Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is owned by J.R.R. Tolkien, his family, New Line cinema, etc . I have written this for my own enjoyment.

This is a oneshot and entirely unrelated to my story ‘An Ever-Present Danger‘.

A Mother’s Love

Minas Anor, Year 21 of the Fourth Age.

Aragorn rapped on the front door to the Gamgees’ City residence on the sixth circle, waiting to be allowed entry. Of course, there were those who would say that he could have just walked in; he was the King after all. But civility and respect for others (especially good friends) were ingrained in him and he would not shed them because circumstances dictated he could. His mother would shudder at the thought.

If she were here.

Unable to shake the thought, he bowed his head. His beautiful, loving mother had died many years ago and sometimes the ache of her loss would unexpectedly consume him, leaving him as bereft as if she had passed the previous day.

He waited a few minutes before the door to the residence was finally opened by a pretty young Gondorian servant, giving him plenty of time to compose himself. It would not be wise to give the maiden cause for concern at the sight of his long face.

Straightening himself, he spoke. “Good day, my lady. I seek Master Gamgee. Is he at home?”

The girl executed a quick curtsey as she realised who it was. “Why, your Majesty, please do come in sire! Forgive me, I didn’t know it was you at the door, sir, or I would have come to it faster. I was just about to go upstairs to freshen the laundry in Master’s chambers and had so many sheets in my arms…”

Smiling reassuringly at her, he said: “Do not let it trouble yourself, lady. I have been kept waiting longer in far more unpleasant places than the front doorstep of such a pleasant home.”

The servant blushed. “You are too kind, my Lord. Please, follow me sir and I’ll see you to Mistress Rose. The Master is currently abroad at the stables - seems his pony is poorly, so I’m not quite sure when he’ll be back. But you may wait, if you like.”

Forehead crinkling, he accepted the offer by stepping inside the house. How had he missed Sam? He had passed by the stables on his way here. But then, he had been lost in thought and if Sam was actually in the stall with the animal, it would have been easy enough for their paths not to have converged.

Following the servant girl to the garden at the back of the house, he saw Rose with her back to them, reclining on a soft chair with baby Tolman in her arms and he discreetly dismissed the young girl as he paused at the archway to observe the wonder before him.

Rose was singing her son a song as she rocked him gently, sometimes running a finger over his baby-soft face as if marvelling at the miracle she held. The sun hit her still-golden curls as she bent her head to place a soft kiss on her son’s cheek and he thought her the very epitome of motherhood.

Unwilling to disturb the private moment, but fearful of moving away in case she heard his motion, Aragorn remained where he stood at the garden archway and surveyed the bittersweet scene before him.

What was wrong with him? Why this ache in his belly? He was a grown man! Responsible, strong, blessed with a wife, children and two kingdoms. Did he not have everything he could ever wish for? Many men would envy his position - a position he had fought long and hard for, had sacrificed much for: preparing for his role as Isildur’s heir, spending long years exiled from his home while he hunted for signs of the enemy and laboured to live up to his birthright, years exiled from his beloved Arwen. Years spent hunting Sauron’s forces as his mother’s life dwindled; time he could never recapture with her.

Aragorn moved slightly, so that he could better see the faces of the two hobbits sitting next to the rosebushes. Had his mother held him thus when he was a child? Whispered words of sweetness to her infant while she awaited the return of her husband? How her heart must have ached with the loss his death brought! And the desperate flight to Imladris to save their only child must have been its own exquisite torture. But once there, had she ever felt like she belonged? He had grown up knowing no other home, but she had not. Ever aware of what she had lost, ever attempting to show a brave face to her child.

And she had been successful, for the most part. He had known nothing but her love and faith in him during their years in Imladris, and he had cherished her for it. But the child Estel was also aware of her hidden sorrow; the hitch in her voice when she spoke of her beloved Arathorn, his father; and as he grew, he could see that she lived a half-life, trying to blend with the daily lives of elves, but never really feeling that she belonged. Were it not for her child, she would have left years earlier, though to what end, he did not know.

How he wished it could have been different for her! She had spent her remaining years without her husband, with very little of her adult son, when she should have been surrounded with familial love and comfort.

A voice interrupted his maudlin thoughts. “Why, Strider! Whatever are you doing standing all the way over there when you could be sitting over here!”

Rose’s words broke his spell of melancholy and he shook himself of its hold.

“Mistress Rose, forgive me,” he smiled sheepishly at her. “I was entranced by the pretty picture you and your son presented and found myself reluctant to disturb you.” He walked over and took the seat across from her, grinning at the babe as he turned his head to get a better look at their visitor.

“Now you know you could never be a disturbance, so that’s enough of that sort of talk. And what have I told you about calling me Mistress Rose? Friends don’t stand on such formality, me dear!”

What a ray of sunshine she was! He could not help but feel chastised and cherished at the same time. “You are quite correct, dear Rose. I shall make sure it does not happen again. How is young Tolman?”

The infant was gurgling away happily, delighted at being the centre of attention. He reached a tiny fist out and waved it at the dark-haired man.

“Seems like he’s right pleased to see his uncle Strider,” laughed his mother. “I had been hoping to coax him into an afternoon nap, but he’s too alert for it just now. Perhaps you could give it a try?”

She handed him the babe and Aragorn let forth a great shout of laughter as Tolman tried to suck on his nose. The babe giggled happily and placed tiny hands on his cheeks, as if to hold him steady for a more successful attempt. “Nay, my boy. You will get nothing from that but a sore mouth!” He settled the child on his shoulder, satisfied that the infant was content to gurgle at the flowerbeds instead.

