“This is where I used to live?” Aragorn asked curiously. “I do not recall it at all.”

“You were only two when you left,” said Ivorwen.  “This is where the Chieftains of the Dúnedain used to dwell.” She placed the key in the lock. It was stiff from lack of use and Aragorn had to help her. Eventually the key turned and the door swung open with a protesting groan. It seemed almost as if the old house slept and was loth to reawaken.

Within, everything was covered with a layer of dust. Aragorn sneezed.

“It distressed me too much to return here after you and your mother left,” said Ivorwen. “Also it helped reinforce the rumours that we put abroad that you had succumbed to a fever, if the house was obviously neglected.”

“I understand,” said Aragorn.

“Would you like to live here, or would you prefer to remain with your Aunt and Halbarad?” Ivorwen asked.

Aragorn looked around the dusty rooms. The house had a heavy, oppressive air, almost as if it recalled his father’s death and the flight of the grief stricken Gilraen.

“I would prefer to stay with Aunt Inzilbeth,” he said. “Let this house be used by a family who have need of one. Better that the Enemy believes that the Chieftains have gone for ever.” He fell silent, thinking that he would indeed be the last of his line if he could not win the fair Arwen’s love.

They entered a large room,  furnished with comfortable chairs and a spinning wheel near the dusty window.

“This was your mother’s favourite room,” said Ivorwen. “She would sit and spin here while you played with your wooden horse.

“She still loves to spin,” said Aragorn. He closed his eyes for an instant and suddenly he could see a young woman in a blue gown seated at the wheel. A man was standing in the doorway, but he could not see his face clearly. Was that Arathorn, his father? Did he really remember, or was it just a dream? “I have seen enough, grandmother,” he said. “This might once have been my home, but it feels but an empty shell now. A family with young children will bring back light and laughter.

Ivorwen lingered for a moment, lost in memories. Then she carefully locked the door again and walked out into the spring sunlight with her grandson.