Aspects of Aragorn 21 part 2 "Roheryn"
Nov. 15th, 2008 08:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
inzilbeth “I have a surprise for you.”
“You mean other than you?”
“Yes, would you like to see it?”
Aragorn had finished his bath while Arwen prepared him a meal and now he was sitting beside her having lunch, rather formally, around the dining room table. They had been joined by Elrond and Glorfindel who was smirking quite unashamedly, though his pleasure at seeing such joy on the faces of his lord’s children was entirely genuine. The conversation had inevitably turned to the state of affairs in the North. Elladan and Elrohir were away meeting the Rangers at Sarn Ford and yet, as always, they kept their father well informed of events in Eriador. Elrond had just finished telling Aragorn such news as he had gathered about the Dúnedain, when Arwen made her sudden announcement.
“Yes, of course, I would like to see it, at least I think I would, but will you not give me a clue as to what it is?”
“No, I shall not. You must come and see with your own eyes. If you have finished, and, if adar will excuse us, we could go now, if you would care to.” She looked pleadingly at her father who smiled and waved them away.
“Run along, my children,” he said as if they were only seven years old. In spite of his fears for them all, it warmed his heart greatly to see them both so happy.
Aragorn and Arwen left the dining room together and Arwen led him through the house and out into the courtyard before turning towards the stables. As they walked side by side along the cobbled path, she reached across and took his hand.
“It is permitted,” she said as she entwined her delicate fingers around his strong calloused ones. “Adar does understand, you know.”
“I know he does,” said Aragorn sadly. His grief for Elrond had become almost inseparable from his own happiness. “But I would not cause him unnecessary pain or aggravate the wound by constantly reminding him.”
“Neither would I,” said Arwen, “though I can not see how it can be otherwise. But perhaps we should decide here and now that while we are in the presence of adar, we shall be as family only, not troth-plighted. We shall not deceive him for a moment, but then we may at least have some hope that we’ll not hurt him any more than we must.”
Aragorn nodded his agreement; it seemed the very least he could do for his father. But he was distracted from his sober thoughts by Arwen moving closer to him. She was giggling and playful.
“But adar isn’t here now,” she said as she pecked him on the cheek. Aragorn grinned and tried to kiss her back, but she pulled away from him, laughing. “Come on, you still haven’t seen your surprise.”
Aragorn had actually completely forgotten all about her gift and was surprised to find they were nearly at the stables. Arwen was obviously so excited about it that he decided not to ask any more questions. He had no desire to spoil her fun with an astute guess.
“Here we are,” she said as she led him into the magnificent building that housed Rivendell’s horses. The stables were almost as spacious as the house and very nearly as splendid. Over the millennia, the masons of Imladris had carved every available surface. Wild horses galloped across mellow, honey coloured walls, and wrapped themselves around ornately carved columns. Towers and turrets rose from the roof and inside, the stalls were immaculate. The gangway was spotlessly clean and all the brass fittings were gleaming from endless polishing.
As they entered, rows of noble heads appeared over half doors and alert ears turned towards them. Many of the horses tried to waylay the visitors as they passed, searching hopefully for apples and carrots. Asfaloth was determined not to allow Aragorn to pass at all without being rewarded for his earlier efforts.
At last they came to an end stall.
“In here,” said Arwen.
Surely she was not giving him a horse? But as Aragorn approached the stall, he could hear the sound of a large beast turning through a thick straw bed and a handsome chiselled head appeared over the door. Arwen stood proudly beside a very fine looking horse.
“He’s yours, Estel. I brought him all the way from Lothlórien just for you. Isn’t he beautiful?” Arwen was beaming and waiting eagerly for his reaction.
“He is magnificent,” said Aragorn, awed and humbled that she had honoured him with such a fine gift. The horse was indeed beautiful and in fabulous condition. His rich, dark chestnut coat shone with health and vitality; he simply oozed power and presence. Aragorn had never owned a horse like this in his life. He reached up a hand to stroke the soft muzzle. The great horse regarded him with bright, intelligent eyes and his flared nostrils sniffed the man he had been told would be his. Aragorn’s hand moved slowly to the horse’s neck and rested upon the fine, velvet coat.
“Would you like to ride him?” asked Arwen.
“May I? But will he take a bit and a saddle. I can not ride Elf style.”
“Oh Estel, do you think I would give you a horse you can not ride?” Awren laughed at him, teasingly. “I taught him myself to accept both. He also understands commands in both Sindarin and Westron so you will have no trouble explaining what you require him to do.”
