Disclaimer: Middle-earth and the characters therein are Copyright of Tolkien and his Estate/Enterprises. This work of fanfiction is for entertainment purposes only, and no profit is made thereby.

2933 of the Third Age

*******

Shadows danced on the walls as candles blew out in the wake of figures moving hurriedly about, leaving the house lit sparsely with lanterns. Unobserved, Gilraen retreated with her son onto the porch. Trusting in darkness to hide her tears and fresh air to dry them, she hoped with solitude to settle this sense of unease within her own home. Despite the commotion inside, the evening was quiet. Deceptive. She hugged her son close and pulled her cloak to cover them both against the chill.

Earlier she had been prompted to pack, and admitted that she would not know where to start, feeling as some inept girl-child, not a wife and mother--a widow and mother. Her kinsfolk had only words of kindness and were quick to assist, the sons of Elrond among them now; how many bereaved they had helped spirit away mid night throughout the centuries, she shuddered to think. Together they readied her home to be abandoned, while she readied herself to abandon the life she had known.

"What star?" spoke her son, pointing into the night sky.

"That is Eärendil." For his sake, she found it within herself to smile. "His is a symbol of hope everlasting." Arathorn had always said so. Who else to say it in his place.

From behind came a presence and amiable reply, "Eärendil's star shines brightest upon your new home, Aragorn." Already envious of his nerve, Gilraen turned to face one of Elrond's sons. When he spoke, his voice did not tremble, steady as the strong arm that extended to accept Aragorn's hand in greeting. Little fingers curled around sword-calluses, innocent as young vines over a tombstone. "So many new things you shall see, Aragorn, much more than most lads your age. Are you excited to go?"

The child nodded that he was, little to his mother's surprise. He associated 'excited' in that tone with happy occasions: his father expected home, a game to be played, sweets, presents. He did not understand the question, though he thought to know the word. No child could fathom exile; no Dúnadan would smile at the notion.

The Elf-man still spoke kindly as he looked at her, if a touch faster, "Lady, there are some things we must ask you to decide upon inside. Alas that there is not room for much, if we are to travel swift as we ought. The necessities are stowed, but go choose now some personal effects about which your kinsmen are unsure."

She nodded and went inside, where they expected her to select a few artifacts of highest importance from a house already no longer a home. An elderly maid who sat at the table hailed Gilraen through sudden tears, and stood to share their final embrace. Doubtless Gilraen would not see her former nursemaid again before the woman's death.

"Be brave, mistress," said Luinmoth, her wizened voice breaking. "The master was a wise man. He would ask naught of you save for your own good. And worry not for us here. We'll see to things with no trouble."

Arathorn left to 'see to things' -– the last thing he had seen was the head of an arrow. His son's giggles chased away the grim comparison.

"Here Aragorn, my little man!" Luinmoth curled her fingers at him and crept close. "Come see granny one last time, that's a good boy. Oh! How big you've gotten this year. My sweet boy." She kissed his head and did not look again upon his face. "I... take him back, dear, I can't bear more. Good bye! Good bye."

By the time Gilraen mustered a smile, the old dame had crumpled back into her chair, spidery fingers spread in a web over her face.

Entering the next room, Gilraen found the floor strewn with shapes and shadows. A hearth fire saved her from tripping over the clutter. Gilbarad came up beside, breathing labored from exertion. His face looked drawn before the flickering light; seemed everyone neared the last days of their life in the bleakness of that night. What relief to have already bid farewell to her parents, that their aging faces would not watch her leave.

"Palaber can carry little more," said Gilbarad, looking regretfully at what remained. "I fear you will be parted from most of your belongings, my lady, if--"

"For the last time, we leave tonight, and travel with all haste." Gilbarad's breath caught at the interruption. She sighed along with him. "Help me, uncle. Help me to obey and see obeyed by husband's last wishes. Please."

"You know I would have it no different, save that we take more than only what Aragorn's horse can carry." His eyes would not meet hers. Nonetheless, they soon lowered. "As you wish. Tell me what here is most dear to you, and Palaber will tell me what is too much for even his strong back to bear."

She directed that a book be taken from the mantelpiece, one that held Arathorn's thoughts in his own pen, and she could think of nothing else thereafter; nothing of need, nothing that mattered, nothing except her husband who would never write again. Disinterestedly she pointed out items on the floor, mere objects, chosen less for sentimental worth than by the years of use left to them. In the wake of such loss, quantity of time replaced quality of life in measure of value –- she would have Arathorn marred, maimed, or otherwise, if he would just return and stay a while longer. The orc that slew him had not asked her opinion on this matter. One day she would inquire how it died.

Letting her son down to walk, they returned to the porch. Out of the barn, one of Elrond's sons led her horse, Malfrey, saddled for the ride ahead. Arathorn's former steed Palaber waited at the foot of the stairs in dismal spirits, missing his master. From the road, Artanal and the other son of Elrond rode up side-by-side, shadows in the twilight; they completed what would be her escort to the Ford of Bruinen. Gilbarad passed by to secure Palaber's load, speaking encouragingly to the sad beast –- Gilraen listened without shame, taking those words to her own heart.

"All right, it's all right."

Night seemed ever deepening. Eärendil's star was lost to sight among stray clouds. Even the close scenery, so familiar to her during the years before, was strange in that hour; dark and blurry, like someone else's half-forgotten memory. Soon that memory would be her own, gradually forgotten from leagues away.

Now all waited mounted save for Gilraen, her son, and the Elf-man who approached them with brisk, uneven steps.

"Lady, it is time we left," he said, grave but gentle. As they descended the stairs, Gilraen tried to decide if this was the same twin she had spoken with moments ago. He gestured to her son. "Here, lad, let me help you sit your mother's horse. Look how pleased Malfrey is to see you! She will carry you well."

Aragorn tightened his fists, reluctant to be parted from his mother; but for love of riding he tolerated it, and broke into a giddy smile whilst hefted atop Malfrey's back. Unnoticed by him went the travel-worn and battle-torn state of the Elf-man's attire, the bandage on his thigh stained black with dried blood, and the grime under his nails telling the tale of recent grave digging. Gilraen could not stop staring. In these things, she recognized that she was not alone of those who endure hardships to preserve the honour of one departed, or of many.

"Lady, may I help you?" One hand he held out to her, the other steadied Aragorn in the saddle.

"Yes." Gilraen could mount behind her child without difficulty or assistance; she took his hand in order to hold it once seated. "Lead me to the house of Elrond, so that I may fulfill a promise made long ago. Then mayhap Arathorn and I shall both rest in peace."

Few marked the departure of just another widow amid a small company in the gloom of that night, and come morning none spoke of such things as were understood. Unless it be so for this saying in the Angle -- 'fruit never falls far from the tree' -- oft recited in light or portent: always, though, with eyes to the West.

***

*******

During the twenty and six years of her life, Gilraen had not made a habit of leaving the Angle. To leave it in this way seemed strangely appropriate: one hidden stronghold to another, as if she was never anywhere. Should I return, will Rivendell seem as an eclipse that has passed, or will the shadow lie ahead? No foresight came to her. Never when I wish it would.

They broke for camp before dusk the first night. Gilraen had expected a day of harder riding, so she marveled at how far they came nonetheless. The East Mountains looked different; by tomorrow, maybe the rocky hills of the Trollshaws would be visible in the North.

"We must be halfway to the Ford already!" she exclaimed after a good look around.

As the long-suffering parent of a careless child, Gilbarad hushed her, grinning despite himself. "Ours are not the only ears in the Wild, and we alone need know where leads our road."

Gilraen busied herself tending Aragorn and rationing meals while her heated cheeks cooled over the rebuke. Arathorn used to tease how she would never make a Ranger. "Not without tighter lips," he might say, then kiss them. Nevermore. Leaving her son content with some bread as he watched Artanal work up a fire, she came to Gilbarad where he relieved their horses.

"Let me finish this. I set supper out, go eat and rest yourself." The brethren attended their own steeds nearby; if they heard her, neither ceased. For his part, Gilbarad seemed only to move faster in response. "Uncle. Arathorn warned me also of perils upon the road. I must insist that the guardsman of his son be fit enough to withstand any threat."

He went still. At length, he rubbed his face. "I am weary. Thank you." All of them neared exhaustion, plain to see. Gilbarad walked to the fire as though through a fog; there Artanal sat hunched half-sleep over his plate while Aragorn danced circles around him. Gilraen tried not to think upon the battle that had reduced her strong men to such a state of heart and body. Even the sons of Elrond moved as though with heavy limbs. Do they too mourn?

"When you are through, my horse will lead the others to water." A twin stood alone now, the one without his thigh bandaged.

"Oh. Well thank you... Elladan?"

"Elrohir." He bowed his head at her apology. "My brother will take the first watch, so you know. No evil could evade his vigilance." Gilraen's task complete, they stepped away; true as he said, the horses fell into line and headed towards the river.

"Thank you," she said again, some of her embarrassment returning that he had heeded her concerns as expressed to Gilbarad; she would have been more tactful speaking to the sons of Elrond.

Their camp would have stayed cheerless save for Aragorn, who sang while they ate. Artanal had suggested the pastime to substitute for Aragorn's first choice: swimming -- for which he maintained 'No' it was not too cold and 'No' it was not too dark.

Some time later Gilraen woke in a start, realizing she had dozed and his little voice sang no longer. But Aragorn lay asleep beside her. Someone had covered them both with a fur. Turning, she cradled him closer. Aside the fire, Gilbarad and Artanal slept shoulder to shoulder for warmth. Opposite them, the sons of Elrond sat awake, one examining the other's leg. They conversed in Sindarin, graceful and muted as windblown leaves.

"Ai. Father might tend this with needle and thread still."

"No infection though."

"As yet. How dost thou feel?"

The other answered not, until his twin touched his brow. "No fever, either."

"Nay. Good."

"And thou?"

"Oh, I fare well enough."

"Hmph. If thou say so."

"Thou did similarly, whilst redressing me."

"Rather that I saw fair damage, the worst of which may be unseen. No matter. Sleep now, rest thyself."

Their exchange ended. Not a sound followed. Gilraen had closed her eyes, but she looked again in expectance that they stopped to listen, maybe alerted of danger. Instead, Elrohir lay prone before the fire and Elladan had already gone out of sight on watch -- or that should be right, unless she remembered incorrectly which would sleep first.

If identical twins were very common among Elves, the novelty would not prevail over her frustration.

***

They reached the Ford of Bruinen after another day without incident. Here Gilbarad and Artanel were supposed to turn back, and the sons of Elrond alone would lead Gilraen onward to Rivendell.

"Half a day from here, mayhap," Elladan answered Gilbarad, "depending on the pace we can keep tomorrow."

Having a young child along had caused unavoidable delays, more so today than the last, and they rode hard whenever possible to make up for lost time. Gilraen understood that good pacing had been the key to yesterday's progress; this daylong game of catch-up left her sore tired, and they took longer covering less ground.

It came on dusk when the party dismounted nigh to the riverbank. No sooner had Gilraen's feet touched the ground than Aragorn tugged her hand, pointing to a nearby thicket. She signaled to Artanal whither they went. At the same time, being so near fresh water tempted the horses to hurry ahead and drink their fill anon.

Artanal laughed. "Forgotten your saddles, and our baggage besides? Come back, give me something to unpack!"

Gilbarad's voice broke in suddenly, "Actually, if all are willing, I suggest we cross the Ford and ride on for a little while, until nightfall."

A son of Elrond replied, "Our passage will not go unnoticed. If we cross now only to camp in an hour, we would be expected sooner than we would arrive. I prefer that no one wonder at our belatedness, fearing us delayed by ill chance. Furthermore, here we will be just as safe, tonight."

When Gilraen reemerged, Artanal was ordering the camp while Gilbarad unburdened horses. She noticed the sons of Elrond off a little ways, speaking together. One motioned with his hands; the other had crossed arms. If they argued, their faces revealed it not, nor did their voices rise. She steered Aragorn along the water's edge.

"Because it is unnecessary. We make decent time, all considered."

An echo. Gilraen missed whatever came before.

"That hath naught to do with forewarning. I could be there little after dawn."

"Not alone, in thy state."

"Then thou go."

"Nay. We together equal one hale escort, barely."

"Which is it? Either I am incompetent or thou need mine assistance."

If aught followed, they spoke even lower, or moved away. Gilraen would rather not hear regardless. She tried to imagine a discreet way to discover if the brethren knew of her fluency in Sindarin. Knelt at the riverbank, she bathed her hands, and bade Aragorn --repeatedly-- to do the same.

"Hail cousin." Behind her came Artanal. He settled close enough to talk and not be overheard. Aragorn leapt up from where he 'fished' with a reed and welcomed the man with an enthusiastic effort to initiate wrestling games. Artanal usually played along. He smiled, but said, "Not just now, Aragorn. Sit here beside me a minute."

Gilraen saw her son's disappointment. Riding and camping brought him such joy that she thought he must suspect why everyone remained so solemn. Or not. Aragorn crept away, peeking out at them occasionally from behind a boulder.

"I've been thinking. Are you certain about all this?" Artanal was gathering a handful of smooth rocks. "The brethren are exceptional riders, and they know the way surer than any. But," here he paused, skipped a stone, "well, I know they seem strange, or I thought so myself, before knowing them better. Gilbarad and I are willing to continue even unto Elrond's house."

