The black youth -- The Quest Continues...

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Subject: The black youth

Author:
Aragorn

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Date Posted: 20:17:34 06/01/02 Sat

Aragorn stood in the courtyard of the white tree, his minesters surrounded him in a swirl of brightly coloured silks. A young man clad in black pulled out of the crowd. "Your majesty, could I have a word with you in private?"
"Of course..." he replied, leaving the youth room to supply his name but he offered nothing more. An uneasy silence followed so Aragorn smiled kindly, "my doors are always open. Please, follow me." He excused himself from the bustling crowd that enveloped him and led the man towards the palace doors. Nam�n detatched herself from the courtiers, "don't go with him."
"What?"
"There's something about him. I know him, I just can't think from where."
"I'll be fine." He kissed the top of her head. "I'll be right back."

The room they occupied was plain and unadorned.
"So, what is it you wanted from me?"
The youth made no reply except to smile coldly at the king.
"There must be a reason you sought me out."
"Oh, there is." The smile again. "I'm going to give you the chance you never gave me."
The metalic whisper of a sword slid from the scabbard. "I'll give you a chance to arm yourself before I destroy your life."

Aragorn pulled Aunduril from the belt around his waist. He almost felt sorry for the young man; almost. Even at his current age the king remained unbeaten.

Their swords came together in a clang of steel. Aragorn leaned his weight his weight behind it, trying to push the younger man to his knees. A faint tinge of surprise coloured his eyes as the dark haired youth pushed him back. Aragorn broke out of the encounter and staggered back.
"What did I do to you to deserve this?"
"You killed my mother."
The king shock his head slowly, "I have never killed a woman."
"Think again old man."
"Who in the gods name do you think you are?"

In reply the young man pealed off the glove on his right hand and dropped it at his feet. Then slowly and deliberately he removed the golden ring that adorned his second finger and through it at Aragorn who caught it deftly, the blood running from his face as his examined it.
"You are my son?"
"Aren't you going to welcome me home father?"

Aragorn awoke, the sweat cold on his face, Nam�n lying next to him the morning light colouring her face a deep gold. It always finished the same way: aren't you going to welcome me home father? If only it went further he would know where it ended and the dream wouldn't haunt him so. What would he do if his son returned and demanded answers? What if Arwen died?

What if...what if....

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