Title: Legolas’ Gift
Author: Estel Baggins
Author’s Email: macfal1219@comcast.net
Chapters: 67-68
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: sex- NC-17 sex
Summary: Words of love are spoken and forgotten. Samwise the Brave helps a 
grieving Elladan. Arwen wants to kill Legolas, and possibly Aragorn. Elrohir and 
Halbarad have a chat. And Aragorn and Legolas finally figure something out.
Author’s Note: Next bit! Yay! Please, if you read this, I’d like to know what you 
think. Thank you! Oh, and all reviews are accepted. Justified criticism as well as 
unfeigned praise appreciated. Flames will be used to melt the One Ring.

Chapter Sixty-Seven
      Aragorn guided Arwen to a secluded stone seat in one of the house’s private 
gardens, a place where only family was permitted to go. Above them, the moon sailed in 
and out of the clouds, creating and dispelling shadow by turns. Arwen shivered in her 
light clothing and Aragorn took off his cloak, offering it to her. She wrapped herself in it 
and smiled at him.
      “Thank you, Lord Aragorn.”
      ‘This is yet another mistake of mine. Why did I wait until now to confront her?’ 
Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment, seeking strength. When he opened them again, he 
saw the smile on her face... And he didn’t like it. Her smile was like snow melting or fire 
licking at a man’s arm. Seeing that smile gave him the strength he needed.
      “My lady, I have been lying to you since we first met. I have betrayed your trust 
and taken advantage of you.”
      She raised one delicate, feathery eyebrow. “Truly, Lord Aragorn?”
      “Yes. I do not love you. I cannot. I should have never carried on this charade for 
this long. The only reason I started it was because I was alone, afraid, and hurting. I used 
you, and the thoughts of being with you, to assuage my guilt.” Her expression hadn’t 
changed and she didn’t speak, so he went on. “I love Legolas, son of Thranduil. I loved 
him when he was my slave and I love him still. He is the one person I wish to have at my 
side for the rest of my life.” She was still looking at him in that half-quizzical, half-
teasing way. Aragorn shook his head. “I guess I’m not making any sense. I know I lied to 
you, Lady Arwen. Maybe that’s the first thing I want you to understand. I lied to myself 
as well, but that’s no excuse to lie to you. I’m sorry.”
      She did something then that made Aragorn feel as if he’d left one world and 
stepped into another where what was true was really false and what was water was stone. 
She laughed.
      He gaped at her for a moment, then found his voice. “Please, Lady Arwen, I want 
you to understand-”
      “Oh my dear, naïve, childlike Estel!” She tittered again, holding her hand against 
her mouth in a ladylike gesture of suppression. “I am the elf who will help you on your 
path. My grandmother has foreseen it.” She touched his arm. “I can understand how you 
could be confused, since Legolas was with you for so very long. But, Estel, think! Will 
Legolas be accepted in Gondor? Will everyone who sees him exclaim over his beauty and 
think that you have good judgment for binding yourself to him? Will he be honored as the 
son of a great lord? For, Estel, you must know that my grandmother and father are much 
more honored than Thranduil of Mirkwood.” She laughed again. “Ah, Estel, I understand 
now why you kissed him. You confused your emotions with the will of the Valar and 
your destiny!” She was shaking her head. “I keep forgetting how deluded men can be 
without realizing that they are missing anything, let alone the key to understanding the 
universe.”
      ‘This has gone on too long,’ Aragorn thought and he removed Arwen’s hand from 
his arm, returning it to her lap. “You speak of destiny and the Valar and other people, but 
you don’t speak of us. Arwen, I love Legolas. Love is more important than politics. It is 
more important than honor. It is everything that we are fighting to keep from Sauron.”
      She reached out to touch him again, but Aragorn held up a hand, shaking his head 
deliberately. “No, Lady Arwen, I will not do this. You did not even speak of love a 
moment ago, so I know you do not love me.”
      “Ah, Aragorn, love is different for elves. We love all things. I would be the 
dedicated, beautiful wife on your arm that you seek.”
      It was out before he could have stopped himself, ‘but,’ Aragorn mused 
afterwards, ‘maybe it was for the best. The time for secrets and pretty words has ended, if 
it ever really truly existed in the first place.’ He said, making sure that she was meeting 
his gaze, “I don’t care if the one I love is a beauty and if he will be on my arm when I 
greet my subjects. I need a strong-willed, determined Dunadan at my side. Legolas is that 
Dunadan. He, and no other, is the person I will marry when and if I finally reach 
Gondor.”
      Her gaze flickered, but she didn’t speak.
      Aragorn waited; he bad said all he could.
      Silence stretched between them.
      Arwen stood, her posture rigid and her face severe. “You are a fool, Estel. I 
should have known that you wouldn’t understand my grandmother’s words. I was meant 
to help you on your journey, to support you from afar with my thoughts. But if you 
choose to forsake that help, then I will not stay you. For you are a man, and men are 
shallow, vile creatures that understand not the will of the Valar or even when they are 
being given advice for their own good.” She folded her arms, then seemed to realize what 
she was wearing and shrugged off Aragorn’s cloak. It fell in the dust. “Son of Arathorn, 
you have made a deadly mistake. No longer will I send my protective spirit out after you. 
The wilderness will become hostile to you and everything you do, every decision you 
make, will be fraught with misdeeds and sorrow from this hour forward.”
      She turned away, stepping on his cloak- ‘well, actually, it’s Elladan’s cloak; he let 
me borrow it,’ Aragorn thought- as she went. When she had walked a dozen paces, she 
turned and faced him once again. “If you come to discover your mistake and beg to be at 
my side again, I will of course graciously consider your suit.” With a flickering 
movement of her skirt, she vanished up the path.
      Aragorn stared after her, his eyes wide. Slowly, tears began to trickle down his 
cheeks. He put up his hands to hide them, and to stifle the relieved laughter that poured 
out of him.
***
      ‘Would someone mind telling me what I’m doing here?’ Legolas sat on the edge 
of the chair, his back straight, his hands hovering near the knife at his waist. Outside the 
healing house, the midnight wind crowed as if it knew what had passed between Aragorn 
and Legolas less than an hour ago and was rejoicing. Legolas looked down at the 
unconscious son of Elrond. ‘Please tell me what I’m doing here because I don’t want to 
help Elrohir. And I’m not going to kill him,’ he added, forcing his hand away from his 
sheathed knife. ‘I’m just nervous around him, that’s all. And that’s to be expected. He’s 
hurt so many people…
      ‘I’m here to help. I don’t want to help him; he isn’t worth my time. But I have to. 
If I try to turn away, I’ll be forced back. I can feel it. Someone- some force- wants me to 
help Elrohir.’ He grimaced. ‘And what if he’s beyond help? What then?’ Legolas wasn’t 
sure if he was talking to himself or whatever force had placed him in the position.
      He took Elrohir’s hand. At once, a bolt of energy like painless, blinding lightning 
shot from Elrohir’s mind to his. Legolas winced.
      Elrohir’s mind was a jumble of broken thoughts. “Elladan! Elladan, help me! Yes, 
help me serve Sauron. Become my lover. Become my whore. Stay away, Elladan! He’ll 
hurt you! Don’t let him take you! Elladan, be careful! Come to me, my whore. You are 
carrying my child and so you have to stay with me. Kill Glorfindel and come to me. 
Please don’t hate me, Brother. I’m lost; I need your help instead of your scorn. Please 
come to me. Come for me.’
      Legolas clenched his free hand into a fist and braced himself. ‘Elrohir, listen to 
me! Come back, Elrohir! You are needed here. Come back.’
      ‘Why don’t you come in instead, little whore? I’ll make your life better than you 
could ever imagine. I swear I will make you-’ Elrohir stopped. In a voice almost too soft 
to hear, he asked, ‘Is Elladan all right? Does he still live?’
      ‘He lives,’ Legolas said. ‘He lives and he’s going to have the baby with 
Glorfindel. He has healed. Come back and start your healing, Elrohir. Hope has come to 
Imladris. Estel has returned. Come back.’ He had been tempted to say ‘Aragorn, son of 
Arathorn, King of Gondor, has returned.’ There was a small possibility that the name 
alone would help Elrohir. But Legolas couldn’t know if Sauron was still lurking in the 
elf’s mind, so he didn’t reveal Aragorn’s secret.
      ‘Estel can’t save me. Only the destruction of the One Ring-’
      ‘He’s free!’ Legolas thought.
      ‘-or Elladan’s submission to me can bring me back.’
      Legolas cursed, took in a breath, let it out. ‘Elrohir, listen to me. Separate yourself 
from your hurt feelings. Nothing will take your place in Elladan’s heart. You are his twin. 
No other relationship in the world is quite like that. But neither will you take Glorfindel’s 
place in your brother’s heart. You can’t. To try is to miss that mark and also to lose your 
bond with Elladan. Come back and be his brother again. Don’t give up on your duty to 
him. Elladan needs you to stand true and fight at his side instead of against him. If you 
really love Elladan, return to his side. Face him. Apologize to him. Then draw your 
sword and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him against the Darkness. Only if you do all 
these things will you have your bond with your twin restored. Return, Elrohir. Return and 
help Elladan fight the only fight that should be fought: that against Sauron.’ He paused, 
hoping Elrohir was listening. At least the chatter in his mind had stopped. ‘Return, son of 
Elrond. You are needed here, now.’
      Silence greeted his urging at first, then it was replaced by a scream so piercing 
that Legolas longed to clap his hands over his sensitive ears even though he knew the 
sound was coming from inside his head. He tried to do just that, pulling his hand away 
from Elrohir and breaking the connection in the process. But Elrohir tightened his grip as 
the scream in his mind grew ever louder. Tears began to trickle down Legolas’ cheeks 
from the strain of keeping silent. He realized that he had gone too deeply into Elrohir’s 
mind without being aware of it; now he couldn’t get out. Only breaking the physical 
contact would sever the connection. Legolas tugged at Elrohir’s fingers.
      ‘Strider!’ he tried to send, but Elrohir’s scream drowned out all other sendings. 
Legolas sobbed. ‘Please, Elrohir, stop. Let me go. Let me go.’
      For a moment, the scream seemed to get even louder. Then it was as if a door had 
been slammed shut in Legolas’ mind, blocking the sound..
      ‘Legolas, can you hear me?’
      Breath hitching, sweat streaking down his skin, Legolas whispered, “Glorfindel?”
      ‘I’m in your mind, Legolas. I followed Elladan to Elrohir. Let me take you out of 
this.’
      “Yes! Yes, please!’ But then Legolas stopped. ‘Wait. I can’t go. I can’t let Elladan 
face Elrohir alone. He’s completely mad, Glorfindel. I don’t think his brother can help 
him, especially since Elladan has just recovered himself.’
      ‘I won’t be leaving Elladan alone for long.’ Glorfindel drew Legolas close, 
comforting him. ‘I’ll free you then return. Elladan won’t face his brother alone.’
      Legolas was tempted. ‘You’re sure you’ll be able to return?’
      ‘I can always connect to Elladan.’ But there was a note of uncertainty in 
Glorfindel’s reply.
      ‘You think Elrohir might keep you out and trap Elladan with him.’
      A pause, then, ‘What happens now is between us, Legolas. I want you safe. There 
is a chance none of us will come out of this alive, and Estel needs you. You have pledged 
never to leave his side, true?’
      ‘How did you-?’ But it wasn’t important. ‘Let me help. I have been trained by one 
of the best healers in Middle-Earth. Let me help.’
      ‘Now, Glorfindel! Light!’
      Glorfindel pulled away from Legolas, but the elf held on to him and followed him 
back into the battle.
