Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof

Author’s note: Tolkien said that Elrond fostered Aragorn, and came to see him as a son. In this story, Aragorn refers to Elladan and Elrohir (Elrond’s sons) as his brothers and to Elrond as his father. He was fostered under the name of “Estel”, that is “Hope”, because Elrond thought it would be safer for his true identity not to be widely known.

*****

He knelt on the bridge, resting his head against the rail-supports as though they were bars on a cage. He gripped the rail and tried to calm himself, tried to stop himself from being so afraid, tried to stop his stomach from jumping so much. He wished he could stop his elbows and knees from shaking. And he hoped he would not cry or be sick. He pressed his head against the rail-supports, and in his mind, called himself Aragorn.

‘What was hope, anyway?’ A cynical voice laced his thoughts now. ‘Hope is just that nagging, annoyingly optimistic thing that says everything will be all right. Everything will not be all right! Hope is a liar, a cheat, a sneak-thief and always a disappointment. I am glad to no longer be associated with it!’

How was it possible, he wondered, after so many years of believing himself to be just some orphaned waif, that he was now a King? How had it come to pass that he, Estel, the little mortal boy who had tried so hard to be Elven and always failed, was now to be leader of a people he had never met? It was an unfair expectation. It should not have been kept from him, only to be revealed when he had been reared to be not a King but simply some one, a member of society not a leader of it!

Yet, some part of him had always known. It was the same part of him that was ashamed of every little mistake he made. He remembered when he was thirteen and tilted his head back so far that half of his orange juice had gone into his nose. It had hurt, but he had only laughed with his brothers and tried to sop up the excess liquid. Inside, though, he had squirmed and burned. That seemed to happen often enough, and not only in humorous incidents. He had cried himself to sleep the night he missed one in twenty mathematics equations. He had practiced archery until his fingers bled after seeing Legolas hit every target, although he had been only ten years old at the time. He had never felt good enough: perhaps this was because a part of him knew that, in time, every one would be judging him.

And what about those dreams? Ever since he was very small, he had suffered recurring nightmares about a man with an arrow through the eye. Of course, that had been a memory. Of course, that was all he knew of–oh, Valar. Of his father.

At the thought Aragorn completely lost control. He raised his head above the rail just in time to be sick into the river. It was too much. He couldn’t do this, he was not right for it. The two largest kingdoms of Men were the realms of a mere boy who had never in his life even seen them! Aragorn had been to Lothlorien and to Hollin and Dunland. He had been to Mirkwood and had spent most of his life in Imladris. Not once, though, had he been to Gondor or to Arnor. Aragorn tried not to think of any of this as he lost the entire contents of his stomach.

When there was nothing but bile left within him, Aragorn fell to the ground and leaned against the rail, resting his head on his knees. He had a vague memory of being brought to Imladris, but it was odd for him to think of Lord Elrond, whom he had come to know as “ada”, as being a complete stranger. Had there been a time? Yes, there had, for in his memory he was very small, so small he could not even make his way up the stone steps that led to the doors of the House. Another time long-passed, that was, when Aragorn had needed not worry about the future. He missed childhood, but then, who didn’t? ‘Yet it is so much worse for me,’ he thought in a great moment of self-pity.

“Estel?” a voice rang through the valley. “Estel?” This was accompanied by no footsteps, but Estel could sense an Elf approaching. He did not wish to speak to anyone, but had not the energy to move to avoid whomever it was. “Oh, little one…” Elladan crouched before his little brother and ran a hand over the adan’s head. “What is it, little brother? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t,” Aragorn said. “I am not your little brother, Elladan. Elrohir is your little brother. I am an orphan twice-over. I am a King of foreign kingdoms. I am…” He started to cry and could not stop, though he tried. Elladan stared at him, knowing what had happened, then he pulled Aragorn into a hug, rubbing his back but not saying anything. There was nothing that was worth saying.

When Aragorn’s sobs subsided, Elladan said, “I came to fetch you for lunch, but I suppose you will not be joining us. The hardest thing is facing those who have known you all your life, when you have changed and it is mutually known. If I may advise, it is best to get it over and done with. The first step is the hardest.” His voice carried wisdom with it, and so it was fitting that next he said, “Good luck. You know we always love you,” and rose, then began slowly to walk back the way he had come.

Elladan did not look up when he heard footfalls falling into step with his own. He smiled and took his brother’s hand, and without a word told him that everything would be all right.

*****

Translations:
Elvish:
Ada means dad or daddy
Adan means mortal
Latin:
Nihil Illi Deerat Ad Regnandum Praeter Regnum means “He had all the attributes of a king except a kingdom”

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