Settlement of Fornost  Spring 3002 TA

Erithain sat in the Chieftain’s chair looking through missives sent from the various tribes of the Dunedain, the wandering people who were the remnants of the kingdom of Arnor.  They had maintained throughout the thousand years since the destruction of their cities and desolation that the Witch King of Angmar had wrought upon his people.  He sighed; the weight of responsibility lay heavier on him some days more than others.  This was one of those days.  Arathorn had named him regent long ago when Aragorn was a small child and on his way to live with the Elves in Imladris. It was a responsibility he undertook with the utmost dedication so great was his love for Arathorn and his people. He understood why Aragorn travelled the Wild but he missed his nephew and friend.  He picked up the missive from Tiron, Thane of the tribe who rode the forested areas closer to the Weather hills; he reported that Orcs were more frequently seen and becoming bolder.  He tossed aside the missive and reached for his goblet of wine.  At that moment Erkenthal his ever-faithful Steward stepped in, but before he was able to announce, a gruff voice stated, “Yes, Yes. I am here!” Erkenthal rolled his eyes at the curious nature of Wizards; looked at Erithain and gestured with both hands toward the grey clad figure entering the hall.

“Gandalf!” Erthain exclaimed suddenly feeling so much younger than his actual age of ninety.  He stood and walked to embrace the old wizard, “So good it is to see you again. What news from the outside world?  Have you seen Aragorn of late?  Is he well?” The last question was said in rather a more plaintive way that he would have liked. 

Gandalf hugged the young Man.  “Yes, Yes.  Well in answer to your questions.  It is good to see you as well, though that was really not a question,” the wizard digressed, “Yes, I have seen Aragorn and yes he is well.  That is partly why I am here.  What news of the world….well what news indeed.” He looked over to the scattered missives upon the table that Erithain had earlier been perusing.

Erithain looked at his old friend, “Gandalf, you are still speaking in riddles again…”

Gandalf said, “Am I?  Well then I will speak more plainly. We need more rangers patrolling the Shire.”

Erithain looked at him, “It will be done, but can I ask why.”

The wizard replied, “I hope there is no reason at all, but we cannot be too careful.”

Erithain just looked at Gandalf again with a look that said, “You are doing it again!” as he had gone to a sideboard to pour them two cups of wine.

Gandalf sighed and simply said, “You are just going to have to trust me.”

Erithain smiled a knowing smile and handed the wizard the cup of wine he just poured, “Haven’t I always?”

~*~*~*~*~

Gilraen sat at her loom, lost in thought as she was more and more these days.  She could feel the coming storm in her bones.  Maybe it was the gift of foresight that was showing itself at long last.  Her mother Iorwen was gifted with foresight, or cursed Gilraen thought ruefully.  Or maybe it was the years she had spent in Imladris among the Elves raising Aragorn.  She thought back to that time so long ago.  Almost a lifetime ago.

Imladris, Late 2951

Gilraen looked around her rooms, home to her and Estel for close to twenty years.  She could just about hear Estel’s laughter rising up from the courtyard.  Him bounding in with endless energy bringing her his latest “treasure” found in the woods beyond Imladris. Though they had come in such tragic circumstances, the years spent in Imladris had been happy ones.  Beyond the strictures that Elrond had placed upon her he had gone out of his way to make both mother and son feel at home.  She had become his Chatelaine while in residence, giving her life form and purpose.  It had become home, she and Elrond rearing Estel to become the young man that he now was.  She drew in a deep breath releasing it with the same fervor.  In one afternoon she realised that this was no longer her home.  She wanted to return to her home among the Dunedain; the settlement near Fornost.  She did not know what awaited her there, but she no longer felt as if she belonged here in Imladris.  She would speak with Elrond on the morrow.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Elrond looked at the seat at the breakfast table that was his son’s.  There had been times of late that Estel had been gone for months on patrol with Elladan and Elrohir, but this was different.  Estel would not return.  He would not come back brimming with stories from their travels so anxious to tell his adar of adventures they had had.  A wave of sadness and regret washed over him.  He and his beloved foster son had not parted well.  The thought of some of their last words lacerated his soul.  He stared at his goblet of breakfast wine in his hand and a tear fell unbidden.   It was as it was; as it needed to be.  For the sake of Middle Earth.  He allowed a ripple of bitterness to flow briefly then wiped away the useless tear that fell from his eye.  A slight noise disturbed him and he quickly tried to gather himself.

“Don’t try to compose yourself for my benefit.  There is no need.”