"Valcirion will come as emissary on behalf of the Angle whether you accompany me further or not. Better that you return home and see to things." She winced at the unhappy memory. "I mean, get the word out, wait for Valcirion. Thereafter he may follow in his own time. I'm the only one in need of haste."

Political affairs seldom concerned her in the past. Arathorn always managed such things; she handled the house and their son. Among the Rangers, Valcirion held second highest rank --now first-- making him best suited to control the Rangers' relations with Rivendell. Gilraen had one objective alone, to see to their son, all that Arathorn asked of her.

Artanal watched her silently. "Arathorn would have me on league marker detail all year if he beheld his fair wife so grim of face, with me able to track an orc through a body of shallow water, but helpless to comfort my own cousin. What are your thoughts?"

She took a stone from his collection and chucked it. One. Two. Drown. "I've never been good at this."

He sighed. "Takes practice." Just then, Aragorn ploughed into his lap, growling and tickling.

"Caught you, caught you!"

"You did, didn't you," Artanal said laughing. "Now spare me, I beg! Go and see Gilbarad a while, help him find firewood. Look, there he is. Best you run, hurry!"

Aragorn happily complied. His energy seemed as endless to Gilraen as the hours of riding had probably seemed to him. She watched to see that he struck a direct path to Gilbarad without wandering.

"He is a good lad," said Artanal. "He will grow to be a good man –- like his father." When she made no reply, he stood and pulled his hood up against the chill breeze. "Expect Valcirion by next month, I reckon. Once news reaches him at Sarn Ford, he'll head home, and not linger ere setting out for Rivendell. I shall make plans to accompany him then, if duty allows. In the meantime, we'll arrange that more of your belongings are brought to you."

"Do not let my father send that sword. I bade Luinmoth to deliver it after I left. He would not have taken it from me."

Grown tense, Artanal said, "Dírhael bestowed that sword to the Chieftain. Shouldn't--"

"For the husband of his daughter, those were his words. But Arathorn wanted him to have it back, if... if father refuses to keep it, just tell him to bestow it to someone else."

"No doubt he will do just that. Well." Artanal took a deep breath, his eyes drawn across the Ford. "It is a place like no other, Rivendell. Only once have I enjoyed the honor to visit, but once was enough to envy you the soft beds and warn halls and ample fare of the Last Homely House."

Gilraen blinked up at him. "In truth, I had not considered it." Not for herself, at least.

The hood drew further over his eyes when he shook his head. "I know." He began to walk towards camp, but paused of a sudden. Glancing over his shoulder, he gestured ahead. One twin toiled over a cooking fire; as she watched, Aragorn sidled close and got his curiosity rewarded with a snack. The other twin tended the horses, now massaging her own steed Malfrey.

Artanal said, "All our hearts are heavy, theirs too. Just as we, they are not normally so reserved; and if you can get used to the sons of Elrond, their sire will seem far less daunting. Have no fear! You take me too seriously. Elrond is a very decent ma-- ah, person. The Elves, however, are a puzzle I have yet to solve. I wish you well in that trial," his light tone deepened, "and in all else."

The Lord of Rivendell and the Elves therein were other things she had considered little. Aragorn held the greatest share of her willing thought; nothing else surpassed his father's absence. Aragorn raced now from Gilbarad to meet Artanal, who this time hefted the boy into the air. Though gregarious by nature, Aragorn nonetheless gravitated towards the care and attention of those most familiar to him. Without Artanal and Gilbarad, I will not be the only one left to the company and charity of strangers.

Clouds were coming swiftly from the south. She pulled her cloak close against the wind. Starless night would fall soon; already the sun descended below the treetops, draping their campsite in shadow. Gilraen rose from the damp and stony ground, uncertain.

*******

*******

With the morning came partings and well wishes. Again Artanal declared that he would endeavor to accompany Valcirion when he set out for Rivendell. Also Gilbarad vowed to visit if and when he could -- yet Gilraen doubted the opportunity would present itself, for he had a young daughter with his wife carrying their second child, and once the ranks officially shifted in the wake of Arathorn's death, likely Gilbarad would be promoted to captain.

The Rangers departed under first light after partaking of a simple meal. Aragorn watched and waved as they rode off, blending amid the treeshade not to emerge in sight again. He clapped, mistaking it for a familiar game. "See you, see you!" That meant the hiding party should reappear, laughing and happy to teach him their trick.

"No, Aragorn. Say goodbye, remember? We said goodbye. They are gone."

His look froze her heart, as one who first comprehends dire consequences of an act taken lightly. It could not be that he remembered in that moment saying goodbye to his father who returned not, that he now understood why. She rubbed her eyes that surely deceived.

Aragorn had turned away. He waved once more. "See you."

"Yes, later. We'll see them later." What was one possible lie for his own good.

Gilraen carried him back to what remained of their camp. The brethren had wasted no time readying their departure while she went off conducting farewells. Loading Palaber was all that remained to do, and the twins worked one on each flank. She waited aside with Aragorn, and eyed the Bruinen.

'Fleet today
Deep today
Bruinen stay asleep today
Got away
Rot away
Bruinen washes aught away'

Morbid thing: children sang it in the Angle.

Soon Elrohir approached her son where he overturned stones to see what crawled beneath. "Hullo, Aragorn, what have you found there?" Gilraen came to them even as Elladan approached his brother from behind –- the bandage and slight limp assured her she did not have them confused.

"Ai, that is a treasure!" said Elrohir, seeing what Aragorn discovered.

Aragorn turned to his mother, holding aloft a creature of more legs than aught else, and none too still. "Mine," he said, mouth agape in wonder as he ogled the wriggling insect. Wincing, Gilraen sought for some way to part her son from the thing peacefully, lest she be forced to ride with it.

Elrohir knelt. "But you would not keep him from his family, would you?" He pointed from the rocks to the Bruinen. "This side of the river is his home, and while we may cross the water safely, he cannot swim! If we carry him over, he shall never return." Aragorn began admiring his pet again, until Elrohir added, "I fear he would miss his mother dearly."

Aragorn squatted, letting the bug crawl from his hand. He waved to it and stood. A subtle shift brought him closer to Elrohir, then looking bashful, he spread his arms. With a smile, Elrohir reciprocated, standing again with the boy in arm.

Glancing sidelong, Gilraen saw that Elladan watched his brother as if to catch his eye. When his gaze met hers instead, it did not last. "Come, lady, the morning presses on, and so should we."

"Then the Ford is safe to cross?" Stopped beside Malfrey, Elladan merely raised an eyebrow, yet the temperature of her face went up with it. "Well-- it is only that old wives tales among my people tell of the Bruinen and its unpredictable fury."

Come up behind her, Elrohir replied, "The river of this valley is under the power of Elrond Halfelven, lady. Seldom does it spirit aught away on accident -- or without ceremony." If he jested in part or whole, she could not tell.

Whatever the case may be, Elladan seemed unamused. "Have no fear, for we are expected, and-- there is no proper word for it in the Common Speech, but we are goodhearted also."

Gilraen accepted his hand and mounted. Once settled, Elrohir lifted Aragorn to sit before her. "Hup! Hup!" Her son bounced. Gilraen's attention fell elsewhere. She watched, perplexed, when Elladan gripped his brother's arm as he tried to walk passed. They exchanged hard looks but no words, and parted as soon. Both mounted at once.

"Hup! Hup!"

All fell into line, Elladan at the lead and Elrohir leading Palaber in the rear.

Elladan brought his steed to halt at the bank. He tipped his chin as if smelling the air, held a moment, and then pressed onward, his horse unbothered by the current. Over Aragorn's squeals of delight and the splashing of water rang Elrohir's laughter, light as falling snow.

***

At a time in the late morning, Elladan halted his steed and peered around. His hand moved to the hilt of his sword. He dismounted.

Gilraen dared not make a sound, not even to breathe. What, what, what!

Behind her, Elrohir yawned. "Glorfindel?"

"Ronduir, I think."

Gilraen sighed. When a Ranger suspected trouble, it did not look the same as wondering which friendly presence he sensed. The manner of these two made it impossible to tell the difference.

Come beside her, Elladan gestured to the surrounding woods. "You could say Rivendell has Rangers of its own, lady." He helped lower Aragorn to the ground, and she dismounted. "I go now to speak with a warden of the valley. You may rest here a while."

In an instant he was lost to sight among the trees. Gilraen moved quickly to keep Aragorn from racing along after him. "No chase, Aragorn, we're not playing now!" He fussed, clearly appalled at her meddling, until Elrohir offered him an apple –- which, according to the accompanying tale, was enchanted. Then Aragorn skipped about as he ate his supposedly magic fruit, stopping to watch the occasional squirrel scamper by.

Gilraen noticed Elrohir by the side of the path. His gaze reached far into the forest. She tried to keep her voice even and asked, "Is there aught amiss?"

He looked sidelong at her, then bowed his head. "Here we are safe, have no fear. Rivendell is well guarded."

Remembering Artanal's advice, she decided to pursue a conversation with this Elf-man; he seemed more at ease here than the days before. "What can you tell me of Rivendell, lord? I have only known a casual way of living. Life at court is a thing of history among my folk."

"Court! Nay, nay." Elrohir waved a hand dismissively. "The Lord of Rivendell does not necessitate such formalities in his home, and neither does his son. Call me Elrohir, please." His tone lightened, "Or call me Elladan, and you will be nearly correct."

Having made that mistake already, Gilraen felt her cheeks flush. "I admit that your looks and garb are identical to me. I've been using the bandage above his knee to tell you apart."

Elrohir smiled at that. "Many have similar tricks, even Elves in our acquaintance. But in Rivendell we shall not be similarly clothed, and soon his wound will be healed. Look then for this instead." He pulled off his left glove and held out that hand. A bronze band shone around his thumb, engraved like a rolling wave that chases in a circle.

"That is beautiful," said Gilraen. Grown comfortable in his presence, she looked more closely upon him. Elrohir stood tall as an Elf, built sturdy as a Man, and though his bearing could be stern, his smile was sincere, surfacing more often than his brother's; but their features were exactly matched, comely as princes, wise as kings.

"Nana, look see." Aragorn presented a large beetle he had caught. Gilraen endeavored to conceal her grimace while Elrohir knelt down, interested.

"Ah, here is a very busy fellow this time of year." He went on to explain the characteristics of that particular species. Once the tale was told, her son ran to replace the creature upon its path, searching anon for something else. That Elrohir wore the symbol of marriage made sense, since he acted as one familiar with children also.

"I can tell that my son is fond of you," said Gilraen. "He does not introduce his bugs to just anyone."

Elrohir nodded. "Then I am honored."

She ventured further, "May I ask, lord, do you have children of your own?"

"Elrohir. And... no." Meeting her gaze, he seemed about to continue until distracted by his brother's return.

"Well met! All is in order with Ronduir." Approaching the horses, Elladan moved to pick Aragorn up, who feigned compliance only to evade him and flee. He reached Elrohir breathless with laughter to have escaped 'capture'.

"Swift as a spring hare you are!" Elrohir laughed.

While Aragorn beamed unsuspecting, Elladan lifted and sat him upon Malfrey nonetheless, and remained there with hand extended for Gilraen. "Let us ride on. We can water our horses from the Silverstream."

While she mounted, she thought she heard Elrohir grunt from behind. "That brings us the long way."

Elladan gave him a look that Gilraen pretended not to see. "The Silverstream?"

"A brook that flows over white stones; it shimmers as steel under the light of stars or sun. We will find it crossing a small glade, an hour from here."

"So there are other ways than this?"

"Aye, many. They are more direct, but more difficult to tread. We have already passed three crossroads, though perhaps your eyes cannot see them." Elladan seemed to check himself, and added graciously, "That is, you do not know what to look for."

"I don't." Once, she and Arathorn had ridden to the Last Bridge together. Effortlessly by day, he found trails both safe and scenic where Gilraen saw only brush and bracken. Skillfully each night, he made a new map upon her body while Gilraen saw only stars and their reflection in his eyes. How right she had been, saying all those times that she would never tire of the feel of him -- she would never have the chance.

"Gilraen."

She jumped in her saddle. Elladan stood beside the horse, his expression as close to concerned as she had yet beheld in him. What must be the Silverstream stretched before her. "Thank you," she said stupidly, and rubbed her face. "I-- dozed, in thought, I was just thinking. Thank you." His face gone blank again --though that eyebrow did twitch-- he helped Aragorn to the ground.

She got to her own feet and stretched her legs. They were amid an oblong glade rimmed with trees; patches of evergreen and jade colored the forest of otherwise bare monotone limbs. Spring would come early this year, at least for Rivendell. The air smelled sweet with the scent of new growth; when the breeze turned, it carried hickory of smoking meat. An echo of singing arose, mingled with the trickle of the Silverstream.

Realizing they wandered, she gathered her son to her and returned to the brook. There Elrohir and Elladan stood between the drinking horses.

"I disagreed with thy method, never with thy objective."

"Then thou could hast said--"

"I could not have known that Ronduir--" Simultaneously, their faces turned her way, where she had stopped to consider coming back later. Elladan turned away and busied himself with his steed. He switched to the Common Tongue, but continued in a quiet tone, "You got your way. What else is there?"

"Oh, never mind." Elrohir turned likewise. Gilraen did her best to find no humor in the picture they made: back to back, each wearing the other's annoyed visage.

