| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Author's Notes |
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Please note that not everything in this story has been stated by Tolkien himself - I have only borrowed his ideas, and written what I imagine the Story of Gilraen to have been. I have however, researched as much as possible regarding the story, so hopefully it stays as true to Tolkien's intentions as possible. Part 1 Gilraen sat on the cold stone slab, looking at the still form of her lost love. A chill ran through her body, as she looked at him, unmoving. She felt numb; a small tear left the corner of her eye, and ran a path down to her cheek. She laid her hand on his breast, and rested her head on top. The bold heart that once beat only for her was forever stilled. In all her life, she had never felt such pain as she felt now. She had often been told that grief came to different people in many forms, denial, anxiety, and shock. She had never believed that anyone could sit and stare as a loved one lay unmoving before them. She believed now. Soon, looking at her husbands still face, her thoughts began to stray to their son Aragorn. He was young, and did not know that his father, the chieftain of the Dúnedain, now lay cold in the hall of rest, the day before his burial. She remained silent, listening to the sounds of people walking outside, unaware of her presence there. After a few brief moments of peace, Gilraen's thought's strayed once again, but this time they were not concerned with the present, but the past. She looked at her husband's face again, and remembered him as he was only four years earlier. Spring had just began to blossom in the land of Eriador. Since the plague of Gondor many years before, a finer season had never been seen. Autumn had passed by with a flame of gold, and winter had stolen all colour from the land, leaving only the crisp white snow, and the gnarled silver birch. Arathorn, son of the chieftain of the Dúnedain, was walking through the village, when he spied the home of his beloved. He saw her father, Dírhael, mending the sheath of his sword in the yard. Dírhael looked up and saw Arathorn, and stopped his work. The tall, stern young man began to walk towards him. Gilraen's father moved to stand at the threshold of his home as Arathorn approached him. "Dírhael! Good day to you sir. I was wondering if perhaps I could speak for a while with your daughter?" The older man remained silent, and beckoned to his wife. Arathorn was unnerved by Dírhael's stillness. Finally, he spoke to his wife, who had arrived at the door. "Ivorwen, call to our daughter, and see that she comes down here immediately." Gilraen's mother rushed to call her, and all the while Arathorn waited, still Dírhael never spoke a word to him. After an eternity of waiting patiently for her, Gilraen appeared at the door. She was clad in white, with a white flower in her dark hair. Arathorn sighed deeply, aware that his palms were damp, and his throat was tight. He shifted on his feet. Long had he waited for this opportunity, but now that it arrived, he did not know whether he was anxious to do as he had promised to himself, or if his judgment would fail him. When she walked towards him, he decided to take his chance. Dírhael and his wife watched from the door. As she stood before him, he took her hand gently, and kissed the back, then held it between his two hands. Gilraen looked at him in wonder while he strained for the right words to say. "Gilraen, my love," Dírhael shifted his weight, and stood taller than before, but he was content to watch. "We have known each other well for many years, and for that time, found a place in each other's hearts. I would spend all eternity with you if our lives allowed it, but even though we are doomed to a mortal life, we may still spend our time together. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?" Ivorwen gasped. The shawl she had held in her hands dropped to the floor. Before Gilraen had dared breath, Dírhael stepped forward. "Arathorn, you do not know what you ask of me, or of my daughter. I knew as you came to us this day that you would ask this decision of her. I make the decision in her place. She will not be wed to you; she is too young of heart and mind, and too easily swayed by romance. She will not make this decision before her time." "Father, you do not know what it would ask of me to be parted from the man I love." "Be silent child." Gilraen went to her mother, and watched, as her one love was lost to her before her very eyes. Dírhael turned back to Arathorn. "You and I are from the same line, and I see in you the makings of a great leader. You are a stern man of full age, and you will be chieftain sooner than looked for; yet my heart forebodes that you will be short-lived." It was here that Ivorwen stepped forward. "The more need of haste!" Her daughter sank to the floor and wept, and as she did so, Arathorn stepped away from Dírhael to comfort her. Ivorwen looked at them as they walked away, and then to her husband. "The days are darkening before the storm, and great things are to come. If these two wed now, hope may be born for our people; but if they delay, it will not come while this age lasts." Arathorn took Gilraen from her parents, and spoke words of comfort to her. They walked together near the riverbank, until they sat down next to it, and listened to the sound of the rushing water. Gilraen played with the water, deep in thought, and remained silent. At last, she spoke. "When shall we be free to be together my love?" "Perhaps your father…" "He is no longer as a father to me." "Come now, do not be so harsh, you know that things will be as they should soon." "Sometimes I wonder." Arathorn looked at her, her eyes shone still with tears that welled up again. His eyes searched hers for a while; he stroked her cheek, and kissed her hand once more. "They do not rule us my love. We do not bind ourselves to these lands as they do, and if we wish to be together, then so we shall be, despite where we may live." "It is what I have hoped for all these long years." He smiled at her, and held her face in his hands, and kissed her in resolution. But they never did leave the lands of their forefathers, and so Gilraen and Arathorn married, and lived happily in those lands for a short time. But only a year after their marriage, Arathorn's father Arador was slain by trolls, and it was Arathorn who was entrusted with the chieftainship of the Dúnedain. A year later, Gilraen bore a son, who was named Aragorn II. Arathorn proved to be not only a great leader, but also a true father. And so, for the first two years of Aragorn's infancy, Arathorn protected him, and taught him as well as was possible. Gilraen spent many days standing in their garden, watching as her husband and her son played together. She saw the light in Arathorn's eyes as he looked with growing pride at his son, and laughed as he threw him in the air, catching him again. Every time he did so, Gilraen would start, afraid that he would fall, and then sigh with relief when he landed giggling in his father's arms. But pain and sadness were to come to Arathorn and his family. For when Aragorn was but two years of age, Arathorn had to ride away to battle against the orcs once more, with the Sons of Elrond. When the time of his parting came, a sober mood fell over his household. Gilraen moved from her husband's resting place, and stood by the threshold of their home. She looked out to the lush pastures that lay beyond, and the dense forest, which held so many memories. A gentle