Star of Hope

"I saw a star that was falling, I wish'd the wish of my soul." - Traditional Irish song.

“You wished to see me, my lady?”

I shuffled my feet nervously. Master Elrond was never other than courteous towards me, but I still felt like a timid little girl in his presence.

“It is my son’s third birthday tomorrow. I should like some small celebration to mark the occasion for him.”

“Ah, yes, Lady Gilraen, the tradition of Men to mark the day of birth, since the day of begetting is so rarely recalled amongst my brother’s kindred.”

I lowered my eyes, hoping Master Elrond would not see the light of memory in my eyes that his wordskindled. Oh, but I did know the day of Aragorn’s begetting, that special night is still as clear in my memory as if it were yesterday. These memories are too precious and private to ever speak of to Master Elrond, kindly though he is. Maybe, one day I will tell my son that he was begotten upon an auspicious day. Maybe…

It was a rare gathering for the Dúnedain. As many who were able came from the scattered villages amidst the ruins of the old capital, Annuminas, where they made camp and prepared to celebrate Loëndë.

The celebrations began on the longest night of the year, a night feared by the servants of darkness. My parents were amongst those present. I gladly greeted them, having not laid eyes on my mother and father since my wedding day.

“Are you happy in your marriage to Arathorn?” my mother enquired of me later that night, taking me aside, her keen gaze scanning my still slender form. I could sense her disappointment that I was not yet with child.

“He is kindly and treats me always with respect,” I answered. Truth to tell, I still hardly knew my husband. He had been away most of the time even before the Lord Arador's death. Since he had become Chieftain earlier that year, Arathorn had even less time for home and hearth. As Lord of the Dúnedain, he was needed to care for our people and lead the fight against the minions of Shadow. I tried to be a good wife and ease his cares when he was at home. I had not opposed my mother's wish for the marriage; and I was content enough, honoured to be wed to so worthy a lord.

“Have you grown to love your husband?” my mother persisted.

I could only say. “He is a good man. ”I had never lied to my mother. It was useless, for Ivorwen’s gift of farsight always enabled her to see into my mind.

My mother frowned but said no more on the matter, instead encouraging me to try the wine, a gift from Elrond of Rivendell.

The sun sets on even the longest day. We sat watching it sink below the hills while we told tales of old Númenor and sang of the great deeds of the Sea Kings and the Faithful.

“Will you walk with me, my lady?” Arathorn appeared beside me as if out of nowhere, my cloak in his hand. He draped the soft woollen mantle around my shoulders. Arathorn slowed his pace to match mine, and took my hand as he led me along the shore of Lake Nenuial. The moon had risen and cast a silvery glow across the rippling waters.

“To think that these ruins were once a great and prosperous city,” my husband sighed, his voice full of sorrow. “Alas, for our people!”

“Maybe one day it will be rebuilt,” I said, wondering why I should voice such wild dreams. Tonight they appeared almost as a certainty to me. It was as if I could see a fair city, where now there lay only tumbled stones.

“The young may have their dreams still,” Arathorn said sadly.

I pressed his hand. We stood there for I know not how long, watching the bright path of the Star of Eärendil across the evening sky, the silence broken only the music of the waves gently lapping against the shore.

Suddenly, a light flashed in the West.

“Look!” said my husband, a smile easing the grim cast of his features; “a shooting star. You should make a wish, Gilraen.”

I silently wished that I might give him the heir he longed for, the heir we all needed.

We watched star after star streak across the sky under the sovereign eye of Gil-Estel.

“Come,” Arathorn said at last, “it grows cold.”

He let me back to our large and well-appointed tent, set a little aside from the others as befit the Chieftain and his lady.

Arathorn took me in his arms and kissed me. I found myself responding with a newfound fervour; pulling at the fastenings on his cloak as he bore me down to our warm nest of hides and furs. That night I was not just a dutiful wife, but also a happy one. Perhaps it was the wine, or the stone remnants of our people's past glory surrounding us, that awakened my heart. I know not. I know only that I enjoyed the intimacies of marriage for the first time. My passion equalled his as I freely and joyously surrendered to my lord.

“Never have I seen so many shooting stars as there were last night!” my mother remarked over breakfast the next morning. ”You look well, today, child. That Elvish wine must have suited you.”