Soon they were riding again, through a portion of trail open to the sun and wide enough for two abreast. The changing scenery throughout the last half of their journey had succeeded to captivate Gilraen. For a few blissful hours, she thought of nothing particularly significant, sometimes nothing at all -- and Arathorn only once, remembering that he had lived here himself upon a time.

The most exciting event of the entire journey had consisted of a fallen tree that crossed the road not far from the Silverstream. "Again, again!" Aragorn had cried after Malfrey cleared the jump. Once was enough for Gilraen.

Now Elladan slowed until their horses walked side by side. "Not much longer now, lady," he said. Before she could reply, he made a motion with his hand, and Malfrey slowed yet further. His voice lowered, "He should have done it on foot. I knew the jolt would be too much."

At a flinch of his eyes, she looked backwards. Lagged far behind, Elrohir walked beside his steed, Palaber following. Even at such distance, she could see the awkward stiffness of his posture, and the grimace he wore.

"What happened?"

Elladan opened and closed his mouth. "His back is injured. Elrond will care for him."

"Oh, I am sorry!" She glanced behind again. "Now dearly do I rue the times I could have labored in his place. If only I had known. He kept lifting my son right before me."

"Before me also, as you saw. But no matter," said Elladan. "Among the Rangers, Elves are said to be stubborn; I fear Elrohir inherited more than his half-measure, and good advice avails him not."

Soon the path grew narrower. Elladan returned to the front of their procession. Elrohir had mounted again, and with quickened pace they followed the trail around a bending slope that continued even as it seemed to turn around, and came fully upon vale of the Last Homely House. Though facing it directly, Gilraen would not call it much less hidden; straight looks brought into focus the trees among which the house was built, yet looking away, the architecture became more visible.

"Is there some enchantment at work?" she heard herself say.

"Why do you ask, lady?"

Sun glared in her eyes through a mist wafting from falling water; the combination cast illusions of light that distorted her vision. "Perhaps it is-- my eyesight."

Elladan shrugged. "Perhaps. Though once we are closer, things should be clearer to you."

Laughing to himself, Elrohir overtook them both at a trot, Palaber following behind his steed, both becoming lost amid what she could and could not see. Blinking, Gilraen realized that the path had given way to a flat field of tall grasses, beyond which a courtyard crested by stone pillars or tree trunks, and a path curved at the top... or is it a hallway of windows?

They rode through and under and among everything that Gilraen could not decide what to make of. Though their horses halted, hoofbeats echoed still. Her wandering and wondering gaze settled before her. There was a tiered fountain carved of pale stone, and next to it, an Elf upon a white horse. Tall and straight he sat, and about his shoulders fell golden hair such as Gilraen had never before seen. So inconspicuously flawless, his form, that until he moved, she had mistaken him for part of the chiseled stonework itself.

"Greetings, Glorfindel," said Elladan. The Elf called Glorfindel looked upon Gilraen; she had never beheld eyes more open, more clear, than his. Elladan continued, "Here is Gilraen wife of Arathorn, and Aragorn their son."

The Elf flashed his glance fondly at Elladan. "I know." Back to Gilraen, and he smiled, both sad and hopeful and it too shining bright like gold, like youth. "We know. We have been expecting you, and we welcome you, you and your son." He placed hand upon breast and bowed at the waist. When he arose it seemed that the sun climbed a little higher. "Welcome to Rivendell."

*******

*******

Before doors engraved with runes writ in copper, Glorfindel paused. A single crease marked his smooth brow. "The customs of men are different in such ways. Guests in an elvish household would be shown straightaway to their chambers and left to their rest."

He had already said similarly, when Gilraen first inquired towards an audience with the Lord of Rivendell. "You are very considerate, lord. But if Master Elrond is available, and willing to see me, I would have it so." 'Better to embrace the inevitable than to dread the unknown, and sooner than later', Ivorwen always said -- 'mother knows best' being her second favorite.

"As you wish it then, my lady. Elrond sits within." Elladan stepped forward and pushed open the doors. Glorfindel lead them inside.

Lagging behind the Elf's wide gait, Gilraen peered about the chamber. Long and narrow, with windows along each wall shut behind heavy drapes, dimly lit by lamps hung from beams across the curved ceiling. While chairs rested between every window frame, one alone had its place upon a dais at the end of the hall. Elrohir stood beside that chair, and a figure that Gilraen guessed must be Elrond sat upon it, head lowered as if in deep thought, face hidden by shadow.

Sighing softly, Glorfindel went to the left and right wall to open the drapes of the furthermost pair of windows. Aragorn had been hiding behind his mother in this gloomy and unfamiliar place. Now bathed in sunlight he emerged from the folds of her skirt and smiled as he looked about, running to inspect and then test chair after chair.

"Greetings, father." Elladan walked ahead as his sire looked up at last.

Elrond gazed a moment at the assemblage before he stood and descended the stairs to meet them. He stopped first by his son. "Elladan, welcome you home." They did not embrace as Gilraen might expect, but each raised a hand to the other's cheek. Elladan lowered his face after a moment. Elrond's hand slid to the back of his neck; their heads touched briefly, then both straightened.

Then Elrond turned to Gilraen, and spoke in a clear voice, "And greetings to you, Gilraen daughter of Dírhael," he glanced at the boy scurrying across his hall, voice tinged with mirth to add, "and Aragorn son of Arathorn."

Reaching back to lessons from girlhood, Gilraen made as graceful a curtsey as her weariness and nervousness allowed. "I thank you, lord--" her mind became a wordless void. Aragorn pulled open another curtain. The flash of light helped. "You are so good to receive me and my son without forewarning, to meet with me like this." A better time to realize how she must smell like horses and look to have slept under one would have been before persuading Glorfindel to bring her here.

Elrohir had come from the dais to stand beside his father. The similarities between them distracted Gilraen from her own appearance. Like the twins, Elrond stood elven-tall and poised with the air of nobility; he too had thicker limbs in the manner of hearty Dúnedain. Not everything matched: though they shared the same ebony hair, Elrond's was sheared about his face, and his countenance reflected more memories dear and hard, in his eyes there dwelled deeper knowledge fain bought.

"What?" He had spoken unheard. Her cheeks burning, Gilraen bowed and said, "I beg your pardon, lord. What was that you said?"

"That sooner than you yourself, arrived word of your coming. Among other tidings." He took a breath and looked away, putting hand upon breast to meet her eyes again and say, "Gilraen, I offer my deepest condolences for your loss, indeed it is the loss of all our folk."

Able to nod, Gilraen did just that, and retrieved a note from the purse at her side. Elrond did not take it, did not even arch his eyebrow at her like Elladan, so she managed, "It's from my-- from Arathorn. Some of his last wishes, explaining things. Lord."

Elrond's head tilted to one side. She suppressed the suspicion that he tried to see any sense in her from another angle. "No one need be privy to your personal correspondences, good lady. I trust you shall relay aught of pertinence therein."

"Oh, but it is for you too, lord! He made me promise to bring it here, if--" still Elrond looked doubtful. Arms outstretched so he could not ignore, she unfolded the parchment herself as demonstration of how not personal, not intimate, and not private it really was. No sooner had she attempted to read the words aloud than the sting of budding tears threatened to burst forth beyond her control. Arathorn who would never write again had written it. Arathorn who would never return here had sent it. Dead Arathorn, slain Arathorn, who had never seemed so present, omnipresent, that Gilraen could not bear it.

Until she trusted her nerve enough to remove her hands that covered her face, she did not notice the note had vanished, or that Glorfindel rested his hand upon her shoulder in silent consolation.

Elrond sat again in that lone chair, Arathorn's letter held limp in one hand while his other clasped the armrest. If he had looked at her, she might have despaired, for his eyes were changed -- whatever transpired behind them, she could not fathom.

The voice of Elrond resonated throughout the hall. "Gilraen, hearken to me. I welcome you and your son into my home, for I am the Lord of Rivendell, and that is my privilege. Thus, Arathorn son of Arador had neither the obligation nor the power to beseech me that which is mine alone to grant, and that which has already been granted."

He sighed. In a low tone he continued, "That it has come to a state of ambiguity between our houses grieves me to learn. So swiftly do the memories of Men fade, and what once was certain dwindles ever to doubt. But it will be undone." When his eyes next found Gilraen, he smiled, and spoke as one who comforts a child afraid of thunder. "Do you not know? Whether youthful or aged, ever the Heirs of Isildur have found sanctuary within Rivendell, ever have Lords and Chieftains, Masters and Pupils, Wives and Mothers of the free people in the wide world sought here counsel or harborage or reprieve and received it, and lo! never complained. Is it such ancient history, of what I speak, hmm? Do not answer! I am that old." He laughed fair and strong.

For the first time in the longest week of her life, Gilraen relaxed. "That is indeed as most of our elders say. For his part, Arathorn remained utterly confident thereof. To others it is a matter of speculation, even disbelief. If you would know, or do not already, there are rumors of a rift between Rivendell and the Angle that caused relations to diminish, long ago. So as you say, lord, some doubt."

At length Elrond leaned forth, elbow to knee. "What dost thou say, Gilraen?"

She swallowed. "That-- I am with Arathorn, in all things."

"Forsooth! Fair spoken." He rose and descended the stairs light of foot, as though freed from some weight. "Arathorn himself spent a measure of his boyhood in my care; your trust in him, in the wisdom of his forefathers, is well-placed. For nine-hundred, fifty and seven years, my own trust in them has been redoubled which each of their wives that I meet." Careful to use the original creases, he refolded Arathorn's letter and presented it to her. "Welcome to Rivendell, at last."

Those memories of girlhood lessons gripped her, and having no better idea, Gilraen knelt. Slipping the missive away, she took Elrond's hands and kissed them. "I thank you, lord, with all my heart. But I have not spoken enough of my own mind, for this I came prepared to pledge on behalf of my son and myself: that until our debt is repaid, my services be devoted to you and your household."

"I hear you," said Elrond gravely. "This then is my charge: that for the kinship we share, you shall regard my home as your own, and that so long as you abide here, it is not without joy for you."

Gilraen looked up, incredulous. His eyes, keen as starlight, did not waver, and she found herself grappling for the courage to oppose him, to insist.

"A warning, good lady, for I have battled and won this same challenge since millennia past –- but strive with me if you will," said the ancient voice, and Gilraen heard laughter bubbling under the words, as a river that churns even beneath ice. She could not but smile. "Arise! In later days, we will meet again to discuss matters of import. Now, see to your own comfort, and that of your son." As Gilraen stood, Elrond passed a hand over her eyes. "Be in peace," he said, and inexplicably, she was.

Elrond moved then as if to return to his seat. Blinking out of her reflection, Gilraen realized where she yet stood, realizing next what she looked at.

Glorfindel stood within view, his smile broad and knowing. Motionless, Elrond faced the dais, head atilt and expression unknowable as he watched the child sitting contentedly upon his chair.

Aragorn's heels barely reached the edge of the seat, though his legs were fully stretched, and with arms extended he could just touch his hands to the armrests, where they held on more than rested. His pride in himself was obvious, just as his delight to have everyone's attention. This appeared to be his favorite seat in the chamber –- and he had sampled them all. Looking to Elrond, he smiled, innocent and sincere.

Thinking to fetch her son, Gilraen went forward, but dared venture no further than the foot of the dais' stairs. Suddenly Glorfindel laughed. "The child fancies himself a ruler, I think."

Elrond flinched as if startled. Gilraen saw his eyes widen. Each step separated by a longer pause, he ascended the stairs, and after a pause longest of all, Elrond knelt before his own throne.

*******

*******

How long they had stayed shut in their room, Gilraen could only guess. It should not be more than one day and a half, however odd it felt, shorter and not so, timeless. Elves had brought a hot meal with warm greetings that first evening.

"Of course you may choose to attend supper nonetheless. Master Elrond welcomes you to his table. But we heard that your child was restive and that you had baggage yet unpacked, and how you yourself must be weary after the journey."

At this point one of the pair shifted to see into the room, her fingers making a kneading motion in the air that Gilraen presumed was in response to Aragorn's form asleep on the bed. She thanked them and accepted their tray gratefully and bracing herself invited them to stay.

"No, no, we shall be going. For company, come you without, it is easy to find. Good night!"

Gilraen returned to where she sat, but not to sleep. It is true that Aragorn had grown fussy, enough so that the Elf giving them a tour of the house cut it short. The poor dear was only hungry and tired by then; Gilraen did not see why Elves who were not even present when Aragorn became stuck trying to climb into a vase or scared himself to tears getting his limbs twisted up in drapery should allude to such things. There was not even much baggage, either, so what difference it made that she had done more stifled crying than dutiful unpacking...

Gilraen sighed, ate something, and slept. When Aragorn woke, she fed him, washed him, entertained him, and they slept some more.

Now their belongings were in order, and the richness of the light signaled another day coming to its end. Gilraen resolved to set out before anyone came to her door again, wishing not to be waited upon. She almost convinced herself the decision had naught to do with their having finished the Elves' fare and all the foodstuffs stowed away in their gear.

While she tidied herself, Aragorn emptied drawers within reach, saying 'no no no' in her voice and clicking his tongue as she does whenever he puts things in their wrongful place. He moved to the armoire next, pulling on sleeves until garments fell to the ground. She let him. Cleaning up would give her something to do later.

