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A man walked in the evening to Minas Tirith. He was rustic : bearded, tall and broad, but next to him was a small boy. The boy held his hand, his arm angled up to reach the man’s, almost running at times to stay at his side. They looked similar, like folks from the same village, and in the man’s bright hair his northern heritage appeared. The pair stopped at the gates. The man held a bow, his arrow pointed to the heart of the city, the string bended, ready to fire. In an instant he could destroy the so happiness of the realm, so young still. The city of light, where all hearts were full of joy from victory and glad for their newly wed king. The boy held his hand tight, gripping to the big callous fingers, a little frightened by the guards with winged helms. The man sighed and entered the gates. His resolution had faltered. He could not destroy the fragile joy of these people who went singing in the streets after the war they had to fight, not yet.Together they walked up the seven circles, admiring the shops and the shoppers in the market, the riches of the city of the kings. They were not particularly noticed, as folks from all over Middle Earth had come to Minas Tirith. The boy stared in wonder at an elf walking hand in hand with a dwarf. He did not understand romance just yet but he was captivated by the beauty of the tall elf, fair and clad in smooth silk ; the man had to pull his hand to remind him to walk. As they came up to the citadel doors, the guards allowed them in after a minute of negotiation. They had come from far to see the King, and the guards knew he would want to hear any of his people. The boy stared in wonder at the fountain in the court, the white tower and the sapling of the White Tree. The man noticed his awe, and felt the bow he had pointed at Gondor bending almost to a point of rupture as the boy moved to the side, his arm extended, looking at the tree. But the man walked forwards, and the boy followed, his attention now on the King’s house they entered. In a great hall, with statues of the kings of Gondor before him and tall columns running up to the ceiling made of white stone, there sat the King Elessar. As the man looked up to him, he was glad to have kept the arrow on hold, for Aragorn seemed to belong truly in the hall. He greeted the two travellers with a few words. Then as the boy looked up to the King he stood still in admiration. Slowly the man released his hand. The bow was fired, the arrow flew to his target with the precision of death. “No…” Aragorn said quietly. “No !” he repeated, and his words echoed on the walls of the antique hall.The boy had his eyes. “I took care of him for seven years. Now it is time you do your own part and raise the boy.” He would not have enough grain to support him through the winter, but that the man could not admit to the King. The mother of the boy had cried, opposed to the decision of her father to take him to the city, begging for the boy to stay. Only the burning of the crops during the war forced her decision. She could not keep the boy only for him to starve, that would be selfish and cruel. Still she weeped when her father left with him, knowing it was the last time she would see her child. She addressed a fervent prayer to the stars, hoping he would have a better life. The man left quickly, leaving the boy alone and scared in this strange place. It took a moment or Aragorn to realize truly what just happened, then he walked towards the boy. His son. He took the child’s hand and led him out. This hand was also big, with callus not from working with a fork but with a sword and yet it was warm and reassuring to the boy. In the corridor they met the queen. At once she looked at the boy, then up at her husband. “We need to talk” said Aragorn. But Arwen was focused on the child. Touching softly his brow, she lightened his fear and loneliness.“What is your name, boy?” she asked.“Boy” he only answered quietly. Maybe he had no other name, or maybe he just repeated after her. The elf smiled kindly and called a maid to give him a meal and a bed for the night.In silence Arwen and Aragorn walked to a private room. The man let himself down on a chair, bent over with worry.Arwen broke the silence first “So, who is his mother?” “A woman from the North”“The boy has only seen six or seven summers, Aragorn…” her tone betrayed her feelings. She was truly hurt, for she had understood at once who was the father of the boy. Aragorn had indeed had relationships, if very few, when he traveled as Strider, only for one night when the shadows was too heavy on his soul. The mother of the boy he only met twice, while hunting for Gollum in dark places where evils sleep. He regretted it deeply, even before he knew he had a child, and Arwen now saw it in his eyes, the link between them so strong nothing could break. Aragorn offered her an apology, and after a while Arwen calmed down. It would take longer to really re-establish their relationship and their trust, but she was already accepting the facts.