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inzilbethElrond dismissed the scout who had come to inform him that Aragorn was approaching the valley. He settled himself by the window in his study where he had a clear view of the path as it turned towards the house. Here he could watch for his son. He was deeply saddened that Estel’s long awaited return should be over shadowed in this way. He had missed the boy dreadfully when he left and only the occasional visit from Gandalf had brought any news of him.
But when he learned of Arwen’s choice, he had been grieved to his very core. He felt as if his heart was being ripped from his body such was the pain that seized at that moment. That he had long feared this might happen did not make it any easier to endure. At first, he had been able to think of nothing beyond the ultimate sundering that her choice would inevitably bring. He knew only to well the torment that accompanied the Gift of Men. The short span of years given to the Secondborn was a constant source of grief to him. He had already lost his brother to this Doom and, although it was millennia ago, the pain had never left him. Since the loss of Arthedain, many of Elros’s descendents had spent there declining years in Rivendell. The passing of each of them was a great sadness to all the elves who dwelt there. And when he first bound Aragorn to his heart, it had cut him deeply that he would someday lose him too. But he had known this from the first, and the fate of Men was beyond his dominion. But to lose his daughter in this way was unbearable for him. Yet, he knew he was powerless to stop it. If he tried, he might drive them both away forever and that he could not bear. Arwen’s happiness positively flowed from her; he did not doubt that her love for Aragorn was real and enduring, but he only hoped it had not blinded her to its consequences. Quite apart from his own suffering, he would not willingly permit his beloved Undómiel to endure the heart break of a separation from all her kin until the very end of Arda.
Galadriel had clearly given her blessing to their union. He could guess her motives perhaps; there was more at stake here than the personal happiness of his daughter and foster son. But Hope for the Dúnedain rested upon Aragorn fulfilling his destiny; nothing should deflect him from achieving that.
Elrond had not discussed this matter with anyone, not even his sons. He had to talk to Aragorn first; if nothing else, common courtesy dictated as much. His initial anger with his son had subsided, though he could not yet find it in his heart to forgive him completely. His own pain was still too raw for that. He was well aware that his son had already loved Arwen for nearly thirty years with little hope that she would one day return his love. Now that she finally did, his actions were perhaps understandable. But although Elrond loved Aragorn no less than he did his own sons, he knew his foster son’s love for his daughter would always now lie between them.
A chestnut horse suddenly came into view; in the saddle, the tall dark figure of the ranger. He looked taller, broader than Elrond remembered. “He must have grown in mind as well as stature for Arwen to have turned her heart to him,” he thought, as he watched Aragorn dismount and pass the horse to the stable-hand. Elrond had told Erestor to make him comfortable and then send him to see him.
~oo0oo~
Aragorn paused outside the door of his father’s study and took a deep breath before he knocked. He wished his heart was not pounding quite so fiercely. He reminded himself it was not some servant of Sauron’s beyond the door, but his beloved father. He refused to even entertain the thought that at this very moment it might actually be preferable to be confronting some minion of the Dark Lord. He heard Elrond bid him enter and he opened the door to find his father still sitting by the window. Elrond stood as Aragorn walked into the room and immediately opened his arms to his son.
“Welcome home, Estel,” he said, smiling. “I have missed you so much.”
“And I you, Master Elrond,” replied Aragorn, formally, but so grateful was he for his father’s words, that he almost ran across the room into his embrace. Those same strong arms that had comforted him on so many occasions in the past held him tightly now and Aragorn felt the tension drain out of him as he gladly absorbed the unspoken love and forgiveness of his father. He had not realised fully, until now, quite how much he had missed the fortifying compassion Elrond had always offered him so readily. Relieved to his core by the warmth of his welcome, and burdened by his overbearing guilt, he blurted out, “I am so sorry, Adar, I know how much I have grieved you and wish it could be otherwise…”
But Elrond stopped him there. Before they discussed his daughter, he wanted to build anew his bond with his son, to strengthen it against the harm that he knew was about to befall it.
“Later, my son,” he said, gently. “Come and sit with me and tell me of your time in the South. Gandalf brings some news, but I have heard nothing for a long while.” He led Aragorn to a seat by the fire and handed him a glass of wine before sitting in a chair beside him. Then he listened with great interest as Aragorn told his tale.
