Shadow Hunter-LegolasxOC

14: Welcome Home (Edited)

Aragorn and his company were greeted by several guards. They acknowledged Aragorn's identity, but questioned the others.

"Aragorn, we have expected you," one of them said. "But not the others. We have been informed that the Halfling has friends with him, friends of his kind... Not the cloaked stranger."

"He is my friend, and Gandalf's. Surely you would allow him to pass?" Aragorn explained. "He has been my comrade for days."

The guard scowled. "He must show his face," the guard spoke. Aragorn glanced at his friend. He might have only known him for a while, but he understood his desire to conceal his identity. Once, he had been like that, for he despised his responsibility as the heir of Numenor. "Forgive us, Aragorn, but these days are dark. We cannot let a masked man pass these gates."

Before Aragorn could retort further, the ranger stepped forth. "There is nothing to hide," he—she—declared as she pulled down back her hood and loosened her scarf. The Hobbits and Aragorn gasped when they saw the pure face of an elleth. Her skin was pale like the moonlight and her eyes silver like the stars. Her hair was as dark as the night, cut short and tied into a loose ponytail, with a strange braid running down her left cheek. She did not look like a typical Elf—more of something conjured by the creatures of the night.

"Will you let a kin pass through?" she asked again with her true voice.

"Varilerin," the guard muttered in disbelief. He had been in the ranger squad prior, it seemed. The other guard was more oblivious. "Let her through. She once served Lord Elrond."

This revelation permanently shocked the rest of her company. Varilerin gestured for Aragorn and the rest to step in first. "I knew it," Aragorn whispered briefly.

Rivendell still retained its omnipresent glory, as if it had not been touched by the cruelty of the world. Its gardens shimmered, its buildings steadfast against the sun. The pillars where two elleths had once encircled remained, and the trees still mighty and protecting Rivendell's inhabitants. They said years and age would weaken the memory, but she remembered everything as clear as the day. Her heart crumpled as grief settled in once more. She had once been that small elleth, with no worries in the world, and this place had been her home. Even when she denied its significance, this place would remain so.

"Aragorn!" a familiar, gentle voice echoed. Varilerin whirled around to see Arwen running towards them hastily. She wished to crawl away, but Aragorn grabbed her hand.

He knew

"She had told me stories," he whispered. "Of a friend who was lost to grief, who prevailed with her determination to protect the others. She did not go to the Undying Land, and travelled, until death by battle would find her." Aragorn to Arwen. "But she still lives. She's here"

Arwen skittered to a halt. She widened her eyes, and so did Varilerin. "Varilerin?" she called. Her heart ached. When was the last time she was called so fondly? Arwen blinked, thinking that her eyes could be deceiving her, but her vision was true—behold, her old friend standing. Battered she was, with traces of scars here and there, but she was alive. Her clothing was torn and ragged, her skin marred with blood, her hair shorter than she could ever imagine.

But she was alive.

Varilerin turned away. "Wait!" Arwen pleaded.

"I should have never come back," Varilerin said, yanking away from Aragorn's grasp. But this time, Arwen's hand reached for hers. She flinched, but her gaze remained on the ground. No words were exchanged between them. Holding her was her best friend, who she had hurt because of her own incompetence. "Let me go, my lady. Please," Varilerin muttered, unwilling to look at her.