Disclaimer: No profit will be made from these stories. All quotes from the works of J.R.R.Tolkien are reproduced here without the permission of The Tolkien Estate or New Line Cinema. No copyright infringement is intended.

To Cairistiona and Estelcontar: my most grateful thanks for their ongoing encouragement and support.

And thanks to Cairistiona for the beta.

A/N This chapter is the very first fic I ever wrote! It was that scene in TTT [the movie] where Elrond bullies Aragorn into leaving Arwen which drove me to write, what I hope, it a more faithful interpretation of their parting words.

Chapter 27: The Foster Son

Aragorn sat with his head bowed to his knees; only Elrond knew fully what this hour meant to him.

“The Ring Goes South”                                                                     Fellowship of the Ring

~oo0oo~

   Aragorn opened the door that led to the balcony of his bedroom and took a deep breath of the cool breeze that came rushing in to meet him. He wanted to remember this moment. Nowhere in all Middle-earth did the air taste as clear and fragrant as it did in Imladris. He stood for a moment drinking in the scene before him. It was a cold, grey, winter’s day; the late December gloom disturbed only by the gentle tinkle of water from somewhere below and the sound of the east wind still blowing noisily through the valley as it had been since early morning. Dusk was beginning to fall and the outlines of the leafless trees were barely visible against the growing darkness of the sky.

   The air filling his lungs, though, had never smelt sweeter. Even after so many years away, this would always be his home and he wanted to take this memory with him when he left tonight for what would likely be the very last time. He was very aware that whatever happened on the road ahead, he would never again behold this enchanted valley that he loved so much while it was succoured by the renewing power of Vilya.

   The moment for the Company to leave was fast approaching. He was nearly ready; he was just sorting through a few essential items to take with him and ensuring his pack was in order. He was surprised at how strangely detached he felt considering the enormity of the task that lay ahead of him. All his long years of toil and preparation were culminating in this one quest. He had done all he could in readiness and he could only hope he would rise to the challenges awaiting him on this his final test. The rewards for his success would he great; he would have everything he had ever desired. But if he failed, he would surely find death. There could be nothing in between.

   As he stood there, listening to the waterfall, his mind drifted back to all the lonely roads he had travelled. He thought of the many places he had visited, the wars and battles he had fought and the people he had met until finally the road had brought him to this last chapter in his long journey. At times the hardship and the danger and the sheer futility of it all had nearly caused him to despair but he had always kept going, as he would keep going now. But he was weary of that life and he knew it was nearly over. Whatever the outcome of the coming war, nothing would ever be the same again.

   Half an hour ago he had said his goodbyes to Arwen. It was almost a relief to know he would never have to go through the agony of saying farewell ever again. It never got any easier. He had seen more of her these last few years than at any time since they plighted their troth. She was always so strong at their parting, yet he knew how hard it was for her. While he was living through the dangers he faced, she could only wait anxiously, wondering how he fared and watching the years slowly pass by. Her faith in him never faltered though and her belief always strengthened him and gave him hope. But the torment and the longing were always renewed afresh whenever he saw her again, yet the pain at parting almost more than either of them could bear. One way or another, this quest would finally decide their fate.

   With one last glance at the valley, he reluctantly turned his attention back to his pack. They were all meeting in the Hall of Fire shortly for the formal farewells and he wanted a chance to say his goodbyes to the rest of the household.

~oo0oo~

   It was going to be a strange company. He was relieved beyond measure that he would have Gandalf with him to share the burden of keeping the Ringbearer from harm. He was only too aware that this quest would not be happening at all if it were not for the long labours of his old friend and mentor and he would be glad of his guidance more than ever in the weeks ahead. 

    Legolas he was sure would be a loyal ally and with him to the end. His keen eye and skill with a bow would be invaluable. He had no doubts about Gimli either. In the years since Bilbo had come to live at Rivendell and their friendship had grown, he had heard the tale of Bilbo’s adventures with the Dwarves many times. Bilbo had assured him that any son of Gloin’s would indeed be a worthy member of the Company.

   Bilbo was truly unlike any other hobbit he had ever met and already he could tell that Frodo came from the same stock. Aragorn did not envy him his task in the slightest and felt only enormous sympathy for him. The hobbit’s gentle heart and quiet courage would be pushed to the limits by the trials they were sure to find, but this only strengthened his own resolve to do whatever it took to protect him and see this quest through to the end. He particularly admired the loyalty Frodo inspired in his friends, which, as a leader himself, told him much about the hobbit’s character. He could not prevent a smile from breaking on his face as he remembered that he had already been on the receiving end of Sam’s passionate protectiveness.

    He was less sure about the younger hobbits. He had, in truth, been disappointed that Elrond had not chosen his foster brothers to fill the last two places in the company. Not only did he value their skills as warriors, he would have been grateful for their companionship on the uncertain road ahead. But the determination of Merry and Pippin to go on the quest could not be doubted and maybe their innocent optimism would cheer them all in the dark days ahead. They had no concept of the horrors they were likely to meet on this journey, while he on the other hand, he thought with a weary sigh, knew them only too well.

   Boromir troubled him. He was undoubtedly a capable warrior and should be a great asset to the Company, but he was a proud and ambitious man and Aragorn knew he would treat him with caution. He felt he had made some progress with pressing his own claim at Elrond’s Council, but Boromir’s father, Denethor, would be a different matter altogether. He could not see how this situation with his old rival could possibly resolve itself. Denethor would never willingly stand down as Steward.

   But Aragorn stopped his train of thought right there. He could not allow himself to be weighed down with these problems now. Minas Tirith was a long way away and much could happen on their long road there. His first priority was to Frodo and the success of this quest. His own affairs must wait.

