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Many Meetings, Many Partings
Long Ages Men can never see,
High deeds no Mortal hands have done,
You knew, and wrought; what grace to me
Is given now to be your son?
--
Imladris, Year 2948 of the Third Age
“If it were anyone but Legolas,” Lord Elrond said, as he stood with his youngest son in the courtyard, “I would not allow it. You know that, Estel.”
“I know, Ada,” the young man said, nearly going cross-eyed trying to watch both the Elven-lord and the stairs leading to the Last Homely House. “I will not give you cause to regret your decision.”
“You must be very careful, penneth. Thranduil is not unpleasant when you get to know him. He will certainly treat you well for his son’s sake. Legolas likes you, and I know from experience that he would consider no sacrifice too great to make for a friend… You are unlikely to come to harm from orcs and spiders while in their care. But neither of them knows anything about Men. You must be sure to tell Legolas if the archery masters push you too hard.”
“Legolas said the archery masters of Greenwood are the most patient teachers in Middle-earth!” Estel protested.
“And so they are, ion nîn… Yet I have seen the amount of time Legolas spent on the archery ranges when he was in training. It did him no harm to go without sleep for a day or two, but it would definitely do you harm.”
Estel let out a frustrated sigh.
“How will I ever be an archer if I cannot practice?”
“Oh, you will practice,” Elrond assured him. “If I know anything of Thranduil’s archery masters, you will spend several hours a day with your bow.”
Estel glanced at the steps. There was still no sign of his brothers or Legolas.
“Estel? Is something wrong?”
The young man drew in a deep breath, and finally asked the question that had been troubling him for some weeks.
“I will never be as good as Legolas, will I, Ada?” he said softly. “No matter how much I practice. I will never have his speed, strength, or tirelessness. He can hit targets that I cannot even see.”
“There is no shame in that, penneth,” Elrond said. “I know many experienced archers, and none of them is as good as Legolas. For that matter, Legolas himself has far more skill now than he did as a novice warrior.”
“You know what I mean.” Estel bit his lip. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“You have never disappointed me, Estel,” the Master of Imladris told his foster-son quietly. “You must know that. You have been with us for such a short time, but you have already won all our hearts.”
“But I cannot –”
“Estel.” Lord Elrond’s voice was firm. “It does not matter what you can and cannot do. What matters is your heart, your courage and your spirit. In those you have shown yourself the equal of the noblest Elven-lords of Arda.”
The door opened. Elrond turned towards the house long enough to see the three ellyn emerge before he returned his attention to Estel. “Ion nîn, I do not want you to mope and make yourself miserable if you cannot equal the Mirkwood bowmen. I have spoken to Legolas, but he has not had much interaction with Men and he will not be able to help you unless you let him. Promise me that you will tell him at once if anything is worrying you.”
Estel flushed and mumbled, “I would not have him think me weak.”
“He will not think you weak, Estel. I have known him all his life… Of all the Elves in Middle-earth he is the most soft-hearted, and he will do everything he can to ensure that you are comfortable with your training. You can trust him as you would your brothers. Tell him if you are troubled, my son.”
“I will, Ada.”
“Good.” Elrond pulled Estel into his arms for a brief hug, drawing back as Elladan, Elrohir and Legolas approached them. “May Elbereth watch over you, penneth.”
My brothers! Mighty, bold and true,
Your deeds are sung in dale and glen.
What impulse, brothers, prompted you
To love a child of mortal Men?
--
Imladris, Year 2951 of the Third Age
“You will be careful?” Elladan said anxiously.
“Did anyone fuss this much when you went on your first errand as warriors?” asked Estel irritably.
“Of course they did,” Elrohir responded, just as Elladan said, “That was different. We were far older and we had had several years of training. And before you ask, so had Legolas when he went on his first patrol.”
“I cannot help being human!” the young man snapped. “It’s not like I asked for it. Do you think I like being slower and weaker and worse at everything?”
The ellyn exchanged a startled glance.
“That was not what we meant, Estel,” Elrohir said. “And you must not consider yourself weak. You are a skilled warrior and we are proud to call you our brother.”
“Then why do you want to stop me?”
“We fear for you,” Elladan admitted. “We fear losing you. Ada took you in as a favour to the Dúnedain, to keep you safe for them, but in your time here we have learnt to love you, tithen gwador. We want you to be well.”
“And I must confess,” Elrohir added, “that we do not understand this desire to go into the wild. You can gain experience here in Imladris, or if you think it is too tame here you can go to Mirkwood. You will not be able to complain about a shortage of fighting, and we would feel easier if Legolas were watching over you.”
“I am not a child! I do not need anybody to watch over me!”
“Are you joining the Rangers to prove that you need nobody to watch over you?”
Estel’s scowl deepened.
“No. I am going to get some respite from Elves and their incessant, infernal nagging.”
“Estel!”
The young man looked up at his brothers, his eyes softening at the real hurt he read in their faces.
“Forgive me,” he murmured contritely. “I did not mean that. But I must spend more time among men. Even Nana agrees. I cannot be a king of men if I know nothing of them.”
