Author's Notes: Yes, continued, though perhaps a bit short. This chapter concentrates less on the twins and more on Gilraen, and the mood is a little sadder. I'm trying not to make it too melodramatic, but still realistic. I'm not too sure on Dunedain burials either, but the tomb and song seemed appropriate enough.

The haiku at the beginning of this chapter is my own. I searched for a good hour to find a fitting poem, and then realized I had one myself that worked. Please don't steal it!

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Hope

by Lily Frost

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Morning Shower

With the morning comes

a sweet, gentle, sweep of rain

to soothe the night's wounds.

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Chapter II

Ivorwen proved correct in predicting her daughter's mood; in the morning, barely after the cock had crowed, Elladan and Elrohir emerged from Gilraen's room to find her feeding Aragorn, smiling fondly at her son. She was wet from the light, drizzling rain and her face was streaked with tears and dirt and her eyes red, as if she had been crying and hadn't slept, but she seemed alert enough.

"Good morrow, lady Gilraen. How do you fare?" Elrohir asked politely, while Elladan ducked behind his brother, a bit sheepish for his words the previous night.

"As well as can be expected."

"Are you prepared for our journey?"

"Journey? To where?"

Elrohir braced himself for having to inform Gilraen of the choice that they had discussed the night before, hoping that she would not be too difficult about it, but he was rescued by Ivorwen who entered, bearing a bucket of well water.

"Maman," Gilraen turned to her mother, "Where am I journey to?"

Ivorwen sighed, but went about pouring the water into the washbasin as if nothing was amiss. "You are taking Aragorn to Rivendell with Elladan and Elrohir. You will be safe there."

"Safe? From what?"

"From orcs, from others who will come for Aragorn."

"What do you mean by that? Who is coming for Aragorn?" Gilraen clutched her son to her breast, despite his oatmeal sticky fingers and mouth.

Ivorwen tried a different approach. "Arathorn was Isildur's heir, and so now is Aragorn. You know that it is traditional for those sons to be fostered among the elves of Rivendell. It is not safe here anymore, not with Arathorn gone."

"Not safe?" Gilraen echoed, her voice filled with pride in her people. "we are perfectly safe. Have we not defended our own for hundreds of generations?"

"Yes, but not without a chief. Not without Arathorn. Not without a cost."

"But maman..."

"Not for one as Aragorn will become. The name Isildur is not safe."

"What have you seen?" Gilraen demanded.

Ivorwen paused, and said nothing, her hands in the dishwater. She walked slowly to her daughter, picking up the dishes from the table beneath her, a fond, but firm, expression across her features which held only the hint of age about, and in, her eyes.

"He will be an important player in events yet to come. I cannot say more, and I cannot say much about Arathorn's heritage that you do not already know. For that you must ask Elrond, or perhaps his sons." She glanced up to Elladan and Elrohir.

"Our father shall tell you all..." Elladan promised. "Our family is connected to Aragorn's own.

"I do not wish to be a... burden upon you."

"We would welcome you and Aragorn in Rivendell." Elladan told her. "He is kin."

"I am not."

"By marriage to Arathorn you are." Elladan argued.

"Please come with us." Elrohir begged.

"For Aragorn." Ivorwen pleaded.

Gilraen closed her eyes, resigning. "For Aragorn I will come. I wish to discuss things more with your father." Her storm-coloured eyes flashed heatedly, open now. Aragorn's are the same colour, Elrohir mused.

"But I do not guarantee that afterwards I will remain there, nor that Aragorn will."

"Aye, we will consent tot hat."

"We will not hold you against your will lady, but if you will please begin packing all that you will need."

"Pack lightly, for we will be traveling swiftly."

"You will be provided with all that you need in Rivendell."

Gilraen handed Aragorn to Ivorwen, who held her arms open for her grandson for they would be parted soon, and then turned to Elladan and Elrohir. "What do you propose I bring?"

"Enough food for a few days, a few clothes for traveling, but you will not require much, and any heirlooms. Leave behind heavy weapons though. Bring your own, but leave Arathorn's."

"But Aragorn will inherit--"

"Arathorn's sword may some day be his, but in the meanwhile we will offer him an elven blade."

"His blade will be another..." Ivorwen interrupted, her expression distant. "An older heirloom that is in the House of Elrond. The blade that was once broken will be reforged..."

"What blade that was broken?"

Ivorwen shook her head. "Another prophesy. It will be revealed in time, but not now, not yet. Perhaps when you speak with Elrond things will become more clear."

"Well, I suppose that I shall just have to speak with him, then... you certainly are not revealing very much." Gilraen said, a touch of anger to her voice.

Elrohir stopped her by the door. "Rivendell, my lady, is an ideal place to heal. The very best in Middle Earth, as far as I have witnessed. Will you not try to find solace there?"