“What will you do?” she asked, softly.“I do not know, love….” Aragorn had his face buried in his hands. The war had ended, yet new dangers threatened his city and his rule. The boy was one of them. Later that night, the couple went down to the room where the boy slept, Aragorn still pondering his different courses of action. As the saw the boy sleeping peaceful, as the maid told Arwen how he had eaten as if had not seen food for days, his mind changed and the balance was broken, and he wanted to keep the child safe before all. Only cowards try to forget their errors and eliminate the proofs, braves accept them. But for the kingdom… He brushed away the last thought. He could manage that. “What should we name him?” he asked quietly, not to wake up the boy.“Calad” said Arwen. She named the boy Light, like her own father once named Aragorn Hope long ago. Calad was raised as a child of the citadel by Aragorn and Arwen. He was presented as the son of Halbarad, one of the Dúnedain and friend of Aragorn, and if some wondered about his true identity they kept it to themselves. I would have been impossible to let his real father be known, for Calad was not meant to be the heir of Aragorn. A bastard caused too many problems for the new king, and his successor when the time will come. The boy himself did not know his father, and he was not close enough to Aragorn to think of him as such. Calad’s eyes were gray, with the light of Númenor, but his hair was blond instead of black, from his mother’s folk. He was tall for his age and soon adapted to the city and became strong and joyful. He was liked by all in the citadel, and was simply called ‘the boy’ by them, for he was the only child up there.After he acclimated to the city, all the members of the fellowship met Calad as they came to see their friend. The hobbits all accepted him as Halbarad’s child at once, even if Frodo did note a strange light in the boy’s eyes. Merry, and most of all Pippin, soon earned his trust and played with the child. Legolas and Gimli had no interest in Calad, too young for them. Gandalf, on the other hand, was curious and talked with the boy of his youth, not learning more than Aragorn could tell about the mother. He had seen at once who the child was, as he met him for the first time in the hallways of the citadel only the next day of his coming. The wizard walked up to Aragorn with a clearly disapproving look and a strong worded comment. Yet he chose not to implicate himself in that situation : his role in Middle earth he considered done.Faramir, now Steward of Gondor, met Calad in a more official way : they were presented by Aragorn. After a few minutes the young man recognized the boy, and stared at the king in wonder. “Arwen?” was his first thought.“She knows”“Is he really…?”“Yes,” replied Aragorn quickly, before sending the boy out of the room. “I expected you to figure that out. You understand it must remain a secret.”The image Faramir had of his king had collapsed in an instant, throwing the man down from his pedestal. It did leave a flat ground for a new relationship in their work to govern Gondor, after he cleaned the debris, ideas he had of the sort of men who had bastards. Soon Calad came to consider Faramir as an uncle, kind and often visiting, teaching him little tricks he learned in his own childhood in the citadel. Calad was known to be smart and agile, willing to learn, kind, polite. Aragorn encouraged the boy to watch what others did and imitate them, and in that way he learned quickly, earning a good reputation. He had a simple education with much freedom, as was the rule for boys of lower families. His status was unsure but he acted as a boy of the city, son of a soldier or a merchant of the middle class when he was out, and more reserved and polite like a son of a lord in the citadel. He was taught lore, letter and numbers and spending time around Aragorn he learned politics and good conversation. Arwen even gave him lessons of Quenya. Sometimes seeing Aragorn’s eyes, and the resemblance that became more and more flagrant as the boy grew up, was a proof of the errors the king had made. At first the boy grew close to his new parents, but as he became more independent he made friends in the city, learning at archery and sword fight, and spent less time in the citadel.When Eldarion was born, it marked the separation of Calad from the royal family. Now a young man of around sixteen years, he was fully trained in fighting and longed to take his flight, leave the city. One afternoon Calad came to see Aragorn, and they walked together in the gardens, for the man could see he had important questions. “Aragorn, I was told that the rangers are looking for new men in their company. I would like to go, if they will find me worthy,” said the boy, now a young man.