Chapter Thirty 
      Malacai and Annaleh parted ways at the fire; Annaleh heading to the salting-tent 
to see what food could be taken with them and what must be eaten that night and Malacai 
into their own tent. Annaleh had forgotten about Saru and Kehydi as she thought instead 
of leaving the camp and seeing her chief again. Just the mention of Aragorn’s name filled 
her with hope.
      Malacai came through the flap, thinking he would talk to Kehydi about the plans 
for the next day, but when he saw Saru curled up in the corner on his pallet, looking like 
a lost spring lamb when its mother had been killed, he forgot everything else. He crossed 
to the pallet in three long strides and crouched down so that he could draw Saru into his 
arms. ‘I won’t pretend to understand what’s wrong,’ he thought, ‘but maybe just my 
being here will calm him.’
      For the first time in years, the Ranger thought of the man that had stopped him 
outside the slave market in Nennid. ‘He offered, “A piece of gold for your whore, 
Master?” Why? What did he know about Saru?’ Malacai rubbed Saru’s back. ‘Did he 
know Saru would never completely heal, that he would be a frightened, broken rabbit all 
his life? I do not mind caring for him; he is so helpful most of the time. But if he is so 
broken still, why hasn’t he given up? Why hasn’t he attempted suicide?’ The Ranger 
sighed. ‘I’ll never know. He’s too much of a mystery.’
      In spite of his decision to leave the topic alone, Malacai remembered one other 
thing the stranger had said. ‘ “I would pay dearly for one such as he. I have many friends 
who crave a red-haired beauty.” Did he know Saru would grow into a handsome young 
man? Could he have known?’ Again, he shook his head. ‘This is pointless. There are 
other things- more important things- to worry about than a conversation a decade and 
more in the past.’
      Against his chest, Saru stirred and his tears had begun to recede. He still clung to 
Malacai, but he no longer trembled like a leaf in a high wind.
      “Saru, please tell me what’s wrong,” Malacai invited. His hand had drifted up to 
Saru’s hair and he stroked it lightly. “Whatever it is, you know you can trust me.”
      But Saru didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled away and looked into Malacai’s eyes. 
His gaze, which was frightened at first, changed to one of concern. “Will you tell me 
what bothers you?” He blushed. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong, Master, but I want to help 
you first.”
      Malacai, almost against his will, considered the last month of sleepless nights and 
the days filled with endless pacing and watching. ‘I could tell him… who would it hurt? 
He wouldn’t tell anyone; I could make him swear to that. Yes, but he also needs me. 
Should I just make him tell of his little worry?’
      A jaded part of his mind, a part that had grown while Aragorn was away, insisted, 
‘I’m sure he’s just afraid of the dark or shaken by Legolas’ sudden reappearance without 
Aragorn…’
      He admitted at once, ‘Nay, that’s just my own feelings. But I’ll let Saru’s fears go 
for a moment. Maybe by telling him what bothers me, I’ll see a new angle into it. And 
just maybe Saru will forget or resolve his own problem by listening to me.’
        “Swear you will speak of this to no one unless I release you from your word,” 
Malacai commanded.
      “I swear,” Saru vowed. His voice had become the soft, soothing, dependable 
voice Malacai had come to rely on.
      “There is a darkness in the East, but it is here, also,” Malacai said at once. Saru’s 
promise was the last wall between the Ranger’s fears and the world, and when it was 
gone they poured out. “It has always lived around us, but until ten years ago it dwelt 
mainly in the villages and towns. Never did it follow a Dunadan back here to the camp. 
One exception to that is Halbarad’s behavior, but I’ll not speak of that now. He is only 
one man, and there are two hundred of us here.”
      He didn’t notice Saru flinch when he gave voice to that name.
      “I think what kept it out was Aragorn. Not intentionally, but maybe it was 
intentionally, or consciously, or whatever the hell I mean. But whatever the reason, while 
Aragorn was here, the thing, the danger, the shadow the darkness, wasn’t here.”
      “Aragorn has seen the Nine. I never have. Nor has anyone else here. And when he 
saw them, he was no long distance from here, near Rivendell. But that was five years 
after he joined the Dunedain- a while ago, in other words. Yet, they never came close to 
here. Aragorn was drawn out by a feeling, a sense, and he went alone, telling us all that 
he must, telling us that he must learn something on his own. He reassured us that his 
brothers were nearby. And because he had become a stalwart man, we let him go alone. 
More fools us. Not that he was seriously hurt. He sustained a blow, but not a stab and in 
the end he drove the two wraiths off. Where the other seven were, I don’t know. Nor do I 
care. After that, the Nine went back to Minas Morgul. Gandalf told us so. And they 
haven’t been back since.”
      “Then, later, there was a great pack of wargs in this part of the world. They were 
fleeing west and north from Mirkwood, where they had been driven out. Eleven years 
after Aragorn joined us this was. Aragorn, having been brought word from his brother, 
Elrohir, armed us and we kept a doubled watch and tripled the guard around the Shire and 
around the Bree-lands. But the wargs didn’t come near those towns or the Shire. Aragorn 
was out with my father and younger brother hunting for their tracks when they were set 
upon by two dozen of the vile creatures, even though the tracks the three of them were 
following were at least a week old. It’s a wonder any of them survived. Especially 
Aragorn. He is who the wargs were really after, you understand. Only him. I think that’s 
why Dad and Mordecai were able to kill so many: the wargs weren’t paying them much 
heed. I still can’t believe Aragorn escaped only with a scar on his chest, another on his 
arm and three broken fingers.”
      Malacai stared straight ahead. “I remember when he was brought in and-” He 
shook his head violently. “No. That’s not what I want to talk about. I was only trying to 
show how strong Aragorn is, and that the Enemy’s creatures- whether sent by Him or no- 
always know who Aragorn is, even if their Lord doesn’t know that the Heir of Isildur 
lives.”
      He paused, collected his thoughts and went on, “I want to talk about the rotted 
core in the center of our community.”
      Saru watched with wide eyes and a horror-stricken expression.
      Malacai stood and began to pace. “The darkness I speak of is in men’s hearts. I 
noticed it first- no, most strongly- at the council that met to decide your fate and 
Kehydi’s. Usually, there would have been any number of Dunedain speaking out for you. 
But your life was threatened and not just by those that stated outright that you should be 
killed or sent away. It was expressed in their eyes, their postures, their silences.”
      He didn’t see Saru clench his hands into fists, nor the trembling that went all 
through the young man.
      The Dunadan’s voice became like lead. “Our fellowship is breaking, and none, 
save Aragorn, can stop it. If he dies… if he’s already dead…” Malacai laughed bitterly. 
“We should all just give ourselves to the Dark Lord right now.”
      Saru leapt to his feet and shouted, “No!”
      Malacai turned and stared at him. He couldn’t speak, but his mouth moved 
soundlessly in his shock.
      Saru strode forward and grasped Malacai’s tunic with both hands and he shook 
the freeborn. “No!” he cried again. “You can’t abandon everything! Even if Master 
Aragorn is dead, he would never forgive you for giving yourself over to the Dark Lord.” 
He shook Malacai even more harshly, and now he was yelling full-out, the cords on his 
neck standing out and pulsing. “And if you go to the Dark Lord, I’ll… I won’t follow 
you! I won’t! I won’t be His slave! Yours yes, and willingly, but never his! Never! Do 
you hear me?” Saru gave him a final shake, then stepped back, his chest heaving, his eyes 
glittering dangerously, challenging his master to contradict him.
      For long minutes, Malacai didn’t speak. There was no way to read his face, to 
know what he was thinking
      At last, Saru, moved by anger and need, exclaimed, “You’re a fool if you think 
giving in will be any easier than fighting Him. He won’t just welcome the Dunedain, the 
defenders of the North, with open arms! He’ll torture each and every one until they 
become slaves to His Will. Do you want to follow the Witch-King of Angmar into 
darkness? Do you-”
      A fierce, crashing pain attacked the young man suddenly and he staggered 
backwards under the blow he hadn’t seen coming. His hand came up to his cheek and he 
blinked back tears.
      Malacai was stepping towards him, his hand rising again. “Repent,” the man 
snapped. He slapped Saru again. “Repent at once.”
       Saru retreated, his large deer-eyes watching Malacai warily.
      “Repent!” the Ranger shouted as he advanced.
      Saru was now against the side of the tent. He stood straight as a thought flitted 
through his mind: ‘If he kills me, I won’t have to worry about Kehydi hating me 
anymore.’ As when he was on the platform with the noose, he considered death with a 
clinical detachedness. And this time, there was no one to live for. Kehydi hated him.
      ‘What about Legolas?’
      ‘He has Master Aragorn. He doesn’t need me.’
      Saru squared his shoulders and glared defiantly at his master. “I won’t repent. I 
won’t serve Sauron and I won’t serve you if you’re just going to give up.”
      Malacai slapped him again. “You’ll do as you’re told. You’re my slave.”
      “I’d rather rot,” Saru spat and his fear made him twice as strong in his 
disobedience.
      Malacai punched him in the stomach, then grabbed his arm so that he had to stand 
straight in spite of the pain.
      Saru thought, ‘The darkness is inside men. It’s inside my master, too.’ He felt 
tears gathering in his eyes at that thought and he could only pray, ‘Let me die quickly.’
      “Repent, or I’ll… I’ll give you to Halbarad!” Malacai raved.
      “It’s too late for that,” Saru snapped, continuing to pray underneath. “He’s been 
raping me for months now.”
      Malacai took a step back, stunned, his jaw falling open. “No,” he whispered. 
“Halbarad has not been near you.” He grasped Saru by his shoulders, his grip painful. 
“Tell me he hasn’t been with you.”
      Saru stared into his master’s eyes and hoped his death was near. ‘Be enraged. Be 
murderous. Just kill me. Please.’
      “Halbarad has been raping me since the night of the council.”
      Malacai backhanded him across the face. “No!” he snarled vehemently.
      “Yes,” Saru asserted. “The darkness that you talked about is in Halbarad, too.”
      ‘I need to say something to really infuriate him.’
      “And I think you’ve fallen into the Darkness, too.”
      The Ranger couldn’t even speak. He threw up his hands and rushed from the tent.
      Saru stared after him, confused and dismayed. ‘Come back and kill me!’ he 
wanted to scream, but his voice didn’t seem to work anymore. In a daze, he left the tent 
and wandered out into the flurry of preparations to leave. No one really noticed him and 
thus he made his way to the fringe of trees that surrounded the camp. But when he looked 
back, he saw Kehydi standing with his mother by the fire.
      ‘I cannot leave you,’ Saru thought helplessly, ‘even though you hate me.’ A 
sword of self-loathing taunted him with pain. ‘I am not strong enough to kill myself, to 
run or to beg Kehydi’s forgiveness. I am not even really a man.’ He sank to his knees and 
closed his eyes, praying for sleep.
Chapter Thirty-One
      Aragorn closed his eyes and breathed in the soft scent of the mellorn trees and the 
rose-fragrance of Arwen’s hair as it lay across his shoulder. She was kneeling behind 
him, her arms around his chest and her quiet breath brushed his cheek.
      The Dunadan was thinking of when he had seen Arwen that first time, when he 
thought he had lost his heart to her. ‘But I went away and Malacai took me into his tent 
and I forgot about Arwen… or did I?’ He smiled self-mockingly. ‘I wanted to forget 
because Ada said I couldn’t be with any man’s daughter until I had wandered a long time 
in the Wilds. Well, now I have wandered there… and now she doesn’t laugh at me. 
Maybe we could love each other.’
      An image of Legolas ghosted across his mind, but Aragorn banished it. ‘Legolas 
doesn’t need me. Legolas doesn’t want me. When I return to the Dunedain, I’ll free him. 
When I return-’ He stopped, amazed at his idiocy. ‘I can’t take Arwen back with me to 
the Ranger camp! She is a noble lady of noble blood and high living. What do I have to 
offer her?’ He took in a breath. ‘I’ll wait and pledge myself to her when I am king. 
Maybe then Ada would accept it. And maybe, as king, I would be worthy of her.’
      Arwen nipped his ear lightly. “Where is your mind, Estel?”
      “With you,” he answered.
      She laughed. “A pretty lie, but only a lie. Tell me the truth.”
      Aragorn glanced up at her. “I meant what I said,” he answered, and his eyes were 
earnest. “I was thinking about the future of this world, and about you in that future.” He 
blushed slightly under her piercing gaze. “About our future, if we had one.”
      “You’re very presumptuous, son of the North,” and she laughed.
      Ashamed, Aragorn started to turn away, but she brushed his cheek with cool, 
silken fingertips and murmured, “Maybe we will have a future, Dunadan. The world is 
changing and many impossible things are made possible.” She brushed her fingers 
through his hair and whispered, “Like you. You’ve done a hundred impossible things 
since leaving Imladris, or so I’ve heard. A thousand bold deeds worthy of song and story 
and elven lay.” Her eyes danced. “Perhaps one day there will be the Lay of Arwen and 
Aragorn. Maybe my brother will write such a ballad and carry it over the sea.”
      Aragorn’s mind went instantly to Elladan, who had once, or so he was told, 
written beautiful lays to rival the elven mistrals of old, before many of them departed into 
the utter west. ‘But I never heard one of his songs,’ Aragorn thought. ‘He hasn’t written 
one in scores of years. Does Arwen not know that? Or does she choose to remember him 
as he was?’
      Arwen bit his ear lightly. “Thinking of me again?” she asked, her breath ghosting 
in his ear.
      “Nay-” Aragorn began honestly, but he broke off when he saw the hurt look in her 
eyes. “It is only… I mean that…”
      Arwen demanded, “Then what were you thinking of?”
      “You spoke of Elladan. My mind went to him for the barest instant,” Aragorn 
tried to explain and console.
      Arwen asked, “Why do you think of him? How long has it been since you’ve seen 
him?”
      “It’s been a very long time,” Aragorn answered. “My mind only drifted to him 
because you mentioned him and because of the great sadness he struggles under.”
      Arwen flared, “My brother struggles under no sadness!” She rose and turned 
away from him.
      Aragorn scrambled to his feet. “My Lady…” he pleaded. “I didn’t mean to upset 
you. I only-”
