Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: Last Hope (#524)
Author: AfterEver
Chapters: 12

Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings
Description: After Arathorn's death, Gilraen takes young Aragorn to be fostered in Rivendell -- but adjusting to an elvish household proves to be no simple task. Glimpses of interracial politics, cultures, and complex histories in the foreground.
Published: 09 Jan 2004
Updated: 09 Jan 2004
Warnings:
Type: Drama
Characters: Gilraen; Elrond; Elladan; Elrohir;


Chapter 1 - Prologue

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Disclaimer: Middle-earth and all recognizable characters therein are Copyright of Tolkien. Fanfiction is for entertainment purposes only, and no profit is made thereby.

***

2933 of the Third Age

***

Shadows danced on the walls as candles blew out in the wake of figures moving hurriedly about, leaving the house lit sparsely with small lanterns. Unnoticed, a woman retreated onto the porch, ashamed at her awkwardness within her own home, trusting in darkness and solitude to hide her fearful tears. The evening was silent despite the commotion inside, and she hugged her son close, pulling her cloak to cover them both against the chill. Earlier she had been prompted to pack, and admitted that she would not know where to start, feeling as an inept girl-child, not a wife and mother— a widow and mother. But her kinsmen only had words of comfort and were quick to assist; Elrond's sons as well had much experience acting in haste with sound priority. Now they readied her home to be abandoned, and she readied herself to abandon the life she had known.

"What star?" spoke her son, pointing into the night sky.

"That is Earendil." She found it within herself to smile. "His is a symbol of hope everlasting." Arathorn had always said so. Now she would say it in his place.

A presence was behind, and there came an amiable reply, "Earendil's star shines brightest upon your new home, Aragorn." Gilraen turned to face one of Elrond's sons. She envied his voice that did not tremble when he spoke, and his arm that did not shake as he reached out to accept Aragorn's hand in greeting. Little fingers curled around sword-calluses, innocent as young vines over a tombstone. His smile at the child was warm and true. "So many new things you shall see, Aragorn; much more than most lads your age. Are you excited to go?"

The child nodded that he was, little to his mother's surprise. He associated 'excited' with happy occasions, when his father was expected home, when a game was to be played. He did not understand the question, though he thought to know the word. Could a child fathom exile, and would he smile at the notion? Gilraen thought not.

The Elf-man still spoke kindly as he looked at her, if a touch faster, "Lady, there are some things we would ask you to decide upon inside. Sadly there is not room for much, if we are to travel swiftly as we ought. The necessities are stowed, but choose now some personal effects about which your kinsmen are unsure."

She nodded and went inside, where she was expected to select a few artifacts of highest importance from a house already no longer a home. An elderly maid who sat at the kitchen table greeted Gilraen through her tears, and stood to share a final embrace. A greeting and a farewell, for doubtless Gilraen would not see her former nursemaid again before the woman's death. "Be brave, mistress," she said, her wizened voice breaking. "The master was a wise man, and would ask naught of you save for your own good. And worry not for us here. We'll see to things with no trouble."

Arathorn had left to 'see to things' – the last thing he had seen was the head of an arrow. But Gilraen only smiled, as best she could, and gave her thanks. Then entering the next room she found many items had been laid out on the floor. If not for a fire being lit in the hearth, she would have tripped over the clutter. Gilbarad came up beside her, breathing heavily from exertion, and his face looked drawn before the flickering light. It seemed everyone was nearing the end of their days, in the bleakness of that night. Gilraen felt relief to have already bid farewell to her parents, and that their aging faces would not watch her leave.

"Palaber can carry little more," Gilbarad said, looking regretfully at what remained. "I fear you will be parted from most of your belongings, my lady, if-"

"My husband's last wishes shall be obeyed," Gilraen interrupted. "We leave tonight, and travel with all haste."

She knew his respect for Arathorn was no less than her own, and he too wished to comply with the former Chieftain's requests. Also she knew he would prefer more be taken than only what Arathorn's horse could carry. But he would not insist. "As you say, my lady. Tell me what here is most dear to you, and Palaber will tell me what is too much for even his strong back to bear."

She directed that a book be taken from the mantelpiece, one that held Arathorn's thoughts in his own pen, and she could think of nothing else thereafter; nothing to take, nothing that mattered, nothing except her husband who would never write again. Disinterestedly she pointed to objects on the floor, but they were mere objects to her eyes, and she measured each in the years left to them, not for their sentimental worth. In the outcome of such harsh loss, quantity of time had replaced quality of life in measure of value – she would have Arathorn marred, maimed, or otherwise, if he would just return and stay a while longer. But the orc who slew him had not asked her opinion on this matter.

With her son she went outside onto the porch, seeing one of Elrond's sons from afar. Out of the barn he led her horse, Malfrey, saddled for the long ride ahead. Arathorn's former steed Palaber waited at the bottom of the stairs in dismal spirits, missing his master. From the road Artanal also neared on horseback, a shadow in the twilight; he would complete what was to be her escort to the Ford of Bruinen. Gilbarad passed by, and fixed a few last things to Palaber's load, speaking encouragingly to the sad beast – Gilraen listened without shame, taking those words to her own heart.

Night seemed ever deepening outside. Earendil's star had passed out of sight behind clouds smothering the sky, and even the close scenery so familiar to her during the years before was strange in that hour; dark and blurry, like someone else's half-forgotten memory. Soon that memory would be her own, gradually forgotten from leagues away.

Now the second twin rode up, leading Gilbarad's horse; the Ranger nodded his thanks and mounted. With only a whistle the Elf-man leading Malfrey summoned his own steed, approaching Gilraen with brisk steps. "Lady, it is time we left," he said, grave but gentle. Side by side they walked down the stairs, and Gilraen tried without success to ascertain if this was the same twin she had spoken with moments ago. He gestured to her son. "Here, lad, let me help you sit your mother's horse. Look how pleased Malfrey is to see you!"

Aragorn's fists tightened, reluctant to be parted from his mother, but his love of riding was strong, and he was smiling and giddy as he was hefted onto Malfrey's back. The child did not recognize the travel-worn and battle-torn state of the Elf-man's attire, nor the bandage on his thigh stained black with dried blood, or the grime under his nails telling the tale of recent grave digging; but Gilraen did. In these things she understood that she was not alone of those who endure hardships to preserve the honour of one departed.

"Lady, may I help you?" One hand was held out to her, the other steadying Aragorn in the saddle.

"Yes." Gilraen mounted behind her child without difficulty or assistance. "Lead me to Rivendell, son of Elrond, so that I may fulfill a promise made long ago. Then mayhap Arathorn and I shall both rest in peace."

Few marked the departure of Arathorn's widow amid a small company in the gloom of that night, and come morning none spoke of it. Least of all did they speak of Arathorn's son, save to say that he had gone to a safer place.

***


Chapter 2 - Part 1 - Chapter 1

***

The journey was more fearful than dangerous. In his letter, Arathorn cautioned Gilraen to travel with discretion and haste to Elrond's house, and his warning was not forgotten even if the road seemed safe.

During her short life, Gilraen had not made a habit of leaving the Angle, for any reason; to leave it for the first time and for an indefinite duration seemed strangely fitting. This relocation would not be as a change of the weather, just as she had not come and gone with the passing seasons through these parts. If I return eventually, will Rivendell seem as an eclipse that has passed, or will the shadow lie ahead?

They reached the Ford of Bruinen after two days without incident. Here Gilbarad and Artanal planned to turn back, leaving Elrond's sons alone to escort Gilraen onward to Rivendell. But first they agreed to camp together. Having a young child along had caused many unavoidable delays, and they rode hard whenever possible to make up for lost time. In the end, such erratic pacing proved more tiring for everyone.

It was evening when the party dismounted. As the horses drank from the river, Gilbarad spoke a thought that had been brewing in his mind, "If all are willing, I suggest we cross the Ford and ride on for a little while, until nightfall."

Artanal wondered if Gilraen could hear them from the nearby thicket, where she had taken Aragorn to tend to his needs – and if so, what she would think of Gilbarad's proposal.

Elladan replied, "Our crossing will not go unnoticed, and if we cross now only to camp in an hour, we would be expected sooner than we would arrive. I prefer not to make anyone wonder at our belatedness, fearing us delayed by ill chance. Besides, here we will be just as safe, tonight."

When Gilraen returned, the camp was already being ordered. She noticed the twins had paused to speak together; it appeared that they were disagreeing on some matter, though civilly. Discreet in turn, she steered Aragorn along the water's edge.

"We have made good time, all considered," said one of Elrond's sons, his tone mildly defensive. Gilraen had not heard what was said before, and aught that followed was spoken even lower. Kneeling at the riverbank she bathed her hands, and bid Aragorn -repeatedly- to do the same.

Behind her came Artanal, and he sat beside Aragorn, who greeted him enthusiastically, hoping to engage in the tussling games Artanal would usually play. But the man remained somber, and she saw Aragorn's confusion – since riding and camping brought him such joy, how could he understand why everyone was so stern?

"Are you certain, cousin?" Artanal asked. "The brethren are exceptional riders, and they surely know the way better than any. But," here he chuckled, shaking his head, "well, they are strange; perhaps more so to those who do not know them well. Gilbarad and I are willing to continue, even unto Elrond's house."

"My mind is unchanged. Valcirion will come as emissary on behalf of the Angle whether you accompany me further or not. Better that you return now and wait for him, tell him all you know when he arrives. Thereafter he may follow in his own time; I am the only one in need of haste." Political affairs had seldom concerned her previously, and presently all her thoughts were bent towards her son. Valcirion is best suited to handle the Rangers' relations with Rivendell. All I should see to is my son – that was all Arathorn bade me to do.

Artanal looked silently upon her, grim of face as a lady so fair should never be, and as Arathorn's young wife had never been before. He sighed, thinking on the former Chieftain's requests, and that his last wishes had caused his widow such distress. But he came back to himself as Aragorn ploughed into his lap, giggling and tickling. "Easy, boy, easy!" he laughed. "Go and see Gilbarad a while – I hear he needs help finding firewood. Best you run!"

Aragorn was happy to comply, his energy limitless after sitting still for so many hours. Gilraen watched him go to see that he indeed met Gilbarad by the camp and did not wander instead.

"He is a good lad," Artanal remarked, seeing how Gilraen's gaze lingered. "He will grow to be a good man – like his father." Gilraen did not respond, and Artanal sighed again. He could track an orc through a body of shallow water, but he could not comfort this woman whom he had known for all of her life. "Expect Valcirion by next month, I reckon. Once the tidings reach him at Sarn Ford he will likely depart at once, and I doubt he will linger at home ere setting out for Rivendell." He stood, pulling his hood up against the chill breeze. "I will plan to accompany him then, since I am not to accompany you now. And I will bring more of your belongings, or arrange to have them taken if duty bars me from traveling myself."

"I thank you," Gilraen said, though she did not deeply care for her things anymore.

Artanal breathed in the cool air, and memories of Gilraen's destination almost made him envious. The soft beds, warm halls, and nourishing fare of the Last Homely House was a luxury he had had the pleasure of knowing on but one occasion in his life. "It is a place like no other." Gilraen looked up at him. "A place like you deserve." He began to walk towards camp, but paused of a sudden. "I would take your answer to Gilbarad as well, if you like – doubtless he will question you again if I do not." Peering over his shoulder, he grinned. "In the name of Gilbarad, are you certain?"

She smiled without sharing in his mirth. "I am."

He nodded, his look resigned; she knew he would not ask again. Gesturing behind himself, he said, "I know they have been reserved, but it is not always so; and if you can grow used to the sons of Elrond their sire will seem far less daunting. The Elves, however, are a puzzle I have yet to solve. I wish you well in that trial," his light tone faded to sincerity, "and in all else."

As he left, Gilraen's eyes were drawn to the campsite he approached. Aragorn raced from Gilbarad to meet Artanal, making another attempt to initiate a wrestling game. Behind them, Elladan toiled over a cooking fire, quickly bringing it to a robust flame with expert manipulation, then just as promptly he began to fix a meal. Elrohir tended each of the horses in turn; though his motions were brisk and methodical, his fondness was plain to see, and he treated no horse above another.

Not for the first time, Gilraen noted that though their bearing was aristocratic, the sons of Elrond did not shun menial duties, and this she respected. But they had seemed aloof throughout the journey, conversing little save in necessity, always tense as if listening. Even now they appear somehow separate from the others, like they do not belong.

She looked again at the Rangers, both of whom she had known since her childhood, and then at her son, comfortable with the men he knew and trusted. Aragorn was a gregarious boy by nature, but he preferred the care and attention of those most familiar to him. On this she pondered, as she glanced at the sky. Once Artanal and Gilbarad are gone, I will not be the only one thrust into the company of strangers.

Clouds were coming swiftly from the south, carried on a high wind. Darkness would fall soon; already the sun had descended below the trees nearby, leaving the camp in murky shadow. She rose from the damp and stony ground, uncertain.

***


Chapter 3 - Part 1 - Chapter 2

***

With the morning came partings and well-wishes. Again Artanal assured his cousin that he would endeavor to accompany Valcirion upon his visit to Elrond's house. Gilraen believed they would meet again, but the leave-taking was scarcely easier for it. Gilbarad vowed to visit if and when he could, remembering the friendship he shared with Arathorn – but Gilraen doubted the opportunity would present itself. He had a young daughter, and his wife was heavy with their second child. Once the ranks officially shifted in the wake of Arathorn's death, his experience and seniority would make him a likely candidate for promotion. No, Gilbarad is not a man destined to have time for leisurely affairs.

The Rangers departed under first light, after partaking of a simple meal. Aragorn waved as they rode off, amazed when they disappeared from view so quickly, blending amid the shadows not to emerge in sight again. He clapped with delight that faded when they did not return, laughing and happy to teach him their trick. "Why?" he asked his mother, but she just shook her head, unable to answer. His mind was not the only one which turned to another beloved man who had not returned.