"I shall try." She replied, and for a moment Elrohir saw her countenance lapse and it looked as if she would cry, but then she regained it and quickly left the room.

"Please," Ivorwen turned to Elladan and Elrohir, "Do what you can to help heal my daughter, but be aware that she might resist your aide, and that there will be a point when you have done all that you can and she must heal herself."

"We will do all that is in our power as healers and as her friends."

"Thank you. My husband thanks you too; he is helping to prepare the tomb for Arathorn."

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Around the brier, carried by two young men of the village, stood all the members of the village, and the sons of Elrond, in a circle, garbed darkly; all their faces were stern and proud, their heads bowed, and a few cried, Gilraen not included. Though they did not show their grief outwardly it was heavy on the air, crisp with the scent of rotting leaves and chill with the approaching fall. Grief was in the drab colours of their clothes and the gloom of the sky overhead, pregnant with rain, though clearer than it had been in the morning.

Aragorn was held to Gilraen's breast, not quite comprehending what was going on. He knew it had something to do with his dada, and though he wanted to ask where he was, his maman had told him that he must not make any noise while the big people had this ceremony. So Aragorn was quiet and behaved himself as Arathorn was borne into the stone tombs of his ancestors, his cloak draped over him and his sword at his side.

Slowly, coming as if it had been there the entire time, a song rose up. It was soft and sad, but sung with strong voices. Isilya, a girl from the village with a wonderful singing voice, led the ancient lament, guiding the less well-versed over the elvish words with her gentle insistence, never missing a beat. Elrohir quickly recognized the song and accompanied her a little louder, his tenor complimenting her soprano perfectly. Gilraen joined in, her eyes closed. Autumn flowers were scattered over the tomb's steps as it was closed, and then the song slowly faded away like a setting sun.

There was a dead silence amongst the bowed heads for a long while, and, after a long wait, the shuffling of feet as people left as quietly as they could. Eventually all remaining were Gilraen holding Aragorn, the twins, and Gilraen's parents. Ivorwen opened an eye, and tapped her husband's shoulder, gesturing for him to come with her into the house. Soon, Elladan and Elrohir followed them, leaving Gilraen alone. She stood there for some time, until the rain clouds reopened and started spitting down on her again. Aragorn thought it was about time he made a noise.

"Maman?"

"Yes sweet-pea?" Gilraen was brought to the present.

"Where is dada?"

"We just put him in the ground."

"Why?"

"Ai! My darling little Aragorn, my little boy..." She buried her face in his dark curls, sobbing a little.

"What is wrong maman?" Aragorn asked, desperately. "When are you going to let dada out? I don't like this game..."

"Dada is not going to come out." She tried to keep her voice from quavering at the words she spoke, as if by speaking them she would have to admit them to herself. "He is dead, sweet-pea."

"He won't come out?"

"No. Never."

"But maman! Why not?"

"Shh, shh, darling, darling... you have your maman still. We are going to go see the elves."

"Is dada with the elves?"

Gilraen choked. "He is with the stars. Now come, it has started to rain and I am sure that the others are prepared to leave."

One last bushel of flowers, tied with a bit of blue ribbon and a lock of dark hair, was thrown onto the tomb's steps, wet with rain and tears.

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When Gilraen and Aragorn arrived back at the house, Elladan and Elrohir had readied their horses, as well as Gilraen and Arathorn's mounts, a pair of wild, young brothers, Arathorn's two years older. Arathorn's mount would carry their supplies, for though he was stronger, he was still rather jumpy from the battle the day before and could not be trusted with Aragorn. Elrohir had already made friends with the horses, and Elladan was speaking with her parents when Gilraen approached the walkway where they stood.

She embraced her father and then her mother, and then handed Aragorn to them while she donned the water-proof cloak that she would wear. Both parents clutched Aragorn close, and kissed him, before Gilraen took him back in silence, wrapping him in a his little wool cloak and tucking him under her own. Dirhael gave her one last kiss on the brow and caressed her hair, smiling affectionately at his little girl, and then Ivorwen smiled, fine lines appearing at her eyes, and whispered to her daughter. "Heal, be safe, and take care of your son. Remember that we love you."

"I will." Gilraen promised.

Ivorwen touched her grandson's brow once more. "He will be great."

With no other words, for the Dunedain do not like long-drawn out farewells, the three mounted their horses, Elrohir assisting Gilraen with Aragorn, and quickly rode away.

"We have already wasted some time," Elladan commented, "but if we keep a good speed we should reach a safe camp that I know of by nightfall."

"Then let us ride." Gilraen said. "The rain is not heavy yet, and the ground is not yet muddy."

Oh, but how the grief slows her! Elrohir thought to himself, shaking his head a little. She is exhausted already.

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