      Elladan and Elrohir stood on either side of an impossibly deep chasm. Even as 
Legolas took this in, and understood it as a physical construction in the minds of the 
twins, Glorfindel built a bridge of light that spanned the divide.
      ‘You can walk on it!’ Elladan shouted, taking a step so that he was standing on 
the bridge himself.
      ‘It’ll break,’ Elrohir answered, tears streaming down his cheeks.
      Behind Elrohir, flames and shadows rose. Elrohir glanced over his shoulder. ‘And 
if I come, the Balrog will follow.’
      ‘Let me worry about the Balrog,’ Glorfindel answered. ‘Just get over here. As 
soon as you’re over, I’ll dissolve the bridge. The Balrog will fall.’
      The creature behind Elrohir- ‘is it Sauron’s influence?’ Legolas wondered. ‘I 
think it is’- bellowed and everything shook.
      ‘I can’t go further than the middle of the bridge!’ Elladan shouted. ‘You have to 
come to me, Elrohir. Please. I need you.’
      Elrohir took a step and his foot went through the bridge. He screamed and leapt 
back. ‘It won’t hold me! It won’t hold me, Elladan!’
      The Balrog’s fiery whip crackled through the air, striking the ground just behind 
Elrohir’s heels.
      ‘It will if you look at me,’ Elladan shouted. ‘Come on, Elrohir, you can do it! Get 
your ass over here!’ He drew one of his knives. ‘I’ll defend you, protect your escape. Just 
cross the bridge!’
      The whip cracked again, this time closing about Elrohir’s ankle.
      Legolas’ bow sang; an arrow hit the Balrog between its intelligently-hating eyes. 
‘Leave!’ the young elf shouted. ‘In the name of all those who have driven you from this 
place, in the name of Elendil who challenged you and in the name of Gil-galad who faced 
you, I command you to leave! You have no power here anymore!’
      The Balrog screamed, dropping its whip so it could reach up and try to pull the 
arrow from its forehead.
      Elrohir lurched forward, his hands outstretched, his eyes on Elladan. He was 
limping badly and swaying like a drunk. Legolas feared he might fall off the bridge into 
the chasm below. But he made it to Elladan, and his brother drew him close, putting 
Elrohir’s arm over his shoulders.
      They made for the safe side of the bridge.
      Behind them, the Balrog sprang forward like a hare, still roaring and pulling 
distractedly at the arrow embedded in its skin.
      Elladan’s feet touched firm ground and he threw Elrohir forward, sheltering his 
brother with his own body.
      Legolas fell back a step as the Balrog bore down on them. He had fitted another 
arrow to his bow, but his hands were shaking badly.
      The Balrog reached out, not seeking Elrohir now but reaching for the Balrog 
Slayer. Glorfindel threw himself backwards half a second before the Balrog’s flaming 
claws tore through the air where he’d been standing. The bridge dissolved 
      Glorfindel staggered and fell back, but Legolas caught him. They watched the 
Balrog scramble for purchase on the glass-smooth side of the chasm. It fell, howling in 
rage and frustration. It knew how close it had come.
      Elladan rose to his knees and got Elrohir to sit up. The second son of Elrond was 
very pale. ‘We need to get out of here, Glorfindel.’
      The Elda closed his eyes for a moment, breathing rapidly. Then he glanced over 
his shoulder. ‘Can you get me over to them?’
      Legolas put Glorfindel’s arm around his shoulders as Elladan had down with his 
twin and all but carried him to Elladan’s side.
      Glorfindel was fainting, but he grasped Elladan’s hand and caught Legolas’ hand 
with his other. ‘Don’t let go.’ Again, he closed his eyes.
      Something hard struck Legolas in the back and his cried out in shock as much as 
in pain. Blinking back tears, he sat up and looked around. Elrohir was sitting up in bed, 
his eyes frozen wide. But Legolas was looking at him from below; he had fallen onto the 
floor.
      Groaning, the blonde struggled to his feet. He righted the chair and glanced 
around for Glorfindel and Elladan. He was alone in the healing house. ‘They must have 
felt Elrohir’s pain from wherever they are.’
      Even as he thought this, the door behind him banged open and Elladan appeared 
his hair wild and his eyes burning. 
      Elrohir turned his head, the dazed look in his eyes fading. “Elladan?”
      His twin laughed. “Aye, Brother, it’s me.” He sat on the edge of the bed and 
hugged Elrohir to him. “How do you feel?”
      Elrohir reached up and touched Elladan’s shoulder, then his hair. He closed his 
eyes and laid his head on his brother’s shoulder. “Safe.”
      Legolas glanced up as a hand touched his shoulder. Glorfindel was smiling tiredly 
at him, his face drawn. Legolas smiled back.
      “Glorfindel…” Elrohir extracted himself from Elladan’s embrace and climbed out 
of bed. He staggered a little, but regained his balance. He drunk walked over to the Elda 
and dropped to his knees at the blonde’s feet. “Forgive me, Glorfindel, Balrog Slayer, 
Gondolinian lord. Forgive me I beg.” He bowed his head.
      Glorfindel grasped Elrohir’s shoulder and urged him to stand. He didn’t speak, 
but kissed Elrohir’s forehead before stepping back and bowing to the son of Elrond.
      Elladan moved to stand between the two, linking hands with them. “I love you 
both,” he whispered.
***
      Aragorn had retreated to the Hall of the Sword after Arwen left him. He knew he 
should rest, that he would be getting very little sleep very soon, but he wanted to be alone 
in a hallowed place. He wanted, in a sense, to pray, though he had no one to pray to. 
Instead, he read a recounting of the love story between Elendil and Gil-galad and listened 
to the silence around him, taking both in like food.
      The sound of footsteps startled him, but he didn’t look up from his reading. His 
ears sharp, he realized at once that the person approaching wore boots with thick soles. 
‘Maybe this is the man out of the South, the man of Gondor that Elladan met. Maybe it is 
Boromir, son of Denethor.’
      Anger boiled up inside of him, but Aragorn cast it aside. ‘He may not be like his 
father. I can’t judge him on a past he has no knowledge of.’
      But he understood much about human nature, and knew that many times children 
were like their parents.
      ‘Well, perhaps his mother was a gentle soul.’ Aragorn had heard rumors of her 
death a dozen years ago.
      The man appeared around a corner and Aragorn saw that his guess had been 
correct. He watched from his place by the wall as Boromir gazed at the mural, then 
turned. His face was handsome and reminded Aragorn a little of Aaron’s face, or, rather, 
Aaron when he had been a much younger man. But there the resemblance to Aaron (or to 
any other Dunadan) ended.
      Boromir said, startled to see someone else in the shadowy place at midnight, 
“You are no elf.”
      ‘No, but I’ve lived like one for long enough.’ Aragorn smiled, making his voice 
mild. “The men of the South are welcome here.” He offered Boromir a nodding bow.
      “Who are you?”
      ‘He looks so young,’ Aragorn thought. Then he reconsidered. ‘No, not young, and 
not untried. I can tell he has seen battle. But he has lived unchallenged. As if every 
enemy he has ever fought has fallen before him or fled in terror.’ He said, “I am friend to 
Gandalf the Grey.”
      He mused, ‘Here is one I would not like to get into a discussion of lineage with.’ 
Then he chided himself for being unfair, for judging the son of Denethor as just that 
instead of as a man in his own right.
      “Then we are here on common purpose.” Boromir seemed to weigh the next word 
before he spoke it. “Friend.” And he tried a smile that didn’t work.
      Turning away, he stopped before a statue Aragorn had spent many hours studying 
as a child. “The shards of Narsil,” Boromir whispered, his eyes wide and his voice 
reverent.
      Aragorn decided he liked the man a little more for the respect he showed and also 
for his knowledge of the past.
      Boromir lifted the hilt, gazing at it, wide-eyed as a child. “The blade that cut the 
Ring from Sauron’s hand,” He traced his finger up the edge of the blade. Aragorn opened 
his mouth to warn the man, but Boromir had already cut himself. “Still sharp,” he said, 
startled.
      But then his face changed, became hard and, Aragorn thought, sorrowful. “But no 
more than a broken heirloom.” He tossed the blade back onto the cloth and when it fell 
onto the floor instead, he glanced at it, glanced at Aragorn as if waiting for the man to 
demand he put it back, then walked away.
      When he was alone, Aragorn replaced the blade, closed his eyes and bowed to it. 
‘Isildur, I will not share your fate. Strong the Ring may be, but I know something you 
didn’t. I know that I can not, must not, even hold it, let alone think of using it.’
      He remained that way, head bent, for another moment, then straightened and 
returned to his book. He read for another hour before sleep began to steal over him. 
Thinking about the man of from Gondor, thinking, too, of the road ahead and where it 
would eventually lead for him, he went to bed.
      He dreamed of the dead White Tree. He was watching it, knowing that watching it 
wouldn’t make it live again, but unable to turn away.
      Then Legolas appeared, striding across the courtyard, his eyes alight. He went to 
the tree and touched it.
      At once, flowers blossomed along the tree and the wood came to life.
      Legolas turned to Aragorn and smiled. “Now will you marry me?”
***
      Frodo awoke before the sun was up despite the fact that he had drifted off beside 
Sam after midnight. Sitting up, he saw that his friend was already awake and setting out 
breakfast.
      Sam looked up and smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Frodo. Gandalf said last night 
that we would be sitting through a long council and wouldn’t get lunch maybe until 
supper-time. So I thought you should eat.”
      “I thought we were still waiting for somebody to arrive,” Frodo answered as he 
made his way to the table. He walked with a grace that Sam found it impossible not to 
watch, and he was clad only in short britches this morning.
      “Well, some dwarves came in after the feast but before the dancing, but they 
wanted to speak only to Gandalf.” Sam poured juice and laid out buttered toast. “Eat up, 
Mr. Frodo. It’s going to be a long day.”
      “Sam, please join me.” When Sam looked embarrassed, Frodo added, “I hate 
eating alone. Please sit with me.”
      Sam sat and started to eat.
      Frodo wondered where he had been last night when the dwarves had come in. He 
couldn’t remember them at all. ‘Well, first there was the feast, which is before they came 
in.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve never seen Strider so relaxed. He looked so different in those elven 
clothes, but he was still playing a part, I think. He was comfortable in the clothes, and 
maybe they were part of him once, but I’ll bet he missed his Ranger-clothes, at least 
somewhat.’
      He spread marmalade on a biscuit. ‘After the feast, Elladan, the elf-lord Sam 
talked to, came to us and thanked Sam for all he’d done. It’s been a long time since I’ve 
seen Sam so red.’ Frodo glanced at his gardener and added, ‘I wanted to kiss away his 
embarrassment.’ Blushing at his own thoughts, Frodo looked away again, finding his 
shredded potatoes fascinating.
      ‘I almost surely have a long journey ahead of me, and none of the others are going 
with me. Especially Sam. I could never ask him to travel so far from his home. Even 
Rivendell is further than he ever wanted to go. But he went because Gandalf asked him to 
watch over me and because I was afraid. Sam has always been able to sense when I am 
terrified. And he’s always been there to support me. But not this time.’
      He turned his thoughts from Sam and their looming separation with an effort. 
‘After Elladan left us to dance with his lover (how free male elves can love!) we found 
Merry and Pippin and the four of us danced, acting very silly.’ Frodo grinned. ‘Not that I 
regret a moment of it. I must have missed the dwarves when we were all prancing about.’
      “You’re not eating, Mr. Frodo. Is something wrong?”
      Frodo blinked, realised he had been staring at the same potato bit for probably 
close a minute, and laughed. “No, Sam. I was just thinking.” And before his friend could 
ask him what he’d been thinking, Frodo began to eat the potatoes in earnest. They really 
were quite good.