“You want to become a ranger like your father ?”“I do not know my father.” Halbarad had only been a name for Calad. “I want to travel the wild and be useful to the city, that is why I want to be a ranger. Many evils still lurk in the shadows, they need to be hunted, to keep Gondor safe.” He spoke like the true son of a lord, wanting to protect his people. Aragorn took a few steps in silence, then sat down on the edge of the wall, Calad next to him.“Calad, I am proud that you want to be a ranger, and you surely will. I wanted to tell you, since you want to leave… I am your father.” The revelation fell hard on the young man, who took a minute to understand. “I knew I was a bastard.” The matter of fact tone showed a sad truth he had accepted. “But your son ! You… you never told me !”“It had to be kept secret. You understand why…” Aragorn started the sentence with his kingly voice, but it died off in a more gentle tone, the man showing behind the ruler, trying to get the boy to understand the decisions he had to make. He could never had revealed his son. And yet, maybe he could have told him earlier…“I… I had you when I travelled as a ranger in the North. I was known as Strider then.”“You did not love my mother.” It was not a question.“You know Arwen.” It was not an answer either.They both sat in silence, in between awkward and understanding, as strange as their relationship had become with a few sentences. Calad left soon after, with Aragorn’s blessing to become a ranger. The young man did not sleep until late that night, looking north by his window as thoughts raged in his mind. A few days later, Calad left with the rangers, with a longbow, a sword and a heavy cloak for the wilderness, ready to face this new part of his life. Men he did not know asked his name. ‘The boy’ had been his name in the city, but it would not fit a ranger.“Calad, son of Strider,” he answered, and the light twinkled in his eyes. He came back a few months later with a longer beard, stories to tell and more maturity, after thinking much about his birth. Aragorn found him in the garden of the queen, remade by Arwen years ago and now flowering, full of calming scents of rose, lavender and chamomile growing on the stone wall. Calad sat alone, his dark green cloak closed around him in the chill of the evening, his long legs stretched, smoking from a long pipe, simply enjoying being back home. The young man looked identical to his father, but no one was still in the White City who had known Strider, and only Aragorn looked at Calad with a light of melancholy in his eyes.They sat in silence for a while, the garden bringing them together, then the former ranger told the boy of his own adventures as Strider. The topic of Calad’s birth was never discussed again between them. The young ranger considered himself the son of Strider, not that of Aragorn or Elessar. He was friendly with his father in private, but when he wore his crown Calad kept to a respectful distance, making sure that everyone soon forgot he was raised in the citadel. A few years later when Eldarion grew up, he spent some time with Calad, and he showed him some tricks he figured out as a child. But they never truly interacted as brothers, perhaps more like cousins, mostly because of they age difference and the travels of Calad. When the boy grew of elven beauty, and his sisters filled the halls with their happy calls, he really stood out as the son and heir of Elessar. He was intelligent and kind, lordly but loving of everyone, people of the city and beasts; the servants of the citadel menaced to spoil him rotten, but he was still modest.“Calad?” called the boy on an evening as the ranger had just returned home. He turned to the boy, and remarked :“You have grown, Eladrion! Oh, I sound like an old lady, don’t I?” he joked, but he only met a worried look. His tunic was spilled with blood.“That is only wolf blood. We met a pack of them in Ithilien, starving enough to attack rangers. They should have known better !” Eldarion smiled and they spoke for a few moments, before Calad went to take a warm bath.The man soon went for a few short walk in his favourite place of the citadel, the garden, there he met Aragorn taking an evening walk as was his habit, when he could. The two talked about simple things and others, news from the city and the wilderness, exchanged a few jokes in the way of rangers coming home. A feel in the air talked of change, the wind bringing heat from the South. Eldarion came by, and they talked more of the White City he loved, before sitting in silence, watching the beautiful landscape at the bottom of the fortress, the river nicely curving in the rich plains.