      She looked over her shoulder at him and her eyes smoldered. “Never speak of 
Elladan in that way again. He is fine!”
      Aragorn held up his hands. ‘Why does she wish to deceive herself? Perhaps it is 
because she knows she cannot help him.’
      “I am sorry,” he apologized. “Please forgive me.”
      “In fact,” she continued, still furious, “do not speak of Elladan. Or Elrohir. Or 
Imladris at all. I was lucky to escape. I do not wish to be reminded of that valley.”
      Aragorn bowed his head, acquiescing. “As you wish, my Lady.”
      She turned back to him and her face had cleared and her eyes no longer burned 
him. Throwing her arms around his neck, she nuzzled against his shoulder. “You’ve 
turned into quite the gentleman, Estel,” she laughed. “I’m glad. I thought you might stay 
that very immature boy forever. But then,” she added reflectively, “I suppose men have 
to grow up faster than elves.”
      Confused and off-balance, not sure how he should feel, let alone what he should 
say, Aragorn simply held her against him. He felt her breasts pressing against his chest 
and was embarrass that his organ reacted immediately to this. He drew back a little so she 
wouldn’t feel what she was doing to him. 
       Laughter seemed to have claimed Arwen’s whole being. She chuckled and 
caught Aragorn’s wrist in a light, strong grip. “Don’t be afraid of your feelings, Estel. 
Even famous kings are allowed to fall in love.”
      Aragorn’s face flamed. “I’m not a king yet,” he mumbled, his eyes downcast.
      She caught Aragorn’s chin and raised his head. “Oh, Estel, you’ll be a king 
someday. And you will be the best king Middle Earth has ever known.”
      “My Lady,” Aragorn croaked, struggling to speak clearly, “please do not fill me 
with so much praise. My head will burst.” He’d meant it as a joke, but Arwen was 
frowning at him again.
      “I’m not allowed to tell you how wonderful I think you are?” she pouted.
      Helplessly, Aragorn answered, “Say whatever you wish, my Lady.”
      She smiled charmingly at him. “Thank you, Estel. That’s quite noble of you.” She 
squeezed his wrist lightly then jumped away. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Go 
back to your bower and they’ll fetch you.” She looked him up and down, assessing him. 
“And maybe they’ll find you something less ostentatious.”
      Blushing furiously, Aragorn watched her go. When she was gone, he wandered 
dazedly back to Roheryn’s side. The stallion nuzzled him gently as if he sensed how 
bewildered and lost Aragorn felt. Aragorn reached up and stroked the horse’s brow 
ridges.
      Roheryn rumbled back in his throat and nuzzled Aragorn’s shoulder a little more 
firmly, drawing the Ranger’s attention from outside himself.
      Aragorn chuckled softly. “I’m thoroughly confused, my friend.” He rubbed the 
stallion’s face lightly and gazed into his deep, chocolate eyes. “Since when does telling 
the truth get you in trouble with the elves? With orcs, some men, even dwarves… but not 
elves.” He sighed deeply. “I hate stepping around on thin ice.” He shook his head. “What 
does she want, anyway?”
      Roheryn snorted as if to say, “Female elves! Who understands them?”
      Aragorn laughed. “Aye, my friend. Aye.” He patted the stallion’s shoulder. “Want 
to follow me back?” He winked. “Or are you interested in some elven mare?”
      Roheryn tossed his head and then pushed Aragorn forward a few steps. Heading 
back towards the bower, Aragorn called, “Come on then, or stay. But I could do with the 
friendly company.”
***
      As they climbed the little rise, Aragorn decided, ‘I’ve set it all aside and I can 
love her now. If she wants me to. But I don’t love Legolas anymore.’ He didn’t allow 
himself to wonder if this was true or not. ‘I’ll follow wherever she leads. That’s all I must 
do. You’ve learned to be a leader of men, son of the North; just become a follower of a 
she-elf and your education’s complete.’
      Arwen squeezed his hand gently, pulling him back to the present. In the last two 
weeks, she had ceased to ask him what he was thinking. She had learned that he 
sometimes drifted, but that didn’t mean he was being rude or inattentive. ‘It’s just him,’ 
she realised one morning. ‘I’ll have to content myself with that.’
      On the breast of the hill, Aragorn took both of her hands in his and looked down 
into her sparkling eyes. He could almost feel the crown of command and kingship on his 
brow. ‘Or, leastways, the crown of responsibility. Strider’s crown of thorns. Enough 
dawdling. Say what you have to say. Make your speech, future king, and make it a good 
one.’
      “Arwen, this time with you has been a wonderful healing time for me. And I can 
never thank you enough for everything you have given me. But when my Rangers come 
here, I’ll leave with them.” He took a deep breath. “And you can’t go with me. Not only 
would that be against Lord Elrond’s strict command, but it would be foolish and 
dangerous. A great many dangers live in the wild, and I don’t want to risk hurting you.” 
She was staring mutely up at him. He had no way to read her expression. “Do you 
understand?” he pursued.
      At first, he thought she would only continue to stare up at him. ‘Maybe she 
expects me to know what she’s thinking. If this is love, where is our bond?’
      Arwen smiled. “I understand, Estel. I’ll abide here until you’re king, then I will 
come to you.”
      Aragorn was thinking, ‘The first part of a speech is usually stating the problem. 
That’s simple: I can’t stay here and she can’t come. Done. Next: the causes of that 
problem… she’s already answered that… The third part: solution. Again, she proposed 
that as well. Now, to follow through.’ He took a deep breath, let it out. ‘This has got to be 
the strangest engagement request in the history of Middle-Earth, or at least among the 
Dunedain.’
      “Arwen, I renounce the Shadow in all its forms, and will not stop pursuing the 
Dark Lord’s enemies until I die. Will you stay with me through all that?”
      “Yes, Estel, I will.”
      Again, her face is unreadable, but Aragorn takes her words at face value. “But a 
change stands before you as well. Will you turn from the Twilight? Will you join with me 
and leave the elves? Will you forsake the Western Lands?”
      “Yes, Estel, I will.”
      Aragorn took a breath, another. He waited. What else must be said? Oh, yes…
      “I love you.”
      She smiled up at him, an enigmatic smile that showed him none of what she was 
feeling. “I love you, too, Estel.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Soon, as 
time is reckoned by my people, I will see you again. And you will have won more honor 
than Beren. Perhaps that will help to ease my father’s sorrow.” She stepped back, 
curtseyed, and laughed at his shocked expression. “Did you expect me to refuse the king 
of men? You are a man now, Estel, not an elf in man’s skin; most of the people you meet 
between now and your death with follow you simply because of the respect and love you 
command.” Without another word, she whirled away like a fresh, spring wind and glided 
down the hill. 
      Aragorn stood stock still for a moment, then his fingers came up to touch the 
place she had kissed. ‘There is something to be said for the different way elves love,’ he 
mourned. ‘They are not warm or passionate, but more like a frozen lake: beautiful, clean, 
pure… but not passionate.’
      He conveniently forgot Legolas in this conclusion.
      ‘I’ll make the best of this love. She will cleave to me and together we will make 
sure the line of kings goes on.’ Nodding, looking pleased with himself, Aragorn, son of 
Arathorn, marched down the opposite side of the hill and disappeared among the trees.
***
      Later that same night, as the moon was setting, Aragorn stretched out on a flet at 
the edge of the Golden Wood. Around him were Haldir, Orophin and Rumil, keeping 
watch. Aragorn had sought the company of male elves. He wanted to be somewhere that 
Galadriel and Arwen were not for a little while. As they always would, the brothers 
accepted him and bid him sleep while they watched.
      The soft breeze sounded, at first, like a lullaby to Aragorn’s tired mind and he 
gave into its siren call for rest and forgetfulness. But as he drifted at the very edge of 
wakefulness, the breeze changed from a lullaby to a soft sobbing cry. Aragorn tipped off 
the edge of consciousness and fell into sleep. But the sobbing wind followed him.
      Before his eyes, Legolas stood, holding onto the side of a tree, as if for support. 
Aragorn could see that he looked shaken and lost. He approached, his concern 
overwhelming any confusion that might have assailed him. “Legolas?”
      The elf didn’t seem to hear him. He stared with distant, lost eyes up into the baby-
green leaves.
      Aragorn edged forward, reaching out tentatively. “Legolas?” he whispered, not 
wanting to startle his… well, not wanting to startle Legolas. Now, standing beside the 
preoccupied elf, Aragorn made as if to brush his shoulder lightly- but his hand passed 
through Legolas.
      ‘We’ll leave at dawn.’ The words were fuzzy and muffled as if spoken through a 
thick, woolen scarf.
      Tensing, Aragorn made as if to draw back.
      ‘That’s not soon enough. Something’s wrong. He’s lost.’
      Aragorn knew that wasn’t his voice. Impulsively, he pushed forward so that move 
of his arm disappeared. The other voice grew more distinct.
      ‘It has to be soon enough. The Dunedain won’t be ready before then.’
      Aragorn felt Legolas sigh and sensed, as if he heard an echo, that Legolas was 
homesick and filled with trepidation.
      ‘The only way it would be ‘soon enough’ is if I were in Lothlorien right now. And 
even then it might be too late.’ Legolas’ teeth chattered as a pervasive cold that came 
from within assaulted him.
      Legolas flinched convulsively and Aragorn nearly lost contact with him. The 
Ranger thrust forward desperately and stumbled forward into Legolas.
***
      Legolas shivered under the attack. His fears threatened to drag him down. ‘Is this 
what it means to live among men?’ he wondered, remembering how distant, calm and 
collected the elves of Lothlorien had seemed to him. ‘Is this what it means to worry about 
a mortal?’
      He shook himself, casting off the thoughts as so much melodramatic nonsense. 
‘I’m stronger than this. I’ve completed the first half of my mission. I can complete the 
other half without mewling like a baby.’
      A sudden, all-encompassing warmth surrounded him. Legolas could compare it 
only to what he’d been told love felt like. ‘Who told me? Who would bother to tell a 
slave what love feels like?’
      ‘Annaleh. Annaleh told me. When? Doesn’t matter.’ Legolas snuggled into the 
warmth and closed his eyes, letting himself be cradled and caressed.
      ‘Sleep.’ The command flowed around him, easing him, relaxing him.
      Legolas gave into it, drawing on the perfect, humming warmth. ‘Aragorn,’ he 
thought without understanding why. Then he slept.
Chapter Thirty-Two
      Aaron, on Annaleh’s orders, went out looking for Legolas. The shadows were 
starting to congregate under the trees, and Aaron secretly wondered how he would ever 
find an elf in their shifting patterns. ‘Once the light fails entirely, there’s no way I’ll find 
him. Elves don’t leave tracks or any other type of sign.’ But knowing this didn’t stop him 
from hunting diligently and carefully. He couldn’t go up into every tree, but he glanced 
up at each one as he passed to make sure that Legolas wasn’t sitting there in plain sight. 
‘If I don’t find him within a mile of the camp, I’ll start climbing trees. But I’ll ask Saru, 
at least to help me. He’s the one that’s learned Aragorn’s tracking techniques the best.’ 
      Still, ‘a mile around the camp’ was an enormous bit of ground to cover. Aaron, 
determined that he wouldn’t give up, trudged on. ‘It’s good he’s an elf, really. If he 
wasn’t, I’d have to worry about finding him before he freezes to death.’ Even though it 
was early spring, the last bits of snow having melted away two weeks ago, the air turned 
frigid after sunset.
      As the world darkened around him, Aaron squinted at each shadow, praying he 
would see Legolas. His mind was reeling with questions: ‘If we’re leaving in the 
morning, all of us, why did Legolas leave the camp? Doesn’t he know it’s dangerous? 
Surely he knows; he’s been with Aragorn for so long… Will Aragorn be alive when we 
get to Lothlorien?’
      The Ranger- no longer young or so inexperienced- stopped walking and muttered 
under his breath, “Not now, you fool. Worry and dream later.”
      He turned his eyes towards the nearest tree and his heart leapt. “Legolas!” he 
cried hoarsely. “Legolas!” He nearly hurled himself at the tree. Legolas was laid out full-
length, his eyes open, but turned inward in reverie.
      ‘Why would he sleep out here?’ Aaron knew instantly that Legolas wasn’t dead, 
and not only because of the sight of his chest rising and falling ever so slightly. His face 
was alit with a contented smile and his hands stirred at his sides as if he was holding 
something. As the Ranger dropped to one knee at Legolas’ side, not noticing how the 
snow soaked through at once to the skin and took one of those grasping hands, giving 
Legolas something to hold onto.
      “Aragorn,” the elf murmured and he turned onto his side, snuggling against 
Aaron’s leg.
      Aaron lifted Legolas into his arms and started back towards the camp. He felt 
tears starting in his eyes and fought against them. When Malacai had told them Aragorn 
was injured, possibly dying, in Lothlorien, that they must try to reach him before that 
happened, Aaron had felt the rumors of the Shadow in the East and the daily struggles 
with the increasing numbers of orcs in the North swirl around him like a bad dream. ‘If 
Aragorn’s dead,’ he’d realised, ‘there’s not really any hope for Middle-Earth. But we’ll 
fight until all remembrances of hope are lost, not because there’s a chance of victory, but 
because that’s what Aragorn would have done.’
      ‘Well, we’re leaving in the morning,’ he thought staunchly. ‘And there’s nothing 
more I can do until then.’
      But as he reached the edge of the camp, he saw a blotch of red near a tree, almost 
black because of the shadows. It looked like blood. Fearing, he crept closer. ‘Maybe it’s 
only a rabbit that met its end here.’
      When he saw Saru’s white face and blueish lips, he screamed. He couldn’t help it. 
He’d seen two dead Rangers in his lifetime: Melchelai, wrapped in his cloak and buried 
by a large, strong oak, and a baby that had died from illness. But seeing Saru’s corpse-
like face made him sick and scared. Without thinking, he set Legolas down hurriedly and 
turned away so he could throw up.
      There was the sound of running boots and then he was being helped up. He was 
given water to wash the taste from his mouth; he spit it out.
      Jamien had his arm around Aaron from behind and he soothed in that gruff, 
soldier’s voice he had, “It’s all right. You’re all right, Aaron. Get a hold of yourself.”
      Nickeh had lifted Saru into his arms. He was running back towards the camp, and 
he shouted over his shoulder, “He’s still alive! Get Legolas up and follow me!”
      Aaron gaped, then pulled away from Jamien. He scooped Legolas up and broke 