Elrond looked up from his breakfast goblet and saw Gilraen.  She was beautiful in his eyes.  An indomitable spirit that carried her own pain.  He had come to admire this woman who was beautiful both inside and out.  They had grown close over the years spent rearing their son.  He had extended the hand of understanding and friendship to this lady of Men as a courtesy but she in turn had offered hers out of kindness.  They had both lost great love in their lives and Elrond came to understand that it did not matter how love lasted; short years or many centuries, a deep love leaves a mark on the soul.  She understood his love for Celebrian in a way not many others had.  She gave him a friendly presence and kindly ear, one that did not expect anything from him.  She simply was.  He smiled but by the way she held herself a fresh pain seared.  “You wish to return to your people, don’t you?”  

“Does it show that much?” Gilraen admitted.

“No, not to all, but to me, Yes.”  Elrond gazed upon this woman who had become his friend and extended his hand and felt her gentle yet reassuring clasp in return. “You can remain here as long as you wish, My Lady.  You know that…but if you no longer wish…” Elrond’s voice had trailed off.

“I do wish to return to my people.” Gilraen stated gently, regretting the pain that she knew was flaring in Elrond’s heart, though he would never show it.  He would not impose his will upon another.  “But I will miss my life here among you all.  You are also family.  It seems wherever I go I must leave a part of myself.”

Elrond stated in a full voice, “And we are the better for it.  And this place will be lesser without your presence.”  His heart hurt to lose this friend.  But it was as it should be.

~*~*~*~*~

She had left later that month and had never returned.  A portion of her still missed the Elven enclave.  The calm and serenity of Imladris.  Her memories of the verdant ravine were mixed.  She would be forever grateful to Elrond for giving her and Estel a home, giving her a chance at peace but there had been so much she had been asked to conceal as well.  Everything weighed, she truly treasured the friendship she had shared with Elrond, so different from any other in her lifetime.

“Auntie!  Auntie!”  Gilraen was shaken from her reverie by her great nephew Galon, all of ten years and very excitable.  He was followed by Miri, his younger sister and his ever present shadow.  “I just finished it and I couldn’t wait to show you!”

Gilraen smiled at the two brightest sparks in her life, “And what do you have to show me!”

“My horse!”  he produced a carving of a rampant horse.  Carved by ten year old hands it was quite a good rendering.

“Oh my!  That is very good. Galon!  I am very impressed.”

“I told them to wait and that you were trying to finish something, but as usual—”

Gilraen looked up at her brother, Erithain, “As usual you could deny them nothing!  Yes I know.” She chuckled, “apparently neither can I.”  She looked back to her great niece and nephew, “Why don’t you and Miri take your horse outside and let it run around some!  Your Grandpa and I have much to discuss.”

“Come on, Miri.  They're going to talk grown up talk again!”

Gilraen, “Aye it is grown up talk.  Now Scoot!”

The two scampered off,  “He is so like Thilion at that age,” Gilraen said.

A shadow crossed Erithain’s face as he thought of his son who had been slain in an Orc attack a year past.

“What have you heard,” Gilraen said gently to bring her dear brother away from his grief.

“Gandalf wants to double the guard around the Shire.”

“Can you do it?”

“Aye” Erithain rubbed his whiskered face once over, “I can send a missive to Father to ask if any of the young Watch are ready for service.  And I can send to a few other of the tribes with the same message.  But Orc incursions are growing as well.  My heart is heavy, Sister.  The slow growth of evil in the East is quickening its pace.”

“I know I have felt it.  It is coming.  But I also know that Estel will be ready.  Of that I have no doubt.” 

Erithain looked at his sister and saw that old fire in her eyes that always appeared  when she spoke of Aragorn.   He was her light within; her reason for being.  Especially today; it was his nephew’s birthday.  His sister’s life had ever been one of waiting; of hoping; of looking to the future, but never for herself.  Erithain hoped he had provided a good life for his sister since her return from Imladris, some fifty years ago. His children and then his grandchildren loved their “Auntie”.  Had it truly been that long he wondered.  He realised it had.

According to Dunedain tradition. Gilraen and her family gathered together for the Elbereth Gilthoniel.  As a wandering people they could not always be together on birthday celebrations so there was a ritual they performed when a loved one was far from home whether they had passed beyond the veil to Iluvatar or abroad in this world serving others, as was the Dunedain way.

At dusk Gilraen and Erithain, his wife Gannadis and his seven grandchildren and two daughters-by-marriage gathered in the common green near the Hall.  His two remaining sons, Erthion and Teliedir were out on patrol and could not be there.