The brethren wasted no time in their own preparation. Elladan was quick to organize their supplies as his brother equipped the horses once more, speaking to them soothingly. There was little left for Gilraen to do -just as it had been for the duration of the journey- and she waited aside with Aragorn.

Soon Elrohir approached the child where he had been overturning stones to see what crawled beneath. "Hullo, Aragorn; what have you found there?" Gilraen came to Elrohir's side, even as Elladan approached his brother from behind – the bandage on his thigh assured her she did not have the twins confused.

"Ai, that is a treasure!" Elrohir laughed, seeing what Aragorn held with such pride.

Aragorn came to his mother, eager to show her his discovery: a creature of more legs than aught else, and none too still. "Mine," the boy said, eyes wide and admiring as he gazed at the wiggling insect. Wincing, Gilraen sought for some way to part her son from the thing peacefully, lest she be forced to ride with it.

Elrohir kneeled. "But you would not keep him from his family, would you?" He pointed at the rocks, then to the Bruinen; Aragorn's eyes followed the line his finger drew. "This side of the river is his home, and while we may cross the water safely, he cannot swim! If we carry him over, he shall never return." Very fond of his pet, the boy was reluctant to sympathize, until Elrohir added, "I fear he would miss his mother dearly."

Aragorn squatted, letting the bug crawl from his hand. He waved to it and stood, shifting subtly to be closer to Elrohir, then looking up raised his arms in a silent request. With a smile Elrohir obeyed, picking the child up. Glancing sidelong, Gilraen saw that Elladan watched his brother intently, but then his eyes meet hers. "Smart lad, to know the importance of such things," he said, and nodded to the horses. "Come, the morning presses on, and so should we."

"Then the Ford is safe to cross?" she asked, thinking the question foolish, but one that had been troubling her. Strange tales were told of the Bruinen and its unpredictable ferocity.

From behind came Elrohir's lighthearted reply, "The river of this valley is under the power of Elrond Halfelven, lady. Seldom does it spirit aught away on accident – or without ceremony!"

Elladan's answer was more reassuring as he turned to her by Malfrey's side. "Have no fear, for we are expected, and regardless the crossing is safe."

Gilraen accepted his hand and mounted; as she settled, Elrohir came to lift Aragorn into the saddle. "Hup! Hup!" The child bounced, trying to command the horse, but his mother's attention fell elsewhere. She watched, perplexed, as Elladan gripped his brother's arm, demanding eye contact. Some wordless exchange was had, all in the span of a second, and they parted swiftly. Elrohir ducked away and walked to his horse, mounting at once, while Elladan seemed oblivious that the encounter had been observed, and casually summoned his steed to him.

"Hup! Hup!" Aragorn had grown frustrated by Malfrey's perceived noncompliance, and by tightening the reins Gilraen gave an order the horse could understand. Malfrey followed behind Elladan's steed, while Elrohir led Palaber in the rear. Elladan paused briefly before treading into the water, his chin tipped as if smelling the air, then he pressed onward, his horse unperturbed by the current. Over Aragorn's squeals of delight and the splashing of water rang Elrohir's laughter, light as falling snow.

***

The going was pleasant as the hours passed, and under the cloudless sky even the early winter seemed less cold, its chill wind sun-kissed until it tingled upon the face, welcome and refreshing. Though no song was sung amid the escort, and little conversation passed between them, the further they walked the lighter Gilraen's heart felt, and the more assured she was of her path.

At a time in the late morning Elladan halted his steed and peered around, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword – either in alarm or habit, Gilraen could not tell. After a moment his manner relaxed. "All is well," he said, and dismounted.

"I cannot tell... is it Glorfindel?" questioned Elrohir, sliding down from his horse.

"Nay." Elladan seemed to deliberate. "Ronduir, most likely." Coming beside Gilraen, he gestured to the surrounding woods. "You could say Rivendell has Rangers of its own, lady." After lowering Aragorn to the ground he helped Gilraen dismount. "I go now to speak with a warden of the valley. You may rest here a while."

In an instant he was lost to sight among the trees. Gilraen moved quickly to keep Aragorn from racing along after him. The boy fussed, annoyed by his mother's meddling, but was contented when Elrohir offered him an apple – which, according to the accompanying tale, was enchanted. He skipped about as he ate his supposedly magic fruit, stopping to watch the occasional squirrel scamper by.

Gilraen joined Elrohir by the side of the path when he paused suddenly, his gaze reaching far into the forest. "Is there aught amiss?"

"Nay." Looking to her he smiled, and she could not help but feel comforted. "Here we are safe, have no fear – this valley is well guarded."

It seemed to Gilraen that he would have said more, but something swayed him; she wondered at that, and on other things. Elrohir stood tall as an Elf, built sturdy as a man, and though his bearing was stern, his smile was honest, and surfaced more often than his brother's. But their faces were exactly matched, comely as princes, wise as kings. She decided to pursue a conversation with this Elf-man, remembering Artanal's words.

"What can you tell me of Rivendell, lord? I have only known a casual way of living, as yet; life at court is a thing of history books among my folk."

Elrohir waved a hand dismissively. "The Lord of Rivendell does not necessitate formalities, and neither do I. Call me Elrohir, please." His tone was light, "Or call me Elladan, and you will be nearly correct."

Having made that mistake before, Gilraen blushed a bit. "I admit that I might not have known to whom I speak, for your look and garb is identical to me, save that your brother wears a bandage above his knee, and you do not." He seemed amused at that, but not surprised – doubtless others had used similar signs to differentiate the twins. "Does it vex you to be mistaken for another?"

"Nay, and you are clever to have marked his binding. But we may not be similarly clothed in Rivendell, and his wound will soon be healed. Look then for this instead." He held out his left hand. A bronze band shone around his thumb, engraved like a rolling wave that chases in a circle.

"That is beautiful," said Gilraen. Her thoughts turned to the ring Arathorn had given her. Do those of Elf-kind exchange rings as a symbol of marriage or betrothal? "Is it… has it some meaning?"

Again Elrohir seemed to waver. "Not as such. But it is dear to me; it was a gift." His gaze lingered over the ornament, but when his hand fell away he blinked and all concern left his features.

Aragorn came over then to show his mother a large beetle he had caught. Gilraen endeavored to conceal her grimace of distaste, while Elrohir knelt down, interested. "Ah, here is a very busy fellow this time of year!" He went on to explain the characteristics of that particular species. Aragorn listened, fascinated – but once the tale was told he ran to replace the creature upon its path, searching immediately for something else.

Gilraen said smiling, "I can tell that my son is fond of you. Consider it a compliment in that he does not introduce his bugs to just anyone."

Elrohir nodded. "Then I am honoured."

She ventured further, "It seems that you have the familiarity of one used to children, lord. May I ask: do you have any of your own?"

"Elrohir. And… no." Meeting her gaze, it seemed like he would have continued, but his brother returned in that moment, distracting him.

Elladan was of a lighter mood now, obvious at first glance. "Well met!" he said, picking Aragorn up as he neared the horses. "All is well, according to Ronduir. Let us ride on! We can water our horses from the Silverstream." He sat Aragorn upon Malfrey, standing beside the horse until Gilraen came.

"The Silverstream is just that," Elrohir was explaining, "a brook that flows over white stones; it shimmers as steel under the light of stars or sun. We will find it crossing a small glade, an hour from here."

"An hour!" Elladan scoffed, unbelieving. He helped Gilraen to mount, then leapt upon his steed. "An hour for you, perhaps, during spring. Not under these conditions: horses unfamiliar with the way, some tired from our hard riding to and from the north, winter frost upon the shaded patches of our trail, and..."

Elrohir was no longer listening as his brother spoke on, telling Gilraen about the virtues of their course, and other things lost upon Elrohir as he fell lightly asleep.

"So there is another way than this?"

"There are many ways. As I said, they are swifter, but more difficult to tread. We have already passed three crossroads, though perhaps your eyes cannot see them." He seemed to check himself. "That is, you do not know what to look for."

This was not the first time Gilraen had heard talk regarding the speed of their progress. "I fear my inexperience has slowed us." Since Aragorn was born, and for months before, she had rarely gone riding.

"We have made good time, all considered."

By the sound of his voice, Gilraen recognized Elladan had been the one to speak those same words the night before. And he did not sound fond of repeating himself. I may not need Elrohir's ring to tell these two apart, if their moods remain so dissimilar.

***


Chapter 4 - Part 1 - Chapter 3

***

They rested by the Silverstream for longer than intended, as Aragorn fell fast asleep upon a blanket Gilraen had laid out, and all were reluctant to disturb his slumber.

"Well, I am not opposed to tarrying here for a while," Elladan had said, and sat against the trunk of a bald tree, the first occasion Gilraen had seen him recline to rest. For an instant she expected him to prepare a pipe, as a Ranger is apt do when sitting at leisure. But he only gazed into the distance, unmoving. Elrohir did not seem as content, and occupied himself with the horses despite his brother's suggestion that everyone rest.

Although Gilraen might have protested against the delay a day ago, it was difficult to feel harried within the borders of Rivendell. She took the time to walk about. Trees ringed the oblong glade, their bare limbs glittering as frost melted under the afternoon sun. The air was sweet with the smell of growing things, inexplicable for the time of year, and somewhere not far off meat was being smoked. The breeze turned, bringing an echo of singing mingled with the trickle of the Silverstream. The area had not seemed uninhabited since crossing the Ford, but now she became aware of the valley's life by the subtle signs all around her. Rivendell seemed as a hibernating creature warm and safe within its cave, while Eriador withstood the battery of winter outside.

"Gilraen."

Turning, she marked the bandaged right thigh, then the naked left thumb, and smiled. "Elladan, have I wandered too far?"

"Not at all. But your son is awake, and mayhap we should continue."

When they returned to the horses by the brook, Gilraen was surprised to notice that the shadows had shifted since she strayed: already an hour had passed. Aragorn approached her a bit unsteadily, eyes puffy and squinting in the sun. Elladan moved to pick him up, but the child had a mind for games, and evaded him. Groggy and with half-closed eyes he reached Elrohir, laughing to have escaped – unaware that he was never pursued. Elrohir lifted the boy and walked him to Malfrey, congratulating his dexterity.

Soon they were riding again, through a portion of the trail open to the sun, and wide enough for two comfortably abreast. Gilraen felt herself captivated by the scenery, awed by its newness. For a while she watched contentedly, hoping for the chance to explore this valley someday. But inevitably her thoughts turned to leisurely rides she had shared with Arathorn, few though they were. Once they rode to the Last Bridge together, and camped there – her heart ached at the recollection of loving embraces under the stars that night. She did not pay heed to her surroundings again, until their pace slowed considerably.

Ahead, Elladan rode along as he ever had -though slower- casually surveying the landscape. But when Gilraen turned she was surprised to see that Elrohir walked beside his steed, Palaber following, and they had lagged far behind. She led Malfrey to join her beside Elladan. "We are nearly there, lady." Before she could speak Elladan added in a low voice, "Do not wonder. Elrohir nurses a sore back that needs mending."

"I am sorry!" She glanced behind again. Elrohir was speaking to Palaber whilst rubbing the horse's neck, and from that distance Gilraen could not make out the crease upon his brow, the lone sign of his suffering. Could one so diligent and strong be hindered by aught less than a dire injury? "He will recover?"

"Our father will care for him."

Being less familiar than some with the legendary healing skills of Elrond Halfelven, Gilraen was little comforted. "Now dearly do I rue the times I could have labored in his place, and the times he lifted my son while I was just as able. If only I had known!"

"No matter," said Elladan. "Among the Rangers, Elves are said to be stubborn; I fear Elrohir exhibits more than his half-measure, despite my good advice."

Gilraen might agree, save that she had ever met an Elf. Thinking back, there were several occasions when Elrohir had rejected his brother's assistance with all manner of tasks, and the tension she had sensed between them now made sense. It was a relief to learn that she had not been the cause of their squabbling.

But here again was an opportunity to become more acquainted with Elladan, and she seized it. "Is Rivendell the only home you keep, lord? And have you been away long?"

"Yes, our father's house is the place we call home, my brother and I. And we have been gone for many months."

"Then it must be a joy for you, this homecoming."

He sighed. "Alas that it is not. For me this day is spoiled by the shadow of great loss, the Chieftain of the Dunedain, and I will not rejoice."

By his solemn reply Gilraen was struck silent, and they rode along quietly, each in their own thoughts. Arathorn had told her of the brethren's errands, relentlessly hunting and executing orcs throughout Eriador, and even beyond. So often and far do they ride, he had said, that the Rangers could not always accompany them; for they are tireless as Elves and wrathful as otherworldly beings, so that lesser Men in their company would be more of a burden than an aid.

Soon the path grew narrower, and Elladan took the lead. Elrohir had mounted again, and their pace quickened as they followed the trail around a bending slope that continued even as it seemed to turn around, and came finally upon the Last Homely House. Though facing it directly, Gilraen could not say that it was much less hidden; for it seemed that when she looked upon it she saw only the trees among which it was built, yet when she looked away the architecture became more visible. "Is there some enchantment at work?" she heard herself say.

"Why do you ask, lady?"

Peering closer, then away, every tree was seen clearly, yet the buildings only in glimpses. The sun glared in her eyes, and there was a mist in the air from falling water nearby, casting illusions of light that distorted her vision. "Perhaps… it is merely my eyesight."

Elladan shrugged. "Perhaps. Though once we are closer, things should be clearer to you."

Laughing to himself Elrohir overtook them both at a trot, Palaber following behind his steed, both becoming lost amid what could and could not be seen. Blinking, Gilraen realized that the path had given way to a flat field of tall grasses, beyond which was an open courtyard cupped by a crest of stone pillars or tree trunks, and a path curved at the top... or is it a hallway of windows? Pondering this they crossed the courtyard, and their horses halted, though hoof beats echoed still.

