A Father's Love

A Father's Love

By Gregg Koskela

"Thain Peregrin!"
The newly formed echoes of the pounding on the door replaced the echoes of running footsteps in the long hall of the Great Smials. The messenger paused for a great draught of breath which exploded again into "Thain Peregrin!" while his fist pounded the study door repeatedly.
Peregrin raised his head from his reading and the shadow of a smile crossed his lips. What great emergency did Forty have for him now? There was never a moment of quiet, it seemed, especially since he had become the Thain of the Shire. Quiet study time was as difficult to find as Queen Beruthial's cats.
"THAIN PEREGRIN!!!"

"All right, all right Forty. What is it?" Peregrin opened the door and tried to look stern, but amusement quickly overcame him. It was obvious that young Fortinbras had traveled rather too far rather too quickly on his desperate errand. Whether his nickname of Forty developed as a shortening of his name or a description of his extra pounds wasn't remembered any more--both were possible.
"They finally told me you were here...and...and..." he paused breathlessly. "...and I told them you would want...would want me to find you. They just don't understand that some things take priority even over your privacy."
"Indeed, Master Fortinbras? I have just been engrossed in one of the most fascinating records of the history of the Northern Kingdom that I have ever seen. If you have disturbed me once again because of an injustice in the Bounder schedule, or some other inconsequential item, you may be assured that I shall not be amused. What is it?"
Young Fortinbras at another time may have been taken aback by his sharp words, but as the mid-morning sun of a cool April morning sparkled joyfully in the Thain's eye, Forty relaxed. His errand was worth the interruption.
"This, master." He snatched a scroll out of his small pack and in his exuberance he dropped it, breaking the outer seal and scattering the first rolls of the parchment along the floor.
"Forty, you are one of the most frustrating..." The words caught in Peregrin's throat. The seven stars and the white tree, both in exquisite silver ink, jumped from the parchment and reached recognition in Peregrin's mind. "...wonderful, beloved servants ever born! From the King himself! From Aragorn! From Strider! Why didn't you tell me at once?"
Forty rolled his eyes. "I tried! I tried! But do you ever listen? No. I have to talk and talk and talk just to get you to hear one word. You never listen. Your life would be so much simpler if you would just listen to what I have to say. But you never..."
Peregrin shook his head incredulously at the uninterrupted flow which spewed from Forty's mouth. But not even Forty's incessant talking could dampen his excitement. It had been nearly twenty years since he had seen his friend the King. And in that time, even letters had been few and far between. "So many changes!" he thought. His eyes began to scan the lines of the scroll.
Wide wonder and excitement exploded upon his face as he understood the purpose for the scroll. "He is coming back home to the North! The King will visit us! Forty, do you have any idea...Forty...FORTY!"
"...just why no one listens to me I can't understand. It must be my..." Forty's bubbling stream finally plunged into a meek silence at Peregrin's raised voice. "Yes, master?"
"Now listen. Just LISTEN! Don't interrupt. I have another errand for you. You must get messages to Master Meriadoc of Buckland and Mayor Samwise at Bag End. When the King comes in the middle of May, he expects Merry, Sam, and I to meet him at the Brandywine Bridge. Of course, he himself will not enter the Shire. His own law forbids the Big People from entering, so we must go to meet him at the bridge. And meet him we shall! I can think of nothing that could keep me from seeing him. Oh, Forty! When you see him, and the fair lords of Gondor in their splendor, and the Queen Arwen in her majestic, elven beauty, ah! Then, Forty, even you will be speechless at the sight."
"You may be right, master, but I don't see how anyone could be more majestic than you travelers! Even if he is the King of the Western Lands."
Peregrin smiled. Shire folk would soon be awakened to a glory that he, Meriadoc, and Samwise only mirrored dimly. He continued:
"But as for the messages; tell Merry and Sam that we will do even better than the King asks. Ask if they can delegate their duties for a time, and travel with me to Lake Evendim with the King! We will travel together--all four of us--once again. Go now yourself to Buckland, and send another messenger to Bag End. Do not delay!

