Written for Back to Middle Earth Month Day 5.

Gilraen stared into the fire. The truth was just beginning to set in. In the rush of getting herself and Aragorn here, she hadn't really thought about it much. Arathorn was dead, and her people left without a Chieftain. And she was left without a husband. She was glad her father had counselled them to wed early. For a short time, she had tasted true love. She would not marry again.

Master Elrond and his household had shown her every courtesy. She had everything she needed. She was surrounded by beauty and tranquility. But she was alone. The elves were kind, but they were not her people. They did not understand the joys and brutalities that came with being Mortal.

She had no idea when she would see her family and friends again. Her little nephew Halbarad probably wouldn't even know her the next time she saw him. Even her own son was to be bereft of his heritage and made to forget his father, and even his real name. Her poor Aragorn! He would grow up without any playmates his own age. She hoped the elves knew how to deal with small children. Most of Aragorn's ancestors had been older when they had come here for fostering.

"Nana!" Aragorn, or rather, Estel, came running in and jumped into her lap. The sons of Elrond looked in from the doorway, smiling indulgently at the little one.

Gilraen looked at her son and smiled.

Day 8: Write a story or poem or create a piece of artwork reflecting identification with or connection to one’s land, country or culture.
A/n: OC names taken from realelvish.net

Minas Tirith had changed a fair bit since Sam had last been there, what with Mr. Strider being king and folk being able to rebuild from the war and all.There were a lot more green and growing things, too. Mr. Legolas had helped see to that, for sure. As he walked through the Second Circle with his wife, Sam noticed that there were a lot more shops and such than he remembered. He reckoned it was because them 'as used to be soldiers needed new jobs after the War was done with, since there weren't as much call for soldiering.

"Look, Sam-love!" Rose said, grabbing his hand with a smile. "I wonder what's in there."

Sam looked. Then he had to blink and look again. Sure enough, one of the shops had a sign that said "The Shire Shop."

"Well, I reckon we'd better look and see. That's a right funny name, I have to say, especially seeing as this is Gondor, and the Shire's a long ways away."

The first thing that struck Sam when they walked in was the smell. It smelled like pipe-weed and coffee and fried taters. As he looked around, he saw shelves full of hobbity things. There were lots of different kinds of pipes, and a good stock of pipe-weed, and little pouches for carrying it in. There were children's toys, too. Little dolls with curly hair and hairy feet, looking much like the toys his own children played with. And there were dollhouses made to look like proper little smials, with round doors and everything.

Beside him, Rose gasped in surprise. Sam turned to see what he was looking at and saw his own face---and not on account of a mirror, neither. There were shelves full of paintings of him and Mr. Frodo, and Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin, too. They all looked just like they had after the Quest, except that they were all plump as proper hobbits ought to be, and Mr. Frodo didn't have that shadow over his face that he'd gotten from carrying the Ring for so long.

Sam wondered who had gotten a good enough look at all four of them to do such a good painting, and why they had made so many of them. He figured one person must have painted the first picture, and then paid some other artists to look at it and help make more. Still, it seemed a right silly thing to do. He could understand wanting a portrait off Mr. Frodo, but of him? He weren't even that much to look at, unless you asked his Rosie.

Even as he was puzzling over this, Sam noticed that the smell of fried taters was even stronger than before,and it was mixed with the smell of fried mushrooms now, too. it seemed the back part of the shop was set up like a tavern, or the common room of an inn, and it was serving up all kinds of good food, the likes of which he might have between meal-times back home.

"Oh, Sam, could we please get some? All that fancy food they give us here is good and all, but I've been wanting some mushrooms and taters, and so's the little one."

Sam smiled. Rose was just 'bout ready to have another little lad or lassie. Probably the last one, seeing as they had so many already and since they weren't getting any younger.

"Of course, Rosie-dear.You just sit yourself down, and I'll see 'bout getting us something as to tide us over 'til supper."

The serving lass sure looked surprised when she saw the two hobbits, and she went to get a man as Sam thought must be the shop's owner. The man rushed up to them all excited-like and gave a bow.

"Cannor son of Berendir at your service!"

"Samwise son of Hamfast, at yours and your family's, and this is my wife Rose.

"It is a tremendous honor to meet you both. How may I serve you today?"

"We'd like some of those mushrooms and taters you've got frying, please."

"Certainly! I'll have it for you in just a moment."

Cannor got the food to them right quick, and Sam and Rose went at it with a will. Afterwards, Sam went to pay Cannor for the food.

"No charge for hobbits, my good sir!"

Sam had spent enough time in Gondor to know that arguing'd get him nowhere.

"Thank you, sir. Are you the owner of this shop? My wife and I were just curious as to who started it, and where they got the idea from, if you don't mind my asking."

"Not at all. My father started this place shortly after the War. He had been a soldier, you see, and was there when you and Master Frodo were honored at Cormallen. He remembered seeing the other two Pheriannath---hobbits, I should say---too."

"That's very interesting and all, but it still don't explain the shop, begging your pardon."

"Ah, yes. Well, Father didn't want to be a soldier anymore after the War. He said he'd seen enough of death and killing to last him ten life-times."

Sam nodded in understanding. Rose squeezed his hand in reassurance.

"After you and the other hobbits had come and gone from the city, people were very curious about your kind. Father got the idea for this shop, then. He talked to a merchant who had dealings in the North, and set up some business arrangements. They mostly dealt with people from the Breelands, of course, instead of the Shire, because even before the King issued his edict he had made it pretty clear that your people would probably rather be left to themselves, and not made to deal with a lot of Gondorian curiosity-seekers."