Venturing out of the room, she found the house darker than expected. The sun had descended below the horizon of the gully walls, casting the valley in shadow. Gilraen tried to remember directions the tour-Elf had given. The door-Elves came clearer to mind. 'For company, come you without, it is easy to find.'

She stopped amidst an unfamiliar foyer in the failing light and wondered which way they had even come from.

"You are lost."

Turning, Gilraen beheld a tall Elf, fair of face and dark haired, but with a severity to her features that set her apart. Gilraen took no pride in being unable to tell one Elf from another thus far.

"No. Yes! Excuse me, hullo, I am Gilraen."

The Elf shook her head. "Well, Telmoth has found you, Gilraen." She eyed Aragorn, eventually smiling at the boy. "You seek the kitchens."

"Telmoth? How strange!"

The Elf raised her eyes. "Is it? I was named so in honor of my deeds on the last dusk of doubtful fighting in the Great Battle, when Eärendil slew Ancalagon ere dawn, and the Host of the Valar prevailed."

Gilraen blinked. "I meant, my old nursemaid, you see, her name was Luinmoth."

Rolling eyes and shoulders, the Elf turned aside and gestured. "Yes, strange. Now follow me to the kitchens. You missed supper proper, but we will get you fed nonetheless."

As she led the way, Gilraen made note of the course. Passing outside they approached a separate building that appeared at first to be a large chamber with many arching windows. Once closer Gilraen realized that it was not one room, but several arrayed in a circle. They entered, moving easily from one orderly room to another by interconnecting doorways. Gilraen was amazed to behold an area designated for each chore of cooking. Her own kitchen and that of her mother seemed little better than a campfire in comparison.

Last they came into a room aglow with firelight from many hearths. Over the furthest hung a black pot; its contents filled the room with an aroma of cumin and clove. A son of Elrond stood there, recognizable only by his stature until he turned, for his clothes were all different --dark trousers and a tunic the color of red wine-- and his hair worn unbound. Still, his face belonged to the same grey-clad warrior.

"Gilraen, well met." He did not limp coming forth, but both hands were bare. "I would not have looked for you here at this hour."

"Do not make her feel awkward," said Telmoth, accomplishing just that. "The hours we keep are not hers. So you have cooked, is there plenty? You will see to the needs of your father's guests, yes? Good." Telmoth turned to leave, lowered her gaze to Aragorn, then added over her shoulder, "Oh Elladan, there are small spoons in that shallow drawer." To Gilraen, "Eat well, and good night!"

When the Elf had gone, Elladan stretched his neck, sighed, and beckoned to Gilraen with a relieved expression. "She can be... that way. Now please, come and be seated."

Gilraen only went to get Aragorn seated, but before she could do aught else, Elladan had put a steaming bowl before her son. Without another thought towards helping him, she sat to oversee that Aragorn not burn himself eating too fast. The table set, Elladan joined them moments later. They ate in silence. When Aragorn started on a second ladle of stew, Gilraen took the opportunity to say, "He rarely eats so much at one sitting. It must be your skill with spices."

He either missed the compliment or wanted it not. "The traveling and excitement, more likely." He went to a cabinet and returned with a dark bottle and two glasses. His expression grew pensive as he poured. "Normally, there would be some minor celebration upon our homecoming, my brother and I. Even," he gestured to his thigh, and sat again with a slight wince, "if we fare poorly." Heavy silence fell. "The Elves here, though, however they may relish merrymaking, have adopted this as a time of mourning for Arathorn Dúnedain Chieftain, on behalf of the kinship between your house and that of Elrond-- of us, we Halfelven. For myself," he grasped the goblet that had been the long target of his intense regard, "I would celebrate, in this way."

Gilraen had begun to reach for her own wine, until the word 'celebrate' passed his lips in the same breath as Arathorn's name, of his death.

Elladan went on, "If your folk have a different custom with such things, I am unfamiliar with it. So I raise my glass to your husband in honour and remembrance, and to you his widow in sympathy and welcome. During dark times my people will say: Aurë entuluva, which is 'Day shall come again'. May you find some comfort in that, may you find some peace here, and may it be enough."

Nearly spilling its contents, she grabbed the cup so quickly, Gilraen returned his gesture of raised glass, and drank. While he bowed his head, she wiped her eyes dry, and utterly forgave his small offense of interpreting Sindarin for her.

When their glasses were drained and Aragorn slept with his head upon her shoulder, Elladan cleared the table and extinguished the hearth fire. Through the nearest window, Gilraen could see one lamp aglow in the distance, and little else. Even as she fretted over the darkness, he came to her side. "I will escort you to your room."

Indeed, Elladan navigated so well through the darkened hallways that Gilraen soon lost sight of him. She waited in place, and after a moment, cleared her throat. Another moment and he returned to say, "Forgive me. They shall begin to light the sconces at night again."

Thereafter he walked slower, and rested his hand upon her shoulder in guidance. Suddenly he paused. Gilraen heard it too: a musical voice incanting. She sensed Elladan shift beside her. "I-- unless you mind, I would stop here briefly."

She shook her head that Aragorn not wake to her voice. Elladan led them then to the side, there might have been grass under her feet. They halted where a slit of firelight escaped under a door to reach across the floor.

Elladan opened the door and entered. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she made out a bedchamber of sorts. A figure lay prone upon a bed, nude save for a draping over his thighs. Candlelight reflected off of the bronze band circling his thumb. Ugly bruises riddled Elrohir's shoulders and back, some marks rimmed by red crescents where the skin had been broken.

Focused upon his son, Elrond sat on the bedside. He did some manner of work, though he held no tools; if this were a healing act of the wounded, it made the first bloodless example Gilraen had beheld. His hands moved in unpredictable but aesthetic patterns over the marred portions, sometimes pausing or seeming to apply pressure. Elrohir's expression remained untroubled as if in sleep, breathing deep and even.

Neither of them appeared to notice that the door had opened, moreover, not that Gilraen stood beside the threshold blushing, for which she felt immense gratitude. She retreated to stand back against the outside wall, enjoying the sweet smell of athelas that wafted from within, and making every effort to ignore the exchange between father and son while it lasted.

"We may go." Elladan had emerged. "Thank you."

One more traipse through near blindness, and Gilraen was back in her room. Or so Elladan assured her, and lit a lamp to prove it. He opened his mouth to speak, looked once and twice and stared wordless at the mess of the place, and then raised his eyebrow instead.

"My son. I let him, it's all right, I'll straighten up in the morning."

"Ah. Well, good night to you both then."

"Excuse me. I did not want to intrude, else I would have wished your brother well. I could not help but see his wounds. Shall he, that is--" how not to insult Elrond's ability or Elrohir's fortitude.

"He will recover, yes.

"I'm glad. Did you say already? How was he hurt?"

The reply came solemn and low. "He was trampled by a riderless horse."

"Palaber."

Elladan set the lamp beside her bed. "Good night, Gilraen."

"No," she said long after he had gone. "It is not."

********

*******

Inside was a whirlwind of singing and dancing. The evening had begun mild enough at Elrond's table; after supper, the household gravitated to the Hall of Fire for a night of storytelling and songs. It would be Gilraen's first visit there, since her arrival the week prior. She recalled noticing a particularly brilliant gleam in Lindir's eye, as they walked among the procession towards the Hall. Soon enough therein, she had been captivated by the tales that were told, enchanted by the talents of the elvish minstrels, whose voices depicted events terrible and splendid as if she watched the happenings unfold before her eyes.

And there had been mead served round, and wine, and ale -- then thanks to Lindir and others of similar mood, dancing followed, round and round some more.

Outside, Gilraen retched again, and staggering out of the shrubbery knelt by the fountain in the courtyard. She leaned over the stone and cleansed her mouth of its foul taste before sinking depleted and queasy to the ground, a damp hand pressed to cool her head.

"You should retire."

Gilraen's initial response surfaced in a groan, but then she replied, "And I would, but I left my son asleep in the Hall of Fire. I must return there." The illness came so suddenly that she only had time to see Aragorn still asleep upon a pillow before rushing herself outside. Once in the fresh air, there had been a deceptive moment when her stomach settled. Three steps later she was 'feeding the flies', as the men in her family would call it.

Telmoth came closer, offering Gilraen her hand. "One must be wary of the good intentions of Elves, when Elves intend to help one become good and inebriated."

Gilraen took the offered hand and stood. "I notice the plentiful beverages have not affected you adversely."

Telmoth shrugged. "And in truth, I noticed that you had partaken of little drink save water. But never mind, if you wish not to speak of it."

They walked together back to the Hall of Fire. Gilraen stopped before the entryway. "Good as the food is, I am unused to Elven fare. And this week has been full of turmoil and worrying." She looked to Telmoth. "I would not wish anyone to fret over me, or make any changes on my account."

"I think that I alone marked your hasty departure, and I will not speak of its-- outcome. All the same, a strange thing. Few have ever been ill in Rivendell," here she eyed Gilraen, "leastwise not without bodily cause."

Gilraen raised her chin. "I believe that of your hearty folk. But I am mortal."

Telmoth tossed her head. Among Elves, Gilraen had begun to recognize that as an indication of annoyance. "Elves do not ail, lady, save by injury or foul craft. I spoke indeed of the mortals who have taken residence here in times past. Few suffered any affliction."

Grown less confident, Gilraen shifted. "What of those who did?"

"We used them as fishing bait," said Telmoth unsmiling. "But not until after Master Elrond declared they had no chance of recovery."

"Hmph. That explains much." At the Elf's arched brows, Gilraen said, "Bad bait. You've all been eating tainted fish."

It took a while. Then Telmoth grinned lopsided, her eyes narrowing approvingly. "In honor of your wit, I shall make seem foolish the next Elf who still thinks it clever to say Slowborn instead of Secondborn after all these Ages. There is one now." Someone beckoned to Telmoth from the crowd. "Excuse me."

Musing on the elvish sense of humor and compliment, Gilraen went to join her son beside his pillow. He slept just as she had left him. At last, the Elves ceased their dancing, and the minstrels played their instruments soft and slowly. Some Elves sat on the floor or in chairs and others stood; but all gathered round to hear.

From her position, Gilraen could not see who began to speak. She guessed the familiar voice to be from Lindir. His light tones came subdued, the mood turned akin to the fire in the great hearth, all ethereal power of nature. In Sindarin, he wove his tale without the fluidity she would expect. As his words flickered, think wisps of smoke danced through the air. It seemed that there was a mist before her eyes. Then it was dusk in the Angle.

The rain began lightly, but soon beat upon the porch like a patter of drums. She stood against the house, barely out of the storm, heedless of its chill. Lightning turned night to day, rain to crystal, shadows alight. He waved to her as he passed on horseback, headed to the barn. Under thunder like a clapping of godly hands, she waited. Soon he came running to stand before her, drenched and shivering. She could not stop her laughter in time. His eyes, smoldering gray, twinkled with amusement betraying his feigned offense. He looked like a soggy bear, she said, shaking in its own fur. Growling he embraced her, fangs bared proudly with her gasp of surprise at the shared cold and wet. Now, he said, they would both need to undress.

All quiet in the house, all homely, all their own. Aragorn slept upon the only bed in the only bedroom. They took to the couch, and each other. Eagerly he bore her down, but with gentle hands that made sure that her head lie upon a pillow. She could not feel the calluses, though they had been there. Not a soggy bear anymore, she said, stripping him of leather and cloth, running her fingers through the coarse fur underneath, feeling the familiar hide respond to her fingertips, loosening here and hardening there. Not sodden, but still a bear, he said, and a hungry one at that. To prove it he feasted upon her, inside and out, his prey willing and delicious, always. A harper however skilled could not have kept pace with them in that hour.

The sensation was gone. The memory was stronger. Therein his scent, heady and raw as the forest after a flood, mingled with brimstone -– yet the hearth had been unlit. Things were not quite as they had been. Things would never be the same. Later he returned from their bedchamber with dry clothes. They dressed. He ate. She talked. Finished and reclined, there sat a note upon the table where his hand had rested. For her to read, he said, in case of the worst. She refused, did not want it, would not need it, could not take it. He told her to give it back to him, when he returned, and if he did returned not, to give it to Elrond Halfelven in Rivendell, a place free and fair between the mountains and the sea. Take this burden as a gift from me, he said, for the promise held more meaning than the possibility. The promise was meaningless without the possibility. So she vowed to go, to follow Eärendil's star even if she rode into darkness.

"...in Mordor, where the shadows are."

Not thunder now, or before, but applause. Gilraen sat up in a start. She blinked a moment at the pillow her head had rested upon, and quickly wiped dampness from her cheeks. Beyond her sat Elrond upon his lone seat, a harp in his hands, and his eyes evenly upon her. Clear gray reflected the firelight like lightning in the evening sky where shone rain unshed.

"Ah, but the Fall of Gil-galad is a saddening lay, is it not?" said one Elf to another as they passed by.

*******

*******

Gilraen was getting dressed when she heard a thump and Aragorn squeal.

"Nanaaa!"

He must be trying to get at the door again, despite that footstool she kept in front of it to deter him. "Wait, Aragorn, I'll make it better-- where are you?" Half-dressed, she ran to see the damage.

The footstool was on its side and the door wide open. Aragorn danced on the threshold with a carved wooden device clutched to his chest. Gilraen laughed. "Another gift for you, Aragorn, another? We shall need a bigger toy chest soon!"

