A Secret Untold: Part II
Aragorn has been acting strangely the past few days. He seems... different.
Something is troubling him, although I do not know what; he will not tell me.
This pains me greatly, for he is as dear a friend as an elf could hope for.
Aragorn has never refused to tell me something before. He just keeps
dismissing it, saying he's fine, or making up false reasons, saying he's just
tired, or just pretending not to hear my questions. In the gardens today, he
appeared from behind a tree, ambling along nonchalantly as if he has merely
passed the tree. He seemed as if he did not see me, until I called out to
him. We sat for a while under a flowering cherry tree deep in scent, and I
plucked up the courage to bring out a short poem I wrote only last night,
whilst I was thinking about my Valrodiel, and other things which lay upon my
mind. I did not notice it at the time, being too consumed in thoughts of Val,
to realise the way his hands shook as he read my poem, the changes in his
face, and the shiver that ran through him as our hands brushed against each
other when I handed him my poem. Then he changed again, handing back the
parchment and jumping up, mumbling an excuse before hurrying away. Being
worried about my friend, I shadowed him all the way to his rooms, inside I
could hear him sigh and mutter to himself. Something was wrong, although I
could not tell what.
Later, at dinner, I could feel him watching me, yet when I looked up he
turned away his gaze to focus on his beloved Arwen. Had they been arguing?
Was this what was wrong? I wished Valrodiel were here, for I could confide
this in her. But alas, for she was far away. It is difficult sometimes when
there is no-one who you can talk to. It is lonely here. I love Rivendell, I
feel a fondness for it within my heart, and yet with nobody I can shared
troubles with, I am alone.
It troubles me so, that I cannot talk to Aragorn about his sadness, and yet
if I could, I worry at what might be said. I feel deeply for the ranger, how
deep I cannot tell, but deep enough to know that should he not find happiness
once again, there will be frightful consequences. I'd do anything for
Aragorn. Anything. If he asked me to follow him across hill, mountain and
plain, through forest and river, I would, without question.
I just wish to know what is disturbing his heart, for it is clearly his heart
which is troubled.
Turning my worry for him over in my mind, I pull the parchment from my pocket
and read over my poem again, finding many mistakes, and lines which do not
work well. Aragorn could make this better. Only I do not wish to trouble him.
Although I do enjoy his company.
Hoping that asking for his assistance would put his mind off whatever bothers
him, and that it would place my mind more at ease, I head for Aragorn's room.
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