breeze filled the air, and fanned her face. She could smell the sweet fragrance of the garden, and the heavy scent of pine. Only now, her senses were tarnished by grief. She did not appreciate the wonders of nature that lay before her. Only a few weeks before, she had stood in the very same place, saying farewell to him, and bidding him to come home. Safe. She could almost feel his touch as she stood there, watching her son play in the field, as he had done so before. His dark hair rippled in the wind, and his eyes shone with delight as he chased birds from the trees. She imagined her husband standing before her; he reached for her with one hand. In her mind she took it, and felt herself move deeper into the daydream. "Come now my love, don't worry. I will be back safe, don't cry I beg you." He looked at her fair face, already soaked with tears. He dreaded this part of battle more than any other. Leaving her was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life, and he was more afraid of it than of death itself. She looked up at him at last, and smiled at his concern. "I would never live a life without you my love." She took his hand, and held it to her lips. As she did so, his face became grave, and his tone was gentle. "And I would never ask you to do so. I will be back safe, and this I swear to you. Do not be afraid." He kissed her forehead, and held her close. They murmured another affectionate farewell, before he left her with sorrow. Gilraen let his hand go in despair. She stayed to watch him ride away, and her eyes rested briefly again on her son. But to her surprise he had changed. He was no longer a son of two years, but a young man, and the image of his father. He stood tall and proud, and looked content as he tended to his steed. She looked around quickly to see where her child had gone, but the only person she saw was this young man. She saw him look at her briefly; he nodded at her, and smiled affectionately. He walked over to his father's horse, and they shared a friendly exchange. They bid each other farewell, and then, as her husband rode away, he walked away from her direction, but his gaze returned to her, he smiled knowingly once more, and pointed to a small child still at play in the field. When her gaze returned from her child, the man had gone, and her husband had disappeared also. Gilraen thought this dream strange, and did not know the man. But she had her mother's intuition, and knew that the man was indeed her son as he would be in the future. He had the appearance of his father, though in his eyes, she had seen herself. She smiled at this, and looked again to her son as he was, playing still in the field. The day before, the Dúnedain had returned home. Their mood was solemn, and Gilraen had sensed that something was wrong. She ran to the first rider she saw, and pleaded with him for news of her husband. His face remained grave; he placed a soothing hand on her shoulder. "Fair lady, your husband…. died in battle." She fell down to her knees, her body racked with heartache. He dismounted nimbly, picked her up tenderly, and steadied her with his arm. "Do you wish to see him?" Though the question was abrupt, his tone was soothing, and his expression sorrowful. She nodded slowly, and allowed him to lead her away. They walked together along the mounted riders, many of whom were unscathed, but carried with them men who had lost their horses, and many who were injured in the battle. Gilraen bid Oeric (For so he was called) to stop at every man who was injured. She gave to them words of kindness, and ordered that they be taken to women who would heal them. This continued until they came to a group of men who carried upon their shoulders the fallen chieftain. They lowered him to the ground upon her arrival, and uncovered his face. She knelt down on the ground beside him, and looked at his face. One of his eyes had been pierced by an orc's arrow. The arrow had been taken away, but the scar remained. She touched the wound lightly, and flinched as she felt his pain. She closed his other eye, and bid him be at peace. Upon doing so, a tear left the corner of her eye and fell upon his cheek. She heard his voice calling to her from afar, and answered it. "My love, I shall never in all my days forget you." With this, she escorted the men who carried him to his resting place, and there she stayed with him, until she heard her son call to her. "Mama!!! Mama!! Come and see!" She had gone, and stayed with him until the next day, when she returned to her husband, to be next to him again before his burial. When she had entered the tomb, Gilraen sat next to her husband's body, and spoke softly to him, silently aware that he couldn't hear her, but not heeding the advice she gave herself. "Do you know what our child wanted yesterday? He showed me a butterfly, and he said 'pretty'. That's all. It's as though that was all he could think of to describe it, as if it had taken his breath away." She took his hand in hers. "It reminds me of when we first met. You said that about me, that you didn't know how to describe the way you felt in words, without making the feeling sound less special." She kissed his hand, and stroked his cheek gently, as she began to cry again. "And then, he asked me where you were…" she paused, trying to suppress the flood of tears welling up yet again. "And I told him that you'd gone away, and that… that you weren't coming back again." It was only upon saying this that the full knowledge of what had happened struck her. The tears that had been suppressed now filled her eyes, and her sight was blurred. She sat and looked at him through her tears, and thought back to their past together. From outside she could hear one of her people singing a song of lament. It was unusual for her people to sing so, but she listened with a heavy heart to the tale they told. And so it is my duty to tell The tale of Arathorn, stern to the last, And the story of how he fell. Dírhael, father of Gilraen the fair Had foreseen Arathorn's doom He warned that Arathorn, Isildur's heir Would be lost to the Dúnedain soon. But Ivorwen, his wife, made so bold To tell of the need of haste. Her daughter, and Arathorn, she told Had no more time to waste. And so, four years the pair were wed, When the king rode away once more, > Never to return to his maiden's bed Or see again his son whom she bore. Arathorn, son of Arador, Where do you dwell this day? Some day, on a distant shore, Your son, see him, you may. ~*~*~*~ A week after her husband's death, Gilraen and Aragorn were to leave for Rivendell, where Elrond would help to care for Aragorn, as he had done for all of the chieftain's sons down through the ages. They took with them five men on horseback, and began the journey East towards the house of Elrond. Before her home was out of sight, Gilraen turned back, and bid a silent farewell to the lands that she had grown up in, then turning away she followed her escorts to Rivendell. After many months of riding eastward, they arrived at the house of Elrond, and it was here that Gilraen's company departed. They wished her a happy life, and bid her farewell, before turning back, and riding once more to their homeland, and to their own families. Gilraen looked about her, and saw the beauty of Rivendell. She could hear the ford from where she stood, and looked back down the river Bruinen, by which she had travelled. Gilraen had never seen Rivendell in her waking memory, the last time that she had seen this place was in her childhood, and at that time she had been too busy playing with the elf-children to care about