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The dwelling in the valley that lie West of the Mountains and East of the Sea had many names. Rivendell. Imladris. The Last Homely House. For Aragorn son of Arathorn, the man who had once been the boy Estel, it was simply home. No matter how far his weary feet carried him, they would forever bring him back here. He had walked many leagues over his long life and spent many years alone in the wild and untamed places of the world, from the far reaches of Arnor in the north to the wilds of Rhun in the East, but he had never found a place that brought him as much peace as Rivendell.
For someone who knew the secret ways into Rivendell, it was an easy thing to enter the hidden valley. Aragorn’s feet carried him without needing direction, following paths that he had run as a child before he carried the name or the responsibilities that he now wore. He had explored this valley without fear, climbing the tallest trees and swimming in the fastest and deepest streams. The world had been beautiful and safe and shining.
But the world that he knew had changed. At twenty-one, Aragorn had come into his birthright and taken on his true name, but in doing so he had given up the only name his mother had ever called him. Pride there was in the name Aragorn now carried, a family legacy of honor and great deeds and the promise of a future that he would have to earn over many long years.
Long years had already passed and Aragorn could feel the world changing faster. The Shadow had returned to Mordor and began to stretch its fingers out over Middle Earth. Orcs were moving freely on both sides of the Mountains. Trolls and other creatures of darkness had grown bolder. His search for the creature Gollum had finally succeeded, but who could say what damage had already been done? Change was coming. He could almost smell it.
But, for a moment at least, Aragorn was going home and the only smell carried on the air was that of green trees and clean water and the flowers that grew in abundance throughout the valley. It was the memory of his childhood and the promise of his future. His feet tread soundlessly on soft dirt and the only sound was the rustle of leaves. But then singing, soft at first, nearly indistinguishable from the wind until finally Aragorn rounded a bend and all of Rivendell lay before him like it was something out of a dream come to welcome him in his waking hours.
Aragorn would not choose to go back to the innocence of youth, even if he had the power, would never cast aside what made him who he was. Experience had given him knowledge and age had imparted wisdom and he knew that living in an eternal spring was the privilege or bane only of the Elves back when the world was young and was something to be neither coveted nor sought. Summer was now upon the world and the morning had long since given way to day. The Elves would leave this world for Valinor, where time had no claim, and Men would be left to build a future with the limited years that were their gift. Aragorn would take his place in that future or would fall ushering it in.
He climbed the steps up to a high place where one could see all of Imladris laid out below in hues of green and blue and golden yellow. He longed to gaze upon that sight, more than he wished for either food or rest. As he neared the top, the sun broke through the clouds and caught the shining raven hair of the women standing there, her face turned from him. Yes, years had passed and the world was changing but soon, very soon, Aragorn would face the true test of his life. When he completed what he was born to do, he would not only have the privilege of leading Men into a new age but he would also prove himself worthy of Arwen Undomiel.
The years were passing and Aragorn was eager to meet them.