“You’re very good with little ‘uns. That’s a blessing, to be sure,” said Rose contentedly.

“It is difficult not to be captivated by such happy innocence. Would that we could all retain it,” he replied wistfully, rubbing Tolman’s back.

“Well, that’s a nice thought, certainly, but we must all grow up at some point. There’s no use in trying to hold on to the past when the future’s a wonder of its own, waiting to be explored.”

He smiled at her gently. “Again, you are correct. I was merely thinking of my own mother and how I would have wished for her to know such contentment.” He paused. Why had he said that?

But Rose’s face softened knowingly. “I don’t know much about your own mum, dear. But I do know, that a mother’s love gives a joy unequalled by any other. With you as a son, she couldn’t have been anything other than content - and more than that, no doubt. I know that‘s how I would feel, if you were mine.”

Aragorn was touched beyond words. She may be several years his junior - several years his junior - but as a mother, she had seen straight to his heart. He was unable to speak, so she continued.

“I know that your da died when you weren’t much older than Tolman here,” she said indicating the baby, who had just discovered the wonders of the King’s hair and was happily munching on it, “and it must have been a struggle for her raising a child by herself in such times of uncertainty.”

“She was bereft without him,” Aragorn admitted softly, the pain revisiting him. “She tried to continue on with our life in Imladris - Rivendell as you know it - but I have always suspected that she felt her life to be little more than an empty shell without my father.”

The servant girl interrupted them as she brought refreshments and Rose thanked her before sending the lass off and pouring him a glass of sweetened tea.

“The thing about empty shells,” she began, handing him his beverage, “is that they’re always ready to be filled with something.” Reclining back in her chair and sipping her tea, she observed him as he disentangled his hair from Tolman’s mouth.

“Now, I’m not saying as they’ll have exactly the same contents as before: but some fillings are just as good as any other, even if it’s in a different way. Take taters for example.”

Aragorn’s glass paused halfway to his lips. Taters?

“I can see as how that’s got you somewhat confused, so I’ll explain. A tater is a wonderful thing. You can boil it, mash it, roast it, fry it. Or you can bake it, scoop out the flesh and fill it with anything you please. Does it impair the flavour of the humble tater? No. It makes it taste slightly different, depending on what you put in it, but you still know it for a tater, don’t you?”

He nodded compliantly. He thought he knew what she was trying to say.

“So,” she took another sip of her tea, giving him time to absorb the words she’d already spoken. “I suppose what I want to say is this: your mum loved. First her husband, then you. When your da passed, her filling may have dwindled, but she filled it right back up again with caring for you. And seeing as how she did such a fine job of rearing you, her love for you must have flowed over the edges of that shell you were talking about." She paused, watching him for a reaction and, satisfied at what she saw, continued.

“Now, I’m not saying that she didn’t miss your da - I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to my Sam, so I admire her endurance - but you were more to her than just some long-gone ancestor’s heir and the hope of us all. You are your da’s legacy: proof that he existed and that they loved each other. She got to watch you grow into the best of men, the dearest of sons and I think that might have been enough to get her through her lonely years without him. Children have a way of doing that, you see.”

Aragorn swallowed the lump in his throat as Rose leaned over and placed a hand on his knee.

“And now that she’s back with him, do you think she regrets the long years without him? I don’t! I think she’s filled with light and joy at their being together again. It’s a wonder how quickly pain fades when the object of our love is safe in our arms. Try not to look back with sadness, me dear. Look forward with joy! Know that one day, she’ll be able to tell you herself that you made her whole again, and that both your parents are proud of their little lad.”

She dropped her hand and leaned back in her chair once more, turning her gaze to the vegetable patch Sam had planted a few months earlier. Tolman was now still on his shoulder, the only sound he made being the soft puff of his baby breaths blowing into the back of Aragorn’s neck. It seemed the child was finally taking his afternoon nap.

Rose had spoken wisely. Her words resounded in his head and he felt the truth of them. It was pointless to look back in regret when his mother, although dead to him, was very much alive to his father. The Gift of Men was a gift indeed if it afforded her such a happy reunion. And who was he to argue otherwise? None who lived knew what lay beyond death, but he felt the certainty of his mother’s - and father’s - happiness and knew that their sorrows were over for eternity. They only knew joy now. This thought filled him with a joy of his own and the gratitude towards the gracious hobbit lady sitting across from him was endless.

“Thank you, Rose.”

“You’re always welcome, Strider And just so’s you know, your own mum might have left you for the moment, but I’ll be here for a good while yet. I may not be your mum, but I am a mum and you are a son, regardless of how heavy that crown is you wear. I’ll always have an ear for your troubles, me dear.”

He smiled, tears shining in his eyes at her love. It seemed as if he had found a foster-mother now, too.

“You are a gift from the Valar, sent to soothe this child’s heart, and I am blessed by your presence.”

She blushed, placing her glass on the garden table. “That’s enough of that now! You’ll make me quite forget that I’m a simple hobbit matron with all that fancy talk! Well then,” she rose from her chair. “What do you say we get that young lad there into his cot so’s you can take a wander down to the stables to see my Sam? No doubt that’s what you came here for in the first place and I’ve held you up with all my nonsense.”

Smiling, he stood and handed her the sleeping infant as they made their way into the main residence.

There is nothing so precious as the love of a mother, unless it be the love of a foster-mother, he thought.

And now he had both.

With his earlier woes banished, Aragorn followed the lady who cradled her son so gently and thanked the Valar for the gift of all his parents.

*~*~*~*