the lands. Rivendell had a fresh beauty, which Gilraen would carry with her in her heart till the end of her days. The flowers, animals, and grass were the same as anywhere else, but their presence in the gardens made the place feel even more alive, more sacred. She stayed next to a large tree, covered by its shade. And thus she stood for sometime, unsure of where to go or whom to see, until Elrond came to meet them. "Mae Govannen, Gilraen, and the heir of Isildur. I trust that you had a pleasant journey." Aragorn, who had been chasing a bird for quite some time, ran straight into Elrond, fell on the floor, and began to giggle. Gilraen gasped, unsure of how Lord Elrond would react to such a situation. But he merely laughed, knelt down to the young boy, and took his hand. Picking him up, he looked back to Gilraen, who had now relaxed, and felt at ease with Elrond. She had known that the elves would take care of her son, and that they would educate him, and raise him into knowledge, but she had been unsure of whether such other-worldly beings were capable of loving a human child. All of her fears had now been washed away by Elrond's calm attitude towards her child. Finally she spoke to him. "Thank you Lord Elrond, we did, and it is a pleasure to finally walk again in the gardens of Rivendell. Are we both to stay here?" "If you so wish, my lady, you may stay here always. And your son is more than welcome. I hope that he fulfils our expectations." "He is the only hope left for the Dúnedain." At this Elrond nodded slowly, and smiled at the young boy before him. "Then I shall name him Estel. His true name and lineage must be kept secret - Not even he will know, for the enemy is searching for the Heir of Isildur, and I do not wish him to be found." Elrond turned to the young boy before him, who was still looking up at him with awe. "Would you like to meet your new brothers, Elrohir and Elladan?" back to top Author's note: In this chapter, I have referred to Aragorn as Estel, for his lineage was kept from him until the age of twenty, and so it is in the interest of being true to Tolkien that I have done this. Part 2 Gilraen and Estel lived in Rivendell peacefully. Their time there was joyful, and Estel grew to be a young boy of good learning, and kind manner. He spent much time with Elrond, who taught him everything that he would need to know in order to fulfill his purpose, though that purpose was still unknown to him. It was a fine summer day, the year 2947 of the third age. Estel was now sixteen years old, and Elrond still taught him the ways of Middle-Earth. Gilraen walked through the passageways of Elrond's home, which were now all familiar to her. The fragrant smell of honeysuckle and lilac filled the air as she walked out onto a high balcony. She sat on a wooden chair, and began to stitch blankets, a habit that she had taken up in Estel's infancy. It gave her comfort to keep herself occupied. Thus she stayed for many hours, until the sun fell down behind the horizon. A voice spoke from behind her. "She is kind tonight" Gilraen turned slowly, and saw Elrond looking down at her. "Who?" "The sun. She casts many shadows, but nothing is hidden therein." Gilraen smiled. "How often must you tell me my fears Lord Elrond?" He returned the smile, and moved closer to her, his green cloak sweeping the floor as he walked. He sat on a chair next to her, and looked at her attentively. "How long will you fear the future, my lady?" Gilraen turned her attention back to her task. Her hands began to shake, and she gave up the chore with a sigh. "The future is no longer that which I fear." Elrond's face showed concern, but she shrugged. "It is not a matter of importance Lord Elrond, simply a painful memory." He placed his hand on hers. "I too, share similar memories to yours." Gilraen frowned, and turned to the gardens below her. She looked down at her son, who was tending to his steed, a fine dappled horse, its coat a clean cream, with chestnut spots. The creature was as proud and noble as its owner, though both were yet to mature. "What if he should suffer the same fate as those before him?" "I do not believe that his destiny will lead him to such an untimely end. He is becoming his father, don't you think?" "I do see my love in him. He has the same affection for all things good." "But although he shares his fathers traits, that does not mean that he will share his doom." Gilraen smiled, finding comfort in his words, and agreed to come down to dinner. Around the table sat many individuals, Elrond and Glorfindel sat at the head of the table, with Elrond's sons close-by. Estel sat next to his mother, and across from them sat two other elven-folk, Saurkalion, a wise elf, with the features of a warrior, and Gayacúwen, his wife, a fair elven-lady, with bright inquisitive eyes, and pale skin. The talk was lively, and the food sublime, though throughout the meal, Gilraen alone sat silent, and barely looked at her food. Estel looked at her, and touched the back of her hand. "Mother, what's wrong?" Gilraen looked with admiring eyes to her son, and for a while held his gaze. She realized that this time of peace would not last forever, and that soon, he would be told of his lineage, and she did not know whether he would choose to follow the path laid out for him. "My son, you are becoming a wise man, though you still have much to learn." She kissed his forehead, and left the table. Elrond watched her depart. At length, he turned to Estel. "Dear boy, do not fret, your mother is tired, and weary of memories. She will, no doubt, be herself again with the break of day." Estel glanced at the door, and turned his mind to food again. After dinner, he went to his mother's room. "Mother?" Gilraen sat by the window, looking out at the stars. From below, Estel could hear the joyful singing of the elves. They were welcoming their guests, Saurkalion and Gayacúwen, as was traditional for the House of Elrond, with song and poetry in their fair language. "But long ago he rode away, And where he dwelleth none can say, For into darkness fell his star In Mordor where the shadows are" Gilraen beckoned to her son. She pointed to a star, high above them, which shone bright in the cold night. "You see that star, Estel? Your father and I would look to it often in times of need. When he left us, I looked to it often for comfort, though it holds no hope for me any longer." She sighed. "But for you, it may still hold hope." He looked at her closely. "Mother, you are yet to tell me who my real father was. You have told me little about him." She finally turned to him, and stood. Gilraen was now forty years of age, though her beauty had not left her. And yet, in her face, he saw that she had seen many things, both glad and sorrowful. "My son, Estel, you will know all you need to, when your time comes." She smiled at him, and stroked his hair. She looked deep into his eyes, and once again, she was reminded of the daydream she had had when her husband had died. He stood tall and proud, and looked content as he tended to his horse. She glanced around quickly to see where her child had gone, but the only person she saw was this young man. She saw him look at her briefly; he nodded at her, and smiled affectionately. She turned away, and walked to the window once more. "Just remember what I have told you." He came next to her as she continued, "That you will never know everything, and that most of the time, it is best that you do not." With this, he willed himself to resignation, and spoke no more of his father to her, for he saw that it caused her great