Much of what he had to tell was new to him. Elrond could not fault his son’s endeavours; he had worked tirelessly and done all that could possibly have been asked of him. Gandalf had told Elrond something of the enormous respect and honour his son had earned in Gondor and Rohan, but still he was amazed at the tales Aragorn had to tell. And as he listened, Elrond looked at him and thought how changed he was. There was a confidence to him and an aura of power that had not been there before. Men already followed his lead and would risk their lives for him. He was fair and strong with all the vitality and vigour of youth, harnessed to a growing wisdom and maturity. It was little wonder that Arwen had been drawn to him.
When Aragorn’s tale brought him to his arrival in Lothlorien, he hesitated and dropped his gaze, but Elrond motioned for him to continue. And so, for the first and only time, Aragorn talked openly to his foster father about his love for his daughter. Elrond noticed the light in his eyes and the passion, suppressed for so long, in his voice and his heart grieved for his son. He knew what he had to say would come as a bitter blow to him.
As Aragorn finished his tale, he said, “Arwen’s love has brought me a joy I never expected to find, but the grief that I know our union shall cause you is a stain upon my happiness. I am not so foolish as to expect you to share our joy. Can you ever forgive me, adar, for what I have done?”
Elrond looked at his son, his heart as open and trusting as when he was a child, and found the remnants of his anger dissolve to nothing. If Aragorn had been born as one of the Eldar, he would have been delighted to welcome him as a husband for his daughter. It was not his fault that Iluvatar, in his infinite wisdom, saw fit to grant differing fates to his Children. He must not blame his son for that which could never be his fault. But he had made his decision and he would not waver now.
He was silent for a long moment before taking his son’s hand in his. He considered his words carefully.
“My son, years come when hope will fade, and beyond them little is clear to me. And now a shadow lies between us. Maybe, it has been appointed so, that by my loss the kingship of Men may be restored. Therefore, though I love you, I say to you: Arwen Undomiel shall not diminish her life’s grace for less cause. She shall not be the bride of any Man less than the King of both Gondor and Arnor. To me then even our victory can bring only sorrow and parting – but to you hope of joy for a while. Alas, my son! I fear that to Arwen the Doom of Men may seem hard at the ending.”[2]
He knew he deserved no better, but Aragorn was completely crushed by his father’s words. He might have asked him to remove a Silmaril from Morgoth’s crown, such was the enormity of the task he demanded of him. Bitter disappointment tore through him and it was as if all the newfound light and joy in his life had been cruelly extinguished.
Arwen was beyond his reach once again.
What hope was there now that they could ever be together? His father’s word’s reminded him of the bitter truth that he had been living nothing more than a dream during his time in Lothlórien. There he had been treated like a prince and cushioned from facing the harsh reality which Elrond had so succinctly elucidated. There was no escaping that there a vast chasm between the life he led, as a hired sword who possessed little more than the clothes on his back, and the life he should be leading, as the Ruler of most of Middle-earth. It was a truth he was already only too well aware of, but, in his happiness, had chosen to ignore; a brutal reminder that, for all his high lineage, he had nothing but a broken sword to his name.
How could he ever hope to bridge the gulf between these two worlds? Surely the task Elrond was demanding of him was insurmountable; it had been beyond any of his forebearers. How could he possibly succeed where they had failed? It would take a greater man than he. At that moment he felt totally worthless and inadequate, and he despaired.
Elrond, seeing what his decision had done to his son, gently squeezed his hand, but could find no words to bring him comfort. He knew how much he was expecting of him. Aragorn was but a mortal man; he did not have unlimited years to achieve this. If he failed, he would have no heir and there would be no return from the shadows for the Kings of Men. He would be the last of an unbroken line that stretched back through the Ages to the first lords of the Edain. And yet if he succeeded, he would sunder Elrond from his most treasured jewel for ever. Yes, the demand he was making of Aragorn was great, but so too was what he was asking of him. The stakes for the outcome of the war with Sauron had just risen dramatically for them both.
~oo0oo~
They talked together for a while; Elrond asking polite questions about Lothlórien to which Aragorn manfully supplied suitable answers, though all the while doing his best to conceal his breaking heart. He would not burden Elrond with his own grief, any more than he knew Elrond would expose him to his. Soon there was nothing more to say and so he made his excuses and escaped. He fled to the gardens, far from the eyes of the house. He had no wish to speak to anyone, not even his brothers. He wanted only to be alone with his dismal thoughts. He needed time to find a way to live with this crippling blow that had left his dreams shattered and his hope adrift in a sea of despair.