Sam was glad of that. He didn't know how they would've dealt with a bunch of men coming through the Shire, especially when they were still trying to clean up after Saruman's folk.

"Anyway, Father bought some hobbit things from the merchant and his contacts in Bree, and then he found an artist who had seen you and your companions around the City to do the first of the paintings. He bought this place and started the shop, and it's done really well. People here love to learn more about hobbits. I run things here most of the time now, since Father's getting older, but he still keeps an eye on things."

"That's a mighty fine tale. A shop full of Shire wares, here in Gondor. Who'd have thought it? I must say I'm glad, though. It's good to visit the King and all, but I'm glad to know where I can get taters and pipe-weed and such. For all the adventuring I've done, my heart's stayed in the Shire all along, if you get my meaning."

"That's only natural, Master Samwise, and rest assured The Shire Shop will always be delighted to serve you!"

"Faramir, I would like to thank you for organizing my coronation. I know it cannot have been easy for you, as your family has ruled for so long. I am blessed to have Steward whom I know will be loyal."

Faramir could not hold Aragorn's gaze. "I fear your trust might be misplaced, my lord. There have been times in my life where my loyalties have been divided, and I fear such may happen again someday even while I seek to serve you, though I pray it will not be so."

Aragorn gazed at his Steward in concern. "Of what events do you speak? The people of Gondor hold you to be a man of honor, and I know the hobbits think highly of you. Even Gandalf praises your character."

Faramir sighed. "But my lord, Mithrandir and the hobbits, as dear as they are to me, are the very ones who have sparked this conflict within me. Before my father died...well, he was my liege lord, and I was bound by law to tell him about the hobbits. Boromir was the loyal one. Boromir would have taken him the Ring. I do not regret my decision; I knew that the Ringbearer had to fulfill his Quest or Gondor would fall to ruin. Yet I still broke faith with my lord and my father. I still became an oathbreaker."

Such was the force of Faramir's will that he kept the tears from forming in his eyes, but Aragorn could still sense the deep unease within his Steward.

"Faramir, you have no cause to be ashamed. You perceived the need for the hobbits' errand, and you helped them to complete it. To do otherwise could have led to the ruin of all. Do you think your father would have wanted that, in the end?"

"I suppose not, my lord, but I broke my word, nevertheless. And now I can never seek forgiveness, or approval. There was much left unresolved between us when he passed."

"Your father was a good man, Faramir, but he was laden with grief, and wearied by his use of the Palantir. Had it been otherwise, I am certain he would have condoned your actions, in the end. But since he cannot express his appreciation himself, I will. I know I am not your father, but I am your liege lord, and I tell you that you are no oathbreaker. Even my own forefather could not withstand the temptation of the Ring, but you prevailed. I count you as a loyal man, Faramir. Would you contest the ruling of your king?"

Faramir looked up. "I would not. Thank you, my lord."

"You are most welcome, Faramir."

Summary:A drabble about Aragorn's thoughts at the end of his life. Written for B2MEM Day 10

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. He had everything he had ever wanted: he had been happily married to Arwen for many years and their children were noble and strong. Gondor was flourishing, and evil creatures had almost disappeared from the land. Yet he had lost much. His father, whom he did not even remember. His mother. Halbarad. Many elves who had sailed. More recently, Eomer and Eowyn had died, and then Merry and Pippin, and finally Faramir. He was an old man now, and it would be time soon to give back the Gift.

As Olwë stood at the edge of the island, he looked back east towards the land he was leaving. He was glad Ulmo had come back for his people, truly, but he could not bear to leave Elwë behind. They were brothers, after all. Olwë's thoughts drifted back to all the experiences they had shared.

***
As he drew his first breath, the stars caught his attention, and he marvelled at their beauty. After a long while, he managed to turn his gaze from the sky and look around. Lying next to him was someone who seemed equally entranced by the twinkling lights above. From the moment their eyes met, they knew they were meant to be brothers, and they shared their first smile. Throughout the days that followed, they explored their surroundings together, helping the other Quendi to make up names for the wonders that surrounded them. They rejoiced together every time they made a new discovery, and grieved together every time a friend strayed too far and was taken.

When Oromë asked Elwë to be an ambassador, Olwë encouraged him to go. When he returned, ceacelessly prasing the Undying Lands and the Light of the Trees, Olwë listened more attentively than anyone else did. He helped his brother convince their kin to join them in the Great Journey, and together they ruled all of those who would later be known as the Teleri.

***

But where was Elwë now? Olwë and his people had searched long and hard, but they could find no trace of him. Had he been taken by the forces of darkness? Could he have gotten lost somewhere, and withered away from lack of food? Olwë had wept many tears of frustration at his failure to find out what had happened.

He was leaving, soon, and there would be no coming back. What a terrible brother he was, abandoning the search! He longed to stay with those who had determined to keep looking...but his people still needed a leader. In Elwë's absence, especially, they looked to him for guidance.

He could not insist that they all remain in Middle Earth. Ulmo had come back to take them across the Sea, to the land lit by the Two Trees he had heard so much about. In addition, many of his people had dear friends among the kindreds that had gone West before them, and they were eager to be reuinted.

Some would stay and keep looking for Elwë. Some would remain by the shores, at Ossë's request: Círdan was chief among these. As for the rest, they would ride this island across the sea, and they needed Olwë to lead them. He would not neglect his people, but he would always miss his brother.