Note: I do not own Lord of the Rings and no profit is being made from this fanwork.
Kind of a Christmas story (Christmas is known as the season of hope), but not really. I was just watching a choir performance and thinking about Mary ("But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart." Luke 2:19), and wondering what it must be like to know that your son was going to do amazing things. Not trying to suggest that Aragorn is Jesus or anything... but the kid's name is "hope." Take from it what you will.
[Translations: The quote at the beginning is from Appendix A of
The Lord of the Rings: "I gave Hope to the Dúnedain, I have kept
no hope for myself"; these are the last recorded words of Gilraen. Namárië
means "farewell."]
"Onen i-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim."
He was named well. When Elrond took him into his house, and called him Estel to hide him from the Enemy, not even I knew what would come of such a thing. I was his mother. I tried to be near him as much as I could. But a boy needs a father, and with Arathorn dead... I think Elrond felt guilty about that. At least I know Elladan does, and Elrohir in his own way. They're sure that there was something they could have done to prevent it. I... am not so sure. It was before we even married that my own father predicted that he would be short-lived. I think I always lived with that thought in the back of my mind. I was not surprised when Elladan came to me, sorrow on his dirt streaked face, and spoke the words that would change my life forever, as young Aragorn clung to my skirts and the wind was black against me. Sorrow filled my being, but no surprise. And no condemnation. Immortals take death hard, especially when they feel they could have prevented it. To me? Death was a way of life. Still is, in many ways; I have been aged by storms rather than years. I may not have been surprised, but a part of me died with my love that day. A part of me had been dying ever since we had met, and will keep dying until we meet again. What is it in men, that they cause women to die for them? Not intentionally I'm sure, but just the same.
Well, he was named. When we came to Rivendell, tired with more then exhaustion, Elrond came himself to meet us. There was sadness in his eyes, yet a certain knowledge that men will do as they will and their passing is something that should not come as unexpected. He touched my shoulder, for there was something he knew about being alone in the world, alone with the children around you being the only mirror you have for the departed's face. And then the child in my arms reached out to him. Aragorn stretched out and grabbed a handful of the Lord's tunic, and turning his huge eyes upon the elf he whispered, "Ada?" Mine was not the only heart pierced by such a moment. If anyone asks, I always say well what did you think the child was going to say? He was tired and hungry and hadn't seen his father for days. And, besides, it was the only word he knew. But I have to turn my face away so they do not see the tears. Logic means little at such times; and so Aragorn became Estel. But no longer only mine.
He was well named. He brought a life to Rivendell that I had never witnessed in my visits there before. He brought those elves, always so concerned with greater and higher things, closer to life. Elladan and Elrohir swore that they would protect him as they had been unable to protect his father, but soon I think they did so more from a feeling of love than obligation. I never heard them regret following him, chasing and tracking him all over the valley; they were never far from his side. And Estel? He never grew tired of trying to make them old before their time. He makes me glad I never had more children; one is more than plenty. And yet... I should have liked to have a daughter. I love Aragorn, but there is a part of his life that I, more and more, am not allowed to be a part of. While I think a daughter might have grown closer to me, my son has grown away. He loves me- I do not doubt that. But his destiny is beyond so many things that I may touch. War is a man's game. We women are left behind to pick up the pieces.
He is well named. He has so many names... Yet he is so many people. A name for each of them is appropriate. He is defined by the people around him, how could not have become a great man? I think... Isildur, my many times great grandfather-in-law, must not have had such friends. My son doubts himself because of his blood, and I cannot tell him that love is thicker than blood- he does not hear me. Arwen can speak to his heart. He listens to her, but he does not always believe. I think he will, when it matters the most. I pity her- for I know her pain. In part. I have never expected to live forever. I am amazed I have come this far. But I know he will leave her, as death claims all men before their women are ready, and I know that will be the second most terrible day of her life.
Was he well named? He has brought despair as well as hope to some. They do not speak of it anymore, not after the first time, but I see the shadow on Elrond's face. There is one treasure more precious than any other, and I should know. Even without Arathorn I have been able to keep living because of my child. If he were taken away from me... And by someone I loved no less... I am glad that such a choice is not before me.
He was named well. He has been my hope, even is darkness. Even in Shadow. But I gave him to his destiny. To the Dúnedain. To Middle-earth. I have kept no hope for myself. His life shall be a season of hope on the earth, and he will make even darkness blessed. The air is chill on my face, and spring is far off. Too far. I shall not see it again. But there are more blessed things than spring. In sorrow I depart from this world, but not in despair. For I have done what was mine to do, and I have given hope to a world that lay in Shadow. If nothing waits for me beyond the grave, then I have done the best with what time I was given.
"Namárië."