Alas, my joy would be short-lived. Arathorn had to ride away again ere nightfall when a report arrived of Orcs gathering in the East.

When he returned a few weeks later, I had news for him.

“I carry our child, my lord,” I said.

My husband's weary face lightened. I will never forget the joy that lit his deepgrey eyes as he smiled and tenderly embraced me.

Arathorn was at my side more often during the following months. I grew large with his child and spent my days dreaming of filling our home with the laughter of many sons and daughters.

Soon after the turn of the year, my mother arrived to care for me. We expected the child in mid-March, but our Aragorn was eager to enter the world and arrived as soon as February took its leave. The moment I first held my son was the happiest I have ever known.

“You are smiling, Lady Gilraen. Do you find our customs amusing?”

Master Elrond’s words interrupted my memories. “Indeed not, lord, but my son is a child of Man, not an Elf.”

“Your son is the Hope of Men, my lady,” Elrond said gravely. "He will learn his lineage when the time is ripe. I shall ask the cooks to prepare special treats in celebration for his birthday on the morrow; and we will have gifts and games. Our Estel cannot yet know his true name, but he shall know that he is loved.”

I smiled my thanks. For now, my Aragorn must remain hidden, but in the fullness of time he will blaze forth, as a star of hope for our people. Until then, I can only wait and hope.

"The strife is o'er, the battle done;

The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.

"The strife is o'er, the battle done;
The victory of life is won;
The song of triumph has begun: Alleluia!" - Traditional Easter hymn

With grateful thanks to Raksha,

Aragorn and Faramir quickly cleansed themselves in the warm soapy water, towelled themselves dry and started to dress in the assortment of garments that Tasariel had provided. It was obvious that the Healer had lent them her best towels and King and Steward wondered if the clothing had belonged to the sons she had lost. Tasariel's kindness touched their hearts.

“Let me look at you before you put your shirt on,” Aragorn told Faramir. ”I wish to check the bite on your back.”

“What of you?” asked Faramir, ”You are moving stiffly. Do you want some more of Mistress Tasariel’s ointment?”

“That can wait until later, ”said Aragorn. ”But fear not; there is nothing seriously amiss; merely some already over-taxed muscles having been pulled in the fight. The pain is not too bad today.”

Pulling the borrowed tunic over his head, the King turned to face Faramir and picked up the lantern. Faramir sat on the straw-covered floor, clad in the borrowed breeches; and suddenly burst out laughing.

“What is so amusing?” Aragorn demanded, approaching his friend.

“You in those clothes!” Faramir chortled. The High King of the West was indeed a sight to behold. The tunic was both far too short and much too wide. It hung like an ill-fitting sack from Aragorn’s shoulders, flopping just below his waist. The breeches reached only to his mid-calves, and fit so loosely at the waist, he had to secure seemingly endless folds of material with his belt.

“You will not look much better once you stand up!” Aragorn retorted, noticing that Faramir's borrowed breeches were even baggier than the ones he was wearing. The sight reminded Aragorn that Faramir had lost flesh recently, and that the loss had weakened Faramir and made him more likely to take harm from the spider's poison. Trying to conceal his anxiety, he moved behind his friend, fearful that further exposure to the spider might have inflamed the bite on Faramir’s back. Lifting the dark hair aside he breathed a deep sigh of relief that the small, red mark remained cool to the touch and unchanged in appearance. Fortunately, Faramir’s shirt and tunic had protected his body from any further stings caused by the spider’s hairs.

“Does your face still hurt, ion nîn?” Aragorn enquired.

“It stings but a little,” replied Faramir. His voice was quiet, but Aragorn caught an undertone of weariness, reflected in the younger man's eyes.

“Let us try Mistress Tasariel’s salve then,” said Aragorn, picking up the jar and applying a generous amount to Faramir’s injured cheek and neck. The King then checked Faramir’s heartbeat, finding it slightly too rapid for his liking. He would have liked nothing better than to tell him to rest and use some Elven relaxation treatments to ease him after his ordeal, but there was work to be done. He turned his attention to Faramir’s injured ankle, while the Steward donned his shirt. The ankle was starting to swell, while above it, ugly scratches disfigured his calf.

