Thanksgiving by My blue rose

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Chapter Two: Sacrifice

Chapter Two: Sacrifice

“For thou desirest not sacrifice; else would I give it; thou delightest not in burnt offering.                      The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.” ~ Psalm 51:16-17

7th of Ringarë, 3019th year of the Third Age, Steward’s Reckoning:

The stranger was tall and noble, dressed in an indigo robe that fell to his ankles and belted with a white sash. Aragorn first though he was an Elf, for he was fair and his brown hair was long and braided. But there was something that told him this was no Elf, and he found he could not look this person in the face. He reminded Aragorn of when Gandalf had unveiled himself as the White of his Order. Aragorn’s hand went to his belt dagger and he took several steps back toward the door.

“Who are you, my lord?” If anyone should have the title of lord it was this person.

“I have many names, Child.” his voice was a rich tenor that possessed a melodious quality and he spoke in Quenya, the High Tongue of the Elves that Aragorn had learned in his youth. “Not unlike like yourself, yes? But perhaps the name that suits me best is Eru Ilúvatar’s Vicegerent in Eä.”

“Manwë Súlimo, the Elder King.” Aragorn whispered, a frisson of fear running down his spine. He knelt on the damp floor, his eyes on the Vala’s feet, which were barefoot.

“Indeed, Child. Though in truth, I am more Steward than King.”

The Elder King walked toward him and Aragorn closed his eyes and clenched his fists, not giving in to the impulse to bolt. Where would he go? Although the door remained open behind him, even if he made it through, Aragorn doubted there was any place in Arda he could run from the High King of the Valar. He felt a warm hand on his chin and flinched. His head was gently forced upward, but Aragorn kept his eyes tight shut.

“Be at peace, Child. I mean you no harm. Open your eyes.”

He did as he was bid and found himself staring into the Elder King’s azure eyes. His mouth went dry as felt his very fëa being examined. He himself had some ability to look into the hearts of Men that he had inherited from his Elvish ancestors, but this was different than anything he or any Mortal could do. It was one of the strangest sensations he had ever felt and Aragorn grit his teeth, afraid to look away. Abruptly, the Elder King removed his hand and the queer sensation ceased.

The Elder King smiled and seemed pleased. Aragorn released a breath he had not realized he had been holding. He found he could now look at the Elder King’s face, fair as any Elf’s, and wondered why he could not before. Staring up at Eru’s Vicegerent, he was aware of how incredibly ancient the one before him was, and Aragorn had been raised amongst Elves. For all of his eighty eight years, Aragorn suddenly felt very young.

It was little wonder Lord Manwë called him child.

“Nay, I do not call you Child because of your age, though you are indeed young by the reckoning of my kind. I call you Child because it is what you are. You are of the Eruhíni, a Son of Lord Eru.”

Aragorn was not surprised to find that the Elder King seemed to be able to read his thoughts. He shivered slightly. The damp floor he was kneeling on had soaked his trousers and the room had the chill of a cave.

“Stand up, Child.” The Elder King said.

Aragorn hesitated. It seem inappropriate and perhaps impious to stand before such a person.

“My lord, I and my fathers have always feared the Valar,” he replied, also in the High Tongue, uncertain how to explain what he felt.

“’Tis no great thing to be feared, Child. Even our enemies do that. You are a mighty King of Men, are you not? Would you have your subjects fear you?”

Aragorn reflected for a moment before he replied, shaking his head.

“Nay, my lord. I would rather they serve me out of love or, failing that, out of a sense of obligation to the King of the realm.”

“Indeed, Child. Do you think me and my brethren so different? Would you make one of your subjects kneel on a wet floor when they are already shaking with cold?”

Aragorn felt himself flush with embarrassment. To his surprise, the Elder King of Arda held out his hand and helped pull him to his feet.

There was silence between them as the Vala regarded him, a small smile on his face. Aragorn shifted uncomfortably under the Elder King’s gaze. There had been no record in the Archives of something like this occurring in the Hallow. He felt reasonably certain that at least one of his ancestors would have included an account of such an encounter, if they had indeed happened in the past. Aragorn could not help but feel that the King of Aman had better things to do with his time than talk to him.

