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Aragorn sighed. He was finally finished; the last scroll was now reviewed and sorted. Just a signature remained to be affixed, and he would be free from his desk at long last. He had hoped to join Arwen for dinner, but now, with the candles burnt low and the servants long since dismissed, it was far too late—again.
While he was not yet king, it seemed to make little difference to the lords of Gondor. Despite their initial displeasure with him, they were now all too eager to put him to work. Perhaps they meant to kill him, to succeed where Sauron had failed. Every petition brought to him was more absurd than the last—surely an attempt on his life. There could be no other reason why he would be consulted on which tablecloth to use at council banquets, or on the propriety of naming a new variant of potato in honour of the Ring-bearer.
No wonder Erestor prowled around looking like a disgruntled cat; he had been dealing with the paperwork of Rivendell for centuries, Aragorn found himself short of patience after a matter of weeks. He would have to apologise for his lack of appreciation as a child. The many lessons he had failed to escape from growing up were now proving to be very useful. Signing his name at the bottom of the scroll, Aragorn stood, stretching his stiff limbs. While this work was far from enjoyable, it was a good distraction. Before the week was up, his life would be changed irrevocably: he would be crowned King of Gondor. Never again to wander alone in the forest and plains of Middle-earth, nor to climb its tall mountains or traverse its long rivers. It filled him with a strange sense of grief.
It was the future he spent his life working towards, the destiny that had shadowed his steps for years. And yet, somehow, it felt as if it had come too soon. He laughed to himself; he was no longer a young man, even by the counting of the Dúnedain. Arwen too had been kept waiting for long enough. He knew this, but part of him, a large part if he were truthful, wished to remain as Strider, a simple ranger. Well, maybe not simple; he would still like Arwen to look upon him favourably.
If he was still Estel of Rivendell, a child shaded under the trees of Lord Elrond, he wouldn't doubt himself so. If his confidence had wavered in those times, his adar would appear like a star in the black of night, guiding him from the darkness. Those times, however, had long since passed; he was a man grown. Above all else, how could he seek comfort from the father who had been robbed of his daughter, the elf who must leave these shores knowing the child he raised with kindness in turn condemned his daughter to a mortal life.
Stepping to the window, Aragorn glanced at the sky. Gil-Estel was high above the city, the hour late. Before his thoughts turned even more dour, he turned to leave for the night. He did not get far when the sweeping of a harp caught his ear. It was a song he knew well, a voice most familiar. Aragorn stepped out onto the balcony. There on the city wall was the very elf he had longed to see. Lord Elrond sat, harp in hand, humming a bittersweet tune, with his eyes fixed on the horizon. Faced with the father of his soon-to-be wife, Aragorn felt frozen. He had taken Elrond's love and support only to repay him with grief. He was little more than an ungrateful thief, and still he desired to run to his arms, to be comforted by his warmth. His spirit dampened, sickened with his own selfishness, he turned to leave, unwilling to disturb the elf's peace, when a long twang sounded, followed by a clattering of wood hitting stone.
Lord Elrond had dropped his harp. It was an unprecedented sight. Always steady and stable, the hands of Elrond didn't fail, a truth Aragorn had known since childhood; they were the hands of the greatest healer in Middle-earth. Breaking from his shock, he hurried over to where his foster father sat. As he approached, the true state of the elf lord became clear. He was not well. Never had he expected to see his foster father look so frail. The elf's hands trembled as they moved, and his face appeared drawn, as if he had not slept in days.
Aragorn had heard from Elrohir and Elladan that all the bearers of Celebrimbor's rings were to sail, and that by shielding their realm, they had to endure much pain, eventually giving away more of themselves than they could afford. The twins had said, that with the fall of Sauron, the strength that remained within them would ultimately fail, the rings' purpose fulfilled at last. It was solely force of will allowing these tired guardians the time to say their farewells; before leaving these shores to seek healing in the Undying Lands. Aragorn had thought he had understood this, but to see it so plainly before him was as shocking as it was devastating.
To most men, understanding that your parents will not always be there is a certainty, and to Aragorn that was indeed the case for his mother, but this sudden realization that the immortal elf, unchanging from his earliest memories, would indeed be leaving him behind was a loss he had not been prepared to face.
'Estel, have you come to admire the view?' Elrond asked. No doubt he could see the concern on Aragorn face yet he sat there smiling one knee nestled towards his chest. Not the dignified image of a elven lord he usually portrayed. 'Gil-Estel is particularly bright tonight.'
'My Lord, how long have you been outside? Winter has not yet left; the wind remains cold.' Aragorn worried, leaning down to pick up the fallen harp.