Great news in the Shire finds itself most heavily beaten around among the wooden tables and earthenware mugs of the inns. The news about the King coming was no exception. Tongues wagged on and on about matters of great importance that the head knew very little about. But that didn't matter to most folk at The Green Dragon one wet evening late in April. Although the doings of the outside world were still a mystery to most plain folk in the Shire, the Travelers had succeeded in helping all to gain an appreciation of the happenings outside the borders.
The news that the King was coming was of course greeted with great excitement; discussion of his clothes, his eating habits, and his height ("He's eight feet tall if he's an inch...the Thain said as much.") raged on throughout the evening. But in true hobbit fashion the talk returned always to hobbit folk. By now, the news that Peregrin, Samwise, and Meriadoc were once again departing had spread far and wide. Some of the younger folk (indeed, the Tooks made up much of this sort) thought it was grand. But amid the excitement it seemed that some of the older folk were mighty taken aback at the thought of the Mayor, the Thain, and the Master of Buckland all being beyond the borders of the Shire at one time.
"It ain't right. We never heard tell of such a thing happening ever in the Shire. True, we seen more prosperity and peace these last twenty years than ever, if one believes the old tales. But that don't give them no right to shirk their duties! Leaders must show responsibility. Harm could come from this, mark my words." It was old Ronto Goodbody who voiced the opinion of the old folk. But the younger crowd held the majority opinion, and even the old folks seemed glad that some of their own had become known among the great.
As for the Travelers themselves, their spirits soared higher than hobbit children at a birthday party. Their preparations for the coming of the King and their journey with him were many and varied. Sam had not only his responsibilities as mayor to work out, but the far greater task of convincing his wife Rose she should give him leave to go. With ten young children, including one newborn baby in the house, she wanted her husband home. Yet she saw the light in his eye and heard the quiver in his voice that betrayed his excitement. "All right, Sam, I see your need to go. And from what you say, I know I needn't worry for you; this isn't some dangerous adventure like the last time. But don't get too caught up in all the excitement! I need you here with me," she smiled.
Meriadoc looked forward to handing over the reins as head of the Brandybuck family, even if it was only for a little while. He and Peregrin were held in high esteem by all in the Shire for their deeds during the scouring of the Shire at the end of the great War of the Ring. But Merry, as he still was called by his close friends, detested the stuffiness and formality which seemed to be required by his position as Master of Buckland. He and Pippin, as he still called Peregrin, found it more and more difficult to get away and ride through the Shire, talking and sharing the rolling hills together. So with great anticipation of the ride to see the King who had once saved his life, he prepared to leave for the wide world once again. And though he did not relish the thought of leaving his new wife Estella, she understood him well. "You know I would love to go with you, Merry," she said quietly. "But you need this time with Pippin and Sam, not to mention the King Elessar. I will ride with you to the Bridge to see you off and to see Him, of course--but I will chase you off by yourself, if you don't choose to go on your own! You will always regret it if you don't."
While Peregrin shared these same preparations, he had two other matters which were unique to his situation. The first required much time and work sorting through the scrolls and papers in his study, and we shall find out more about it later on. But the second was a preparation of the heart. He was a soldier of Gondor, and the more he remembered his time in Minas Tirith, the more excited and anxious he became about being amongst those people again. He was older now, not the young hobbit in his tweens that they had known before. He looked forward to being once again Ernil i Pheriannath, Prince of the Halflings, for he felt and looked and acted much more the part.
Merry, as Master of Buckland, now took over the preparations for the coming of the King. The gates built on the Brandywine Bridge during the dark days of the War of the Ring had long ago been cast down. The trees Sam had planted along the great East Road for a furlong out from the Bridge now towered majestically along either side of the road. Just beyond the trees to the east, the road traveled through a large, lush, grassy meadow. This was where Merry made preparations for the people of the Shire to meet their King. The meadow was ringed by tall oak trees which continued on to cover the sloping hills on every side. It lay low in comparison with the land around it, and was a basin of light green below the dark green of the oak leaves. The Shire folk would come across the bridge on that day to meet the King, through the aisle of trees on the road, and spill into this large meadow. The road continued through the northern part of the meadow and as it reached the oak trees almost half a mile away it began to climb into the low, surrounding hills. The King, then, would descend out of those same hills with his small escort and the Queen Arwen and her maidens and into the grassy meadow filled with excited hobbits.
Merry began by sending in workers to clear out the briars and thorn bushes in the area and to cast sod into the boggy patches at the south end of the meadow. He then sent others early in May to begin the erection of a large tent to serve as quarters for the King and his company. The King was expected at noon on May the fifteenth, and it was now May tenth.
Pippin visited Merry late that day to see the area. "It's perfect, Merry! You know, while it is not nearly as large, it reminds me of Ithilien and the Field of Cormallen where the Ringbearer was honored long ago. I wish Frodo could be here to see it and Aragorn."
"I'm sure he sees sights every day we cannot even imagine, Pippin. But you are right! Let us call this also the Field of Cormallen, and await the King again!"

