A Journey Begins |
Summary: 20 year old Aragorn learns of his heritage and says goodbye to old friends.
Golden light poured through the tattered mist like rich syrup oozing from honeycomb. It had rained all night and the earth was soft and fragrant. A young Man stood in the shade of a beech tree his blue tunic splattered with mud. His grey eyes held a solemn light as he looked out at the cloud shrouded mountains to the East.
Two Elves approached him, coming from the West where a large house was nestled in between two hills. The taller one was golden haired, clad in green tunic and ridding leathers. The other was dark haired in a grey tunic under a black, silver embroidered robe. The Elves exchanged concerned glances before the golden one spoke.
“He told you.” It was not a question.
“Aye,” came the Man’s soft reply.
“You are to leave soon, then?”
“On the morrow, ere the sun rises. My brother’s will ride with me to Angle.”
“You wish to depart so soon?”
The Man gave a short bitter laugh.
“I do not think Adar—I mean, Lord Elrond, desires my presence here for long.”
The Elves once again exchanged glances, this time of confusion and worry. A look of comprehension dawned on the dark haired one’s face. He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled before he addressed the Man.
“You asked him for Arwen’s hand, did you not?”
Glorfindel winced at his friend’s tone. The Man nodded looking lost.
“And?” Erestor said impatiently.
“He said he would give her in marriage to the King of Gondor and Arnor.” “She deserves no less, Estel.” Erestor replied gently.
“Think you that I do not know this!” the Man retorted angrily.
“Peace, Estel.” Glorfindel said sternly. “You may be of age now but do not think that will stop me from taking you over my knee.”
The Man gave the golden haired elf a look of exasperation mixed with disbelief. Sighing, he looked down at his mud caked boots, then he turned to the dark haired Elf and bowed placing his right hand over his heart.
“Forgive me Erestor, I should not have spoken thusly. I… I have much to meditate on and consider. My mind and my heart, are ill at ease.”
“You had my forgiveness before you asked, young one. If you truly desire to depart tomorrow I will take my leave of you now, though my heart forbids it.”
Erestor looked the Man in the eye and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Be of good hope, my Estel, and remember all that I have taught you. May the Valar light your path and may Eru Iluvatar keep you safe, young one.” He embraced the Man and kissed his forehead.
“Fair thee well, Aragorn son of Arathorn.” With those words he left, leaving the two in silence.
The Man wiped his eyes, staring at Erestor’s retreating back. Glorfindel clasped the Man’s shoulder.
“Your Atar loves you Estel. We all do,”
“I know,” He said quietly.
“I will bid you farewell tomorrow ere you leave. But come! Let me help you pack, you have a long journey ahead of you.”
The two of them started to make their way toward the Last Homily House, the young Man’s face downcast, his shoulder slumped as he gazed at his childhood home.
“Take heart, young one,” The Elf’s said lightly, putting his arm around the Man. “It could have gone much worse with your Atar,”
“How, pray tell?” Estel asked dryly, eyeing the Elf warily.
“He could have asked you for a Silmaril in exchange for Arwen’s hand.”
Glorfindel laughed at the expression on the young Man’s face