'Oh, don't fuss, I am fine. I was simply enjoying the view.' Despite his words, the man could see how the elf clasped his hands together, attempting to stop them from shaking. Passing the instrument over, Aragorn could feel how they trembled. He was appalled by how cold the elf lord had become as a result of his night-time performance.
'You are chilled through; let us retire inside and sit before the fire. I could make us a cup of Bilbo's tea to warm us up.'
'No, I shall pass on the honour o great king of men,' Elrond teased, straightening up to place both feet firmly on the ground. 'I want to stay here tonight. I wish to see the sunrise on the new age. It is a sight like no other. Here, sit. Let us watch together,' he said, patting the wall beside him. Aragorn sighed muttering under his breath at the stubbornness of elves. Removing his mantle, he placed it over the elf's shoulders before taking a seat next to him. As he did so, he could feel Elrond's bemused gaze following him.
'You've grown into a fine man; I am proud of the person you have become.'
'Even if I have taken your daughter from you?' he asked quietly. He could not stop the words from falling from his lips; he had never meant to voice the doubts that burdened his heart, but the praise from one he admired so stripped him bare. Elrond frowned sadly before placing a gentle hand on Aragorn’s knee.
'If you doubt my love for you, that is my failing, but you are a fool to believe anyone could make Arwen go somewhere she did not wish to go herself. Do not blame yourself for her choice; it was hers, and she made it willingly. She simply chose as her heart desired, a different path but one filled with joy nonetheless, as my brother did before her. Mourn not the past, but rejoice in the future.' Elrond said firmly look straight into his foster-son's eyes.
'I will not fail her. I shall support her decisions, protect her from harm, love her always. This I swear.' Aragorn went to stand, placing his hand over his heart to make his oath, but Elrond quickly grasped his arm, stopping him; the elf shook his head softly.
'Do not, please. Promises, oaths, and the like do more harm than good, at least in my experience. Instead, I ask you to remember this. My daughter is strong, but she has lived among family all her life, at Rivendell, then with her grandparents at Lórien. It will be a hard change for her here. She will be an elf amongst a city of men. The people here are not as used to elves as the rangers that frequented Rivendell. She will be seen as something different here, strange even. It will be even more apparent as our kin begin to sail in even greater numbers and our kind becomes a tale of the past. I have been different. I am Peredhel, not completely elven nor man. It took centuries, until the founding of Rivendell, to make me feel as though I belonged. Arwen does not have that time. You can ensure she does not need it. Build a kingdom that loves her as you do; if you do, I know she will be happy here. That you both will be happy, together.'
'Have you foreseen this?' Aragorn asked seeking to know for sure that the Arwen was not wrong in her choice.
'No, I need not see the future when I know your heart. It is good and just.' The smile which reappeared on Elrond's face could be heard in his voice. Aragorn could fell his doubts fade in the light of Elrond convection. If Elrond in all his wisdom, judged the future bright who was Aragorn to argue?
'Any goodness I have inside of me is in no small part thanks to you. Your care and guidance have made me who I am today.'
'You speak with a buttered tongue. Who taught you to speak so? Arwen? Elrohir? It wasn't Elladan at least; he is much too blunt. They have corrupted you. I miss the sweet child who clung to my sleeves and hid behind my legs.' It seemed even the wise could be weak to flattery. The elf ears had turned ever so slightly pink and he turn away unable to continue eye contact.
'Your children learnt from example, I'm sure.' They shared a smile, remember happy childhood memories as they gazes to the stars above, content in each other's company and the quiet of the moment. It was almost dawn, the star of hope about to dip below the horizon, before Aragorn found his voice again.
'You are not well, my lord,' Aragorn stated.
'Tis but a chill. It will pass,' Elrond replied dismissively, not looking away from the sky.
'I learnt healing at your knee. You trained me too well to believe such lacklustre excuses.' Aragorn replied unimpressed. If he had given such an answer under Elrond guardianship, he would been locked in the healing halls and lectured on the importance of self-care.
'It was lacking imagination, wasn't it?' Elrond said wryly glancing over before looking down at his hands clasped around his harp . 'I have little time remaining on these shores. While it is far from the first time the music of the far shore has reached my ears, I had not felt the need to answer; the world was young... so was I. And angry, far too unsettled to ever think of peace beyond the sea. Angry at my parents for abandoning us, for refusing to give up that cursed trinket; surely no jewel was worth the lives of a whole city. Angrier still at Maglor and Maedhros. I would name them as kidnappers, murderers, curse them for taking us, but more so for leaving us when we came to love them so dearly. I even cursed Lúthien for choosing Beren, their love being the reason I was sundered from my brother until the world remade. Ereinion's court thought me quite mad at first. Now I have not the strength left to be angry.'