into a run. Others of the Dunedain had heard him scream and were coming towards them, 
but they stopped when they saw that he was well and that he was bearing one of their 
number in his arms. Or so they thought of Legolas, despite his slave-status. When he had 
come with news of Aragorn’s need, almost all of them had trusted him implicitly as they 
would a freeborn among them. 
      Nickeh plunged into Mordecai’s tent. Their resident healer- when Aragorn was 
gone, of course- lifted his eyes from his work with a mortar and pestle. When he saw 
Saru’s limp, half-frozen form, he snapped, “Bed now. Fill that pot with water from the 
stream. Blankets are in the corner. Someone call Malacai in here.” Then he saw Legolas 
and swore. “More water and-”
      “He’s an elf, and he just fell asleep,” Aaron shot back as he laid Legolas on one of 
the three low pallets. He grabbed up the pot.
      Jamien, after seeing Saru safely onto a second pallet, went to the corner and 
gathered blankets. He strode briskly to Legolas’ side and laid a blanket over him. He 
glanced at Mordecai as Aaron disappeared between the tent flaps.
      Outside, the wind whistled threateningly. ‘There’s going to be a storm,’ Jamien 
thought. ‘The sky was clear an hour ago, but there will be rain- maybe freezing rain or 
hail- by morning.’
      “Yes, put three blankets over him,” Mordecai answered in response to Jamien’s 
questioning look. “But remove his wet clothes first.”  Mordecai was heating large stones 
over the fire. “Where did you find him?” he quizzed without looking up from his work. 
His hands were flying among several jars as he made a warming tea.
      “Near the west edge of the camp. No clue why. He’s not injured. Why would he 
go and lay down on the half-frozen ground?”
      Mordecai sighed and clipped, “I don’t know.” He hoped that if he kept his 
answers as short as possible, Jamien would get the hint that his questions weren’t helpful. 
He finished the herb mixture and put it in the kettle over the fire to steep. Then he stood, 
put on his thick, leather gloves and removed a stone from the fire. It was good and hot. 
Mordecai wrapped it in a thin, insulating cloth, then placed it carefully between the 
blankets on Saru’s bed. As he returned for another stone, he ordered, “There are some of 
my clothes in that basket. Get some wool trousers and a thick tunic ready, but don’t put 
them on him yet.” As he slipped another stone between the blankets, he groused, “Where 
is Aaron? How long does it take to fill a pot?”
      “When you’re being interrogated, it takes too long,” Aaron retorted as he entered 
the tent, followed by a grim-faced Malacai.
      Mordecai snatched the pot from him, ordered, “Close that tent flap!” and began 
rubbing Saru’s white-blue tinged limbs with the nearly-frozen water. “Get me a towel to 
soak up the water,” he barked without looking up to see who would obey him.
      Aaron stepped back out of the way as Jamien hastened to catch up a towel. When 
he’d brought this to Mordecai, and was helping him, the tent fell deathly silent.
      Fearing he might be heard, but needing to know, Aaron hissed at Malacai, “Why 
didn’t he heat the water first?”
      “His limbs can’t handle hot, or even warm, water yet. Soon, but not yet,” Malacai 
answered in an emotionless voice. His eyes were focused on the tent’s central pole.
      Aaron, sensing Malacai’s precarious mental state, even if he didn’t understand 
what caused it, stepped away and slipped towards Legolas’ bedside. The elf’s eyes were 
still open and Aaron wondered if elves had any idea how disturbing this was to men. ‘For 
all his being raised among the Rangers, he’s still an elf.’ Aaron felt a pang of guilt and 
didn’t bother to question it. ‘It’s long past time you went back to your own people, 
Legolas.,’ he realised. He took Legolas’ hand, sank to his knees beside the pallet and 
simply concentrated on the face before him, frightening as it was. He didn’t dare think 
about Saru or risk looking at him. ‘He’ll die if I worry too much,’ he thought 
uncomprehendingly. ‘I’ll just wait.’
      The night passed very slowly. Saru’s breathing, barely audible at first, became 
raspy and strained as the moon made its journey across the sky. Aaron didn’t sleep, but 
continued to wait at Legolas’ bedside. Outside, the Rangers were readying themselves for 
the morning journey, despite the hard rain that had started to fall as the hour approached 
midnight. A little after the rain started, Annaleh came in with Kehydi and the two of them 
stood off to one side, watching silently. Aaron risked a look at Kehydi and saw that his 
face was almost as white as Saru’s. He stood very close to his mother, something he 
hadn’t done since he was two or three, and stared fixedly at Saru. Malacai didn’t seem to 
notice them. After a while, Kehydi moaned softly, grimaced as if in pain, and rushed 
from the tent. Only Aaron and Annaleh noted his flight. Annaleh followed her son.
***
      When Kehydi fled from the tent, Annaleh sighed inwardly. Ever since she’d 
found Kehydi pacing near the northern border of the camp, his hands crammed into his 
pockets, his collar up to block the wind’s icy fingers, he’d been sullen and tense. When 
Aaron had come to tell them (to tell Malacai, really) that Saru had been found, half-
frozen, Kehydi had made a noise so close to that of an orc that Annaleh had tightened her 
fingers around her sewing and stared at him. Her husband had stalked out of the tent.
      She had glanced at Kehydi then, and saw his face change from that look of 
petulant stubbornness to fear, and then to rage.
      He jumped up and started to pace as soon as Malacai was gone. Annaleh watched 
him cautiously, searchingly, wanting to know. Distantly, she thought, ‘I want peace to 
come back to the Dunedain… but it feels as if the true peace won’t return unless, and 
until, Aragorn does.’
      Her mind turned briefly to Aragorn, wondering, ‘Who could have hurt him so 
badly? What enemy is stealthy enough to escape his detection?’ Then her mind darted, a 
caged and restless bird, to what would happen that morning. ‘Malacai was going to take 
only a handful of Dunedain with him, I think, if I guess his mind right. He would have 
taken Saru, or Kehydi, if not both, and possibly Aaron. Now, if Saru lives-’ Her heart 
tightened at that thought and she groaned inwardly, ‘My little Saru. Please live. You are 
needed. I need you. Malacai needs you- whether he will cconfess it or not- and Kehydi 
needs you.’
      She turned her eyes to her son, thinking that she understood some of his anger, 
and certainly all of his fear. ‘He’s angry with himself- or the Valar- or just with Nature 
for letting Saru suffer this way.’ Studying Kehydi’s face more carefully, she added, ‘And 
maybe he’s a little mad at Saru, too, for getting himself in that position.’
      Demure silence was not in her nature, but watchfulness and listening was, so she 
simply sat, still as a statue, not drawing any attention to herself, hoping Kehydi would 
explode, and that his feelings and motivations would come pouring out. ‘He’s like 
Malacai in that way,’ she mused. ‘A controlled man on the outside and yet his passions 
run hot just under the skin.’ True, Malacai barely ever let his wild rages show, but they 
still flared out sometimes. ‘And much more often in these recent years,’ she admitted 
grimly.
      Kehydi threw up his hands and made that near-orc noise again. “Why does he 
have to be so weak? We just had a fight! Why does he have to run away and try to kill 
himself? Why is he so helpless? Does he expect me to run to him now and prostrate 
myself and beg his forgiveness?” He whirled, facing her, glaring through her. “Well, I 
won’t back down! He’s been fucking Halbarad and I want to know why he can’t just 
wait! If he’s so desperate for sex, why didn’t he just let me be his master and take him?” 
      He shook his head, groaning. “Saru never wanted me to submit to him. I only did 
it because he’s so beautiful when he’s above me and I love-”
      Snarling, he began to pace again. “If he’s not being taken… No! Halbarad has to 
be taking him, fucking him. He’s Saru’s enemy. He would never let Saru…” He wailed, 
his face twisting with effort, “But Saru wouldn’t submit to him! He’d run to me and beg 
for my protection, or he’d go to Father. I don’t understand any of this!” He sighed, 
blowing his breath out like an exhausted horse. “Saru must be serving him. He must need 
the sex so badly that he’ll do anything for it.” Turning to his mother, seeming to forget 
who she was, he asked, “Why couldn’t he wait for me? I was going to wait for him! And 
when he belonged to me, I was going to free him.” He nearly wept, “We were going to 
get married!” His anger began to build again. “Why couldn’t he just be faithful? I was 
faithful to him! Are all slaves so deceitful?” 
      Annaleh waited for his fury to ebb, hiding her own feelings. But she gathered the 
facts and sorted through them while she listened to her son’s raving. ‘He and Saru fought 
when I let Saru into the back of our tent. They quarreled over Saru serving- or being 
raped by- Halbarad. How does Kehydi know about it? Is it only a suspicion?’ She studied 
Kehydi’s tense shoulders- his back was to her- and reconsidered. ‘No. He’s sure. Saru 
must have told him, since he’s only been in our tent and on the northern border. He hasn’t 
been near Halbarad, in any case, I don’t think.’
      Trusting this instinct, she continued to compile her facts. ‘Saru has been distant 
lately. Since the night of the council, he has kept to himself much of the time, unless I 
require something of him. And there have been times- three of them, to be precise- when 
I looked for him and couldn’t find him within the camp. He never made a habit of 
venturing outside the camp boundaries before. Why would he venture where he’s 
unprotected?’ She remembered the order Aragorn had issued so long ago, as her husband 
had related it to her: “Halbarad is to keep his distance from Saru unless you, I or Aragorn 
orders otherwise.” ‘Saru was never disobedient. What has changed? Surely he wouldn’t 
seek Halbarad out. He was glad of the mercy and forgiveness Malacai showed him. He 
was ready and willing to obey Malacai’s command, since he would be rewarded for his 
compliance in time. I remember how happy he was to get a second chance with Kehydi.’
///Flashback///
      Saru squatted beside her in the slightly chilly air of the tent, his eyes sparkling. He 
hadn’t spoken since returning from the council, but Annaleh sensed his barely-restrained 
joy.
      “Will you be able to resist?” she asked softly, needing to test his resolve.
      “If I can really be with Master Kehydi someday, I’ll rival Master Malacai and 
Master Aragorn in patience,” Saru had answered, the corners of his mouth turning up 
ever so slightly as he fought not to grin outright.
      ‘He’s showing me how composed he will be,’ Annaleh thought approvingly.
      “Then you will surely marry Kehydi when the time is right,” she had answered.
      Saru blushed. “Thank you, Mistress.”
///End Flashback///
      Annaleh nodded to herself, satisfied with that train of logic. ‘Saru loves Kehydi. 
Or did, that night. He would never give himself to Halbarad willingly.’
      Kehydi was beginning to wind down, his pacing becoming less erratic and his 
gesticulations were becoming less violent moment by moment. At last, he put his back 
against the wall of the tent and really looked at his mother for the first time. “I’m done 
now,” he said, as though informing her that he’d finished his dinner and wanted to be 
excused. “What do you think?”
      And because she had just reached her own conclusions, Annaleh answered at 
once, “I know that, the night after the council, Saru loved you and he was willing to wait 
for you no matter what might befall.” She remembered something else and spoke it even 
as she filed it away under ‘further facts’. “Saru left the tent after helping me with supper 
and didn’t return until dawn. When he came back, his face was like stone. Much as it has 
been lately.”
      Kehydi shook his head. “Maybe he went to compose himself, thought better of it 
and-”
      “What did Aragorn tell you when you were ten?” Annaleh interrupted, her voice 
no louder than before.
      This was a famous quote, remembered by all the children of the Dunedain, 
whether they were slave or free. Aragorn spoke it to each class of young, striving 
Rangers when they were ten years old. The older class hid his words from the classes 
below them, so that each time Aragorn spoke the words, they were new and delightful to 
the students that heard them In this way, the words were remembered. For many of the 
young Rangers, it was the first time they heard Aragorn swear, mild curse though it was. 
Others of the Dunedain swore a blue streak, but not Aragorn. Never Aragorn. At least not 
in the hearing of the children.
      Kehydi repeated, his lisp quirking despite his confusion and worry, “Assume 
makes an ass out of ‘u’ and ‘me’.” He blinked, repeated it almost silently to himself, then 
looked at his mother again, his eyes filled with understanding. “I need to find out what’s 
really happening instead of just assuming that Saru… Well, anything about the situation.”
      Annaleh nodded. “Exactly.”
      Kehydi’s face changed again. “But how can I know? I’m not supposed to be near 
Saru. And if I talk to Halbarad, there’s no way he would be honest with me.”
      Annaleh considered that. “I suggest you talk to Legolas when he awakens. Ask 
Legolas what he thinks of Saru. Ask him how he thinks Saru has changed. If Legolas says 
Saru can be trusted, then trust him. Elves have a sense about such things, and Legolas 
was always extremely perceptive, even for one of his race.”
      Kehydi nodded. “I’ll do that. But, I’ll have to wait until morning.” He glanced 
around, as if casting for something to do.
      “Pack your father’s bag,” Annaleh suggested. “It will give you some good, 
needed practice, and also give you work to do.”
      Kehydi, accepting her wisdom, went off to fetch his father’s bag.
      And because she couldn’t do anything else until Malacai returned, Annaleh went 
back to her sewing and thought of other small tasks she could assign her son once he was 
done packing. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Thirty-Three 
      An hour before dawn, Aaron slipped into the tent where Annaleh and Kehydi still 
sat, waiting for the first morning light. Kehydi was sewing an old shirt of Malacai’s that 
had been torn months ago, one that the second in command hadn’t needed during the 
winter.
      Annaleh kept sewing. Now she created a long tunic for Saru; if he lived, it would 
be his first tunic that had been made just for him. It was a reserved blue, like the sky at 
the sunset-hour. ‘He’ll wear it, no matter what,’ Annaleh vowed grimly, willingly herself 
not to cry. ‘Even if he dies, he will be buried in it.’
      Aaron looked at once to Kehydi. “Your father wishes to see you,” he announced 
stiffly.
      Kehydi jumped up, forgetting the shirt at once; he sprinted from the tent.
      Aaron heaved a great sigh and came to sit on the ground at Annaleh’s feet. She 
was only four years older than he, but in the years since she had become Malacai’s wife, 