      After breakfast, Frodo helped Sam take the dishes to the kitchen. There he found 
several elves already hard at work preparing breakfast for the entire valley, it seemed 
like. ‘But surely most of the elves have their own kitchens. This must just be for the 
visitors.’ He was about to leave when he saw Strider chopping vegetables next to Elladan.
      “Good morning,” the hobbit said. “I didn’t think great lords prepared breakfast for 
guests.”
      Strider glanced up, but it was the elf beside him who spoke. “Estel is a great 
believer in work being an excellent healing tool. Besides, it is a good distraction while 
Elladan and Glorfindel and a few others check the northern and western borders.”
      Frodo blinked, confused. “But,” he blushed, “aren’t you Lord Elladan?”
      The elf smiled. “You told the hobbits all about Luthien and Beren and didn’t tell 
them you have twin brothers? Estel, I’m ashamed of you.”
      Strider laughed. “I didn’t want to embarrass you by saying that I was your 
brother, ancient one.” Then he turned to Frodo. “This is my foster brother, Elrohir, 
second son of Elrond.” He added, “And you have already met my foster sister, Arwen, 
though maybe you didn’t know we were related.”
      “Then you were raised here!” Frodo said.
      “Among the elves?” Sam blurted, then looked away. “I-I just-”
      Frodo put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “We thought that you had always been a 
Ranger,” he said.
      “I was born one, yes,” Aragorn answered. “But when I was very young I was 
brought here for safe-keeping.” And before Frodo could ask what had been so dangerous, 
Aragorn added, “A Ranger’s life is perilous and I am the last in a very long line.” He 
didn’t want Frodo, who was quick and bright, to have time to wonder who would be 
looking for a mere Ranger. ‘Even though I’ve explained that I am Aragorn, I don’t think 
he yet understands.’
      Smiling at Frodo and Sam, Aragorn said, “You should eat and then get out and 
enjoy the bright morning before the council.”
      “We’ve already eaten,” Frodo said, “but thank you. Maybe you’ll walk with us?”
      Aragorn smiled sadly. “I have duties before the council myself. As does Elrohir. 
But if there’s time, I’ll show you some of my favorite places here. The woods to the west 
are especially beautiful and hold many hidden treasures.”
      Frodo nodded, thinking, ‘After you show me, I’ll take Sam there so we can 
discover things together.’ He left, Sam following after.
      “You didn’t want to tell them about me,” Elrohir said, low, when the hobbits were 
out of sight. His lips scarcely moved and he stared fixedly at the vegetables he was 
cutting. For omelets they were, a strange Ranger dish Elrohir had loved when he was… 
‘Well, before all this mess got started,’ he thought. ‘Long before Estel was born.’
      “Rethink that,” Aragorn said without looking at him. His tone was as hard as 
Elrond’s had been when the twins, only fifty years old, had done something exceedingly 
stupid.
      Elrohir bristled at that tone, especially since it came from his little brother, but he 
saw the pain on Aragorn’s face, saw what it was costing his brother not to react to the 
hurt he was feeling. “You didn’t want to tell them… about how Imladris was. About the 
darkness that gathered here.” He shook his head. “But won’t they hear about it from 
Frodo’s uncle? I mean, Bilbo kept to himself for the most part, but he still noticed the 
things that happened around him.”
      “He doesn’t want to worry Frodo any more than I do.” Aragorn added, “And I 
didn’t mention you or Elladan because I didn’t want to talk about Imladris at all. I painted 
a rosy but vague picture for the hobbits to keep them going, but I was afraid of what I 
was going to find when I returned here.” He sighed. “It was almost more than I could 
have hoped for to see Glorfindel riding on the road, strong and free and alone. And when 
I realised he had regained all that he had lost, I dared to hope that Imladris had healed. 
But of course by the time I had started to hope, we were being pursued by the Black 
Riders and there was no time for talk.”
      Elrohir nodded. “I’m sorry, Estel- Aragorn. It’s been… I’ve been…”
      “I’m just glad you’re healing,” Aragorn answered. “My Dunadan, Halbarad, went 
through this time. I’m giving you the same advice I gave him, the advice I should have 
taken myself: stay in the light for a while, heal where it’s safe, then go out and face the 
enemy with others that will stand by you.”
      “Why do you say you should have followed the same advice?”
      Aragorn explained about the attack by the Witch-King and his own suffering and 
descent into darkness. He told of his abuse of Legolas and their parting.
      “But you’re back together now,” Elrohir noted. “I saw you walking in the gardens 
yesterday evening. You weren’t touching, but you were most definitely together. Will 
you marry him when you reach Gondor?”
      “If I do reach it,” Aragorn answered. But even as he spoke the words of worry, his 
eyes sparkled. “And before that I will ask for his hand.”
      “Actually, I’d just like to see you kiss him,” Elrohir murmured.
      Aragorn blinked at him, surprised. “Why is that, Brother?”
      “Because you haven’t yet, as far as I’ve seen. What are you afraid of?”
      Aragorn hesitated, then admitted, “Thoughts of the past, of how I failed him 
before, intimidate me.”
      Elrohir looked up and touched Aragorn’s arm so that the man met his gaze. 
“That’s like standing at the Black Gate with thoughts of Isildur’s failure in your mind. 
You’d be so terrified and paralyzed that Sauron would be able to control you easily.” He 
smiled ruefully. “Take the advice of someone who knows. Sauron got to me through my 
fear for Elladan’s safety and my jealousy that he could ever love anyone even half so 
much as he loves me.”
      He dropped his voice to a whisper. “You need to bind yourself to Legolas now, 
Aragorn, or it will never happen. The Darkness wants so badly to pull you apart. And if 
you really do leave Imladris with the Ring-Bearer, it will be like walking in the shadow 
of Mount Doom. Take every protection you can, and that includes binding yourself to the 
one you love. There isn’t time for a ceremony, but you don’t need a ceremony.”
      Aragorn didn’t answer at once. He went back to chopping peppers, though they 
were already so fine as to scarcely be seen. When he spoke at last, his voice was no 
louder than Elrohir’s. “You’re right. I’ve made the mistake of blundering into the 
darkness alone again. You’d think I would have learned this long ago.”
      “You’d think I would have learned from when Elladan and I went after our 
mother,” Elrohir answered. “But we didn’t. So now, instead of lamenting, do something 
about it.” He plucked the knife from Aragorn’s hand. “Do it now. The council will meet 
in an hour. Do something about it now.”
      Aragorn’s smile was like the sun rising over snowy peaks. “I’m going.” He 
clapped his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “And thank you.” He strode out of the 
kitchen.
***
      He found Legolas sitting by a fountain in the garden where they had once played 
hide and seek. It was technically not a garden for visitors, but Aragorn treasured the quiet 
because few came here. It was planted round with bushes and trees, but no flowerbeds 
had been laid and fountains dominated it, filling the air with mist.
      ‘All things that would lure elves for sure, but this is Elrond’s private garden, 
shared only by himself and his family.’
      Legolas looked up as Aragorn approached. He smiled and brushed a strand of hair 
from his face.
      His hair was completely down; Aragorn saw this and smiled, glad to see the 
golden tresses flowing freely about Legolas’ shoulders. The man went down on one knee 
at Legolas’ side and gazed up into the blue eyes that watched him curiously.
      “I love you, Legolas. And if I love you, then I should show it. I was reserved last 
night, but I should have done what I have always longed to do.” He drew Legolas down 
onto the grass with him, cradling the back of Legolas’ head in his hardened palm. He 
tilted Legolas’ head back and gently kissed him.
      It was like their first kiss in its tentativeness, but then it quickly changed into the 
passionate kisses they had often shared in Gondor. Aragorn inhaled and broke away, 
laughing, his eyes filling with tears. Before Legolas could ask, the Ranger said, “You still 
manage to smell of leather, my Legolas. You still remind me of our family.” Then he 
leaned forward again and resumed the kiss.
      After another moment, it was Legolas’ turn to break away. “I love you, son of 
Arathorn, Chief of the Dunedain. Will you marry me?”
      It was so much like Aragorn’s dream that he gasped. But he laughed, too, at 
suddenly finding his burden gone. He’d been fearing to make that proposal, even though 
he had decided to bind himself to Legolas. Doing so would have seemed to defy fate and 
all that might go wrong. “Yes, Legolas, son of Thranduil, Dunadan, brother of Saru, I 
will if you’ll have me.”
      “Always.”
      Legolas’ smile and the tears in his eyes pulled at Aragorn’s heart. The man leaned 
back into the grass, drawing Legolas on top of him. The rest of the world seemed to have 
vanished. “Will you make love with me, Legolas? Pretend it is our wedding night.”
      Not stated in his plea was the thought that they might not get another chance, that 
they might never reach Gondor. Legolas understood the uncertainty of the future; he’d 
been a Ranger for too long not to. “Always.”
      Aragorn laughed at his impish smile but groaned when Legolas at once undid the 
laces of his weather-stained britches with one quick tug.  “You’ve lost your patience in 
Mirkwood, Legolas. I’m surprised to see it go.”
      “Shut up, Strider. I have patience in all but my desire to see you naked again.” He 
claimed Aragorn’s lips and moaned when Aragorn slipped his rough hands under the 
elven, ceremonial tunic and pushed the material up.
      In moments, they lay revealed to each other, tanned skin a poetic contrast to 
Legolas’ own. They didn’t pause long to reflect on the beauty before them, though; they 
both felt the press of time and knew they would always feel it until the end of their 
journey, good or ill.
      Aragorn took Legolas into himself, relishing the quick dance. Then he rolled on 
top of Legolas and asked, “May I, love?”
      “Always.” Legolas looked surprised at the repeat of his answer and the two of 
them laughed until they were breathless.
      Aragorn entered Legolas more slowly, drawing out the dance. He memorized 
each of Legolas’ gasps, moans and wriggling, silent pleas. He came in Legolas just as the 
beauty beneath him came with a cry.
      Legolas’ cry seemed to echo, to ring.
      Then the ringing was repeated.
      “The bell for the council!” Legolas cried, his eyes wide.
      Aragorn didn’t hurry. He withdrew from Legolas gradually as he kissed the elf 
and calmed him. “It is but the warning bell. We have a moment.”
      When they were both clean (the fountains were good for one thing, Aragorn 
mused) they dressed and left the garden side-by-side.
      ‘As we will undoubtedly enter battle,’ Legolas thought. ‘And that will be sooner 
rather than later.’ He met Aragorn’s gaze for a moment and saw the strong, fierce Ranger 
he had known in the Wilds. ‘We can’t think about our love now. It’s right that I’m 
thinking about battle, even so soon after our joy. Not much of my Ranger-training has left 
me, then.’ At least there was one revelation to smile at.
***
      As the council gathered, Aragorn murmured, “Perhaps it is best we do not show 
ourselves as lovers here.”
      Legolas followed Aragorn’s gaze to the man from the south. “He is truly 
Denethor’s son?”
      “He is, but I’ve no reason not to distrust him.”
      “Yet.”
      “I’m already trying to treat him as a person in his own right, Legolas; don’t you 
start in with my bad habits.”
      “I spent so much time with you, Strider. How can I not?” Legolas glided to a seat 
beside Glorfindel. On the reinstated elf-lord’s other side sat Erestor, and beside the dark-
haired chief advisor sat Lindir. Legolas noted the hierarchy that seemed to be known by 
all but was rarely used. ‘It’s like that among the Dunedain, too. I was only present at a 
few councils, but the seating was completely different. Malacai always sat at Aragorn’s 
right hand and Annaleh or Mordecai at his left.’ He blinked back tears at the thought of 
Malacai and his brother. ‘Aragorn could use you now.’