At length, he found himself wandering under the silver birches where he had first met Arwen on that fateful evening all those years ago. He sat on the grass beneath one of the trees and leant his head against the silver truck. There was a cold numbness in his heart blocking from his eyes the beauty of the summer’s afternoon. When he had left Arwen just a week ago, he had not known when he would see her again, but he had hoped it would only be months. Now all he could think of was that it could be many years, and that thought dismayed him completely. He closed his eyes and allowed his emotions to rage within him, unhindered. He knew he was wallowing in his grief, but, for once, he could not desist from doing so. Always he pushed his own suffering to one side for the sake of the tasks he must do, but this time, he was hurting far too much for that. He had given of himself all his adult life, working tirelessly and doing everything that was asked of him, and more, but now he felt he was fast approaching the bottom of the well. He no longer knew how to refill it.
It was Arwen who had rekindled his hope. Without her, there was nothing.
Tears of despair pricked his eyes, as he could not help but give in to the anguish devouring him. He buried his head in his hands as he felt the tears escape and flow down his cheeks as he wept openly. Try as he might, he could not find the strength to be brave and hold them back.
~oo0oo~
The afternoon drifted into evening, and slowly his mind began to calm and he started to think more clearly. Any rebellious thoughts he had of running away with Arwen were gone. He could not defy his foster father. He knew in his heart that Elrond was right, however much he hated it. Until the Shadow in the East was defeated, there was no real hope for anyone in Middle-earth. It did not prevent other men marrying and raising families, but their efforts would come to nothing if Sauron claimed the West. He knew where his real enemy lay. It was not Elrond.
Suddenly into his bleak thoughts came the memory of something Arwen had said to him not long before they had parted.
“Dark is the shadow, and yet my heart rejoices; for you, Estel, shall be among the great whose valour will destroy it.” [3]
The path by which this might be achieved was hidden from him, but he remembered saying to her that with her hope, he would hope. And there, under the silver birches, he felt it kindle within him again; faint at first, but growing steadily stronger, slowly stirring his injured heart.
Hope. It never left him for long.
He had never given in to despair before and he would not do so now. Not when he had every reason to strive to succeed. Arwen’s hope would nourish him in the years ahead and for her, somehow, he would find a way to fulfil Elrond’s condition. Suddenly the full the meaning of Elrond’s words became clear. His father had left the door open for him. If he could reclaim the crown, Arwen would be his. The road was going to be longer and harder than he had first thought, that was all. Yet somehow he knew that whatever challenges life threw at him in the future, however hard and lonely the years ahead, they would be easier to endure now he had Arwen’s love to succour him. He had no doubts that Arwen would wait for him; someday, he would see her again. And although there was still much left unsaid between Elrond and himself, his father still counted him as his son; he still had a home to return to.
From that first tiny flicker of optimism, a groundswell of determination was steadily rising within him. Slowly, he got to his feet. Of one thing he was certain; he would never reclaim a kingdom sitting idly under a tree.
He had work to do.
So it stood afterwards between Elrond and Aragorn, and they spoke no more of this matter; but Aragorn went forth again to danger and toil.
The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen The Return of the King
[1], [2], [3] The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen
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(no subject)
Date: 2008-09-28 10:45 pm (UTC)We couldn't agree more about how great was Elrond's love and affection for Aragorn, and on how he reacted to Aragorn's betrothal to Arwen. You can feel their love and affection for each other, and also feel how sad both are of having unwillingly hurt each other. You wrote a very moving scene indeed, I loved the part in which Elrond looks at Aragorn, sees Aragorn's heart to be as "open and trusting as when he was a child" and finds "the remnants of his anger dissolve to nothing".
You've made Aragorn's journey from despair to determination and hope look very convincing too. And the ending is just about perfect.
He had work to do.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-09-29 05:21 pm (UTC)There was so much to cover here; so many emotions on both their parts, I can't tell you how hard it was to get that journey right, especially for Aragorn, so I'm very relieved and thrilled to know how much you enjoyed this.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-09-29 10:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-09-29 02:02 pm (UTC)Also a tear-jerker. *sniff*
Again--it's marvelous, and I will always love your insight into Aragorn.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-09-29 05:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-02 01:05 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-02 12:32 pm (UTC)So thank you so much for taking the time to comment. I really appreciate all your kind words enormously and I hope it wouldn't be too long before RL allows you to spend a bit of time with your favourite ranger again.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-03 03:16 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-03 12:16 pm (UTC)You have to wonder at how much foresight Elrond had about Aragorn. He really didn't what him distracted in any way from achieving his destiny, even though, had Aragorn found another wife, he would have been spared the pain of losing Arwen. He was definitely selfless to the last.