she had slipped easily into the role of Mother of the Dunedain. All trusted her and came 
to her when they were troubled.
      Annaleh gazed at him, letting the shirt pool in her lap. She saw the dark circles 
under his eyes and knew they only matched her own. His eyes were harder to read. They 
were murky and in-turned, but she sensed that he wasn’t entirely angry or confused. 
Maybe a mix of the two, she decided. When he spoke, she knew she had guessed right. 
      He didn’t look at her as he spoke. His voice had the quality of a recitation: a 
Ranger making his report. “Malacai is taking all of us. He says Aragorn may need a great 
army, and though we’re only two hundred, we could be of great use. I don’t know how he 
came by that knowledge. He was reluctant to take Saru- he’s awake, though barely able 
to move without help- but he’s holding to his plan. Legolas was awake when he 
announced his intentions and asked if such a large force was necessary.” A tiny smile 
flitted about his eyes, but was gone almost as soon as it was seen. “Malacai told him to be 
silent and mind his place. Legolas held his tongue after that, but I think he wasn’t 
intimidated at all. This is for certain: Aragorn has given him much freedom while they’ve 
been in the South.”
      He shifted a little, sighed again, and continued. It seemed he had finally reached 
the point he wanted to confide to her. “Kehydi may be in trouble. Saru, when he was 
coming out of the darkness of the cold-induced sleep, called, ‘Kehydi, Kehydi, I’m sorry! 
I’m sorry I had to serve him! Please, love, don’t leave me!’ In short, Saru has doomed 
himself.” Aaron groaned, unable to repress it. “He’s as good as dead.”
      Annaleh opened her mouth to ask a question, but then she subsided. She could see 
Aaron wasn’t done yet. She picked up the evening-blue shirt, holding her hope in her 
hands like a shield.
      “My only hope is that Malacai will reserve judgment until we reach Aragorn. If 
our chief’s still alive…” Aaron swallowed several times and tightened his hands into 
fists. “I’ll not think about that. Aragorn must live. We can’t survive without him.” He 
shivered. “Without him, our battle against the Shadow would become truly hopeless.”
      Jumping up, Aaron began to pace. He gesticulated violently. “Malacai will kill 
Saru unless he decides to wait on Aragorn’s decision. And if Aragorn’s dead…” He 
skidded to a stop and spun to face her. “I’ll free Saru myself if I have to. I won’t let 
anyone kill him. It’s wrong. I don’t care if he’s a slave or if-”
      Annaleh rose gracefully, calmly crossed to him, and caught him by the shoulders. 
He tried to pull away from her. She shook him fiercely. “Stop it! Be still! You can’t do 
anything right now except keep your mind. Be a true Ranger, and do that at least.”
      Slowly, Aaron’s eyes cleared. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, slightly ashamed.
      Nodding, she released him and returned to her sewing. “When are we leaving?”
      “By noon,” he answered formally, his hands behind his back. His reciting tone 
had returned.
      “Very well. When Malacai is finished speaking with Kehydi, send them both back 
to me. They both must sleep a few hours.”
      Aaron bowed and left.
      Annaleh watched him go, her heart touched by that simple bow. It was a simple, 
sincere thank-you. “You’re welcome, Dunadan,” she whispered.
***
      “Healer, heal thyself first.”
      So Malacai had ordered, trying to smile through his worry and confusion. 
Mordecai hadn’t moved; his eyes were fixed on Saru’s still form.
      “He’s woken once,” Malacai murmured at his elbow, trying to be optimistic. 
“Have a little faith.”
      “He’s still too cold,” his brother had argued.
      “I’ll stay with him. But you need your sleep. You’ll be no help to him if you’re 
fainting.”
      Mordecai scowled. “I haven’t fainted since I was five or six years old!”
      “Easy,” consoled Malacai. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Just please go get some 
rest. I’ll let you know if his breathing becomes labored.”
      Powerless to argue further, Mordecai had sighed and risen to leave the tent. He 
called over his shoulder, “Dawn will be here in three hours. I’ll see you an hour after the 
sun rises.”
      Malacai nodded. “So be it. Make sure you actually sleep, Mordecai.”
      Four hours later, Mordecai returned. He hadn’t gotten much sleep. Malacai’s 
decision to uproot all two hundred of the Dunedain had plagued and tormented him, 
barely allowing him to close his eyes. When he slipped between the tent flaps, he glanced 
around.
      Legolas had moved into Saru’s bed and both were asleep. Legolas had drawn Saru 
close so that the other slave’s head rested on his shoulder. This arrangement looked a 
little awkward- Legolas was shorter than Saru- but the two seemed comfortable enough. 
Mordecai was heartened to see that a tiny bit of color had returned to Saru’s cheeks. ‘He 
may yet survive.’
      Jamien was gone. Evidently, Malacai had spelled him at the watch as well. ‘You 
told us to sleep, but you haven’t slept,’ Mordecai thought. He looked to his brother, and 
saw that Malacai was leaning against the side of the tent, his knees drawn up and his eyes 
distant. He seemingly hadn’t heard Mordecai enter the tent. ‘That proves that you need 
sleep, too,’ Mordecai thought. ‘And I’m here to see that you get it… after you rethink a 
few things, of course.’
      He crept to Saru’s bedside, brushed the slave’s face lightly with his fingertips- he 
was warmer, though still not quite as he should be- and turned to Malacai. His brother 
still hadn’t moved.
      ‘Command is a lonely station in life,’ Mordecai told himself, sighing inwardly. 
‘No wonder Aragorn was so reluctant to leave us.’ He crouched at Malacai’s side and 
tapped him on the shoulder.
      Malacai’s eyes cleared and he looked up. It looked as though he had aged forty 
years in the past four hours. Mordecai sat down beside him and hugged him. “I’m here,” 
he said, knowing his brother needed that invitation to talk. ‘He always talks too little, 
laughs too little,’ their father often said.
      Malacai leaned into the embrace and didn’t speak for a long while. Mordecai only 
prayed the other Dunedain would stay out of the tent until Malacai could explain all that 
troubled him. They might not get this chance to be alone again.
      “I almost wish for Saru’s death,” Malacai confided. “He has committed a 
transgression against the Dunedain and against me. Not only does he lie, but he sought 
out my son, breaking his word. He is a slave. These transgressions are grounds for death, 
or at least for banishment.”
      Mordecai had been present when Saru spoke his condemning words; he waited for 
Malacai to release all that he knew and felt. ‘Then I will have my chance,’ Mordecai 
vowed. ‘For now, I must simply wait. Maybe he will discover the truth for himself.’
      “He couldn’t have been Halbarad’s whore. That’s what Kehydi told me after you 
left. I sent for him, wanting the whole truth. He didn’t back down, but told me that Saru 
had come to see him- that he had wanted Saru to see him- and that he and Saru had 
fought. Saru claims he has been serving Halbarad- unwillingly, but still serving him. If 
Saru speaks the truth, which I know he does not, he would have to give a good excuse for 
serving Halbarad when he could have simply come to me for protection. Either he 
enjoyed it or…” He shook his head. “I know not what, Mordecai. All I can think is: he 
must have enjoyed it.”
      Laughing bitterly, he muttered, “I suppose I believe it. Saru must be telling the 
truth. Why would he incriminate Halbarad? He must realise it’s Halbarad’s word against 
his. And even though he has never lied to me, even though he has ever been faithful, I am 
bound to believe Halbarad because he is freeborn.” He snorted; it was a dead sound with 
only coldness at its heart. “Even though Halbarad has been caught at deception before, it 
was long ago.”
      He closed his eyes. “Saru only saw Kehydi yesterday. I’m glad he betrayed 
himself so soon. It would have been harder to accept if it had all happened months ago. 
Kehydi vowed that he and Saru only saw each other that once and maybe I can believe 
that. But I must try and persuade Saru to tell me everything that has happened.”
      He took a deep breath. “Only this is for certain: Saru will never belong to Kehydi. 
Not now. And I don’t want him near, distracting Kehydi from his duty. Why did I ever 
say they could be together? Kehydi has a duty to bring forth an heir. There must always 
be a second to serve Aragorn. And you’re not married, so there’s no hope there. I may 
give him to Halbarad- Saru, I mean- but maybe not. Annaleh would never forgive me. 
Could I persuade you to take him? If I don’t decide to kill him, that is.”
      He didn’t really expect an answer. Mordecai knew this and kept his silence, 
though it was growing harder with each passing moment. His anger was growing, but he 
had much experience with holding himself in. He concentrated on his breathing, keeping 
it steady and calm.
      Malacai pulled away and studied his brother’s face for the first time. “Has it been 
four hours already?”
      Mordecai nodded.
      “Time passes too quickly for me right now,” Malacai complained. “I wanted some 
time to think. Now that time is up and I’m no closer to finding a solution.” He made as if 
to stand.
      “I can offer you a few suggestions.” Mordecai caught his arm. “Sit down and 
listen to me as I’ve listened to you.” When Malacai was settled again at his side, 
Mordecai began. “First, I don’t want to talk about Saru or Kehydi yet. There’s a bigger 
problem, brother.”
      Horror and worry crawled over Malacai’s face, adding to the perception of years 
piled too soon on his shoulders. “And that it?”
      “We can’t leave the Shire unprotected. The hobbits need us. And even if we had 
nothing to protect, two hundred Rangers making their way across Middle-Earth would 
surely draw the attention of the Enemy. Only a handful should go. Now, if you want my 
opinion-”
      Malacai nodded, almost eagerly.
	“I say, you, Malacai, must go. Take Legolas with you, of course. Take Kehydi, 
too. And one or two other Rangers. Not Saru. He must regain his strength. You’ll make 
much better time and you’ll come to Lothlorien in two or three weeks if you ride hard 
and long.” He watched his brother’s expression as he talked. Malacai seemed to need the 
guidance so desperately that Mordecai’s heart ached for his older brother. “As for Saru’s 
fate, bring it to Aragorn. Let him decide. Let Kehydi make his case. When you return, let 
Saru make his case. And you make yours. Aragorn will surely know what to do.” He 
clasped Malacai’s shoulder. “Brother, you don’t have to bear this burden alone. Our chief 
is out there, only waiting for us. Be willing to wait for him.” 
      Malacai nodded and his face had lost some of the years the night had carved into 
it. “Father was right,” he said at length. “You always did know when to step back and let 
someone else take the reins. It’s one of the things I always admired about you.”  He 
clasped Mordecai’s shoulder. Now they faced each other squarely. “Thank you, 
Mordecai. And I already know who I will take. You will abide here, as acting Chief. 
Aaron will be your second, Annaleh, your advisor.” He stood, joints popping. He 
stretched. “Now, I must tell everyone that only a handful will be going with me.”
      Mordecai rose as well. “As soon as you tell them, get some sleep. Surely Annaleh 
has prepared your bags.”
      Malacai smiled ruefully. “Actually, Kehydi did that. He needed something to do 
last night.”
      Mordecai nodded. “Who will you take with you?”
      “Legolas, obviously. I think you’re right: I should take Kehydi. And I’ll take 
Halbarad so that he can give his side of things to Aragorn. That should be all I need.”
      Mordecai considered for a moment. “Shouldn’t you take one more Ranger?”
      “I have three experienced fighters in this party. That’s more than enough. And 
Kehydi, though he’s never hunted more than a few orcs, is more than proficient. All will 
be well.” He strode purposely from the tent.
      ‘How do you know Legolas is skilled?’ Mordecai wondered. Then he chuckled 
dryly at his own foolishness. ‘He had Aragorn as a teacher; how could he not be?’
Chapter Thirty-Four
       ‘I’ve been found out.’ The thought wasn’t disturbing; Halbarad knew he could 
talk his way out of almost anything. It was a gift.
      ‘Still, Aragorn has a weakness for that whore. He might even consider it his duty 
to investigate the matter thoroughly.’ He groaned. ‘What can I do?’
      The easy answer was: make sure Saru was dead so it wouldn’t matter what had 
happened to him. But that wasn’t an option. They were six days out of camp, and he’d be 
suspect if he claimed he needed to go back. ‘Besides, what excuse could I make? No. I 
must find another way to assure my safety.’
      Hoping for an idea, he scanned the other Rangers and the slave that rode ahead of 
him. He’d been assigned rear-guard for the day and was grateful for the place. He could 
watch the others without troubling to guard his own expression. Just in front of him, 
Kehydi rode, his back straight and his hair, having come loose of the leather tie he’d 
tamed it with, blowing free. Halbarad felt an instant of lust, but pushed it away quickly. 
‘That way lies death,’ he grumbled silently.
      His eyes went to Malacai and flicked away at once. That was impossible.
      He examined Legolas’ back, and a smile touched his lips. Yes. Legolas was 
Aragorn’s weakness. ‘If I hurt him, threatened him… I could convince Aragorn to give 
me anything I want. I could take Saru… I don’t need the Dunedain… I’d take him to 
Bree. He would make a perfect whore, one that could be passed easily around the 
village… for a price. But I could have the real pleasure of him. And if I decided to keep 
him for myself, I could capture another young man just as beautiful as he to hand around 
to the village-men.’
      Smiling, leering and snickering by turns, Halbarad followed the others all that day 
and halfway through the night. When they stopped for the night, Kehydi took the first 
watch. But Halbarad stayed awake, waiting. He knew his watch was next.
      Kehydi came, yawning, to ‘wake’ him what felt like an eternity later. Halbarad 
made a show of stretching, then he took Kehydi’s place. He waited an hour, to make sure 
all were asleep. Then he moved.
      Stealthily, he slithered to where Legolas lay, deep in reverie. Halbarad dropped 
onto his haunches beside the sleeping form, took a bit of rope, and started to bind 
Legolas’ hands.
      The elf’s eyes focused.
      Halbarad froze. ‘How do I explain myself?’ He cursed his stupidity. This was no 
Saru, to be culled with threats of torture. Legolas was a warrior. Aragorn had made him 
so. All spoke of this as absolute truth, and Halbarad believed it when he looked into 
Legolas’ cold, cold gaze.
***
      Legolas had been dreaming of Aragorn. The man stood on a high tower and gazed 
East, his face troubled but his heart sure. A silver crown rested on his head, but he still 
wore his Ranger-clothes, as though, despite the finery, he couldn’t bare to give up what 
he was.