Her gaze returned from wandering and settled before her, where there was a tiered fountain carved of pale stone. Next to it was an Elf upon a white horse; tall and straight he sat, and about his shoulders fell golden hair the likes of which Gilraen had never before seen. He was flawless as the fountain beside him, and inconspicuous until he moved – he had been overlooked initially, mistaken as part of the chiseled stonework.

"Greetings, Glorfindel," said Elladan. The Elf called Glorfindel gazed upon Gilraen, curious. "Here is Gilraen wife of Arathorn, and Aragorn their son."

Glorfindel's voice was like music, "Ah, as I suspected. You are most welcome here, lady – we have been expecting you."

Only Elladan heard the note of sorrow, and he frowned. "Have tidings of our misfortune reached Rivendell already? I met Ronduir between the Ford and the glade by the Silverstream, but he knew of naught amiss."

An afflicted look crossed the Elf-lord's features. "Elrond knew, yes. I have just returned from the High Pass, and learned of your delay in crossing the Ford—" Elladan was about to speak until Glorfindel said, "but we will talk later." He brought his steed beside Gilraen then, holding his hand against his breast, then reached out to her.

"My condolences for you, lady, and your child. Mortal lives being so short are precious indeed, and more is the pity when they are ended before their time." He bowed his head respectfully, and Gilraen was almost abashed that he should be grieved on her account; for his face seemed fair and young as a new flower, meant for joy and laughter under a cloudless sky.

Unsure if it was what he expected, she took his hand. "I thank you, lord, for your consideration." With a nudge from his master, Asfaloth sidestepped; thus closer Glorfindel bent to kiss the hand that was cold in his, and the weather troubled Gilraen no longer. She felt comforted by this Elf who rose with a smile upon his face, and his bright eyes that fell upon her kindly. His manner reinforced her own courage; for she saw amazed that sorrow perished within him so that no burden rested upon his brow, only the wisdom of experience.

"I am eager to meet the Lord of this house, and give to him my thanks, if I might be led thence."

***


Chapter 5 - Part 1 - Chapter 4

***

Before doors engraved with runes writ in copper, Glorfindel paused. "Are you certain, lady?"

"I am," she told him, respectfully. "I would not be able to rest at heart until this deed is done."

His look was understanding. "The customs of men are different in such ways, and this is an elvish household; but we would not have you discomforted. As you wish it then – Elrond is within." Elladan stepped forward and pushed open the doors, while Glorfindel led them inside.

Following behind, Gilraen looked about the chamber. Long and narrow it was, windows along each wall shut behind heavy drapes. The warmth was deceptive for a winter day, lit dimly by lamps hanging from beams across the ceiling. Chairs rested between every window frame, and one had a place upon a dais at the end of the room. Gilraen saw that Elrohir stood beside that chair, and a figure sat upon it, head lowered as if in deep thought, face hidden by shadow.

Sighing softly as they came forth, Glorfindel quickly walked to the left and right wall, opening the drapes of the furthermost pair of windows; he was merry returning to Gilraen's side, now bathed in the sun's light. At first Aragorn had cowered behind his mother, shrinking from the gloomy and unfamiliar place, but now he emerged from the folds of her skirt, smiling as he looked about, amazed at what sunlight revealed. He ran to inspect and then test chair after chair, never before seeing so many in one place.

Elladan walked ahead as his sire looked up at last. "Greetings, father," he said, and bowed his head.

Elrond gazed a moment at the assemblage, then stood and descended the stairs to meet them. First he stopped by his son. "Elladan, welcome home." They did not embrace, but each raised a hand, brushing the other's cheek lightly. Elrond now faced Gilraen. "And greetings to you, Gilraen daughter of Dirhael," he glanced to the boy scurrying across his conference hall, voice tinged with mirth when he added, "and Aragorn son of Arathorn."

Elrohir came from the dais to stand beside his father, and Gilraen was struck by the similarities between them. Elrond was tall like his son, hair equally as dark but sheared in a frame about his face, and his countenance told of more memories, in his eyes there dwelled deeper knowledge.

He smiled, and Gilraen bowed as she replied, "I thank you, lord, for your willingness to receive me and my son without forewarning, and to meet with me now." She retrieved a note from a purse at her side. Elrond looked with interest at the folded parchment produced for his taking. "This letter contains Arathorn's last wishes, and explains my coming here. I would ask that you please read it."

"And it pertains to me?" he asked, doubtful.

"Yes," she stammered, "well, in part."

"In that case I trust you to relay aught of pertinence, for I do not wish to pry into personal matters."

However brave Gilraen might have felt before, under the austerity of Elrond's gaze she felt there was no gainsaying his word – yet her heart demanded that she fulfill her promise. Fumbling she unfolded the missive and tried to read it aloud; but her throat went dry, then tears blurred her vision. It felt in that moment as if she was doomed to be dependant upon the strength of others, despite how she strove for control.

"Forgive me," breathing deeply she offered the note again. "Please, lord, it is so difficult! I hear his voice speaking these words as I read; would you not spare me? And Arathorn asked that it be delivered to your hand— if not for my sake, will you indulge a dead man's wishes?" The note was slipped from her fingers while her eyes were cast upon the floor. As she strove to master her emotions a hand rested upon her shoulder, silently consoling.

When next she looked up, Elrond sat again in his chair, one hand holding the unfolded note, the other clasping the armrest, and his eyes grown stern. Stomach fluttering, Gilraen strove to decipher the mood of this being, who seemed changed as morning dew that suddenly freezes. What in that letter caused such a difference? This was not Elladan, remote but courteous; nor Elrohir, peculiar but affable. This was otherworldly, and she was unprepared. Glorfindel squeezed her shoulder, then moved to stand behind Elrond's chair. His expression remained untroubled, but it was scarcely a comfort to Gilraen anymore.

When Elrond spoke, his clear voice reverberated throughout the hall. "Gilraen, listen to me. I welcome you and your son into my house; for I am the Lord of Rivendell, and that is my privilege. Thus it was not within the power or obligation of Arathorn Arador's son to request that which is mine alone to give, and that which has already been given." Releasing Gilraen from his gaze he sighed – the sound of her long breath mingled with his, unnoticed.

In a low tone he continued, "That it has come to a state of ambiguity between our houses grieves me to learn. So swiftly do the memories of Men fade, and what once was certain dwindles ever to doubt. But it will be undone." When he looked back, compassion was evident. "Did you not know?" he asked smiling, yet she quailed to think that he had heard the question in her very heart. "Any of Isildur's heirs in need of sanctuary have been harbored within Rivendell, during youth or old age."

"That is indeed as our elders say," Gilraen answered, hesitant. Arathorn had remained utterly confident thereof; but to some it was a matter of speculation, even disbelief. "Yet there are tales of an ancient rift between Rivendell and the Angle that caused relations to diminish... and as you say, lord, some have doubts." Silence followed, and Gilraen felt smothered by it, wishing that Artanal and Gilbarad were beside her.

At length Elrond replied, "Be that as it may, no bearing has it upon the Chieftains' sons and their acceptance here. Arathorn himself spent a measure of his boyhood in my home – it need have been no secret kept from you that his forefathers were fostered here similarly." A crease dented his brow as he regarded the letter once more.

"Yes, lord, I know of Arathorn's youth and that of his grandfathers. And it is what I had hoped to ask for in our son's need."

Elrond blinked. "Then they speak truthfully in the Angle, and your hope is well-placed. Nine-hundred, fifty and seven years ago I opened my home to your kinsmen -my kinsmen- and even after these passing years and waning generations, that has not changed." Rising he approached Gilraen again. "That will never change." He held out Arathorn's note for her to retake, not expecting that she would kneel before him.

Unaware of elvish customs, Gilraen knew of no way to express her gratitude as would be most fitting. But the kiss Glorfindel placed upon her hand emerged from her memory – she felt some of that warmth return, as finding Elrond's hand she kissed it chastely.

"I thank you, lord, with all my heart. But I would not stay as a beggar within your home! And so this I came prepared to pledge: that until the end of my days or until my debt is repaid, I devote my service to your household."

"You will do no such thing," Elrond said gravely. "So long as you reside within my home, you shall be here as my guest or not at all."

Gilraen looked up, unbelieving, grappling for the courage to insist that he take some compensation for his generosity. But his eyes, keen as starlight, clear as the Silverstream, did not waver, and she found herself unable to oppose him.

"A warning, lady, for I have battled and won this same argument since millennia past – but strive with me if you will," said the ancient voice, and Gilraen heard laughter bubbling under the words, as a river that churns even beneath ice. She smiled at last, assured, relieved. "Arise, child, and go to take some rest for yourself. In later days we will meet again, and then discuss matters of import. But for now see to your own comfort, and that of your son." As Gilraen stood, Elrond passed a hand over her eyes; the simple gesture eased her mind like a breeze cools the flesh. "Be in peace," he said, and she was.

Then Elrond moved as if to return to his seat. After a moment of reflection Gilraen realized where she yet stood, and then realized what she was looking at. Glorfindel still stood upon the dais, his smile bright and knowing. Elrond faced his chair, unmoving, looking with an unidentifiable expression at the child contentedly sitting upon it. Glorfindel's amusement was obvious, but Gilraen felt less sure of the others.

She glanced to Elladan, who appeared stoic again, as in the past days of travel. Elrohir was smiling, but seemed tired; and now aware of his injury Gilraen could tell he was pained. Next she looked to Elrond. He had ascended the stairs and now knelt before his chair. Thinking to fetch her son she walked forward, but dared venture no further than the foot of the dais – and though able to see Elrond's face from the side, his temper was no less of a mystery to her.

Finally Glorfindel laughed. "The child fancies himself a ruler, I think."

Elrond looked up at him as if startled, then back to the boy, and Gilraen thought his eyes grew slightly wide. Aragorn's heels barely reached the edge of the seat, though his legs were fully stretched, and with arms extended upwards he could just touch his hands to the armrests, where they held on more than rested. His pride in himself was obvious, just as his delight to have everyone's attention. This, it seemed, was his favourite seat in the chamber – and he had sampled them all. Looking to Elrond he smiled sincerely, unaware of his trespass.

Eventually, slowly, the smile was returned, and Elrond laughed.

***


Chapter 6 - Part 1 - Chapter 5

***

Gilraen was brought to the main house that day by an Elf named Lindir. He and another had come to the conference chamber for an unrelated purpose, but Elrond asked that Lindir escort Gilraen to the quarters prepared for her.

As they left the hall, Gilraen asked him, "Are you from Mithlond, lord?" When speaking of his travels, Arathorn had mentioned to her once that Elves beyond Rivendell often had different appearances. Lindir's long hair was silver, and his build a bit lanky compared to the dark-haired Elves in Rivendell.

When he laughed, the sound was akin to a chirping bird. "I am from Mithlond no more than I am a Lord here. But excuse me; perhaps that is a customary form of address among your folk."

She grappled over an answer until deciding he did not likely wait for one. Lindir explained some things of Elrond's house as they walked -where places were and when events occurred- but Gilraen was preoccupied keeping Aragorn from dashing off to explore on his own terms, or handling things that presumably had value beyond measure.

Several Elves paused at the sight of the child with mixed expressions of confusion and wonder. A few approached, and after peering closely at the boy, a knowing look would come upon them. They spoke sociably to Gilraen, seeming to be most interested in her son. But Aragorn did not relish their attentions in that hour, as he would have savored a meal or a familiar face, and he became restive after hearing so many names and questions – then when his mother spoke too long and the Elves too slowly, he became cross.

Gilraen knew when Lindir turned to her beside a doorway that she would be fortunate to find her way back outside, much less to the kitchens, after the distractions along the way.

"Your things were brought within, or so I was told," the Elf cocked his head into the room, and nodded in affirmation. "Will this be adequate?"

She knew not if he meant the room or the directions she had not heard half of or aught else. But Aragorn fussed to be released, alternately reaching for a vase against the wall and a pillow upon a window sill, and she could not give her full attention to Lindir until her son's restlessness abated. "Yes, 'tis all fine, I thank you!"

Lindir moved aside to allow her entry, smiling – though his gaze shifted to Aragorn frequently, clearly baffled by the child's upset. "Until supper, then." And he left, as Gilraen coaxed her son inside.

That done she sighed, closing the door as if it might block the last quarter hour from her memory. She leaned against the wall for a moment with her eyes closed, enjoying the silence. Once realizing the silence was uncommonly prolonged, she whirled. The room was nicely furnished and well kept; she guessed that it had been occupied by someone else not long ago. Her belongings were set around, a few things lay on the bed, the rest sat on the floor. And in the middle of the unfamiliar place and the chore of unpacking stood her son, looking like a lost lamb where wolves howled in the distance.

His bottom lip trembled, both arms were stiff and held close to his sides. "Where's papa?" he said, nervous and demanding at once.

Gilraen sighed. His earlier irritability had been recognized as an indication of sleepiness, and she was fully prepared to put her misbehaved child down for a nap. But this was different. "Later, Aragorn," she said. "Ask me that later, please."

He frowned. "Go home." It was not a request.

Always before, familiar faces had welcomed him in houses that were not his own. With only strangers in this place, it was no wonder that he did not wish to stay. Any annoyance Gilraen might have felt was gone; only compassion remained. "No, Aragorn. This will be our home now." She shook her head as he made ready to ask again, for the answer would never change.

He rubbed hard at his eyes as the tears came, the sum of his frustration, and he burrowed against the bed, writhing as if to rub off the truth. But there was no ridding himself of what he knew in his heart, even if he knew of no word to describe it. "I want papa!" He fought against his mother's gentle hands as she lifted and settled him upon the bed. Gilraen could sympathize with the need to struggle against something, anything. She knew he would have fought his father just the same, for not coming back sooner, and leaving in the first place, and for ever being gone at all. But Aragorn would never have that chance. And neither will I.

"Papa...."

"Shh..." Gilraen stroked her son's dark hair as he fidgeted in an uneasy sleep, and did not shed a single tear for herself.

