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inzilbethDisclaimer: No profit will be made from these stories. All quotes from the works of J.R.R.Tolkien are reproduced here without the permission of The Tolkien Estate or New Line Cinema. No copyright infringement is intended.
To Cairistiona and Estelcontar: my most grateful thanks for their ongoing encouragement and support.
And thanks to Cairistiona for the beta.
Chapter 15: Elrond’s Decision
When Elrond learned the choice of his daughter, he was silent, though his heart was grieved and found the doom long feared none the easier to endure. But when Aragorn came again to Rivendell he called him to him.
The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen The Return of the King
It was a perfect summer’s afternoon; the hot July sun blazing high in the cloudless sky, yet the light wind drifting across the moors rendered the day no more than pleasantly warm. It was the kind of day that, no matter where Aragorn was or whatever he was doing, always recalled to him those far off days of the lost summers of his youth; days when he was so unburdened by care, he could while away many a happy hour lazing in the meadows, counting the dragonflies that hovered above the brooks and streams around his home.
He had been riding since dawn, the magnificent elven horse effortlessly eating the ground beneath him, but he was in no great hurry. His heart was full of hope and he was content to enjoy the simple pleasures of the sun on his face and the warm breeze in his hair. Never, in all his years, had he known such happiness.
Arwen had finally returned his love. He could still scarcely believe it. The emptiness in his heart that for so long had gnawed at his hope had been replaced by a joy more fulfilling than he had ever dreamt possible. Those few blissful months in Lothlórien had changed his life forever. He glanced at the bare, white band of skin on his finger and smiled at the memory. His mind conjured up images of golden trees upon a green hill, alive with a myriad of tiny flowers. And in their midst was his beloved, her hand in his as he slipped his ring upon her finger. When he first departed from the North to undertake his long journeys, he remembered he had been undecided about taking the Ring of Barahir with him; even in his wildest dreams had he not expected to find the good use for it that he had.
But after so long abroad, he was looking forward to coming home again and meeting with his old friends from his childhood. The
Up ahead, the
It was good to be coming home.
~oo0oo~
As he rode across the bridge, and The Last Homely House stood before him, he suddenly realized that beneath his feelings of excitement at his homecoming, there was a nagging fear that he found he could no longer ignore. He had felt it often of late; it had been hovering at the back of his mind ever since he and Arwen had bound their lives to each other. But so buoyed was he by his love for her, he had refused to acknowledge it and had driven it from his thought. Now it surfaced again and this time it could not be banished.
His newfound happiness was not without cost. The reality of facing the consequences of his actions would soon be upon him.
He had not dwelt overly upon his foster father’s possible reaction to his daughter’s choice. Galadriel had been so supportive and encouraging, he had allowed himself to believe Elrond might feel similarly. He was no longer the untried and unworldly youth he had been when they last spoke about Arwen. But deep down, Aragorn feared he would incur Elrond’s wrath for what he had done. Words spoken to him, nearly thirty years ago, returned to haunt him.
You shall neither have wife, nor bind any woman to you in troth, until your time comes and you are found worthy of it. [1]
He was quite sure that what, if anything, he had achieved in his life so far would not in Elrond’s eyes make him worthy, and he knew “his time” was nowhere near come. More than that, he had not just bound “any woman” to him, but he had taken in troth, the Lady Arwen Undómiel, the Evenstar of her people. Arwen’s choice was her own to make and she was free to make it. But he, on the other hand, and to his shame, had wilfully disobeyed Elrond’s explicit command to him. A shiver ran through him as he remembered Elrond’s words. How had he ever convinced himself that Elrond would allow him to marry his daughter?
He guessed Elrond would by now be well aware of the situation; such was the strength of the bond he shared with his daughter. Arwen would conceal nothing from him. Certainly Aragorn was rather hoping he would be spared from making this particular announcement. But while he knew he might thus avoid Elrond’s initial anger, his foster father would, instead, have had ample time to reflect on the matter and consolidate whatever objections he might have to their betrothal.
Arwen had tried to explain to him what those objections were likely to be. So intoxicated had he been by his love for her that he had paid little heed to them at the time, but now, pulled out of his daydreams by the imminent prospect of confronting cold, stark reality, the enormity of what he required of Elrond stuck him forcibly. Arwen may indeed be free to choose her fate, but by choosing a life with him, she would ultimately be sundered from her father and all her kin forever. That Arwen was prepared to do this, he did not doubt, but he now fully realized what a huge sacrifice he was asking of Elrond.
