Tales from the White Tree: The Heirs of Elessar by Kaylee Arafinwiel

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Story Notes:

In my universe, Princess Celebriel, Aragorn and Arwen's firstborn, is born with cerebral palsy. Of course, Tolkien didn't give us a word for that, and I'm sure the Elves and Gondorians wouldn't have called it that, either, but that's what it is.

Being 'different', Celebriel will of course have a hard time, growing up as a Princess of the Reunited Kingdom...Aragorn's heir for five years, no less. But it is my hope that she'll settle in, and people will recognize her for the good person she is. Her family accepts her, but will Gondor?

Let's find out together, wherever the Muse takes me.

I plan to have all the characters and places I marked show up, but not necessarily all in the same chapter.


Author's Chapter Notes:

This is about young Aragorn himself, making the decision that will lead him on the path to becoming Elessar. :) Elladan and Elrohir also feature.


He stood at the edge of the Loeg Ningloron, staring across the marshlands as he
followed the river. The Man's long, dark hair was whipped by the wind; he could
hear the moaning of those long dead echoing on this starless night, and he
shivered.

Wrapping his grey cloak more tightly around his shoulders, he turned to the
waters of Sîr Ninglor, knelt, cupped his hands and dipped them. He drank deeply
of the fresh water, and when the wind died down, he sought a place to lay his
bedroll. It was not the most ideal area, perhaps; but he was exhausted and had
no other choice.

The next morning, the Man woke to the rays of Anor peeking over the Hithaeglir,
which loomed in the distance. He rose and took some bread and cured meat from
his pack, not bothering to make a fire. He ate quickly, then returned to the
river to wash. Gazing into the still water, in the cool of the early morning, he
saw his face, and that of his longfathers before him.

"Shall I ever find the one who has It?" he wondered aloud, softly. "And if I do,
shall I fall prey to It as did Isildur before me?" His brow creased in worry,
and he let fear take him for a moment before he shook it off.

"Nay, I shall not!" he cried, this time a challenge. "For am I not Aragorn son
of Arathorn? Am I not Isildur's Heir, Chieftain of the Dunedain?" He was
silenced by a hand on each shoulder and whirled around.

"And you are loud, muindor dithen," said one of the two now facing him, dark
grey eyes glinting with wry amusement. "I am certain Adar heard you all the way
back in Imladris. Come, break your camp, mount your horse, and let us ride to
meet your men," the other continued.

"As you say, Elladan, Elrohir," Aragorn replied, looking abashed at the mild
rebuke.

*Metta*




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