***

Aragorn awoke at the hour when supper would normally be served. He was hungry, but not impatient – much to Gilraen's relief.

No one had come to the door throughout the day, and Gilraen expected that would not change as the hour grew later. She remembered her mother's way of conducting such things: any guest in the household who was not at the table in time would know no peace until they sat for a meal. But Elves, it seemed, respected the privacy of their guests more than they expected compliments on their cooking.

She persuaded her son to suffer a washing and don clean clothes, then left him to explore the room while she tidied herself; but his mood was changed. Whatever excitement kept him content during the journey had faded. He knows things are not as they should be, now. Again she rued coming alone.

Venturing out of the room, the house was darker than expected. The sun had descended below the horizon of the gully walls, casting the valley in shadow. Not wishing to traverse the house after nightfall, Gilraen pressed onward quickly.

Fortune had her soon cross paths with an Elf. She was a tall female, fair of face, with a basket balanced on her hip. Gilraen greeted her in Sindarin, and introduced herself. The Elf replied in Westron, as had everyone else in Rivendell, "Greetings to you, Gilraen. I am Telmoth." She eyed Aragorn, eventually smiling at the boy. "You are searching for the kitchens."

Gilraen laughed with relief. "Yes, does he look that hungry?"

"Not so, but I heard of your absence at supper. I am going to the kitchens now, and you may follow me there."

She led the way, and Gilraen made sure to mark the course they took. Passing outside they approached a separate building that appeared at first to be a large chamber with many arching windows. Once closer Gilraen realized that it was not one room, but several arrayed in a circle. They entered, moving easily from one orderly room to another by interconnecting doorways. Gilraen was amazed to see that an area was designated for each chore of cooking. Her own kitchen and that of her mother seemed little better than a campfire in comparison.

Last they came into a room aglow with firelight from many hearths. Over the furthest a black pot was suspended, its contents filling the room with an appetizing aroma. Elladan stood there. His clothing was different; now he wore dark leggings and a rich tunic the color of red wine, and his unbraided hair was neatly tied back. Gilraen could scarcely recognize him from behind as the grim, gray-clad warrior she had ridden with that same day. But then he turned, and the face was unmistakable, comely and severe.

"Hai!" Aragorn tried to run to the Elf-man, but Gilraen restrained him, mindful of his place as well as hers.

"Gilraen, well met!" Elladan came to the entrance, looking down at Aragorn's expression, now turned to uncertainty. "I fear that you have mistaken me for Elrohir, little one."

"Well, I have not." Lowering her basket to the floor, Telmoth moved to embrace him. "I see your brother has brought you home safely yet again," she said.

Elladan barely winced at her words. "Yes." He beckoned Gilraen to enter, motioning towards a table nearby. "Have you eaten, lady? Or your boy?" She explained how her day had been spent, ending with her search for the kitchens. Elladan was chafed to hear of Lindir. "That Elf! He might have thought to escort you to supper, at least. I would have noticed you missing, had I been there myself."

Gilraen regretted recounting the tale, seeing that he was not amused by it. "Nay, hold Lindir blameless. 'Twas my own fault for… well, Aragorn was troubled." Their talk turned to negotiations when Aragorn reminded his mother of his hunger. Elladan asked Gilraen to sit and be served, and she resisted as far as propriety would allow. They came to an agreement that Elladan was pleased with, but Gilraen felt no less awkward being waited upon.

Telmoth took her leave as they sat to eat, and the room fell quiet for a time. Elladan and Gilraen spoke little during their meal, out of decorum as much as hunger. When Aragorn accepted a second ladle of stew, Gilraen commented upon Elladan's cooking, and thanked him. "He has never eaten so much at one sitting. It must be your skill with spices."

Either the compliment was missed or unwanted. "Nay, his appetite is owed to the traveling." Gilraen watched as he went to a cabinet, returning with a dark bottle and two glasses. His expression was pensive as he poured. "I wish to apologize, lady. Earlier I said that I would not rejoice in this homecoming; but I had not reasoned that my return in disgrace also signifies your safe arrival."

The muted trickle of wine was the loudest sound in the chamber. Elladan took his seat again, gazing upon his goblet. Gilraen was moved with the yearning to console him, yet made no attempt. Surely the feelings of one such as him are beyond my comprehension. What could I say? She settled on formality. "I did not take your meaning in that way, lord, not at all."

"Regardless, I was rude. And alas that this is all the energy I can spare for merrymaking; I hope it will suffice." A ghost of a smile played on his lips. "Your proper welcome must be postponed until another night, and in truth, few here are aware of your arrival as yet. But rest assured that Elves relish any good cause for celebration, and you will be received most gladly when the time comes."

With a sigh he paused, his face falling somber again; Gilraen perceived that his cheer was a forced effort, one he was unaccustomed to making. Sitting forward he reached across the table, wine in hand. "If Men have a different way with such things, I am unfamiliar with it. But I would raise my glass to Arathorn, in honour and remembrance, and to you his widow, in sympathy and welcome. During dark times my people might say: day will come again. May you find some comfort in that."

Gilraen returned the gesture, bringing the brims of their cups together; but she had no pretty words that felt worth sharing, so they sipped their wine in silence. Once her cup was nearly drained the quiet seemed less peaceful, full of emptiness. Mayhap Elladan will be more talkative, if he feels the need to make amends.

"What of those good causes, then? Tell me of the things Elves celebrate."

"High days," Elladan answered. "Occasions worthy of remembrance. Elves find meaning in both joy and sorrow, and forget naught. You will visit the Hall of Fire ere long, where many tales are told and songs are sung, of Elder Days, terrible and splendid. Some Elves dwelling here have seen many Ages past, even before the rising of the Sun and Moon."

What he said was no less fascinating, if somewhat unbelievable. But Gilraen only wanted him to continue, and keep the engulfing silence at bay. Her gaze fell on his unadorned hands, then to the band around her own finger. "Do Elves celebrate weddings?"

"Yes, weddings may be celebrated, but they may be private as well. A joyous occasion, in any case."

"Are you married?" Elladan did not answer at once, and she misconstrued his silence. "That is, if I may ask."

"No, I am unwed." He shook his head. "Ah, I had forgotten that you would not know. Elves can tell such things by the look and voice of another."

"That is a tale of the Elves I would not have believed, had I heard it from a man," Gilraen said. She considered her words, not wishing to trespass, and decided to ask what seemed to be a harmless question. "Is it also true then that you can read the hearts of others?"

Elladan laughed before peering closely. "Well, let me see... you are curious in the fullness of youth, yet wise as a woman learned of domestic affairs, and eager for deep knowledge of other things." Smiling he sat back. "But I jested, for I need not read your heart to know this about you."

Gilraen had not expected that he would tease, and laughed. "Oh, very well. Still, you are perceptive, whether you could read my heart or no." Gauging his mood, he did not seem tired of her questions; she decided to pose one more. "What is the power that guards this valley, lord? Rivendell is kept hidden and safe, that much is clear. But how, and for so long whilst the Shadow grows? Is it Elf-magic?"

Elladan went quiet, and straightened in his chair. At length he shrugged. "The magic you think of is called wizardry, I deem. But the Elves have no hand in that, and wisely so – have you not heard this saying: 'Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger'?" It was plain he aimed for levity, but his easiness of before was diminished. Gilraen made no further attempts to prompt him.

When their glasses were drained, Elladan cleared the table and extinguished the hearth fire. Now only lamps glowed on the walls. Even as Gilraen was fretting over the darkness he came to her side. "If you would allow me to make a brief stop along the way, I will escort you to your room."

They rose and went out, Aragorn carried in his mother's arms. Elladan navigated effortlessly through the darkened halls, and though Gilraen was impressed, eventually she lost sight of him, and waited in place. "Forgive me," he said returning; "they shall begin to light the sconces at night again." Thereafter he walked slower, and rested his hand lightly upon her shoulder in guidance. For a moment there might have been grass under her feet, and then they halted where a slit of firelight reached across the floor.

"I shall not be long." Elladan opened the door and entered. By the time Gilraen realized it was a bedchamber, she had already seen within. A figure was prone upon a bed, nude save for a draping over his thighs, and candlelight reflected off of the bronze band circling his thumb. Ugly bruises riddled Elrohir's shoulders and back, some marks rimmed by red crescents where the skin had been broken.

Sitting on the bedside was Elrond, focused upon his son. Neither of them appeared to notice that the door was opened – nor that Gilraen stood beside the threshold blushing, for which she was immensely thankful.

Elrond was doing some sort of work, though he held no tools, and there was no blood. His hands moved in unpredictable but aesthetic patterns over the injured portions, sometimes pausing or appearing to apply pressure. Elrohir's expression remained untroubled despite his father's ministrations, breathing deep and even. His eyes were lightly closed, and he did not speak.

Elladan spoke in Sindarin as he approached, and Elrond answered quietly in the same tongue. Gilraen was enthralled by the sound of their elvish voices, so similar in tone, yet separated by uncountable nuances of emphasis and pitch. An odour came to her then, decidedly pleasant; refreshing as mint, soothing as chamomile. She allowed her eyes to drift closed, trying to place the scent – upon opening them she was startled to find that Elladan stood before her. He said simply, "We may go."

As he led her through the darkness of night again, she pondered over what she had seen. Soon they reached her room -or so Elladan assured her- and he followed her inside. "Shall I light a lamp for your convenience, lady?"

"Thank you, but I can see well enough to put Aragorn to bed." Elladan moved as if to leave, and she spoke quickly, "I would have given my respects, but I feared to disturb them."

"I do not think your words would have disturbed them any more than mine." He sounded perplexed. "But you may see them tomorrow, and speak freely with them then."

"I-I only would have wished Elrohir well." Though she felt awkward to have witnessed such a private incident, it seemed more disrespectful to ignore what was beheld. "But your brother will not be resting from his injuries? His wounds looked... quite painful."

Elladan shifted, but his expression was concealed by shadow. "While you are right that he should rest, only dire need would keep him bedridden."

"I'm sorry." Gilraen could hear what darkness hid from her sight: Elladan's concern was loud as his words. Without thinking she rested her hand on his arm, feeling the tunic silkier than that of mortal weaving. "What happened?"

Before answering he looked to the door, then down. "He was trampled by a riderless horse."

Gilraen asked without thinking, "Palaber?"

If not for the brightness of his eyes, she would not know that he met her gaze."Elrond Halfelven is a master of healing, lady, and my brother mends with the speed of Elves. Worry not; he will be hale again soon."

A dozen questions arose in Gilraen's mind. But she only bid Elladan a good night. Long after he had gone, and Aragorn was tucked comfortably into bed, she lay awake, trying not to imagine what that day had been like, able to think of nothing else.

***


Chapter 7 - Part 2 - Chapter 1

***

Inside was a whirlwind of singing and dancing. The evening had begun mildly enough at Elrond's table, and after supper the household gravitated to the Hall of Fire for a night of storytelling and songs. It would be Gilraen's first visit there, since her arrival three days prior. She recalled noticing a particularly brilliant gleam in Glorfindel's eye, as they walked among the procession towards the Hall. Soon after, she had been enraptured by the tales that were told -some of lesser or greater significance in history, but all magnificent to her- and enchanted by the talents of the elvish minstrels, whose voices depicted the songs in her mind as if she watched the happenings unfold before her eyes.

And there had been mead served round, and wine. Then thanks to Glorfindel and others of similar mood, dancing followed, round and round some more.

Outside, Gilraen retched again, and staggering out of the shrubbery knelt by the fountain in the courtyard. She leaned over the stone to drink from the water, cleansing her mouth of the foul taste. Depleted and queasy she sank to the ground for a moment of rest, cooling her brow with a dampened hand.

"You should retire, lady," said an Elf standing nearby.

Gilraen's initial reply surfaced in a groan, but then she replied, "You are kind, but nay. I left my son asleep in the Hall of Fire. I must return there." The illness came so suddenly that she only had time to see Aragorn still asleep upon a pillow before rushing herself outside. Once in the fresh air, there had been a deceptive moment when her stomach settled. But three steps later she was 'feeding the flies', as the men in her family would say.

Telmoth came closer, and offered Gilraen her hand. "One must be wary of the good intentions of Elves, when Elves intend to help one become good and inebriated."

Gilraen took the offered hand and stood with a smile, but ignored the double meaning behind the other's statement. "I notice the plentiful beverages have not affected you adversely."

Telmoth shrugged. "And in truth, I noticed that you had not accepted any drink save water. But never mind, if you wish not to speak of it."

They walked together back to the Hall of Fire. Gilraen stopped before the entryway. "Delicious as the food is, I am unused to Elven fare. And this week has been full of turmoil and worrying…" she looked to Telmoth. "I would not wish anyone to fret over me, or make any changes on my account."

"I think that I alone marked your hasty departure, and I will not speak of its cause. All the same, few have ever been ill in Rivendell; it is a strange thing."

The Elf seemed unconcerned, despite her words. Gilraen tried to match her manner. "I believe that of the Elves. But I am mortal."

Telmoth tossed her head- during Gilraen's few days among Elves, she had begun to recognize that as an indication of annoyance. "Elves do not sicken, lady, save by poison or foul craft. I spoke only of the mortals who have taken residence here in times past – and few of them suffered any affliction."

Gilraen shifted, uncomfortable. "And what of those who did?"

"We used them as fishing bait," Telmoth said smiling. "But not until after Master Elrond deemed there was no chance of recovery."

Gilraen's gaze drifted as she remembered her arrival at the beginning of the week. Elrond's hands seemed gentle upon his son as they worked under the candlelight that night, but his eyes had easily pierced her heart earlier that day. In a conversational tone, she said, "As a guest, I would feel wrong to trouble my host with any ailment of mine. Perhaps Elves judge things differently; yet there must be others here skilled in the healing arts?"