Faramir flinched when Aragorn gently felt the injured limb. "I will bathe the grazes with the athelas mixture and bind your ankle for the time being,” the King said. ”I will treat it properly once the creature’s carcass is disposed of. Do you wish to remain here to rest?”

Faramir shook his head vehemently. “Of course not, my hurts are but slight. If you can just help me mount Zachus, I will come with you. Some of the villagers might panic at the sight of the creature. I would not let you go there alone.”

“I am blessed by your loyalty, ion nîn,” said Aragorn, patting Faramir’s shoulder affectionately. He tied the bandage securely and proceeded to gather up the dirty laundry, carefully shaking out the soiled clothing to ensure no spider hairs had stuck to it.

“Are you dressed, Masters?” Tasariel’s voice called from outside. "I have brought you some tea and my neighbour has scones fresh from the oven.”

Aragorn opened the door and stood there blinking in the bright sunlight.

The two women vainly tried to maintain their calm and avoid staring at the sight before them. The neighbour, a red-cheeked younger woman, was the first to yield to her mirth. Tasariel soon followed suit and both women laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks.

Aragorn maintained his dignity for a full ten seconds before joining in the laughter. “I fear we are rather tall for our borrowed garb,” he said good-humouredly.

“And far too skinny!” Tasariel retorted. “Has my salve aided Master Falborn?” she enquired.

“It has indeed, Mistress, I thank you,” said Faramir. ”We greatly appreciate all your kindness to us.”

“I would be interested in the recipes for your healing salves,” said Aragorn. Elrond’s remedies were far more potent against serious maladies, but the Elves had little practice in treating the everyday ailments that plagued mortal country folk. Tasariel beamed with pleasure.

Aragorn helped Faramir outside. The two friends sat on a log, enjoying their tea and scones as they awaited the arrival of the menfolk.

Beleg and his sons were the first to come in from the fields. ”I might have guessed it was you two sluggards who had interrupted our work again while you pass the morning eating food from our wives' hearths!” he snorted. “What is it this time? Giant butterflies or cats the size of horses? Or some strange creature that shrinks your britches?” He guffawed with laugher.

“We have laboured hard this morning,” said Aragorn coldly. ”The monster we slew would freeze your blood and that of men far greater!”

Borlach then arrived and Aragorn quickly told him all that had happened. The headman did not entirely understand the full nature of the beast Aragorn described, but he nodded in agreement to Aragorn's plan. Borlach called his people together and told them in a loud voice: “Master Morrandir and his son have done a great service to our people. They have slain the creature that struck down Mistress Vanreth and her child. He would have us go down to the riverbank to see this monstrous spider and burn its carcass.”

Thoron laughed rudely. ”Giant spider indeed! I'll not leave the harvest to chase after children's stories. No doubt they killed a common boar! At least we will dine well tonight.”

“Maybe you are too afraid to risk looking upon a monster and prefer to hide in your mother’s fields?” Tasariel said tartly.

Thoron scowled. “I fear nothing!” he retorted with the bravado of the young and untested. ”Had I seen this creature, I would have killed it myself.”

“No one needs to come if they lack the stomach for it,” called Aragorn. ”It is best that the very young children remain behind and any woman who is with child. However, if you see this creature and know what it looks like, it may save your lives should any others ever appear in these parts. If they do, you must send a message to Minas Tirith and inform the King that an evil beast troubles your village again.”

Thoron laughed bitterly. “A fine lot of good that would do. What would the King care about poor folk like us? He left us defenceless when he exiled Lord Fontos!”

“The King cares for all his people,” Aragorn said firmly. ”You are especially under his care until Lord Fontos returns. I shall tell him that a giant spider was found near your village. He will listen to Captain Morrandir.”

“I believe you,” said Tasariel.

“As do I,” Hareth added. “Such a great Healer must surely have the ear of his lord!” Her daughter nodded. Vanreth was still rather pale and leaning heavily on her mother’s arm.

“Come then to the riverbank,” said Aragorn. ”We must hasten ere the carcass attracts scavengers. Bring torches and oil to burn the creature’s remains.” He helped Faramir rise from the log and mount Zachus.

“It seems Master Falborn fell over when in his cups again,” Thoron said in loud whisper.

“Hush! Would you risk the wrath of fierce warriors who have the King's ear?” Tasariel cautioned.

