*******

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."

*******