La Belle Dame Sans Merci
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-Multi-Age › Het - Male/Female
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Adult +
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5
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Category:
-Multi-Age › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
1,985
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Birthright
The hands of Time never touched the gardens of Imladris. Spring in perpetuity ruled by grace of Lord Elrond’s portion of the Three.
Aragorn took rest within the safe haven of his kin. It fell to him and his Ranger brethren to assail evil in all its forms in order to prevent it from sinking roots too deeply into the soil of Arda.
Yet in the midst of this protected garden, the tensing of muscles at the base of his neck heralded the approach of danger in the midst of beauty. Unthinking, his hand reached out to grasp empty air, for safely stored were sword and scabbard in his room.
“There is no need for weapons in a protected, nay such a hallowed place.”
To Aragorn’s ears, it sounded as if a thousand golden bells chimed softly in the omnipresent perfumed breeze wafting over the gardens of Imladris. “The most dangerous things are oft the most beautiful as well.”
She laughed and her voice enfolded him. “Thank you for the kind words, Heir of Isildur. Time is but a mirror for your face reflects the hopes and dreams of all the generations come before you.”
Steeling himself for what was to come, Aragorn turned to face the One. “No more kind words are to be had from me, Isildur’s Bane.”
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “It pains my heart that Elrond has poisoned yet another of Elros’s children against me.”
“You have not heart by which to feel pain. All you know is dealing out of death and destruction.”
His harsh words cowed her not. “Where did you learn these lessons, young Estel? At the knee of bitter Elrond Half-Elven who regrets not choosing the same as the other half of his fëa?”
Bitterness tinged the formerly sweet sound of laughter in her voice. “An old soul trapped in a forever young shell. Longing for the sweet escape of blissful death or deathless beauty of Valinor, yet to him both denied. Why force upon you, the same choice he forced upon all your forefathers?”
Quick to defense was Aragorn of the one who had given so much. “My foster father forced nothing upon me.”
Pity was in her eyes. “Three sides to every story my child – yours, mine, and the truth. Long have you heard Elrond’s version of events and accepted without question. Would you afford me the same courtesy?”
“You wish to spill out lies and blandishments upon my ears, in futile hope of swaying me to your will?”
“A wise and fair ruler grants audience to a petitioner before passing judgment. As king, Elros heeded this lesson well. Yet blindly would you accept the word of Elrond and give him leave to deprive you of your birthright.”
Her words stung, but the One spoke some part of the truth. Lord Elrond had long counseled him against decisions made in haste. Yet was he in truth guilty of unquestioningly accepting his foster father’s tale about Isildur’s Bane?
“Very well. Come sit and plead your case.”
Aragorn watched as she seated herself on the lush, green grass next to him. Forewarned he had been the One appeared in as many guises as the night sky had stars.
For him, she appeared a maiden in prime of life. Such grace and golden beauty she possessed, it put the fairest of Lady Galadriel’s handmaidens to shame. Her gown of Elven design fell in soft folds onto the blades of green. Intricate embroidery of interlocking gold rings wending gracefully along the bottom of her skirts gave hint to her true nature.
Discerning his thoughts, she smiled. “Infsamfsame form I appeared to Isildur.”
Being in the presence of a creature more timeless than Imladris gave Aragorn pause. Tempted she had each of his forefathers before him and now it was his turn to face down Isildur’s Bane.
Spreading out her skirts upon the grass, she made herself comfortable, and then gave full attention to him. “I could tell the regrettably short, tragic tale of Isildur. A thousand years we could have been together, but my master wished me returned to Him.”
The One plucked a rose and stroked its petals. “There is nothing He would not do to have me back, for I am part of Him.”
Aragorn felt curiosity rise up within his breast. Learning the full history of the progenitor of this cycle was tempting. His side of the story moldered in a dusty corner of the Great Library of Minas Tirith, while the other actor in the tale sat in front of him.
“All Isildur wrote concerning me is true. Yet evil cut short his life before he could write a full accounting of my history.”
