𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 • 𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐑

21. The Ring Goes South

——[～Æ～]——

——[～Æ～]——

     It was just barely light in the valley where Imladris laid, the early morning air bearing a brisk chill that left thin blankets of frost over everything and shied away into nothingness as soon as the first few timid beams of sunlight found them. Slowly, as they finally pulled themselves from their warm beds and wrapped themselves in thick garments, the Fellowship began assembling in the main courtyard. There was only the faintest trace of weariness in their eyes that cold December morning as they gathered to set out on the quest they had prepared to go on for so long, exhaustion chased away by the twinge of red on their cheeks as their breaths turned into misty serpents in the air in front of them. Only one was missing from those gathered that were to set out.

     A silent weight made Aragorn's shoulders heavy as he carefully pulled the vines away from the small statue, brushing off the leaves that had gathered. The woman's lifeless eyes stared back at him as he freed her from the embrace of age and nature. 

'In honor of Gilraen the Fair' the pedestal she sat atop read in the flowing text of elvish handwriting, the words standing out against the white rock. 'I gave Hope to the Dúnedain, I have kept no hope for myself.'

     She was strong and selfless, Aragorn remembered. As a child he'd simply seen her actions and words as those of any mother, but as he grew older, he began to see her as a resilient, loving woman. Nothing could keep her down when she felt driven to achieve something. She never wore a crown or fine jewelry, but she had earned being titled the unknown queen of Gondor. Elrond often said Aragorn was more his mother's son than his father. He had Arathorn's face and hair, but in his youth he roared with the fire that colored Gilraen's hair and a love for nature that couldn't be subdued, his desire for adventure fueled by the wild and fantastical tales his mother would weave at his bedside. Though her name carried no weight except amongst the elves of Rivendell, Aragorn had always preferred to be remembered as the son of a woman who a kind and brave than the son of a man he couldn't remember. To be known as Gilraen the Fair's son, that was something he could be proud of.

     Aragorn missed her warmth, her wisdom, her unconditional love. Elrond had done well insuring the heir thrived since the death of Gilraen, but the ranger still wished he had that font of comfort to run to. He had accepted her death and the void in his life where she used to be would always be present, but at the bottom of his heart, Aragorn was still a son who missed the simpler times he spent with his mother and her reassurances that all's well that ends well. Which is why he would sometimes find himself here, at the last tangible piece of Gilraen's memory, using it as an anchor as he searched inside himself for find the wisdom he supposedly inherited from his mother.

"She wanted to protect her child," Elrond spoke up from behind the ranger prince, stirring him from his dip into long buried grief as the elf stepped closer. "She thought in Rivendell you would be safe."