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And thanks to Cairistiona for the beta.

Chapter 16: Elf-Friend

   Only one Palantír remained in the North, the Elendil stone on Emyn Beraid, but this was one of special properties, and not employable in communications. Hereditary right to use it would no doubt still reside with the ‘heir of Isildur’. But it is not known whether any of them, including Aragorn, ever looked into it, desiring to gaze into the lost West.

The Palantíri                                                                                             Unfinished Tales

~oo0oo~

   “Well, Aragorn son of Arathorn,” said Círdan, looking knowingly at the man who had ridden alone into Mithlond earlier that morning. “It is many years since you last came this way. It was Olórin who brought you here then, as I recall.”

  “My lord Círdan,” said Aragorn, bowing respectfully. “It is indeed many years. I have been away from my people for a long time, fighting in the South.”

  “So I have heard,” replied the Elf lord. “But what brings you to this far land now, I wonder. We rarely see the Dúnedain in the Havens. Fortunately we have little need of your bright swords this far west.”

   Aragorn hesitated, aware that his request was a unique one.

   “I think perhaps, Heir of Isildur, I can guess your reason,” said Círdan, his eyes smiling under his bushy eyebrows. “I could not help but notice your interest in Elostirion when last you came here. Am I right in believing you wish to see the Palantír?”

   “You are quite right,” said Aragorn, smiling back at the venerable Elf who, with his long white beard and wise, sparkling eyes, reminded him enormously of Gandalf.

   “An unusual request,” remarked the Elf lord. “Few of your kin have expressed any interest in the Seeing Stone for years untold and it has stood in its tall tower, forgotten, for most of this Age. Only Elendil ever came here often. I think he always hoped for a glimpse of lost Númenor. The horror of that dreadful day never completely left him, I fear; so many of his friends perished. But he never found any trace of that land, not even the summit of the Meneltarma, though he always maintained he could see the far off Tower of Avallónë. And now, Dúnadan, you also wish to look towards the West. I wonder why?”

   “Perhaps it is nothing more than curiosity,” said Aragorn. “The Seeing Stones are part of my birthright; and it might perhaps be prudent to be familiar with them. I do not know for certain if all four of the remaining Stones still exist and no other is available to me. I am right in thinking, am I not, that this one, because of how it is set, should be quite safe to use.”

   “Yes, it should,” said Círdan, “and you do well to assume that the Minas Mogul Stone is in the hands of Sauron; it would certainly be unwise to hope that it has remained undiscovered all these years.”

   He rubbed his chin, looking thoughtfully at the young lord. “Is curiosity your only reason for coming, I wonder? If so, you have travelled a long way just to satisfy a whim.” He spoke, quietly, almost to himself.

   Then he added cheerfully: “It matters not. It is your right and gladly do I grant your request. I shall ride over with you to Emyn Beraid myself, this very afternoon. But come, share a meal with me before we set out and tell me the news from the South.”

~oo0oo~

   Aragorn let his horse loose to graze the well tended grass that surrounded the three white towers of Emyn Beraid. It was a bright and sunny summer afternoon with only a few high clouds in the otherwise blue sky above. A fresh breeze blew in from the distant sea bringing with it the sound of gulls and the clear, living airs from over the far waters. The three huge towers stood as lonely sentinels upon the wind swept hill, reaching far above the two visitors. The Warden of the Towers unlocked the outer door of Elostirion, which was the tallest of the three, and then Círdan left Aragorn alone to enter at his own pace.

   In the base of the tower there was a large circular room, its walls as cold and white inside as they were on the outside. The room had few furnishings, but was dominated by a vast spiral stair that arose from one side and then twisted away upwards, becoming ever tighter as it ascended the height of the mighty tower. Aragorn tilted his head back to gaze above him. It was a long climb to the top. But he was undaunted; the Steward of Gondor had once taken him to the top of the Tower of Ecthelion, although this tower was taller by far.

   Steadily he made his way up the winding stair. Every now and then there were narrow openings in the walls which afforded him a view of the ground as it dropped away below him. At length he reached the top and, using the key given to him by the Warden, he opened the great door that stood before him. It opened noiselessly. Inside was a small, circular room with wide windows all about it. On that clear day, the views were breathtaking and Aragorn stood and stared long in wonder at the distant sights stretching away from him in every direction.

