Happy holidays, poetic_self!
Title: The Freedom of the West
Recipient: poetic_self
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Author: torn_eledhwen
Rating: PG
Summary: As the New Year approaches in Gondor, Aragorn and his son Eldarion take a journey together to learn and remember the lessons of the past.
The day was not yet fully dawned when Aragorn was awoken by his esquire. Grey half-light showed through the shutters, giving just enough illumination for dressing. But the city was waking early and the streets were beginning to get busy as he walked down to the stables, buckling on Andúril on the way.
At the stables his horse was already saddled and waiting, blowing steam in the cool air. Aragorn gave it a pat and a biscuit from his pocket, and took the reins from the stablehand.
"The Prince?" he asked.
"Saddling his horse, sire," said the stablehand. Sure enough, the stable doors opened and Eldarion appeared leading his own grey mare.
"My lord," he said, on seeing Aragorn.
Aragorn swung himself into the saddle. "Good morning," he said. "Ready?"
"Absolutely," Eldarion returned, mounting his own steed.
"Well, we've a fair way to travel," Aragorn said, checking that his bag was secured behind the saddle. "We don't want to be late back."
He nodded at the stablehand, and led the way out of the stables. Eldarion's horse fell into step at his side, negotiating the cobbled streets with the ease of practice. The townsfolk who were up and about paused to watch the King and his son, bowing or bobbing courtesies as the royal pair passed.
Aragorn said little on the way down through the City, until they had passed through the Great Gate.
"Now," he said, turning to Eldarion as the gate closed behind them, "let's get some leagues behind us!"
"If it's a race you want, Father," Eldarion replied, a glint in his eyes, "you've no chance against us." He grinned, and spurred his horse on, leaning low over its neck.
Aragorn pushed his cloak off his shoulders and followed suit.
They galloped hard across the Pelennor, slowing to a canter only when the Rammas was behind them. Eldarion's hair was windblown and his cheeks flushed with the cold and the rush of the race.
"It's good to be out alone," he said, glancing at Aragorn. "No guards."
"It is quicker to travel alone," Aragorn said. "And I hope I do not yet need a guard." He touched the hilt of Andúril briefly. "Also, I wished this to be a journey for the two of us to take on our own."
They rode on in silence, along the smooth northern road. Men in the fields were tending the first short sprigs of early crops and the land looked healthy. Aragorn examined it with satisfaction.
Little attention was paid to them as they rode by, for both king and prince had laid aside royal garb for the journey and were clad in simple cloaks and plain breeches. Aragorn wore his old and much-mended grey cloak of Lórien, fastened with the leaf brooch, while Eldarion was in the sable of the Tower Guard.
At noon they paused, and let the horses graze awhile while they ate bread and meats from the packs. There was a stream too, to refresh dusty faces and refill waterskins. Once both men and the two horses had eaten and drunk enough they were off again, continuing on the journey north.
The mountains were beginning to spread out on either side of them now, dark and forbidding. Aragorn watched them encroach, and remembered another journey many years before.
As if echoing his thoughts, Eldarion spoke.
"Why now, my lord?"
"Eh?" Aragorn was shaken from his contemplation.
"Why are we making this journey now?" Eldarion asked.
"You were not old enough before," said Aragorn. "Yet it is a journey you need to make, and at this time of year."
"The time of year I understand," said his son. "It's March. We will return to the city at the New Year. But my age?"
Aragorn smiled a little. "When I was twenty," he said, "I left Imladris for the first time. It was that year I became a man, at last. It was that year I first met Arwen." He looked at Eldarion. "At twenty, you must face the world, my son."
"I've faced the world!" Eldarion said, with some heat. "I've been on patrol with Prince Faramir. I went riding with Éomer King."
"But you do not yet understand what need there is for the security they offer," Aragorn said gently.
Eldarion bristled, sitting upright on his horse. "No, my lord, that is not the case. I know of the War. I know of the sacrifices the Halflings gave for Gondor."
