Chapter Three: Gift Offering

“Offer unto God a sacrifice of thanksgiving and pay thy vows unto the Most High.”~ Psalm 50:14

7th of Ringarë, 3019^th year of the Third Age, Steward’s Reckoning:

“Would you give Him my thanks for this favor?” Aragorn asked, feeling as if he should be kneeling, wet floor or no.

“That is not necessary. Our Lord Eru hears your prayers as readily as He hears mine, Child.”

Aragorn bowed his head, closing his eyes, he gave a brief, heartfelt prayer of thanks. Rising his head, he gazed at the cracking fire on the altar and released a breath he had not realized he had been holding. The flames were already dying, the intense heat of the lighting had consumed the offering almost instantly so all that remained was scant bits of smoldering wood and kindling, trailing smoke up to the shafts in the ceiling. This sign was better than anything he might have hoped for, yet Aragorn also felt uneasy, wondering what else it might portend. 

“Do not be troubled, Child,” Lord Manwë said, quietly. “The One has accepted your offering of thanksgiving, rejoice and do not take it for anything more than what it is.”

There was silence between them as the Vala regarded him with penetrating eyes, the only sound the crackling from the dying fire.

“What else did you wish to speak to me about, my Lord?” Aragorn asked, once his racing heart had finally slowed to its usual pace.

Lord Manwë visage was solemn as he spoke. “What do your people think of their new king? It has been a thousand years since they last had one, has it not?”

“Yes, my Lord.” Aragorn was surprised by the question and that the Elder King was aware of how long it had been.

“Why do you think me unconcerned with the fates of Men, Child? Are they not also under my purview as King of Arda?” the Vala chided gently.

“Yes, Lord. Forgive me,” Aragorn said, feeling like as child chastised for his thoughtlessness. He considered Lord Manwë’s question for a moment before he replied.

“Most of my people rejoice that their King has returned to them. The common folk have particularly longed for my coming, and all of the Lords of the realm have acknowledged my authority and have sworn their fealty to me. Yet I know some of the minor lords contest my claim and continue see me as a usurper from the North. I have had reports that they speak their dissent amongst themselves.”

“What have you done to them for their rejection of your claim, Child?”

Aragorn shrugged. “I have done nothing to them, my Lord. They are free to believe what they will as long as it harms none. As long as they give deference to me in public I care not what they say about me in private.”

The Elder King’s eyes were so intense, Aragorn shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “You do not seek to punish them for it?”

Aragorn frowned, taken aback. “I would rather win their affirmation. They speak from fear and ignorance.”

“Why do so, when you have the authority to compel their compliance?” the Vala asked.   

“Just because I have the authority does not mean I have the right, my Lord,” Aragorn replied quietly. “Coercion will turn their hearts even farther from me.”

“Indeed, Child. I am glad you understand this,” Lord Manwë said, smiling softly. “For it is a mark of a wise ruler.”

The Elder King sighed, his features sober. “The Elder Days have passed away and the Middle Day are passing. You are to be the one whom shall usher in the Younger Days. The Elves and Dwarves shall continue to fade until they are remembered only in the songs and stories of Men.”

“I wish it were not so, my Lord,” Aragorn interjected. “The world shall lose much of its beauty and wonder with the dwindling of the elder races.”

“It pleases me to know you think that, Child,” the Vala replied with a sad half-smile. “Yet, know that this was intended from the beginning. It is to be a new Age in which Men shall rule Endórë, from now until the Ending of the Arda. You shall rule the largest and most powerful empire in Endórë. Many of your ancestors were honorable, just and courageous yet others were cruel, petty and selfish. Truly, I desired to speak with you because I wished to know what kind of Man the King of Gondor and Arnor is. Now that I know you are indeed worthy of the throne of your forefathers, I wish you to have this, Child.”

Lord Manwë pressed something small and warm into Aragorn’s hand. Staring down, he saw that it was a ring. It had the brilliant silver sheen of mithril and on it was the image of a golden eagle with its wings outstretched as large as his thumb. Its talons griped a pea-sized sapphire of the deepest blue, with many tiny facets that caught and scattered the light. It was a exquisitely beautiful; the eagle was so detailed that he could trace the individual feathers on its wings and its beak parted mid-shriek.

“Why are you giving this to me, Lord?”

“So that when you tell those whom dispute your authority about our conversation, you have some evidence to prove it indeed took place.” the Elder King sounded amused.

Aragorn frowned. He had thought to tell no one of this conversation, save perhaps his wife and Faramir.

“King Elessar,” Lord Manwë said solemnly. Aragorn felt himself stand straighter at his tone.

“I wish you to have this ring as a token that I and my fellow Valar recognize you as the rightful King of the Reunited Realm.” he turned to glance at the smoking offering on the altar. “And we are not the only ones, Child.”

Sliding the ring onto the fourth finger of his right hand, Aragorn was unsurprised to find that it fit perfectly. Looking up, he realized that he was alone in the chamber once more. He stood there, watching the smoke trail up to the ceiling, fingering his new ring. Aragorn then retrieved his pack from where he had placed it on the floor. Shouldering it, he took one last look at the room, pausing before he sealed the door.

“Thank you, my Lord,” he said with reverence to the empty room.

He walked to the edge of ledge that formed the entrance to the Hallow and, once more, Aragorn looked out at the lands below. At the White City, brilliant in the midday Sun. At the shimmering ribbon that was the Great River. At the fields ravaged by war only months ago, now rich and fallow or green with the sprouts of vetches and broad beans. And at the Sea, sparkling in the distance like gold threads broidering a blue cloak.

“I am grateful for all that has been given to me,” he said softly, and began the descent down the mountain.

 Glossary

Endórë (Quenya): ‘Middle-earth’.