Now finally the morning of May fifteenth dawned, and as the sun rose to burn the wispy threads of mist away, all could see that it would be a day as fair as one could ever wish for. Crowds began early to cross the Brandywine Bridge in excitement, waiting for the coming of the King. Many who were there realized that they were going to witness something that their grandchildren would sit enthralled to hear about. As they reached the new "Field of Cormallen", they found Shirriffs already present with their bright feathers in their caps. By Peregrin's orders, they had lined the edges of the road with bright blossoms and colorful flowers so that the field was a sea of green divided by two lines of fiery color. All the visiting hobbits were told to assemble on the lawn on the south side of the road, for more than two-thirds of the field lay on that side. On the northern side lay the brightly colored pavilion where the King would stay the night. The grassy, level plain was dotted on that side with many chairs, and one giant couch, to be used as a sort of throne. The hobbits all spread blankets on the lawn and sat together talking and eating in groups of families and friends, so that by 11:00 the field south of the road was a patchwork quilt of blankets and hobbits.
Peregrin and Samwise and their families had stayed in Brandy Hall with Merry the night before. While their wives and children ate a late brunch, the three Travellers gathered in a small room to array themselves for the meeting. Their gear for travel had already been packed and stowed in the pavilion at the field; they would stay with the King that night and leave with him the next morning. But they arrayed themselves now in their mail shirts--Peregrin in the sable coat with the white tree, the sign of a soldier of the Tower of the Guard in Gondor; Meriadoc in the green and white of the Mark of Rohan; and Samwise in the priceless Mithril coat that Frodo and Bilbo had both worn. Sam was not nearly as comfortable in it as Merry and Pippin, who wore their gear often; but all of them looked to be the jewels of the Shire.
They clasped at the throat long, grey cloaks with brooches that looked like golden leaves. The elven cloaks of Lorien, teamed with the shining mail, made them seem even as elf children from the houses of the great Lords. And finally, they strapped to their sides swords, Sam with Sting, Pippin with his sword from the Barrow-Downs, and Merry with his own from King Eomer of Rohan. He added also to his side the horn given him by Eomer's sister, Eowyn.
They left the quiet room for the loudness of cheers that greeted them as they entered the great meeting room in Brandy Hall. The three smiled, somewhat shyly, and walked to their families who greeted them with shining eyes. Peregrin's son, Faramir, was just entering his seventh summer, and was bursting with excitement at the chance to go with his father to see the King.
"Dad, will he really talk to me? Can I really talk to him?" he asked incredulously.
"Yes, Faramir." Pippin smiled. "He will be glad to see you and talk with you as well as all who are here. I am sorry indeed, though, that you do not get to meet the man you are named for. If Steward Faramir were here, he would treat you like a King! Maybe someday we will go to Gondor together, my son, to see the Steward Faramir."
With that, the families left in a large, happy throng. They all climbed on ponies saddled and waiting at the steps of Brandy Hall, and slowly trotted together to the Field.

