Keepsakes

(Minas Tirith)

Aragorn looked up wearily from his desk. He rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. It had been a long day, a day filled with meeting endless requests, listening to tedious speeches made by tedious diplomats, and signing lengthy papers. He stared at the two piles of papers on his desk and sighed, wishing that they would all disappear from his sight. The man glanced outside the window. It was getting late; the moon was already in the sky. With great reluctance, he reached for another document.

He looked up sharply when his door opened. A pair of eyes met his. “Eldarion?” Aragorn stood up. “Is that you?”

The boy slipped in and closed the door behind him. “I’m bored,” he announced.

His father gave him a small smile. “Is it not time for your bedtime yet, Dari?” He asked, using his son’s pet name.

The nine-year-old shook his head. “It’s still too early. Besides, Nana says I don’t have to unless you go to bed.” He replied solemnly.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. “Did she?” He knelt down until he could his son in the eye. “And do you know what I say?”

Eldarion shook his head.

He began tickling him. “It’s time for you to go to bed.”

The boy squirmed and tried to wriggle away. “Ada!” he managed to say between giggles. “Stop!” He playfully batted his father’s hands away. “Stop that, Ada! I’m too old for that now!”

The man laughed, but released his son. “Very well, tithen pen.” He turned back to his desk, intent on finishing his task.

Eldarion against his father’s shoulder comfortably and watched as Aragorn picked up a paper. “What’s that for?” He asked

“Something I need to sign.” Aragorn replied.

“Oh.” The boy stared a moment longer at it before turning his attention to the jewel that was pinned to Aragorn’s tunic. He traced the eagle, and then the jewel itself. “What’s this?”

“What?” Aragorn turned looked at his son. “My Elessar.” He replied, taking it off and handing it to Eldarion. “Do not drop it,” he warned.

The boy held it carefully in his hands, in awe the jewel. Light from the candle on the desk made the Elfstone glimmer. He slowly turned it over and over, watching the light.

Aragorn gave up on the task he was working, and was now watching his son, amused that a jewel could catch his son’s eye.

“Where did you get it?”

“Your mother’s grandmother gave it to me.” Aragorn replied, remembering his day in Lothlórien. “It was a token of your mother’s and my betrothal.”

“Did she make it?” Eldarion looked at his father.

“Nay, an Elven jewel-smith by the name of Enerdhil did.” He took the brooch from his son and held it up to the dim glow of the candle.

“Will it come to me when I become king?” Eldarion asked, stretching one hand toward the jewel.

Aragorn pinned it back onto his tunic. “Of course, Dari.”

The boy frowned at him. “You always say that.” He commented. “When I asked if I could have your old sword, you said I had to wait until I was sixteen.”

Aragorn stroked his son’s dark hair. “I did not receive that particular sword until I was sixteen.”

“What about your kni-”

“No weapons until you are twelve.” Aragorn said firmly. “And I mean it.”

“What about your cloak? The one Uncle Legolas and Gimli also have?”

The king chuckled. “You will NOT receive that until you are king, Dari.” He grinned at the look on Eldarion’s face. “For I know you too well. You would only use it to cause mischief.”

“Can’t I have anything?” Eldarion pleaded.

The king looked at him, surprised. “Why?” he asked.

Immediately, Eldarion looked away from his father. He stared at the jewel. “No particular reason.” He finally said. “It’s just that, well, today, Thurinion was showing off a new dagger that he got. He told me it was his father’s, and-and he asked me…” His voice trailed off, unsure how to continue.

“I see.” Aragorn replied softly. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Come with me.” He stood up, carrying the candle with him.

“Where are we going?” Eldarion tried to match his stride with his father’s.

“To the treasury.”

They walked down a series of stairs until they reached a door. The two guards standing in front of the door nodded respectfully to their king. Aragorn pulled out a set of keys and searched through them until he finally found what he wanted. “Would you like to open it, Eldarion?” he asked.

The boy nodded eagerly. He quickly inserted the key, wincing at the loud screech that it made. Pushing the heavy door open, he stepped into the large room, his father behind him.

Aragorn held the candle high, casting light into the dimness. Eldarion waited until his eyes adjusted to the dark before he cautiously moved it. Aragorn lighted a torch with his candle, and immediately, the room was aglow. The boy gasped in wonder at everything he saw. Gold, silver, and mithril filled the room. Several crates were also piled in one corner. Aragorn walked toward the crates, looking them over carefully, and finally selected one. Eldarion knelt down beside his father, watching as he used his knife to cut the top open. When Aragorn at last pried it open, he lifted out several things and laid them on the ground. “Could you unwrap these?” He asked his son.

Eldarion obeyed, carefully pulling off the cloth to reveal several books. Aragorn lifted one, and blew the dust off. The book was old and worn; the spine was falling apart, and the sides of the books were wearing thin. “This was my childhood journal.” He said, handing the book over to Eldarion. The boy gingerly took the book, and opened it to the beginning. He squinted at the writing. “You had horrible handwriting when you were young, Ada.” He remarked, flipping through the pages.

“My father said the same thing.” Aragorn responded wryly. “And I should say the same about you.”

Eldarion rolled his eyes as he laid the book aside. Aragorn was once again rummaging through the crate. “What are you looking for?” he questioned him, looking over his father’s shoulder.

“This.” The man held a box that was roughly the size of his hand. “Go ahead and open it.”

The boy took the cover off. His eyes widened. “Is this—?”

Aragorn nodded. “My old ranger brooch.” He took it from his son. “It has been fifteen years since I last saw it. Arwen put a lot of my things away in this treasury when I was not looking.” He rubbed the brooch with the hem of his tunic until it shone once again. Eldarion could now clearly see the carved eagle on it surface. “Legolas once mentioned to me that he told you that eagles symbolized hope and courage.” He commented.

“So he did.” The king replied, remembering that that particular day. He placed the pin in Eldarion’s hand and folded his fingers around it. “Take it, my son. It is yours now.”

Eldarion gasped in delight. “Truly, Ada?” He clenched it tightly and grinned. “Thank you!”

Aragorn put a few things back into the crate, except for his journal. He closed the crate, and put an arm around his son. “What do you say if go outside to see the stars?”

“I would like that.” Eldarion replied eagerly, slipping a hand into that of his father’s. "Can we get Nana?"

"Of course."

Aragorn paused only the lock the door before allowing his son to lead him to the stairs. Young ones…always so impatient, he thought to himself. I now have utter respect for my father. He winced when Eldarion accidentally scraped the brooch against the wall in his haste as he turned the corner. I DO hope he will take care of it. I have already repaired it twice!

The End

Translations:

Nana—endearing form of "Naneth"

Ada—endearing form of "Adar"

Tithen pen—little one

A/N: The nickname "Dari" is credited to Cassia and Siobhan of the Mellon Chronicles. The nickname was used in their stories "Cell Number Eight" and "Remember How to Smile." I own only this story's plot.