“The Dúnedain are not what you would call regular Men,” Elrohir pointed out.
“It will be a start.” Estel bowed his head. “I know you will worry and Ada will worry and Nana will worry and Legolas will worry, but I must do this. And also…” He trailed off, glancing hesitantly at the Elves.
“And also what, Estel?”
“I have to prove to myself that I am not as incapable a warrior as I seem in comparison with Elves. You have all told me that Men would consider me skilled and powerful, but I have to see that for myself.” His eyes pleaded for understanding. “I must go.”
“Sîdh, penneth,” Elladan said quietly. “We understand.”
“Remember that we will love you and be proud of you no matter what happens,” Elrohir added. “This will always be your home, Estel.”
Estel nodded, his throat too tight for words, turned his horse, and galloped out of the Elven haven.
I saw you weep; I knew not why
Your heart was saddened as I grew.
But now I know what made you sigh:
The world that took your son from you.
--
Imladris, Year 2970 of the Third Age
Aragorn, for the first time in many years, was uncomfortable. The room in which he stood was distinctly feminine, yet it lacked the almost dream-like, ethereal quality that marked the chambers of ellith. It was, after all, a mortal woman’s room, and not an Elf-lady’s.
“Will you say nothing, Nana?”
“You have my blessing, if that is what you seek,” the woman sitting by the window said almost curtly, setting aside her book.
“Do you not want me to go?”
“Of course I want you to go. Your duty is with our people, Estel. I would not hold you back.”
Aragorn crossed the room swiftly, dropping to his knees before his mother and taking her warm hands in his.
“Please, Nana, will you not tell me what troubles you?”
Gilraen finally smiled.
“Oh, my son, you must not worry about me. All parents know fear for their children.”
“It is more than that,” Aragorn insisted. “I have seen Elrond and Thranduil worrying about missing sons. It is something else that grieves you. Let me lighten your burden if I can.”
Gilraen looked into his eyes searchingly.
“Elrond and Thranduil both lost their wives to creatures of evil… But they are warriors, and lords responsible for the safety of their respective realms. Perhaps they know how to deal with their fear. Estel, the thought of your death in battle has plagued me since I lost…”
“My father.”
“Your father.” Gilraen could not hide the sudden tears in her eyes. “I wish you had known him, my son. I wish he had lived long enough to welcome you home from battle, to boast of your exploits to his friends, to pride himself on the warrior you have become. He should be here to bid you farewell.”
“We may hope that he sees us and is glad.”
“I must confess, Estel, that there have been times when I have feared that you… forget.”
“Forget?”
“Arathorn. Your father.” She held up a hand to cut off his protest. “It would not be your fault if you did. To the Elves you are Elrondion; Lord Elrond is the only father you have known. I am not so churlish as to be ungrateful for his help all these years. Without his goodwill the line of kings could not have survived this long. But Arathorn it was whom I loved and wed, Arathorn whose child I bore. It is Arathorn whom I see when I look at you now.”
“I have not forgotten him, Nana,” Aragorn said firmly. “I cannot deny my affection for Elrond and his children, and Legolas is more than a brother to me. But I have not forgotten that I am the son of a man… If anything, my time in the mortal realms helps me learn more about our people.”
“I know, Estel, and that is why I am glad you are going, even if I fear to lose you.” She laid a hand on his head. “Do not forget your father, Estel. He was not as wise and fair as an Elf-lord, but he was a good and brave man.”
“I will not forget him, Nana. I promise.”
“Then go, my son.” Gilraen kissed Aragorn’s brow lightly. “Go, and may the Valar speed your steps and strengthen your arm.”
O brightest, fairest Elven-maid,
Of beauty more than bards can tell,
Have I your heart and spirit swayed?
How can you love a Man so well?
--
Lothlórien, Year 2980 of the Third Age
“Nin melach?”
The Elf-maiden to whom the question was addressed laughed, although it seemed to her companion that her joy was not complete.
“How many times will you ask me that, meleth nîn? I love you, Estel, with all my heart.”
“You will not forget me?” Estel asked anxiously. “My duties will take me far afield. I do not know when next I will set foot in one of the Elven realms. I may not be able to see you for many years.”
“Ai, Estel, will it be that long? I had not realized. Perhaps I shall get bored of waiting for you and run away with some dashing young Elf-lord.” Seeing Estel’s stricken face, she added patiently. “I was joking, my love. I could never forget you. I will wait.”
“Who could blame you if you realized you preferred an Elf-lord?” Estel mumbled. “You are the fairest of the fair folk, and I am only a Man.”
“Have you forgotten that I am the daughter of Elrond Peredhel? I share the blood of Men.”
“Yet you could choose a different fate.” Estel shook his head, running a hand through his dark hair. “Arwen, I do not know if I was right to declare my love for you... You will have to give up the immortal life of the Eldar to be with me. I bring death to you and grief to my father and brothers.”
“I will gladly choose a mortal life if that means I can share it with you, Estel.”
