b2mem | Ghosts, by Suzelle

B2MeM Challenge: "Any kind of fanwork - story, art, craft - show us or tell us about a book/scroll/manuscript from Elrond’s library. Title, description, summary, cover, binding, endpapers, the art of book-binding, illumination or anything related, or a story about one particular book, be it its creation, history, content, or just playing a major role in any kind of story. It doesn’t have to be a complete work/book either. Anything goes here, provided it centers around anything that has to do with the Library of Rivendell." - the_winterwitch

Format: short story

Genre: general, drama

Rating: General

Warnings: discussion of death

Characters: Aragorn, Elladan, Elrohir, female OC

Summary: Following the Council of Elrond, Aragorn seeks solace in the Library of Imladris, and encounters an old friend of his mother's.

Creator's Notes: Many thanks to

zopyrus for beta'ing the first draft of this many moons ago. This has been sitting unpublished for a long time, and I'm grateful for the prompt urging me to finally polish it up. Merineth the Archivist appears in a more extended series of mine here, but it's not at all necessary to have read those first for this.

As the council broke up, Aragorn tried to catch Frodo’s eye, hoping to offer reassurances in whatever way he could, but the hobbit was occupied with Sam and Bilbo. Just as well, he thought, they are likely to give him better comfort than I can.

Elladan and Elrorhir had sat in silence throughout the council, but they both rose now and approached their foster brother. Aragorn turned to speak with them, voices low.

“They will want to send you to alert the Rangers, of course,” said Elladan. “But our father wants us on an errand that will take us over the Hithaeglir—we would have you travel with us as far as the Angle, if you think you can be spared. Halbarad will be there to regroup with you, if the scout’s reports are correct.”

Aragorn nodded. “I shall wish to speak with Gandalf before I leave, and Elrond as well. There is much still to be done. But I can be ready to depart at first light.”

The peredhil nodded, and Aragorn clasped hands with his foster brothers before they departed swiftly from the hall. Gandalf caught his eye briefly and jerked his head towards the dwarves, Gloin and Gimli, with whom he was still deep in conversation. Aragorn nodded and mouthed “tonight.” He looked out at those still gathered around the council seats, his head swimming from all that had transpired, and wondered if he ought to remain. A part of him wished to speak more with Boromir, to learn more of the tidings from the South and the measure of Ecthelion’s grandson, but as his thoughts drifted back to their exchange, and his hand drifted towards the hilt of his sword, the shadow of Narsil would not let him be.

“The sword shall be reforged. I will come to Minas Tirith.” And suddenly all he wanted was a moment to himself, so that he might begin to take stock of the road that lay ahead. He took his leave from Elrond and slipped silently away.

He wandered through the grounds of Imladris, the sun glinting through the chill of autumn, forcing himself to keep a steady pace rather than tearing through the courtyards as he had done so often as a boy. Few called out to him as he passed, and he wondered just how grim he truly looked. An eerie hush had fallen over the Last Homely House, as though all knew the gravity of the council that had just concluded on Elrond’s porch. Though, Aragorn reflected, it was not exactly as if they had been subtle. And gossip always travelled quickly enough.

He finally reached the library, and opened the door to find his mother’s old friend Merineth sitting at one of the main tables, hunched over a stack of old scrolls with a sheet of parchment beside them and sucking on a quill between her teeth. Her head snapped up at the sound of his footsteps, and she pushed the sheaf of papers away from her, instantly forgotten.

“Has Erestor returned?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course not. I imagine he will be in council with Lord Elrond well into the afternoon. What has happened? What has been decided?”

Aragorn sighed, and took a seat at the table beside Merineth.

“Frodo—the hobbit—has declared he shall take the Ring to Mordor. Gandalf feared it would end this way.”

Merineth’s eyes widened. “Not alone, surely?”

“Nay. His companion Sam shall go with him, at least, and I imagine Gandalf as well. And perhaps.… But there is much to be done before he can hope to set out. They are dispatching the scouts, and I ride out with Elladan and Elrohir at first light. Suddenly everything is happening at once.”

“It would appear so,” she murmured, twirling her quill absently between her fingers before she looked back up to face Aragorn. “Well, you did not come here to relay news to a simple archivist. What is it you need, Estel?”

Aragorn gave a small smile at the use of his childhood name. There were so few left in Rivendell who still called him that.

“Scrolls on Narsil…any that you have available. And the documents on Telchar.”

Merineth raised an eyebrow, but ever the conscientious archivist, she did not ask for a reason. Instead, she simply grabbed a spare sheet of parchment and dipped her quill in an inkwell, writing down the numbers of the shelves where the ancient documents were kept. She followed him through the narrow halls, holding a lamp behind him so that he might be free to search more effectively.

He squinted at the small, neat lettering that lined the shelves, his heart constricting at the sight of the familiar handwriting. He had wondered, but could not bring himself to ask...

“Your mother was the last person to have touched these, I believe.” Merineth’s voice was soft as he sifted carefully through the scrolls. “Unless Mirthrandir has wormed his way in here without my knowledge again.”

“He would never do such a thing,” Aragorn protested.

She laughed aloud at that. “You are young, still, Estel, to believe the best out of that wizard. Oh, he puts everything back in where it belongs, but Valar save us all if he ever tells us what he takes out in the first place. Gilraen did a fine job of keeping an eye on him, when she dwelt here, but Erestor is far too indulgent, and he is too clever for me.”

Her smile turned sad once more at the mention of Gilraen, and Aragorn felt a pang as he thought back once more to his mother. Merineth had been her closest friend, those years she had lived in Rivendell, and some of Aragorn’s earliest memories were of Gilraen and Merineth weaving in his mother’s sitting room, gossiping over mundane matters and singing songs with a young Estel. Merineth had been his first unofficial tutor, before his lessons with Elrond and Erestor began, and she would make a game out of teaching him the letters of tengwar when he came with his mother to visit her in the great library of Imladris. He had grown up to be the terror of the archives, he remembered ruefully, and in his adolescence Merineth would chase him out of the stacks more often than not.

He wondered if such memories had been what truly drove him back here, rather than any need to re-read accounts of a history he knew all too well.

“Arwen took me to see her memorial,” he said at last. “The morning after I came in with the hobbits. It…it’s lovely.”

Merineth sank back into her chair. “Erestor deserves full credit for that. It was our idea, his and mine, but he was the one who took it to Elrond and arranged things with the stonemason.”

“I could not imagine a more fitting tribute,” he murmured, “and I cannot begin to convey my gratitude.”

“We all…we all wanted her to have her own immortality here. This seemed the best way.”

Aragorn did not trust himself to speak, suddenly, and tried to turn his attention back to the scrolls. He had read the account of Narsil’s breaking what seemed like a thousand times…how Isildur had taken it to Rivendell, afterward, how his wife and child had dwelt with Elrond as Gilraen and Aragorn himself would over an age later. Was her grief like yours, Naneth? Did it consume her too, in the end?

How he wished he could speak with her now.

“The blade,” Merineth said suddenly. “Is it to be reforged?”

He looked up to face her. “Yes.”

Her eyes filled with tears, but she smiled, and took both of his hands in hers. “You do not need me to tell you how proud she would be, if she could see you now. But I shall say it anyway. It would have meant everything to her…”

She did not finish, but Aragorn squeezed her hand in understanding.

“Our hearts go with you, Estel,” she murmured. “Know that, wherever this last journey may take you.”

***