“It feels right tonight,” remarked softly the boy, almost a young man now as he would soon have seen thirteen summers.“Well… let us talk of more serious matter then,” said Aragorn. Calad looked at him with a question in his grey blue eyes, and a little nod confirmed his intuition.“Eldarion Telcontar is your name…and mine is Calad, son of Strider. You know Quenya well enough to understand.” A ranger thing, to speak by riddles. The boy figured it out quickly, but missed the real meaning“We have the same name.”“And your father is the same man,” added Aragorn. Eldarion took a moment to realize, standing in wonder. But his mind was not slow and he added two and two together in an instant. “Bastard” raced through his mind.“Yes, bastard ; I am no elf child.” The rough and direct speech of the ranger was not what Eldarion was used to. A bit of red came to the boy’s cheeks, he had not intended to speak aloud. He did a rapid calculation of years, and breathed a little easier when he understood Aragorn had a least not been married. The moment a child realizes his father is maybe not the perfect man they had seen in their childhood is always hard, especially when it is brought by the confession of a secret bastard son. Eldarion came to terms with the revelation as they shared rangers tales in the evening, later joined by Arwen and the younger daughter of the family when Calad left for the taverns to meet his friends. Decades later when Aragorn got older, the son of Strider and the son of Elessar met once again for a serious talk, realizing the king will soon end his reign. Eldarion was fully grown in a strong tall man with elvish wisdom in his eyes ; Calad already aging, the strain of years of travels and fighting showing in his features. Now his eyes were, with his height, the only hint to his high lineage. They talked of politics, life of the city, but not families, for Calad had never married. It was never spoken, but maybe he did not wish to have children and continue a second line of Aragorn, eventually brining disputes for the crown. His father’s line showed in his skill as a ranger, and his deep care for Minas Tirith and Gondor, even more as he was raised inside her white walls. But he was no Lord and commanded only a small group of rangers. After a while, as the sun setter red in the East, the two friends came to more important matters. “Eldarion, you have my full allegiance. You will take the kingship of the realm soon, and it will be a day to both weep and be glad, for the line of Elessar and Undómiel shall be continued.”“Thank you, Calad,” was his simple answer, and their eyes, so similar in their grey blue heritage of the West, met with emotion. Eladrion wanted to argue, to ask his half brother if he had considered his decision, but he knew he had. Yet as the ranger rose, his appearance was so different from the heir’s, ageless elven beauty and human scared face, smooth silk and worn leather. The rumour of the great hall called Eldarion back to his duties, and his friend winked, escaping for the simple life of the city he had chosen. The day of the funeral, Calad stood invisible behind the masses of noblemen, high born ladies and armour-clad officials. The first son shed silent tears, for he had loved his father, however strange their relationship was. As Arwen and Eldarion came, all stood silent in respect for their lords. The designated officer handed over to the heir the sword of the dead, hesitating a slight moment to touch the ancient blade. But Eldarion took it with pride, fully embracing his legacy and his new position. The formal crowning was to be held in the great hall after the mourning, but the sword was a personal heritage, not linked to the throne. The future king retreated early, and everyone left him to his mourning with compassion. He went back to the tomb of his father and met Calad there. They both stood for a while in silence, sharing their grief without words. But Eldarion spoke again as the sun was setting. “I was given the sword of Aragorn…” he took the blade out and looked at it with heavy thoughts. “But it is yours by right.”The ranger was speechless. “Why… I have no right to anything…”“We both know that you do. You are the firstborn son of Aragorn.”