   Then he turned his attention back to the room which was completely empty save for a large low table in the very centre. It appeared to be made of black marble and in the middle of it, covered by a black cloth, was a round shape, in size about as wide as a man’s foot is long. Aragorn approached it slowly. It was a humbling feeling to know he was standing where once Elendil had stood. The great tower had been built for the first king of Arnor by Gil-galad specifically to house the Palantír. It was all that now remained of the North Kingdom but the desolate land itself and its few surviving people who kept alive the memory of past glories. All the once great fortresses and palaces of that ancient realm were long destroyed, nothing more than grass-covered mounds, falling slowly back into the earth from which they were hewed. But for the care of the Elves, the three towers would long ago have suffered a similar fate.

   Aragorn reached to remove the cover from the Palantír and could not prevent his hand from trembling as he did so. He slowly withdrew the cloth and gazed at the smooth black sphere revealed beneath it. As he watched, colours emerged within and seemed to shift and change; now red, now blue. Tentatively he placed a shaking hand upon it. At once the stone seemed to spring to life.  Colours flashed through it, swirling; fragments of scenes from the world outside started to form within it, coming and going. Aragorn swayed in disorientation at first, thrown by the onslaught of images appearing before him. Slowly he steadied himself and, concentrating with all his might, he forced himself to remember what he had learned about the use of the Palantíri. He shifted his position so he was facing the West. Then he clasped the stone firmly with both hands, saying quietly to himself as he did so: I am the Heir of Isildur, I have the right to use this stone. It must bend to my will.

   At last the swirling images slowed and Aragorn began to see a world he recognised, places he had visited and knew. And as he continued to gaze into the depths of the stone, the land stretching away in the distance appeared to come closer and he felt as if he was moving over it at great speed towards some remote distant place. He started to sweat with fear at this strange sensation but he kept his concentration focused and, in spite of his fear, he marvelled at what he saw.

   The land gave way to the sea and then league upon league it seemed he travelled over it like a swift bird in flight. On and on he went until, to his horror, if was as if the sea fell away below him and all he could see about him was endless sky. He closed his eyes, unable to watch as he seemed to rise higher and higher above the very earth itself. But when he forced them open again, he was once more travelling over water and there was land ahead. White shores unfolded before him and, beyond the rapidly approaching lamplit quays, there stood a great white city. In the midst of the city was a tall tower, as tall as the one he stood in now and he knew it was the Tower of Avallónë on the isle Tol Eressëa. In its summit was placed the Master-stone.

   Wonder took him and he gazed long at the scenes before him. Here he beheld a vision of an idyllic land of great beauty and peace, where Elves could live their unending lives in tranquillity, free from the hardships and troubles of the Age. The city was fairer than any in Middle-earth. Even Lothlórien, where the power of Nenya had long kept that land fresh and unstained, was now revealed as only a pale image of the purity found in the West. Here, there was no sign of death or decay. Nothing withered in the deathless land; nowhere on that enchanted isle could he see the unrest and strife than so marred Middle-earth.

   All too quickly, the vision faded and the stone went black and still. Aragorn dropped to his knees, suddenly totally exhausted by the experience. He knelt there for a long time with his head in his hands, trying to remember all he had seen. But the images, wonderful though they were, had not brought him peace. Today he had seen a glimpse of the life that Arwen might have led had she not cleaved to him. She too could have dwelt in that beautiful land with her father and all her kin, living her long life released from fear and the suffering of Middle-earth.

   But she had forsaken all that for him.

   The scale of her sacrifice overwhelmed him. He did not feel worthy of it. He could as yet offer her nothing at all and, for her to have even a short period of happiness; he now had to achieve so much.  He suddenly felt a great fear for what might become of Arwen if he could never fulfil his father’s condition. Had her fate been sealed, the moment she bound herself to him or, if it came to pass that they never wed, would that life in Tol Eressëa still be available to her? He did not know.

   It had been a year since Elrond had given his pronouncement upon their engagement. Aragorn had returned to his people and resumed his duties as chieftain, but he was no nearer finding a way to meet Elrond’s demand. All manner of plans and schemes had entered his head as he sought a means by which he might reclaim the two crowns. The most feasible would have seen him openly declaring himself and seeking to forge alliances with the realms of Elves and Men friendly to the Dúnedain, but always it was the same problem that returned to thwart him. Their allies were too few and Sauron too strong.

