Hope

by Lily Frost

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Chapter I

“Will you not tell her?” Elladan complained, trudging ahead of his brother. They bore between them a covered brier, a sword resting on top of the mannish shape beneath it.

“Elladan, speak not with such disrespect... you witnessed Arathorn’s fall, heard his last words. You should be the one to tell his wife.”

“There were none! The arrow pierced his eye, his brain. He was dead by the time I reached him, his mouth opening and closing, like a gasping fish, but he spoke no sound.”

“Well, then tell her that, put her mind at ease.”

“I cannot! I would word it badly, inappropriately, and she would start crying. I cannot abide by crying women, you know that. Please ‘Ro...” He begged. “You are so much better with this sort of thing, your speech more eloquent.”

“We shall tell her together.” Elrohir’s gaze rested on the brier, where lay Arathorn, son of Arador, who had been Chieftain of the Dunedain for a very short time.

“There is no need.” An ice-edged voice told them. Both looked up to see Gilraen “I have heard it now, and I shall depart if you do not wish to see my tears or hear me weep.”

Elladan uttered a protest, an apology, but it was not heard by Gilraen as she had already fled into the wood, her face like stone.

Helplessly Elrohir shrugged at his brother, having no assurances to offer. He silently berated himself for not realizing she would recognize his sword and cloak, or remembering that she always came to this clearing to greet him when he returned, leaving their infant son with her parents.

Emotionally exhausted, the sons of Elrond continued bearing their weight between them, the body heavy, but they would not burry it with the orcs, and perhaps they would need it to convince the rangers their chieftain truly had perished. Eventually they came upon the series of cottages and small gardens hidden well amongst the trees, by no means a permanent settlement, but one that they could return to at any time, when their wanderings took them there, and indeed, the last ten years Dirhael and his wife, Ivorwen, had mostly resided there. Thus their cottage was one of the older, but better built ones. Ivorwen greeted them outside, having seen them approach, and allowed them to deposit their burden in the cellar where it would stay cool. They said not one word during this entire exchange, until they stood in the main room of the home.

Aragorn sat in his grandmother’s lap, grinning and yanking her hair.

“It grows late.” Ivorwen said. “Will you not spend the night with us? Gilraen will return on the morrow, I believe.”

“We would not intrude on this time...” Elrohir said.

“Your presence may help. There are things we must discuss.”

“Then we shall.” Elladan said, cutting off any further protests from Elrohir. He knew his brother was injured, and they were both weary and grieved. Grief and surprise that lay open near the surface, like a wound that still bled.

They supped in near silence, talking only about the raid and the now nearly impossible pass. None had much appetite besides the child who seemed to spill more food than he ate. The large gnash on Elrohir’s leg had been bandaged cleanly, and did not seem to be poisoned.

Then they sat before the hearth in silence, Dirhael smoking his pipe. Ivorwen cleaned Aragorn and put him to bed. The toddler’s bright eyes and cheerful demeanor had lightened the night’s mood for all, but when he had asked for his father, their hearts had nearly broken.

When she returned Elrohir began uneasily. “They loved each other very much.”

“Indeed, they did.” Dirhael said, his voice low. “I was opposed to the marriage; he was twice her age and more. Even now she is not of the age customary for the Dunedain to marry, a child herself, quite nearly.”

“But alas, I knew his life would be short.” Ivorwen’s voice was lower still, and rising. “And because of this marriage the Dunedain still have hope... Isildur’s line still lives. I feel, I know, that he will be great, this child, among men. Perhaps he will even be the one that will reclaim the kingship.” There was silence.

Ivorwen exchanged a significant look with her husband. “So as much as it grieves us to see our daughter like this, it is for the good of all.”

Elladan and Elrohir nodded, noting their sacrifice.

“Because of this he must be defended from harm, taught well in both battle and love. We do not know how well we will be able to defend him. Arathorn was our captain and he is gone now and the orcs have seen this.”

Dirhael now began, “In coming years Isildur’s heir will be sought after and if he is found destroyed. My wife has seen such things, for hers is the gift of foresight, and you know well our tales of Isildur...”