"Yes indeed, and well do they care for sickly horses and injured Elves." Gilraen heard what was unsaid: 'but not humans'. Telmoth waved in response to the beckoning of an Elf beyond the doorway. "I beg your pardon, lady." She entered the hall.

Gilraen followed soon after, and joined her son beside his pillow. He slept, and indeed had not moved since she left. At last the Elves ceased their dancing, and the minstrels played their instruments soft and slowly. Some Elves sat on the floor or in chairs, and others stood; but all gathered round to hear what stories were to be told.

From her position, Gilraen could not see who began to speak, but the sound was familiar, and she guessed it was Lindir. His voice was light in tone normally, but subdued now, the mood was akin to the fire in the great hearth, forbidding and ethereal. In Sindarin he wove his tale without the fluidity she would expect. As his words flickered, smoke from the fire danced through the air, and it seemed that there was a mist before her eyes. And then it was dusk in the Angle.

The rain began lightly, but was soon beating upon the porch like a patter of drums. She stood against the house, barely out of the storm, heedless of the chill and the thunder rolling in the distance, and lightning like a clapping of godly hands. He waved to her as he passed on horseback, headed to the barn, and she waited. Soon he came running, and stood before her, drenched and shivering. She could not stop her laughter in time. His eyes, smoldering gray, twinkled with amusement that betrayed his attempt to feign indignation. He looked like a soggy bear, she informed him, shaking in its own fur. He growled and embraced her tightly, grinning at her gasp of surprise at the shared cold and wet. Now, he said, they would both need to undress.

In the house all was quiet; their son slept upon the only bed in the only bedroom. They took to the couch, and each other. Eagerly he bore her down, but his hands were gentle, and they made sure that her head lay upon a pillow. She could not feel the calluses, though they had been there. Not a wet bear now, she teased, and stripped him of his leather and cloth, running her fingers through the coarse fur underneath, feeling the clammy skin respond to her fingertips, loosening here and hardening there. Not wet, but still a bear, he corrected, and a hungry one at that, and to prove it he feasted upon her, inside and out, deeply and passionately. A skilled harper could not have kept pace with them in that hour.

She could not feel it, but she remembered what it felt like. And his scent, heady and raw as the forest after a storm, was tinged with brimstone – yet the hearth had been unlit. It was not quite as it had been. Later he returned from their bedchamber with dry clothes for them both. They dressed and she talked while he ate. Finished he sat back, and there was a note upon the table where his hand had been. It was for her to read, in case of the worst, he said. She refused, saying she did not want it, would not need it, could not take it. He told her to give it back to him, when he returned, and if he did not return, to give it to Elrond Halfelven in Rivendell, a place free and fair between the mountains and the sea. Take this burden as a gift from me, he said, for the promise held more meaning than the possibility. But the promise was meaningless without the possibility – yet she vowed to go, to follow Earendil's star even if she rode into darkness.

"…in Mordor where the shadows are."

Not thunder now, or before, but applause. Gilraen sat up in a start. She blinked a moment at the pillow her head had rested upon, and quickly wiped dampness from her cheeks. Beyond her sat Elrond upon his seat, a harp in his hands, and his eyes met hers evenly. Clear gray reflected the firelight like lightning in the evening sky, and shone with tears of his own; he was sorry as he looked upon her, and Gilraen knew not why.

"Ah, but the Fall of Gil-galad is a saddening lay, is it not?" said one Elf to another as they passed by.

***


Chapter 8 - Part 2 - Chapter 2

***

She opened the bedroom door, startled when her son gave out a cry of delight. There on the threshold sat a wooden device, carved in a strange shape. Gilraen laughed as her son dashed to retrieve it greedily. "Another gift for you, Aragorn – how wonderful! We shall have no space left to keep them all, before long."

A bow of ribbon was tied at the top; this Aragorn urged her to remove as quickly as possible. That done, he beamed over the object, captivated. Gilraen guessed he did not understand its purpose -as neither did she- but the joy on his face was a gift in itself.

Aragorn insisted on bringing his present along, and they proceeded to the banquet hall where the morning fare would be set out. Elrohir alone sat at the dining table, and Aragorn raced to meet him, pausing briefly in expectation, then running again when the desired reaction was had.

"Hullo, Aragorn!" Elrohir called. "And good morning to you, lady." Aragorn was excited to show Elrohir his new plaything, and he explained all the uses he would put it to – with more movements of his hands than words, and the language he used was a mixture of Sindarin and Westron. Elrohir was patient, and he appeared to understand all that was gibberish and even unsaid. "I am glad that you shall enjoy it so," he told Aragorn.

Gilraen arranged a plate for her son, persuading him to put his gift aside and feed himself. Sitting down she said, "I am amazed that you could understand him. When he is very excited he forgets his words!"

"Not at all. I am amazed that he is learning two languages at once. Is this now the custom of your people?"

"Nay, it was his own doing." Gilraen was glad for the conversation. "We taught him Westron for his first year, but he loved people to sing for him, and elvish songs were his favourite. Sindarin delighted him so much to hear that we taught him some words to use and he ever gathered more from songs and casual talk."

"I see. But he has a clear mind also," said Elrohir. "It is not difficult to understand his meaning, no matter what language he speaks, or even if he is silent." Gilraen turned away, giving a meaningful glance to Aragorn, who obediently released his gift and resumed eating. Elrohir chuckled. "Well do I remember that look from my own mother."

"She must have been diligent," Gilraen said smiling, "for you are grown tall and strong from those uninterrupted meals."

In play Elrohir made a fist, tensing his arm. The resulting bulge seemed satisfactory to him. "Right you are, I deem." Aragorn was familiar with this custom of flexing one's muscles, and he strained his own biceps for show, growling with teeth bared as his relatives would do. "Ho!" Elrohir laughed, "And here sits a mighty babe in his own right. Peace to you, little one." He asked Gilraen, "How many are his years?"

"He will reach his third in March."

Further conversation was delayed by the entrance of another. To Gilraen's surprise, it was Elrond who passed the counter of assorted foodstuffs and came to the dining table. His son stood, and they embraced briefly, then Elrond turned to Gilraen.

"Greetings, mother and son. Does the morning meet you well, lady?"

Gilraen carefully did not glance at the portions of her plate, mostly untouched. "So well that I could desire nothing more."

He gestured to her son. "And, have you and your child plans for this day?"

Here she brightened, guessing that at last Elrond would talk with her of such matters that had been left unaddressed. "Not as you would regard it, I think. These past days I have wandered your home, lord, making it my hobby to learn the schedule of the household's staff. Yet I think I would not be missed."

"Then I will have an audience with you, if you wish it, and questions you have yet held in silence will be answered."

Elrohir prepared to leave. "And I will not likely see you again ere the evening, father. Good day, and to you also, Gilraen." He returned Aragorn's wave.

"Have a care," said Elrond pointedly. They exchanged an understanding glance -which Gilraen did not share in- then Elrohir departed as one with an agenda.

After breakfast they walked at leisure. Aragorn was content to skip ahead of his mother's watchful gaze, wooden toy in hand. "Your patience in these past weeks has been greatly appreciated," said Elrond. "I apologize for my absence during much of that time."

Gilraen was taken aback. "Weeks?" It was not truly a question, save that the passing of time had simply not occurred to her before.

With a sidelong glance he smiled, appearing very much like each of his sons in that moment, politic and playful. "Aye, threefold." He went on unexpectedly, "How much is recorded and taught among your folk concerning the former Chieftains of the Dunedain?"

Twice baffled, Gilraen struggled over an answer, not wishing to seem as ignorant as she felt. Whether she was eloquent or inarticulate it could not be determined by Elrond's response, for he was gracious regardless. She could not fathom the purpose of their conversation once it took on the semblance of a casual lesson in history – but Gilraen listened carefully, glad to learn of some things unknown to her and pleased that she could answer Elrond's questions with some degree of certainty.

After a moment of silence Elrond sighed, and fell pensive. They were now amid a garden with many stone benches and statues; a place of quiet reflection, it seemed.

Gilraen tried to keep from interrupting, seeing that Elrond gazed beyond the garden, seemingly lost in thought. Aragorn found a bench good to play on, and Gilraen watched him at his game. Then from a distance, strange sounds echoed like a beating of wood against wood, and occasionally a voice arose. Wondering if Elrond would comment upon these noises, she turned. It appeared that he had been waiting for her attention.

"Well," he said, and clapped his hands once, "now you shall have a pleasant surprise, I think. Come, it is but a short way." He began to walk at once.

Gathering Aragorn she followed quickly. Elrond was waiting beside a trellis and gestured farther, but gave no indication that he would lead or follow. Gilraen passed him to see around the lattice… "Artanal!" To her own surprise, she ran to meet her kinsman, giddy with unexpected joy.

Artanal had stood examining a sundial, but turned to accept her embrace readily. In his mother's arms, Aragorn was nearly smothered between them. "Gilraen, 'tis good to see you, cousin. You look well!" He ruffled the child's hair, eliciting a squeal from him. "And Aragorn lad, have you grown already? Let me see… ah, maybe I could tell by feeling your bones, yes?" He took the boy to spare Gilraen his kicking feet, and tickled him. She laughed along with her son despite a pang of guilt. He has not laughed like that since coming here.

They spoke only briefly together before Gilraen was faced with another surprise. Behind Artanal she saw Valcirion approaching; his expression at first was doubtful, but once closer he nodded in recognition, and called, "Hail Gilraen!"

Gilraen had not seen the grizzled commander since Aragorn was newly born, but he was unchanged: still somber and a little tired, yet hardened and unbending. As he stood before her she bowed her head respectfully. "Valcirion, well met."

He looked closely upon her, then Aragorn, and showed a rare smile. "It has been long since our last meeting. I see your son has grown well, and the years have not touched you. Pray forgive my lateness for this tryst," he gestured whence he came; "I tarried. Have you waited long?"

"Not at all. Nor had I expected your arrival this soon, though it seems I've not been marking the time lately." Gilraen glanced at the sundial, noting that it was noon already. "When did you arrive?"

"Yestereve, shortly after dusk." Valcirion glanced around discreetly. "We were told you were unwell, and had retired early."

"Aye, I was unwell, if by that the Elf who spoke to you meant that I was tired," she said smiling.

Artanal relaxed, knowing that Elves at times had their own ideas about the affairs of mortals. But Valcirion said, "It was no Elf, but Elrond himself."

"Nevertheless, I am quite fine. Now tell me how the Angle fares!"

They spoke then of many things. Valcirion explained how the ranks were newly organized, and of how those promoted were adjusting to the new order of command. It was a bitter reminder to Gilraen of what had caused that change, but she was glad for the tidings, to hear of her kinsmen even if they struggled some. A more cheerful tale was that Gilbarad's child had been born healthy and without complications.

"A boy pleased both parents greatly, but I think little Ambeth could have been happier." Artanal grinned. "A baby sister she had in mind, so I heard, and one who cries less during the night."

Gilraen smiled, imagining the young girl's nose wrinkled in disapproval. "What is the boy's name?"

"Halbarad."

She sighed, thinking of the playmate Aragorn would not grow up with. Then something else caught her attention, and the distraction was welcome. "Since we spoke of noise…"

"Have you not seen before? They are sparring in the field below with sticks for weapons." Valcirion moved to a short stone wall nearby. "It's fascinating to watch, if a strange practice." He beckoned for Gilraen to look, and Artanal was moving that direction – but he still held Aragorn, and she was quick to halt him.

"Nay, nay!" she said. "If someone sees such a thing, someone will demand a closer view, and then be in no mood for his midday nap."

Laughing Artanal nodded, and set Aragorn down. With his sight blocked by the stone, Gilraen walked forward and looked beyond. A smile came to her face, seeing who fought in the sparring ring. "Elrond's sons," Artanal said with admiration in his tone, then wistfully, "Well, if I had forever I might develop such prowess."

Valcirion said dryly, "Expert or not, I would keep my shirt on in winter."

"The sting of the cane is sharpened by the cold, and bare flesh is bit hardest. You will see them take little punishment, bearing that in mind." Elrond was smiling down at Aragorn as all turned to him startled: his approach had been utterly silent.

Gilraen spoke next, "Surprise indeed, Master Elrond, and certainly a pleasant one! Had you arranged for us all to meet here in secret?"

"I did, though your kinsmen might have guessed my intentions." Looking up from the boy, his smile remained. "I see that Aragorn has forgotten his puzzle box. Might I accompany him to fetch it?"

Gilraen recognized that he was offering privacy to his guests. "With my thanks. But should he ask for me…" He nodded in understanding, no doubt as used to children as their vigilant mothers. Nonetheless Gilraen watched as he guided Aragorn back towards the garden.

When she turned, Valcirion lifted his chin. "I meant to ask how you have been faring in this dwelling, and with its residents."

Gilraen wondered which was stranger, the place or the people. "Well enough, and better with time," she said. "It is difficult to guess an Elf's mood, and I am ever at a loss trying to determine what would seem to them appropriate or objectionable. But everyone is courteous, and many welcome company. Even those who keep themselves busy or solitary are still pleasant and content in their way."

She gestured to Elrond's sons, smiling again. "Aragorn has taken a liking to Elrohir in particular, I think to the delight of them both. And though Elladan is quieter, he expresses genuine interest in his brother's affairs. Though they have their own concerns for certain, it's my hope that Aragorn might come to look to them as... well, as knowledgeable in ways his mother is not."

Valcirion was frowning and tense in the shoulders; beside him, Artanal chewed on his beard. Both were signs of discomfort she had seen in these men before. "What is it?"

The older man shifted. "Elrond's sons intend to depart no later than Artanal and I do. They ride again to the north, so they said."

"To the north…" she trailed off, wondering if Elrond knew that his sons would likely pass Arathorn's grave on their errand, and how he could bear the thought. She pulled her shawl tighter against a sudden chill. "I see. Well, that is a shame."

Valcirion continued, "But I know naught of their plans in detail. Mayhap they intend to return soon."