pain, although she tried to hide it. Though in his heart, he knew that something important was being hidden from him, and he longed to know what that was. The next morning, Estel sat in his study with Elrond, looking at maps of Middle-Earth, learning place-names and distances. At length, he spoke. "Elrond, why must I learn these things from maps and books? What is it that prevents me from going into the wild, and seeing it for myself?" Elrond stopped, and looked at him. He had long feared this question, but he knew better than to give its true answer at that time. "Estel, if you wish to go into the wild, you should first know where the roads and paths will take you. You cannot simply hope that you will find your way back through chance." Estel looked at Elrond. He felt confined, trapped by the walls that surrounded him. His face was defiant, his jaw set, but his eyes began to flood with tears. Elrond looked at him, feeling sorrow in his heart that he should imprison the boy, he wished that he could allow him to be free, but he turned back to the maps on the table, and resumed his teaching. Estel looked out of the window to the lands beyond. That evening, when all had gone to their chambers, Estel left his, and walked quietly down the passageway. He made no sound; his step was as light as the elves themselves, he touched nothing but the warm wooden floor in his passing. He went out into the crisp night air, and smelled the cool sweet fragrance of the gardens. Walking to the stable, he began to feel nervous. It was the first time he had considered disobeying Lord Elrond, whom he loved, and revered also. He had never rebelled before, and the sensations he felt were new to him. His stomach churned, his temples ached, and his mind was constantly racing with fears of being discovered. He swallowed hard, and decided to ignore his fears. He made ready his horse, and for the first time, prepared to leave Rivendell, and explore the lands beyond. Gilraen's dreams were troubled. She saw many things that she could not understand, and many that she would wish to forget: her son writhing on a block of stone, and figures moving silently around him in the shadows. She tossed in her bed, as the figures moved closer to her son. The sheets tangled around her legs as she turned over again and again. There were gray faces coming from the shadows, twisted and tormented, their mouths turned upwards into vicious grins, as they took delight in wounding her son. The young boy looked from one face to another, his eyes filled with terror. He began to call for her, but she was too far away to hear his calls. Suddenly, a figure leapt towards him, wielding a spear of cold metal. Estel rode with speed westwards, away from Rivendell. He had crossed the Ford of Bruinen, and had followed the road with care. He did not wish to return at once, but to explore the lands close-by by day, and return the following evening. Whatever punishment he may receive would be a small price to pay for the joy of feeling free, as he had once been, long before his memories would reach. The sky above him was clear, the light growing as dawn approached. He heard cockerels crowing, and caught glimpses of badgers scurrying back to their daytime hideouts. His hair flowed behind him, the wind running through it like loving fingers, comforting him as his mother would. After many hours of riding swiftly, he crossed the Last Bridge, and found a secluded spot near to the road, where he would be hidden from casual sight. He lay his head down on a mound of grass, and fell asleep, leaving his horse free to graze in the field, until it was needed once more. Gilraen woke with a start, her heart beating wildly within her chest. The morning sunlight streamed through the window, casting faint shadows on the walls. She threw off the covers, and rushed out of the door and into the passageway, making her way to her son's room. After a short while of rest, Estel felt refreshed, though the cold of the night had had its effect on him. He shivered as he brushed down his damp clothes, and called to his horse. The creature trotted happily to him, glad that its master had woken. It sensed that the day would be eventful, and that it would see many things that had once been hidden. When his master mounted once more, he immediately took off with speed along the road. They fled away from the river Mitheithel, towards the Weather hills, which lay before them, as small indistinct swellings on the horizon. Gilraen entered her son's room quietly, not wanting to disturb him. She saw him lying in bed, the coverlet drawn up above his head. She stood in the doorway for a while, watching her son for any sign of a troubled dream. When she was content, she returned to her room, and made ready for breakfast. At the breakfast table, everyone waited patiently for Estel to come down. At length, Gilraen became weary of looking at an empty chair. Elrond spoke to her. "Perhaps you should wake your son to another late morning, my lady?" he asked with a casual smile. She smiled also, "No matter what I teach him, he will never rise from bed on time." Elrond and the other guests laughed merrily, knowing that Estel had not woken for an early morn since he was of seven years. Gilraen left the table, and walked along the passageways to her son's room for the second time that morning. Upon entering, she was not surprised to find him still asleep. She approached him, and took the coverlet down from his head. Upon looking at the bed, she gasped. Her son had gone, a bolster lying in his place, leaving no word of his whereabouts, and for the first time since they came to Rivendell, she felt fearful for his safety. As the sun began to fall from its highest point, Estel arrived at Weathertop. Having rode far, his horse became weary. Estel let the creature loose once more, meaning to climb to Weathertop's summit, and view the lands that surrounded it. He meant to go no further, and to begin his journey back to Rivendell that eve. After near to an hour's climbing, he reached the top. He stood facing south, and was pleased that he had succeeded in his efforts. He looked to Bree, and the South Downs. He was amazed that Elrond had kept him from seeing the lands. There seemed nothing impure to the west, and the only feeling of dread he had came to him when he looked to the Downs, where a dense mist was building. After many hours of sitting, and looking at the lands before him, he stood up, said a silent farewell to the scene before him, and began to descend the hill. Elrond sent four elven riders to search for Estel before harm came to him. Riders went their separate ways from Rivendell. Saurkalion took the western route, towards Estel, and rode with great ease until he crossed the Last Bridge before nightfall. A short distance from the bridge, he dismounted, and walked to the edge of the road. There he stooped down to look at the mound of turf in front of him. He ran his fingers through the grass for a few seconds, before mounting again, and continuing his journey West. Night was falling by the time Estel began to ride again. He did not wish to stay for another night's sleep, but to continue riding to Rivendell, and reach it before daybreak. The wide lands had begun to trouble him. He felt as though someone was watching from the shadows that surrounded him. But as he rode on, he became less alert, and did not listen for danger as intently as he had upon leaving Rivendell. As long as he heard the powerful rhythm of his horses hoof beats on the road, he felt safe. When Saurkalion was nearly half way to Weathertop, he steadied