"Peace, my son," said Aragorn. "You know of these things. You do not yet understand them. That is why we are taking this journey." He looked around him. "It took longer, of course, in the War. We were leading an army of tired men, and we had wagons for supplies. I remember looking back at them all and thinking they would never, could never, prevail against Sauron's forces. I believe Éomer thought the same, although he would never have said so. We were both new at being king then. But Mithrandir gave everyone hope."
"What was he like?" asked Eldarion, as he had often asked before; and as many times before, Aragorn tried to answer.
"Then, he was a beacon of hope for us all. Steadfast, and silent, yet merry at times … and when you looked in his eyes there was a glimpse of the West. And he was my friend and counsellor."
"I wish I could have met him," Eldarion said.
Aragorn nodded. "So do I."
They fell into silence again.
In the evening, as the sun dropped below the mountains, Aragorn watched with fatherly pride as Eldarion made an efficient fire.
"Worthy of a Ranger," he said, approving. "Wake me at midnight."
The night hours passed without incident. They were on the road again once it was light enough to see, and before noon were passing the turning for Cair Andros.
"We lost the first part of the men here," said Aragorn, reining his horse in. "Some were too afraid of what lay ahead."
"Cowards," Eldarion said.
"No!" Aragorn returned. "No, not cowards. Merely true to their own hearts. I sent them to Cair Andros to hold the fortress, and they did that. You cannot ask more of a man, Eldarion, than that he does the most he can. Those men did that."
The King and his son rode hard for the rest of that day and the next, speaking now of the journey Aragorn had taken many moons before with the Armies of the West, now of lighter things.
On the fourth day since leaving Minas Tirith Aragorn and Eldarion finally approached their destination. The hills of the Emyn Muil were to the west, and on their eastern flank were the forbidding mountains of Mordor. Eldarion had fallen silent, and rode a little closer to his father's side.
Aragorn was remembering again, riding on to the plain at the head of an army filled with desperate courage. That day the skies had been dark with Sauron's fog, and the Black Gates had been firmly closed. Today, the sky was blue and the rubble of the Gates was covered in weeds, but the ground beneath their horses' feet was dry and lifeless.
"Here we made our last stand," said Aragorn, halting his steed and dismounting.
"It's so … it is a dead place," Eldarion said with a shudder.
"Aye. And many died here, also, for the freedom of the West. Yet we knew we were fighting for time only, time for Frodo to finish his Quest, if he could." Aragorn took the reins of Eldarion's horse. "Take your time, lad. You are here to understand what we fought for, and what Gondor's freedom truly means."
Eldarion dismounted, and stepped away, gazing around the barren plain. Aragorn watched and said nothing, giving his son time to take in his surroundings.
At length Eldarion stood still, facing the Black Gates.
"Tell me again how the battle was won?" he asked, and Aragorn began to speak.
They rode away in the early afternoon, turning their backs on the place of death and destruction. Eldarion's head was bowed as he rode, and neither king nor prince spoke for some time.
As they made camp that evening, Eldarion turned to his father.
"I think I understand now," he said. "The War was won by Frodo and Samwise and their courage, but it would not have been won had the free peoples of the West not continued to fight."
"That freedom is the greatest thing we have," said Aragorn. "When you come to the throne of Gondor, Eldarion, you must remember that. Our title might be that of king, but we are as much a steward as Denethor was. Steward of the realm's freedom. When we return to the City there will be celebrations for the New Year. Now you know, at last, what we celebrate."
"Thank you, my lord," Eldarion said, taking Aragorn's hand and kissing it. "For this journey."
Aragorn held his shoulders. "Do not thank me, my son. Thank the men of Gondor."
The journey back to Minas Tirith passed without incident. They reached the gate of the Rammas at dawn on the day of the New Year, passing people on their way to the City in carts and on foot and riding slower mounts. The guards at the Rammas gate were watching those passing through carefully. Aragorn nodded at them, and a guard nodded back before starting in recognition and dropping to one knee. That caused a ripple through the crowd, and the people stopped to stare and bow, a whisper running through the throng that here was the King and his son.
Aragorn kept his horse moving, Eldarion close behind, and together they rode up to the City. It was the New Year, and Gondor was free and joyful because of it.