“We implore you, therefore, to take Aragorn and our daughter to Rivendell. Long has your father’s home been a haven and a refuge in dire times, and never has any person been turned away if they bear no weapons. It has long been his custom to house our heirs if the need be. We will grant you whatever gifts or favours you may request for their keeping.”

Elrohir shook his head and smiled. “Nothing do we ask in return for this. The Dunedain have long kept our borders secure and been in close friendship and kinship. We have ridden with Arathorn long years, and his death is a heavy blow to us.”

“We will gladly take Aragorn, and Gilraen if she will allow it, to our father to be raised among elves.” Elladan said.

Ivorwen nodded. “My daughter is proud... but she will accept for Aragorn at least, because she knows his life is in danger. Aragorn’s name and lineage will perhaps have to be kept secret, even from himself, if Elrond deems it necessary.”

“Gilraen will not be pleased by that either.”

“The name of Isildur will become perilous in the coming years, for he last held the—“

“Let us not speak of such things here.” Ivorwen silenced her husband. “Walls may have ears.”

“Tomorrow at dawn we shall bury Arathorn in honour and elect a new chieftain amongst ourselves. You must depart before nightfall, whilst the orcs are still licking their wounds and recoiling from their losses.”

“So soon?” Elladan asked, dismayed.

“From what you have told me of the passes, I think it is necessary.”

“Then so be it.”

“But for tonight you shall sleep here.” Ivorwen said, “Perhaps soon... you are weary. Come.” She led them to the room that had been Gilraen’s in her youth, offering no apology for the single bed for she knew they were close siblings. Sometimes, in fact, she had difficulty telling them apart, but she managed by their expressions, dress and speech patterns when they visited.

“I do not always understand you two, you know. You hunt the orcs with great ferocity, in the woods with rangers, when you could be at home in your great halls...” She said conversationally as she prepared their bed.

“We are not full elves, our father is of mixed human and elven blood, and at times our mannish blood boils within us...” Elladan explained, though his voice was strained.

“The orcs are fell creatures.” Elrohir said. “And we seek vengeance.”

But neither would elaborate, and Ivorwen would not press them. “May your sleep be restful. If there is else you need, all you need to do is request it from me.”

The door closed, and Elladan stripped off his clothes and flung himself across the bed. Meanwhile Elrohir examined the top of the single dresser, examining the pretty, glass-like rocks, feathers, shells, wooden carvings, brightly coloured bits of fabric, dried flowers and all the other small treasures that girls who live in the woods are wont to keep. A fine layer of dust covered it all. “How long has she been away from this room?”

“Not long... a few years, I guess.”

“She is only twenty five or so... a child by the Dunedain standards, whom the Numenorean blood runs strong in still.”

Elladan nodded, his eyes half-lidded. “Arathorn was more than twice her age.” He paused to think, and then sat up. “We simply must take them home, ‘Ro, we simply must! Aragorn and Gilraen, that is...”

“What are you getting so vehement about?”

“Arathorn died while with us.” He replied sullenly.

“Oh, that... you cannot blame yourself. He knew well when he set out this morning that he may not return. Warriors like he was know the risks in battles and know fate might make choices for them. Gilraen knew too... remember, she used to fight with us, before Aragorn was born.”

“Yes... you are right.”

Elrohir sighed and blew out the lamp before falling onto the bed next to his twin.

“I fear she may be wounded inside.” Elladan confided.

“But there is no place for the Edain to sail to anymore, Numenor sank, and the sea will not call her away.”

Silence reigned for a little while, and then Elrohir spoke again. “And what of Aragorn?”

“He is a sweet child, is he not?”

“Inquisitive, and with the makings of a great man... what will he become?”

“None can say just yet.” Elladan yawned. “Sleep now.”

“I will be good to have a child in the house again, will it not?”

“Oh yes, ever since Arwen grew up I have been searching for a pupil.”

“Perhaps this will turn out well... perhaps there is hope for the edain, now.” But Elladan did not hear Elrohir say this, for he was already asleep.

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