Amon-sûl. by hennethgalad

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Chapter 1

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Amon-sûl. 

 

 

 

Estel almost staggered as he left the study of Elrond. He knew of the missing heir of Elendil, it was one of his favourite tales; he had often imagined himself, called to the aid of the mighty prince, winning glory for his valour and praise from his hero. As a child he had made the others join in, the twins would smile at him in an infuriating way, that drove him on to feats of reckless courage.

 But always, the sombre Elrond would lead him back to the library, to the books and the scrolls until his eyes swam and his head ached, and he had long been convinced that he was to serve the prince merely as a counsellor or scholar. His restless heart had chafed at such a notion, the wild wood called him as a dear friend, he had eagerly accepted every invitation to ride out, and been discreetly encouraged by the swan-like Glorfindel. He smiled at the thought of Glorfindel, his best friend in Imladris, whose polished smile and manner hid a heart as wild as that of Estel himself, and their escapades together formed the chief treasures of his memory.

 He stopped before the statue on the porch, where the shards of Narsil were displayed. His mind reeled, he gripped the carven shield with both hands, shaking his head slowly, his mouth forming silent words of disbelief. His eye rested on the ring, the jewelled eyes of the serpents glittered coldly, implacable as the fate of all who had worn it. A cold tremor ran through him, he felt the remoteness of the distant past anew, not as a bed on which he lay, but as an unfathomable black ocean, he yearned to reach deep into time and truly know his mighty forebears.

 

 Glorfindel entered the courtyard, shining like moonlight, and his bright blue eyes looked up with a kindly smile. Estel gripped the stone harder.

 'You knew...'

Glorfindel smiled, and took the stairs two at a time. Estel felt that he had never seen such magnificent power before, but then the whole world had changed, he felt indeed that he had never seen even himself before.

 'Of course I knew. But few others did. The members of the Council, the closest friends of Lord Elrond...'

 'And the twins ?'

 Glorfindel nodded 'If you are not aware of the friendship between Elrond and his sons, I cannot explain it to you...'

 'No, I mean, yes, of course they are close. But Glorfindel, I am... I am astounded...'

Glorfindel smiled 'Will you ride with me ? There is somewhat that I would show to you.'

 

They were riding over the rim of Imladris before Estel had recovered his composure. Glorfindel, as silent as a stone when necessary, had not troubled him with questions or conversation. But Estel found his mind reeling. It was enough that he had been told his real name, and learned the fate of his father. To discover that his father had been Arathorn himself, that his own name was Aragorn, rather than humble Estel, had shaken him to the roots of his being. His heart churned, his mind was a whirlwind, but his spirit seemed to soar from the Valley like a released bird. Without thought he urged his horse on, until they were galloping over the open moor, scattering birds and rabbits, blowing the golden hair of Glorfindel like a thrown torch, and lifting the cobwebs of knowledge from the eyes of Estel. 

 Aragorn, he thought. I am Aragorn. 

He laughed then, as wild as the moor, and pressed his heels into the sides of the horse, whispering encouragement into the flung-back ears. The turf flew up around them, the horse stretched its neck and seemed to fly throught the air, but Glorfindel was there, riding wildly at his side, though he turned to shout to Aragorn 

 'Estel ! Please, 'ware the horses !'. 

Estel loosened his hold on the reins and the gasping horse slowed to a canter, then to a walk. A shock ran through him, a fall into cold water. Childhood was ended, he must put aside his toys and face the world, as a Man. He sucked in the fresh clean air of the moor and thought of his mother. Her secretive smile rose before him, and he nodded slowly, then straightened his shoulders. He would lay aside the name of the child he had been, as he laid aside his ignorance. Estel was no more.

 

 Aragorn stroked the gleaming neck, frowning at himself; he was the heir of mighty kings, and his very first act had been to cruelly mistreat an animal, a creature he was very fond of. He hung his head, he was not worthy of the name Aragorn, he would renounce his title, and settle to his books, and become the scholar that Elrond had worked so hard to mould. 

 

 Glorfindel, with the intolerable patience of the immortal, had said nothing as they rode, nor by the fire at night. The songs he sang were all of natural things, of the buds in spring, or the first butterfly, or the light of stars on falling water. He made no mention of what he would show Aragorn, who in his stubborn pride would ask no questions. Riding gently, they came at length to the great hill of Amon-sûl, towering over the wilderness, a lone sentinel. After tending the horses, Glorfindel had washed his hands and looked at Aragorn as one who has a gift to give.

 'Will you climb with me, Aragorn son of Arathorn ?' 

 

The view from the top was so vast that Aragorn had to grip the broken stone with both hands to remain steady. He had been penned in the Valley too long, the size of the sky seemed to weigh upon him, the vigour of the wind swayed him and whipped his hair. The Road, scarcely  bending in its path at their feet, vanished into the distance on either hand, and all around them, the trackless wilderness lay, its summer green scattered with golden clusters of gorse.

 'This is your realm.' said Glorfindel.

 

By the fire, with the soothing chirp of crickets breaking the stillness, Aragorn felt finally able to speak. But the questions he would ask did not concern himself or his purpose.

 'Are you truly that Glorfindel who slew the Balrog ?'

Glorfindel winced slightly, but smiled, and nodded slowly. Aragorn shook his head 

 'To return from death... It is so strange...'