      When he sensed someone near him, the dream vanished and he had exchanged the 
picture of Aragorn for a picture of Halbarad. ‘Not a pleasant change,’ Legolas thought 
even as he schooled his features into an emotionless expression, wanting to hide his fear 
from his enemy. ‘Sauron will have an easy time,’ he remembered thinking later, ‘if even 
a handful of the Dunedain are like this man. Treachery will come from within.’
      Halbarad stared at him, startled.
      Legolas could have seized his chance to roll away… ‘but I think I’m supposed to 
do something else,’ he realised, and it was Aragorn he was thinking of.
      So instead of rolling away and striking a defensive posture, Legolas asked calmly, 
in soft Elvish (‘why Elvish? I don’t know; it just feels right’): “What is it, Halbarad?” 
Not calling the man ‘Master’ was dangerous, but the casual tone he’d used was suicidal. 
Legolas waited for the first blow, wondering if it might have been better to simply roll 
away, no matter what his heart urged.
      Halbarad’s jaw fell open and still he did not speak or attack.
      Legolas’ tongue spoke seemingly of its own accord. “There is still time to save 
yourself from the Shadow.” He sensed, dimly, that he was speaking someone else’s 
words, but he didn’t care. “Please come back to the Dunedain. I don’t want to lose you, 
my Dunadan. Please rethink this.” Against his better judgment, though Legolas felt as if 
he wasn’t really controlling his hand any more than he was controlling his voice, he 
reached up and touched Halbarad’s shoulder, then his cheek and finally his forehead. 
“Dunadan, I need you to help me fight the Shadow,” murmured Legolas’ voice while his 
hand performed the ancient pledge of faithfulness. “Come back to me. I fear to lose a 
single Dunadan. Do not leave your people. We all need you.”
      Halbarad croaked, “You don’t need me. I’ve been little more than a ghost since 
that day you caught me with Saru.” His eyes were distant and his hands trembled.
      The elf’s hand touched Halbarad’s chest, over his heart. “I swear to help you, to 
come after you when you fall, to call for help when I need it, and to accept a dressing-
down if I abuse my power.” Silence rushed in after he’d stopped speaking and it wrapped 
itself around the two like a warm, yet slightly suffocating, blanket.
      Halbarad broke the silence first, but not with speech. He shifted so that he was 
kneeling in front of Legolas, made a small bow and whispered, “I beg your forgiveness, 
Legolas. I will not approach you again.” For the first time since Legolas had begun to 
speak in that other voice, Halbarad’s eyes cleared and he seemed to know who he was 
looking at.
      “I accept your apology, Master,” Legolas answered humbly.
      Halbarad nodded, stood, and returned to his watch. He walked a little stiffly, and 
when he reached his place at the edge of the campsite, he stood ramrod straight, his feet 
shoulder-width apart, his hands grasped behind his back. It was, in short, the perfect 
stance for readiness and, at the same time, a silent vow to follow all orders given.
      Legolas didn’t notice this, and he might not have understood if he knew. As soon 
as Halbarad started to walk away, Legolas felt himself slipping down into reverie and he 
didn’t bother to fight it. He sensed this would have availed him nothing. But he also 
hoped, in a tiny corner of his mind, that he might understand more in his dreams.
      He dreamed again of Aragorn. Still, the man stood on the tower and looked East. 
His crown had disappeared and in its place was the hood of his Ranger-cloak. Legolas 
was able to approach him this time. When he was near enough, he reached out and 
touched Aragorn’s arm to get his attention.
      When Aragorn glanced at him, Legolas saw how troubled he truly was. The 
darkness had come inside him; it was no longer something he studied and worried about 
from a distance. “I am failing, Legolas,” Aragorn whispered. “I feel it. The light of the 
Evenstar cannot protect me, because it is really just the light being swallowed by 
darkness. It is but twilight.” Then he smiled sadly. “At least one of my Dunedain has 
been given a chance to start over.” He drew Legolas close and held him as he had so 
many times before. He rumbled, his arms tightening around Legolas compulsively, 
“Thank you for being open to my mind. Thank you for speaking to him for me.” He held 
Legolas at arm’s length. “I probably won’t remember this conversation, and I surely 
won’t remember pleading with Halbarad. I’m asleep right now. I may have even 
stretched too far. In any case, I’ll be exhausted for a few days and there’s only the 
slightest possibility that I’ll have a memory of this. Keep it in your heart until the right 
time. You’ll know when that is.” He kissed Legolas’ forehead. “Thank you, Dunadan. I 
will always be in your debt.”
      Legolas tried to move so that their lips could meet, but Aragorn was starting to 
fade.
      “I’ve already been here too long,” he said, smiling gently. “I’ll see you soon, 
Legolas. Be patient with the journey. It will be over soon.”   
Chapter Thirty-Five 
      When he stood, keeping watch that night, Halbarad knew he must repent and 
follow Aragorn. He must renounce the Shadow.
      After he’d slept a little (Malacai had taken his place on the watch), all he was sure 
of was that he was hard and needy. Groaning, he rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. 
But his eyes fell on Kehydi again and his erection pulsed.
      ‘I can’t have him. He’s a Dunadan.’
      ‘But you could,’ whispered a smooth, syrupy voice. ‘Being a Dunadan doesn’t 
make him anything special. All men, women and children are available to you, if you 
have the strength to take them.’
      Halbarad licked his lips. ‘I could have Kehydi… Malacai… Aragorn? Even 
Aragorn?’
      ‘Even him. But who do you really want? Who have you always wanted?’
      He knew the answer at once. He’d wanted him from the moment he’d seen him… 
‘Legolas. I want Legolas.’
      ‘Then take him.’
      Halbarad moved.
***
      Malacai heard a scrabble of stones behind him. His reflexes, quicker than a cat’s, 
saved his life. The heavy, double-handed blow struck him on the back of the neck with 
enough force to snap his spine. Because he was already in motion, however, the blow 
struck to the left of its target and Malacai received only a numbing, blinding sensation. 
He crumpled towards the earth. Before he could hit, calloused hands caught him and 
lowered him to the ground.
      ‘Not to protect me, but to keep me from making noise.’ Malacai struggled to 
speak, to whistle a warning. There were too many shadows in the world, even for this late 
hour. Hadn’t there been a half-moon and a million stars? Where was their light?
      The calloused hands let him go, and Malacai felt the hard rocks under him, but the 
sensation came to him as from a great distance. Likewise, the sound of someone walking 
away reached him in the same way.
      ‘Kehydi! Legolas! Wake up!’ He puckered his lips to whistle. His mouth felt 
stupid and weak. ‘Please, please, let me call to them before-’
      He heard a snuffling grunt an instant before his lips condescended to help him.
      “Fwoooit! Fwoooit!”
      Running feet. Coming towards him. Malacai tried to flinch away. The boot 
connected with the side of his head and he knew no more for a long time.
***
      Legolas was up and moving even before he realised he’d heard the warning. He 
scuttled backwards away from the fire, his eyes fixed on the looming shadow nearby. As 
he leapt to his feet, he drew his knives and stood ready.
      The shadow turned away and the whistle stopped abruptly.
      Legolas blinked once and the shadow solidified into Halbarad’s broad, tall frame. 
The elf raised the knives and waited as Halbarad turned back towards him. ‘Whatever 
happened to dissuade him before won’t happen again,’ Legolas knew. He did not fear 
death. He only feared that he wouldn’t see Aragorn again.
      Halbarad lunged. He wielded no weapon, but still Legolas retreated from that first 
attack, his heart pounding. ‘He’s mad,’ passed through the elf’s mind.
      The man’s foot shot forward at the height of Legolas’ waist and the elf backed 
away from him again on ever-shifting feet. ‘Use the knives!’ a part of his mind screamed. 
‘Use the knives! He’s unarmed! Use the knives and be done with it!’
      Legolas didn’t drop the knives, but neither did he attack or defend with them. ‘I 
cannot hurt him. It’s what He would want. The Dark Lord. He wants Ranger against 
Ranger.’
      ‘You’re no Ranger!’ the other part of his mind shrilled as Halbarad leapt again, 
licking his lips and laughing.
      “Come lay with me! I command it!” the crazed man roared and he kicked out 
again. Crazed or not, he saw the knives in Legolas’ hands, and didn’t yet realise that 
Legolas wasn’t using them to attack. “You must do as I say!”
      ‘Aragorn wouldn’t kill him,’ Legolas thought, strangely sure of this fact. ‘He 
would pity him. And I do pity Halbarad. I don’t think I’ll ever trust or like him, but at 
least I’m not afraid of him anymore.’
      ‘You’re still no Ranger,” the voice argued truculently.
      ‘I will be soon,’ Legolas countered as he circled and retreated endlessly. ‘Aragorn 
promised.’
      Legolas saw a stir of movement off to his right and realised that he was close to 
where Malacai lay. He circled to the left, hoping to get Halbarad to turn his back on the 
second-in-command. ‘Hopefully, Malacai is close to having the strength to take 
advantage of the target I’m giving him. How hard did Halbarad hit him?’ 
      Halbarad lunged again.
      Malacai rose, silent as ever, though he touched the side of his neck gingerly and 
winced.
      Halbarad cooed, “Come to me, Pretty One. I won’t hurt you.” He leered. “I pro-”
      Malacai’s fist connected with the side of his head. As the man reeled, Malacai 
dealt him another stunning blow. The younger Ranger fell to his knees and groaned. 
Grimacing in distaste, Malacai struck him once more, then caught him as he fell sideways 
He eased Halbarad to the earth.
      He glanced up at Legolas, and he smiled wryly, though the expression didn’t 
reach his eyes. “We need Strider,” he announced.
***
      “My lord?”
      “What?” he snapped.
      “What did you learn from the man of Gondor?”
      The Master answered tersely, his tones clipped, “He is not a man of Gondor. He is 
a traveler. Possibly even a Dunedain.”
      To comfort his own tingling nerves, he thought, ‘But not the Heir of Isildur. All 
those passed from the earth in the last hundred years. At least I need not be concerned 
with that.’
      “He may be a would-be king,” he went on to his most terrible servant. “But he is 
not the Heir of Isildur.”
      “Do you need to be concerned with him?’
      “Yes. Even if he cannot reclaim the crown of Gondor, he may cause an uprising. 
And even though men are weak, I would rather deal with him now, before my great plans 
are set in motion.”
      The shrouded figure bowed. “And what would you have of me, Lord? Shall I seek 
out this man?”
      “No. He is sheltered within Lothlorien. You and yours are not ready to face all the 
elves of that kingdom, diminished though it may be. Ride to Imladris. His family dwells 
there. Elrond Half-Elven had lost his power. There are none left to challenge you. Ride 
down his gates and kill all within.”
      The Witch-King of Agmar bowed. “Yes, Lord.”
      Sauron watched him away, then turned his Eye to the world just outside his gates. 
He watched the gathering of orcs in his lands, and gloried in their number and fierceness.
***
      Aragorn stood on the flet, gazing east. He knew he could know nothing of the 
Enemy’s movements from here, but still, his eyes roamed. He longed to be away from the 
Golden Wood. Joyous as it was, he sensed that he was resting here on borrowed time. 
And all debts would have to be repaid. ‘Please, I don’t want to repay in blood. If I must, 
I’ll pay with my blood, but…’ He sighed. “Please, not the blood of my Dunedain. Or of 
the elves.” Shaking his head at his own folly, Aragorn shielded his eyes and peered still 
further.
      “Aragorn?”
      He stiffened. Even if everyone here was a friend, he hated being startled. But it 
was the Lady of the Wood who had called him. His respect and awe of her was enough to 
smother his anger. When he turned, he was smiling. ‘Though, of course, she knows how I 
was feeling only an instant ago.’
      “Come down. I would speak with you.”
      Aragorn swung down from the flet, landing lightly before her.
      She smiled. “Your strength returns.”
      “Yes, my Lady. I am almost healed.”
      Her smile was sorrowful. “Yes, Aragorn. You are almost healed. But you will 
never heal completely. A heavy darkness has been laid upon your shoulders and you will 
never be clear of it.” She watched his stony face, assessing him effortlessly, deducing 
how much of the truth he could take at the moment. “Or, if you would be free of it, it will 
not leave you until the Dark Lord has been destroyed.”
      Aragorn’s face still betrayed none of the anxiety he felt. Galadriel judged him 
strong enough to take a little more truth.
      “When you lay, between death and life, a darkness conquered your heart. It was 
only for a brief moment, but you will never have that innocence again. Your thoughts, 
your actions, your very spirit have all been contaminated by the Dark Lord’s mind.”
      She felt a deep resistance in Aragorn and invited, “Tell me what you would do to 
counter this darkness.”
      “I have my Dunedain,” Aragorn answered instantly. “I will be cautious now, as I 
have been before this, but my Dunedain will be there for me.”
      “You have your love, as well,” she answered.
      Aragorn shook his head. “I will not darken Lady Arwen’s eyes with the curse the 
Dark Lord left in me.”
      “But it is well to hurt your Dunedain with it?”
      “They would want to help me irregardless of what I want,” Aragorn responded. 
His face was still closed, but Galadriel sensed his calm surety. “Lady Arwen will be safe 
here until- if- I become king. But my Dunedain will be with me in the wilderness and I 
cannot hide from them.”
      “For a little while, they will be with you, it’s true. But soon, as elves reckon time, 
you will have to wander alone. No one will be able to go with you.” She smiled sadly. 
“Soon, son of Arathorn, you will be more fully Strider, a lone Ranger walking the paths 
of this world in lonely isolation. And no one will sing of your deeds in the dark, silent 
years. It is that time you must prepare for. Your Dunedain will not be with you and you 
must stand on your own.”
      Aragorn thought briefly of Malacai, who had straightened him out so many times. 
And then he thought of Legolas, who had been with him through all the hard, lonely 
years in Gondor.
      “To be the Heir of Isildur in these last days is to be alone,” Galadriel confided 
gently. “You must accept that fate or give yourself wholly over to the darkness.”
      Aragorn almost argued that he could stay with his Rangers, that there was a third 
choice. But before he could speak, he saw what she had already known: if he didn’t 
become a man in his own right, without his people to bolster him, he could never stand 