Recipient: poetic_self
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Author: torn_eledhwen
Rating: PG
Summary: As the New Year approaches in Gondor, Aragorn and his son Eldarion take a journey together to learn and remember the lessons of the past.
The day was not yet fully dawned when Aragorn was awoken by his esquire. Grey half-light showed through the shutters, giving just enough illumination for dressing. But the city was waking early and the streets were beginning to get busy as he walked down to the stables, buckling on Andúril on the way.
At the stables his horse was already saddled and waiting, blowing steam in the cool air. Aragorn gave it a pat and a biscuit from his pocket, and took the reins from the stablehand.
"The Prince?" he asked.
"Saddling his horse, sire," said the stablehand. Sure enough, the stable doors opened and Eldarion appeared leading his own grey mare.
"My lord," he said, on seeing Aragorn.
Aragorn swung himself into the saddle. "Good morning," he said. "Ready?"
"Absolutely," Eldarion returned, mounting his own steed.
"Well, we've a fair way to travel," Aragorn said, checking that his bag was secured behind the saddle. "We don't want to be late back."
He nodded at the stablehand, and led the way out of the stables. Eldarion's horse fell into step at his side, negotiating the cobbled streets with the ease of practice. The townsfolk who were up and about paused to watch the King and his son, bowing or bobbing courtesies as the royal pair passed.
Aragorn said little on the way down through the City, until they had passed through the Great Gate.
"Now," he said, turning to Eldarion as the gate closed behind them, "let's get some leagues behind us!"
"If it's a race you want, Father," Eldarion replied, a glint in his eyes, "you've no chance against us." He grinned, and spurred his horse on, leaning low over its neck.
Aragorn pushed his cloak off his shoulders and followed suit.
They galloped hard across the Pelennor, slowing to a canter only when the Rammas was behind them. Eldarion's hair was windblown and his cheeks flushed with the cold and the rush of the race.
"It's good to be out alone," he said, glancing at Aragorn. "No guards."
"It is quicker to travel alone," Aragorn said. "And I hope I do not yet need a guard." He touched the hilt of Andúril briefly. "Also, I wished this to be a journey for the two of us to take on our own."
They rode on in silence, along the smooth northern road. Men in the fields were tending the first short sprigs of early crops and the land looked healthy. Aragorn examined it with satisfaction.
Little attention was paid to them as they rode by, for both king and prince had laid aside royal garb for the journey and were clad in simple cloaks and plain breeches. Aragorn wore his old and much-mended grey cloak of Lórien, fastened with the leaf brooch, while Eldarion was in the sable of the Tower Guard.
At noon they paused, and let the horses graze awhile while they ate bread and meats from the packs. There was a stream too, to refresh dusty faces and refill waterskins. Once both men and the two horses had eaten and drunk enough they were off again, continuing on the journey north.
The mountains were beginning to spread out on either side of them now, dark and forbidding. Aragorn watched them encroach, and remembered another journey many years before.
As if echoing his thoughts, Eldarion spoke.
"Why now, my lord?"
"Eh?" Aragorn was shaken from his contemplation.
"Why are we making this journey now?" Eldarion asked.
"You were not old enough before," said Aragorn. "Yet it is a journey you need to make, and at this time of year."
"The time of year I understand," said his son. "It's March. We will return to the city at the New Year. But my age?"
Aragorn smiled a little. "When I was twenty," he said, "I left Imladris for the first time. It was that year I became a man, at last. It was that year I first met Arwen." He looked at Eldarion. "At twenty, you must face the world, my son."
"I've faced the world!" Eldarion said, with some heat. "I've been on patrol with Prince Faramir. I went riding with Éomer King."
"But you do not yet understand what need there is for the security they offer," Aragorn said gently.
Eldarion bristled, sitting upright on his horse. "No, my lord, that is not the case. I know of the War. I know of the sacrifices the Halflings gave for Gondor."