Artanal added, "In any event, you will be seeing more of us mortals from the Angle." He paused to hear questions that were not asked. "That is, frequent trading shall be reinitiated."

Gilraen had not moved, trying her hardest not to feel upset as she watched the twins, knowing now that they did not care to stay. Aragorn has begun to ask for Elrohir by name... he will learn to love no one before long!

She did not notice the men share a glance before Valcirion said, "Elrond taught us a lesson, you could say. A strange feeling it was to have my own peoples' history clarified for me by one with a face younger-looking than my own. But I am glad to learn from one so wise. Did you hear, Gilraen… about Aravorn?"

She stirred. Aravorn whom Elrond had reared from childhood, and Aravorn's son whom Elrond was too politic to name proud. "Yes, he told me, just this morning."

"Well, I was aware of some of those tales, and knew of Arassuil's effort to reestablish closer relations twixt—" Valcirion went on at length about former Chieftains and their trials and endeavors and untimely ends.

Gilraen only grew restless, reminded of her son. When finally Valcirion ran out of words she had long been eager to return to the garden; Artanal followed her there, while Valcirion left with other business to tend to.

"He was surprised by his promotion," said Artanal, then lower, "and has not stopped talking since."

Gilraen frowned. "Beregost has been elderly for as long as I can remember. Who else did Valcirion suppose the people would look to?" She was silent for a deceptive second. "And what is to be traded with the Elves? They do not need things of mortal make, nor do they seem overly concerned for what goes on beyond their realm. You know, many here speak of leaving Middle-earth soon. I am sorry that things are not as they used to be, but that is a condition of this changing world, not only caused by a jealous son who as Chieftain encouraged his people to take care of themselves. If the Angle has become more independent over the years, mayhap it's for the best."

Artanal was momentarily speechless. He addressed the only question he felt able to answer, "Well, by the Elves' specifications we will bring leathers as soon as they are prepared."

"Ah, and will you bring wool next, in exchange for the boots they make?" She made a flourish with her hand. "Our people have little to offer, save the raw materials of products that we could finish ourselves."

"Yet the Elves are better craftsmen."

"But is the satisfaction of applying their superior abilities sufficient reimbursement for their efforts?"

Artanal stopped walking. "Does every man cook for himself in the Angle, or are such chores divided amongst the household for efficiency? Two realms willing to share essential duties of living is little different than that. Why are we arguing about this?"

At length Gilraen replied, "Because I do not know. Not of the needs or motivations of Elves, nor how you or Valcirion can presume to understand." She forced her eyes down, lest they find their way towards the twins. "I cannot read their hearts, and I'm weary of guessing wrongly."

Artanal looked upon her with understanding. "If any man claims to comprehend the minds and hearts of Elves, I would suspect that he is lying or not a man at all." He smiled with her at that, then said encouragingly, "But if history should teach us aught, 'tis that the Elves have never treated with our kind in hopes of great profit, nor have they toiled on our behalf at need expecting more than alliances in return. Besides, those here who speak of leaving soon know they will travel upon a safer road, thanks to our vigilance. That is no small recompense."

Gilraen gave him a reprimanding look. "Yet that is our duty whether we deal with the Elves or not."

He shrugged. "Aye. And as you say, we are as capable of making our own boots as they are of skinning their own furs. Now maybe the Elves would make better Rangers, as well – but I prefer to believe that it's better this way."

They came into the garden then, seeing across the way that Elrond sat beside Aragorn on a bench. They paused together, each placated by the area, whether they knew it or not. Artanal turned, looking about. Facing the direction they came he was reminded of Elrond's sons. "I know you were unhappy to hear of their plans. Valcirion and I did not know Aragorn had grown fond of them. I'm sorry." He shifted to look at Gilraen. "Is there no other that he might look to?"

She did not meet his eyes, her own gaze fixed upon her son. Aragorn was watching intensely as Elrond twisted the wooden toy a certain way, until the device came apart in two pieces. Her son gasped, startled but delighted, and Elrond laughed as the boy grabbed both pieces for careful examination. At a loss Aragorn offered the toy back, pleading with his eyes that the problem be solved. Smiling Elrond took the puzzle, and slowly slid the halves together again.

Now Aragorn was determined to master this mystery, and he seized the box once more. After a moment of fierce struggling, Elrond laid his hands over the child's, and gently guided his movements. The puzzle slid apart. Frustration forgotten, Aragorn kicked his feet and bounced in excitement, and with help the box was assembled once more. Laughing he forsook his place on the bench for a seat on Elrond's lap, happy and proud.

"There, you see? We may also bring wood for their toymaking crafts; I hear Elves prefer not to hew trees," Artanal said half-jokingly into Gilraen's ear.

But that was not why she smiled.

***


Chapter 9 - Part 2 - Chapter 3

***

The chamber was dimly lit, but that was the only similarity to her first visit, over a month ago. Now it was chill with winter's fury, and through the open curtains only moonlight shone. Gilraen approached the dais, where upon his chair Elrond sat quietly as the doors closed behind her with a groan.

At his raised hand she froze, then started from movement beside her. Two Elves stood from chairs on either side of the hall, departing without sound. Though grown used to overlooking Elves at their leisure, Gilraen was no less bewildered; for she had long stood outside the chamber doors conflicted about her purpose, yet in all that time had heard no words from within.

Looking back to Elrond, she found his gaze already upon her. "Telmoth told me I could find you here, lord."

"And so you have." His moon-illuminated face seemed pale, countenance still as the breath before a yawn, poised on the brink of weariness. A part of her knew that she was staring, but that stare being returned she was powerless to look away.

When Elrond spoke again the spell was broken. "Something has been kept from me, which you have come to disclose."

Taken aback by his precision, Gilraen stammered, "Y-yes, lord." More she yearned to say, yet she was not a child to list excuses for improper behavior, and so held her tongue.

"Then it is good that you have come, for I also have been dishonest, and wish to confer with you," said Elrond, to Gilraen's surprise. Then he smiled with patience that she had yet to glimpse the end of. "Which truth shall first be made known? Would you feel comforted to listen as I speak a while?"

After several days spent in his company while he read to her son, Gilraen had no doubt that his voice would be a comfort. And though she had not come seeking consolation, his admission unnerved her enough to accept it. "Yes, please, speak first if you would."

"Very well. There is no word in your tongue to describe the nature of the lie I have told: one spoken without malice, and only later realized to be an untruth."

"I know the word," she jumped at hearing her thought spoken aloud. "I know the Sindarin word you speak of, that is. Excuse me, please continue."

"I once assured you that repayment would not be asked nor accepted for your asylum here. That is no longer the case if you are to remain, for now I perceive a change that must be made, and to make it I must insist." As he leaned forward, the shaft of moonlight caught only his eyes, keen beyond reason.

Gilraen shivered not entirely from the cold as he continued, "I see that you understand me, Gilraen, for the depth of foresight is in your eyes. You carry the burden of clarity, a weight greater than knowledge of the past and present combined; it is the price we all pay, as seers of the future."

Is that why I crave more? To attain balance? The thought seemed unnatural, as a question answered that had yet to be asked. Elrond sat back, and sighed. Never before had he appeared fatigued to her, and Gilraen was at a loss to see him now, slumped as an elderly man, yet not so. Passing a hand over his face, he straightened a bit. "It comes when and as it will." Spoken as an explanation, and Gilraen was amazed that she understood his meaning: insight.

"What would you have of me, lord?" she asked. "If in your wisdom you discern aught that needs doing, but tell me what lies within my capability and I will see it done."

Elrond looked up sharply, a flash of emotion that might have been wonder or doubt, then faced away with a nod, and sat unmoving for several minutes. Gilraen was reminded of her first evening in Rivendell, and Elladan's distraught mood over supper. Even learning that his brother's injuries and Arathorn's death were at cause, still she had thought herself unable to offer condolence. Now that feeling of incompetence returned.

I cannot enlighten one so wise; I cannot uplift one so ancient. But with her eyes closed it was possible to try. "Will you not tell me what troubles you?" She heard a muted rustle of fabric, then sincere words.

"That I will do unto your son in fear what once was done unto me in evil, and that I shall be little the better for it. For I too was an orphan, but unlike your son, old enough to remember my sire, and refuse the strange name in a foreign tongue that was given to me. Yet that is to be Aragorn's fate, to bear a new name and forget his father, until such a time that I cannot foresee, when the truth is revealed to him."

"He may not know his—"

"He may know his kinsmen by name, but not their relation to him; and he may know their business in this world, but not his eventual place among them – not yet."

"But—" despite a swell of resentment, she forced herself calm, and focused upon the floor lest Elrond see what emotions she repressed. Either I trust in his wisdom or I do not. "If that is all you ask, lord, I can hardly complain. But will you tell me also what you fear?"

"Someday, perhaps." The sound of Elrond standing brought her eyes up. "But I tell you now what the morrow will bring: new hope for us both, though time may reveal it as our last." The same look of before was about him, leading Gilraen to wonder if insight had come upon him again – and if it ever truly left. Into the silence he sighed. "I have spoken."

Before she could ready herself to speak her own part, Elrond descended the stairs, saying kindly, "My chambers are warmer. Let us see about you there."

***

His chambers were indeed warmer, and Elrond led his guest to a fireplace, where Gilraen stood rubbing her hands together gratefully. When they entered, an Elf had been busy tending the fire and a kettle suspended over it; he saw to other chores while Gilraen warmed herself, and soon the doors closed, marking his departure. Elrond came to her side then, peering at the contents of the kettle before dropping two long leaves into the brew.

"When you are comfortable, we may sit."

She remained in place, hands no longer fidgeting out of coldness, waiting for ease that did not come. When she turned, Elrond extended his hand towards a couch facing the fire; Gilraen allowed herself to be guided there, and they sat. Twice she opened her mouth without uttering a word, at length glancing to Elrond beside her. He watched the fire, apparently as comfortable in the silence as she was the opposite.

Without shifting his gaze, he said, "So you believe to have brought something unforeseen into my house." Unsure if he expected an answer, she merely nodded. "That is possible; yet there are two ways to be certain, either by time or inspection." His eyes met hers evenly. "The choice is yours alone, though I think you sought more than for me to know."

"I think you knew already, lord," said Gilraen, and dropped her head with a wince. In Elrond's presence her thoughts rarely went unvoiced, despite how she wished it were otherwise. Yet directness seemed to be his preference. "But you are right that I sought for more. Aragorn is still so young... with another child I would need help, even as I would be loath to accept it. Already I feel privileged beyond fairness; to ask for more is nigh unthinkable."

Elrond's voice was gently reprimanding, "I have long been oblivious to much that has changed if it is the habit of Men in this day to shun the safekeeping of their very future."

"It is not," she assured him. "Were I in my family's household, I would have no doubts." Looking up she amended quickly, "Oh, do not misunderstand me, lord! 'Tis not that I think any less of your ways—"

"Only that you are unsure of them," he finished for her, with a smile. "I do understand. But we have leapt ahead and away." His smile faded as he said, "Tell me now why else you are troubled; I am grieved to see the toll it has taken on you."

It was not lost upon her that moments ago their positions had been switched. She extended the same honestly she had received, "Uncertainty has kept me from rejoicing, or resting at ease."

The room seemed unnaturally quiet, until Elrond asked, "For what would you rejoice, Gilraen?"

"To have Arathorn's second child." Baffled, she searched his face, wondering how this of all things could be a mystery to him. But then she marked the pity in his eyes, meant only for her, and could bear to look no longer. "Then it is not so." She accepted his silence in answer.

While Elrond went to the fire, Gilraen sat between embarrassment and denial, barely noticing when a warm cup was placed in her hands. It seemed unreal that this matter was concluded. When she had thought her suspicions confirmed, for a week she debated over how and when to let it be known, and guessed at how Elrond would prefer it be dealt with. She was willing to return to her family in the Angle until the new child was of a more manageable age, if none in this household might assist as need be. Now she was awash in a tide of conflicting emotions. Am I cold to be relieved? Selfish to be disappointed?

When she next cared to be aware, her hands were empty again, and a taste of mint lingered on her tongue. She sensed movement from behind, and spoke over her shoulder, "Telmoth insisted that I come to you – she assured me there was none other this side of the Mountains qualified."

Not knowing if Elrond had heard made continuing easier. "I hesitated, unwilling to be a nuisance, maybe fearing this, to be wrong." She laughed without mirth. "At least I have naught to fear now... save perhaps that I am imagining things."

As Elrond came and knelt before her, she felt a pang of anxiety at his expression, heightening after his words. "You have not imagined these symptoms afflicting you."

Little explanation occurred to her. "I feel fine now." Realizing that his hand had been held out, she belatedly rested hers atop it. Elrond shifted to hold her wrist in his palm, and his eyes seemed to unfocus before drifting shut. "My mother's sister was widowed at a young age. She caught heart sickness -or so we called it- but there was nothing in truth the matter... eventually she recovered. Should I be silent?"

"The Elves call it sea-longing," he murmured, "but it is similar." His next question was as unexpected as its immediate answer, "Gilraen, are you happy here?"

"I should be." Frowning, she pondered her own reply. "Why should I not be?" She thought of Arathorn, beloved and lost, then Aragorn, last of his line. Next forcing her thoughts upon what happiness the future might hold, the sadness that would always accompany any joy froze her heart. Her emotions had been in such turmoil since coming to Rivendell, and she could see no end to it.

"I have too much time, with too little to do. I never fretted so, about nothing and everything, before coming here."

"And you think having more concerns will lessen your worry?"

"Nay, but better that I worry over concerns I can affect."

"I cannot have you assigned chores belonging to others, Gilraen."

She sighed, ashamed that she had begun to argue with him, and that as an obstinate youth she yearned to argue still. Respectfully she said, "As you have said already, lord – and I obey."

"Therefore since you desire an occupation, you must serve as emissary twixt my house and that of your kinsmen, for it is the only function in Rivendell now unfilled."