      Legolas squared his shoulders and pushed his grief away. ‘The time for this is 
over.’ He looked across the circle to where Aragorn had taken a position close to the 
lowest. He had separated himself from the others as well, wrapping his cloak about him. 
‘Now why would he-?’ But even as Legolas wondered, he saw the man Boromir looking 
at Aragorn and he thought, ‘Aragorn doesn’t want to draw attention to himself. Not yet, 
at least. And no matter where he sits he commands respect.’
      Glancing to Boromir’s right, he saw other elves of Elrond’s house and one or two 
from the Grey Havens. Legolas recognized Galdor, but the elf wasn’t looking at him. He 
was too busy glaring at the dwarves that sat near him. Too near, judging by his pinched 
expression.
      Close to where Elrond sat, Gandalf had made himself comfortable with Bilbo and 
Frodo sitting to his left. Frodo looked nervous. Legolas didn’t blame him. The blonde 
noticed the hobbit, Sam, sitting in the shadows at Frodo’s side, all but hidden by the 
bench and the leaves. ‘Does anyone else see he’s there?’ Legolas glanced back at 
Aragorn, caught his eye and turned a little towards the hobbit.
      Aragorn nodded, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips before he became dour once 
again.
      “Strangers from distant lands, friends of old, you have been summoned here to 
answer the threat of Mordor.”
      Legolas turned his eyes back to Elrond, and noted that the elf-lord’s sons were 
sitting near to hand, Elladan closer to their father. Elrohir was looking across the circle to 
where Aragorn sat, but Legolas didn’t follow his gaze. The second son of Elrond could 
afford to look away from his father; no one else, except his brother, could get away with 
that.
      The council progressed slowly for Legolas. He listened to all that was said, but his 
mind was already looking forward to the mission ahead. ‘When will we leave?’ He 
hadn’t yet thought that he wouldn’t be going. ‘I have to go. Aragorn needs me.’
      Then Boromir rose and spoke of using the Ring as a weapon against Mordor. 
Legolas stirred, thinking of the songs the Rangers sang that told of the power of the One, 
and of its all-consuming evil. But Aragorn spoke before he could.
      “You cannot wield it,” Aragorn said, remaining in his seat. “None of us can.”
      Boromir’s eyes narrowed and Legolas felt a stab of anger tighten his features. He 
forced himself to relax as Aragorn continued to speak.
      “The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.”
      ‘He doesn’t like speaking to this man,’ Legolas thought. ‘He sounds… intense. As 
he did when he spoke to Halbarad through me.’
      “And what would a Ranger know of this matter?”
      “I thought of anyone the son of the Steward of Gondor would know the true 
mission of the Rangers,” Glorfindel muttered.
      Legolas stood. “This is no mere Ranger.” ‘As if there is even such a thing,’ he 
added silently. “This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.” He met 
the man’s eyes and knew that he would never be able to separate this man from his 
raping, murdering father.
      Boromir’s eyes widened, but he looked back at Aragorn and the disgust in his 
voice was plain. “Aragorn? This is Isildur’s heir?”
      ‘And lest you forget:’ “And heir to the throne of Gondor.” ‘And last time I 
checked, your father only sat on a chair at the foot of the steps that lead to the dais.’
      Boromir opened his mouth to retaliate, but Aragorn forestalled him, raising a hand 
slightly in a placating gesture. “Sit down, Legolas,” he said in Elvish. His eyes added, 
‘Please.’
      Boromir glared at the elf, then turned back to Aragorn. “Gondor has no king,” he 
said, stalking towards his seat. “Gondor needs no king.”
      Legolas made as if to stand again, but Glorfindel placed a hand on his arm.
      The council ended not much later, which was good for Legolas because he 
thought he was going to explode from trying not to stare at the ignorant man who had 
slighted Aragorn. A fiancée’s love and a Dunadan’s pride united in him to make him long 
to close his fingers around the idiot man’s throat.
      But the council hadn’t ended with any satisfactory decisions being made, Legolas 
thought. Yes, the council had at last decided (in no small part thanks to Glorfindel’s 
input) that the Ring must be taken to Mount Doom and destroyed. Frodo had decided he 
would take the Ring, and Sam swore to accompany him. But as to who else should go, 
that hadn’t even been thought of yet. Instead, Elrond wished to send scouts out to see 
what had become of the Black Riders and what paths were watched more than others. ‘In 
other words, more sitting around and waiting, more like Mirkwood than the Rangers.’ 
Legolas sighed.
      As the council broke up, Legolas watched Elladan stride to Glorfindel’s side. 
Sitting beside his lover, Elladan whispered, “We must travel down the Silverlode, Elrohir 
and I. We have spent much time there and know the country better than any. Will you 
join us?”
      “Do you think it wise to let Elrohir go?”
      “As wise as it is to let me,” Elladan answered, “which is to say not completely, 
but the time has come when every hand is needed. Will you help us?”
      “Short of killing me you couldn’t keep me here.” Glorfindel rose and Elladan 
stood beside him. “When do we leave?”
      “At dusk.”
      Legolas watched them away. He sensed movement to his left and turned his head. 
Aragorn stood there, speaking low with the elderly dwarf, Gloin, and his son, Gimli. 
Legolas knew of Bilbo’s journey to the Lonely Mountain, but he couldn’t help but 
remember all the prejudice his father had driven into him, both as an adult and when he 
was a child.
      Gimli turned his head, apparently sensing the eyes on him. He scowled at 
Legolas, then looked back at Aragorn.
      A moment later, Aragorn bowed to Gloin and turned, approaching Legolas. 
Despite the grave situation, Legolas saw the joy in Aragorn’s eyes. “I must muster the 
Dunedain. They will be needed, though they won’t be coming with us to Gondor and 
Mordor. Our strength will lie in secrecy instead of numbers.”
      Legolas grinned, not caring how child-like the expression made him look. “Am I 
to come with you, then?”
      Aragorn hadn’t lost his stern look, even if his eyes had briefly shone. “If you 
would. It will be a hard ride, and long, but you’re used to that.” He turned towards the 
house and Legolas fell into step beside him. “We leave as soon as we can be ready. I’ll 
meet you at the stables in no more than an hour.” He squeezed Legolas’ shoulder before 
they parted. “At last we are going home, if only for the briefest while.”
***
      “You’ll have to hunt the Riders with all caution because I can’t send more than 
two of you.” Kehydi shook his head. “I don’t want to send you at all, but there’s no one 
else strong enough and wise enough in the ways of the Nazgul.”
      Sitting beside his husband, Saru didn’t speak. He knew that he could go, but knew 
also that not only did Kehydi need him, but the Dunedain were already worried about him 
because of how close he had come to death only three days ago. ‘I still don’t like that 
he’s sending Aaron and Halbarad alone, but what choice does he have? Malacai or 
Aragorn could go alone or with one other and I wouldn’t worry half so much.’
      Halbarad answered, “We’ll be careful and stay out of sight.” He glanced at Aaron.
      “Don’t worry about us, Kehydi. We’ll be back.” Aaron rose, his eyes now turned 
to Saru. “Will you be all right here?” It was meant to be a question for Kehydi, but all 
knew who he was really speaking to.
      “I’ll be fine,” Saru answered. “Aragorn has made me strong again.” He smiled 
and touched Kehydi’s arm. “At least strong enough to stand with my fellow Dunedain.” 
Sensing more of Aaron’s concern than the man would willingly show, Saru stood and 
reached out, touching Aaron’s shoulder. “Don’t fear for me.”
      “I always do, Saru. You are..” Aaron looked away, blushing.
      Halbarad said, “We should go. The sun is down.” He bowed to Saru and Kehydi. 
“We’ll be back in two weeks if we can.” He led the way out of the tent and to the central 
fire where they had left their packs. Neither of them spoke as they headed for the edge of 
camp. Both felt the eyes of the Dunedain upon them.
      For five miles, they journeyed in silence. But as the moon approached its zenith, 
Halbarad decided they were far enough from the camp to talk freely. He had been 
following Aaron, but he picked up his pace and strode beside the older Ranger. ‘Older by 
only two years, but he spent longer faithfully serving Aragorn.’
      “Do you want to talk about it?” Halbarad’s voice was quiet, unobtrusive.
      Aaron didn’t look at him or feign ignorance. “He is so much like Malacai. More 
so than his father, who reminds me of me. If Kehydi dies in battle, Saru is our hope.”
      “Don’t forget Aragorn,” Halbarad warned. “He’s still alive. Don’t tell me you 
don’t believe that.”
      “I do, but sometimes I think it’s only my imagination looking for any hope.”
      “You don’t need an imagination to see hope!” Halbarad exclaimed, louder than 
he’d intended. He continued in a whisper, “Saru was saved by Aragorn only a few nights 
ago!”
      “I know.” Aaron smiled. “My friend, do you want the truth?”
      Halbarad blinked. “Always, Aaron. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to seek?”
      “Aye. And here it is: there is a time when I thought to take Saru to myself, not 
because I loved him as a husband should, but because I didn’t want him to be a target. 
Saru is now third in line on any enemy’s hit-list. His place at Kehydi’s side can be sensed 
by the Dark creatures of this world as surely as you or I can sense deepening darkness.”
      “You can’t protect him, Aaron. He’s a strong fighter now, stronger than most of 
us.” Halbarad laughed. “In fact, given a choice between myself and Saru surviving this 
evil, I would choose Saru every time. Not because I would ever go back to the Dark Lord 
but because I wasted so many years without fighting the darkness. Many of my skills are 
at a level with Aidan’s. I have skills, but they have not been polished by time.” He 
glanced at Aaron, but the Ranger still wasn’t looking at him. “Have faith in Saru’s 
strength. It failed him once because of all he gave away, but he won’t make that mistake 
again. Malacai told me once that Aragorn did something similar. Now, I wasn’t there, but 
I heard all about it. Do you know what time and place I’m talking about?”
      Aaron nodded. Of course he did. “When Malacai was taken by those men in Bree, 
Aragorn gave up his strength to keep Malacai alive. I was trusted with Legolas because 
Aragorn gave everything he had to just keeping his closest friend alive.”
      “They’d taken their separate paths as lovers a dozen or more years before that-”
      “More like twenty,” Aaron answered.
      “-but when Aragorn gave up everything, it was as if nothing had changed between 
them.” He stopped walking and clapped a hand on Aaron’s shoulder. The older, shorter 
Dunedain met his gaze. “Aragorn made the mistake once. Has he made it since? No. He 
has learned how to conserve a little part of himself. And Saru has learned that now. He’ll 
never forget. So quit worrying about a man who’s going to one day stand before Sauron 
and spit in his eye.”
      Aaron laughed. They started to walk again. “When did you learn all this? You 
weren’t there with us that day.”
      “I haven’t just been sitting around on my duff, you know. I learned a lot from 
Mordecai. Then from Malacai and Annaleh. Even Saru and I have talked.” He smiled. 
“You know, I think he actually forgives me?
      “Of course he did. ‘Tis his nature.”
      Halbarad nodded. “No matter how much damage the Dark Lord does, I have a 
feeling the Dunedain will stay together until the very end. And if they do, it is because of 
Aragorn and Saru… and you.”
      Aaron blinked at him. “Halbarad, I am the most doubting-”
      “You have always had faith in the strength of our people. Else why would you 
study our history so deeply? To do that sort of study you must have a love not only for 
what we once were but for what we are and might be again. Accept it, Aaron: you are one 
of the strong ones.”
      Aaron didn’t answer. There was no need. The gratitude he felt was clear in the 
hand he laid on Halbarad’s wrist.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
      They had stopped first at Weathertop, then in Bree, peeking into the Prancing 
Pony to see if any of Aragorn’s people had been there.