against the darkness and, sooner or later, he would grasp at a chance of safety for his 
people, miss, and fall, screaming, burnt alive, into the fiery blackness that was Mordor.
      Once he saw this, his mind cleared a little. Now he understood why he longed to 
be away. “Maybe I should go, then, before my Dunedain reach this place.”
      Galadriel’s morose smile made Aragorn’s heart ache. “Estel, you have ever been 
impetuous. This one time, wait and see what your people bring you. I said you would 
leave them soon, and so you shall. But that time is not yet. They need healing first. Help 
them, Aragorn. When you are fifty, or close to that age, you will leave the Dunedain, 
never to dwell in their camp again. But until then, you have time. You are forty-three?”
      “Yes,” he answered, surprised, in spite of all he had learned of her, that she 
should know it.
      “Then make use of the next seven years. They will go by very quickly, I promise 
you. And do not hasten to start on your lonely road, for once you leave the Dunedain, you 
will have left them behind for a long time. Perhaps forever.”
      Aragorn’s heart cried out at that, but he managed to keep his mouth from 
releasing the sorrowful noise. Instead, he bowed to the Lady of the Golden Wood. “I 
won’t hasten to leave them,” he promised.
      She nodded. “It is well, then. You are strong, Aragorn, and there is still hope. 
Cling to it, for it is your birthright.” Without another word, she turned and drifted away 
across the grass.
      Aragorn watched after her. ‘To never see my Dunedain again… to never see 
Legolas…’ He shook his head. ‘Well, that time is not now. All I have to do now is ready 
myself for the return to my Dunedain. I will fix whatever is wrong among them, and 
when it is time to move on, I will know it.’
      But for all his cold thoughts, Aragorn felt the wetness of tears on his cheeks.
Chapter Thirty-Six
      Legolas saw the distant, green shimmer of Lothlorien’s border, and his heart 
leapt. ‘We’re nearly there,’ he thought. ‘We’ll reach the border long before dusk.’ He 
glanced back at Kehydi, Malacai and Halbarad and added, ‘And not a moment too soon.’
      Halbarad’s hands were bound before him as he sat astride his horse. The reins 
were linked to Malacai’s horse by a length of sturdy rope and Malacai rode with one hand 
resting lightly on his sword-hilt. Such had been the traveling posture of the two men since 
the night Halbarad attacked his three companions. At first, he had protested loudly, but 
when Malacai showed no sign of either reconsidering his position or relaxing his 
watchful gaze, Halbarad fell into a sullen, almost pouting silence.
      Kehydi rode with his blank, not-quite-there expression. He had worn this look 
since they left the Dunedain camp and had only lost it for a few minutes after discovering 
who had attacked him while he slept. Then it returned, as it were, with a vengeance. He 
could scarcely be roused for conversation. He answered with grunts, shrugs and an 
occasional nod. Malacai had left him alone and Legolas did the same, though he longed 
to know what had happened between Kehydi and Saru. He feared for Saru (surely he 
wouldn’t be forgiven another sin) and longed to find a loophole by which to save him. 
Because Kehydi wouldn’t speak to him, Legolas had been forced to place all his hope in 
Aragorn. But he remembered Lady Galadriel’s words about the darkness that had invaded 
Aragorn. Would that darkness make him more like Halbarad? Would it only serve to tear 
the Dunedain apart instead of bringing them back together?
      ‘We’ll be in Lothlorien soon,’ Legolas consoled himself. ‘Soon, Aragorn will set 
all to right. And I won’t consider any other possibility.’
***
      As the sun left the rooftop of the sky, the small party entered the borders. Legolas 
ignored the beauty around him, his mind on only Aragorn. His pulse raced as he longed 
to be held by the man again. But, focused as his thoughts had become, he still glanced up 
when he heard the faint rustling of the leaves above him. There was scarcely a breeze to 
stir them, so-
      Aragorn leapt from the high branch, landing before him. The horses didn’t shy; 
they were Dunedain-bred and knew about the noises of the forest. Kendall, instead of 
showing fear, cantered forward, pulling up just short of Aragorn, who stood, hands on 
hips, smiling at the new arrivals. The stallion nuzzled him, whoofing happily against 
Aragorn’s shoulder.
      The chief reached up and stroked the stallion’s brow-ridges. “Roheryn has missed 
you,” he murmured into the stallion’s velvet-ear.
      Legolas was finally able to overcome his shock and move. Yes, he had hoped to 
find Aragorn alive, but to meet him, on the road and so well-recovered-! It was more than 
he’d dared to even dream. He swung off the saddle and fairly bounced to Aragorn’s side.
      Aragorn turned towards him and lifted his elf off the ground, spinning him 
around. “You are a wonder, Legolas,” he murmured, repeating long-ago praise. “You 
have made a difficult ride…” He hugged Legolas close as he set him on his feet “and still 
you have energy to greet me.” He drew Legolas even closer, his arms tightening around 
the elf’s waist protectively. “Aii, my Legolas. My Dunadan. You are amazing to me.”
      Legolas, grinning until his face hurt, nevertheless made himself pull away. He felt 
a little crack open inside him, as if to warn him, ‘You have given your heart to this man.’ 
Still, he stepped back so that Malacai could come to his chief.
      Malacai made as if to kneel at Aragorn’s feet, to hand back leadership of the 
Dunedain, Legolas assumed, but Aragorn shook his head and held open his arms instead. 
Crying a little, Malacai let himself be embraced.
      "Aii, my Dunadan," Aragorn murmured as he rubbed Malacai's back. "My brave 
second."
      "We're really needed you," Malacai confided, sounding too young. "There have 
been only problems since you left. Are you coming home now?" He pulled back and met 
Aragorn's eyes.
      Legolas had been inclined to stare at the change which had come over the usually 
dour Ranger, but the grief in Malacai's voice made him push his shock aside, to be 
replaced with pity. 'It was nearly impossible for them. And neither Malacai, nor Kehydi, 
nor any other, will be able to express that difficulty in words. Hopefully Aragorn, 
completely healed or not, can still see what they need and he can help.'
      As if reading Legolas' thoughts, Aragorn glanced over Malacai's shoulder, raised 
an eyebrow at seeing Halbarad bound, and drew a breath. "Malacai, you will tell me 
everything and we'll find a way through this. But first, my friend, please explain 
Halbarad's fettering."
       Malacai steeled himself. (Legolas could see the tension in his shoulders.) "I'll tell 
you, but can we get off the road? This is a private matter, for the Dunedain only."
      Aragorn nodded. "So be it." He made as if to turn away, then looked back and 
saw Kehydi. The young man was still lost in his thoughts, despite the fact that Aragorn 
might be the only one able to help him. Aragorn regarded him for a moment. He nodded 
to himself as if he understood something very important, then spun and strode briskly 
down the path. Wordlessly, the others traipsed after.
***
      Aragorn studied Halbarad shrewdly. "Please tell me the truth," he invited, 
knowing that if he commanded this man he would surely lose him to Sauron's cause. 
      Halbarad spat at him. "And be killed for it? How stupid do you think I am?"
      "If you were stupid, I wouldn't bother discussing anything with you," Aragorn 
answered serenely.
      'I need him. I can't afford to lose any of my Rangers. Not a single one. And 
besides… Halbarad was so different before… When I first came to the Dunedain, he was 
eager, swift to learn, mischievous, yes, but not in a bad way. I want that Halbarad, the 
fourteen-year old Halbarad, back. And I'll be dipped in shit if I'm going to relinquish him 
without a fight.'
      "You can shove your compliments, Strider," Halbarad snapped. "I don't need 
them."
      'Because you think to serve a higher power: yourself? I have news for you, 
Dunadan: two powers dwell in this world. One is led by Sauron and will only lead to self-
deception and self-destruction. The other power has many leaders. Saruman the White, 
Gandalf the Grey, Lord Ecthelion, Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel… and me, much as I 
hesitate to acknowledge that responsibility.' But Aragorn knew Halbarad wasn't ready for 
that sort of talk just yet.
      "Will you tell me what you want, Halbarad?"
      "You would never give it to me," Halbarad whipped back. Then he froze for an 
instant, his face announcing that he hadn't meant to confess his true thoughts. He tried to 
cover his blunder up. "I can get what I want."
      "What do you want?" Aragorn persisted patiently.
      Halbarad sneered. "Why? Do you think to protect my whores?" A sly glint 
entered his eyes. "Or maybe you want to get a few ideas. Is that it?" He leaned forward 
confidentially. His hands had been unbound and he clasped them together in his 
excitement. "I want Legolas, so leave him to me. You've had him all this time. Is he still a 
virgin?" He snickered ghoulishly. "I want Saru, but only because he's mine by right. I was 
the one to first claim him when he was bought. And I have raped him for two years or 
more. He belongs to me."
      Aragorn didn't argue, only waited. 'How long has he been influenced by the 
Shadow? Has he been wandering in the darkness since he raped Saru? No. Surely it was 
long before that. Why didn't I notice it earlier?' Instead of feeling guilty, Aragorn felt 
angry with himself and pity towards his Ranger. 'I must rescue him.'
      "Do you think my aspirations end with my prick?" Halbarad went on, nearly 
raving. "I want to claim lordship over the Dunedain. I want to leave the hobbits to die and 
serve my own ends." He shrugged. "One of my ends is fucking, as you've surely guessed, 
but it isn't the only one. Just the most immediate and most attainable."
      'He slipped again,' Aragorn thought, all the while keeping his face impassive. 'In 
his secret heart, he knows that all these wants are selfish, self-deceiving madness.'
      "I'd have Malacai if I could," Halbarad continued, blundering further. "Or Kehydi. 
Or Aaron." Again, that shrug showed an attempt at nonchalance. "Someday, I'll even 
have you, Strider. I won't have to be Chief to control the Dunedain. I could control it 
through you." A grin lit his face like the light from a sick and dying moon. "Imagine! 
Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Heir of Isildur, King of the White Shitty!" He laughed shrilly. 
"Think of that man under my control! Think of him begging at my feet like a cur! Just 
imagine what I could do with all that power!"
      He paused for breath and looked at Aragorn for the first time in several minutes. 
What he saw made his grin first falter, then fall away entirely. Aragorn's face was a stone 
without etchings. He showed none of what he felt (mostly shock and sorrow) and this 
frightened the younger Ranger more than he cared to admit.
      "You don't believe me," he began again, trying to regain his old drive and 
thunder. "You think I can't do all this!" He jabbed an accusing finger at Aragorn.
      "What I think isn't important." Aragorn asked coolly, "Is it?"
      "No! No, of course not. It was just a… a rhetorical question. Of course what you 
think or say or do doesn't matter. All that matters is my destiny. You have a great destiny, 
Strider? Well, mine's greater! You were just born to yours! I'll snatch mine from the jaws 
of passing centuries and customs and laws! I might even become king of Gondor one 
day!"
      'My Dunadan, my Dunadan, listen to yourself!' Aragorn longed to plead. He held 
himself in still. It wasn't quite time yet.
      Halbarad stopped again. His face became uncertain, if only for the barest instant. 
Then he grabbed the front of Aragorn's shirt and balled his other hand into a fist.
      Aragorn dodged the ill-aimed blow easily.
      Halbarad gaped at him. Tightened his hold on Aragorn's clothes. Tried again.
      Missed again.
      Composedly, Aragorn removed Halbarad's hand from his shirt front and returned 
it to Halbarad's lap. He waited.
      The hand flew up once more, but stopped a full two inches from Aragorn's cheek. 
Halbarad looked uncertainly from the hand (as if it belonged to someone else) to Aragorn 
and back again. Slowly, he lowered his hand and clasped it with the other, as if reining in 
a disobedient and dangerous stallion. He lowered his gaze to his lap and stared at it in 
fascination. His head snapped up and he shot daggers at Aragorn with his eyes. "Why 
don't you say anything?" he nearly shrieked.
      "What would you have me say?"
      "Cut that shit!" Halbarad roared, nearly pleading. "You've always got a hundred 
words for everybody! Aren't you going to say something? If not about Legolas, or even 
Malacai, at least about my desire to fuck you!"
      Aragorn didn't mince words. It might be the closest he got to a request for help. 
"I'm afraid for you, Halbarad. I want you to be stronger than you are right now. You can 
be stronger than this, if you only believe. Come back to the Dunedain. They need you. I 
need you. Put aside these nightmares of rape and look at the reality we live in. There is 
darkness, yes, but that's what the fire is for. If you stay in its lit circle, you won't have to 
worry about making it on your own. You have brothers and sisters that will help you."
      He gauged Halbarad's expression, noted that he was listening intently, and went 
on: "You know what's in the darkness now. You don't have to wonder anymore. Now that 
you've explored, and found that world wanting, come back to the camp. I want to call you 
Dunadan again. Let me. Give me reason to."
      Even as he spoke, Aragorn thought, "He may or may not accept this, but even if 
he does, he will have to stay here in Lothlorien awhile to be healed. I know the Lady will 
help him. Out in the wild, he would be drawn again and again to that way of life that, 
from inside the camp, looks so easy and so pleasurable. Here, in this protected place, he 
could be made strong again.'
      For long moments, Halbarad didn't move. He continued to stare at Aragorn- 
through him, really- and his eyes flickered as thoughts raced behind them. At last, his 
eyes focused and he met Aragorn's gaze. "I can't just come back, just like that. What must 
I do?"
      'Thank the Valar, he wants to heal!' Aragorn contained his joy and answered 
plainly, "You must stay here with the Lady for a time, so that you can be made strong 
again. When the time is right, she will know, and you will know. Then you will come 
back to us." He put his hand on Halbarad's shoulder. "Now I may call you-"
      Halbarad shook his head. "No, please don't. I want to be healed in full before you 
use that name for me. Call me Ranger for now. Please."
      Aragorn nodded. "So be it, Halbarad, Ranger of the North. I will escort you to the 
Lady, and she will build up your soul for the hard years ahead." As they rose together and 
headed away through the trees, Aragorn added, "One day, we will draw swords together 
in a great battle and I will be honored to call you brother."