They formed a circle around the communal bonfire in the center of the settlement; all holding a sprig of rosemary, the herb of remembrance in their hands to be thrown into the flames that their words should travel far enough to reach their loved one.  Erithain as oldest male of the family began, “We gather here at dusk to celebrate the life of our beloved Aragorn.  We think of his laughter and the twinkle in his eye as he would sit around the fire and tell stories.  We send our thoughts and well wishes to the stars of Elbereth Gilthoniel. The same stars shine above us all. We send our thoughts to the stars in the hope they will find their way through to our beloved though absent one’s heart,”  He threw his sprig of rosemary, the herb of remembrance into the flame, the smoke rising spiritually guiding their thoughts to Aragorn, wherever he was.   “Sister…” 

Gilraen as mother to Aragorn began, “We gather together today and think of Aragorn, my son.  I think of his courage and his dedication to duty and family.  We send our thoughts to the stars in the hope they will find their way through to our beloved though absent one’s heart,”  She finished intoning the traditional last words said after her own words of the heart.  A memory and the Elbereth Githoniel, as the intonation was named, passed around the circle for those who were moved to speak. All in turn throwing their rosemary onto the blaze.  Then all voices raised to Elbereth Githoniel:

Ir Ithil ammen Eruchín

menel-vîr síla díriel

si loth a galadh lasto dîn!

A Hîr Annûn Gilthoniel,

le linnon.  A lasta ammen…

Or

When the Moon, jewel of the firmament,

shines on the watch for us, Children of the One,

then flower and tree, listen in silence!

O Lady of the West, Starkindler,

to thee I sing,  O hear us …

As the fire burned Gannadis gave her gift, the gift of the harp. She played long into the night or at least until the young ones started squirming and all knew it was time for bed.

~*~*~*~

For Gilraen sleep was elusive.  She got up and slipped outside to gaze upon the stars of Elbereth Githoniel and thought of her son and then she felt a presence as the last lingering essence of Rosemary wafted softly by.  She looked to her side and gasped.  There stood Arathorn, her beloved.  “My love… you have returned.  It has been so long…” 

Arathorn smiled sweetly and with a tinge of sadness, “Nay, my love.  I am not permitted.  Would that I were.”

A longing seized her heart; she had never truly gotten over the death of her husband.  She had learned to accept life as it came because Estel needed her but she had never truly recovered from Arathorn’s death.  She looked into the remembered gentle grey eyes and she reached up to caress his cheek.  Bristly stubble greeted her fingertips. “If you are visiting me from beyond the Veil, the least you could have done was to shave first!” she said with remembered asperity.  

Arathorn laughed a full bodied laugh, “Woman you have not changed since I met you that day we came offering ale and winter wheat to your father!”

Gilraen smiled and then said in a voice of chagrin and regret, “But I have!” she said truthfully.

Arathorn looked at her, grey eyes filled with tears and knowledge, “I know, my love.  And soon, soon we will be together!”

She looked at him with such love and hope, “Do you mean…”

“Yes soon, but the gift is not ready to be given back just yet.”

Gilraen sighed, “What else is being asked of me?  I have given so much…”

Arathorn’s heart twinged at the sorrow and sadness of her words, and the truth of them.  

Arathorn bent to kiss her forehead brushing aside the graying hair that now held only a few strands of the honey blond hair he loved so much.  He then tilted her chin up with a finger and kissed her lips.  So many emotions flowed out of the small place in her heart that she placed her memories of her life with Arathorn.  She reveled in the longed for feel of his lips.  Then new images formed in her mind.  Her son leading a force amid evil wearing the sable and silver carrying the reforged sword.  Him standing on what looked to be the prow of a stone ship the winged crown upon his brow.  Him hugging Arwen, smiling as his face glowed with happiness.  Gilraen’s heart was bursting with joy. Arathorn ended the kiss, pulling away and looking into her eyes.  “You are gifted with this vision, to gladden your heart, to know that you have not sacrificed in vain.  Seek our son and give him hope that now it is truly beginning. He will succeed if he stays true to his path.”

Gilraen looked mischievously at her husband, “And the only way to deliver to me this vision was a kiss?”

Arathorn smiled, “Of course not!  I just thought that was the most enticing way of delivery!”

Gilraen slapped him upside the head with a smile that was only ever reserved for him, “Incorrigible!”

“I come from beyond this world to bring you a vision of hope and I get slapped for my troubles?”

Gilraen kissed him again and inside her head she heard, “Soon my love, soon!”  She awoke with a start.  She had been dreaming.  And the dream had been so real that a tear dropped from her eye as she looked around her simple room in the Great Hall.   It had all been a dream she thought until she spied a small crystal by her bedside.  It had not been there at bedtime. She picked it up and was immediately filled with hope. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

The Sindarin poem is Luthien’s song. It seemed appropriate:

https://www.elfdict.com/phrases/1-sindarin/26-luuthiens_song  and it is in HoME vol.3 p.354