his horse, and listened to the hoof-beats traveling on the wind. He decided to stay as he was, in the middle of the road, awaiting whatever rider should be approaching, to find news of Estel. He did not doubt that Estel had indeed traveled west, and was anxious to hear any news of him. So he waited, expecting a fellow elven-rider to approach. The sight that he saw filled him with relief. Estel stopped his horse dead. He saw vaguely in the light a rider not too far ahead. As he rode on slowly, he saw that the rider was Saurkalion. Suddenly his heart filled with dread; he realized he would indeed be punished. Elrond had sent out riders to find him. He became suddenly concerned that his journey had worried his mother, and felt a flood of guilt well up inside. He went to Saurkalion, and greeted him warmly. The elf simply let out a laugh that ringed through the still night like birdsong. "Estel, my young friend, I am happy to see you once more. Lord Elrond has been worried for your safety. I was sent, along with three others, to find you." Estel sighed deeply. "He will not be happy to see me when I return. I am afraid that my little adventure has worried my mother." The elf looked deeply into Estel's eyes. "My boy, you are not to be blamed for wishing to see what lies beyond the walls and fences that you have been confined to." "Then I am not to be punished?" "You will receive some form of punishment no doubt, but no punishment will ever hide the fact that you cannot be kept indoors any longer." Estel smiled, and was glad to ride once more to Rivendell. The still of the night had disturbed him, and the thought of seeing the familiar passageways once more was no longer a burden to him. Though he still feared Elrond's actions, in Rivendell he felt safe. As they approached the gate, Estel saw Elrond standing on the threshold of his home. He breathed deeply, and walked towards him, leaving his horse in Saurkalion's care. "Lord Elrond, I am deeply sorry to have worried you…" "Do not speak, my boy," he interrupted. His tone was not harsh, but full of care. "Why did you take flight as you did? Your mother was sick with worry, and I, too, was afraid for your safety. If you wanted to go into the wild that much, you would have waited till the morning, and asked me to go with you." Estel now became angered. "And would you have agreed? Would you have taken me to those lands, just for one day?" The elf was silent, and cast his eyes to the ground. "No, you would not have taken me - Which was why I had to go. If I had stayed for one more day within these walls, I would have lost all hope that there was another world than this. Please Elrond," Estel looked to his foster-father with tears welling up inside. He fought back the tears, and spoke again. "Father." Elrond looked up, and saw the emotion in Estel's eyes. He came to him, and held his hand. "You have no need of me as your father any longer. I will remain your guardian, but your father belongs to the past." He paused, wondering when he would tell Estel of his true father. "Your mother, she is waiting." On seeing the pain his words caused Estel, Elrond spoke once more. "You will grow to be a great man, and I am proud to have brought you this far, but you are to make your own decisions from now on, Estel. Soon, you will know everything that you desire to know." back to top Part 3 For four years, Estel traveled with the sons of Elrond at Elrond's bidding, and carried out many good deeds. Gilraen stayed in Rivendell, with Elrond and Saurkalion, who had also stayed for a while with his wife. Though her days spent there were happy, she missed her son dearly, and often she was fearful of his safety. It was in Estel's twentieth year that he returned to Rivendell. Gilraen sat on the balcony by her room, looking out at the sunset. She heard the gates below her open, and saw a group of riders march in with their horses. When she saw her son, she cried with delight, and ran to meet him. Elrohir looked at Estel, smiling. "Brother, you must be happy to be home." Estel also smiled, though his eyes did not show happiness. "Though I have seen Elrond's home as my own for so many years, I fear that it is no longer so. I need to know what has been kept from me. I will speak with Lord Elrond as soon as time permits." Elrohir cast his eyes to the ground. "Would you no longer have us as your brothers?" Estel came over to him, hands outstretched. "I shall always look upon you as my kin, Elrohir, but I need to know the truth." The pair embraced briefly, before Estel saw his mother running to greet him. She wore a long dress of green, with a simple belt around her waist. As she ran, the fabric rippled around her legs, and brushed against the soft ground, making the hem of the skirt brown and grimy. "Mother!" She leapt into his arms, and kissed him warmly on the cheek, before pulling away to look at him carefully. "My son. I trust that you have enjoyed these past few years of freedom?" He smiled affectionately, and hugged her once more. "I did mother, but I missed you dearly." She smiled, and took his hand. "Come, we have much to talk about. A feast is being prepared for you all." They began to walk towards the magnificent home of Elrond, hand in hand. Estel stopped a while, an urgent look coming to his face. "I must speak with Elrond mother, do you know where he is?" Her brow furrowed at his question. "What do you wish to speak about? Surely it could wait a while? I have waited all these long years to see you once more, and now you have returned." She paused, and looked away, letting go of his hand, quietly enjoying the guilt which she had seen come across her sons face. "Or do you not wish to be seen with your mother anymore?" His expression changed from guilt to amusement. "Mother, must you punish me so?" She laughed merrily. He took her hand once more, "Come, and let us talk a while." After many greetings at dinner, and a joyous feast in honour of the party's return, Estel met Elrond in his study. The elf sat at the desk, a large book of legend in his hands. As he read silently, his expression changed from interest to slight confusion, then back to interest again. Estel smiled as he looked upon him. "Lord Elrond, you must have read that book a thousand times, and yet you still feign confusion?" Elrond looked up with a beaming face. "Welcome home Estel. Sometimes I feel that you grow to know me too well." They laughed, as they embraced, not for the first time that evening. Elrond firmly held Estel by his shoulders, looking deeply into his eyes. "You have seen many things which interested you I believe?" "Yes Lord Elrond. I have you to thank for allowing me to leave." "After you silently asking me to do so many times, how could I refuse?" He sat down again, and motioned for Estel to do the same. "You have grown into a fine young man. You wish for me to tell you of your past, am I right?" Estel grinned. The elf could read his thoughts with such ease; he hardly ever had to voice his questions. "If you would be so kind, Elrond, I wish to know of my father." Elrond sighed, and took Estel's hand. "Here is not the place to tell you those things. Follow me." Elrond led Estel to the shrine of Isildur, and brought him to a statue, which bore the shards of Narsil. Estel admired the heirloom, and wondered who would have the honour of wielding the sword when it would be forged once more. "Aragorn, it is your sword." Estel jumped at Elrond's words. "Why did you call me by that name?" Elrond placed a calming hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "For that is your true name. You are