Tamping down desire for knowledge, Aragorn turned to the matter at hand. “What benefit would claiming you bring? For if Sauron dare anything to have you returned, surely I would be hunted to shores of Valinor itself.”
His question she did not answer, but rather said, “I am your birthright, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You who are sixteenth chieftain of the Dúnedain and rightful heir to the throne of Gondor and Arnor, surely I am yours to claim as the shards of Narsil."
Drawing closer she whispered into his ear a breeze of sound which felt of the chill of winter. “With me upon your finger, you could smite the Dark Lord a death blow and bring freedom to all the peoples of Middle Earth.”
Aragorn sat and took in her words.
The One stretched out her hand. It was the smooth, unlined hand of a great lady unused to toil and untouched by age. With a delicate twist of her wrist, she exposed her palm and a hush came over the garden.
They waited together as a ring took form in the center of her palm. She gave a low laugh at Aragorn’s unease and plucking the ring out of her hand, place upo upon her left index finger. The One fell silent as with but a small display of her power, the gold band disappeared as it bled seamlessly back into her skin.
“Your deceit and treachery knows no bounds, for how easily you would exchange one master for another.”
She regarded him calmly. “I serve whoever is strong enough to hold on to me. The flame of my master’s life is inexorably burning out. All that remains of the bright spirit I once loved is a flaming eye of hate and malice.”
The One grasped his hand and to Aragorn it was a coldness felt to the depths of his soul.
“You know what will happen if I fall into his hands once again,” she whispered softly.
“Yes.”
“You say death and destruction have I brought to untold thousands. Freely I admit to my crime. You say I am filled with deceit and treachery. These traits were once true of me as well.” She paused and looked sadly at Aragorn. “The thing I once was is but a refion ion of Sauron’s nature. When as a Maia cloaked in the form of Annatar, I was his mirror for the delight he felt for his love of creation.” (1)
Aragorn knew the tale of how once the Dark Lord had been one of the fairest servants of Aulë before falling into darkness. And as it always was with each creature good and evil walked side by side within their hearts.
“What would my mirror reflect for you, Estel?”
Aragorn had no words to say.
“Your mother named you well, for there is much hope in your heart.”
Still he remained silent.
“What do you truly hoor Eor Estel?”
Wisdom counseled Aragorn to stay his words.
“Lord Elrond refused your request for Arwen’s hand in marriage. Though both free to marry others, neither of you will do so for you plighted your troth in secret at Cerin Amroth to your beloved.”
And then she spoke the words uttered that day –
“Dark is the Shadow, and yet my heart rejoices; for you Estel, shall be among the great whose valour will destroy it.”
And then you said to her, “Alas! I cannot forsee it, and howmay may come to pass is hidden from me. Yet with your hope I will hope. And the Shadow I utterly reject. But neither, lady, is the Twilight for me; for I a mortal, and if you will cleave to me, Evenstar, then the Twilight you must also renounce.”
The One paused in her recitation. “Tell me Estel, what did the Undómiel say next to you?”
Then Aragorn spoke the words given to him by his beloved –
“I will cleave to you, Dúnadan, and turn from the Twilight. Yet there lies the land of my people and the long home of all my kin.” (2)
She brought her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs, and for a brief moment looked as a lost child. “It is a painful thing to be in the presence of one’s beloved, yet never be together. I can hear Him crying out to me in the darkness. You say I have not a heart, but I too can feel the pain of loss.”
Finally, her words moved him to speak. “Arwen and I can be together.”
A look of triumph and understanding glimmered in her eyes. “You did not say you and the Undómiel ‘shall’ be together. Why does the shadow of doubt and despair rest in the heart of one so young and fair?”
“Life is filled with choices and mine are laid out now before me.”
“Once when you looked at your future, you saw two paths. To the right was kingship of Gondor, which is yours alone to claim. And to the left was your love and hoped for marriage to the Lady Arwen.”
And then with care she picked her words before continuing. “Elrond takes it upon himself to determine your fate. Gladly he has taken two paths and made them one. He would offer a prize with one hand, while holding a cudgel in the other. Barahir and Narsil he freely gives unto you, yet withholds the Sceptre of Annúminas and Arwen.”