      Someone had replaced the firewood on Weathertop and carved a question mark 
and a single word into the topmost log: Strider
      ‘They wonder if I was here,’ Aragorn thought, touching the writing. ‘And when 
were they here, and who was it?’ The carving was good, sharp and clear, and Aragorn 
was put in mind of Mordecai, whose carving had always come off effortless and perfect. 
‘But Mordecai is dead. What new, young Dunadan carved this?’ He hated that he didn’t 
know his people anymore, then sighed. ‘I had no choice. I had to be out on my own.’
      Legolas straightened from the center of the circle made by the stones at the top of 
the hill. “Strider, look here.”
      Aragorn crossed to his side and saw the design in the dirt. Made of widely-spaced 
stones, it wouldn’t have meant anything to most people unless they knew what they were 
looking for. The symbol was a multi-branched tree. A symbol for Gondor. A symbol for 
Gondor’s future king.
      ‘They scarcely ever call me that, knowing how much I dread and fear it by turns. 
So this may be a sign to tell me my hour is near.’ Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment. 
‘Aye, my Dunedain, I know it is, and I only wish I could take you with me because it is 
your hour, too.’
       Legolas stood at the tree’s foot, and he was looking at one stone in particular. 
Aragorn knelt and picked it up, noting that the same hand that had carved into the rock 
and left a message on the stone. A circle enclosed a jagged line that could have been 
taken for anything. ‘Except that this is a campfire. My Dunedain are still holding 
together.’ Aragorn straightened. “Let’s ride.”
      At the Prancing Pony, they heard no rumors of the Dunedain and so were gone in 
less than an hour. Butterbur saw them come and deliberated with himself, thinking that he 
should speak to the dangerous Ranger, but by the time he had gotten his courage up the 
two were leaving again. Butterbur watched them go with some relief and wondered who 
the new Ranger was who had taken up with Strider.
      Aragorn and Legolas rode through the night and galloped up the new sun. When it 
reached its zenith, they stopped their exhausted mounts and caught an hour’s worth of 
sleep. Then off they were again, both of them desperate to get home.
      A mile from the Shire’s outer-most border, Aragorn slowed his stallion to a walk 
and Legolas reined in Esteldil with a soft word. Aragorn didn’t yet know the horse’s 
name, hadn’t asked, in fact, and it always gave Legolas great pleasure to think of his 
secret.
      “We’re being watched,” Aragorn noted in the language of Rohan. “By at least two 
pairs of eyes.” He slowed Roheryn’s walk even more. “Perhaps three.”
      “Rangers?” Legolas kept his eyes trained on the path ahead.
      “Inhale the air discreetly.”
      Which, of course, was what Aragorn had told him when he was much younger, 
letting Legolas develop his own senses. Legolas sniffed the air and picked up pipeweed. 
That in itself didn’t mean the Dunedain, but… Legolas smiled. “Are you going to test 
your theory?” he asked in Rohan’s rolling tongue.
      “Of course.” Aragorn raised his voice slightly and chanted in the Common 
Speech, “All that is gold does not glitter,/Not all who wander are lost;/The old that is 
strong does not wither,/Deep roots are not reached by the frost.”
      There was a rustling in the bushes to the right of the road. Aragorn smiled and 
continued, “From the ashes a fire shall be woken,/ A light from the shadows shall spring;/ 
Renewed shall be blade that was broken:/ The crownless against shall be king.” He 
laughed at the continued rustling. “Of course, we know better,” he said, supposedly to 
Legolas. “The Blade-that-was-Broken was reforged long ago by the lords Elladan and 
Elrohir.”
      Someone dropped from a tree and landed in front of them. Esteldil and Roheryn 
didn’t shy. Aragorn rubbed his stallion’s neck. “As sturdy as your grandsire you are, 
Roheryn.”
      “Strider!” The young Ranger’s face was bright. She threw back her hood and 
gazed up at him, brown eyes sparkling. “I am Nella.” She bowed. “Welcome home, son 
of the North.”
      From the bushes came two others, a man and a boy of ten or so summers. 
‘They’ve had to send the children in young.’ Aragorn’s heart grieved at that, but he 
refused to let it show.
      The man bowed and the boy imitated him, his eyes so wide Aragorn thought they 
might roll right out of his head. The man said, “I am Raven, husband of Cein, Kehydi’s 
child. This is Kehydi’s youngest, Mordecai.”
      Aragorn dismounted and took Raven’s hand, drawing him back to a straight 
posture. “Never gladder was I to see these woods,” he said, “or my people.” Then he 
turned. “This is Legolas Dunadan, son of Thranduil, my betrothed.”
      Nella gasped and when Legolas smiled at her, she laughed out loud, clapping her 
hands. Her joy made her look fourteen instead of the forty-something she was.
      Aragorn returned to his horse. “We shouldn’t talk here. Where have you moved 
the camp?”
      “Mordecai will lead you,” Raven said.
      Aragorn nodded. After settling himself on his horse, he helped Saru’s son to sit 
before him. “Then we will see you there.”
      Raven grinned, his formal manner evaporating. “We’ll see you at home.” He and 
Nella disappeared into the bushes.
      As Aragorn and Legolas resumed their journey, Mordecai asked, his voce 
scarcely above a whisper, “Are you Aragorn? You are, aren’t you?”
      “Yes, son of Kehydi, I am.”
      “Aidan said he talked to you, that you saved Papa’s life.” Mordecai added matter-
of-factly, “Papa almost died. Aaron couldn’t help him. No one could help him. Then he 
came back and he thanked Aidan for calling you.”
      “Your brother has an amazing talent. And what of you, Mordecai, your uncle’s 
namesake? What is your talent?’
      Mordecai bit his lip. “I don’t know if I have one.”
      “You’re not afraid to talk to me, even though we’ve never met and I am your 
chief. You are brave, Mordecai. Many people are afraid of me.”
      “Then they’re stupid,” Mordecai answered. “You’re Strider; why should your 
Rangers be afraid of you?”
      Aragorn laughed. “True for you; they shouldn’t. But it has been long years and 
long since I met such a strong, sure young man. I’m lucky to have you among my 
Dunedain.”
      Mordecai blushed. Then, remembering his manners, he said, “Thank you, Lord 
Aragorn. You honor me.”
      Aragorn’s lips twitched and he glanced at Legolas over the boy’s head. But he 
only asked, “When do we leave the road?”
***
      Aidan pulled the bow back, his eyes trained on the target. He sensed Saru beside 
him, watching him, measuring his posture, his stance, his concentration. ‘He watches me 
even though I am an adult now and have been for some while.’ He admitted that two 
months was not ‘some while,’ but he didn’t care. And on some level he knew Saru was 
watching him, counseling him, guiding him because, he, Aidan son of Kehydi, would one 
day be second in command of the Dunedain.
      ‘I always thought it would be Adalai. I thought he would mature or…’ Aidan 
grimaced, hating himself for insulting his departed brother. ‘What kind of Ranger am I if 
I don’t love my family?’
      “Are you going to shoot today or do you want to try tomorrow?”
      Saru’s tease, light and gentle, brought Aidan out of his depression. He turned his 
mind from the past and let the arrow fly. The sun glimmered on its shaft, painting it with 
gold. Aidan knew it would fly true, and turned to his papa. “I’m sorry; I guess I was 
daydreaming.” He heard the thud behind him as the arrow hit its mark.
      “Except daydreams are usually peaceful.” Saru approached him, touching his arm. 
“Tell me, Aidan.”
      “I was thinking of Adalai.” He looked down at his boots. “I wasn’t being 
charitable towards him in my thoughts.” Wrapping his cloak around himself, he added, 
“Sometimes I think he died for a reason.”
      “So you could follow in your father’s footsteps?”
      Aidan couldn’t read his papa’s expression, but he knew shock was plain in his 
own eyes. Even after fifteen years, he wasn’t used to Saru being able to read him so 
thoroughly. He whispered, looking away, “Yes.”
      Saru took Aidan’s bow and examined it as he spoke. “And you may be right. 
Some believe that the Valar do things for a reason. That brings some people comfort.”
      “What do you believe?”
      Saru’s eyes darkened as he raised his head. “I don’t know. Aragorn and Malacai 
believed that there is no one ruling their lives, no one watching over them. I can’t ascribe 
to that because of the coincidences that have happened in my own life, but sometimes I 
wonder if the Valar that are watching us want us to succeed or if they are just spectators.”
      “Do you think they’d want us to fail?”
      “If there’s a possibility of one, there’s the possibility of the other. But no matter 
what happens outside this world, all we can tend to is what occurs around us and how we 
react to it.”
      “So we shouldn’t worry about it, either.” Aidan took the bow when Saru offered it 
and started walking towards the wooden target. He had struck it in the center.
      “Exactly.” Saru stayed where he was, looking up at the trees. Autumn had come 
to the woods. Winter soon would follow. Saru vowed to take joy in winter’s beauty. 
Sometimes that was harder said than done; each changing season was another season that 
Aragorn was away. “Let’s get back. There are still chores to be done before-” He froze, 
his face turned east.
      Aidan didn’t ask; he knew enough to be silent and listen. He dropped to a crouch 
when his papa did, following the older Ranger into the shadows. There they waited, half-
hidden.
      The sound of hooves on leaves reached them. No tinkling of bells accompanied it, 
so this was no elf-horse. But neither did it seem to be one of the Nine, for the woods were 
undarkened
      “If we keep going north, we’ll run right into the camp,” spoke a child’s voice.
      ‘Mordecai, who have you-?’ Saru rose, drawing his throwing knives with a 
whisper of steel he hoped was screened by a sudden rustling of the wind in the leaves.
      The horses drew nearer and now Saru heard a voice that he had believed, in his 
secret heart, he would never hear again. “I sense we’re being watched. The Dunedain 
have not forgotten how to guard their own.”
      ‘Legolas!’ Saru hesitated still, wary and unwilling to sheathe his knives.
      “There shouldn’t be any guards here,” Mordecai said. “This is a shooting-range.” 
A pause, then, “My brother is the best bowman ever born.”
      “Legolas might have something to say about that,” a dry, rich voice answered.
      Saru’s knives vanished and he broke from cover. “Strider!”
      The horses stepped into view and Saru stopped, his face filled with wonder and an 
ecstasy that was nearly painful. He looked between the two, his eyes wide as Mordecai’s 
had been. “Of all joys hoped for, this is the least expected!”
      Aragorn had already dismounted. As he lifted Mordecai from the saddle, Legolas 
reached Saru. The two embraced, sharing tears as they share support.
      “You are so regal,” Saru breathed. “Ah, Legolas, you are so beautiful. Radiant. 
What good fortune brings you back to us?”
      “Not so much good fortune, but you’re right: good has come of it.” Legolas’ voice 
dropped. “Aragorn and I are to be wed.”
      Saru’s jaw went slack and for a moment he was incapable of putting it where it 
belonged. He hugged Legolas until they were both breathless.
      Legolas, smiling, urged Saru to let him go. He turned, knowing that Aragorn 
wanted to greet his Dunadan.
      Saru bowed to Aragorn, but didn’t protest when the Chief of the Dunedain drew 
him close, his calloused hands on Saru’s back, touching his long hair and the rough 
weave of his shirt. Neither of them spoke.
      After a moment, Saru took a step back and gestured to his older son. Mordecai 
had gone to stand by his brother and watched as Aidan approached Aragorn, his gaze 
steady, even though his hands trembled. When he was standing before his chief, Aidan 
bowed.
      Aragorn placed a hand on Aidan’s shoulder, then, when the young man was 
looking at him, bowed in return. “Thank you for reaching me, son of Kehydi. You have 
won a victory against the Enemy. Someday your bravery will be sung.”
