Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original storylines or characters; the pony is mine, if not his name.
On the story background: Turin is featured in some of my other stories such as Aggrieved and Friends. You do not need to read those first, however.
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Author´s note: This was written in the honour of another beloved horse which is long since dead but still greatly missed.
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Farewell
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Elrond´s gaze rested on his foster son as though the Ranger would disappear once the elf looked away. His heart rejoiced in the man´s presence; Aragorn had not been at home for many years, years which had left traces on his face and his general appearance. He had truly grown to be a man, had left the last reminders of his youth behind.
He was currently engaged in a quiet conversation with the twins; they had settled down in front of the fire in the great hall, as the nights were still cool despite the first warm spring days they were recently enjoying.
Aragorn had arrived in the afternoon and looked weary yet content. Being back in Rivendell had almost overwhelmed him, since he had not expected to feel at home so strongly; the scent of the flowers and of polished wooden floors, the ever present sound of the waterfalls and not least the presence of elves had bade him a subtle if unexpected welcome, though, for which he was grateful.
Elladan and Elrohir had been the first to meet him in the hall; he had hardly had time to return their shouted greetings, as they embraced him simultaneously, seemingly competing in who could crush the man faster. Laughing, Aragorn had tried to free himself from their bear hug but found he could not; too overjoyed were the twins by his arrival, and he finally let them be. He was not used to get so much positive and undivided attention anymore, too long had he been roaming the Wild, often on his own for long stretches of time.
When the twins finally had let go, Aragorn had found himself face to face with Elrond; the elf-lord had heard the commotion and had come out of his study when he had registered that the twins had indeed called out the name "Estel" several times.
Elrond´s and Aragorn´s eyes had locked then, and with a heartfelt smile had the elf taken in his foster son´s appearance before he, too had wrapped his arms around him in an affectionate embrace.
Aragorn had closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to be held and reminisce about the memories the elf´s scent conjured up. "Ada", he had said quietly once they had let go of each other, and had returned the smile.
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"It seems that you have come just in time", Elladan said now, smiling somewhat sadly. Aragorn looked at him inquiringly: "What do you mean?"
The twins exchanged a look: "It is Turin", Elrohir replied for his brother. "The stablehands have informed us that he has not gotten up anymore for at least three days. We do not think he will last much longer."
Aragorn nodded silently, saddened by these news; Turin had been his first own pony, sturdy, clever and reliable. It seemed a miracle that he was still alive at all, as he must be well over forty years now.
"I will see to him", he said quietly and got up: "Please excuse me."
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It had already gotten dark, but Aragorn did not bother to take a light, since he still knew his way around well enough.
The stables were illuminated by two small lamps; no one was there except for the horses and one goat which lived with one of the ponies.
Most of the animals were dozing; some of them lifted their heads and curiously pricked their ears as Aragorn walked by their boxes, but he did not stop once. Inwardly, he counted the doors until he had reached number 18 on the left; he had done so ever since he had been able to count.
Cautiously, he peered over the door: Turin was lying in the straw indeed. Someone had covered him with a blanket and had piled up the straw underneath his head to make him comfortable. He looked infinitely smaller than Aragorn remembered him; his hooves seemed tiny, his legs thin and frail. As quietly as possible so as not to startle the pony, Aragorn opened the door to the box and slid inside, crouching down. He could see Turin´s eyes moving; the little horse eventually lifted its head to have a better look at the newcomer, pricking its ears as well.
"Hello, Turin", Aragorn said gently and stretched out his arm. "Suilad, my boy..." While the pony nuzzled his hand, he moved closer to it until he could sit right next to the small body. Turin proceeded to nuzzle him, but his movements were scantily, and soon afterwards his head sank down again, coming to rest on Aragorn´s lap. The pony snorted and lay still, blinking now and then and peering up at the man with one eye. He looked tired, Aragorn thought, glad that he indeed seemed to have come in time, though he wondered if this could be counted as pure coincidence.
The Ranger fondly stroked the old animal; memories of long forgotten days came to his mind as he touched the still soft fur and inhaled the familiar scent. "You and I have been through a lot of mischief", he said, chuckling slightly. Turin pricked his ears again at this, and Aragorn continued to speak: "Can you believe how old we have become?", he asked softly. "It seems like yesterday that we were of the same height..."
Turin, obviously feeling comfortable, eventually closed his eyes while Aragorn was talking to him. The man could feel a lump forming in his throat, which finally made it impossible to speak, so he started to hum instead, never ceasing to caress the dying little horse which had carried him through so many adventures long years past.
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It was well after midnight when Elrond, who had been sitting in front of the fireplace with a glass of wine, heard the front door of the Last Homely House open and close. Slow steps approached, nearly inaudible if Elrond did not possess such good hearing.
A few moments later, Aragorn sat down next to his foster father. He did not speak and did not need to; his face told the elf that Turin had died, and he could feel a profound sense of sadness within the man.
After a few more moments, Elrond poured some wine into a second glass and passed it to Aragorn, who accepted it mutely. Silently, the elf raised his own glass and waited until Aragorn imitated the gesture: "Turin", they said, almost simultaneously.
No more words were spoken that night.
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The End
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