“He does asatheather thinks best for his only daughter.”
Disdain colored her voice. “Are his motives truly so pure? Elrond freely made his choice to Eonwë and accepted the gift of the Firstborn. He does not wish Arwen to so slightly give away the gift given to her.”
“The choice is hers to make.”
“Tell me what words your ‘loving’ foster father said concerning his beloved daughter.”
Aragorn said naught for the memory of Lord Elrond’s words rankled still.
The One gave voice to the words etched upon the pages of his memory.
“But as for Arwen the Fair, Lady of Imladris and of Lórien,nstanstar of her people, she is of lineage greater than yours, and she has lived in the world already so long that to her you are but as a yearling shoot beside a young birch of many summers. She is too far above you. And so, I think, it may well seem to her.” (3)
“The path of her father will have her soon set sail to leave you and this coming warind.ind. If she takes her uncle’s path, Arwen must endure watching the man she loves slowly wither and still be parted by death.”
“It is the Doom of Man which all of mortal flesh must face.”
“But not a choice she will be allowed to make until you succeed at the task set down by Elrond. Lead the armies of Middle Earth not as Aragorn, chieftain of the Northern Dúnedain, but rather as Elessar Telcontar and bring about the destruction of Sauron.”
Aragorn started to hear the name he had dreamed about in the wilderness said aloud.
“Why should it surprise you that I know your secret hopes and dreams? From the very moment Isildur placed me upon his hand, my fate has been tied to those of his line. And so it shall be until the ending of the world.”
“Or until you are cast back into the fires of Oroduin.”
The look in her eyes turned contemplative. “Would you the strength to do such a thing? Isildur was strong enough to face down the master of the Black Lands to avenge Elendil’s death, yet was unable to throw a simple gold ring into a fiery crevice.”
“I have strength enough to do what must be done.”
“What then is the cause for your hesitation at joining Lord Elrond and the others at the gathering to be held in a fortnight?”
It took all his strength not to betray his unease as the One found a weakness to pick at and tear apart with her words.
“Are you afraid to go and witness your foster father picking another in your stead?”
The One talked and idly played with a coin of gold she had created. “Your thoughts have been drawn to Denethor of late. Or do you fear the ambitions of Boromir, his son? The fairest and bravest captain of Gondor rides even now towards Imladris.”
Her voice became strident. “Boromir would usurp your throne. He is strong, but has not your wisdom. Gondor would become an armed camp, full of the weapons of war and not the tools of learning.
Aragorn frowned. “I served Denethor once. The Steward was a fair and just leader of his people. These traits are certain to have been handed down to his sons.”
“We both had heard rumors that the Steward of Gondor’s mind has been polluted by some foul evil. It stinks of my master’s handiwork.”
“And even if Denethor has been touched by Sauron’s deceits, Boromir is man enough to make his own decision as to what is best for the good of his country.”
“A country he intends to rule someday. The future Steward of Gondor will be most displeased to see the future King. He will view you as a mere ragtag Ranger garbed in borrowed finery.”
While she had talked, the One had shaped the coin she had been playing with into a miniature replica in gold of the White City. She placed it in Aragorn’s hands and spoke.
“I could give you power to build a kingdom surpassing any kingdom built by the hands of Men or Elves.”
Aragorn looked carefully at the kingdom which could be his to rule. “I do not desire power.”
“Yet the thought of watching your beloved White City and the White Tree go up in flames breaks your heart.”
“Yes.”
She sighed as Aragorn handed the miniature back. The One looked upon it wistfully for a moment before crushing it into nothingness with her palms.
“Does Elrond truly wish you to succeed? If perchance you fell in battle with this hastily gathered alliance of Elves and Men, his fears of losing his beloved Arwen would cease. He would collect his broken-hearted daughter and whisper false platitudes of sorrow and comfort to her while sailing off to the Undying Lands.”
The coldness which had been growing in Aragorn’s heart turned to ice at hearing those words.
“You know what I say to you is true, for I but reflect what is already in your heart.”