Aragorn the Second, son of Arathorn, and you are the heir of Isildur. The heirlooms that you see in this room all belong to you, for you are to re-claim the throne of Gondor. That is your purpose." Aragorn paused for a moment, his brow furrowing in confusion. So this was the secret kept from him for so long a time? And Why? Was he in danger through his knowledge of it? Noticing Elrond's worried expression, he stood taller than before, filled with pride, he now knew his worth, but he still had much to learn about his destiny. Elrond handed him a ring. "Here is the ring of Barahir, the token of our kinship from afar; and here before you also are the shards of Narsil. With these you may yet do great deeds; for I foretell that the span of your life shall be greater than the measure of men, unless evil befalls you, or you fail the test." He paused, and looked into Aragorn's eyes. "But your test will be hard, and long. The Sceptre of Annúminas I withhold, for you have yet to earn it." Aragorn returned Elrond's gaze, and took his hands. Kneeling, he kissed them, and laid his forehead on their backs. "Thank you Lord Elrond, for answering my questions. You have told me all that I need to know." "Not quite," said he, as he bid Aragorn rise, "There is still much for you to learn. But you are capable of that yourself now." Gilraen sat at the window, looking out at the fading horizon. The shadows blurred and blended with the dimming light. The light from her room streamed forth into the darkness, a beacon to all who would wish to see her sitting there. There was a soft knock at her door. She turned and faced it, expecting the form of her son to enter joyfully. She smiled tenderly. "Come in." Sure enough, it was her son, Aragorn. He came to her, his heart beating furiously. The joy of discovering his past had nearly overwhelmed him. But there were still things he wished to know about his father. "It is a beautiful night," she said softly, turning back towards the night sky. "Aragorn," his heart skipped a beat at her calling him by his true name, "do you remember that I told you of the stars?" He came to join her at the window, and pointed to a bright star high in the sky. "Yes I do, I looked to it so many times over the past years, and thought of you." "It is as I thought then. I could sense that you had not forgotten me." She turned to him, and opened her arms. They embraced briefly. "My son," she muttered into his hair, "I am so proud to see you come into your manhood so soon. But there are still things that you wish to know, are there not?" He broke from her hold slightly. "I wish to know of my father." "Then I shall answer any questions that you may ask." They talked long into the night, Gilraen spoke fondly of her husband, and Aragorn finally felt sure of his purpose. As he heard the tales of his father's proposal to her, his heart leapt for the knowledge of the bond between his parents. When he heard of his battles, the adrenaline forced through his veins, and he longed to have fought side by side with him. After midnight, Aragorn took leave of his mother, and with a fond kiss goodnight, went to his room. He slept soundly for the first time in years, and dreamt of his father's battles and victories. But his dreams were touched with sorrow, as he thought of his father's final battle. After sunset the next day, Gilraen sat with Elrond in his study. He told her of the many lands which she had never seen, and who lived there. She heard tales of hobbits from the shire, one of whom had visited Rivendell, though she had not heard of him. She marvelled at all that she had not ventured to see in her lifetime, and wondered if she should endeavour to travel as her son had, though only to see and experience other places and cultures. Her quiet life in Rivendell had been one of choice, though now she doubted whether it had been the best choice to make. Aragorn walked through the woods. The heavy fragrance of pine filled the air, and a feeling of joy filled him as he looked once more upon the beauty of the land of Rivendell. He began to sing. The leaves were long, the grass was green, The hemlock-umbels tall and fair, And in the glade a light was seen Of stars in shadow shimmering. Tinúviel was dancing there To music of a pipe unseen, And light of stars was in her hair, And in her raiment glimmering Among the dusty white stems of the silver birches, he saw a fair maiden walking. He had heard of the elf-minstrels making things appear when they sang of them, and as he watched the maiden, he felt that this had happened, or else he had fallen into a dream. There before him walked the image of Lúthien, wearing a mantle of silver and blue. Her raven hair swam behind her, and her brow was bound with gems that shone like stars. Fearing that he would never see the fair lady again, he began to run after her, crying, Tinúviel, Tinúviel! The maiden turned to him and smiled. "Who are you? Why do you call me by that name?" He blushed as he replied. "I believed you to be Lúthien Tinúviel, of whom I was singing. If you are not she, then you walk in her likeness." "So many have said," she replied, "however her name is not mine. Who are you?" Aragorn stood tall as he replied with pride. "Estel I was called, but I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's heir, Lord of the Dúnedain." As he finished, his shoulders slumped, as he thought that even his high lineage, at which his heart had sung so joyfully, was now no measure compared to her dignity and beauty. But to his relief, she laughed merrily and said, "Then we are kin from afar. I am Arwen, Elrond's daughter, and am also named Undómiel." ~*~*~*~ "Lord Elrond, do you wish to torture me with these tales of other kingdoms?" Gilraen's face had fallen at hearing so many tales from afar, even though she had at first revelled in their telling. Elrond looked up from his books with concern. "My lady, do you wish then, to travel into the danger that these lands hold?" She became indignant, "I have not heard of any danger." He shrugged slightly, "That is because I have not told you. I am merely sparing your feelings by telling you those tales which you would wish to hear." She relaxed and looked back to the books. A map lay on the desk, and she picked it up and studied it carefully. She looked at her home, west of Tharbad. She longed with all her heart to return, and see the familiar surroundings she had grown up in. "Some day, Lady Gilraen, you will return," she told herself. She apologized to Elrond, and left, retiring to her room for the evening, taking a book with her. In the few days that followed, Aragorn was changed. He did not speak so freely to Gilraen as he had, and she sensed that something had happened. She met him in his room one day, and asked him what troubled him. He sat by the door, and told her quietly of his meeting with Arwen in the woods. She could tell at his first words how he looked upon the elf-maiden, and knew that Elrond would never approve of his feelings for her. She took his hand lightly, and after he had finished, spoke to him comfortingly. "My son, your aim is high, even for a descendant of kings. Arwen is the noblest and fairest lady who walks this earth. It is not fit that mortal should wed with Elf-kin." His tone was defensive. "Yet we have some part in that kinship, if the tale of my forefathers that I have learned is true." "This is true, but that was long ago and in another age of this world before our race was diminished. I am afraid; for without the good will of master Elrond the heirs of Isildur will soon come to an end. But I do not think