Chapter Thirty-Seven
      In the heat of early afternoon, the three men and the elf walked their horses north. 
None of them spoke as the sun blazed a trail towards the western horizon. All were 
chewing their own thoughts and worrying at their own concerns.
      That morning, they had taken leave of Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn and Lady 
Arwen at the borders of Lothlorien.
      Aragorn had shared parting words with Halbarad late the night before, compelling 
and encouraging him in his healing. Their talk had been private, as Aragorn had wished 
it. He sought only, in those final moments with his Dunadan, to lift him up.
      Aragorn had felt the leaden depression trying to settle over him and could 
scarcely imagine what Halbarad must be going through. "We will meet again soon," the 
chief had promised more than once. "We will draw swords together in a great battle." He 
hated himself for adding the word 'soon,' but wasn't able to stop himself.
      His leave-taking of Arwen reminded Aragorn more of a formal dance than a 
farewell between lovers. She had appeared at yesterday's sunset-hour near the place 
where he kept his bed. Her hair, midnight-colored and midnight-seductive, had cascaded 
over her shoulders and down her back. The dress she wore was simple: a white gown that 
looked delicate as the gossamer threads of a spider web. Over this, a mantle of evening-
blue set off her eyes, the color in her cheeks, and of course her seductive tresses, to good 
advantage.
***
      Aragorn leaned against a tree, smoking and thinking his melancholy thoughts. 
When he saw her, he at once snuffed his pipe. She hadn't seen him smoking before, and 
he was almost afraid that she would leave him for the paltry vice.
      Arwen, vision of all the glory of the elves that came before her, stopped between 
two trees and regarded him with an expression that struck Aragorn as both amused and 
slightly offended. But then she glided towards him and Aragorn saw that she was smiling. 
He relaxed minutely.
      "You leave in the morning?" she asked, lifting a hand to stroke his cheek.
      As yet, he had not touched her in such an intimate way.
      "Yes, my Lady."
      She laughed like water dropping on cut crystal. "You will find great triumph 
waiting for you. Promise not to forget me."
      "I swear it."
      She nodded, seemingly satisfied. Her fingers continued to explore his cheek and 
neck. "When you are ready to be king, I will make you a great standard, that all might 
know you are loved by one of the High Elves."
      Aragorn bowed slightly. "Thank you."
      She stepped back from him. "We are well met, Estel, are we not?"
      "Yes, my Lady," Aragorn answered, not understanding why she spoke so formally 
to him.
      'It must be the way of the elves,' he would think later. Then, immediately after, 
'Elladan and Elrohir were never so cold or distant. Neither was Glorfindel. It must simply 
be her way.'
      Her lips parted slightly and she whispered, "And we will be well-bound one day?"
      He could scarcely speak. Her beauty and that air of secrecy and superiority 
worked against his tongue. "Yes."
      Arwen laughed as she retreated from him, backing up so that her eyes were 
locked with his. "I will see you soon, King Aragorn." She slipped behind a tree and 
vanished.
      Aragorn gaped after her for a moment, then shook himself and went to pack his 
few things. He had lost all delight in smoking.
***
      'And then,' the Ranger thought resignedly, 'there is this whole new front with 
Legolas. Has he noticed that I haven't been touching him? Has he noticed that I avoid his 
gaze?' A score of questions spiraled through his head while he led the way back home.
***
      Legolas watched the tension creep up Aragorn's back and into his shoulders. His 
master rode ahead of him, ahead of all of them, silent and brooding. He had deliberately, 
it seemed, chosen to head the line, even though they all knew, more or less, where they 
were going. There was no need, in short, for him to lead the column. And yet he chose to 
be separate from them, and in a position where none could glance to the side or back and 
see his face.
      So Legolas had to content himself, if he wanted to know his master's mood, with 
watching those tense shoulders.
      'Do I really need to see his face? I already know what's wrong, at least in part. He 
is in love with Lady Arwen. He misses her. And he has forgotten me.'
      The young elf didn't know how he knew of his master's love; surely he hadn't 
spoken of it. But the knowledge had taken root in Legolas' mind nonetheless and he knew 
better than to ignore it.
      "Accepting it is another matter," Legolas uttered very low so that none of the 
others could hear him. 'I know now what I was trying to figure out in Gondor: I love him. 
I shouldn't, I know that. And not because I'm a slave. I shouldn't because he deserves 
someone of high birth and good family. I have neither. He deserves a doting, attentive, 
adoring wife. I give him loyalty, but that's hardly the same thing. Besides, since when is a 
union between men considered acceptable? It happens regularly between elves, and 
almost exclusively among dwarves, but men are different. Male elves can conceive a 
child. Male dwarves can do the same. A few of the Dunedain might be able to give 
birth… but it is by no means a sure thing.'
      'But I'm a male elf. Why can't he choose me?'
      'Again, because I am not of a noble family. I have no riches, power or connections 
to bring to him. I have a bow, a quiver of arrows and a few sets of clothes. All of which, I 
should add, he gave me. I have nothing of my own that I earned. How can I come to him 
in my wretched state?'
      Legolas fetched a long sigh and admitted, 'I wish it could have gone on a little bit 
longer. I love being with him. And if the sex and kisses and caresses had to stop, why 
can't we at least talk?'
      But he knew the answer to that at once: 'Things are different now. We can't be 
comfortable around each other anymore.'
      A cold wave of loneliness overswept him. 'I hope the elves in Mirkwood 
remember me. I hope I can find my family. Because without Aragorn, the only family I 
truly know, is gone. Even if I can still see him, he is as surely gone as if he were in 
Gondor and I was in the Grey Havens.'
      Bravely, Legolas rode on. Aragorn had watered and fed the strength he'd found in 
the young slave-child until it grew from tiny shoot to handsome tree. Legolas drew on all 
he'd been given and followed his master ('for only a little longer') homeward.
***
      ‘Saru…’
      ‘I can barely think of him. How am I going to explain things to Aragorn?’
      Kehydi felt sick with doubt and fear. ‘I’ll lose him. I’ll lose Saru. For a few 
minutes’ pleasure, and because we argued, I will lose him. He’ll never be mine now. 
He’ll stay with my father until he dies, and then he’ll go with someone else.’
      ‘Maybe now that Halbarad is being ‘helped’- whatever that means- Saru won’t be 
hurt by him. Now that we know Halbarad is dangerous-’
      ‘I always knew it!’
      ‘Now that all know he is- or was- dangerous, Saru’s story will be believed. I, at 
least, will believe him.’
      Morosely, his mouth tasting bitter, he added, ‘Yes! I’ll believe him now that it’s 
too late! I am no lover! I betrayed him. And he, more than I, will be punished.’
      ‘But…’
      ‘But what?’
      “But Aragorn, that’s what,” Kehydi whispered fervently, unaware that he’d 
spoken aloud in his determination.
      ‘Aragorn can fix anything. Maybe he can understand about Saru and me. He’s 
been with just Legolas for so long… maybe he can understand. Maybe everything will be 
all right after all.’
      ‘And maybe the stars will shine green in a yellow sky. Wake up and act your age, 
Kehydi! Take your punishment like a man! Someday, you’re going to be second-in-
command of the Dunedain! Start acting like it!’
      But Kehydi didn’t know if ‘acting like an adult’ meant keeping his mouth shut or 
trying to speak out for Saru and himself.
      Mourning, miserable and lost, Kehydi followed Legolas, who followed Aragorn, 
back to the North, where judgment waited.
***
      Malacai, riding rearguard, watched his son’s back and wondered about his own 
part in the misery he saw weighing down those shoulders. ‘I swore that if he was with 
Saru, he would lose him. Now I must keep my word… Unless Aragorn can somehow 
change it.’
      But his worries about Kehydi were nothing compared to his concern for his chief. 
He had been riding with Aragorn for too long, had been intimate with him for too long, 
not to see how much he was hurting.
      ‘The darkness of this world pulls on him. On that part of him that longs to be back 
in Rivendell, surrounded by the elves of his youth. And he can never go back there. He 
can never hide there again. He knows it, but that can’t ease his anguish and 
homesickness. As much as he loves the elves, he should really sail across the Sea with 
them. In his heart, he is one of them.’
      Malacai cursed the Valar for giving Aragorn the heart of an elf, then dooming him 
to live in the body of a man. ‘If I could take Man’s Gift, Man’s Doom, away from you, I 
would. Even if it meant my death. And I would take that stone from around your neck 
and cast it away forever… But I have no such power.’
      Closing his eyes, Malacai indulged in a brief fantasy. He couldn’t think of a better 
way to calm himself.
***
      Aragorn, twenty years old and quite green despite his learning, raised his eyes to 
Malacai’s face. A dark blush colored his cheeks and his hands trembled slightly.
      "I don't know what to do."
      The admission seemed to embarrass him even more and he looked down again.
      Malacai touched his fingers under Aragorn's chin and raised his head. "Do you 
trust me?" Consciously, he did not use the name of the man before him. Whether he used 
Estel, Aragorn or Dunadan, the implications would seem dark to the new Ranger.
      'If I say Estel, he will believe I think him a child. If Aragorn, then he will want to 
live up to that noble name. Dunadan is nearly neutral, but I will take no chances. He 
needs support right now, and I will give it to him if at all possible.'
      Resolved to his path, Malacai leaned forward and kissed his new lover gently.
      Aragorn responded at once, giving himself up to the kiss. His arms came naturally 
around Malacai's waist, and the slightly-older Dunadan returned the embrace.
      As the kiss deepened, Malacai opened his mouth in invitation. He felt his lover 
tense, then tentatively accept the invitation. Timidly, Aragorn's tongue explored Malacai's 
mouth with little darting flicks.
      Gently teaching, Malacai explored Aragorn's mouth, showing him the art of slow, 
sensual kissing. As Aragorn began to imitate this new way of moving, Malacai thought, 
'He learns quickly. No wonder he reached full maturity so soon. Now… what next?'
      Two hours passed as Malacai taught Aragorn each step. He hadn't planned for 
them to couple, but it came about so naturally that he could scarcely believe that this was 
Aragorn's first time.
      ‘And maybe it wasn’t,’ he thought ruefully. ‘He could have been with an elf in 
Rivendell. If he was, he never told me… and he certainly acted as if everything was new 
for him.’
      He had let Aragorn take him, opening himself up to his chief, as his father had 
done for Arathorn. 'Only in this way can we know each other inside and out,' he decided. 
'Now that I know him at his most vulnerable, and he knows me at mine, we have a strong 
bond that will only deepen with time.'
      As they lay, recovering, Aragorn asked, still slightly breathless, "Are you 
disappointed?"
      Malacai shook his head and drew Aragorn close. He debated with himself for a 
moment, and decided to risk a name. "Never, Aragorn. I love being with you this way."
      Aragorn closed his eyes. "I love you, Malacai Dunadan." He smiled 
mischievously. "I'll never forget how helpless and carried away you looked when we 
joined."
      Malacai chuckled. "And I will never forget how powerful you looked atop me." 
He longed to stop there, but knew he must, in the name of duty, and in the name of the 
Dunedain, give Aragorn a little more. "You will be just as strong a leader, and all will 
follow you as happily as I did."
***
      'And I will always be there for you, Aragorn,' Malacai vowed silently as they 
rode. ‘I will be there for you, Shadow or no Shadow.’ He recited a Dunedain-vow his 
father had taught him: 'If by my life or death I can protect you, I will.'
Chapter Thirty-Eight
      Aragorn stood by the river, watching the sun dance on the water. He listened to 
the voice of the stream. He inhaled the good, clean smell of the water, the reeds along the 
bank and the maple leaves above him. He noticed (though he took no pleasure in) the 
arching, glowing sky that hung overhead. In short, he did anything to avoid thinking 
about the problem before him.
      He had given himself two hours to decide what to do, but surely he could spare a 
few minutes to drink in the feeling of his homeland. Yes, it most definitely was. He had 
time on his side.
      Time, at least, was here to stand this terrible watch with him, for none of his 
Rangers could.
      ‘Leadership, no matter how you downplay it, is lonely,’ Elrond had told him once 
when he was only sixteen and off to lead his first band of elves on patrol. ‘You will learn 
this when you are older. Take all the courage and strength you can from your family, 
because there will be a time when we won’t be there for you.’
      If he had hoped to make the boy cautious, he had succeeded, even though Estel 
didn’t understand the words as anything other than a statement of future fact, not very 
dangerous to himself. Because what Elrond’s words had brought to his mind was this 
realisation: ‘Elladan was leading a band of elves on patrol when the men came upon 
them. The men killed all the other elves and took Elladan to be their whore. They saw 
him for what he was, and not just because he’s passing fair, even by the standards of the 
elves. They saw his slightly-richer clothes and the circlet on his brow. They knew he was 
“an important” elf.’ Estel shuddered and plucked at his own garb. ‘Elladan was their 
leader and so he fought the hardest, the longest. But in the end, he was taken.’    
      Sighing, Aragorn added, ‘Now I am the one sought after, but I’m not afraid of 
fighting or of death. I’m only afraid of facing terrible tests like this without a guide. What 
I decide will stand for all time, or at least until Kehydi and Saru die. And it will live in 
the hearts of my Dunedain for much longer than that.’ He groaned and forcibly turned his 
mind from that line of thought once again. ‘I have time,’ he lied.
      His mind wandered aimlessly for a time, then lit on a long-ago memory. At first, 
Aragorn didn’t recognise it for the dangerous thing it was, so he followed the thread of 
the story, curious to see where it would lead.
      At first, all he saw was Legolas, his hands covering his ears as he huddled against 
Malacai. Aragorn saw that his second-in-command was tied up and that his face was 
bruised. Still, he didn’t recognise the scene.
	