Her calculated reply surfaced as a strangled noise. Thinking Elrond was offering some elvish humor, she repressed annoyance as she looked at him. Yet no mirth was evident. "You're serious." His expression indicated there was no other possibility. "I know not how!"

"You would be taught."

It seemed plain and simple to him. Gilraen nigh panicked. To profess herself unable to learn would be to refute his ability to teach. To claim the responsibility too great would be to challenge his judgment in appointing her. Without showing disrespect in some form, she could only try leading him to reconsider. "But why me, lord? Surely there are others among your household, more experienced than I, ah- wiser... better suited for the task?"

"It is owing to your very presence that this duty exists. It belongs to you more than anyone." His hand held hers now, so gentle that Gilraen could not but notice how easily she could sever that connection. "For my part I will do all that I can, as ever. But would you not help me?"

"Yes." Once again her thoughts were worded before she could examine them. Next came awareness of what lingered underneath disbelief, as doubt slipped away. She felt a little giddy, excited like a child with a new toy, and as eager to play. "How should I begin?"

Glancing to a window, Elrond said, "You have already, by taking it into consideration. For now that must suffice, as I see the first hour of morning is upon us, and I would keep you awake no longer."

When they stood he slipped a pouch into her grasp, explaining that it was the same recipe she drank of earlier, and that it would steady her stomach and help her sleep. Quieting her profuse thanks, he insisted that as a healer it was his privilege, and warranted no such praise.

They parted at his door with words Gilraen did not remember as she found her room in a daze of revelations and change. Entering she saw that her son was asleep as she had left him, and Telmoth sat in a chair beside the bed. The Elf rose, and Gilraen half expected a quip about nonexistent illnesses and the silliness of mortals. Instead Telmoth came to embrace her, saying softly, "I am sorry, child."

Gilraen was less sorry than expected; but her gaze rested upon her son, and it was not her nature to long for more when what she had was within sight. "Aragorn sleeps in peace," Telmoth continued, "and I shall leave you to yours." By the door she uttered a few well-wishes that Gilraen did not hear as she lowered herself into the chair.

Before long her gaze found a window nearby, and those parting words outside Elrond's chamber returned to her. 'Put your care upon hope, Gilraen.' He had blinked then, and continued in a distant voice, but with a smile, 'And hope upon your son.'

Either in memory or distance, she thought there might have sounded laughter on the edge of her perception. True as Elrond had said, the morrow revealed new hope, though it would be her last.

***


Chapter 10 - Part 2 - Chapter 4

***

Upon waking, Gilraen sensed that something was amiss. Yet the weather had cleared, promising the sunrise would reveal vibrant greenery, fresh after a night of spring thunder. Already Elvish singing echoed down the hallways as the household began chores, the merry song easing Gilraen's mood – if only for a while.

Waking her son, she readied him for the day, expecting a knock on the door at any moment. It was not uncommon for Elrond to suspend the morning's activities, and Gilraen never questioned his reasons, nor would anyone specifically say. 'He is required elsewhere,' was the usual explanation, followed by an invitation to some other event.

Although no messenger came, Gilraen remained wary – in her preoccupation, Estel's squeal startled her. "Aie!" He leapt ahead to fetch the wooden toy left outside the doorway, immediately declaring it would be too lonely if left behind; "Being a horse," he explained.

Gilraen agreed, watching her son frolic with his new companion as they walked. The toy was carved of driftwood, which she recognized from the storehouses' supply, but recalled not if Telmoth explained when it was delivered to Rivendell or why. Months ago, Gilraen had made a game out of discovering secretly who was responsible for the many gifts left for her son – so far to no avail. This new clue was kept in mind.

In the dining hall Elrond was not among those breakfasting. After seating her son with a meal, Gilraen came to Lindir where he sat, since he was often sent with messages. He seemed curious of her inquiry. "I do not think Master Elrond would leave you to wonder," said the Elf. "And I've heard of no changes to this morrow. But why do you ask?"

Smiling, Gilraen replied with an elvish adage: "Just something the wind said." Lindir was still chuckling when she returned to her seat. He did not mind her evasiveness, and she did not notice that he only answered for the morning.

Later, they met Elrond in the library. It seemed to Gilraen that he had arrived not long before, which was unusual, but he received them no differently than any other day. After an excited greeting from her son, he listened as Estel introduced his horse. Elrond suggested that a name be chosen, and spoke to Gilraen as the boy pondered.

"Telmoth is away on an errand," he said kindly. "But you are welcome to remain or see to other things as you wish."

"I would be glad to stay," she replied, taking a seat. The past days had held a similar pattern: Gilraen emerged at dawn with Estel to breakfast with the earliest risers of the house – if Elrond was not among them, he could be found here, always able to interest her son in hearing a tale or two. While Estel was entertained, Telmoth would steal Gilraen away; thus she had gradually been taught those duties required of a delegate for Elrond's House.

But this morning Estel was not eager to continue yesterday's saga; instead he and Elrond sat discussing which names were fit for a horse and why. Gilraen watched with amusement. As Elrond listed places and people and qualities, her son would include odd words: first 'Ran', then 'Leapt' and 'Trek'. Elrond kept from laughing with admirable poise, commending each addition as unique and fair, while Gilraen hid giggles behind her hand.

"Well, virtues and things are common names," said Elrond. The boy had asked why his mother said his choices were 'special'. "But you liked Bestest in particular, did you not? That is a fine name," he glanced at Gilraen, her smile reflected in his eyes, "and being an un-word, 'tis very special indeed."

This led Estel to wonder if 'Unword' was even better than Bestest, then suddenly he became fervent to see pictures of real horses, forgetting his prior concern as a child of three is prone to do. This mission led them throughout the house, as paintings were plentiful, yet the majority of them hung in no particular area. Estel galloped ahead as his mother and Elrond followed the echo of his whinnies, yet he would listen quietly as Elrond told the tale each image represented.

Once when Elrond had lifted the boy for a closer view, Gilraen turned from another illustration to see her son sound asleep, his head upon the Lord of Rivendell's shoulder as if it were the softest pillow. Elrond showed a wry smile. "This happens more often than you might think."

"He was not bored by your stories, if that is your meaning," she said laughing. "The thunderstorm kept him awake much of last night. He will probably sleep all the afternoon away." Estel did not stir as he was shifted into his mother's arms.

"Then you should rest also," said Elrond, guessing correctly that she had sat up with her son. "When Telmoth returns I will tell her not to look for you."

After thanks and farewells Gilraen headed for her room. Neither her son nor the storm was what had kept her from sleeping last night, and she doubted rest would come even now. She had considered and decided against telling Elrond of her strange foreboding that persisted still. Surely if aught was amiss he would know already.

Passing through the last hallway, Gilraen heard a horn sound from afar. Recognizing it as the sentry announcing a rider's return, she proceeded unconcerned. Moments later a nearer horn sounded, the note changed and with it the message. Her fingers clenched the door handle at simultaneous pangs of worry and wonder.

To behold what her heart had long warned of she retreated to a window. The courtyard was visible below, and there Telmoth sat upon her horse stomping in distress. Elrond stood before her, to Gilraen's surprise; she imagined he must have headed to the courtyard directly after they parted.

A few words were exchanged before Telmoth rode off – towards the stable or elsewhere was not clear. Elrond remained, still as stone; Gilraen could not see the direction he looked, but knew he faced the road. In that moment a passing Elf paused beside her, glancing outside. "Have any healers arrived, I wonder..." he spoke seemingly to himself, "Ah good, Elrond is there." Shaking his head he sighed. "Alas that they shall become hale only to leave again."

Gilraen was as distracted by his presence as his swift departure. Returning her attention to the courtyard she saw that more Elves had emerged from the house, and from the road two gray horses. One was riderless and distraught even as an Elf tried to soothe the animal. The other bore twin riders whose backs faced Gilraen, but whose identities were writ upon Elrond's face as he approached them.

She tried to look away as Elrohir dismounted, the blood on his clothes and the expression he wore relaying the severity of words muted by glass and distance. Elladan sat slumped on the horse, shivering despite his brother's cloak over his own and the ever warming noon. As Elves rushed up carrying a bier between them, Gilraen tried to look away again, from the skill with which Elrond transferred his son to that support and Elladan's ashen face contorted in pain.

How many times have they returned full of holes for their father to heal? Unintentionally her gaze dropped to her son, unaware in his sleep of what transpired or that he would cause the same grief in his own time. Scraped knees from running too fast would be snake bites from learning woodcraft, then cuts and bruises from training would be broken bones from battle... and Elrond will tend them all.

With that thought she turned at last, and in her room found all the restlessness she had expected and more.

***

"What's this?" Estel wanted to know, for the twelfth time.

"That is a marking to tell when enough of something has been stacked."

"Why?"

The Elf replied with a smile, "Because most of the old Elves here care not to do more work than they must. When someone is expected to 'stack to the mark', the mark is where they stop – usually. Some are lazier than others, especially..."

Telmoth reserved more tolerance for curious children than ignorant women, Gilraen reflected. All morning her son had been full of questions and playfulness, yet the Elf remained indulgent, showing none of the impatience Gilraen strove to evade.

By this time Estel had lost interest in Telmoth's explanation, occupied instead by hopping on and off a small box. Looking satisfied, the Elf turned back to her apprentice. Gilraen said, "I must thank you again. I'm afraid our progress has been slow these last few days." At Telmoth's raised eyes she amended, "Slower than usual."

The Elf laughed. "Dear girl, do not be troubled! You learn fast enough, and your son is a delight. Doubtless Master Elrond misses his young charge, but I am glad for my fortune in this." Her next words concerning seasonal reorganization were dull enough to let Gilraen's thoughts wander.

Since his sons' return, she had not seen the Master of the House. Lindir came the morning after the twins' arrival to tell Gilraen that Elrond was required elsewhere, but that she was welcome to bring Estel to the stables and meet the new horses. At her suggestion, Lindir agreed to return only if the message changed. For the following three mornings there had been no knocks on her door.

When the noonbell rang Telmoth called the day's work concluded, and gathering Estel from his hiding place they proceeded to the dining hall for the midday meal. On the way, Gilraen remarked, "It has been quiet of late." Crowds rarely gathered save for significant events, but even mealtimes had been sparsely attended.

Telmoth seemed reluctant to reply, though her tone was unconcerned, "Riders have been sent out, sentries doubled, the furthest outposts staffed; such is common for this time of year."

Gilraen saw that her son was not listening, then asked, "Then there is trouble?"

"There always is, elsewhere." She made a gesture beyond the valley before her hand fell to her side in a fist. "And sometimes we must make trouble of our own." Softer she added, "But I need not tell you that."

The mood was subdued in the dining hall, and once Gilraen was settled she guessed why. Elladan sat nearby, unspeaking and unsmiling; those closest to him Gilraen recognized as elders, not easily perturbed. Despite his grim appearance she would have called out a greeting, yet the instant before she spoke his eyes focused upon her, revealing a harshness she did not expect. Immediately his gaze dropped, hers following on impulse. Then startled by the bronze ring he wore, Gilraen said nothing, wondering if Elrohir knew she had mistaken him for his brother.

Few spoke during their meals -none loud or jokingly- and all departed without delay. Elrohir remained though he now sat alone, still eating – indeed Gilraen would remember that he had eaten like one half-starved. Telmoth and a few others played with a rapidly tiring Estel, who had not noticed the Elf-man he was so fond of but months ago.

"Well, whose pleads did you finally yield to that we are graced with your company?" asked Telmoth, looking up from the game. "Or has every secluded place and each of your excuses to dwell therein been exposed as such?" Gilraen doubted her jesting was entirely in good humor.

Elrohir flashed a tight smile. "Ah, so I am craven to comply and reclusive to refrain." Sitting back he said in an artificial sigh, "At least my lord father is happy, and that I suppose is your answer."

By now remembrance was dawning upon Estel, and he climbed into his mother's lap to see the Elf-man better; Gilraen saw in his young eyes the question he did not know how to pose. "And how is your brother?" Telmoth was persisting.

As if to lighten her tone Lindir inserted, "Ai, yes, he has been in all our thoughts. A curse upon orc arrows!"

"It was not the arrow but the poison which felled him."

Lindir flinched at the retort. "I did not know—"

"Then ask." Elrohir shifted as if to rise, but paused suddenly as his gaze centered. Across the table Estel gave a timid wave from his mother's lap, mouthing a word that made no sound. Sighing in earnest Elrohir sank back down, then said, "Hullo, Aragorn."

At Gilraen's quick hiss his eyes rose. In a cheerful voice she said, "He is called Estel now." She kissed one cheek after the other, both of which her son promptly wiped.

Patient and interested, Elrohir seemed more himself. "Of course, I had forgotten father said so. Well, he is growing like an anthill! Three years this month, yes?" At Gilraen's nod he brightened, but after a glance towards Telmoth his tone turned apologetic. "It was not my intent to defy your wishes by meeting here, Gilraen. My brother and I depart today, and mayhap you would have preferred this brief reminder be avoided."

While Telmoth voiced her opinion on their plans, Gilraen fell silent. When Elrond's sons had last taken leave months ago, she kept her son unaware of their departure for his own sake, thinking he would be saddened enough by their absence without watching them ride out of sight. At the time, she had become skeptical, suspecting to have misjudged the extent of Elrohir's affinity; that he remembered her concerns was unexpected, and appreciated.

Elrohir and Telmoth's bickering continued, though with less fervor. "If Elladan is recovered that is well. But why be so quick to leave?" she was saying.

"Only out of dire need did we return, already at the cost of several days. It is simply a matter of returning now to a duty left unfinished."

Telmoth tossed her head. "Your gratitude for Elrond's care is as transient as your sojourns here."

"Your gratitude for my labors afar is as nonexistent as snow in summer."

