Hope

by Lily Frost

- - -

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.

- - -

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!

- - -

Hope

by Lily Frost

- - -

Morning Shower

With the morning comes

a sweet, gentle, sweep of rain

to soothe the night's wounds.

- - -

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."

- - -

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.

- - -

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.

- - -

Author's Notes: The poem introducing this chapter is another of my stabs at Japanese poetry, a tanka called 'Whispering Leaves'. Please do not use it without my permission.

- - -

Hope

by Lily Frost

- - -

I hear his voice here

speaking so softly beneath

bare trees I recall

the whispering so softly

of his voice and rustling leaves.

- - -

Chapter III

"We will stop here." Elladan announced, bringing his horse to a stop. It was the second night of traveling for himself, Elrohir, Gilraen and Aragorn, and they were bone-weary after riding all day except Aragorn. The child enjoyed the sights, and though he exhausted himself with speaking and watching the terrain pass around him, the motion of the horse soothed him into deep sleeps and he rested deeply at his mother's breast.

"Awake, we are at the camp sweet-pea." Gilraen said, waking Aragorn gently. "We will eat and then you can go back to sleep."

Elladan went to tie and brush down their horses while Elrohir went about setting up a campfire and preparing their evening meal. Gilraen washed Aragorn's face and hands, much to his annoyance, and then helped Elrohir. They all worked quickly and quietly, speaking very little, even once they had a small fire merrily crackling and were warming their hands with mugs of tea. Aragorn was satiated, watching the fire with drooping eyes from the comfort of his mama's lap.

"Elrohir, let me see your leg." Elladan suddenly demanded.

"Why... oh, certainly." He showed his brother the gash and Elladan was well-pleased that it was not poisoned and was healing well already.

"It does not trouble you?"

"Not at all."

"Good."

There was a pause. "You are too protective of me."

"With good reason." Elladan said, defensively. "You hide your hurts until they are worse. I do not mind that you are not indestructible."

"You have done the same many times."

"Ah, but you are worse about it." Elladan smiled, as they fell into familiar banter.

"Name an incident."

"There have been many... what about when we went looking for Naneth when the orcs took her?"

Elrohir's tone was colder. "We had no choice but to keep moving then."

"When the orcs took..." Gilraen understood the Sindarin easily, but had some trouble pronouncing it. "your mother?"

Elladan and Elrohir shared a look; certainly she would have to know where Celebrian was if she were staying in Rivendell. It was common knowledge among the elves, but telling strangers what had happened always made them feel... awkward, as if they were seeking sympathy.

"She was captured by them, but we retrieved her." Elladan said, simply.

"Ah, I would like to meet her, I think."

"She has sailed to the undying lands, as many other elves have."

"Oh."

"They tortured her and our father could mend her body, but not her mind. She was... broken, then." Elrohir said, sick of telling the same story.

"I am sorr--"

"Do not be. Please, do not be sorry for us. It was a long time ago. She will be healed when follow her to the undying lands."

There was another long pause, this one more awkward than ever before.

"I think I understand a little more." Gilraen said. "Why you hunt the orcs. My mother said it was strange, how you hunted them. You need... vengeance?"

"Yes. Vengence for her and for all the friends we have lost to orcs, Arathorn included. Destroying them has become our life..."

"That is very admirable. I wish I could do that... but Aragorn..." Gilraen broke off, looking to her sleeping son, affection shinning in her deep blue eyes.

"Do not wish it." Elrohir reached around the fire and put a hand on her shoulder, "Child-rearing is just as honourable a way to remember him as hunting down orcs, and it is more important. "

“I suppose.” She gazed at Aragorn, lovingly, but sadly.

“You will love it in Rivendell.” Elladan said, “It is a wonderful sort of place... we have archery ranges, stables, an enormous library...”

“There are always interesting guests visiting,” Elrohir added, “and wonderful parties in the Hall of Fire.”

“We will find you a nice room, with a soft bed.”

“You will meet our sister, Arwen, and Glorfindel, Lindir... our ada.”

“Lord Elrond.” Gilraen said, “I have wanted to meet him.”

“He’s really not as interesting as any tales you have heard about him say.”

“In fact, his lectures are positively mind-numbing.”

Gilraen laughed, sound the twins had not heard yet, and it warmed them to hear it, though it was a brief sound. “As any parent’s lectures are.”

- - -

A short while later, Elladan announced that he was going to sleep.

“I shall take the first watch then.” Elrohir said, “When shall I wake you?”

“Halfway through the night.”

“I do not mind taking a watch.” Gilraen said.

“You do not have to...”

“I fear sleep will not take me quickly tonight; it has not yet any of these past nights, and you could both use a couple extra hours.”

“We are elves, we do not ne--” Elladan started to say.

“Thank you.” Elrohir, who’d always been a heavy sleeper, declared happily. “You can have first, Elladan second, and I will take the last.”

With the twins asleep, and Aragorn dozing in her arms, Gilraen was left alone to her thoughts. She cried a little, but not for long, and then was left to her own thoughts in the dark. Just for a moment she closed her eyes, and she could hear Arathorn speaking to her; telling her that she did well in bringing Aragorn to Elrond, swearing to watch over them, and pledging his love to them, again and again.

But when Gilraen opened her eyes again, only the dark forest around her was there. The restless wind stirred up leaves deep in the woods, and there was a soft hoot of a night owl, but nothing else besides; and so despair welled up inside of her, and she felt silly for her wishful thinking.

 - - -