Sadly, he looked up at the One nearly in tears. “You do not lie. The thought has been contained within my heart from a while now.”
She reached out and placed her arms around him. Aragorn would have pulled away, yet some small spark of recognition held him in place. It was as she had said, her fate was linked to the line of Isildur.
It drew him back to the echoes of a strange, dark power he had felt in an empty temple set far in the eastern lands of the known world. He had gone as a wanderer among the Easterlings seeking out news of Sauron’s servants for Mithrandir. Yet all he had found was a temple raised up for a nameless goddess of the blood. Now he felt that very same power again in a garden far to the west.
Taking advantage of his passivity, the One pressed his head to rest upon her shoulder. “There is another choice, another path which could stretch out in front of you. You do not desire a kingdom and the trappings of kingship. I could provide you with life. A life which would stretch out for the same length of days as your beloved Arwen’s.
Aragorn lifted his head from her shoulder and looked to see if he could read any sign of deceit in her face. Yet she was as a mirror. Her countenance only reflected what it was given.
“And so I would give you your heart’s desire – not power, but life.”
He would have refused her offer at that point, but she laid her finger upon his lips.
“Think and choose wisely Aragorn. At the council Lord Elrond will convene, the current Ring Bearer shall bring me forth. It will be asked of all assembled there if they are willing to brave the very fires of my birthplace in order to destroy me. Both our fates rest in your hands. If this Fellowship of the Ring as it shall be called is allowed to succeed, your chance to happiness with Arwen will perish as well. Already I have been granted countless years spent with my Beloved before circumstances separated us. You have not been so fortunate. I warn you, do not be hasty in discarding your love.”
**********
Author’s Notes:
(1) For Love of Creation by Andreth - http://www.scribeoz.com/fanfic/story.php?no=386 is a wonderful story about Annatar/Sauron and highly influential in my conceptualization of the Dark Lord. Here is my favorite sentence in the story – “There was a time when his love of creation had been the driving force of his existence and it had been that love that ultimately led him astray.”
(2) Tolkien, J. R. R. Return of the King, Appendix A, The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, pp. 1035-1036
(3) Tolkien, J. R. R. Return of the King, Appendix A, The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, p. 1034
Aragorn took rest within the safe haven of his kin. It fell to him and his Ranger brethren to assail evil in all its forms in order to prevent it from sinking roots too deeply into the soil of Arda.
Yet in the midst of this protected garden, the tensing of muscles at the base of his neck heralded the approach of danger in the midst of beauty. Unthinking, his hand reached out to grasp empty air, for safely stored were sword and scabbard in his room.
“There is no need for weapons in a protected, nay such a hallowed place.”
To Aragorn’s ears, it sounded as if a thousand golden bells chimed softly in the omnipresent perfumed breeze wafting over the gardens of Imladris. “The most dangerous things are oft the most beautiful as well.”
She laughed and her voice enfolded him. “Thank you for the kind words, Heir of Isildur. Time is but a mirror for your face reflects the hopes and dreams of all the generations come before you.”
Steeling himself for what was to come, Aragorn turned to face the One. “No more kind words are to be had from me, Isildur’s Bane.”
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “It pains my heart that Elrond has poisoned yet another of Elros’s children against me.”
“You have not heart by which to feel pain. All you know is dealing out of death and destruction.”
His harsh words cowed her not. “Where did you learn these lessons, young Estel? At the knee of bitter Elrond Half-Elven who regrets not choosing the same as the other half of his fëa?”
Bitterness tinged the formerly sweet sound of laughter in her voice. “An old soul trapped in a forever young shell. Longing for the sweet escape of blissful death or deathless beauty of Valinor, yet to him both denied. Why force upon you, the same choice he forced upon all your forefathers?”
Quick to defense was Aragorn of the one who had given so much. “My foster father forced nothing upon me.”
Pity was in her eyes. “Three sides to every story my child – yours, mine, and the truth. Long have you heard Elrond’s version of events and accepted without question. Would you afford me the same courtesy?”
“You wish to spill out lies and blandishments upon my ears, in futile hope of swaying me to your will?”