“Nay, Child. This is indeed as important as anything I might do with my time. I am King of Aman, but am I not also King of Endórë? Should I not be concerned with proceedings here?”

Aragorn nodded, feeling a little foolish.

“You have a question you wish to ask me,” the Elder King stated.

“Why are you here, my lord?” he asked with some trepidation.

“Because I wished to speak with one whom is King of Gondor and Arnor, Child.” The Elder King sounded amused.

Aragorn’s eyebrows rose. Why had none of his forefathers mentioned this in the records?

“If I did not speak to your forefathers it was because I did not think it necessary, Child. But that is not to say that when they offered their sacrifices here they were always as alone as they supposed. Neither were the Kings of Númenor when they made their offerings upon the Meneltarma.”

Aragorn eyed the Elder King skeptically. “Yet you think it necessary to speak to me, my lord?” he said doubtfully.

“You find that hard to believe, Child?”

“Aye, my lord,” Aragorn said simply. To his surprise, the Elder King laughed.

“Your humility becomes you, Child. Yet I am indeed here to speak with you.”

An icy wind blew in through the doorway and Aragorn shivered, his fur-lined cloak unable to ward off the chill brought on by his damp trousers. He would need to light a fire and warm himself soon. He had seen several Men perish in the Wilds, beyond even his aid, when they had become wet in the dead of winter. The Elder King looked at him, concerned, and Aragorn knew he had discerned his thoughts. He looked at his feet, feeling ashamed at his weakness.

“’Tis not weakness, Child. One does not criticize silver for not being gold. You have limitations, yes, but you also have strengths and abilities that even I do not.”

The Elder King looked rueful as he spoke next. “I ask your forgiveness, Child. It has been many yéni since I have spoken to one of the race of Men. It did not occur to me that such a thing might not be only uncomfortable, but also dangerous for you.”

With that, the Elder King waved his hand negligently and Aragorn felt his trousers become dry almost instantly. He shuddered again. Not with cold this time, but at the seemingly careless display of power. He felt the desire to flee once more. Instead, he bowed, placing his right hand on his heart in the Elvish fashion.

“Thank you, my lord. No forgiveness is required for no offence was intended.” He hesitated a moment before continuing. “Why did you wish to speak with me, my lord?”

“I wish to know why you have chosen to reinstate this tradition, Child?” The Elder King gestured at the altar and the offering upon it, still waiting to be set aflame.

“I thought that was obvious, my lord.”

“Perhaps, but I wish to hear your reasoning.”

“I do this because it is the duty of all nations to acknowledge the providence of Lord Eru, to obey His will, to be grateful for His benefits, and humbly to implore His protection and favor. As King, I must do this for my people. Returning to this tradition seemed to me a good way of fulfilling this duty.”

The chamber was suddenly filled with a flash of light that was so bright Aragorn was momentarily blinded. The offering on the altar burst into flames, hot enough that he felt it from where he stood three rangar away. He ducked into a defensive crouch, instinctively drawing his dagger. He rose when realized that what he had just seen was lighting striking the altar through one of the shafts in the ceiling. Feeling foolish, he returned his dagger to its sheath and turned to the Lord of the Air, wondering why he had done such a thing.

“’Twas not I who did that, Child. It appears Lord Eru has found your sacrifice agreeable and has decided to demonstrate a sign of his favor.” The Elder King sounded pleased.

Aragorn watched the fire consume the offering, a frisson of awe coursing through him. 

Chapter End Notes

Glossary

Vicegerent (English): A person exercising delegated power on behalf of a sovereign or a person regarded as an earthly representative of God, both definitions being true in the case of the Elder King.

Fëa (Quenya): The spirit or soul of an incarnate, normally housed in a body.

Eruhíni (Quenya): ‘Children of Eru’. 

Endórë (Quenya): ‘Middle-earth’.

Note: Aragorn’s response to Manwë is a direct quote from George Washington: “It is the duty of all nations to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God, to obey His will, to be grateful for His benefits, and humbly to implore His protection and favor.” 

 

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