“I should like to see what attacked my baby and I, but fear I cannot walk that far,” Vanreth lamented. ”My neighbour would care for Gwinhir.”

“Are you certain, Mistress?” asked Aragorn. ”What lies ahead is a sight most foul.”

“Nothing could be worse that the horrors I imagine in my dreams,” answered the young woman.

“Come then,” said Aragorn. “You can ride with me to the riverbank. Roheryn can easily carry two riders.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Finrod. “I would have my lass rest easy.” He lifted his wife up behind Aragorn on the great horse.

The procession slowly wound its way down to the riverbank at the pace of the slowest villager. As they approached the spot where the dead spider lay, those with a keen sense of smell wrinkled their noses in disgust.

“We are almost there,” said Aragorn. ”I warn you, the carcass is not a pretty sight.”

Six of the younger women paled at his words, and hurried back toward the village with two elderly men.

“Cowards!” muttered Thoron loudly enough for those departing to hear.

Vanreth trembled slightly. ”You do not have to see the creature,” Aragorn told her gently.

“I want to,” she said staunchly. ” Please ride on.”

They rounded a bend in the path and there lay the corpse of the spider, exactly as Aragorn and Faramir had left it. No crows hovered above the dead monster. Even the flies kept their distance. Several of the women cried out. Thoron took one look, paled, and promptly retched. “It must something I ate,” he mumbled to Tasariel, who had come swiftly to aid him.

Aragorn dismounted. ”That is the creature we slew,” he explained. “The spider is close kindred to Shelob, ally of the Dark Lord, she who waylaid and wounded the Ring bearer in the pass of Cirith Ungol. This creature has preyed upon your village in secret; and would have killed men, women, children and beasts had it grown to maturity. It lived underneath yonder willow in the hollowed out river bank.”

Finrod summoned up the courage to delve into the spider’s lair. ”It is full of animal bones!” he exclaimed. “I think the bones come from pigs, cats and chickens. Small wonder our livestock kept vanishing!”

“Gather wood for kindling to burn the monster,” Aragorn ordered. “Look upon it and remember! Should you ever glimpse such a creature again, walk wide of it, and send at once to the King in Minas Tirith. It is his charge and duty to rid to see Gondor rid of such leavings of Shadow.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Borlach. “How can we ever thank you and your son sufficiently for ridding us of this menace?”

Aragorn tensed, wondering if the village Headman had guessed who he was; but it seemed the greybeard was simply expressing respect.

“It is our duty as the King’s Captains to aid those in need, “said Faramir, sparing his Lord the need to dissemble. Aragorn simply inclined his head graciously.

Aragorn tensed wondering if the village Headman had guessed who he was, but it seemed the greybeard was simply expressing respect.

The people searched the riverbank for kindling and had soon built a large bonfire around the dead spider. Aragorn and Tasariel then drenched the pyre with oil.

Borlach handed the torch to Aragorn. “You, my lord, should set the fire ablaze,” he said.

“Thank you, Master, but I can think of two who have greater cause to wield the brand,” said the King. “My son Falborn and Mistress Vanreth.” He helped Faramir down from the horse, while Finrod aided his wife.

The Steward and the country girl cast the torches into the kindling. The flames blazed up high and bright.

“So may all traces of the darkness that engulfed this place be banished!” said Aragorn as the fire climbed toward the sky.

“Our visitors have laboured hard this day,” Tasariel remarked to her husband.

“Humph, it seems they have not been idle after all,” Beleg conceded. ”Easy work compared with reaping, though!”

Leaving several men to keep an eye on the fire, King, Steward and country folk made their way back to the village. The women who had stayed behind had prepared food, but few had the desire to eat it. Most of the farmers soon returned to the fields. Tasariel sat near the long table in the village's centre, peeling potatoes for the evening meal. Several young children ran around the huts, scuffling over a ball made of stitched cowhide; shouting as their bare feet kicked up clods of dirt.

“I will tend your ankle properly now,” Aragorn told Faramir.

The Steward settled himself comfortably in the shade of a large tree and took off his boot with some difficulty. Aragorn carefully removed the bandage and gently felt the bruised and swollen ankle. Faramir winced. Aragorn held his hand a few inches above the injury and Faramir felt the pain ebb away, leaving his ankle feeling strong again. He sighed blissfully.