That day was remembered long in the Shire. Hobbit folk stood amazed at the majesty and beauty of the lords of Gondor. But as for the King and Queen themselves, no words could suffice. They were the shining stars and the crown jewels of heaven in the eyes of these hobbits. And the way he treated them! Such care, such justice, such lordliness: he instilled love in all present that day. Young Faramir was in awe of the tall man; but as Aragorn knelt to talk with the small hobbit, Faramir's heart was won. "You already bring joy to people, Faramir, just like your father does!" the King had said. "I'm sure you will grow to earn the respect of everyone around you. Perhaps one day I will make you a soldier of Gondor just like your father." Faramir had raised his head with a proud smile, and hugged the great King. "He is our King," Faramir had told his father later; and soon all the Shire knew Elessar as "Our King."
Elanor, Sam's oldest daughter, became a maid of Queen Arwen, a tremendous honor. Under the bright afternoon sun and amid deafening cheers of hobbits, the Queen placed a circlet of undying flowers on her head, kissing the young hobbit's cheek.
And of course, there was food. Hobbits, hobbit children, King, Queen, and courtier alike joined in a mighty feast where it "snowed food and rained drink." Aragorn talked with any who approached him, paying special attention to the children. The day passed much too quickly for the excited Shire folk, and as the sun dropped below the hills, the crowds bid their farewells and traveled home, rehearsing for the first time the story they would tell their grandchildren about the day they met the King.
But as the fire was kindled that night near the pavilion at the Field of Cormallen, four old friends relaxed together with their families. Young Faramir slept with a smile on his face and his head in his father's lap as a remnant of the company of the Ring shared their joys. Late that night, when the stars had grown bright in the midnight blue sky, Aragorn brought from his pack a small, leather pouch.
"What's that, Strider?" As the crowds had left, the four had slipped quickly into their old familiar names for each other, discarding the formality needed for that day.
"Something I have brought for you, Sam." He removed from the pouch an item which glittered and flashed in the firelight. As he held it up to the light for all of them to see, they gasped in wonder at the beauty of the workmanship. It was a brooch the size of his hand, fashioned of gold into the intricate likeness of an eagle, outstretched wings and talons so life-like that they gave the illusion of motion. It was studded with white and green jewels so potent that they seemed to cast their own light, not merely to reflect the fire's glow. "Behold the Star of the Dunedain," said Elessar, "my gift to you"-and he handed it to Sam.
"But Strider, why?" asked Sam incredulously. His hands caressed the brooch in gentle awe. Its mere touch seemed to ignite his heart with joy and boldness. "I don't deserve a gift like this."
"Then who of us deserves anything, O last of the ringbearers, faithful servant, and hero of the Western Lands? I merely give freely out of the abundance which you have helped me to earn. I would have you keep it as a token of my pledge of friendship and thanks, to you and your family, from today onward. This is a mighty jewel of great ancestry. It is from Numenor itself, Sam--fashioned in the likeness of Manwë's eagles. The Lords of Andúniëpassed it on to their eldest son as he came of age and was officially named heir. Isildur was the last to hold it in Numenor, and gave it to his youngest son Valendil before the War of the Last Alliance. While it was never a token of the ruler in the Northern Kingdom, it was a treasured item of history in Isildur's house, and often brought courage and strength to the wearer. It has been lost from the North for many years. I have found it again in the treasure house of Minas Tirith, but I know not how it got there. I had thought I was the only one from the Northern Kingdom who had contact with Gondor since the North's last King, Arvedui. Obviously, I was mistaken, but I have yet to find out which of my forefathers brought it to the Southern Kingdom of Gondor. But may it bring courage and strength to you, Mayor Samwise! I give it with joy."
Sam stood and bowed low before the great King. He rose again and asked Elessar to bind it on his cloak, and as the King did, Sam embraced him.
Pippin left the fireside quietly. He returned with an armload of scrolls and a large grin on his face. "I meant to surprise you all with this later on our trip, but it looks like the time has come tonight instead." With that, he sat and let the others examine his scrolls.
"Pippin! You've become quite the scholar! Where did you get these?" Aragorn exclaimed. "These are excellent histories of the Northern Kingdom; I have never seen some of these chronicles, even in Rivendell." The King excitedly scanned the scrolls as Pippin's smile broadened.
"I had hoped that was the case," said Pippin. "I've been working hard, and taking advantage of my status as Northern Counselor to your kingdom. I've collected these histories and others from Bree, Tookborough--oh, anywhere I could find them between here and Rivendell. I even got several from the old Barrow-downs, although I won't go back there again. Anyway, they're fascinating! I wanted you all to realize Cousin Merry isn't the only scholar in our midst."
"Well, I must say you've done that!" laughed Merry. "Why, I can't even read some of these. When did you learn the elvish tongue? You are full of surprises, Pippin!"
Pippin stood and bowed before them--then he laughed loudly. "I suppose it's a good thing Strider is here to keep me humble. I'm sure he knows much more of the elvish tongue than me. I'm still learning. But the reason I brought them out tonight was for this." He rummaged among the pile and brought out an aged and tattered scroll. "A lot of this is unreadable, but it mentions a story about a man named Beren, who was a grandson of the last king you mentioned--Arvedui, I think you said. Anyway, the story goes that he went to Minas Tirith during King Earnil's reign there and tried to win renown. He came back having lost everything, but perhaps he was the one who brought this brooch to Minas Tirith."
Aragorn examined the scroll closely. "Well, Pippin, I must confess I don't know this story at all. If it's true, Beren must be a younger son, for he is not in my direct line of descent. But it would explain much!"
"Maybe someday we'll find the truth," said Pippin. "I'd love to know more of the story behind the Star of the Dunedain. It's fabulous!"
"I think we may know sooner than you think. I hadn't told you this before, but when we reach Lake Evendim we will find the person who would know this story, if anyone would. Elrond's son Elladin will meet us at Lake Evendim. We'll ask him if he remembers this man Beren. But now, friends, it is time for sleep. Ah, but old friends are a gift like no other. A blessed night to you all, my friends." And with that, the King departed to bed.
The hobbits stayed the night around the fire, slowly drifting off with visions of bright eagles soaring in their heads.