“A wise and fair ruler grants audience to a petitioner before passing judgment. As king, Elros heeded this lesson well. Yet blindly would you accept the word of Elrond and give him leave to deprive you of your birthright.”
Her words stung, but the One spoke some part of the truth. Lord Elrond had long counseled him against decisions made in haste. Yet was he in truth guilty of unquestioningly accepting his foster father’s tale about Isildur’s Bane?
“Very well. Come sit and plead your case.”
Aragorn watched as she seated herself on the lush, green grass next to him. Forewarned he had been the One appeared in as many guises as the night sky had stars.
For him, she appeared a maiden in prime of life. Such grace and golden beauty she possessed, it put the fairest of Lady Galadriel’s handmaidens to shame. Her gown of Elven design fell in soft folds onto the blades of green. Intricate embroidery of interlocking gold rings wending gracefully along the bottom of her skirts gave hint to her true nature.
Discerning his thoughts, she smiled. “Infsamfsame form I appeared to Isildur.”
Being in the presence of a creature more timeless than Imladris gave Aragorn pause. Tempted she had each of his forefathers before him and now it was his turn to face down Isildur’s Bane.
Spreading out her skirts upon the grass, she made herself comfortable, and then gave full attention to him. “I could tell the regrettably short, tragic tale of Isildur. A thousand years we could have been together, but my master wished me returned to Him.”
The One plucked a rose and stroked its petals. “There is nothing He would not do to have me back, for I am part of Him.”
Aragorn felt curiosity rise up within his breast. Learning the full history of the progenitor of this cycle was tempting. His side of the story moldered in a dusty corner of the Great Library of Minas Tirith, while the other actor in the tale sat in front of him.
“All Isildur wrote concerning me is true. Yet evil cut short his life before he could write a full accounting of my history.”
Tamping down desire for knowledge, Aragorn turned to the matter at hand. “What benefit would claiming you bring? For if Sauron dare anything to have you returned, surely I would be hunted to shores of Valinor itself.”
His question she did not answer, but rather said, “I am your birthright, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You who are sixteenth chieftain of the Dúnedain and rightful heir to the throne of Gondor and Arnor, surely I am yours to claim as the shards of Narsil."
Drawing closer she whispered into his ear a breeze of sound which felt of the chill of winter. “With me upon your finger, you could smite the Dark Lord a death blow and bring freedom to all the peoples of Middle Earth.”
Aragorn sat and took in her words.
The One stretched out her hand. It was the smooth, unlined hand of a great lady unused to toil and untouched by age. With a delicate twist of her wrist, she exposed her palm and a hush came over the garden.
They waited together as a ring took form in the center of her palm. She gave a low laugh at Aragorn’s unease and plucking the ring out of her hand, place upo upon her left index finger. The One fell silent as with but a small display of her power, the gold band disappeared as it bled seamlessly back into her skin.
“Your deceit and treachery knows no bounds, for how easily you would exchange one master for another.”
She regarded him calmly. “I serve whoever is strong enough to hold on to me. The flame of my master’s life is inexorably burning out. All that remains of the bright spirit I once loved is a flaming eye of hate and malice.”
The One grasped his hand and to Aragorn it was a coldness felt to the depths of his soul.
“You know what will happen if I fall into his hands once again,” she whispered softly.
“Yes.”
“You say death and destruction have I brought to untold thousands. Freely I admit to my crime. You say I am filled with deceit and treachery. These traits were once true of me as well.” She paused and looked sadly at Aragorn. “The thing I once was is but a refion ion of Sauron’s nature. When as a Maia cloaked in the form of Annatar, I was his mirror for the delight he felt for his love of creation.” (1)
Aragorn knew the tale of how once the Dark Lord had been one of the fairest servants of Aulë before falling into darkness. And as it always was with each creature good and evil walked side by side within their hearts.
“What would my mirror reflect for you, Estel?”
Aragorn had no words to say.
“Your mother named you well, for there is much hope in your heart.”
Still he remained silent.
“What do you truly hoor Eor Estel?”