“That is amazing!” exclaimed Tasariel who had been watching, unnoticed by the two men. “I can see the bruises fading before my eyes!”

“Ara, um my ada has wondrous healing skills,” said Faramir fervently.

“I can see that, ”said Tasariel. “What are you doing now?” she enquired of Aragorn.

“Massaging the ankle with an Elven healing touch to ease the swelling and stimulate the circulation,” answered Aragorn.

“Well, I hope Master Falborn is on his feet for the day after tomorrow,” said the woman. “We will all dance at the harvest celebrations.”

“He will be,” said Aragorn.

“We have a king and queen of the harvest,” trilled a little girl as she skipped past with her companions. “Just think, to be king or queen for a day just like the real ones in the City! I wonder who will be chosen?”

TBC

The Vase that was Broken

The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.

With grateful thanks to Raksha

A Tale of Telcontar

“Tell me a story, ada, please!” Eldarion pleaded. He was sitting with his father in his mother’s sitting room eating his tea. The Queen had taken Farawyn to visit Éowyn for a few days and the young prince was bored.

“What sort of a story?” asked Aragorn.

“A tale of your battles and brave deeds,” said Eldarion.

The King began to tell his son about how they had fought the orcs and the cave- troll in Moria, using his spoon to illustrate how he had wielded Andúril. Before long, father and son had risen from the table and were mock-fighting enthusiastically.

A sudden loud crash brought the game to an abrupt halt.

“Oh, no; we broke Naneth’s vase!” Eldarion exclaimed.

Aragorn surveyed the scene in horror. All of Arwen’s vases looked much alike to him. He seemed to recall that this was a special one; a family heirloom that had belonged to Celeborn and Galadriel and had been made for them before the breaking of Beleriand. He gingerly picked up the fragments.

Eldarion frowned. "Naneth will be cross." He looked up at Aragorn, his small face earnest. "I did not mean to break so old a thing, truly, Ada." )

Aragorn caressed the child's tousled black hair. “ It was not your fault, ion nîn,” he reassured his son. "I should have known better than to mimic a battle with you in Naneth's sitting room. Let us send for Uncle Faramir and see if he can help.”

The Steward, who was working late to allow Aragorn to spend more time with Eldarion, appeared within a few minutes and inspected the damage. “ I fear it is beyond repair,” he said. ”At least it does not look to be very valuable.”

“ It is!” Aragorn contradicted. “ It is Elven workmanship dating from the First Age. It had pride of place in my lady’s room.”

“I have rarely been in your lady’s private rooms, so had little chance to appreciate its beauty,” Faramir said diplomatically. “ I suggest we summon the City’s craftsmen and find a vase of equal beauty ere she returns.”

“A good idea, mellon nîn, always you think of something!” said Aragorn, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

The King’s enthusiasm for the plan abated somewhat after spending much of the day inspecting the wares of a seemingly endless procession of craftsmen, all of whom had dozens of vases to show him. Aragorn’s head began to ache at the sight of each additional vessel of silver or gold or multi-coloured glass. Eventually, with Faramir’s help, he chose a silver vase encrusted with sapphires and rubies. It seemed well made and was quite costly, but the expense would be worth it if it staved off Arwen’s wrath.

Aragorn went to bed weary and slept badly, dreaming he was being buried under a mountain of vases of every hue and description imaginable.

The King’s heart was in his mouth when his Queen returned and took her accustomed place in her sitting room. He decided to wait for her to notice the vase before confessing his mishap with her treasured heirloom.

Suddenly, she espied the new vase and her eyes lit up. “How beautiful!” Arwen exclaimed. “And how thoughtful of you to buy me a surprise gift, Estel!”

“I fear your grandparents’ vase was broken while Eldarion and I were playing,” the King said sheepishly.

“The priceless heirloom?” Arwen looked puzzled. “That is silver inlaid with pearl and I put it away safely as soon as Eldarion could walk. The one that was there was a gift from the Harad Ambassador, which I always considered hideous! How could you fail to notice the difference? Men are so unobservant!”

Aragorn sighed with relief, before ruefully realising he had wasted a good deal of time and money.

Arwen picked up the new vase and studied it. Then, embracing her husband lovingly, gave him a tender kiss.

Returning his wife’s loving embrace, Aragorn decided the vase was worth every coin after all.