“I am the son of Strider,” denied the ranger. “Not of the King”“This is why I want you to have that sword. I am not a man of battle, of bloodshed and death. I am to rule within the white halls with a precious grown. I have no use of a sword. But you could kill to save the kingdom with Andúril. This blade is made to protect the crown, and it will do its mission best in your hands.” Calad looked for a moment at his hands, so often covered with enemies’ blood, hardened by fighting. A moment he was tempted by the thought of being a glorious soldier. Then he remembered the reality of his ranger life, more often killing wolves and hunting for dinner than fighting in battles. He spoke softly :“But it was made by elven smiths. I am not a man for such glory.” Eldarion looked again at his father’s tomb. With a hint of a smile, he added : “I had not expected you to agree…” Then his voice changed, he became more serious “But this is not just. You had to hide at your own father’s funeral, to come to his tomb by climbing over the wall… all because of an error you did not commit. If your father… our father… was not married to your mother, that does not change who you are. I cannot give you justice but if this sword can help, I beg you to take it.” Calad was weeping, for he had not thought Eldarion would understand. He simply nodded and when the elven child handed the sword, the ranger took it with a firm hand used to handling weapons. He moved it around a few times to get a feel of his weight and a smile filled his face.“I have no clue wether it fits you…” admitted Eldarion. “It is amazing !” The next day the ranger wrapped the sword with leather straps to hide its decorated pommel, set it in a weathered sheath and went to the training grounds. The sword master did glance curiously at the perfect blade, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Calad trained for a long time before he got used to the new weight of the sword, with was larger than his old one, but the balance had been made for his father and he soon he felt right with Andúril.He had a strange look in his eyes when he held the weapon, and he had to tell his friends that it was his father’s sword, a small piece a much more interesting truth. He used the sword to kill ennemies, wolves and dying friends, but also to cut potatoes and roast squirrels for dinner. But when he came back from the woods with a serious wound, Calad started to worry over something else. Who would he hand over the word to when he will be too old to fight ? Suddenly he felt alone, as he was away from his ranger life to heal his wound. Andúril was not to be given to anyone, or sold after his death. He had to find an heir.Calad decided to watch the fencing classes in the training area. He went there everyday during his recovery, and soon the sword master agreed to let him teach a bit, to get him back in shape. Until one day, when Calad’s look shifted to an agile student. He was shifting his weight quickly, turning around his opponent. The ranger went up to the sword master, wondering who he was. “The fast one ? That’s the sister of the King.”“A girl ? How can she be strong enough?” “She trains ! Want to see her fight?” The sword master winked and beckoned at his best student. The ranger chose a dulled sword and started to test the girl. Soon they were both moving across the courtyard, their swords clinging as they exchanged blows. The ranger was steadily increasing difficulty and the girl was blocking each stroke, the sword master commenting for the other students on the position of their feet. When Calad’s wound started hurting, he ended the duel with one of his tricks. He thanked the girl and went back to his bench to observe the training, and he did so many more days after, unit he was sure of his choice.Finally, Calad decided it was time to tell Eldrarion about his projects. Maybe because he was the one who gave him the sword, he felt compelled to tell him.“What are your sisters doing these days ?” he asked“Gilraen is learning a lot about the other people of middle earth. She will be a great negotiator ! Fíriel has taken to fighting instead. A bit like you !”“Well… I was wondering… I have seen Fíriel fight and I wanted to train her.” The ranger said.“Why not, you will have to ask her. But she won’t be able to lead armies, she is a princess.” The king answered.“We shall see. If she holds Andúril the men will follow her anywhere.”Then he chose a big double-handed sword like Andúril and started training the girl against himself with that new weapon. She picked up quite quickly the way to use such a sword with her smaller built, and ended up with enough muscle to fight for hours. Then one day he had lunch with Eldarion and Fíriel, and told the girl the truth about the sword, designating her as his heir. She then trained with the kingly weapon, Andúril was balanced for a man yet she was tall and strong, and she fought well with it. Even though he did not fight well with his wounded arm and he was advised to stay out of the battle field, Calad could not refuse to fighting men from the East who had formed a little army. And that was to be his last mission, for Calad died with Andúril in his hand, defending the throne of Gondor. He was not set to rest with his ancestors, for he did not want to be remembered as a royal. Like his past, he forgot the future, to live in the present and try, unlike most men, not to change the course of the world.