Three days later, the whole company found themselves inside the recently restored walls of the palace at Lake Evendim. Their journey had been slow, easy, and full of reminiscing as they discussed again their many adventures traveling with Frodo, Gandalf, and the others. They had spent time exploring the pleasant woods surrounding the deep blue waters of Lake Evendim, relaxing and reveling in the vibrant colors of spring.
Sam, Pippin, and Merry now waited around a small wooden table for Aragorn and Elladin. Tonight would be the night when they would hear the tale of Beren and the Star of the Dunedain. Pippin was nearly bursting with excitement at the thought of hearing a lost tale of the Northern kingdom which he loved so well.
As Aragorn and Elladin entered, Merry was struck by the signs of their distant kinship: both men tall, dark haired, grey-eyed; faces young and yet old. But the bright light of the elven race shown in Elladin's eyes, and Merry knew he was far older than the King. He would speak of the story of Beren not merely as a tale from the distant past, but as an eyewitness remembering the tales of the Dunedain.
Elladin smiled brightly as he sat with the hobbits. "Well met again, renowned hobbits! I bring greetings to you from my grandfather Celeborn and from all in Rivendell. It is good to see you again--you have obviously weathered the last years well. You look to be in the flower of your manhood!"
The hobbits laughed together and the conversation was comfortable and light. At last, as twilight was fading in the hall and the lamps lit, Aragorn asked Sam to show Elladin the Star of the Dunedain.
"Ah, it has not lost its beauty. Aye, Estel, I remember it well." said Elladin. He called Aragorn by his childhood name given in Rivendell, meaning "hope". "And the story you have discovered, Peregrin, is the one I will tell you now in full; for as you guessed, the story tells how the Star of the Dunedain left its old home in the North and reached the Dunedain of the Southern Kingdom in Gondor."
The three hobbits would always remember that night clearly. Elladin was a masterful storyteller, and held their attention easily. The hours slipped quickly by as they learned of the heights to which Beren rose and the depths to which he fell. We give here the story in shortened form, as the hobbits remembered it and as it was set down in the books of Lore in the Shire.

In the year 1975 of the Third Age, Arvedui Last-King of the Northern Realm of Arnor was drowned and his kingdom overrun by the witch-king of Angmar. He had been a mighty king, and in him the long-sundered Northern and Southern Kingdoms of the Dunedain had been united: for Arvedui had wedded Firiél, daughter of King Ondoher in Gondor in the year 1940. When Ondoher and both his sons were killed in battle in 1944, Arvedui claimed the kingship of Gondor, stating both his unbroken line of descent from Elendil and his marriage to Ondoher's only surviving child as justification for his claim. But his claim was rejected, and the victorious captain Eärnil II was given the crown. He was from a branch of the Royal House in Gondor, though not of the direct ruling line. Eärnil indeed promised aid to Arvedui as token of his desire for friendship between the two kingdoms. This aid was sorely needed in the Northern Kingdom. But Eärnil was unable to fulfill this promise until after Arvedui had been killed. He finally fulfilled his promise in 1975, sending his son Eärnur with a large army.
Now Eärnur was a mighty warrior, though young, and under his command the army from Gondor annihilated the realm of Angmar. But the Dunedain of the North had been decimated by the long war with Angmar, and they were now too few to populate the kingdom. So in 1976, Aranarth, Arvedui's son, was the first of his line to take the title of Chieftain of the Dunedain. There was no need to keep the title of king without a kingdom to rule. Having met Eärnur and discerning in him a proud and masterful spirit, Aranarth had no desire to renew his father's claim to the crown of Gondor and cause strife with the one who had brought such timely help. And so, as the people of the North dwindled and the Dunedain's glory slowly faded, the people of the South prospered for a time.
When Aranarth's first son Arahael was born in 1996, Aranarth left his son in Rivendell to be fostered by Elrond. This practice was to continue for all the Chieftains of the North down to the fifteenth and last, Aragorn II, who became the King Elessar of the reunited kingdom. Arahael and his brother Beren, born in 2001, were the first to be fostered by Elrond. Their true names and lineage were hidden, and Aranarth also gave into Elrond's keeping the heirlooms of the ruling house. These were the ring of Barahir, the broken shards of Elendil's sword Narsil, the sceptre of Annúminas, and the Elendilmir. Aranarth foresaw the necessity of the continuance of the line of Isildur, and it was because of this that he sought Elrond's protection for his sons and the heirlooms of his house. He foresaw that while one day one from Isildur's line would rise again to claim the Kingship of both Gondor and Arnor, that time was not yet come. And so as the years passed he traversed the North, fighting against the evils of the world with the little strength he had.
Now the time came for Elrond to reveal to Arahael and Beren their true names and lineage. Both men, though young, had grown tall and strong in stature, fair of face, and wise in lore in Elrond's house. When they were young there was great love between the brothers, and the were seldom apart. Elrond called them both together in the fall of 2018, when Arahael was 22 and Beren was in his seventeenth year. And he called them both by their true names, and told them whose sons they were. Aranarth was returning that winter to Rivendell, and the time had come for the sons to know their father. Arahael's spirits rose within him as he realized he was the heir of a mighty house. He prepared to leave with his father to travel the wild and earn his inheritance.
Beren, however, was disillusioned by the story of his lineage. He was jealous of Arahael's place as heir, and the thought drove a wedge between the brothers. As he grew to know more of the history of Isildur's heirs in the North, he was angered at the depths to which his house had fallen. Though they were heirs to the greatest king of the Numenoreans in that age, they were no longer even kings, but lonely chieftains in a lonely land. He realized that though his grandfather had been King in the North, and his great-grandfather, King Ondoher, had been King in the South, he himself was destined to spend his life as the forgotten younger son in a royal house which no longer even had a kingdom to rule.
Those seeds of bitterness and anger grew in Beren as Arahael began to travel often with their father and gained more and more of Aranarth's respect and love. In Beren's eyes, Arahael gained everything from their father while he gained nothing. As he grew into his twenties, Beren felt more and more confined by the dishonor of the Northern Dunedain. Though he stayed often in Rivendell and received honor there, it was not enough to quench the unrest in his heart.