      “I don’t care about that as long as Sauron is destroyed.”
      Aragorn smiled. “Aye, you have your papa’s heart and your father’s as well. I am 
proud to call you one of my people.” He looked to Mordecai. “Would you lead the way, 
Dunadan?”
      His eyes shining, Mordecai turned on his heel and started in towards the last 
Northern camp of the Dunedain.
***
      Aaron found the tattered cloak at the foot of the falls twenty-something miles 
south of Rivendell. He drew it from the water with a stick and gazed on it, frowning. 
Halbarad stood beside him, but looking back the way they had come.
      “It is from one of the Black Riders,” Aaron said. “But seeing it here doesn’t mean 
the wraith was destroyed.”
      “But at the very least it was unhorsed,” answered a voice from across the river.
      Both Rangers turned, their hands falling to their swords. Too shaken by all that 
had happened, they didn’t realize that it was a fair voice that spoke to them.
      A tall figure stepped from between two trees and his eyes shone like the moon on 
a clear night. His dark hair was tied back, braided and he wore clothes that looked half 
elven and half Ranger-made. He bowed to them. “We are well met, Dunedain, on the trail 
of the Nazgul. I am Elladan, son of Elrond. I seek the same as you: the fate of the Nine 
that dogged friends to our very door.”
      Neither man could speak, and perhaps that was for the best.
      Later, under a sky that was losing light moment by moment as the sun 
disappeared, the three elves and the two men sat about a small fire. The tension of the late 
morning had been forgotten and they talked as if they were old friends. Halbarad 
marveled silently at the recovery of the twins, and when he caught Glorfindel’s eye, he 
realized that the Elda perceived his wonder.
      The elves spoke of the hobbits the Nazgul hunted, though none mentioned the 
Ring. “And if not for Estel, they would have surely been taken,” Glorfindel finished. “As 
it was, they were weary and frightened and injured when I met them on the road.”
      “Then you have seen Strider,” Aaron said, leaning forward, his half-filled pipe 
hanging from his fingers, forgotten. “How is he? Where has he been? Will he return?”
      “No one can answer that last except time,” Glorfindel answered. “But he was well 
and strong. He has helped to drive the Shadow from Imladris and to work wonders on the 
afflicted.” He didn’t glance at Elrohir. “As to where he was before that, I know only that 
he journeyed to Mordor in pursuit of the creature Gollum and that he captured the 
dangerous thing and took it to Mirkwood.”
      “Gollum… the thing in the darkness that riddled with Bilbo Baggins,” Aaron 
murmured.
      “Yes.” Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “I must admit I didn’t think the Dunedain 
would be so knowledgeable.”
      “It is only Aaron that knows such things. Aaron and Strider,” Halbarad said. “For 
Strider is our chief and Aaron our historian. In him you will find a wealth of stories and 
knowledge three millennia long.”
      Aaron blushed. “And here you see a son of the Dunedain who heaps praise on my 
head as if I were a beast of burden.” He finished filling his pipe, but didn’t light it. “If 
Strider took Gollum to Mirkwood, did he meet Legolas?”
      “No,” Elrohir said, speaking for the first time since the two parties had met, “but 
he met him in Rivendell less than a fortnight ago. The two are together again, as they 
should be.” He saw the flicker of hope in Aaron’s eyes and nodded. “They love each 
other and will not be parted by any words.”
      Aaron grinned, and as with Nella, he looked twenty years younger. “And tell me 
of this Gollum, I beg. What have the elves of that land done with him?”
      Elrohir shook his head. “They lost him. In trying to be kind and in hopes of a cure 
for him, they were deceived. He escaped with the help of orcs that came upon his guards 
without warning. Legolas brought the message from his father.”
      “We’ll watch for him,” Halbarad said.
      Aaron shook his head. “Gollum won’t come here unless he has completely lost 
the trail of the Ring. Because he knew Bilbo lived in the Shire, but he doesn’t know that 
his precious has left that place.” He saw the elves exchange a glance when he spoke of 
the Ring and raised an inquiring eyebrow at them.
      “Do you know what the Ring is?” Elladan asked. “Which Ring of Power it is?”
      Aaron frowned, and when he spoke, his voice was scarcely to be heard. “Malacai 
thought it was the One.”
      “He’s right,” Glorfindel said. “But now it is gone in safety from here. You should 
find it easier, at least for a while.”
      “We don’t care about easy,” Halbarad answered, “as long as we see Aragorn 
again.”
      No one answered him. After a time, after Aaron had at last lit his pipe, Glorfindel 
said, “We should get some sleep and resume the tracking tomorrow.”
      “I’ll take the first watch,” Halbarad said. “I’m too restless to sleep anyway.”
      Aaron shook his head. “If you ever sleep, I have yet to see it. I’ll sit up with you 
until I finish this.” He nodded at his pipe, then stuck its stem back in his mouth.
      Glorfindel and Elladan climbed a tree and disappeared from view.
      Elrohir sat moodily by the fire, staring into its heart as if nothing else in the world 
mattered but the burning of wood into ash. His hair, unlike his brother’s, hung mostly 
free about his shoulders, only two braids keeping it from hanging in his eyes. His pale 
skin looked like cream in the firelight, and his hooded eyes gleamed with an emotion that 
couldn’t be read.
      Aaron watched the smoke from his pipe rise even as he studied the second son of 
Elrond. Halbarad had given his own report of the troubles in Imladris when he returned 
from there and Aaron found himself wondering how many of the dangers had passed. 
‘They say the Shadow has passed, but something clings to the elf before me. Grief 
maybe, or anger. I can’t be sure. But…’ He glanced at Halbarad and saw that the man’s 
eyes were much like Elrohir’s: hard to read, but filled with some emotion that sought 
escape. ‘I think I’ve smoked enough for one day,’ Aaron decided. He rose to his feet and 
stretched, then emptied his pipe onto the ground, crushing the small flame out with his 
heel.
      “I think the others have the right idea,” he said, noting that the other two barely 
looked at him. “I’m going to find a comfortable tree to sleep in.” He slipped his pipe into 
his pocket, then touched Halbarad’s shoulder to get the Dunadan’s attention for a 
moment. “Wake me when you start to feel sleepy.”
      Halbarad nodded, then turned back to the fire.
      ‘Or when you’re done working this out with Elrohir,’ Aaron thought as he drew 
himself up a nearby maple. ‘Whichever comes first.’ He couldn’t have said, not even to 
himself, what he expected to happen. But he had a feeling something good would come 
of these two meeting in the woods. ‘Maybe everything that happens is by chance, but this 
was still meant to be, if only because they are so alike.’ He made himself as comfortable 
as he could in the crotch of a tree, closed his eyes and gave himself over to sleep.
      Left alone, Elrohir and Halbarad at first didn’t understand that they were alone 
physically as well as in their minds. Each of them had retreated into his own thoughts, 
some kind, some troubled. The fire burned low between them and the darkness drew 
down, calling out the night-creatures. As the song of peepers rose, harmonizing with the 
crickets and the occasional who-wit of an owl, each traveler mediated on the music in his 
own way. The waking dreams were strangely similar.
      Halbarad thought of the night hr had been approached by Aragorn in Lothlorien. 
Then, as now, he felt lost, though at least now he knew that he must stay on the path, 
even if he didn’t know which fork to take. Aragorn’s voice seemed to merge with the 
peepers and the cricket-bugs, calling to him. ‘Halbarad, soon you will join me and I will 
call you Dunadan. But I have a task for you to complete first.’ What task? ‘You will 
know him when you see him.’
      Him?
      Elrohir dreamed of spotting Elladan across the river, of calling to his brother to 
stay still and wait for him. ‘I swam across the river and held him because I was so afraid 
that I had lost him.’ Again, the voice that he heard seemed to merge with the song around 
him.
      ‘Elrohir, you can only help me by helping him. Helping him will help you.’ 
Elladan, who do you mean? I can help you by staying beside you and- ‘Help him heal, 
Elrohir. And you know of whom I speak.’
      The man and the elf raised their heads at the same time, locking gazes. Identical 
expressions of relieved understanding crossed their faces. ‘Oh,’ they thought almost as 
one. ‘He’s the one I’m supposed to help.’
      Still as one, they rose and moved a little away from the fire, though within sight 
of it, and of the trees where the others slept. They sat down side-by-side and Elrohir 
touched Halbarad’s knee.
      “Speak, Dunadan; I would hear.”
      “I am no Dunadan; not until Aragorn makes it so. Speak, son of Elrond.”
      “I am not a son of Elrond until I have seen my brother to the end of his journey.”
      They sat in silence. The place where Elrohir’s hand rested started to feel warm. 
Halbarad covered the elf’s hand with his own. “Would you cast off your grief?” asked the 
Ranger. “I know I would burn mine if I could. Burn it in that fire there and be free of it.” 
Then he laughed, the sound hoarse. “I sound like a prophetic dream.”
      “Aye, you do.” Elrohir’s eyes sparkled, but the smile on his lips only held for a 
moment. “Sometimes it’s easier to talk like that, to hide behind the deep meanings when 
you’re afraid. We say what we mean, but it’s distanced from us.”
      “Until we’re ready to bear it again.” Halbarad was nodding. “Let us use it a little 
longer. I want this war to be over. I want to stop seeing the poison in my home. Among 
my people. In me.”
      “I don’t think it’s a poison that you see but a lack of faith. I don’t have faith, 
either. You and I both lack faith, Dun- Halbarad.” Then, after a moment, “We’re healed 
but we’ve been trying to figure things out for so long that when there’s nothing left to 
figure out we make up things.” He snickered like an elfling and squeezed Halbarad’s 
hand. “Maybe there is nothing left to figure out.”
      Halbarad turned to face Elrohir. “There has to be something.”
      “Why? Because we need it?” Elrohir was grinning still. “Think about it, my 
friend. What right do we have to expect the world to continue providing internal 
challenges for us when there are so many external challenges that demand our attention?” 
He laughed again. “Some are afraid to face the demons within-”
      “But we know no other way to live.” Halbarad was laughing, too. “It can’t really 
be that simple, though.”
      “Why not? Who are we to beg for a certain type of challenge? We aren’t the 
Valar, or even someone with a predetermined destiny.” He was thinking of Elladan, who 
would fill their father’s place in Imladris one day.
      An image of Aragorn appeared in Halbarad’s mind. “No. We’re just the mice on 
the sidelines, trying to help but not being able to walk in the lion’s shoes.” He met 
Elrohir’s gaze and both of them burst out laughing.
      “What color mouse are you?” Elrohir asked, snickering.
      “A brown one with some grey. I’m getting old.”
      “I guess I’m a black and white mouse with oildrop eyes that see everything but 
don’t understand it at all.”
      “Yes you do,” Halbarad answered. “You understand that you are a mouse, that 
we’re mice. And that’s enough understanding for anyone.” He chuckled. “Even Aragorn, 
who knows he’s a lion and just goes along doing what his lion instincts tell him to do.”
      “Swish your tail, eat that orc, love an elf who needs and loves you back.” Elrohir 
nodded. “You’re right. Our challenges inside are over; we conquered them, hard as that is 
to believe. Now we just have to stand and be true.”
      Halbarad sighed. “That won’t be so hard. We love the lions we help.”
      “True for you.” Elrohir closed his eyes. “Will you sleep now, Halbarad? I haven’t 
slept next to anyone in a long time. I think I miss it.”
      “And I never have. I’ll try it.”
      As one, they made their way back to the fire. Halbarad whistled softly, almost an 
owl’s hoot.