A bow of ribbon was tied at the top; this Aragorn urged her to remove, for 'no no no' and 'tsk tsk tsk' it simply did not belong. That remedied, Gilraen watched to see what he would do with it. Children have a way of finding simplicity in the most complicated things. He only beamed admiringly. Its function remained a mystery to her also.

Aragorn insisted on bringing his present along when they proceeded to the banquet hall where the morning fare would be set out. The sons of Elrond sat at one table, and Aragorn raced to join them.

"Hullo, Aragorn!" one called, then greeted Gilraen while his brother bowed head and raised glass. Both stood when Gilraen came to the table after fixing a plate for her son.

While Aragorn was busy displaying and explaining his new plaything --with more hand movements than words, and the language mixed Sindarin and Westron-- Gilraen determined which twin wore the bronze ring. Aragorn had sat himself next to Elrohir, then, who listened with apparent understanding to his garbled speech and unspoken meaning.

Finally, she persuaded him to put his gift aside and feed himself. "When he is very excited he forgets his words," Gilraen felt compelled to say. Elves taking her for unlearned she could tolerate, but Aragorn knew his letters better than he let on.

"Not many that I missed," said Elrohir, and regarding her son, "but you are a clever lad for knowing a second language so young, hmm?"

"Oh, that was his own doing," said Gilraen, glad for the conversation. "We taught him Westron for his first year, but he loves songs of lore, elvish ones being his favorite. So we taught him some Sindarin words to use, and he kept gathering more and more from daily talk." She added, "He will need little tutorage from me, I think, after a while in this place." Neither twin flinched. "Though I had looked forward to teaching him, since he delights in it." Well, if they still reverted to their native tongue for privacy in her presence --if they ever had-- any future embarrassment would be their own fault.

Elladan stirred at last. "Be sure of that, lady, before you let Elrond hear it!"

His brother slapped palm to table. "Ha! Truly, else father will have him learning Quenya next."

"Then Nandorin, Andûnaic--"

"And then Aragorn will have a holiday from his lessons to celebrate his third begetting day!" Elrohir had his father's laugh, and filled the hall with it.

"Beget--? Aragorn, eat please." He wrinkled his nose and it took a Look from her before he released his toy to obey.

Composed, Elrohir said, "Well do I remember that advice from my own mother."

"It was elective?" murmured Elladan.

"She must have been diligent," Gilraen said smiling, "for you two are grown tall and strong from those uninterrupted meals."

In play, Elrohir made a fist to tense his arm. The resulting bulge seemed satisfactory. "Once again, mother knows best." Aragorn was familiar with this custom of flexing one's muscles, and he strained his own biceps for show, growling with teeth bared as his relatives would do. "Ho!" Elrohir put up his hands, "And here sits a mighty babe in his own right. Peace to you, young master."

"Greetings, mother and son." Aragorn made a podium of his seat and started again with the toy for Elrond's benefit. That concluded, he said, "Does the morning meet you well, Gilraen?"

She carefully did not glance at the contents of her own plate, mostly untouched. "So well that I could desire nothing more."

He gestured to her son. "And, have you and your child plans for this day?"

Here she brightened, guessing that at last Elrond would talk with her of such matters that had been left unaddressed. "Not as you would regard it, I think. These past days I have wandered your fine home, lord, making it my hobby to learn the schedule of the household's staff. Yet I think I would not be missed."

"Then walk with me! And if you wish, questions you have yet held in silence will be answered." Gilraen gathered Aragorn to her and they headed out. Elrond paused briefly by his sons. "Be mindful," he said, and both nodded.

Afterwards, they walked at leisure. Singing and happy, Aragorn skipped ahead and about with toy in hand, until at one point he quieted and went still, his face intent but looking at something Gilraen could not see. At her question, he ran back to fetch her.

"What, Aragorn, what is it?" By the wrist, he led her to a vantage off the path where a portion of the road was visible in the distance below. Aragorn pointed, and as if not knowing what else to do with that hand, waved. "See you."

"Later, Aragorn, maybe later we'll go that way to see." Elrond joined them. "He's been doing this since we left home," said Gilraen. "I don't-- that is, I know why. It's just I know not what to do, or say."

Elrond knelt, and said nothing; but Aragorn took his gaze off the empty road, and after consideration, took Elrond's empty hand instead. Soon Aragorn resumed his role as minstrel as they walked, then as bug hunter.

"Your patience in these past weeks has been greatly appreciated," said Elrond. "I apologize for my absence during much of that time."

Taken aback, Gilraen exclaimed, "Weeks!" The passing of time had failed to occur to her.

With a sidelong glance he smiled, appearing very much like each of his sons in that moment, politic and playful. "Aye, threefold." He went on unexpectedly, "How much is recorded and taught among your folk concerning the former Chieftains of the Dúnedain?"

Twice baffled, Gilraen began cursorily, pressed for more, else, other, and details besides. The conversation resembled a history lesson before the end, at which time Elrond sighed, and fell pensive. They were now amid a garden with stone benches and statues; a place of quiet reflection, it seemed.

Aragorn found a bench good to play on, and Gilraen watched him at his game, trying to keep unobtrusive until Elrond came around. From a distance, strange sounds echoed like a beating of wood against wood, and occasionally a voice arose. Wondering if Elrond would comment upon these noises, she turned. It appeared he already waited for her attention.

"Well," he said, and clapped his hands once, "now you shall have a pleasant surprise, I think. Come, it is but a short way." He began to walk at once.

Gathering Aragorn, she followed. Elrond stood beside a trellis and gestured farther, but gave no indication that he would lead or follow. Gilraen passed him to see around the lattice... "Artanal!"

Artanal straightened from his examination of a sundial. "Well, what timing! I just arrived myself." They joined to embrace, Aragorn giving muffled protests from his smothered position between them. "Good to see you, cousin. And you lad!" He ruffled Aragorn's hair, eliciting a squeal from him. "Have you grown already? Let me see-- ah, maybe I could tell by feeling your bones, yes?" He took him in arm to spare Gilraen his kicking feet, and tickled him. She laughed along with them, despite a pang of guilt. Aragorn had not laughed like that since coming here.

Beyond Artanal, she saw that Valcirion approached. Gilraen had not seen the grizzled commander since Aragorn was newly born. The years had not changed him: he trod unforgiving on a permanent limp, and looked out at the world under a brow that held ransom the old strength his hands remembered from youth. If still fierce with a blade, he was doubly sharp of mind. For few others than Dírhael's daughter, Valcirion always spared half a smile that reached up with crow's feet to pull shut one eye.

"Hail Gilraen! You are looking young, my dear."

He had said so since her girlhood. "Valcirion, well met. I am glad you came."

He looked closely upon her, then Aragorn, and parted with the other half of his smile. "I see your son is growing well. It has been long since our last meeting. Too long, but nothing for it now. Pardon my lateness getting here," he motioned whence he came, "some Elves caught me. Were you waiting?"

"Oh, I've not been marking the time anyway." Gilraen glanced at the sundial. Noon already. "But when did you arrive?"

"Yestereve, shortly after dusk."

Artanal asked the question the answer to which Valcirion commenced staring out of Gilraen. "Have you been unwell? They told us you had retired early, and we were-- encouraged not to disturb you."

"Elves are poor judges of such matters. Aragorn had been restless the night before. We were both tired, that's all." Not untrue, any of it. She lifted her chin.

Artanal visibly relaxed. Valcirion said, "It was no Elf, but the Halfelven himself."

"Nevertheless, I am quite fine. Now tell me how the Angle fares!"

They spoke then of many things. Valcirion explained how the ranks were newly organized, and elaborated on how those promoted were adjusting to the new order of command. It all sounded well in order to Gilraen, but Valcirion sniffed. "It is early yet. They'll learn." Artanal had a more cheerful tale: Gilbarad's second child had been born healthy and the mother endured without complications.

"A boy pleased both parents greatly, but I think little Ambeth could have been happier." Artanal grinned. "A baby sister she had in mind, so I heard, and one who cries less during the night and gets less of mother's attention by day."

Gilraen smiled, imagining the young girl's nose wrinkled in disapproval. "What is the boy's name?"

"Halbarad."

Halbarad. The playmate Aragorn would have grown up with. Something else caught her attention, and she welcomed the distraction. "Since we spoke of noise..."

"Have you not seen before? They're sparring in the field below with sticks for weapons." Valcirion moved to a short stone wall nearby. "Fascinating to watch, if a strange practice." He beckoned for her to look, and Artanal shifted that direction, but he still held Aragorn. Gilraen moved quick to halt him.

"No, no! If someone sees such a thing, someone will demand a closer view, and then someone will be in no mood for his midday n-a-p."

Laughing Artanal nodded, and set Aragorn down. With his sight blocked by the stone, Gilraen walked forward and looked beyond. "Elrond's sons," said Artanal admiringly, then he sighed. "Well, if I had forever I might develop such prowess."

Valcirion added dryly, "Expert or not, I would keep my shirt on."

"The cane bites bare flesh harder than linen. You will see them need little reminding." Elrond was smiling down at Aragorn as all turned to him startled: his approach had been utterly silent.

"Surprise indeed, Master Elrond, and certainly a pleasant one!" Gilraen came away from the wall. "Had you arranged for us all to meet here in secret?"

"That depends on whether or not your kinsmen guessed my intentions." Looking up from her son, his smile remained. "I see that Aragorn has forgotten his puzzle box. Might I accompany him to fetch it?"

Gilraen guessed he was offering privacy to his guests. "With my thanks. But should he ask for me--" He nodded, no doubt as used to children as their vigilant mothers. Nonetheless, Gilraen watched as he guided Aragorn back towards the garden.

"I meant to ask how you've been faring in this dwelling," said Valcirion, "and with its residents. You know, I'd have kept Artanal along, at least."

"In truth, maybe I should have," she said. "It's been weeks now, and I still wonder which is stranger, the place or the people. But we've fared well enough, and better with time. Even the least sociable Elves are courteous, while most relish company. And Aragorn-- well, he knows. Not what, I think, but he knows something. There are days I struggle to get a smile out of him, and days when he acts as though nothing were amiss. Roads stop him in his tracks, he wants the door open all the time, and there's this way he looks at people, face first, as though--" the men were staring at her. She smoothed down her skirt, and hoped, her expression along with it.

"Go on."

"He likes our things to stay packed too. That’s all." She gestured to Elrond's sons, and could summon a smile. "Ah! Then there are the twins. Aragorn has taken a liking to Elrohir in particular, I think to the delight of them both. Elladan is quieter, but I can tell he has genuine interest in his brother's affairs. Though they have their own concerns for certain, it's my hope that Aragorn might come to look to them as--" Valcirion was frowning and tense in the shoulders; beside him, Artanal chewed on his beard. "What is it?"

The older man shifted. "Elrond's sons intend to depart no later than Artanal and I do. They ride again to the north, so they said."

"To the north." How could he bear the thought, if Elrond knew his sons would likely pass Arathorn's grave on their errand. She reached for her shall that she had not donned, instead crossing her arms against a chill. "I see. Well, that is a shame."

Valcirion continued, "But I know naught of their plans in detail. Mayhap they intend to return soon."

"In any event, you will be seeing more of us mortals from the Angle," said Artanal, and waited. "That is, scheduled trading shall be reinitiated."

Gilraen had not moved, trying her hardest not to feel upset as she watched the twins, knowing now that they did not care to stay. Aragorn would learn to be fond of no one.

Louder, Valcirion said, "Elrond taught us a lesson, you could say. A strange feeling to have my own peoples' history clarified for me, by one with a face younger-looking than my own, no less. But I am glad and fortunate to learn from the wise. Did you hear, Gilraen-- about Aravorn?"

She stirred. Aravorn whom Elrond had reared from childhood, and Aravorn's son whom Elrond was too politic to name arrogant. "Yes, he told me, just this morning."

"Well, I too was aware of those tales in large part, and knew of Arassuil's effort to reestablish closer relations twixt—-" Valcirion went on at length about former Chieftains and their trials and endeavors and untimely ends.

Reminded of her son, Gilraen only grew restless. When it seemed Valcirion would never cease, she cut in, "One disgruntled Chieftain's son who tried things differently in his day than his father and failed, and too few of our people over too many leagues and maybe some less good-intentioned than others making rumors out of history. And Elves here who could have been more diligent with minding how things were changing as time passed beyond." She tried to ease his surprised look with a smile. "Have I left aught out?"

"Only the part where you became so inclined to this sort of thing. Here I thought I was boring you."

To keep from laughing, Gilraen said, "Actually, I left this out: that I sense something unsaid regarding the lifelong closeness of Aravorn here, yet that his own son grew estranged. Master Elrond had plenty else to discuss with me though. I did not press him on that one thing."

Valcirion nodded slowly. "Maybe you will have the chance later. For now, if you both would excuse me, I'm supposed to meet that Elf, the outspoken one-- Telmoth, about some arrangements. I understand she prepares these things in Elrond's stead."

Finally, Gilraen was on her way back to her son. Artanal came along.

"He was pleasantly surprised that we looked to him for promotion," said Artanal, "and has not stopped preening since."

"Mmm. I would say he's earned it."

"So do we, so do we. What's on your mind?"

Gilraen stopped and sighed. It took conscious effort not to look back to where the twins sparred beyond. "That I cannot read the hearts of these people, and I tire of guessing wrong. I hope Valcirion knows what he does."