Glorfindel shrugged, 'I am not the one to question on such matters, they are not my concern. But these questions will be found in your books of lore, and Elrond himself, who has a keen personal interest, will talk at length on the fates of the Children. But you know this...'

 Aragorn nodded 'I know the words that I have read, but to know you is another matter, it is the difference between seeing a map and seeing the country from a high place.'

 Glorfindel smiled, but there was a remoteness in his face, as memories rose to haunt him. Behind the golden hair the night was black, the thin moon had set, and cloud had covered the stars. The cool air was damp with dew and blue with smoke, the solitude of the wild was about them, steeper than the cliffs of Imladris. Aragorn frowned, then spoke again

 

 'But why did you return, why are you here ? Was there someone special who drew you back ?'

 Glorfindel smiled 'My tale is as long as that of any other Elf, some would say longer. But I was sent here, by the command of Manwë, to watch the Road to the sea, to stand guard over the escape of the Eldar to Valinor. I shall leave with Círdan on the Last Ship.'

Aragorn was silent for a while, he thought of the long life of Glorfindel, who rode alone, up and down the Road, with only memories for company. Pity and love rose within him.

 'Oh let me help you Glorfindel! I could ride with you, I am a good scout, and a good shot, and I could at least keep you company !'

 Glorfindel suppressed a smile, but nodded 'So shall it be, for a time, though there is another whom you have yet to meet, and whose company you will prefer to mine. He is called Mithrandir, great among the wise, and the roads watched by him are unknown even to I. You will find my little post as dull as your lessons long before I tire of your company !'

 

 Aragorn looked with wide eyes at Glorfindel, the idea that he could ever tire of his childhood hero seemed absurd. But even as the thought rose to expression, he remembered the strange tales concerning Mithrandir, and his restless curiosity was fired to wild speculation on the lands to East, and South. But his lessons with Elrond had not been entirely vain, he watched his breathing, focused his mind, and looked with narrow eyes at Glorfindel.

 'You must have known... You must have known Turgon, at least...'

Glorfindel laughed 'Ancestors ! Yes, I knew them all, the Noldor princes of the First Age. You remind me most of Finwë, though you are young yet for your kind, and will change into maturity. I must admit to personal curiosity as to which of your ancestors your full-grown face will most  resemble.'

 

 Aragorn gaped at him, the names of characters so mythical that compared to them even the legendary Elendil seemed a mere recent upstart, sat lightly on the tongue of the Elf. Glorfindel was cross-legged by the fire, his goblet resting between his fingertips, balanced on a knee, watching him carefully. Aragorn stared into the fire in silence, listening to the crackle of wood and the wind in the grass. Doubts began to trouble him. The thought of taking up the work of Glorfindel when the Elves were gone seemed appalling, after a childhood in Imladris. He imagined his thoughts fading like autumn trees, deprived of light and air, food and drink, withering in the cold... He looked up sharply at Glorfindel 'This burden is too great for me to bear ! I am Mortal, not some shining Elf fresh from Valinor ! I cannot take your place !'

 Glorfindel lowered his eyelids slightly 'You will not be expected to work alone. Your people, far to the North, have ever been my staunch allies, and often take to the Road at my side. But for now, you may ride with me as apprentice to my craft, and I shall attempt to teach you the skills of a scout, as Finrod himself taught them to me. You have learned much in Imladris, else you would not be here in such peril, for the servants of the Enemy do not sleep. You have risen to the challenge, son of Arathorn, and our hopes in you grow with each day. Indeed I feel a stirring in the air as I have not felt in long years of uneasy peace. A fresh wind blows from the West, Dúnadan, and you must ride it !'

 

 There was a silence, then Aragorn smiled 'Do I really look like Finwë ? I have seen paintings of him...'

 But Glorfindel snorted 'No paintings of Finwë survived the Flood. Nor any great artist who knew him. They asked Lindir to describe him accurately...' He began to laugh, and Aragorn joined in, for Lindir was a great mathematician, and a prominent theorist of music, but his drawing skills had been compared to the work of one addled from wine. Still half-laughing, Glorfindel shook his head 

 'No, you have seen no paintings of him. We have said nothing, for what would be the purpose ? Those who were born too late to meet him will see...' he faltered into silence and frowned.

 'Forgive me, Lord Aragorn, I had forgetten that you are Mortal, and that our paths are sundered.'

 But Aragorn smiled 'No, dear friend, your words bring joy to my heart. That one so ever-watchful as yourself could mistake me for one of your own kind is a great honour to me, and I shall treasure the memory on whatever path I take !'

 Glorfindel put out a hand and Aragorn gripped it in his own for a moment, and felt an uplifting of his spirit and a lightening in his heart, as though some power had flowed from Glorfindel to him, passed from hand to hand like the torch in a race. 

 'Thank you, Glorfindel, my ancestors, in their glory, have laid a great burden upon my shoulders, but with your skill, and the wisdom of Elrond to guide me, I hope that I may prove worthy.'

 

 Glorfindel raised his goblet to Aragorn, and put wood on the fire. 

 'I shall tell you tales of your mighty ancestors until you fall asleep, Mortal. But consider always in your thought and word and deed, how you yourself would be remembered in song. For I have known many of your kin, Aragorn, and this I know clearly, that the lives of Mortals continue, as they become songs, that they live on in the hearts of all who would aspire to their glory. For you will become, in the remote future, an ancestor to your unborn kin, and you must hope that the  name Aragorn will echo with pride, as they now call the name of Elendil.'