      Aaron dropped gracefully from the tree. “Aye,” he said as if the whistle had been 
a question, “I’ll watch for a bit. The space I just left is big enough for you, I think.”
      The two climbed the tree. Halbarad settled himself in the crotch, one leg dangling. 
Elrohir curled on top of him, his eyes growing vacant almost at once. “Hal?” he asked 
form the shores of sleep.
      “Aye?”
      Elrohir yawned. “Until morning.”
      “Aye.”
***
      “Aragorn has returned!” Mordecai grinned at his own loud cry and swept aside 
bowing to Aragorn.
      His cry brought every Dunadan in the camp from their tents. Kehydi fairly fell out 
of his with Cein and Rowena just behind him. When he saw that it wasn’t a trick, that 
Aragorn had indeed appeared magically in the camp once more, he wept. He couldn’t 
help it.
      Aragorn went to him and drew him close, kissing his forehead twice before 
holding him against his chest. Around the Dunedain gathered, and Aragorn grinned at 
them, glad to see so many familiar faces. His heart was sore once again to see all those 
that were gone, knowing that many of them were dead. But those that were very much 
alive were gazing at him, many of the younger Rangers for the first time and Aragorn 
knew now was not the time for grief. There had been too much of that.
      Kehydi stepped back, scrubbing his tears away. “Aragorn… Aragorn…” He was 
shaking his head, but the foolish grin on his face belied this negating gesture. Then he 
stepped back, letting Annaleh come to him and curtsey before him.
      Aragorn raised her up at once and bowed to her, saying, “My lady, I love you. 
Thank you for all you have done here.”
      Annaleh, too, wept, and this time Aragorn was hard-pressed not to weep with her. 
‘There will be a time for that, and it must be this evening. But for now…’ He kissed her 
forehead, then her cheek. “We are well-met, beloved Dunadan,” he whispered in her ear.
      “Legolas!” Kehydi had spotted the elf and he flew to him, hugging him.
      Annaleh glanced over Aragorn’s shoulder and loosed a sigh of such relief that it 
was as if she had been holding her breath for years.
      ‘Perhaps her soul has been doing just that,’ spoke a voice in Aragorn’s mind. 
      ‘Aye, Malacai, I believe it’s true. And seeing me causes her pain.’
      ‘She knows of your knowledge, knows that you know I’m dead. What she feels 
now is the release of not being the one everyone will turn to, at lease for this one night. 
They turned to Kehydi, they turned to Saru, they turned to Aaron, but they also turned to 
her. Because she was much of my strength, and all knew it.’
      ‘I love you, Malacai. Will you speak with us later?’
      ‘I may. First, we’re gathering information about the Nine.’
      ‘My stalwart second.’ Aragorn chuckled softly, then saw others were coming to 
him. ‘I must go.’
      ‘Go. And may they have joy of your return.’
      As Aragorn greeted more and more of his people, he noticed something that made 
him feel slightly uneasy. There were few babies. At first, he couldn’t think why this 
would disturb him. Then he realized that it had been the business of the Dunedain, while 
protecting the Shire and other northern lands, to keep the Dunedain going, adding 
children to each new generation.
      ‘It’s as if they’ve decided that they’re all tired,’ Aragorn thought as he allowed 
himself to be introduced to the rest of Saru’s children. ‘At least Saru’s daughter is 
pregnant,’ he thought, seeing that Cein had a swollen belly.  ‘She’s one of the few.’ After 
a while, he revised that assessment: ‘She is one of only three.’ He understood, of course, 
that there had been much grief, and many of the men had fallen, never to rise. Still, there 
were many husbands and wives. 
      ‘They’re losing their hope, or they know it’s almost the end of the road, even if 
that road is good, and don’t want to bring any more children into a world where soon 
every hand will be needed.’
      “It’s been hard on us,” said a soft voice in his ear. “We’ve been afraid and lost 
without you. Strong enough to hold our own as we have ever been, and strong enough to 
protect the Shire and Bree-Lands, but our hope wanes. We cling only because we love 
you and our families and know that any failure will bring the Darkness. But of hope we 
have had to do with very little. Too little.”
      Aragorn put his arm around Saru’s shoulders. “Aye, I can see it. Not just in the 
few children but in what I saw on the road. Your son, Mordecai, would have never been 
allowed to run with the adults until he was close to an adult himself.” He turned his gaze 
to Aidan, who was talking with Legolas. Beyond them, the Dunedain were preparing a 
feast. “And tell me of Aidan, if you would. He walks as a man, but is he?”
      “He passed the tests,” Saru answered. “One of the youngest to do so. All of the 
children are told of you, but Aidan cut his battle-teeth on stories of you and Malacai and 
Melchelai and all those who have gone before. He thrives on the stories and seeks to 
bring back the former glory of Elendil’s days to all those around him. He speaks always 
of the love he has for you and for the Dunedain.” Saru sighed. “He is so much like 
Malacai that it sometimes makes me weep to see him.”
      “And he is like you as well,” Aragorn said. “His caring is like yours: unfailing, a-
purpose always with his heart.”
      “Wasn’t Malacai like that?” Saru asked.
      “Aye, but not with such a clear and present sense of direction. On the road of 
Aidan’s life, each stone has been placed there for a reason and he moves from one to the 
next with all the wariness and yet all the dignity of an elven wanderer. Like Gil-galad he 
is.”
      “You’ve changed,” Saru said. “You speak in images. Since when have you done 
that?”
      Aragorn smiled. “I should have known it wouldn’t go unnoticed. I spent long 
months in Harad. Upwards of a year I spent spying on our enemies and noting the 
continued, prospering slave-trade. That will be something I will have to guard against if I 
ever come to Gondor. Perhaps we can even make a treaty with Harad that will dispel 
slavery.”
      Saru’s eyes darkened. “If anyone can, you can, Aragorn.” Then he said, his voice 
completely changed, “There are others you should speak with besides me.”
      “But you have other things you want to say,” Aragorn answered.
      “Aye, but they can wait. What I wish more is for you to meet the younger 
Dunedain, to learn about them, and for them to see you as more than a shadow. If you 
want them to follow you, you’ll have to act like the charismatic Dunadan we all would 
follow to the ends of Middle-Earth and beyond.” He pushed Aragorn away from him. 
“Go. They await you.”
      Aragorn left, his mind turning to Kehydi. He had seen so much of Saru and 
Malacai in Kehydi’s children, but he didn’t see anything of their father, his second. ‘And 
I’m not really thinking of him as my second,’ Aragorn admitted. ‘I must change that.’
      So instead of speaking of more pressing matters during dinner and the council 
afterwards, Aragorn spoke of the past. He asked his people to talk to him freely and bit 
by bit they did. He sat with Kehydi at his right hand and he asked his second about all 
that had passed since he left, discussing strategy with him as if he were Malacai.
      At first, Kehydi couldn’t give him much more than a sketch of things and a rough 
sketch at that. Aragorn began to despair in his heart. But he pressed on and gradually he 
learned that Kehydi knew more than he was telling, that he did in fact understand things 
both as they related to the Dunedain and the world outside, but that he was having trouble 
putting them into words. Aragorn helped him with leading questions and soon Kehydi 
began to show his prowess in matters of leading the Dunedain. He relied much on 
counsel, it was true, but he always had the last word, and most of the time that last word 
was the right one.
      Aragorn found that he trusted Kehydi, only that he had to become comfortable 
with his new second’s ways of conducting himself. He didn’t follow his instincts, as 
Malacai had, but the counsels he took seemed brief and to the point. And, as said before, 
he made up his own mind.
      ‘Aye, this is as it should be,’ Aragorn thought.
      When he was done speaking with Kehydi and when talk of the past had receded, 
Aragorn led the Dunedain, old and new, in the dances he had been taught, and taught in 
turn, in the years before Rohan and Gondor. He was surprised to see that many of the 
dances weren’t known by the younger Dunedain and reminded himself that they’d had 
precious little to celebrate. ‘And maybe Kehydi forgot that morale is central to everything 
we do out here. To be a dour-handed Ranger is fine among the villages and border-lands, 
but here, among ourselves, we need to let our hair down.’
      He drew surprised laughter from them and at first it was like drawing poison from 
a wound. But as they relaxed, as he taught them the joy of being free in the wilds, they 
started to laugh freely. Some of the bolder among them (young boys and girls for the 
most part) began to joke. Aragorn joked right back, teasing them as he had been teased 
when he first came to the Dunedain as a twenty-year old green-as-green-could-be boy out 
of Rivendell.
      And of course they danced the pairing circles, crowing with delight when they 
were paired strangely. Aragorn at first made the calls, leading with the drum, but then he 
joined the dance. He watched Legolas pick up a fiddle and carry the melody line, adding 
little elven twists to it that made the others of the group (older Dunedain for the most 
part) laugh and cheer and tease him.
      And when the dancing was done, Aragorn gathered his people about the fire to 
sing. The moon had risen and the wind had come with it, though not strong enough to 
make them uncomfortable.
      Aragorn had seen, when he first arrived, that Aaron and Halbarad weren’t there, 
but had been assured they were simply off on a mission. He wished to see them but knew 
it couldn’t be. ‘Aaron took over Mordecai’s duties; he could have sung many of these 
songs. And I still have to meet with Halbarad again.’
      To his delight, Aragorn found that many of the younger Dunedain, even more so 
than the old, knew a great number of the stories that had been cast into song. ‘Aaron has 
done well,’ he thought as he sang the chorus of “Eriador, my home in the North.”
      They sang “Gondor in the Morning Light” and they sang
      “Life Between the Mountains and Sea” and they sang
      “Fire, Make My Lady Warm” a risqué song that Aragorn didn’t mind in the least 
sharing because they knew it already and they loved it. The children were mostly 
mystified, but that was all right; they would learn about it soon enough. And they sang
      “Elendil’s Hand” and they sang “Gil-galad’s Joy” until Aragorn wept with the 
sheer beauty of their united voice and the power of their memories.
      As one, two girls of twelve moved to his side while he cried and knelt beside him, 
hugging him and telling him all would be well. Aragorn kissed them on the forehead and 
thanked them, asking who they were. Daughters of Nella, they answered, and of her 
husband, Nickeh. Aragorn kissed their foreheads again, thanked them again, and sang 
more songs.
      As the hour passed midnight, Aragorn asked those of his people who wished to 
stay up and hear of the road ahead to move to his side. As one, every Dunedain stood and 
stepped close to him, or as close as they could get. Aragorn hid his tears this time and bid 
them sit.
      He talked the sun up. Not many had fallen asleep; even Mordecai had kept his 
eyes open, though only with an effort. As the morning birds took flight, Aragorn asked, 
“Will you do as I have asked, my people? Will you help us seek out the Enemy’s scouts 
and yet still defend the Shire and the Bree-lands? I know you are already stretched thin, 
but I still ask you, will you help?”
      “Aye!” they shouted.
      Aragorn thought he hadn’t shed so many tears in a long while. “Then let us set a 
watch and sleep until the sun rises to its rooftop. In the afternoon we will talk about who 
goes where.” Now came the hard part. “Legolas and I will have to leave at dusk. We are 
still needed in Rivendell.”
      There was a disappointed murmur, but Kehydi stood and said, “We will do all you 
ask, Aragorn. You have brought life back to us and we will await your return with 
stalwart hearts.”
      Aragorn, too, stood, and put his hand on Kehydi’s shoulder. “I thank you, my 
second,” he said so that all could hear, “but I must tell you this: the end is coming soon; 
for good or ill by this time next year will our fate be decided. And if I can call for you 
before that, I will. For I want you there when Gondor is gained or lost.”
      “We’ll be ready,” called Nella.
      “Aye, ever ready,” Aidan added.