'I cannot imagine it, that you would be capable of such anger.' In all Aragorn's time in Rivendell as a youth, the elf lord was always calm, a steading presence for a child finding his place in the world. 'You have ever been gentle and forgiving in my memory, short though it may be compared to the life of an elf.'
'My twins did not get their temper from their mother.' Elrond chuckled ruefully. 'It was pain that fuelled me, and the unfairness of the world. At that time, I swore that if I were to have children, I would never abandon them. Eärendil, Elwing, Maedhros, Maglor—not one of them, when given the chance, chose us. It did not matter how we begged or screamed. They said that they had no choice; while this may have indeed been true, their excuses meant little to us then. The wound caused was not something that could be consoled with mere words. It broke something inside me. Something that never healed straight; maybe that is why I found my peace in healing others. Now I am the one leaving, my children left behind, and with little choice in the matter. It is a bitter pill to swallow.'
'It is hardly the same. Your children are grown. You have taught them, raised them, loved them. Furthermore, they would not wish to remain if it would cause you pain. Surely parting now is better than you fading away before their eyes.'
'I know this logically, but still, in my heart, it feels a betrayal to the child I once was, the one whose only wish was for someone to stay.' Elrond placed a hand on his heart, rubbing as if to heal the pain he felt inside. 'I find myself thinking of the past often of late. While I haven't blamed my parents, any of them, for an age, it is only now that I understand them, how they must have felt leaving. The decision is far from an easy one, even when there is no choice. Still, for all that I know I must, I never wanted to be the cause of such hurt. It is time for me to let go.'
'Can you?' Aragorn questioned.
'I must. I held everything much too tightly for far too long: my pain, my joy, this land. I held on with all I had. Faced with the repeated losses of those dearest to me, it was my way to endure, to survive. It made me who I am, but it has left me weary. I am tired, Estel... so very tired.'
'You have done your part. Seek rest now, in the lands across the sea. I hear it is a place of healing, where darkness does not follow.'
'I know not what lies beyond the sea. I don’t believe that by simply crossing the sea all will be well, the pains of the past magically disappearing. Healing is not so simple. What I do know is that my wife is waiting. I will not be alone there, even leaving behind all that I once clung to. Even so, to leave these shores, the land I so dearly love, where my brother and I played and sang together—it breaks my heart. To know that I leave my children behind, two at least, I will not meet again until the breaking of the world.'
'One of the twins has made their choice!' Aragorn exclaimed. Elrond leaned over and flicked him between the eyes.
'Arwen and you, you foolish child.' Elrond scolded; shaking his head before reaching for an embrace. They held each other tightly for a moment. It was if they were back at Rivendell, all pain forgotten. 'You are my son; I love you no less than the children of my blood. It was you who restored the hope I didn't even know I had lost; it was why I named you Estel. You brought joy and laughter back into a valley frozen in melancholy. How could I not love you? As for your brothers, I don’t believe they will know their choice themselves; not until they are aboard a boat or have passed beyond this world.'
As they parted with wet eyes, they laughed, there hearts lighten of their burdens for having shared them with another. Above their heads, Gil-Estel appeared to shine brighter, almost in grand farewell before disappearing slowly as the darkness of night gave way to light of morning. The dawn of a new day had begun.
'You know, they say Eärendil, on his arrival in Valinor, was raised as a star of hope. I laughed the first time I heard that. When that star first appeared in the sky, we hated it, Elros and I. It meant we had been forgotten. Now I find it comforting. I know that that when I leave this land behind, there will still be someone watching over my children, and eventually their children.' Elrond said, pacing his harp in Aragorn's hands before brushing his robes as he stood. Aragorn recognised it. It was old but clearly well cared for, embossed with a seven pointed star, it had been this very instrument that had chased off even his fiercest nightmares as a child.
'Long has it been since I have left the valley, I am glad for having had this time with you. You have been kind listening to this old elf ramble on. Now it is time for one last adventure, never again to return.'
He could feel a tear spill from his eyes. While he knew it was not their last meeting, the elf would not leave before he saw his daughter married, this felt like the end, like a final goodbye.
'Oh, Estel, don't frown so. Smile; the time for sorrow has passed, and hope now rules the future of men,' Elrond called back as his figure disappeared out of sight.
Aragorn looked upon the city below, bathed in the warm glow of sunlight. As he began to play, he decided Elrond had been right. It was indeed a beautiful sight, a fitting start to an age of peace.