So the time came in his twenty-ninth year when Beren asked leave to depart from his father's realm. "Father," he said, "I can no longer be content here in the North. I would like your permission and your blessing to go and win renown in Gondor, the land of my great-grandfather. But even if you grant it not, I shall leave. Father, have I not earned as your son the right to your blessing and the right to some heirloom of our house? I ask that you give me the ring of Barahir as a sign of your blessing and as my inheritance."
Aranarth sighed deeply. He was a man of great discernment, and had seen his son's discontent growing as the years had passed. It pained him to see the bitterness in his son, but he could no longer see any way to correct it. "Alas, my son," he said. "The ring of Barahir is not yours to claim, for it belongs as a token of the ruler in the North. And in any case, I have given it into the keeping of Master Elrond for its protection in these dark days. I cannot grant your request, though my heart wishes it."
Angrily Beren turned to leave. "Then I leave without your blessing. As always, you would give all to my brother Arahael and deny me any portion of your love. So be it." He turned toward the door.
"Beren, wait." Aranarth spoke sternly. "My son, you do not think clearly nor do you understand my love for you or your brother. The heirlooms of the house are not mine to give as I wish or would not wish. But there is a treasure of our house that is in my power to give, and if you must leave me, then I will give it to you." He took from his shoulder a golden brooch fashioned masterfully into the form of an eagle, with bright white and green gems shining out from the eyes and breast of the magnificent bird. He placed his hand on Beren's shoulder. "I do not wish for you to leave. It breaks my heart to see the bitterness in you. But if you must leave, my blessing will go with you. This is the Star of the Dunedain. It was given that name long ago in Numenor, for the one who first wore it led his people just as the star of Eärendil had lead the Dunedain to the island of Numenor. It will bring you courage and hope and strength, as it has to all the members of our house down through the years. It will even be recognized in Gondor by those who have studied the books of lore, for as I said it comes from our common ancestors in Numenor. May it protect you, my son, and it is my hope that it will bring you back to me one day." And so Beren parted with his father, leaving for Gondor with the Star of the Dunedain on his shoulder.