“I would not have you repent your choice later, meleth nîn. I am only a Man. It would be presumptuous of me to desire any Elf-maiden, and you are not any Elf-maiden.” Estel shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other. “Arwen, are you certain? Any Elf-lord would be honoured to have you for his wife.”
“I do not desire an Elf-lord, my love. I desire you.”
“I am not worthy,” Estel whispered.
“You are. You have proven yourself the equal of the noblest of Elves in courage and strength of heart. You are no less in valour and might than Beren, who claimed the heart of my foremother – our foremother – Lúthien, or Túor, who wooed and won Idril Celebrindal.” Arwen bowed her head, grief flickering in her eyes for a moment. “I... I will not deny that it will grieve me to part from my father, or that I long to see my mother again. But I would find no joy with my kinsfolk in the Blessed Realm if I were parted from you.”
“What is the lifetime of one Man to an Elf-maid in Aman? If you went there you would forget, in time, and perhaps some Vanyarin or Noldorin lord would be able to make you happier than I can.”
“Estel,” the elleth said, her voice suddenly stern, “enough. I have made my choice. I will forsake Aman that I may cleave to you. You can ride afield on your errantries and fulfill your responsibilities. When your duties give you enough leisure to return to me, I will be waiting for you. I promise.”
“Nin melach?”
This time Arwen’s laughter was heartfelt.
“Aye, Estel. I love you.” She drew closer to him. “Now go, my love. Go swiftly, before I am tempted to bid you stay.”
Brave Greenleaf ’neath the spreading trees,
Both Mirkwood’s strength and Mirkwood’s cheer,
I hear your voice upon the breeze.
You say, “My brother, I am here.”
--
Eriador, Year 2998 of the Third Age
It was in an unwonted silence that the Chieftain of the Dúnedain and the Prince of Greenwood walked out of the Ranger camp, the Elf leading his horse by the bridle. Aragorn sank into the loosely-packed snow with every step he took. Despite his disgruntlement, habit made him forget he was sulking long enough to cast a glance at the light Elven shoes that barely made an impression on the white surface. He barely managed to stifle his laughter when the mare did the same thing, snorting her disapproval as she tried and failed to replicate the feat.
Legolas reached out automatically to brush the bark of a gnarled old tree with his fingertips as they passed it. The familiar gesture from the Elf made Aragorn’s throat tighten when he realized he would not see it in the months to come.
“Do you have to go?”
As soon as the words were out, he flushed at how childish the question sounded. He half-expected Legolas to laugh at him, but the Elf stopped and turned to face him. The incongruous sight of the blond archer wearing only a light cloak over his tunic while snowflakes gathered on his eyelashes did make Aragorn chuckle. Legolas grinned at him in amusement.
“This does not mean you’re forgiven,” Aragorn said, his tone admonitory. “I still say you should not have done it.”
“And I say I should,” Legolas replied equably. “I am not an Elfling, Estel.”
“You cannot risk your life for my sake like that, you dim-witted Edhel!”
“I risk my life for my father’s people every day,” Legolas pointed out.
“But you might have been killed! And I am only a Man.”
“Precisely my point, Dúnadan. You Men are absolutely no good at taking care of yourselves. What would you have done if I hadn’t saved you? You practically go looking for trouble!”
“That’s rich, coming from you!”
“Don’t change the subject,” Legolas said sternly. “You needed my help, and so I helped you, as you would have done for me.”
“Don’t you understand, Legolas? I am mortal.”
“I know that, Dúnadan,” the Elf-prince responded in the tone of one being forced to conduct a conversation with the village idiot. “I fail to see your point.”
“My point, you orc-brained, thick-skulled lackwit of a Sinda, is that I am mortal and you cannot risk your life for me because... because...” Aragorn trailed off, looking helplessly into Legolas’ quizzical face. “Why do you do it, Legolas?”
“You are my gwador. What is your point, Estel?”
Aragorn had expected to be told that he was the equal of any Elf-lord; for a moment, he was nonplussed. Then he laughed, throwing his arms around his friend in a quick hug.
“Never mind, Elfling. Thank you.”
He laughed harder when Legolas grumbled and grimaced at having to hug an over-tunic, a coat, a cloak and the ends of a muffler along with the Ranger.
“When will you return?” he asked when the Elf finally drew back.
“Whenever you want me, mellon nîn.” Legolas mounted his horse. “Send word to Imladris if you do. Lord Elrond will know how to reach me.” He graced Aragorn with an impish grin. “Next time I should teach you to talk to birds. That would save trouble all round.”
Aragorn squeezed his friend’s hand and stepped back. Legolas touched his heels lightly to the horse’s sides. She tossed her head, and then horse and rider were gone in a flurry of snow.
Aragorn stood looking after them for a moment, a small smile on his face, before he turned to return to the camp.
Sindarin Translations
Ada – Dad/Daddy
Penneth – Young one
Ion nîn – My son
Ellon (plural ellyn) – Male Elves
Tithen gwador – Little (sworn) brother
Elleth – Female Elf
Nana – Mum/Mummy
Sîdh – Peace
Nin melach? – Do you love me?
Meleth nîn – My love
Edhel – Elf
Mellon nîn – My friend
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