Hope

DISCLAIMER
I own nothing from Tolkien's creations.






Arien led her chariot low upon the western sky, ending her journey for the day and casting a warm red glow upon the two identical faces that were watching from afar. Two tall figures were standing on the edge of the sea and listening to the echo of Ulmo’s murmuring through the sound of waves crashing on the beach.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? I almost feel sad every time I see Anor fading in the horizon. Like I am meant to follow her…”

Soft whispers carried in the wind.

“But she is not lost for ever, she only rests to allow the beauty of the Stars to unravel as well” another melodious voice answered the first. “You need not follow her; merely wait for her to rise again.”

How can two faces be so alike and yet so very different? The two brothers had now turned and were looking deep into each other’s eyes, one set with determination, the other with sorrow. Arien, now forgotten, had all but completed the day’s journey.

“Do not go!” the same voice went on to whisper.

“Elrond, do you not see? There is no other way… I have made this choice a long time ago, and yet lingered for you. But there can be no further postponement. If I do not do this now, my destiny will have slipped right through my hands.”

Anger that stemmed from pain rushed through Elrond.

“You go only because you wish them to call you a King! This is the grand decision that you are using as an excuse to leave us? We belong to the Eldar, Elros, we were born and raised among them! How can you forget so easily and turn your back on everything we have known and loved?”

Elros’ gaze grew dark with his brother’s words.

“How dare you speak such for the Valar’s gift to the Secondborn?”

And now rage equal to that of his twin’s was coursing through his veins.

“And how dare you speak such for me? Have you forgotten that we do not only belong among the Eldar, but the Edain as well? I would have expected you of all people, Elrond, to understand!”

Elros’ voice grew softer as the vision of his future was once again before his eyes.

“Do not tarnish this gift the Valar saw fit to grant to the Men who fought on their side. I’m not leaving to become their king, I want to join them in an effort to build a new world, one that has yet to see any pain and suffering and will become what we make of it! Númenórë will be the jewel of Men, Elrond, but they need my help, they *asked* for my help! How can I refuse the blood of Beren and Turgon that flows through my veins and calls to my heart? No, my brother, my path has been set before my feet and all there is left is for me to walk upon it…”

Elrond saw hope fluttering in the depths of his brother’s eyes, eyes so alike and yet different from his own. Elros had grown weary of the world of the Elves; he wished to follow his mortal legacy instead. He had long suspected this moment would come, but that didn’t mean he dreaded it any less.

“Then I will go with you.”

He would follow him. And not just to this land, this Númenórë. If his twin brother loved mortals so much as to share their fate, then so would he. Eternity is too long to spend without one’s other half. The blood of Beren and Lúthien, Idril and Turgon flowed through his veins as well; he could make the same decision…

Tears streaming down his face, Elros pulled him close before he got to say anything else.

“No” he whispered close to his ear, “you will not. Like I said, my path has been set before me, but it is not yours. Remember when we were younger and we wondered what it would be like to visit the Blessed Realm that ada was secretly trying to find? You always used to say that Elbereth’s stars shone brighter when closer to Arda’s end, while I claimed that Anor would be warmer this close to her home…”

Loosening his hold on his brother, Elros brought their faces against each other’s until their foreheads touched and looked imploringly into his twin’s grey eyes.

“Even then our hearts knew what our minds denied… You belong to the Race of the Stars, Elrond, whereas I am one of the Children of the Sun. And now I can finally follow Anor to its setting where I will find my new home. But you cannot follow me brother. All I… all I want is for our parting not to be like this. I will ask you no more.”

“Then so be it.”

And this time it was Elrond who pulled Elros close.

The next morning white ships left the shores of Ennor and headed for Andor. And aboard one of those ships was Elros Tar-Minyatur, first King of Númenor and creator of the line of the Númenorian Kings. But on the shores behind was left Elrond Half-Elven, his twin brother and no more than a young member of Círdan’s household. He was left standing there alone watching the ships that sailed away in the horizon, grieving in secret for the decisions that his brother and he himself had made.

Grieving but not regretting. For he remembered still how beautiful the stars looked last night after the sun had set. And he remembered yet how brighter was the glimmer of hope within Elros’ grey eyes. Hope for a new beginning, hope for a new land, hope for a new nation…

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Year 2933 of the Third Age

Silent footfalls echoing through dark corridors, whispering voices drifting through the walls, restless gazes in the dark.

Gone was the sweet calm from the halls of Imladris this night. No more than a few hours ago, as Anor was sinking into the west, Elrond’s twin sons had arrived with the terrible news.

Arathorn was dead. The line of the Kings in danger.

For the first time since the fall of Arnor, the Dúnedain that were left in the North had no one to lead them, their chieftain gone. And the Shadow in the East was ever growing in power.

But all was not lost. For with the terrible news, Elladan and Elrohir had also brought back a precious burden, Arathorn’s young widow and his infant son.

Aragorn, son of Arathorn, last descendant of Elendil, heir to the thrones of Arnor and Gondor, was now calmly sleeping in the arms of the Lord of Imladris, his right hand’s thumb safely tucked within his baby mouth.

In a tender gesture, Elrond pulled the boy’s hand away from his sleeping face. This would not be the first child of Isildur’s line to seek refuge in his house, but he would be the first and only one for which Elrond would be solely responsible. The dark-haired boy resting in the warmth of the elf-lord’s embrace would grow up calling Elrond his father. It was the promise he had given Gilraen to let the boy out of her sight and get some much needed sleep after her fears had taken hold of her and she hadn’t allowed herself rest in more than three days.

Not that he wouldn’t have taken the boy in anyway…

Looking out through a large airy window Elrond allowed himself a small sigh. Aragorn’s existence would have to be kept a secret. His visions were growing darker of late; danger was afoot for the little king. The least he could do was to offer him some a happy and peaceful growing up among the elves in Imladris.

The boy’s eyelids fluttered open and small grey eyes bore into his own.

“Mummy?” the child’s voice inquired.

Making a funny expression, Elrond placed his finger before his lips.

“Sssssss” he told the boy, showing him his mother’s form sleeping on a large bed in the next room through the open door.

A large smile bloomed on the boy’s face as a reply and for a few moments those grey eyes shone brightly.

~ Elrond saw hope fluttering in the depths of his brother’s eyes, eyes so alike and yet different from his own.~

“A’ight” little Aragorn said seriously as if giving his permission and then snuggled deeper within Elrond’s embrace, making a pleased sound from the depth of his throat and again closed his eyes, hiding their silver glow from the world.

~ And he remembered yet how brighter was the glimmer of hope within Elros’ grey eyes.~

Something ancient stirred deeply inside Elrond, a need to protect this tiny creature in his arms that carried his brother’s eyes.

~Hope for a new beginning, hope for a new land, hope for a new nation…~

“Le in-estel dîn, penneth… Le Estel.” (You are their hope, little one… You are Hope.)

And that was how Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the thrones of Arnor and Gondor, came to live in Imladris under the wings of Lord Elrond Peredhel as Estel.






Author's note
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This little one-shot was initially written in Greek, but I thought I might as well give it a try and rewrote it in English as well. Furthermore, I was feeling a little guilty to bother Anie who had volunteered as a beta reader for me when she'll probably be in the middle of her vacation, so please go easy on the syntax and grammar, although I do welcome any corrections because it is the only way for me to learn.

The story may seem a bit over the top, but it was actually written to blow off some steem. Still, I would like to know what you think (since I rarely venture to post)...