***
	
      In the memory, Aragorn moved forward and feather-touched Legolas’ shoulder. 
He felt the elf stiffen and wondered, dimly, ‘Do I have blood on my hands? Does he see 
it? I already know it’s on my shirt.’

      Pushing that question away for the moment, Aragorn drew Legolas into a hug and 
uttered one of the most unforgivable lies of his life:
      
      “It’s all right now, Little One. It’s over now.”
      Before he could reflect on the seeming incongruency of this memory- where had 
it come from?- another gripped him and he was carried away once more.
      The white walls of Gondor towered above him and Aragorn realised, ‘I would 
have died if Legolas hadn’t called to me. If he hadn’t reacted with such speed and surety. 
No other slave has done half so much!’
      He shook his head. ‘Was that when I began to think he could go free? Maybe.’
      In Gondor again, his eyes shining with gratitude and his face relaxing at last as the 
stress fell away, he scooped Legolas into his arms and whirled around, hugging the elf to 
him. “Aii, my Legolas,” he breathed after he’d set the elf on his feet once more, “you 
saved my life.” He drew Legolas closer. “Thank you, Legolas. Thank you.”
      But his mind wasn’t done. Aragorn remembered Legolas, a little over five years 
old, chirping joyously, “Happy birthday! I’m Legolas, from Mirkwood, and I belong to 
you.”
      Again, Legolas’ voice: “Master Aaron says he needs to eat or he could die.”
      Legolas again. Wasn’t he about six? “Can I ask you a question, M- Elladan?"

      "Of course, Legolas."

      "Are you going to marry Glorfindel?"
      Aragorn’s mouth pulled wryly. ‘How could I let him even think that something 
like marriage between a freeborn and a slave was possible? I condemned him to 
confusion and bitterness. Foolish, arrogant Ranger!’
      Another memory, one that featured ten-year old Legolas.
      Aragorn invited, patting the pallet beside him, "Come sit by me, Legolas. Do you 
want to tell me what happened?”
      
      “I don't like it when the others pick on Saru,” Legolas responded bitterly. “He 
made a mistake- told me I did a good job with my jump- and they all looked at him like 
he was an orc or something.”
      
      Aragorn answered soothingly, “Their actions aren't right, Legolas, but please 
remember this: you and Saru are slaves, and different rules apply to you.”
      
      "But we're not dirt!” he cried. After a pause, he apologized. “Master Aragorn, I'm 
sorry- I didn't mean to yell."
      
      “I know. Please explain your words.”
      
      Legolas met his gaze unflinchingly. "We're property, yes, but like a horse is 
property. You protect Roheryn from abuse, don't you?"
      
      Aragorn nodded.
      
      "Well, this is abuse, too, even though it's only with words. It hurts just as much, 
and destroys the progress Saru has made." He shook his head. "He begins to believe in 
himself as a competent slave. I want him to keep thinking like that." He sighed, and 
finished softly, "I like it when he's happy."
      ‘At that time, Legolas seemed to know his place. He talked about Saru being a 
competent slave. He knew slaves were different. When did that change?’
      Aragorn knew at once, with the sharpness of hindsight, at least when the seeds 
had been planted, and he cursed himself. 
      Legolas, looking frightened, confided, "I saw Saru and Master Malacai kissing."
      
      "Does this bother you?" Aragorn asked carefully.
      
      “Yes. Isn't Saru too young to be kissed like adults kiss?"
      
      "Legolas, slaves live by a different set of rules than freeborns do. Many rules are 
the same, like passing fighting tests to reach adulthood. But slaves are slaves, and 
because of that, they must follow a separate set of rules."
      
      "Like what?" Legolas asked.
      
      "You already know some of them. One is having to raise your hand in a class and 
waiting to be called on."
      
      "Are there a lot of others?"
      
      “There are many. Most haven't affected you yet. For example, when you're 
grown, and if you wanted to marry, you couldn't marry a freeborn." He thought of the rest 
of the rules- how he, Aragorn, could prevent Legolas from marrying anyone, and how he 
could make Legolas marry someone…
      
      ‘I could make Legolas marry someone. I could make him marry…’
      
      Shaking his head, Aragorn let the memory envelop him again. He wanted to avoid 
that train of thought, at least for now.
      
      “Another rule that's different is when a slave is ready to be touched and kissed in 
a sexual way. Among most of the people of Middle-Earth, it's all right to lie with a slave- 
in intercourse- when that slave is three or four years old. The Dunedain believe that 
slaves can be touched as early as seven years old, but that they shouldn't be lain with until 
they are sixteen. That way, the slave is grown up enough to understand what's happening 
to them and, because they're grown, they can enjoy the experience.”
      
      “So it's okay for Master Malacai to kiss Saru because he's a slave?”
      
      “Exactly.”
      
      “Will you start kissing me soon?”
      
      “Well... you see... Legolas....I haven't decided if I will ever touch you like that, or 
kiss you, or have intercourse with you.”
      
      “Why wouldn't you? Is it because I'm an elf?”
      
      “No! I've been with Glorfindel; it has nothing to do with what you are. It's just... 
well, I once had a slave that I had intercourse with- several, actually- but I'm in no hurry 
to replace them. Legolas... Many slaves serve their masters sexually, but I don't know if 
you will or not. You mean too much to me for me to treat you lightly, to have intercourse 
with you unless you're ready and willing and...”
      
      “Does Saru like being kissed?”
      
      “When you saw him, did he seem to be enjoying himself? You and I both know 
Saru can't hide what he feels: if he's afraid, you know it, and if he's enjoying something, 
you know it. So answer that question for yourself.”
      
      Legolas thought for a long time. “I think he liked it. He put his arms around 
Master Malacai's neck and... moved into the kiss.”
      
      “Well then, Saru was definitely enjoying himself.”
      
      “Does kissing feel good?”
      
      Aragorn suppressed a groan. 'There's no way I'm going to get out of this easily, is 
there?' And because he'd always answered Legolas' questions before, he could hardly 
discipline the elf for asking too many now. 'Besides, I don't think I could ever severely 
discipline him. I could never raise a hand to him, let alone a belt or worse.' 
      
      “Usually, yes. If it didn't, would Malacai be doing it?”
      
      “Can we try it?” Legolas asked, blushing slightly.
      
      His heart thumping, Aragorn forced himself out of the memory. Besides, the idea 
that had been ticking at the back of his mind had formed itself into a coherent thought, 
maybe, even, a plan.
***
      Nearly sobbing as he finally understood the dangerous idiocy he had allowed to 
slip from his mouth, Aragorn thought, ‘Nothing is clear cut for Legolas. And it’s because 
of me. How could I coddle him for so long? I’ve done more than give him a free, 
questioning mind. I’ve told him he will always be taken care of. That I will always take 
care of him. That I will always answer his questions and treat him differently from other 
slaves. I’ve hurt him much more than helped him.’
      That tickling idea jumped out at him again and Aragorn decided, ‘I will change. I 
must change. I will show Legolas the right way of things at last. And no one will tell me 
no.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Because I am chief, and that means to be alone. But I don’t 
fear it anymore. I know what I must do.’
      Aragorn whirled away from the river and strode back towards the camp, his camp, 
to fix everything or cause possibly irreparable damage.