Birth of the Blade

7

My old room was the first thing in days to bring me comfort. It wasn't so much the soft bed that did it, but the walls. They were painted with wild flowers, and small wooden carvings hung from the ceiling. I had done some of them, I remembered well cutting open my finger quite badly trying to carve a fox out of a piece of oak, and I still had a scar on my middle finger from it. The others, I wasn't so sure. My memory was so grainy that I just did not know.

I stood up and looked at them. Some were far better than others, and a few seemed to be done by the same person, who was certainly not me. The craftsmanship was exquisite. I stood up from my bed and went to examine one that caught my eye. It was a Lion, so life-like it looked as though it was about to open its mouth and roar. For some reason, it didn't bring me any fear though. I supposed things from childhood tended to be nostalgic, but for some reason this specific piece called to me. I wondered why I had never really taken notice of it before. I pulled it down from its twine hanging and traced the ridges with my fingertip. Perfectly smooth, yet with immaculate detail. I glanced up, looking for that damn wolf that had cost me so much pain. Only... it wasn't there. I frowned. I remembered carving it, it was one of the few clear memories I had from my early teens. And yet...

I walked to my bedside and pulled out a box from beneath my bed. There sat the two daggers Gandalf had given me, as sharp as the day I had received them. A necklace. A wooden ring, and a few other bits and pieces. But no wolf. I must have lost it somewhere. I pulled out the ring and looked at it. That was funny. A little fox was carved onto it. Perhaps I was misremembering and it was this ring I had carved. I'd always known it was there, had shuffled it around trying to find other things I'd stashed away, but I had never really taken the time to look it over. I slipped it over my middle finger, right below the scar. It fit perfectly. That was odd as well, because if it was this piece I had carved my fingers must have been much smaller.

"Ravae?" Aragorn was in my doorway.

I shoved the little lion into my pocket and stood up.

"Do they want to see me?" I asked.

"We have some food set out. I think Glorfindel wanted to make sure you were comfortable."

I smiled. "He's always been very good to me."

"He is fond of you. As are we all."

I paused a little. "Aragorn, if I can call you Aragorn?"

He laughed. "It is my name."

"Aragorn, why did the important elves of Rivendell take such interest in me? And... I don't just mean interest. I mean, why did they take me in, look after me as though I was one of their own. Why have they afforded me such status as to sit at their table, not just today, but for many years? It's always played on my mind but I've never felt as though I could ask before." Perhaps so long away had given me courage. Perhaps I was tired of secrets.

"If I am honest Ravae, I do not entirely know. But I am glad they did. Without that, you and I would not know each other. I realise you do not recall the times we met before, but if it wasn't for Elrond taking you on as a sort of ward our paths would never have crossed." He shrugged. "That is all I can say. Come, they are waiting."

We arrived into the hall and I was glad to see some familiar faces. Elrond's three children, Elladan, Elohir, and Arwen were present. Glorfindel, of course. There were some high status elves that I knew by name and was acquainted with but didn't know well, namely Erestor and Lindir. But there were also others who I did not know at all. My old friends Kerym and Isarrel were seated at the table as well. I was a little pained to see that Kerym had gained a scar across his lower jaw since I had last seen him. Isarrel winked at me. I gave a small smile back. I sat down between Isarrel and Elrond, as it seemed that this was the place reserved for me.