"Of course! Else we will retire him. Beregost was second choice, you know. But I only jest." Artanal looked intently upon her, a few more lines around his eyes than she remembered. "Is there something else?"

"No. Let's go."

They came into the garden then. Across the way, Elrond sat beside Aragorn on a bench. From behind, the clacking of wood against wood echoed again. Quietly, Artanal said, "I'm sorry you were disappointed to hear of their plans. Valcirion and I hadn't imagined Aragorn was grown fond of them." He shifted, jerked his head. "Maybe there are others he might look to?"

Once seeing Aragorn content, Gilraen let her attention wander. Somewhere here, she had come upon a room rowed with looms before windows side by side overlooking a field without sheep. For some reason, or none, it reminded her of newborn Halbarad with no playmate; of her old home that Artanal would soon take up with his new bride, but no children. "Can there be no reconciliation?"

Artanal made a sound. "Are you even looking?"

She did now. Aragorn was watching intensely as Elrond twisted the wooden toy a certain way, until the device came apart in two pieces. Her son gasped, and Elrond laughed as the boy grabbed both pieces for careful examination. At a loss, Aragorn offered them back, eyes pleading that the problem be solved. Elrond took the puzzle, and slowly slid the halves together.

A determined look on his small face, Aragorn seized the box. After a moment of fierce struggling, Elrond laid hands over his to guide their movements. The puzzle slid apart. With kicking feet, Aragorn bounced as they assembled the puzzled once more. Laughing, he forsook his place on the bench for a seat on Elrond's lap. "See you!"

"That's what I meant." He nudged her. "What do you think?"

"My son-- has a way with words, doesn't he."

"Right. Well come on then. I want to see if I can have one of those made for Ambeth to cheer her up."

*******

*******

Gilraen slipped into the dim chamber after deciding at length not to knock first, and then approached the dais while deciding against the words she had composed at last. Elrond sat upon his chair, as Telmoth assured her he would.

"Even at nighttime?"

"Especially at nighttime. Now go; I think you would not love the hike to find him at dawn."

Elrond raised his left hand, and Gilraen froze, starting from movement beside her. Telmoth failed to mention that he would be with company, and Gilraen had heard no conversation while she paced outside; but two Elves stood from chairs on either side of the hall and departed without sound.

Once they were gone, she said, "Forgive me, lord, I didn't know-- Telmoth said I could find you here."

"And you have." His moon-illuminated face seemed pale, countenance still as the breath before a yawn, poised on the brink of weariness. A part of her knew that she was staring, but that stare being returned, she was powerless to look away.

The spell broke when Elrond spoke again. "It is good that you have come. I myself wished to speak with you."

"Oh, then would you speak first?" She observed her feet to say, "That is, I invite you to speak first, of course."

"As you wish. Gilraen, I am in doubt and troubled, for it has come into my knowledge that the Enemy is seeking to discover the Heir of Isildur." Elrond must have seen her alarmed flinch; he raised his hands to lower them slowly. "Even in the time of Arador Arathorn's father, did we become aware of the threat. Yet for Arathorn, he feared not for himself, but rather for his son. I too foresaw this day." Those hands spread to the armrests and held fast. "Aragorn. What then, is to be done with Aragorn?"

Her skirt would never lay the same after so much nervous wringing. "Is he not protected here?"

"He is."

"Then if he needs never leave to remain safe, let him stay, I beg you!"

"Indeed, he must leave, lest the Enemy prevail that the Heir of Isildur be no more than memory."

Gilraen had not been breathing, and dedicated a moment just to that. Elrond at least seemed beyond air. "What is the answer to this riddle?"

"You ask how I would solve it." If possible, his expression grew more unfathomable, and his gaze upon her more intense. "He must not be Aragorn son of Arathorn."

She considered that for a fair duration, at the end of which, being no less puzzled, she said, "What?"

Elrond looked away and back at her, somehow plainer, yet urgent now, secret. "I will name him. I will foster him. I will harbor him. His great and high lineage, the heirlooms of his house, what destiny he may fulfill or which doom may engulf him, I must withhold. When the time comes, I will reveal him. One day, he will reveal himself. And revealed in him, maybe, hope for awhile." He sat back, slumped as an old man tired and uncertain who sighed and straightened ageless and hale again. "If you would have it so. If not-- I cannot say. There is no one and simple solution."

Gilraen brought herself closer. "I would have it so."

"Think on it."

"There is no need! You are foresighted, lord, are you not?" He had turned his face away, but inclined his chin. Even that small confirmation, she did not wait for. "I trust your wisdom."

Covering his eyes, he said, "Nonetheless my heart misgives me."

"Mine does not, and I myself have a measure of foresight--" He was shaking his head, as one stranded at crossroads and each path swathed in shadow. "Will you not tell me your mind, lord? I might-- try to help."

Elrond stared a moment into his palm before passing that hand over his face to say, "That I do unto your son in fear what once was done unto me in evil, and that I be little the better for it, and him as thankless. For verily, Gilraen, I too was an orphan, but unlike your son, old enough to remember my sire and to refuse the strange name in a foreign tongue appointed to me by those who would take his place. If that is to be Aragorn's fate, to bear a new name and to forget his father, it is a decision hard in the making for me."

"Well, it is my decision to make," she said, and steeled her nerve to withstand his look. "Now that I have heard your counsel, lord, and weighed it against my own, this indeed seems wisest. Therefore I say, yes. And if any evil comes of these good intentions, which I think unlikely, may your conscience at least be clear."

"You speak gravely," he said, and spoke for himself neither gravely or otherwise until Gilraen stood shivering in the growing cold. There would be one last freeze before spring, it seemed, and this hour was its herald. "So be it." Finally, Elrond stood. He came down from the dais, seeming to have left many cares upon it. "My chambers are warmer," he said, and smiling took Gilraen's chilled hand in the manner of formal escort. "Let us see about you there."

***

Gilraen squeezed feeling back into her fingers in front of the hearth. An Elf had been busy tending the fire and a kettle suspended over it when they entered. Now he was somewhere else in the room with Elrond while she waited. She had waited too long already; but when it came to it, almost she would wait just another day, and another or so.

The doors left open now closed behind the Elf. Elrond appeared at her side and peered inside the kettle before adding long leaves to the brew. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw him shrug off the mantle that he wore and set it aside. Certain after a moment that he looked straight at her, she turned.

His head tilted. "Are you cold still?"

"No." She forced her hands to quit fidgeting. "No."

"Well," he gestured, "I am going to sit down, and you are welcome to join me."

She went after him to a couch that faced the hearth. Twice she opened her mouth without managing a word before glancing defeated to Elrond beside her. He watched the fire, apparently as comfortable in the silence as she felt the opposite. Still, his calm had a calming effect of its own.

"I guess you know already what it is that I have to say on my own behalf."

Elrond looked at her sidelong and shrewd. "Truly, few have ever happened upon Rivendell unbeknownst to me."

She felt a surge of something not quite joy or relief, and failed again to speak. All she had were some symptoms, her own suspicion, and Telmoth's insistence that Elrond could perceive that which otherwise only time would tell.

"I make no assumptions, lord, but Aragorn is still so young, with another child, I would need help. There is someone in the Angle, perhaps, who would come to assist, or my own mother; but that means more guests in your home, and you have refused recompense. Even if someone here were to offer--"

"Gilraen." He held her gaze until she stopped fidgeting and started it up again. At length he sighed, resting a hand upon her shoulder. "I am sorry. Among the Firstborn in this Age, one child alone would be regarded as a boon; but ever have the Secondborn surpassed us in this. It might have been thus for you, if only. I am sorry."

Gilraen had ceased listening, and could not be bothered to feel badly for it until the warm cup placed in her hands returned her empty stare. Elrond stood beside the fire nursing his own tea. Though he had removed his outer tunic, Gilraen could only now feel all ten toes aright. "Telmoth insisted that I come to you. She assured me there was none other this side of the Mountains qualified. You must think me foolish, imagining things."

He came and knelt before her. "You have not imagined these symptoms afflicting you."

"Oh, I feel fine-- well, considering." Realizing he had been holding out his hand, she belatedly rested hers atop it. Elrond shifted to hold her wrist in his palm, and his eyes seemed to unfocus before drifting shut. "My mother's sister was widowed at a young age. She caught heart sickness, or so they called it, I was young. She had no children at the time. She remarried. Should I be silent?"

"The Elves call it Sea longing," he murmured, "but it is similar." Blinking, he regarded her once more. "Is it your son?"

"Yes. No. I don't know." She laughed, and when he did not, blushed. "What is the opinion of my esteemed physician?"

"This riddle I cannot solve for you, Gilraen." He stood, and took her cup to put away. When he sat back aside her, he said, "Though I might try to help. Will you not tell me your mind, lady?"

Gilraen might never quite fathom elvish humor, but at least she could detect it. She rubbed her hands upon knees twitching over her tapping feet. "My husband, beloved and lost, and my son, last of his line. This great place that I have not even small place in, with too much time and too little to do. I never fretted so, about nothing and everything, before coming here. That was all so disrespectful to say. Forgive me."

"And you think having more concerns will lessen your worry?"

The question seemed genuine. What kind of spoiled Chieftains' wives had loafed here before her, she would rather not know. "Maybe. Or better that I worry over concerns I can affect."

"Yet, I cannot have you assigned responsibilities belonging to others." She took a breath to argue, realized that she presumed to argue with the Lord of Rivendell, and bowed her head instead. He said on, "Therefore since you desire an occupation, you must serve as emissary between my house and that of your kinsmen, for it is the only function in Rivendell now unfilled."

Her calculated reply surfaced as a strangled noise. "What? I know not how!"

"You would be taught."

It seemed plain and simple to him. Gilraen nigh panicked. To profess herself unable to learn would be to refute his ability to teach. To claim the responsibility too great would be to challenge his judgment in appointing her. Without showing disrespect in some form, what to say. "Are there no others, lord, ah, more qualified, that you might prefer?"

"It is owing to your very presence that this duty exists. Thus it belongs to you more than anyone. For my part, I will do all that I can, as ever. But would you not help me?" His hand held hers now, so gentle that Gilraen could not but notice how easily she could sever that connection.

"Yes, of course. How should I begin?"

Glancing to a window, Elrond said, "You have already, by taking it into consideration. Let that suffice at present. I will keep you from your rest no longer."

When they stood, he slipped a pouch into her grasp. "The recipe you drank earlier. It will steady your stomach, and help you sleep." They parted at his door with words Gilraen did not remember as she found her room in a daze of revelations and change. Her son slept as she had left him.

Telmoth sat in a chair beside the bed. The Elf rose, and Gilraen half expected a quip about nonexistent illnesses and the silliness of mortals. Instead Telmoth came to embrace her, saying softly, "I am sorry, child." Gilraen felt less sorry than expected; but her gaze rested upon her son, and it was hard to wish for more. "Aragorn sleeps in peace," Telmoth continued, "and I shall leave you to yours. Good night." By the door, she added, "Do you remember where my own room is? I do not sleep deeply. If there is anything you need."

Before long, her gaze found a window nearby, and those parting words outside Elrond's chamber returned to her.

"Put your care upon hope, Gilraen, and hope upon your son."

*******

******

Gilraen woke fast of heart as her last desperate grasp of a dream or vision slipped away. Only foreboding remained. She consulted the window for some sense of what today might bring. The weather had cleared after a night of summer thunderstorms, leaving greenery more vibrant and sweet smelling with the dawn. Already Elvish singing echoed down the hallways as the household began chores.

Waking her son, she readied him for the day, anticipating a knock on the door. Occasionally Elrond sent word to suspend the morning's activities. Gilraen had ceased inquiring towards his reasons even casually, for none would specify. "He is required elsewhere," went the usual explanation, followed by an invitation to some other occupation. No messenger came.

Estel squealing from the doorway startled her out of preoccupation. Realizing what her difficulty had been, she put the right foot into the right shoe. "What is it today, Estel?"

"Horsy!"

Once dressed, she came to the hall in time to watch the second race conclude. Estel galloped to a stop before her and presented the winner, a fine steed carved of driftwood that, her son explained, would be too lonely if left behind during breakfast, being a horse -- which apparently made perfect sense to him.

As they went, Gilraen watched Estel frolic ahead and remembered seeing driftwood in the storehouses' supply earlier that month. Telmoth might know when it had arrived in Rivendell, or who brought it. Such information could prove vital in Gilraen's quest to discover who had been responsible for the many gifts left for her son over the months.

In the banquet hall, Elrond was not among those breakfasting. After seating her son with a meal, Gilraen approached Lindir where he sat, who often carried messages. "I do not think Master Elrond would leave you to wonder," said the Elf. "And I've heard of no changes to this morrow. But why do you ask?"

Smiling, Gilraen replied with an elvish adage: "Just something the wind said." Lindir chuckled until she returned to Estel, and then relayed their exchange to the next Elf who came in. If he noticed her evasiveness, she noticed he only answered for the morning.

Later, they met Elrond in the library. Still on watch for anything abnormal, she only noticed that he seemed to have just arrived himself. He received them as usual. After an excited greeting from her son and a problematic introduction of his nameless horse, Elrond suggested that a name be appointed anon, and spoke to Gilraen as the boy pondered.