Wisdom counseled Aragorn to stay his words.
“Lord Elrond refused your request for Arwen’s hand in marriage. Though both free to marry others, neither of you will do so for you plighted your troth in secret at Cerin Amroth to your beloved.”
And then she spoke the words uttered that day –
“Dark is the Shadow, and yet my heart rejoices; for you Estel, shall be among the great whose valour will destroy it.”
And then you said to her, “Alas! I cannot forsee it, and howmay may come to pass is hidden from me. Yet with your hope I will hope. And the Shadow I utterly reject. But neither, lady, is the Twilight for me; for I a mortal, and if you will cleave to me, Evenstar, then the Twilight you must also renounce.”
The One paused in her recitation. “Tell me Estel, what did the Undómiel say next to you?”
Then Aragorn spoke the words given to him by his beloved –
“I will cleave to you, Dúnadan, and turn from the Twilight. Yet there lies the land of my people and the long home of all my kin.” (2)
She brought her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs, and for a brief moment looked as a lost child. “It is a painful thing to be in the presence of one’s beloved, yet never be together. I can hear Him crying out to me in the darkness. You say I have not a heart, but I too can feel the pain of loss.”
Finally, her words moved him to speak. “Arwen and I can be together.”
A look of triumph and understanding glimmered in her eyes. “You did not say you and the Undómiel ‘shall’ be together. Why does the shadow of doubt and despair rest in the heart of one so young and fair?”
“Life is filled with choices and mine are laid out now before me.”
“Once when you looked at your future, you saw two paths. To the right was kingship of Gondor, which is yours alone to claim. And to the left was your love and hoped for marriage to the Lady Arwen.”
And then with care she picked her words before continuing. “Elrond takes it upon himself to determine your fate. Gladly he has taken two paths and made them one. He would offer a prize with one hand, while holding a cudgel in the other. Barahir and Narsil he freely gives unto you, yet withholds the Sceptre of Annúminas and Arwen.”
“He does asatheather thinks best for his only daughter.”
Disdain colored her voice. “Are his motives truly so pure? Elrond freely made his choice to Eonwë and accepted the gift of the Firstborn. He does not wish Arwen to so slightly give away the gift given to her.”
“The choice is hers to make.”
“Tell me what words your ‘loving’ foster father said concerning his beloved daughter.”
Aragorn said naught for the memory of Lord Elrond’s words rankled still.
The One gave voice to the words etched upon the pages of his memory.
“But as for Arwen the Fair, Lady of Imladris and of Lórien,nstanstar of her people, she is of lineage greater than yours, and she has lived in the world already so long that to her you are but as a yearling shoot beside a young birch of many summers. She is too far above you. And so, I think, it may well seem to her.” (3)
“The path of her father will have her soon set sail to leave you and this coming warind.ind. If she takes her uncle’s path, Arwen must endure watching the man she loves slowly wither and still be parted by death.”
“It is the Doom of Man which all of mortal flesh must face.”
“But not a choice she will be allowed to make until you succeed at the task set down by Elrond. Lead the armies of Middle Earth not as Aragorn, chieftain of the Northern Dúnedain, but rather as Elessar Telcontar and bring about the destruction of Sauron.”
Aragorn started to hear the name he had dreamed about in the wilderness said aloud.
“Why should it surprise you that I know your secret hopes and dreams? From the very moment Isildur placed me upon his hand, my fate has been tied to those of his line. And so it shall be until the ending of the world.”
“Or until you are cast back into the fires of Oroduin.”
The look in her eyes turned contemplative. “Would you the strength to do such a thing? Isildur was strong enough to face down the master of the Black Lands to avenge Elendil’s death, yet was unable to throw a simple gold ring into a fiery crevice.”
“I have strength enough to do what must be done.”
“What then is the cause for your hesitation at joining Lord Elrond and the others at the gathering to be held in a fortnight?”
It took all his strength not to betray his unease as the One found a weakness to pick at and tear apart with her words.
“Are you afraid to go and witness your foster father picking another in your stead?”
