Weaving a Song

Chapter 67

c.2949-2951 TA

Estel stayed the promised year in Mirkwood under the watchful eye of the Royal family. He returned to Imladris a little wiser, a little stronger, and- if he had known it- a little closer to becoming the king he was heir to. Legolas had ridden with him through the mountain pass where Glorfindel met them. He had left Estel there with one final farewell and word of wisdom.

"Farewell, little acorn. You are always welcome among the leaves. Remember to keep your wits about you, yes? Even in Imladris, else you may grow complacent and give the evil ones a chance to eat you."

"Eat me?"

"Yes, little acorns taste better than leaves." Legolas said now grinning. "Farewell once more." He said and turned his horse around.

"Will you be alright alone?" Glorfindel asked.

"Of course." Legolas answered.

"Farewell!" Estel cried after him. Legolas only rose his hand in acknowledgement and trotted back into the mountains. Estel sighed. "I will miss them."

Glorfindel laughed. "Well, there are many others who missed you. Come, we are close to home."

When Estel returned his brothers were not there, instead they were out hunting Orcs per usual. Elrond, however, greeted him with warmth and affection. Estel had forgotten how peaceful Imladris was in the more wild paths of Mirkwood. "I am glad to be home, Ada." He said to Elrond.

The peace of Imladris, however, was about to be taken from Estel for a time.

A year after he returned, Estel was now twenty-one and had been accompanying his brothers on occasion in the wild. On this day they returned home, and Estel's life was about to change forever.

"Estel," Elrond called. Estel looked at his father who was standing just behind him in the hallway. "I have need to tell you of something." Estel appeared curious, and followed Elrond into his study. They both sat, Estel catching a trace of nervousness on his father's face as they did. "You have reached an age where you are supposed to be considered a man. You have long known, that, though we all care for you deeply, I am not your father."

Estel frowned. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Your father was one of the Dunedain, the Rangers. His name was Arathorn," he looked at Estel with piercing eyes, "And your name is Aragorn." Estel was frowning deeper now.

"Why was I christened Estel then? And why is that so important?"

"Your heritage is complicated, and we wanted to hide you from those who would seek you out. The Enemy does not want you alive."

"Why? What have I ever done?" Estel cried.

"Nothing, it is not what you have done, it is because of who you are." Estel frowned, not understanding. Elrond gathered himself, and then pulled a wrapped sword and sheath and ring from his desk. "These are yours, and they reveal your history."

Estel unwrapped the sword, and he recognized it from his years of tutelage. "It cannot be…" He whispered. Elrond pushed the ring forward.

"The Ring of Barahir."

"No!" Estel cried. "No! That is not who I am! It cannot be!"

"It is in your blood, you are the last of that line. You have been the Chieftain of the Dúnedain since you were brought here." Elrond said gently.

"No!" Estel cried one last time before running out of the door. Elrond sighed.

"That could have gone better." He said to himself.