Arwen was so beautiful and flawless, he sometimes forgot that she was also an extremely capable woman. She fetched the saddle and together they tacked up the horse. He tightened the girth and adjusted the stirrups to a length comfortable for his long legs while Arwen saw to the bridle. She led the horse from his stall out into the yard, where Aragorn, whose muscles had been greatly eased by his long soak, leapt easily onto his back.
“Are you not going to ride with me,” he asked.
“No, you go on, I’ll catch you up.” Arwen opened the gate into the meadow and watched the horse and rider pass through.
Aragorn set off at a steady trot, keen to get the measure of the horse before giving him free rein. This was no tired ranger horse, worn from long days and too short nights, but a fresh animal in his prime, corn fed and desperate to be given his head. The powerful beast arched his deep neck, his whole body taut and as pent up as a coiled spring of suppressed energy just waiting to be unleashed. But he submitted willingly to Aragorn’s gentle but firm hold on the reins, though his hind quarters occasionally swung from side to side as he tried to find release from the restraint imposed upon him. The horse was as magnificent to ride as he was on the eye and Aragorn delighted in his playful antics.
“What is the matter, my beauty? Is this sedate pace not to your liking?”
The horse snorted and tossed his head, almost ripping the reins from Aragorn’s hands.
“Very well then, let’s see what you can do.” Aragorn opened his fingers by a mere fraction, only easing his hold on the reins by the tiniest amount, but the horse instantly read the signal and immediately surged forward, leaping away over the grass, his long, bounding strides effortlessly devouring the ground beneath him. Faster and faster they went. Aragorn whooped and laughed out loud for joy at the thrill the ride gave him. The wind caused his eyes to smart and soon he could barely see where they were going, but the great horse had eyes for them both and, in spite of his speed, he sure-footedly picked his way through the fields and the woods that surrounded the house. Aragorn managed to vaguely steer him in a circle and eventually headed back the way they had come. At last he called a halt, hoping the horse would be as obliging as Arwen believed, for he was not at all sure he had the strength to haul the horse up by force. But his mount did not gainsay his new master and obediently broke back to a trot and then a walk. Arwen had taught him well.
Aragorn leant forwards and patted the horse’s neck. He had not even broken into a sweat.
“Le hannon, mellon nîn,” he said. The horse might not be sweating but Aragorn was glad for a chance to catch his breath. It had needed all his skill to master the animal, but he was delighted with his gift. The horse was everything he could have dreamt of, though he knew he was going to need to spend time with him to establish that easy rapport that only grew out of mutual trust and understanding between horse and rider.
His eyes scanned the fields as he looked for Arwen and at last he spotted her in the distance, running swiftly to catch them up. He whispered in the horse’s ear.
“Come, let us meet my lady, I would not have her tire herself so.”
The horse was more settled now after his gallop and cantered steadily over to Arwen who stopped, puffing slightly and pink faced as Aragorn halted the horse in front of her. She had no need to ask if Aragorn liked his gift. The grin on his face told her everything.
“You are pleased with him then,” she said, smiling back at him.
Aragorn jumped down from the saddle. “He is wonderful, Arwen. How can I ever thank you enough?” He took her hand and kissed it.
Arwen was surprisingly thoughtful. “Well, you can use him wisely and so may he bring you more swiftly to my door. That would be all the thanks I require.”
“Then that I shall endeavour to do, my lady,” said Aragorn, with an elaborate bow. “Come, let us take him back to his stall. Will you ride with me this time?”
“Gladly; he will easily carry us both.”
Aragorn helped steady Arwen as she positioned herself so as to be sitting sideways across the front of the saddle and then he climbed up behind her. The horse walked sensibly now on a loose rein as he sedately carried the two riders along the trails under the tall beech trees that bordered the meadows. The summer air was cooler in the shaded wood and Arwen slipped her arm around Aragorn’s waist and snuggled against him. Her other hand she placed on his as he held the reins. They rode on in silence for a bit, each relishing the unfamiliar closeness of each other’s bodies. Aragorn could not believe how his life had changed in just a few hours. Here he was, deliriously happy, holding his beloved Arwen in his arms where only this morning he had been fighting weariness and despair. As Arwen leaned against his chest and her hair brushed against his face, he could feel himself beginning to tremble; her body was so warm and inviting next to his. Oh sweet bliss, he had never known such delicious torture. He desperately struggled for something to say to distract himself from the tide of desire rapidly rising within him. He was terrified his secret needs would at any moment become all too obvious.