that you will have his approval in this matter." His face fell, and tears came to his eyes. The sudden truth of Elrond's opinion dawned on him, and he knew that his love for Arwen Undómiel would not be a matter to be taken lightly. "Then bitter my days will be, and I will walk in the wild alone." "That will indeed be your fate." Though Gilraen had a measure of the foresight of her people, she said no more to him of her apprehension, nor did she speak to anyone of what her son had told her. The fall of the year was upon them; the leaves turned to crimson flame, and fell dry on the ground. The air was still warm, and the beauty of Rivendell did not leave. Elrond had called Aragorn to his chamber, and Gilraen sensed that he knew of her son's feelings. She feared that he would be too harsh on him, and disown him for his ardour. She paced the room, her soft footfalls echoing on the wooden floorboards. If Elrond did know, would her son think that she had betrayed him? Would he storm into her room in a few moments, temper raging at her disloyalty? She feared it would be so. She sat once more by the widow, and opened the book that she had brought those many days before. A History of Middle-Earth. She had pored over it for days, examining every last detail of every culture, and still her need to travel grew. Only a few hours later, Aragorn entered her room, and told her that he was leaving once more. "What did Elrond want?" "He knew of my meeting with Arwen, I asked if you had told him and he said nay." "I have told him nothing, I have remained true to my promise to you." He stepped forward and placed his hands on her shoulders. "I know, mother, do not worry, I will be safe. I am travelling again with Elrohir and Elladan. I will return soon." She looked down at the book, which she had left. "I may not be here when you return." He looked at her questioningly. "Where will you be?" "Home." Her eyes shone at the thought of her homeland. She had already told him much of her home, and how she wanted to return there. They kept no secrets from each other for long. "Then I shall come to see you there. Good luck. I love you, very much." She smiled lovingly. "I love you too, my son." She kissed his cheek, and he left, heading for the courtyard, where his horse was ready for him, along with his brothers. He mounted Roheryn, and looked to Elladan. The Elf looked back, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Are you ready to ride, Aragorn?" Aragorn smiled. "Yes Elladan. I am." back to top Part 4 The rhythmic beating of hooves could be heard on the wind, following a furious pace as the trusted steed raced to its target. Aragorn sat astride, and spurred Roheryn onwards. The trees passed with a blur, leaving only their sweet dewy fragrance as a clue to their passing. At length, Aragorn reached his destination. He dismounted lightly, before rushing into the small building before him. A far cry from the aged stonework of Minas Tirith, the humble home had been built only to fulfil the purpose of comfort. As he knocked sharply on the door, dread filled Aragorn's heart. What vision awaited him when he entered? The door opened slowly, and a young woman looked up at him, drying her hands with a white rag. "Aragorn! You have come again." "Yes Norgara I have. I wish to see my mother." The woman's face blanched at his words. "Aragorn, your mother, she…" A small tear traced its path down her cheek, which she brushed away hastily. "What? What's wrong?" She remained silent, and he did not wait for an answer any longer. He pushed past her, and walked to the bedroom. There his mother lay, silent and unmoving in her passing. He walked towards her, his arms rigid against his sides. He reached her bedside and there he knelt, leaning his head on her cold hand. He looked up to his mother's peaceful face, and yielded to the grief that welled up within. Norgara came to the door and watched quietly as he sobbed. It stunned her to see this man weep so openly, his strong frame crumpled with grief. She resisted the urge that crept up within her to go to him and comfort him, though that urge was so strong within her. The old woman appeared at peace as she lay on the bed, her arms rested by her sides, and a slight smile was upon her face. He spoke quietly under his breath, whispering words of farewell. He turned to Norgara briefly, and the girl suppressed the gasp that threatened to escape her lips at the sight of his tearstained face. "When did this happen?" She spoke quietly and solemnly. "This morn, she passed quietly." He stood slowly and came to her, and laid a hand on her shoulder. "You may go now Norgara, I will wait here with her. Have you sent word of her passing?" She shook her head no. "I did not want to leave her, so I waited until someone came." He nodded slowly. "Go and ask for assistance. We will need to arrange her burial." The girl dropped the rag, which she had held, and ran to carry out his errands for him. As she ran, she thought tearfully of her mistress. She had befriended her when she was only young, and had taught her many things of Middle-Earth, and the many tales of her life in Rivendell. She felt as though her mother had died, though in reality that had been many years before. Gilraen sat in the gardens, her frail body worn with her age. She looked upon the creatures that spied on her, while she delicately stroked a book that she held. She called upon Norgara. "Yes my lady?" Gilraen smiled at the young girl's speed. Since her return, the girl had begged to stay at her home and carry out whatever duties would please her mistress. Her fair hair shimmered in the sunlight as she stood before her. "I have something which I want you to have. It is to thank you for all the help that you have given me." As she spoke, she handed the book to the young girl, who took it gingerly, fingering the gold lettering on the worn leather cover. A History of Middle earth Norgara looked at Gilraen with awe. "Where did you receive such a book lady Gilraen?" The older woman merely smiled, and looked back at the trees, which formed a broken line on the horizon ahead. No place would ever seem as fair as Rivendell to her, though she would now never have the chance to travel as she had wished. Norgara did not wait for an answer, and thanked Gilraen again and again, before returning inside the house, and carrying on with her chores. He sat by her side on a worn wooden chair, and stroked her hand. Staring blankly, his memories stirred within, until he could bear them no longer. Still the tears fell, and he felt no need to fight them back. He spoke softly to her, as though she could still hear his words. "I'll never forget you mother, nor will I forget the pains you have gone through for me." The sun had reached its highest point by then, though the clouds were beginning to stir in the sky, making their way towards him. He stood and walked to the window. He opened it, and leaned outwards. Looking down the road he saw three riders, one carried Norgara behind him. He made ready to welcome them. Gilraen waited by the door as her son approached. He smiled warmly and held out his hands as he rushed to meet her, wondering at how frail she appeared. He never remembered her seeming so fragile in Rivendell, though that was many years ago. Her face was creased with many wrinkles, though for a woman of a hundred, she appeared healthy and content. They spoke throughout the day, their conversation halted only when Norgara came back and forth with refreshment. It was a warm reunion, and as Aragorn told his many tales of the danger he had encountered on his