"Telmoth is away on an errand," he said. "You are welcome to remain or see to other things as you wish."

"I would be glad to stay." She took a seat and wondered what kept Telmoth away.

The past weeks adopted this pattern: Gilraen emerged at dawn with Estel to breakfast with the earliest risers of the house. If Elrond sat not among them, he could be found here, always able to interest her son in hearing a tale or two. While Estel was entertained, Telmoth came to borrow Gilraen; thus she had gradually been taught those duties required of a delegate for Elrond's House.

This morning, Estel showed little interest to continue yesterday's saga; instead he and Elrond sat discussing which names were fit for a horse and why. Gilraen watched with amusement. Elrond suggested places and people and qualities. Estel proved more creative, suggesting 'Run' and 'Leapt' and 'Trek'. Elrond kept from laughing without apparent struggle, commending each addition as unique and fair, while Gilraen hid behind her hand.

"Well, virtues and things are common names," said Elrond. Estel had asked why she called his choices 'special'. "But you liked Bestest in particular, did you not? That is a fine name," he glanced at Gilraen, her smile reflected in his eyes, "and being an un-word, 'tis very special indeed."

This led Estel to wonder if 'Unword' was even better than Bestest, then suddenly, he became fervent to see pictures of real horses, all prior business forgotten as only a child of three could manage. Their new mission led them throughout the house. Paintings were plentiful, yet the majority of them hung in no single area. Estel galloped ahead with Gilraen and Elrond following the echo of his whinnies, until horse and master quieted when it came time to listen as Elrond told the tale each image represented. If he made it up, Gilraen admired his storytelling; if he did not, she marveled at his memory.

Once when Elrond had lifted Estel for a closer view, Gilraen turned from another illustration to see her son sound asleep, head upon shoulder as if it were the softest pillow. At first, she thought Elrond still spoke; a step closer and she heard the end of some ditty, whispered.

"I've been meaning to ask," she said. "Does he always nap before I return in the daytime? Because if not, he fibs."

Elrond smiled. "It is later than you think," he said, and rested his own head with closed eyes a moment. It struck Gilraen that they looked alike -- or no, a trick of the light. Estel's hair was more brown than black, his eyes closer together, he was paler.

"He will not wake." Elrond had been speaking.

Deriving purpose from his position, she moved to shift Estel into her arms. He readjusted to her smaller shoulder, and stirred no more. "The thunderstorm kept him-- well, us, awake much of last night. He'll probably sleep all the afternoon away."

"Then you should both rest," said Elrond. "When Telmoth returns I will tell her not to look for you."

After thanks and farewells Gilraen headed for her room. In truth, she was sleepless before the thunderstorms gave Estel cause to join her. She had considered and decided against telling Elrond of her strange foreboding that persisted. Surely if something were amiss, he would know already.

When they passed through the last hallway, a horn sounded from afar. Recognizing it as the sentry announcing a rider's return, she proceeded unconcerned. A nearer horn followed moments later, the note changed and with it the message. Gilraen turned the handle back and forth as her thoughts wavered between beholding what her heart had long feared and locking everything away inside that room.

She retreated to a window that overlooked the courtyard below. There Telmoth sat upon her horse stomping in distress. Before her stood Elrond. They exchanged a few words before Telmoth rode off, towards the stables or elsewhere, Gilraen could not see. Elrond remained, still as stone, looking towards the road. In that moment, a passing Elf paused beside her to peer outside. "Have any healers arrived, I wonder-- ah good, Elrond is there." Shaking his head, he sighed. "Alas that they shall become hale only to leave again."

Once he no longer blocked her view, Gilraen saw that more Elves had emerged from the house, and from the road, two familiar grey horses. One was riderless and distraught even as an Elf tried to soothe the animal. The other bore two riders whose backs faced Gilraen, but whose identities were writ upon Elrond's face as he approached them.

A twin dismounted, the blood on his clothes and the expression he wore relaying the severity of words muted by glass and distance. The other remained slumped on the horse, shivering despite his brother's cloak over his own under the noon heat. Elves rushed up carrying a bier between them, and Elrond transferred his son to that support. Thus turned, his ashen face contorted in pain came into plain view.

Flinching at that, she dropped her eyes to her son, unaware in his sleep of what transpired or that he would cause the same grief in his own time. Unaware of what foresight revealed to his mother. Scraped knees from running too fast would be snakebites from learning woodcraft, then cuts and bruises from training would be broken bones from battle -- with Elrond to tend them all, just as he takes back his sons full of holes and lets them go away full of wrath. Gilraen blinked. She did not know that.

She left to put Estel to bed.

***

Estel, after peeking inside their room, backed away from the doorway. "Where's Masser?"

His curiosity had not subsided since supper, when he first noticed 'Masser' Elrond was absent. "Sleeping, Estel. Time for us to sleep too now. Come inside please."

He stomped along, fussing to be undressed, washed, and put in a nightshirt, until Gilraen felt certain that he would fall fast asleep spent from the effort -- but not yet. Someone knocked on the door. Estel leapt out of bed, chanting 'Masser, Masser' as he sprinted towards the entry. Gilraen had only enough time to cover herself with a robe before he tipped the footstool over and hefted the door open. Little rascal.

Elrond looked bemusedly at Gilraen across the room until Estel caught his attention below. "Ah," he said, and smiled. "I had hoped to find you both yet awake."

While Estel raised a finger and raced off to accomplish some task, Gilraen came to say quietly, "Are they all right, lord, your sons?" At Elrond's look, she added, "I saw them ride in earlier." By that same look, she thought better of mentioning how Elves had been speaking of it through supper.

He nodded. "Elladan is resting comfortably at last." Seeming to think or remember, he paused. "He asked of your wellbeing, in fact, and that of your son. I told him you both were well of course, but occupied." Another hesitation. "He had also asked to see you." When Estel returned with his horse, so too returned Elrond's smile, and he knelt. "Though I digress. That is not why I came."

Amid other talk, they revised their earlier exchange of possible horse names. By the time Elrond stood again, Gilraen had decided to say, "Still, if you see no harm in it, lord, then I am not opposed. We could have a short visit and not be too late to bed. Right?"

Estel agreed heartily, then asked of what.

Elrond was slower to consent, until she had assured and reassured him that it was no trouble even at this hour, that she had even considered it beforehand, and that Elladan had earned even greater favors. On the way there, she alternated between thinking Elrond looked relieved and expecting him to turn round and lead them back; he neither stopped nor spoke, until they came to a dim room brimming with the smell of athelas.

On opposite sides of the doorway, they waited. Gilraen lifted Estel to her hip. Inside, an Elf bent over a figure who must be Elladan, twisting on a bed. Elrond's eyes followed each movement. "The poison had already begun its work before I could begin mine," he said. "When I left, he had fallen asleep. I see he has woken. He may not be--"

"Father?"

The rest of his words dissipated in a sigh. Elrond ushered Gilraen further within and went fast to the bedside, where the Elf backed away, hands spread and head shaking.

"Happening again, father-- I am falling, falling!"

"Nay. Here, take mine hand. The bed is underneath thee. Thou cannot fall."

"Tis all wrong. Stars, lost them, so many."

"Shh, shh."

Elrond put his hand to Elladan's brow, who soon relaxed. Until then, Gilraen thought she saw harm in bringing her son here after all, that he witness this. She whispered in his ear that Elladan was only having a bad dream, and tried to keep him otherwise distracted with his horse. Elrond came near them again to fetch water that Elladan had asked for. For her hearing, he said, "This is what I feared, that he would not be-- himself."

"It's all right," she said, guessing his mind. "We can go. We'll come back another time."

"Are they here?" Apparently Elladan was himself enough to switch to Westron when speaking of her.

Elrond looked first to Gilraen, and with a gesture like a shrug, returned to sit upon the bedside. "Have some water, my son."

Gilraen came up behind him. Assisted, Elladan drank a little, and fell back against pillow as one exhausted. Though upon seeing her, some animation came into his wan face. "There you are." He raised his hand in an effort that missed Estel by two feet, and gave up.

While Gilraen was occupied trying to think of something lighthearted to say, the Elf brought a chair for her. She sat down and offered, "We are calling him Estel now."

"You did get it. Good boy. Told Lindir. He forgets." Estel leaned forward in her lap to parade his horse along the mattress, educing a faint smile from Elladan at the expense of his open eyes. "I-- more careful. Teach you better, Arahad. The best. Promise."

She saw Elrond flinch and heard the Elf gasp from elsewhere in the room. For a while no one moved, save her son in his playing. When Elrond reached over to adjust the blanket covering his son, Gilraen stood up. "Say goodnight, Estel." She waited until his horse finished one last leap across Elladan's wrist, and then picked him up. Estel said goodnight. Elladan spoke no more.

Elrond followed them to the door.

"We can find our way back alone. It's all right." She saw him waver. "You should stay with him, lord, truly, I insist."

Looking back, he nodded once. "I thank you, and on Elladan's behalf as well. He is-- in a confused state, at present, but I think he will remember that you came."

Gilraen was in a confused state of her own, and she would sooner forget the whole affair.

"Arahad. Arahad, nana!" Estel shook the horse under her nose as they went. She did not answer.

*******

******

"What's this?" Estel wanted to know, for the twelfth time.

"That is a marking to tell when enough of something has been stacked."

"Why?"

The Elf replied with a smile, "Because most of the Elves here care not to do more work than they must. When someone is expected to 'stack to the mark', the mark is where they stop-- usually. Some are lazier than others, especially..."

When her son was a little older, Gilraen would have to warn Telmoth about naming names. Meanwhile, she noted relieved that the Elf reserved more tolerance for curious children than ignorant woman. All morning her son had been full of questions and playfulness; Telmoth ever responded with none of the impatience Gilraen strove to evade.

By this time, Estel had lost interest in Telmoth's gossip, occupied instead by hopping on and off a small box. Looking satisfied, the Elf turned back to her apprentice. Gilraen said, "I must thank you again. I'm afraid our progress has been slow these last few days." At Telmoth's raised eyes she amended, "Slower than usual."

The Elf laughed. "Never mind! You learn fast enough, and your son is a delight. Doubtless Master Elrond misses his young charge, but I am glad for my fortune in this." Her following explanations concerning seasonal reorganization were dull enough to let Gilraen's thoughts wander.

Since his sons' return last week, she had not seen the Master of the House. Lindir came the morning after the twins' arrival to tell Gilraen what she already knew: that Elrond would be required elsewhere. "But," the Elf had said, "you are welcome to bring Estel to the stables instead, for there are new horses he can meet!" At her suggestion, Lindir agreed to return only if the message changed. Her door had remained silent ever since.

When the noonbell rang, Telmoth called the day's work concluded, and gathering Estel from his hiding place, they proceeded to the dining hall for the midday meal. On the way, Gilraen remarked, "It has been quiet of late." Crowds rarely gathered save for significant events, but even mealtimes had been sparsely attended.

Telmoth sounded unhappy to reply, "Riders have been sent out on errands, sentries doubled, the furthest outposts staffed; such is common for this time of year."

Gilraen checked that her son paid no heed. "Then there is trouble?"

"There always is, somewhere." Telmoth made a gesture beyond the valley before her hand fell to her side in a fist. "And sometimes we must make trouble of our own." Softer she added, "But I need not tell you that. Come."

The mood was subdued in the dining hall, and once Gilraen had settled beside her son, she guessed why. Elladan sat nearby, unspeaking and unsmiling; those closest to him Gilraen recognized as elders, not easily perturbed. Despite his grim appearance, she would have greeted him, yet the instant before she spoke his eyes focused upon her with unexpected harshness. Immediately his gaze dropped, and hers followed on impulse. The bronze ring revealed that she had put her foot in her mouth without even opening it by mistaking Elrohir for his brother.

Few spoke during their meals and all departed without delay. Elrohir remained though he now sat alone, still eating. Telmoth and a few others had kept her son entertained, or the other way around. Estel did not seem to have noticed Elrohir in particular.

"So, whose pleads did you finally yield to that we are graced with your fine company?" asked Telmoth, looking up from the current game. "Or has every secluded place and each of your excuses to dwell therein been exposed as such?" Gilraen doubted her jesting was entirely in good humor.

Elrohir flashed a tight smile. "Well, as I am craven to comply and reclusive to refrain, I can hardly go wrong, or right." Sitting back, he said in an artificial sigh, "Ah, but at least my dear father is happy, and that I suppose is your answer."

The Elf had lagged in her participation; grown bored, Estel climbed into Gilraen's lap instead. Telmoth persisted. "Then how is your brother?"

As if to lighten her tone, else his cheer never ceased, Lindir inserted, "Ai, yes, he has been in all our thoughts. A curse upon orc arrows!"

"It was not the arrow but the poison that felled him."

Lindir flinched at the sharp retort. "I did not know—-"

"Then ask." Elrohir shifted as if to rise, but froze as his gaze centered. Across the table from him, Estel gave a timid wave from her lap, mouthing a word that made no sound. Sighing in earnest, Elrohir sank back down. "Hullo, Aragorn."

"Oh!" His eyes rose at her. Gilraen said, "He is called Estel now. Aren't you?" She kissed one cheek after the other, both of which her son promptly wiped.

Nodding with an apologetic smile, Elrohir seemed more himself. "Of course, I had forgotten father said so. Well, he is growing like an anthill! It has only been, what, three months since I saw you last?"