"Peace, my son," said Aragorn. "You know of these things. You do not yet understand them. That is why we are taking this journey." He looked around him. "It took longer, of course, in the War. We were leading an army of tired men, and we had wagons for supplies. I remember looking back at them all and thinking they would never, could never, prevail against Sauron's forces. I believe Éomer thought the same, although he would never have said so. We were both new at being king then. But Mithrandir gave everyone hope."
"What was he like?" asked Eldarion, as he had often asked before; and as many times before, Aragorn tried to answer.
"Then, he was a beacon of hope for us all. Steadfast, and silent, yet merry at times … and when you looked in his eyes there was a glimpse of the West. And he was my friend and counsellor."
"I wish I could have met him," Eldarion said.
Aragorn nodded. "So do I."
They fell into silence again.
In the evening, as the sun dropped below the mountains, Aragorn watched with fatherly pride as Eldarion made an efficient fire.
"Worthy of a Ranger," he said, approving. "Wake me at midnight."
The night hours passed without incident. They were on the road again once it was light enough to see, and before noon were passing the turning for Cair Andros.
"We lost the first part of the men here," said Aragorn, reining his horse in. "Some were too afraid of what lay ahead."
"Cowards," Eldarion said.
"No!" Aragorn returned. "No, not cowards. Merely true to their own hearts. I sent them to Cair Andros to hold the fortress, and they did that. You cannot ask more of a man, Eldarion, than that he does the most he can. Those men did that."
The King and his son rode hard for the rest of that day and the next, speaking now of the journey Aragorn had taken many moons before with the Armies of the West, now of lighter things.
On the fourth day since leaving Minas Tirith Aragorn and Eldarion finally approached their destination. The hills of the Emyn Muil were to the west, and on their eastern flank were the forbidding mountains of Mordor. Eldarion had fallen silent, and rode a little closer to his father's side.
Aragorn was remembering again, riding on to the plain at the head of an army filled with desperate courage. That day the skies had been dark with Sauron's fog, and the Black Gates had been firmly closed. Today, the sky was blue and the rubble of the Gates was covered in weeds, but the ground beneath their horses' feet was dry and lifeless.
"Here we made our last stand," said Aragorn, halting his steed and dismounting.
"It's so … it is a dead place," Eldarion said with a shudder.
"Aye. And many died here, also, for the freedom of the West. Yet we knew we were fighting for time only, time for Frodo to finish his Quest, if he could." Aragorn took the reins of Eldarion's horse. "Take your time, lad. You are here to understand what we fought for, and what Gondor's freedom truly means."
Eldarion dismounted, and stepped away, gazing around the barren plain. Aragorn watched and said nothing, giving his son time to take in his surroundings.
At length Eldarion stood still, facing the Black Gates.
"Tell me again how the battle was won?" he asked, and Aragorn began to speak.
They rode away in the early afternoon, turning their backs on the place of death and destruction. Eldarion's head was bowed as he rode, and neither king nor prince spoke for some time.
As they made camp that evening, Eldarion turned to his father.
"I think I understand now," he said. "The War was won by Frodo and Samwise and their courage, but it would not have been won had the free peoples of the West not continued to fight."
"That freedom is the greatest thing we have," said Aragorn. "When you come to the throne of Gondor, Eldarion, you must remember that. Our title might be that of king, but we are as much a steward as Denethor was. Steward of the realm's freedom. When we return to the City there will be celebrations for the New Year. Now you know, at last, what we celebrate."
"Thank you, my lord," Eldarion said, taking Aragorn's hand and kissing it. "For this journey."
Aragorn held his shoulders. "Do not thank me, my son. Thank the men of Gondor."
The journey back to Minas Tirith passed without incident. They reached the gate of the Rammas at dawn on the day of the New Year, passing people on their way to the City in carts and on foot and riding slower mounts. The guards at the Rammas gate were watching those passing through carefully. Aragorn nodded at them, and a guard nodded back before starting in recognition and dropping to one knee. That caused a ripple through the crowd, and the people stopped to stare and bow, a whisper running through the throng that here was the King and his son.
Aragorn kept his horse moving, Eldarion close behind, and together they rode up to the City. It was the New Year, and Gondor was free and joyful because of it.