travels, Gilraen listened with anxiety, for she knew that soon she would not be present to hear of his victories. Before he left her that evening, Gilraen spoke to him solemnly. "This is our parting, Estel, my son. I am aged by care, even as one of lesser men; and now that it draws near I cannot face the darkness of our time that gathers upon Middle-Earth. I shall be leaving it soon." Aragorn spoke to her words of comfort. "Yet there may be a light beyond the darkness; and if so, I would have you see it and be glad." She smiled, and spoke to him but one more time. *"Onen I-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim." Aragorn left her then, heavy of heart, and although he didn't know for sure, he would never have the chance to speak to his mother again. Oeric dismounted awkwardly from his horse, helped by his daughter Norgara. He walked slowly towards Aragorn, and smiled comfortingly. His face was tight from the salty tears that he had wept upon hearing his daughter's message. "Aragorn, take me to your mother." Aragorn placed an arm around Oeric's shoulders, and guided him inside the house, to where Gilraen lay. The old man walked to the bedside unaided, and kneeled beside his friend's cold body. His head swam with memories he thought he had forgotten. His eyes were weary as he looked to her face and touched it gently, reverently. "Aye, my lady, you have gone home." He stood and walked back to Aragorn steadily. "Do not fret, Aragorn, your mother has at last found peace." As he walked outside and spoke with his companions about the burial, Aragorn remained by the door, silently weeping as he looked once more at his mother's body. Oeric stood by the small stone house. He looked to the trees, and the path, which ran between them, winding its way gently to the North and the East. To Rivendell, he thought quietly. He heard the steady beat of hooves, and saw two riders emerge from the shadowed path. Smiling, he walked to meet them. The lady Gilraen had come home at long last, he had awaited her return since the day she had left for Rivendell. He helped her to dismount, and they embraced affectionately. Gilraen's companion looked to them, and gave them a while before speaking. "May I leave you here now, lady Gilraen?" Gilraen looked at the elf, his face showed his desire to return to Rivendell. "Yes, Saurkalion, you may indeed." She walked back to him for a brief moment, and reached up to hold his hand. She looked into his keen eyes and smiled. "Thank you, for everything." He smiled, kissed the back of her hand and rode away, leaving her to speak with her friend of old. Oeric studied her face. She had hardly aged since he saw her last, and he remembered those days so very well. He took her hand, and led her inside the house. "My Lady, you look as beautiful as you ever did." She smiled and glanced questioningly at the young girl who awaited their arrival. "Who is this, Oeric?" Oeric let go of her hand and walked to the girl. "This is my daughter, Norgara. Since she heard of your coming she begged for me to let her meet you." The young girl smiled and walked closer to Gilraen, curtsying slightly before speaking. "Lady Gilraen, welcome home. I would ask a small favour of you if I may." Even Oeric looked to his daughter curiously at this, waiting for her to continue. Gilraen tilted her head to one side. "And what, pray tell, would that favour be?" "Allow me to live here with you and do service to you. I have admired you from afar and it would be a great honour to be your servant." Oeric and Gilraen laughed merrily. Gilraen came to the girl and held her hand. "I have no need for a servant, my dear girl." Norgara's face dropped, before Gilraen continued amiably. "But I have great need of company, and someone to run errands for me once in a while." The young girl squealed and clapped her hands before going to bring her things. Oeric smiled as he saw her leave. Gilraen spoke to him once more. "What has happened to her mother?" "She died of illness one year ago. The girl needs a mother figure. I have tried but…" he trailed off before smiling at his words. They sat in the gardens and spoke fondly to each other. Oeric wanted to hear much about Rivendell, to which Gilraen obliged. She had just asked him of his doings, before Norgara returned. She ran to her father, before speaking to him. "Father, Ailín says that he needs to speak with you urgently." Oeric stood and bid farewell to Gilraen. "I shall return this eve my lady. Until then!" Upon Oeric's departure, Gilraen spoke to Norgara again. "Well, my dear girl, why don't you tell me about yourself?" The clouds had gathered above the hilltop as a small group stood in silence. No word was spoken, and no other sound was heard but for the sorrowful song of the natural world that surrounded them. Norgara stood, head bowed, a small handkerchief crumpled in her hand. Next to her stood Oeric, who held his head high, and looked to the clouds with grief. Aragorn stood alone, and at length began to speak quietly. "Lady Gilraen, mother true, What pain you bore for me. I'll look to the sky and think of you Now, you are truly free." Oeric nodded, and threw a small wreath of flowers on her grave. Norgara sniffed quietly, before all three turned and headed back to the house. As they walked, the clouds began to clear, and they turned and looked to see, through the gap, which was widening, a single star burning brighter than it ever had before. Aragorn smiled, and closed his eyes. "Namarië." He whispered, before continuing with the others. back to top Author's Notes I would like to greatly thank Erin and Celebsul for their help in writing this story. Without their guidance, inspiration and support, it would never have been started, or finished. I'm going to take a few moments to explain a few points of the story, and where certain songs and passages etc came from. In part one: The poem sung at Arathorn's death is my own. Oeric is a completely fictional character, whom I created as a companion for Gilraen. In part two: "But long ago he rode away, And where he dwelleth none can say, For into darkness fell his star In Mordor where the shadows are" This is taken from the tale of Gilgalad, and can be found in the fellowship of the ring. Sam sings it on the way to Weathertop. In part three: "The leaves were long, the grass was green, The hemlock-umbels tall and fair, And in the glad a light was seen Of stars in shadow shimmering. Tinúviel was dancing there To music of a pipe unseen, And light of stars was in her hair, And in her raiment glimmering " Comes from the lay of Lúthien, which can also be found in the fellowship of the Ring. Aragorn sings it to comfort the hobbits at Weathertop. In part four: "Lady Gilraen, mother true, What pain you bore for me. I'll look to the sky and think of you Now, you are truly free." Is a verse of my own. Again, Norgara is a completely fictional character, as is her "father", Oeric. Throughout the story: The story of Aragorn and Arwen can be found in the Appendices of the Lord of the Rings. I have tried to change as little as I can, using it only as a guide to where Gilraen went in her life. There is no evidence to suggest that Aragorn even returned to find his mother had died. I made it up. So there. A few translations: *"Onen I-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim." means: "I gave hope to the Dúnedain, I have kept no hope for myself." "Namarië" is elvish for "Farewell." "Mae Govannen" is elvish for "Well met." Thank you kindly for reading my fiction. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it. back to top |