After a long silence they appeared to reach a truce: Elrohir accepted the title of 'spoiled brat' and Telmoth agreed she was a 'meddling irritant', then they clasped hands. Citing the hour, Gilraen left the dining hall to put her son down for a nap; despite that, she had endured more elvishness than she deemed fair, and the day was not yet over.

***

Gilraen would never recall what had compelled her to emerge from her quarters that afternoon, leaving her son asleep within. Restless, she paced the hallway before venturing further, eventually coming to the window where the courtyard was visible below. Seeing who was gathered there, any other day she would have turned away from business which was not hers; instead she descended the stairs and crossed the foyer to hear better.

Sitting upon his horse, Elladan appeared quite hale, and impatient. "You do this every time," he said to his twin.

Elrohir stood fiddling with his horse's headstall. "Maybe, but for different reasons. Now I am uncertain, and not without cause. I only suggested that we reconsider." Telmoth had not been named that Gilraen had heard, though she felt certain the Elf's argument had affected Elrohir.

But not Elladan. "Ponder all you like; for my part I am steadfast. Stay or follow, brother, but I will not wait." With nothing more he rode off, slow enough that he did not flee, fast enough that he showed no regret. Expression unreadable, Elrohir looked after him as the dust settled.

Elrond stood off to the side, his eyes low. During the conversation he had backed away so as not to stand between his sons; it was not difficult for Gilraen to guess his predicament. "I did not raise you to be extensions of my own will," he said to Elrohir. "Nor did I raise you to be reflections of each other. Follow your own heart – do not choose for me."

Elrohir's dropped head shook. "Ah father, for all your wisdom, do you still not understand?" Laughing mirthlessly he mounted his steed. "I have never chosen for you, and neither has he." After a pause he added, "Forgive us." Then he too was gone.

Finally Elrond looked up, facing the road still as stone, a look about him that Gilraen could not bear to see. She had stood similarly times uncounted, bound by love unconditional though her heart be broken, watching as friends and family left to risk death and worse for the sake of those who remained, or those who were gone. And she recognized now the mood Elladan and Elrohir returned in, one echoing spent wrath and hatred, for she had seen it in Arathorn each time he returned, and saw it in Gilbarad the day Arathorn returned not.

Yet although this exchange between father and sons seemed cold, she reminded herself that a thousandth parting must be quite different than the tenth, and that she was as a child observing adults manage matters beyond her grasp. It is not my business in any case, she told herself as she returned to her room – but not as she left again.

Checking through the window to see that Elrond remained, she descended the stairs once more, crossed the foyer, and knelt to release her charge. Standing inconspicuously beside a pillar she watched outside, waiting.

Showing her a boyishly devious smile over his shoulder, he padded down the entryway, then scurried out to the center of the yard. For a moment he stood silent, seemingly unnoticed. But he did not look back to her for encouragement before reaching out a small hand. His finger had barely touched the other's when Elrond looked down at him, eyes growing wide.

"Need cuddles?" Gilraen heard her son ask, and stifled a laugh.

Elrond kneeled, smiling as Estel leapt into his arms. "What are you doing out here, child?" The boy freed one arm from around his neck to shrug in answer. "Your mother is not somewhere searching for you, I hope..."

Just as Elrond began to look around, Gilraen moved out of sight behind the pillar. She heard her son call for her once, then again, followed by a squeal and an excited explanation. Elrond was told every rule of the game at least twice before Gilraen moved to a better hiding place, certain that she would be sought.

Gilraen would never recall what had compelled her to wake her son that afternoon, and set out to cheer the Lord of Rivendell. But she would always remember the difference one mortal could make.

***


Chapter 11 - Epilogue

***

At the sound of heavy boots coming to a halt, Gilraen looked up from her occupation. Gilbarad stood in the open doorway of the winter storehouse, looking bemused. "You’re late," she observed.

His wandering gaze found her, and she knew him well enough to detect his masked surprise. "I didn’t see you—" he began again, "Forgive me, Gilraen. This morning I thought to find you at the dining hall, and ended up sitting for a meal with Elrond’s sons. Had I known you were waiting—"

"I meant late in the year," she replied with a smile. "But I breakfast ere dawn; you would not find me sitting anywhere at this hour." Noticing the man glance outside to guess the time, Gilraen laughed. "For Estel’s sake we keep schedule with Master Elrond, frighteningly early to rise though he may be. Now come, Gilbarad, I owe you a proper greeting!"

They met to embrace in welcome, and Gilraen noted the man’s somber expression when they stepped apart. "I thought it was Valcirion’s dutiful pleasure to suffer Elrond’s hospitality each year. Tell me how it is that you’ve come in his stead – or are there other matters afoot?"

"Alas yes, Valcirion has fallen ill."

Gilraen suspected something similar the moment word reached her that Gilbarad had arrived with the merchantmen, for two commanders would not take leisurely leave at once. But she said, "I see that you are concerned." Also she saw that there was more he meant to disclose, and waited to hear it.

"I am. ‘Tis the same sickness which nearly slew Beregost last year, and it appears to have gathered strength ere returning this winter. Thus far only few of the elders have been afflicted, but they’ve not survived. We pray Valcirion’s fate will be different."

Gilraen did not voice her foreboding: that Gilbarad may return to find the Angle in mourning, and himself promoted. Instead she tried to offer comfort by saying, "What Master Elrond can do with herbs, Gilbarad, you would not believe. I'll bring this to his attention, and a rider will be sent out anon to distribute aid."

Then hushing Gilbarad's halfhearted objection, she assured him, "He would be wroth with us both if I did not inform him, or if his help was refused." Which was unlikely, as she had yet to behold Elrond beyond a shade of annoyance for any reason. But Gilbarad reluctantly agreed, and she saw with satisfaction that his mood soon lightened.

They left the storehouse together, and Gilraen spoke of the goods that had been brought, what exchanges would follow, and how Gilbarad could expect the Angle to prepare. Gilbarad struggled to keep pace, being less familiar with the process than Valcirion, or Gilraen herself.

By the second time she had need to repeat some detail, Gilbarad blinked with a shake of his head. "Thrice before coming I was reminded that you had been appointed the delegate for such affairs, but in truth I still wondered."

Anticipating his reaction, Gilraen said, "For two seasons I assisted another, then for two seasons I had an assistant. Now without anyone to distract me things go smoothly at last." Telmoth had said the same, when Gilraen began learning under her a year ago.

The humor was not lost on Gilbarad, who smiled. "I can only hope that Valcirion recovers soon, for I think I would not be so quick to adapt as you. Our men throughout the wild and all duties thereof, I can manage, but this business overwhelms me."

"Ah, well, it suits me fine." Coming upon a doorway, Gilraen gestured that they pause in the hall, saying quietly, "Estel will be so excited to see you, though I’m loath to interrupt his lesson. They should be finished soon, if you would bide with me."

As Gilbarad focused upon the sounds, she felt a hint of pride at his expression, gone from a puzzled frown to amazement. From inside the room Elrond’s voice would resonate, reciting a simple sentence in Westron, then her son’s small voice would follow, repeating those words in Sindarin.

"Has it only been a year?" Gilbarad breathed. He turned to Gilraen as she corrected his estimate by adding two months. After a thoughtful moment he said, "None could explain to me the need to rename your son, but as you requested, we've come to call him Estel."

With a smile she nodded. "Elrond bestowed it upon him."

"Then they have become close." Neither endorsement nor disapproval was evident in his bearing.

"Aye, Estel looks to him as a father in many ways." She could not have the thought without remembering Arathorn, and his memory still brought sadness. "I did not plan it, though I might have foreseen it. Of everyone here, Elrond is the most... here. Yet I think I would have it no differently."

"And what do you look to him as?"

"Elrond?" Gilbarad nodded gravely, and she did not answer at once. "He just is." Familiarity lent her no insight, and Gilbarad’s thoughts remained unknown. At length he sighed, then chuckled.

"Life here is making you elvish, Gilraen. But I see that you have grown much, and I am glad for it. Here Arag— Estel is safest, and as he is happy also, I think Arathorn’s wishes have been honored to their fullest." He paused briefly to hear that the lesson continued, and went on in a hushed tone, "In truth I am relieved. You know I ever shared your husband’s opinion of these Elves... but when the years gather more whispered doubts than reassurances, even a part of me began to wonder."

"You speak of Aravorn’s son?" Gilbarad winced a little, as if she spoke too loudly of a dangerous subject. Gilraen struggled to refrain from smiling. It was only her son’s attention she wished not to attract, for she knew certainly that Elrond could hear every breath they took, to say nothing of their words.

Speaking softly to appease Gilbarad, she explained all she had learned of what the Rangers alone called a rift between the Angle and Rivendell. Most Elves here had marked little change in relations, and change was something they put out of mind whenever possible; unlike Men who speculate, then forget.

Of Celebrian she spoke -and knew- little, save the date and cursory circumstances of her leave-taking. A lad of thirteen at that time, Aravorn had spent his entire childhood harbored in Elrond’s house; Aragost his father was often abroad, for during those days Orcs were busy in their attempt to bar all passages over the Misty Mountains. Always high in Elrond’s esteem, Aravorn was the last of Isildur’s heirs whom Celebrian had a hand in fostering. After her departure, Elrond’s sons took up their campaign for revenge, though it took them far from their father. From what Gilraen deduced, Aravorn was cherished all the more thereafter, and he thrived under Elrond’s attention, growing to be a wise man and a trusted leader.

Now she was careful with her words. Her own opinion was that Aravorn’s son grew to be proud and envious. Truly an heir of Numenor in all its folly, she thought. Yet even Elrond had not named him so; thus neither would she. It was told that in every way Aravorn had worked to strengthen the bonds twixt the Dunedain and Rivendell, so had Aravorn’s son encouraged the Angle to support itself – both father and son were successful.

When Arassuil was made Chieftain, he was of like mind with Aravorn, and tried to restore what his grandfather had accomplished. But those again were troubled days whilst Orcs renewed their invasions of Eriador. Where once the Dunedain looked to Rivendell as a whole, soon only the Chieftains’ close kin traveled to Elrond’s house, save at dire need. Isildur’s heirs were each fostered in safety and secret, while memories of alliances faded in the Angle and beyond.

Gilbarad was thoughtful as she spoke and silent when she finished. "Much of this I had heard of already, though less exactly. But these more intimate details... how is it that they came into your knowledge?"

Gilraen allowed herself to smile at last. "The usual way: I asked."

A grunt was his first reply. "Well, let us hope discrepancies twixt our people have met their final end." One way or another, this would be the case, for Gilraen knew as he did not that the Elves here would soon leave Middle-earth. "Meanwhile, I leave it in more tactful hands -such as Valcirion’s and your own- to keep trading fair and frequent."

"For that the Elves are ever willing." At his questioning glance Gilraen shrugged. "It helps them remember, and forget."

Before Gilbarad could make another comment about assimilated elvishness, he saw over her shoulder a small face peeking at him from the doorway. It disappeared at once, leaving boyish giggles to echo down the hall. "We are found out." Gilraen turned at his gesture. "Since things are changed, how am I to be introduced to your son from now on?"

"As his kinsman, of course. That has not changed." Taking him by the hand, Gilraen led the Ranger into Elrond’s study. "That will never change."

***


Chapter 12 - Notes

***

Story Notes:
*Ronduir, Beregost, Valcirion, Artanal, Telmoth, and Gilbarad are original characters (the name 'Gilbarad' made an appearance in HoME, but his personality and purpose is anyone's guess).
*Asfaloth is well-known as Glorfindel's horse. The names Malfrey and Palaber are original.
*Elladan and Elrohir were not referred to as Elves, Men, or Half-elven in canon. Since this story is coming from a human perspective, 'Elf-man' seemed an appropriate approximation.
*Gilraen foresighted? According to canon, yes (see the story of Aragorn and Arwen in the RoTK appendix A).
*The Silverstream will be impossible to find on an official map. The author advises readers not to search for it, heh-heh.
* 'Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger.' Gildor Inglorion said it first, to Frodo (FoTR: Three is Company). Wizardry as described in the RoTK index is 'magic of a kind popularly ascribed to the Wizards'... and is one way to avoid naming Vilya.
*For the full effect of Gilraen's dreamy-flashback scene, try reading what Sam recited for us of the Fall of Gil-galad simultaneously (FoTR: A Knife in the Dark).

Timeline Key:
1979 - Aranarth takes the title of Chieftain of the Dunedain. The heirlooms of Arnor are given into the keeping of Elrond. 'In Elrond's house were harbored the Heirs of Isildur, in childhood and old age, because of the kinship of their blood with Elrond himself, and because he knew in his wisdon that one should come of their line to whom a great part was appointed in the last deeds of that Age.'
2431 - Aragost son of Arahad I is born.
c. 2480 - Orcs begin to make secret strongholds in the Misty Mountains so as to bar all passes into Eriador.
2497 - Aravorn son of Aragost is born.
2510 - Celebrian departs over Sea.
2563 - Arahad II son of Aravorn is born.
2628 - Arassuil son of Arahad II is born.
2740 - Orcs renew their invasions of Eriador.
2873 - Arathorn II son of Arador is born.
2907 - Gilraen daughter of Dirhael is born.
2929 - Arathorn and Gilraen are wed.
2931 - Birth of Aragorn II son of Arathorn II.
2933 - Arathorn II dies in battle with Orcs.


References:
*I highly recommend all articles by Michael Martinez at Suite 101 for anyone interested in LoTR research. I wouldn't even know where the Rangers lived if not for the fabulous references found therein. Also, I thank Stephen Geard for compiling a 2nd and 3rd Age chronology. Finally, besides the Encyclopedia of Arda, the essays, and Q&As found at the Tolkien Meta-FAQ arranged by Steuard Jensen are invaluable.

Author's Note:
Through the long process of writing this story, many readers who enjoyed it have been good enough to tell me so -- I thank them, along in advance with all others who may come forward hereafter. But one person helped like no other, and that was Lyllyn, who beta-read, reread, and was consistently generous with that most elusive writer's tool: honesty.
-AE

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