   His frustration with his lack of progress had made him ever more fearful that the passing years would all too swiftly mount up and he would never find a solution. Yet his deepest fear, he kept firmly locked away. He did not want it to mar the joy he still felt at being so buoyed and succoured by Arwen’s love. Occasionally he would sense her fëa touching his and, for a few blissful moments, her love would caress and consume him, strengthening his hope and bolstering his determination. But today, after all he had observed in the Palantír, that fear burst into the forefront of his mind and he felt a sick weight settle in his stomach.

   What if, as time marched onwards and his remaining years dwindled, Arwen actually came to regret her choice? As more of her kin sailed, would the sea longing stir within her and cause her to wish she was still free to travel that road too and so depart to dwell in those idyllic lands herself? Might the day come when he would look upon her and see in her eyes bitter disappointment and even reproach for his failure? Would it then be possible for her repent and sail or would she have no choice but to remain and so suffer eternally for her folly of loving him?

   Why oh why had he come here today?

   Whatever had he hoped to achieve by looking in that Stone? Glimpsing the Undying Lands had only given his fears more substance, not less. He sank down to sit on the cold floor and, pulling his knees up to his chest, he buried his face in them. There were so many questions, so many uncertainties, so many fears, but no answers; why were there never any answers?

~oo0oo~

   So long did he sit on the floor that he failed to notice the sun slowly going down behind the Tower Hills. He was roused by Círdan who, in his concern, had come looking for him. The Elf lord crouched beside him.

   “Is all well?” he asked. “You have been here a time. The day passes.”

   Aragorn raised his head from his knees. “I am well enough. I just needed a while alone with my thoughts,” he said. He smiled, not wishing the Elf lord to see his despair. “Forgive me for detaining you so long.”

   “No matter,” said the Elf as he helped Aragorn slowly get to his feet. “You are tired, Dúnadan. The Seeing Stone seems always to have that effect upon its user.”

   Then Círdan succumbed to the curiosity he had been containing all afternoon as he waited patiently outside.  “So, might I ask, did you indeed glimpse the Undying Lands?”

   “I believe I did. I am sure it was Tol Eressëa that I saw and the city of Avallónë on the shore.”

   “That must be a wonderful sight to behold, one all my people yearn to see some day. You are very privileged, son of Arathorn, you alone of your race and mine has the right to look into that stone.”

      Aragorn nodded. “Yes, the city was fair beyond my imagining. It is not surprising that, as the days darken, so many now sail. Who would remain in Middle-earth when such a paradise awaits?” Who indeed, he thought ruefully? And yet others lingered here, though surely they would all leave in the end. For a moment he carefully considered this ancient Elf who stood beside him. He had dwelt as long as any in Middle-earth.

   “The Sea-longing must be very strong in all of you who dwell in the Havens. It is a wonder to me that more of you have not yet departed for the Blessed realm.”

   “It is indeed strong within us, and greatly have I ever desired to sail,” said Círdan, “even from the very first I desired this, but I will not leave yet, not until the last ship is ready to depart Middle-earth. My work here is still not done.”

   Círdan smiled that knowing smile of his. “As I believe neither is yours. Come, it is a long climb down and I would wish for us both to be back in Mithlond by nightfall.”

   Steadily they both descended the stairs and emerged into the late afternoon sun. The three Towers cast long shadows on the grass and Aragorn’s horse, having eaten his fill, stood beside that of Círdan, waiting patiently for his master. Man and Elf mounted up and rode back at a steady canter towards the Havens. Aragorn rode much of the way in silence, still lost in his bleak thoughts.

   After a time, they eased their horses back to a walk and Círdan asked: “So did you find the answers you were seeking, Dúnadan?”

   Aragorn smiled, feeling a little embarrassed at being so transparent. “Was it so obvious I was seeking something, my lord Círdan?”

   Círdan grinned at him. “Forgive me,” he said. “But you mortals are such open books. Something troubles you, that much is clear. Come, child, I have dwelt in Middle-earth since three ages before the first rising of the Sun. I have seen much and, while we Elves might sometimes be considered reluctant to give advice, such wisdom as I have, I would willingly share with an Elf-friend such as yourself who is loved as a son by my dear friend, Master Elrond.”

   Aragorn was touched by his concern and was suddenly reminded of how ancient this Elf was; he was far, far older than his father.

   “Thank you, I appreciate your kindness,” he said.  “And to answer your question, no, not entirely, though my curiosity about the Palantíri has been sated for now. I have long had a foreboding that I may one day have need to look into one again, but I fear that encounter may not be so pleasant. At least now I have some foreknowledge of what to expect.”