   His pack sorted, he turned to pick up Anduril and felt his mood lighten immediately. It was only a few days since it had been reforged and it thrilled him to hold it; Elendil’s sword, remade, the light on the blade and in his hand. It strengthened his hope. This sword had defeated Sauron once before; just maybe it could do so again. He marvelled again at how long it was; his ancestor had indeed been tall. Moving to the centre of the room, he practised a few moves with it, accustoming himself to the unfamiliar weight and balance of the blade.

   At that moment there was a knock on the door and, to Aragorn’s surprise, Elrond entered. A slightly bemused look appeared on the Elf lord’s face when he saw what Aragorn was doing. It was not a Ranger he saw standing before him, but a small boy on his fifth birthday. The lad, he recalled, had been given a wooden sword by Glorfindel. Elrond remembered he had then tested the patience of the entire household by relentlessly pursuing the staff up and down the long corridors with it. Gradually a slow smile emerged on Aragorn’s face; he remembered too.

   “Forgive me for disturbing you,” said Elrond as he came further into the room. “But I wanted to talk to you alone, Aragorn, before you left.”

    Instinctively Aragorn stiffened, not at all sure what was coming. Ever since he and Arwen had plighted their troth and his foster father had placed his condition on their marriage, there had remained a cautiousness in his dealings with Elrond. They had not spoken of it since that day and while Elrond always welcomed him home most warmly when his travels brought him this way, there was nonetheless a distance between them that had not been present before. The situation had become more tense when Arwen returned to Rivendell, although Aragorn always took great care to ensure they were both very formal together when in Elrond’s company. He had no desire at all to aggravate the pain he knew he had caused his foster father.

   Elrond considered for a moment the tall, lean man standing before him. His careworn, noble face was grim and determined, and in those keen grey eyes was strength and wisdom. And although Elrond saw his sadness too, the hope in his kind and generous heart was still there and Elrond prayed nothing would ever extinguish it. The boy he had loved as his own was long gone, but the love had remained. There were however unresolved matters between them and Elrond was very aware he should have spoken to his son of them a long time ago. Now might be his last chance. He walked towards him and took his hands in his and spoke softly.

   “Aragorn, this final journey is sure to prove more dangerous and demanding than anything even you have endured. You will need all your strength and skill for the task ahead and I could not let you leave with any trace of a shadow in your heart. I cannot pretend Arwen’s choice has been easy for me to accept, not because I doubt you, but for the doom this choice places upon her. And yet I accept, and have long accepted, that this may yet be her fate, and the destiny of my line, that through this sacrifice, new hope shall be borne for Middle-Earth. You have toiled long and hard, Aragorn, for this day and when your hour comes; none could deserve it more.

   “Do not then, Estel, have any feelings of guilt burdening you on this dark road that you must take; there is no shadow between us. When you leave tonight, go knowing you are still my son and I love you as much as ever.”

   Elrond drew Aragorn to him and put his arms around him, holding him in a tight embrace which Aragorn gratefully returned.

   “Be safe my son and may the Valar protect you.”

   Aragorn was thrown completely by what Elrond had said yet he could have wept with relief. He had yearned to hear those words for so many years, but he had not expected his father to speak them now.

   “Thank you, Adar,” was all Aragorn managed to mumble as he struggled to contain the tumult of emotions coursing through him. Yet there was so much he wanted to say. Beyond this hour, he might never see his foster father again. If he did not open his heart to him now, he might never have the chance again. But how could he adequately express all that he needed to say? He owed Elrond so much. Had it not been for Elrond’s care, he might never even have survived to manhood and yet here he was, standing on the threshold of undertaking the most important task he would ever attempt in his life, which, should it prove successful, would rob Elrond of everything that he held dear.

   In spite of Elrond’s reassurances, all his old pain and guilt flared within him and the words simply failed to come. But, as he clung to his foster father, scarcely able to believe he might never feel his comforting arms around him ever again, he gradually became aware of the touch of his mind on his. Elrond held nothing back and Aragorn knew then with certainty that he apportioned no blame; his heart held only understanding and acceptance, bitter though it was.

   At last Aragorn reluctantly drew away.

   “May the Valar protect you too, my father,” he said. “If this is indeed our last parting, may the Straight Road bring you safely to your home.” The words caught in his throat as the enormity of the moment overwhelmed him.

  Elrond lightly stroked his son’s hair and kissed his brow. Then with only a smile of farewell, they parted.

   Aragorn sat for a few minutes on the edge of the bed with his face in his hands; he felt tears prick his eyes as the turmoil surging within him threatened to undo him completely. It broke his heart that all the chances in the coming war would only bring grief to Elrond and he knew he would never completely be at ease with his own part in this. Yet, in spite of his sadness, he recognised the truth in what Elrond had said. His own hope was tied to that of Middle-earth. He must not allow his regret at the passing of the Eldar Days to burden him on the road ahead. The healing of such hurts was beyond any of their skills.

   He raised his head from his hands. He really must be on his way, but tonight, more than ever before, it was going to take all his strength of will to walk out of the door and up the winding path to whatever fortune, good or ill, awaited him. Yet, as he glanced around the room one last time, he was suddenly aware of a greater feeling of peace having settled upon him than he had known in many a year, and he realised that he once more he had reason to be thankful for the boundless love of his foster father.

   Slowly he got to his feet and took a deep breath. He sheathed Anduril and picked up his pack. Then, without looking back, he made his way to the Hall of Fire.

~oo0oo~

…and he loved him no less than his sons.

The Making of Appendix A                                                     The Peoples of Middle-earth