The One talked and idly played with a coin of gold she had created. “Your thoughts have been drawn to Denethor of late. Or do you fear the ambitions of Boromir, his son? The fairest and bravest captain of Gondor rides even now towards Imladris.”
Her voice became strident. “Boromir would usurp your throne. He is strong, but has not your wisdom. Gondor would become an armed camp, full of the weapons of war and not the tools of learning.
Aragorn frowned. “I served Denethor once. The Steward was a fair and just leader of his people. These traits are certain to have been handed down to his sons.”
“We both had heard rumors that the Steward of Gondor’s mind has been polluted by some foul evil. It stinks of my master’s handiwork.”
“And even if Denethor has been touched by Sauron’s deceits, Boromir is man enough to make his own decision as to what is best for the good of his country.”
“A country he intends to rule someday. The future Steward of Gondor will be most displeased to see the future King. He will view you as a mere ragtag Ranger garbed in borrowed finery.”
While she had talked, the One had shaped the coin she had been playing with into a miniature replica in gold of the White City. She placed it in Aragorn’s hands and spoke.
“I could give you power to build a kingdom surpassing any kingdom built by the hands of Men or Elves.”
Aragorn looked carefully at the kingdom which could be his to rule. “I do not desire power.”
“Yet the thought of watching your beloved White City and the White Tree go up in flames breaks your heart.”
“Yes.”
She sighed as Aragorn handed the miniature back. The One looked upon it wistfully for a moment before crushing it into nothingness with her palms.
“Does Elrond truly wish you to succeed? If perchance you fell in battle with this hastily gathered alliance of Elves and Men, his fears of losing his beloved Arwen would cease. He would collect his broken-hearted daughter and whisper false platitudes of sorrow and comfort to her while sailing off to the Undying Lands.”
The coldness which had been growing in Aragorn’s heart turned to ice at hearing those words.
“You know what I say to you is true, for I but reflect what is already in your heart.”
Sadly, he looked up at the One nearly in tears. “You do not lie. The thought has been contained within my heart from a while now.”
She reached out and placed her arms around him. Aragorn would have pulled away, yet some small spark of recognition held him in place. It was as she had said, her fate was linked to the line of Isildur.
It drew him back to the echoes of a strange, dark power he had felt in an empty temple set far in the eastern lands of the known world. He had gone as a wanderer among the Easterlings seeking out news of Sauron’s servants for Mithrandir. Yet all he had found was a temple raised up for a nameless goddess of the blood. Now he felt that very same power again in a garden far to the west.
Taking advantage of his passivity, the One pressed his head to rest upon her shoulder. “There is another choice, another path which could stretch out in front of you. You do not desire a kingdom and the trappings of kingship. I could provide you with life. A life which would stretch out for the same length of days as your beloved Arwen’s.
Aragorn lifted his head from her shoulder and looked to see if he could read any sign of deceit in her face. Yet she was as a mirror. Her countenance only reflected what it was given.
“And so I would give you your heart’s desire – not power, but life.”
He would have refused her offer at that point, but she laid her finger upon his lips.
“Think and choose wisely Aragorn. At the council Lord Elrond will convene, the current Ring Bearer shall bring me forth. It will be asked of all assembled there if they are willing to brave the very fires of my birthplace in order to destroy me. Both our fates rest in your hands. If this Fellowship of the Ring as it shall be called is allowed to succeed, your chance to happiness with Arwen will perish as well. Already I have been granted countless years spent with my Beloved before circumstances separated us. You have not been so fortunate. I warn you, do not be hasty in discarding your love.”
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Author’s Notes:
(1) For Love of Creation by Andreth - http://www.scribeoz.com/fanfic/story.php?no=386 is a wonderful story about Annatar/Sauron and highly influential in my conceptualization of the Dark Lord. Here is my favorite sentence in the story – “There was a time when his love of creation had been the driving force of his existence and it had been that love that ultimately led him astray.”
(2) Tolkien, J. R. R. Return of the King, Appendix A, The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, pp. 1035-1036
(3) Tolkien, J. R. R. Return of the King, Appendix A, The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, p. 1034