Guilt surged unbidden within him to mingle uncomfortably with his rising fear. He was asking his foster family to pay a heavy price for his happiness. It was not for this that Elrond had welcomed him into his home and raised him so lovingly. He was acutely aware of the personal debt he owed Elrond for his safekeeping during his childhood years. And Elrond had given him so much more than just a roof over his head and food on the table. Much as Aragorn fully embraced his identity as the son of Arathorn, it was Elrond who held the place of a father in his heart.
But the possibility that his father would ban their union outright was something he had so far only contemplated in a detached, abstract way. If this was indeed Elrond’s pronouncement, he was still undecided over what he would do. He did not know if he would be able to find it in his heart to defy him and take Arwen as his wife anyway.
The house was fast approaching. He could not delay pondering this any longer. If it came to this, he wondered if Galadriel would permit Arwen to remain in Lothlórien, or would he have to take her to live among the Dúnedain. No, that was impossible. When he had first left Rivendell and gone to live among his people, he had been shocked to see the conditions in which they lived. He could not ask that of Arwen, who had only ever known the comfort and ease that her rank afforded. Neither, in truth, could he expect her to live estranged from her father in that way. But the thought of losing Arwen now after waiting and hoping all these years, was completely unimaginable for him. Suddenly he was shocked to feel a grip of fear in his stomach such as he had never felt before at the prospect of meeting his father.
But all such speculation would now have to wait, for he had finally arrived at the courtyard of the house. One of the elves who worked in the stable came to take his horse, but no one else appeared to greet him. As he dismounted, he nostalgically drank in the sights about him. The house looked just as he remembered it. The roses were in full bloom and the honeysuckle flowered around the porch. Watching the swallows diving in and out of the stable doors, all his years away suddenly melted to nothing. He could almost convince himself he was a young boy again returning from a quiet hack around the grounds on his pony. He half expected to see his mother standing in the doorway, waiting anxiously for his return. He took another long look about him, and then he sighed and slowly climbed the steps of the main entrance and made his way down the corridors to his old room. He was tired now from the journey and wished to rest and gather his thoughts before seeking out Elrond.
He found his room exactly as he had left it; his few cherished possessions from his boyhood still sitting on the mantelpiece, foremost among them, his treasured wooden horses. The room was clean and tidy with freshly laundered linen on the bed and to his joy there was a steaming tub of warm water in front of the fire. On the chest that once contained his fine robes was a platter of bread and cheese and a flask of Rivendell’s finest wine. So his homecoming had not been ignored after all. Feeling more at ease, he ripped off his clothes and, with a glass of wine in one hand and a chunk of fresh, crisp bread in the other, he sank gratefully into the tub. The hot water soon worked wonders on his stiff, saddle-sore muscles. He had not done much riding during his stay in Lothlórien and his body had complained bitterly about the long hours he had spent on a horse in the last few days. He closed his eyes and, in spite of his concerns, he began to relax, telling himself that perhaps he was worrying needlessly after all. He was clearly more tired than he realised for he soon drifted into sleep.
A knock at the door woke him with a start.
“Come in,” he said, as he struggled for a moment to remember where he was.
The door opened and Erestor stood it the doorway. “Welcome home, Estel,” he said with a smile. “It’s good to have you back. It has been a long time.”
Aragorn returned his smile, warmly. As a boy, he had always been slightly scared of Elrond’s chief councillor, but he was genuinely pleased to see him now. “Thank you, it’s good to be back,” he said, truthfully.
“You look well, child; you are no longer the gangling lad that I remember,” said Erestor as he laughingly took in the broad chest visible above the level of the bath water and the lean, muscular arm hanging over one side of the tub. “I’m sure all Imladris is looking forward to hearing of your adventures. I hope you will keep us entertained for many evenings in the Hall of Fire. But is there any thing else you require for the moment? I see you have found the food and drink I had sent up for you.”
“This is more than sufficient, thank you,” replied Aragorn. “But I should be glad of news of my father. Is he well?”
“Well enough, I believe” said Erestor, “though I have seen little of him these last few days. In fact, I have a message for you from him. When you are refreshed, Master Elrond will be waiting for you in his study.”
Aragorn immediately started to rise, but Erestor added, “There’s no hurry; please, enjoy your bath first, I expect you are glad of it. We will speak properly later.” Then he closed the door again and was gone.
Suddenly the bathwater felt cold as a chill swept over Aragorn. He had been summoned then. He immediately stepped out of the bath and wrapped himself in a towel. Dripping onto the rug, he grabbed a clean shirt from his pack and dressed quickly. Now that the moment had arrived, he wanted it over with. He made his way swiftly to Elrond’s study.