He arrived in Minas Tirith, seat of the King of Gondor, desiring the fame and honor he felt cheated of in his home country. Seeing the white walls and the mighty gates of the beautiful city, his bitterness grew. He coveted the rule of this city. It was his right to rule it, he thought. But he concealed his lust and instead appeared before King Eärnil, desiring first to win renown as a soldier and then as a captain of men.
He was brought before the King immediately following his arrival in the city. Clad only in his travel-worn raiment of the north, he looked drab and unkept in comparison with the bright mail-clad members of the guard. But he did carry a sword, and the Star of the Dunedain shown brightly on his shoulder. Whatever his appearance might seem to the King of Gondor, his bearing was regal and his words fair as he stood before him.
"Well met, King Eärnil, lord of Minas Tirith, Ruler of Gondor, heir to the throne of Anarion son of Elendil, the high king of the Dunedain! I bring you greetings from your kinsmen in the North, for my name is Beren son of Aranarth son of Arvedui, who was your friend and ally. My father has sent me to you as a token of friendship and kinship, that I may serve you in whatever way you desire." Beren lied in this, claiming to be sent by his father.
"Well met indeed, Beren son of Aranarth son of Arvedui, my friend and kinsman. And you also I call friend and kinsman, and welcome you to our city. But Beren, what would you deem your rightful place of service to be? For I would not desire that a man of a line of kings such as yourself serve me as a common squire. It seems to my eyes that you are young; and it comes to my mind to ask you, what came you to do in my land?" The King was correct in calling Beren young, for the Dunedain at that time commonly lived to their two hundredth year.
"Oh king, I came but to serve, and I would gladly do so as a messenger or even a kitchen boy if you so desired. For I am young, as you rightly guess--I have not yet reached my thirtieth year. But if you ask me to name my desire, then I will tell you that I have not brought my sword without purpose. Indeed, in the North I am renowned for the use of my blade, young though I be." And in this Beren did not lie, for he had learned much in the house of Elrond from the great lord Glorfindel, both of the use of the sword and wisdom and justice in governing men. "It seems to me, Lord," Beren continued, "that the best use of my blade at this moment is to lay it at your feet." So saying he drew his blade, knelt, and placed the sword at Eärnil's feet.
Eärnil rose from his great throne and placed his hand on Beren's head to bless him. "Do you swear fealty to me and to the realm of Gondor, to protect it with your life?"
"I do," said Beren.
"Then arise, new knight of the realm of Gondor, and take back your sword. Use it to prove your worth. Glad am I to have you with us, for these are dark days in the realm of Gondor. My son, Eärnur, who has met your father, commands the army in Ithilien. They fight always against the evil that has taken Minas Ithil and fouled that fair city. But I have need of a stout captain in our wars in the East; for there the wainriders still harry us and attack our land. You shall be that captain--provided you prove yourself worthy of the honor. I will send you there, as a soldier of the ranks. If you show the courage, skill, and prowess that I see in you, you shall take command of my forces in the East. Go now to be fitted in the livery of Gondor. I trust that I shall hear good things of your deeds."
"I shall not fail your hopes, Lord. You are more gracious than I had hoped. May you and your realm be forever blessed!" With that Beren took his leave, as the courtiers led him to the armory.

Beren indeed far exceeded the hopes of King Eärnil. He proved an unmatched warrior in battle. He wore always the Star of the Dunedain, and it kindled his heart so that he showed courage and bravery and hope beyond that of other men. He began to be called Gil-Estel, that is, Star of Hope: and after only a year and a half Eärnil gave him command of all the eastern forces of Gondor. Beren now reached his full stature in mind and body, and he proved himself a masterful leader of men, well-liked, full of wisdom, and mighty in battle. Indeed the bitterness of his heart began to be assuaged. He had found the power and honor he had sought from his youth and praised himself for having the courage to flee the north and make his fortune in Gondor. And as the bitterness of his heart was quenched, his pride grew. For he was called lord, and was respected, and was still very young according to the measure of the Dunedain.
As the years passed his power and influence grew until Eärnil eventually made him third in command of his entire kingdom, behind only himself and his proud son Eärnur. This was little to Eärnur's liking. He often scorned the man from the North, though they met seldom. Eärnur boasted of his own fighting prowess, often challenging Beren to a tournament fight as though he were a champion of arms rather than a prince. But Beren restrained his wrath and refused Eärnur's taunting, for he saw not his time to challenge Eärnur. So as Eärnur's scorn grew, Beren's secret hatred of him burned all the hotter.

There came a time in 2039 when Beren won a great victory in the East, overthrowing for a time the power of the wainriders. He returned in triumph to the city of Minas Tirith, and the people of the city lined the streets, cheering "Gil-Estel, Gil-Estel!" for he had won their hearts as well as the hearts of his men. Beren's pride grew greater still, and he lusted again after the throne of the Southern Realm. Eärnil was growing old, and his kingship would soon pass on. In this Beren saw his chance for gaining power, for he was still young, having not yet attained his fortieth year. His heart soared at the thought of being king, and his secret hatred of Eärnur swelled larger.
Now it happened that Eärnur himself was also in the city at this time. The clamoring of the crowd at Beren's return angered him greatly. Without consulting his father the king, he went to meet Beren alone at his apartment.
"Well, the vagabond in captain's garb returns to the city," Eärnur said with scorn. "I have often wondered just what it is that the people find attractive in you. I think now I finally understand the mystery of it all: everyone loves a child. But children don't make great leaders."
Beren restrained his wrath and answered icily. "Greetings, Prince. I at least have learned the respect of a courteous greeting. Perhaps your sharp tongue explains the lack of love that the crowds have for you."
Eärnur bristled with undisguised hatred and envy. "Do not mock me, wild man of the North. Your flattering tongue may have deceived my father, but I know what you are. I have been in your barbaric land, where civilization is an unknown word. I have seen your tiny realm bereft of honor with my own eyes. No true heir of Elendil could stand such baseness. Your whole family lives a lie, I deem. We in Gondor are the only true heirs to Elendil."
With that all of Beren's secret anger burst. "You are a boastful, lying, fool of a prince! What would you know of honor? What would you know of royalty? My grandfather was King of all Arnor and the direct descendant of Isildur, Elendil's heir. My great-grandfather was King here in Gondor before your usurper of a father. He stole the throne from its rightful holder, my grandfather. And you, a brute of a warrior with not one line of lore in your head will be king in this city. I deserve the throne more than a man like you who knows not his right hand from his left!"
Eärnur then struck Beren with such force that Beren was knocked unconscious. "Young fool. Never will you mock me again!" He then drew Beren's sword and placed it in Beren's limp hand. Then, he bent down and stole from his shoulder the mighty Star of the Dunedain. "For this should belong to me, rather than a pretender such as yourself." He then ran from Beren's apartment with sword drawn, shouting "Traitor! Traitor! Beren has tried to kill me!"
Running straight to his father, he lied, saying Beren had tried to kill him to take his position as heir to the throne. When men hurried to the apartment and found Beren unconscious and with sword drawn as Eärnur had said, the King believed his son and banished Beren from the realm on charges of treason.

