather eat in my room and I ask to be excused lessons today.” “Whatever is the matter?” “Nothing, I just don’t want to leave my room.” Gilraen did not reply. Instead, she pushed open the door and strode into the room. Estel sat hunched on the bed fully dressed. He did not look at her. “Estel, you cannot miss lessons without a good reason. If you are ill, tell me and I will fetch Master Elrond.” “I can’t come out today.” Estel said in a woeful tone of voice. He still did not look at her. “Look at me, Estel!” Gilraen demanded. Slowly and reluctantly, the boy turned to face her. “That’s better, now tell me what is the matter.” “This,” said Estel miserably, pointing to a large red spot on his chin. Gilraen supressed the urge to laugh. Instead, she drew her son close and hugged him. “It is just a spot, my love.” “It looks hideous! The Elves never have any such thing! They will all laugh at me.” “I doubt they will even notice,” said Gilraen. “I fear such spots are simply a part of growing up for Men. I recall having them all over my face when I was your age. It was the time of the Mettarë celebrations and I felt too ashamed to go, but my mother insisted I must. When I got there, I found several of the other maidens were also afflicted. You will be more fortunate than I, though, as I expect Master Elrond will have a salve that will make your spot go away quickly.” “Truly?” “I am certain he will. My mother told me that I should rejoice when the spots appeared, as they were the first sign that I was growing up. Your spot is a sign that you will soon be a man.” Estel smiled. “I want to be a man so I can take care of you and make you proud of me.” Gilraen kissed his brow. “But, I am already proud of you. Now come and have some breakfast and then we will go to Master Elrond.” ------------------------------------------------------------------ Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net) on Sun Nov 15, 2026 3:01 am