   He was silent again for a long while before continuing. The venerable Elf was so kind; it would be so easy to open his heart and allow all his hopes and fears to come tumbling out. But he was not at all certain of how many of his cares he should unburden. His father’s decision was very much a matter that he preferred to keep private. In the end, he said: “I have a huge task to accomplish, though I do not yet know how to achieve what I must. There are many reasons why I must succeed, but today I saw just how much it will cost my lady if I fail.”

   Círdan looked carefully at the tall man riding beside him, still so young and yet so weighed with care and found pity for him.

   “Do you wonder if the lady has made the right choice?” he asked.

   Aragorn was slightly taken back at the directness of the question and the accuracy with which the Elf lord had homed in upon his troubles.

   “I greatly fear she may come to regret that choice.” There, he had said it.

   “But I presume she made her decision freely,” asked Círdan.

   “Of course,” said Aragorn.

   “And she is wise?”

   Aragorn smiled to himself. “Yes, she is wise, far more so than I.”

   “Then perhaps you might consider the possibility that she believes you are worth the sacrifices she has to make. Life in Tol Eressëa may not be so tranquil if one’s heart remains in Middle-earth. Perhaps you should have as much faith in yourself as she obviously does, Dúnadan. I very much doubt your lady has made her choice lightly.”

   Aragorn had to admit he had not previously considered that life might have become unbearable for Arwen had she chosen to deny her feelings for him and instead sail with her father when his time came to leave Middle-earth at last. For his own part, he could not even being to imagine enduring the long Ages awaiting him beyond the Circles of the World without his beloved beside him. In his heart, he knew the Elf lord was right; of course Arwen felt the same way about him, and her hope had always been stronger than his.

   “There is another matter,” said Aragorn, emboldened now by the Elf lord’s evident understanding of his predicament. “My beloved and I are not yet free to wed as I have a condition to fulfil before I earn the right to her hand. I will do my utmost to succeed, yet I can not help but be fearful of what her ultimate fate will be if I fail.” He could not believe what a weight was lifted from him just in the saying of those words. He had not felt able to raise this matter with any of his foster family; nor even with Gandalf. Galadriel might have been able to help him, but he knew it would be most inappropriate for him to return to Lothlórien. Now here he was seeking advice from an Elf he barely knew.

   Círdan smiled at him again and Aragorn was struck by how he knew he could trust him implicitly. He was also quite sure the Elf knew exactly to what he was referring.

    “If it troubles you that your lady will not find passage, then fear not. I will not turn her away if she comes to take ship,” he said. “I hope that is one burden I can remove from your shoulders; one of many, too many perhaps, that I sense you carry. There is much you can do and much you must do, Aragorn, but there is far more that lies outside the scope of your hands to mould that will nonetheless play a huge part in determining the future of you both. Try not to let this doom lie too heavily upon you. You are still young, yet your time on this earth will pass so quickly. You can do no more than play your part to the full and be prepared to trust that others will play theirs similarly. Do not allow your fears to squeeze all joy from your heart.”

    Aragorn looked at Círdan who was watching him with smiling yet compassionate eyes and knew the truth of his words and felt immense gratitude towards him. The lord of the havens was as wise as any; his advice not to be lightly ignored. He would do his best to try and heed it.

   Then unexpectedly, Círdan laughed.

   “Put away your cares for tonight at least, son of Arathorn; is the sun not setting on a beautiful evening? Come, let us gallop; I will race you the last leagues to Mithlond! There are many in the Havens eager to meet you tonight, hoping for news from Imladris. We should not disappoint them by dawdling in the hills.”

   With a whoop that belied the millennia of his existence, Círdan urged his horse into a fast gallop. Aragorn’s mount sprang after him, heedless of his rider. Aragorn’s heart lightened as the thrill of the pace coursed through him and he once more felt as young as his years. He leant forward and whispered in his horse’s ear. The sturdy mount of the Dúnedain might be no match for the fleet-footed Elven steed, but his heart, like his rider’s, was a mighty one.

    They would give the Elf a run for his money!

~oo0oo~

   “Eight,” said Legolas. “Myself, four hobbits; and two men, one of whom, Aragorn, is an Elf-friend of the folk of Westernesse.”

Lothlórien                                                                                   The Fellowship of the Ring