      Aragorn bowed to his people. “I thank you all and love you. Come. Let us set the 
watch then get some sleep.”
***
      Legolas made his way to Saru’s side as the man sat by the central fire, his eyes 
turned to the east. The elf sank down beside him and took his hand.
      Saru glanced at him, squeezed his hand, but did not smile. “Aragorn has given life 
back to all of us. To Kehydi, though I thought my husband might give up hope when he 
saw how Aragorn spoke to me and to others.”
      “Is Kehydi the leader the Dunedain need?”
      “Aiya, Legolas, he does the best he can. But he wasn’t meant for leadership. Not 
like Malacai was, or his father before him. Kehydi is meant to follow. And he will follow 
well and fight well. But he isn’t the leader we need.” Saru shook his head. “No one here 
is. Only Aragorn can lead us.”
      “What about Aaron?” the elf asked.
      Saru shook his head. “Nay; even if there was some way for another to lead 
besides Kehydi, none could step into the place Malacai left.”
      “What about you?” Legolas gripped Saru’s hand. “You’re strong, Saru, and you 
speak good counsel. You always have. Why couldn’t you lead?”
      Again, Saru shook his head. “My counsel isn’t good, Legolas, at least not for 
these times. I want to help, but I don’t think about battles well.”
      “It seems to me the Dunedain need a father-figure instead of a war chieftain. Let 
Aragorn do that. That’s his birth-right. You could guide them gently, as I know you have 
been.”
      “Then if I have been doing it already, I don’t need to usurp Kehydi’s power. Not 
only would that be against Dunedain law, but it would cripple Kehydi.”
      Legolas had his own opinions about Kehydi but decided to keep them to himself. 
Privately, he thought that Saru allowed himself to be used. Why else would he get so 
weak that his soul began to uncouple from his body?
      “My place is behind Kehydi, supporting him, not in front, being supported by 
him.” Saru’s eyes went to where Aragorn stood talking with Kehydi before the two 
parted to get some sleep. “Besides, now that Aragorn has accepted Kehydi as his second 
in command, even though Kehydi is very different from Malacai, I think all will be well. 
Kehydi will be stronger for Aragorn’s faith in him.”
      ‘You’re fooling yourself,’ Legolas thought. “If you believe all of that, why are 
you still uneasy?”
      He expected Saru to deny his feelings, but the man answered at once, “Because 
there are times when counsel cannot be taken and a leader has to decide in an instant 
what he will do. Aragorn can do that.” He smiled. “Aidan can do that, though not all his 
decisions are yet wise. Annaleh can do that. Kehydi… cannot. Not now, perhaps not 
ever.” He added almost at once, “But maybe I’m being unfair. I am doing what Aragorn 
was before: comparing Kehydi to his father.”
      “No,” Legolas answered, “you’re comparing one leader to another and seeing 
which way you prefer, which one you would rather follow.”
      “Well if that’s what I’m doing it’s still wrong,” Saru said softly, “because Malacai 
is dead and Kehydi is all we have.”
      “Only a man who doesn’t understand or learn from history clings to the same 
weapon that failed him in the past.”
      Saru rounded on him, his eyes wide with shock. “Kehydi has never failed us!” he 
hissed.
      “He failed you,” Legolas argued. “He almost let you die. You would have died if 
not for Aidan and Aragorn.”
      “Aye, but I didn’t.” Saru’s eyes flashed. “Legolas, don’t do this please. I beg you 
to let the matter drop. There’s nothing that can be changed except by Aragorn. And he 
has already changed much for the better.” 
      Legolas acquiesced, not wanting to fight with his brother, but he knew in his heart 
that Saru didn’t believe what he was saying. ‘I just hope you discover the truth for 
yourself before it’s too late. Because Kehydi may now love you and try to do what’s 
right, but he isn’t fit to lead.’
      In his mental tone, Legolas could hear his father and hated it. But that didn’t 
change the basic truth of what he thought. Thranduil was nothing if not blunt, and 
Legolas had found long ago that this was one of the few qualities he could honestly 
admire in the king of Mirkwood.
      “I was talking with Aidan earlier,” the elf said after a moment of silence. “He 
asked me about Mirkwood, about Rivendell, about Rohan and about Gondor. He asked 
me about Aragorn and asked, too, about the end of slavery.”
      Saru smiled tiredly. “Aye, he’d ask those things. He’s hungry for knowledge and 
doesn’t mind sharing that fact with anyone and everyone the Dunedain trust. He has a 
curiosity the rival of which I have never seen. I find it utterly amazing that he doesn’t feel 
ashamed of his desire for knowledge.” Shaking his head, he added, “Not that I’ve ever 
discouraged him to seek answers to his questions. I suppose I am partially to blame for all 
he wants to know. I filled his mind with stories when he was young. I shared the stories 
with all of them, but Aidan drank them in.” He turned to Legolas, his eyes flashing. “And 
he remembers them all! He can quote back to me, word for word, the sixty or so lays I 
taught him. And he’s gained more from Aaron beyond that. Of over a hundred stories he 
knows the facts and draws on them to make decisions.”
      “Are you proud of him or worried about him?” Legolas asked.
      “Both, I suppose. Though why I should worry I don’t know. Because he knows 
more than just stories. His fighting with almost any weapon rivals that of the experts 
among us. He can outshoot any bowsman here, can challenge any with sword or knives, 
and can out-wrestle even Aaron, who was always talented in that area.” He paused, then 
whispered, “No, I should be proud of him.”
      “I think you are,” Legolas answered, “but it’s something else, too. He makes you 
nervous. Why?”
      “It’s not Aidan,” Saru answered quickly. “It’s the world. He is so strong in so 
many areas.”
      “You think he’s never been challenged.”
      Saru nodded. “Exactly. Everything he has ever tried has come to him. Maybe 
that’s only because he tries so hard, but he’s a full-grown man and he hasn’t met anything 
yet that he couldn’t stop.”
      Legolas considered Saru’s words. It was true that most Rangers had dealt with 
losing at least a little before they became adults. “He hasn’t failed at anything? Ever?”
      “He’s had set-backs, but even those weren’t hard on him. And a small set-back is 
nothing like a major loss.”
      “Not everyone has to learn the hard way,” Legolas noted.
      Saru smiled without warmth. “Aye, I know it. But Adalai was not tested and when 
his first challenge came, he fell. I fear for my second son. Cein has struggled; she will be 
ready for whatever comes. And my youngest two are similarly prepared. But Aidan will 
be second-in-command one day and…” He watched Aidan walking Mordecai back to the 
family tent.
      Legolas thought, ‘The truest words you spoke were those that you said when I 
first sat down. You know that Kehydi isn’t a good leader. And as for Aidan… I think you 
don’t know how to raise a free son. That may be unfair, and I didn’t know Adalai at all, 
but that’s what it feels like. You lived so long in hardship, even after you were free and 
Kehydi said that he loved you. Maybe you don’t know how to trust to a man’s simple, 
untried strength.’ And in that moment, Legolas understood why he had confidence in 
Aidan. ‘He reminds me of Elladan, who, in many ways, was untried. Yes, he suffered, but 
that didn’t make him strong. Only Elladan’s freedom made him strong. None of what 
came before helped him. He wasn’t strong until he cast every terrible experience aside. In 
a way, Elladan was born again. So he, like Aidan, will face the world for the first time. 
And as I have confidence in Elladan, I have confidence in Aidan.’
      The elf turned his eyes on Saru. ‘And you, my friend, have been through too 
much pain to see that strength can come from other places. But for now, what to say to 
you?’ He closed his eyes and thought of Aragorn, wondering what his former chief- ‘my 
lover’- would say. Then he had it and opened his eyes, drawing Saru’s attention back to 
him by pulling at his hand. “Take each day as it comes, Saru, and each experience, too. 
There’s no more you can do. For you are a strong Dunadan, but you cannot lead. So 
follow, as you have, and trust that you will make it through. You and Aidan both.” He 
hated himself for the words, but this wasn’t the time to inspire Saru to new, unparalleled 
freedom and self-realization. If that time was to come (Legolas had to admit it might not) 
now was certainly not that time.
      Saru smiled at him and his face cleared. “Of course,” he murmured. “You’re 
right.” He hugged Legolas, then stood. “I need to get some sleep. Where will you be?”
      “I will check on Aragorn, then I’ll sleep, too. We’ll find a place to rest.”
      Saru nodded, smiled, then turned and left his friend, his brother, by the fire.
      “The years have been hard on him.”
      Legolas glanced up as Aragorn stepped out of the shadows. He didn’t sit, but held 
out his hand.
      “Come to bed, Legolas. We both need to sleep.” He looked across the camp. 
“Saru has taken more than his share in this. He reminds me of Bill.”
      “Who’s Bill?” Legolas asked, rising and following Aragorn towards a tree. Here 
was where they would sleep, though the Dunedain would have gladly given them a tent. 
But neither of them was in the mood to be closed in.
      Aragorn chuckled. “He’s the pony we found in Bree. The night the Black Riders 
tode through the village, the hobbits and I were hiding at the Prancing Pony, the village’s 
only inn. Someone- not the Black Riders, but someone influenced by them, I’m sure- 
scared all the horses and ponies in town out of the stables. And that includes the ponies 
the hobbits had brought from the Shire. Not that ponies would have done them any good 
on the paths I meant to tread, and I wouldn’t have let them make a run for it on the road.” 
He shrugged as he settled himself onto a branch, watching Legolas climb up beside him 
on an adjacent limb. “Anyway, the next morning, we awoke to find every horse and pony 
in town gone. There were too many supplies for the hobbits and I to carry without a pony, 
so I sought after one. Guess who had the last pony in Bree?”
	From the curl of Aragorn’s lip and the drawl in his voice, Legolas could guess. 
There were few people who went out of their way to insult the Rangers. Most just didn’t 
look at them, or whispered behind their hands like half-frightened, naughty children. 
“Bill Ferny, right?” He saw by the look in Aragorn’s eyes that he was right. “You bought 
the pony from him?”
      “Aye. A half-starved little thing it was, too. But it brightened the moment it met 
Sam.” Aragorn’s eyes shone. “I have never seen any animal take to someone so quickly 
unless that person was an elf. It was positively uncanny.” He chuckled. “Bill Ferny called 
to us as we left town, asking me if I’d found some friends at last and asking the hobbits if 
they knew who they had taken up with. ‘That’s Stick-at-naught Strider, that is!’ is what 
he said. The hobbits ignored him. Then he said something to Sam. ‘Sammie, don’t you go 
mistreating my pony!’ And he spit at Sam. But…” Aragorn laughed outright now, and 
couldn’t continue for a moment. Then he collected himself and continued. “Sam told 
Ferny to get his big nose out of sight or it would get hurt. And he actually hit the man on 
that long beak of his with an apple. I’ve never seen a better shot.”
      Legolas was laughing, but Aragorn held up a hand. “That’s not the best part. Sam 
muttered as we walked away, ‘Waste of a good apple.’ ” Aragorn grinned. “I couldn’t 
have asked for a better spirit to leave in, especially after the fears of the night before. Sam 
will be a gift to Frodo on his journey, no matter who else goes.”
      “Did you ever tell him so?” Legolas asked.
      Aragorn yawned. “Nay, but I should. And I will when we get back to Rivendell.” 
His eyes were closing. “Will you remind me, love?” He reached out without opening his 
eyes and grasped Legolas’ hand.
      “I will.” Legolas’ eyes lost their focus. Only three murmured words from Aragorn 
kept him from disappearing into reverie at once.
      “I love you,” the man whispered.
      Legolas lay awake for about an hour, just listening to Aragorn’s light snores and 
feeling the Ranger’s hand clasped in his.