"How long will you stay away this time, I wonder," said Telmoth.

Elrohir scowled. "Enough already."

"My sentiments precisely."

"Arahad!" Estel leaned forward to have his horse prance upon the table. "He's Arahad."

Gone very still, and slightly pale, Elrohir said at length, "Is this some-- jest?"

Gilraen tickled her son's neck that he not notice this changed mood. "Not of our making," she replied, matching Elrohir's plain tone. "Maybe your brother jested when he called my son by that name last night. At least, Estel thought highly of it, for now we have Arahad the horse! Look, he runs!" Estel giggled as she bounced him upon her knees.

Before she looked up again, Elrohir had left without sound or farewell. Telmoth was shaking her head. "Never mind him. Returning after ill fortune always puts them in such bad temper."

"Mm. So long as it is not us then," said Gilraen.

"No, no." Telmoth tapped her fingers upon the table, then her knuckles. "You see, Arahad Aravorn's son, and Elladan, they were--"

"Of similar mind, and close," said Lindir, and looked pleadingly at Telmoth. "To say more, perhaps it is not our place?"

Telmoth tossed her head at him. "As close and single-minded were they, if I do say so myself, as were Elrond and Aravorn likewise. So father and son disagreed, but son outlived father, and the Dúnedain had their new Chieftain. What!"

Daring to interrupt the Elves' wordless stare in hopes that Telmoth would continue, Gilraen ventured, "How was it that they differed?"

The staring went on, but Telmoth said, "Aravorn trusted in the wisdom and foresight of Elrond Halfelven." At once, both Elves turned their faces away. Gilraen could get nothing else out of either.

***

Gilraen would never recall what had compelled her to emerge from her quarters that afternoon, leaving her son napping within. Restless, she paced the hallway before wandering further, coming eventually to a window that overlooked the courtyard below. Seeing those gathered there, any other day she would have turned away from business which was not her own; instead she descended the stairs and crossed the foyer to hear.

Straight and square-shouldered upon his horse, Elladan appeared quite hale, and impatient. "Thou dost this every time," he said to his twin.

Elrohir stood fussing with his horse's headstall. "Maybe, but for different reasons. Now I am uncertain, and not without cause. I only suggested that we reconsider." He did not name Telmoth as that cause, but Gilraen suspected.

"Well, I am steadfast! Stay or follow, brother, and either in peace, but I will not wait whilst thy heart bleeds." With nothing more he rode off, slow enough that he did not flee, fast enough that he showed no regret. Expression unreadable, Elrohir looked after him as the dust settled.

Elrond stood off to the side, eyes low. He had backed away during the conversation so as not to stand between his sons; Gilraen needed make no guesses as to his predicament. "I did not raise ye to be extensions of mine own will," he said. "Nor did I raise ye to be reflections of one another. Follow thine own heart, Elrohir. Choose not for me."

Elrohir's dropped head shook. "For all thy great wisdom, father, dost thou still not understand?" Laughing mirthlessly, he mounted his steed. "I have never chosen for thee, and neither hath he." After a pause he added, "Forgive us." Then he too was gone.

Finally Elrond looked up, facing the road still as stone. Gilraen had stood similarly times uncounted, bound by love unconditional though it break her heart to watch as friends and family ride at risk of death and worse for the sake of those who remained and those who went before them. So too she recognized the mood Elladan and Elrohir returned in, one echoing spent wrath and marred in shame; she had seen it in Arathorn each time he returned, and saw it in Gilbarad the day Arathorn returned not.

One day, she would see it in Aragorn; but not in Estel, to whom she returned now, leaving Elves and Half-elves and foresight and sorrow behind. It was not her business, in any case. So she emerged again. Checking through the window to see that Elrond remained, she descended the stairs once more, crossed the foyer, and knelt to release her charge. Standing inconspicuously beside a pillar, she watched outside, and waited.

Showing her a boyishly devious smile over his shoulder, he padded down the entryway, then scurried out to the center of the yard. For a moment he stood silent, seemingly unnoticed. Without looking back for encouragement, he reached out a small hand. His finger had barely touched the other's when Elrond looked down at him with widening eyes.

"See you!"

Elrond knelt, smiling as Estel made a nest of him. "What are you doing out here, child?" Estel freed one arm from around his neck to shrug in answer. "Your poor mother is somewhere searching for you, surely--"

Just as Elrond began to look around, Gilraen moved out of sight behind the pillar. She heard her son call for her once, then again, followed by a squeal and an excited explanation. Elrond had heard every rule of the game twice before Gilraen moved to a better hiding place, certain that she would be sought.

Gilraen would never recall what had compelled her to wake her son that afternoon, and set out with him to cheer the Lord of Rivendell. Moreover, she never wondered, and he never asked.

*******

*******

Heavy boots came to a halt by the entrance. Gilraen glanced up from her occupation. There in the doorway of the winter storehouse stood Gilbarad, looking bemused. "You’re late."

His wandering gaze found her, and he flinched. "I didn’t see you--" he began again, "Forgive me, Gilraen. This morning I thought to find you at the dining hall, and ended up sitting for a meal with Elrond’s sons. Had I known you were waiting-—"

"I meant late in the year," she replied smiling. "But I breakfast ere dawn. You would not find me sitting anywhere at this late hour." Seeing the man arch backwards to gauge the angle of shadows outside, Gilraen laughed. "Late for me, that is. For Estel’s sake, we keep schedule with Master Elrond, frighteningly early to rise though he may be. Now come, uncle, I owe you a proper greeting!"

They met to embrace in welcome. Despite his happy words, his arms were tense, and his face somber. When they stepped apart, Gilraen kept one hand of his in her own. "I thought it was to be Valcirion’s dutiful pleasure to suffer Elrond’s hospitality each year. Tell me how it is that you’ve come in his stead."

He released a breath she had not noticed he held. "Alas, Valcirion has fallen ill."

"I am sorry to hear it." If not overly surprised. Gilraen suspected something of the sort since word reached her that Gilbarad had crossed the Bruinen with the merchantmen. Two commanders would unlikely take leisurely leave at once. "I see that you are concerned." Also she saw that there was more he meant to disclose, and waited to hear it.

"I am. An ailment of similar symptoms nearly slew Beregost last year. Thus far, few enough of the elders have been afflicted, but they've not survived. We can only hope Valcirion will fare better."

Gilraen would not voice her foreboding: that Gilbarad may return to find the Angle in mourning, and himself promoted. She said instead, "What Master Elrond can mend with herbs, Gilbarad, you would not believe. I'll bring this to his attention, and a rider will be sent out as soon as may be to distribute aid."

Then hushing Gilbarad's halfhearted objection, she assured him, "He should be wroth with us both if I did not inform him, and if his help were refused." Doubtful, as she had yet to behold Elrond beyond a shade of annoyance for any reason; but Gilbarad reluctantly agreed, and his mood soon lightened.

They left the storehouse together as Gilraen spoke of the goods brought, what exchanges would follow, and how Gilbarad could expect the Angle to prepare. Gilbarad struggled to keep pace, being less familiar with the process than Valcirion, or Gilraen herself. By the second time she had cause to repeat some detail, Gilbarad blinked with a shake of his head. "Thrice before coming I was reminded that you had been appointed the delegate for such affairs, but in truth I still wondered."

Anticipating his reaction, Gilraen said, "For two seasons I assisted another, then for two seasons I had an assistant. Now without anyone to distract me, things go smoothly at last." Telmoth had said the same, when Gilraen began learning under her the year previous.

A smile came to Gilbarad. "Best indeed that Valcirion recovers soon. I think I would not be so quick to adapt as you. Our men throughout the wild and all duties thereof, I can manage, but this business does not suit me."

Coming upon a doorway, Gilraen gestured that they pause in the hall. Quietly she said, "Estel will be so excited to see you, though I’m loath to interrupt his lesson. They should be finished soon, if you would bide with me."

As Gilbarad focused upon the sounds, she felt a hint of pride at his expression, gone from a puzzled frown to amazement. From inside the room resonated Elrond’s voice reciting a simple sentence in Westron, then followed Estel's voice repeating those words in Sindarin.

"Has it only been a year?" He turned to Gilraen as she corrected his estimate by adding some months. After a moment he said, "He has been called only Estel in the Angle, as you requested."

With a smile, she nodded. "Elrond bestowed the name upon him."

"Then they have become close," he did not quite ask.

She tried to detect whether he approved or not; the closer she looked upon the man, the more she was reminded of Arathorn. "They have. Estel looks to him as a father in many ways," she said. "I did not foresee it, though I think Elrond did. Still, I would have it no differently. Of everyone here, Elrond is the most-- here."

"And what do you look to him as?"

"Elrond?" Gilbarad nodded gravely. She could not answer at once, so simple it seemed. "He just is."

At length he grunted, a grin puckering his beard once more. "Life here is making you elvish, Gilraen. But I see that you have grown much, and I am glad for it. Also because I think Arathorn's wishes have been honored to their fullest. Estel is safe, and happy, and in good hands." He paused briefly to hear that the lesson continued, and went on in a hushed tone, "In truth I'm relieved, but not surprised, not as some others would be to see the same, few though they may be. You know I ever sided with your husband on such matters. Speaking of which, were you able to learn any more towards the origin of these silly rumors, if ever there was one?"

Gilraen blinked. "Oh. That." For a place as memorable as Rivendell, she had never been so forgetful before coming here. "Well, it is important to mind that most Elves here marked little or no change in relations. Ask any about a 'rift' and none would know what you mean. However, if you ask of Aravorn, most could tell you that he was a lad of twelve years when Celebrían sailed over Sea, making him the last Chieftain's son the Lady had a hand in fostering, and that he was and remained until his death very close with Master Elrond. I even heard that he died here."

Again, Gilbarad perked an ear towards the study until the voices sounded from within. "What if I asked of Arahad his son then?"

"They would speak carefully so as not to offend, but to frustrate you." She put a hand upon his shoulder and smiled. "Do not despair. I am not yet so elvish that this much I won't say plainly, for this much I do know. The Elves remember Arahad as 'ambitious' for deeds and endeavors that you and I would call imprudent, while it's said that his father was renowned for his trust in the wisdom and foresight of Master Elrond. I think-- just think, mind you, that Arahad tried too much too soon, and failing for want of wisdom, he grew bitter."

"Ambitious endeavors-- say no more. Had his mind bent on a crown, did he," murmured Gilbarad. "Maybe he should have consulted the Wise, the very Powers, his own people!" Wincing, he bit his lip, and quieter, "Maybe he should have minded how the Edain became Númenóreans in the first place, and how the Númenóreans became Dúnedain in the end."

"This is not the end." Gilraen raised her hand to encircle his neck, and embraced him. "There is a saying among the Elves, uncle: Aurë entuluva. I believe it. Day will come again. Whether we see it or not."

"Maybe," he said, then chuckled. "It just may be. Now you best turn round. Someone wants your attention."

She did so, a full and quick spin. Estel squealed and disappeared around the corner, boyish giggles echoing down the hall as he ran.

"Does he brag?"

Gilraen looked in amazement at her uncle. "Yes! How did you know?"

He smiled, shrugging. "You could say I grew up with his father, and I was the slower runner. So come, we had best catch him. Then you can introduce us-- ah, but best tell me beforehand. How am I to be known by him from now on?"

"As his kinsman, of course. That will never change." Taking the lead, Gilraen led the Ranger on their hunt. "Now flank me. He's getting good at this."

*******

***

(Lengthy) Story Notes:
*Ronduir and Beregost, Valcirion, Artanal, Telmoth, and Gilbarad are original characters (the name 'Gilbarad' made an appearance in HoME, but his personality and purpose is anyone's guess).
*Asfaloth is well-known as Glorfindel's horse. The names Malfrey and Palaber, however, took a quarter-hour for the author to come up with.
*Elladan and Elrohir were not referred to as Elves, Men, or Half-elven in canon. Since this story is coming from a human perspective, 'Elf-man' seemed an appropriate approximation.
*Gilraen foresighted? According to canon, yes (see the story of Aragorn and Arwen in the RoTK appendix A).
*The Silverstream will be impossible to find on an official map. The author advises readers not to search for it, heh-heh.
* 'Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger.' Gildor Inglorion said it first, to Frodo (FoTR: Three is Company). Wizadry as described in the RoTK index is 'magic of a kind popularly ascribed to the Wizards'... and is one way to avoid naming Vilya.
*For the full effect of Gilraen's dreamy-flashback scene, try reading what Sam recited for us of the Fall of Gil-galad simultaneously (FoTR: A Knife in the Dark).

Timeline Key:
1979 - Aranarth takes the title of Chieftain of the Dunedain. The heirlooms of Arnor are given into the keeping of Elrond.
2480 - Orcs begin to make secret strongholds in the Misty Mountains so as to bar all passes into Eriador.
2497 - Aravorn son of Aragost is born.
2510 - Celebrian departs over Sea.
2740 - Orcs renew their invasions of Eriador.

Author's Notes:
*Thanks to Lyllyn for beta-reading and much more (any remaining mistakes are my own). Thanks also to every reader and reviewer. All encouragements, corrections, and kind words were and are greatly appreciated.
*I highly recommend these articles by Michael Martinez (www.suite101.com/articles.cfm/4786) for anyone interested in LoTR research. I wouldn't even know where the Rangers lived if not for the fabulous references found therein.

***