“This is the second time I’ve ridden pillion today,” he said, quickly, “though Glorfindel did not smell as enticing as you.”
“I’m very pleased to hear it,” laughed Arwen. “You don’t smell so bad yourself.”
Aragorn was relieved he had taken such a long time over his bath.
“What are you going to call your horse, Estel? He will need a name. You can not just refer to him as ‘my horse’.”
“He will always remind me of you. What would you suggest?”
“I shall suggest nothing. He belongs to you now; you should decide. But he wants a name don’t you, my beauty? ” Arwen stroked the horse’s neck. The great horse tossed his head and snorted.
Aragorn realised he had better settle on something quickly. He did not want Arwen thinking he was not suitably appreciative of his gift, but with Arwen’s breath warm against his neck, he was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything so trivial. At last he had an idea.
“As he is a gift from you, I think perhaps I shall call him ‘Roheryn’, the Horse of the Lady? What do you think of that?” [1]
“Oh, that’s perfect, Estel. Don’t you think so, ‘Roheryn’?”
The horse snorted again and that seemed to settle the matter. Roheryn he became.
As they emerged from under the trees and came once more into the meadow, Roheryn began to jog, anticipating the faster pace that the open grassland would allow.
“No, my beauty,” soothed Aragorn, laughingly, as he shifted his weigh backwards to try and ease the horse into a walk again. “I will not permit you to go any faster, not with my lady perched so precariously upon your back.” Roheryn seemed to understand and returned to a steady walk.
“He is a fine horse, Arwen,” Aragorn said. “I could wish for none better.”
“He is a horse worthy of a king. Why do you think I chose him for you? Even as a colt, there was something special about him. It has long been my hope, Estel, that he may bear you to your destiny and so at last to ours.”
Aragorn felt his heart welling within him at this expression of Arwen’s continued faith in him, though he dearly wished he felt the same optimism. “The strength of your hope has ever succoured me and fuelled my own,” he said, “though, would that I could see as clearly as do you.”
“My hope has never wavered, Estel, nor have I ever doubted you, although I fear your path has become a weary one of late.”
Oh, how Aragorn longed to open his heart to her, to share his fears and his hopes, to ease his loneliness, but he had no wish to burden her with his own cares. He fell silent for a moment, lost in his thoughts, but then, to his absolute delight, he felt the touch of her mind on his and he realised he had no need to tell her anything. She already knew all that he could possibly say.
“I wish I could do more to aid you, my love,” she said, her eyes filling with emotion, “but we must be patient a while longer. There is so much that is as yet uncertain. Even adar can not see what lies beyond this growing darkness. But you shall prevail. You must believe, as I do, that our hour will come. If we do not, our hope is doomed.”
Her arm tightened around his waist and he was suddenly overwhelmed by his love for her.
“Oh Arwen, I could not bear to lose you.” Aragorn’s voice was choked with emotion.
She raised her hand to his face and gently stroked the rough stubble on his cheek.
“I know what it is that you fear,” she said, softly, “but here is no need. I shall never break faith with you or regret my choice, no matter what may come to pass; we are as one now and always will be.”
His heart soared at her reassurance. He clasped her hand and drew it to his lips, gently kissing her fingers. He took a deep breath and tried his best to settle his raging emotions before they unmanned him completely.
“Good,” he said, managing to keep his voice deceptively light, “for I should hate to have to give you back this horse.”
“Oh, Estel, now you are behaving like a brother,” said Arwen as she pulled her hand away. “That was worthy of Elladan and Elrohir.”
Aragorn laughed with her, but then all humour left him as he spotted the gleam in her eye, a look he remembered only too well from Lothlórien. He felt her hand slide up his arm and around his neck. His head was pulled down so his lips met hers. He could feel her hands caressing his body. He was trembling so much he feared he might fall off the horse, but, as Roheryn plodded steadily on towards the stables, he found himself blissfully adrift in a sea of the purest pleasure.
Had it been his fate to be called to Mandos’s Halls at that very moment, he could not have died a happier or a more contented man.
3016 Elrond sends for Arwen and she returns to Rivendell; for the
The Tale of Years of the Third Age The Peoples of Middle-earth
[1] Appendix The Silmarillion: Roheryn ‘horse of the lady’, Aragorn’s horse, which was so called because given to him by Arwen.