With his pride and his spirit broken, and the Star of the Dunedain gone, Beren wandered in the wilderness alone. In time he became a stable hand for a gruff and lowly leader of barbaric men who lived south of the great forest, Greenwood the Great. His life was nothing but misery; he was worked as a slave and rarely had enough food to eat. Daily he thought of the power and heights to which he had arisen, and the depths to which his pride had taken him. He began to see that his place in his home in the North was worthy of greater respect than he had believed in his youth. The lore and majesty of his family was not respected to the extent that Gondor's power was, but he had begun to see that it was worthy of truer respect than the physical prowess of Gondor's realm. Indeed, he had been very rich, and had thrown it all away in his pride.
And finally the day came when he tired of working as a servant to another man. "For even the lowest of my people live with more honor than this. I will go back to Rivendell and ask my father to forgive my scorning of his love. I have wasted my inheritance as a son, but perhaps he will let me serve him." For the last remnants of Beren's pride had been broken, and the bitterness of his youth had finally passed.

So it was that Aranarth saw his son come home to Rivendell, haggard and clothes torn. He raced to his son and embraced him; for Aranarth's heart had been broken by his son leaving. "Father," started Beren, "Forgive me. I am not worthy to be your son any longer."
But Aranarth stopped his son from saying any more. "My son you always remain. My heart rejoices that you are home again!" Aranarth called at once to Elrond and requested that a great feast be made for his son's return. He called elves to take Beren and clothe him in princely raiment and to cut his unkept hair. And when all was made ready, the halls of Elrond's house rang with elvish singing and laughter, at the mighty feast in honor of Beren's return.
In the midst of the celebration, Arahael Beren's brother returned from the wilderness. He had been patrolling the moors of the north against the ever-prowling wolves, as he often did during the winter. When he saw the feast, he was greatly surprised, and asked what it was for. Learning that it was for his brother who had returned, he was filled with resentment and went to find his father.
"How could you give this feast to one who scorned your love?" Arahael asked his father. "I have done everything you asked here, asking nothing in return, and never once have you even given a high meal, let alone a feast, in my honor."
"My son," stated Aranarth quietly. "Everything I have is yours. You are the heir to Isildur. You will hold the sceptre of Annúminas, and the ring of Barahir--and Elendil's sword will be yours as well. You have done all I ever asked you and more--and my love for you is great. But your brother was dead, as far as we knew. Now he returns alive, and healed of his bitterness once more. We must rejoice, my son; for what was once lost is now found."

Elladin sighed in the dark room as the oil lamp flickered on his bright face. "And so ends the story of Beren son of Aranarth: a story of pride and humility, of the Star of the Dunedain, of power and its weakness. But most of all, so ends the story of a Father's great gift and a Father's great love."
The hobbits sat quietly reflecting on the elf's story. "Well, Sam," said Pippin, "You have been given a great gift. Strider's heart is greater than old Aranarth's, to give such a gift to a friend and not a son."
Sam nodded gravely. "And I hope I prove myself worthy of his gift, and his love." He held the Star of the Dunedain up to the lamp, and its eagle's form seemed to glitter more brightly and beautifully than before. With that vision bright in their minds, the five took to their beds.
Send comments or criticisms (with "A Father's Love" in the subject line) to: gkoskela@netboise.com.com
Return to Writing Page
Return to Home Page