Title: Legolas’ Gift
Author: Estel Baggins
Author’s Email: macfal1219@comcast.net
Rating: NC-17
Chapters: 72-75
Warnings: Aragorn wrestles with the Shadow in his heart (yet
again). Does anyone else want to strangle him besides Legolas and
me?
Summary: The beginning of the War of the Ring, as it appears after
“The Council of Elrond”, The Fellowship of the Ring, through the
Fellowship’s stay in Lothlorien. Gandalf drifts in and out of
death, and dreams, while Aragorn tells Legolas some of the history
of the Dunedain, and about his relationship with Malacai and
Annaleh. Also, the making of Aragorn’s standard brings brothers
back together.

Author’s Note: Thank you to Jenn M for urging me to post these
things faster. There should be two more postings after this one,
then the story will be done.

Book IV

Chapter Seventy-Two

Elrond called the council only an hour after daybreak. Aragorn and
Legolas, having slept late, didn’t get a chance to discuss
Aragorn’s adventures in Harad. They went to the gathering beneath
the fair trees with the distinct feeling that there would be no
more time for lovemaking or the telling of tales.

The seating arrangements worked much the same, though Elrond asked
Aragorn to stand behind the throne. Legolas saw Boromir note this
change in status and the elf relished the Gondorian’s frustrated
expression.

“Friends, allies, all the hunters have returned from their errands.
The Enemy’s servants have left this part of the world, at least for
a time. We will take this opportunity to send the One Ring on its
way to Mordor. Nine companions will be set against the Nine Riders.
Frodo, Ring-Bearer, must go, and, because he will not be stayed,
Samwise Gamgee will go with him. Gandalf, also, will assist the
hobbits on their journey. Aragorn, too, will go, for his hour draws
near. Legolas will represent the race of elves, Gimli the race of
dwarves, and Boromir the race of men.” Here the elf-lord paused.
“As to the other two companions, I am undecided. I would almost
send Glorfindel, as he has the Light, but he is needed here. The
same goes for my eldest son.”

“You can’t leave us behind!” Pippin charged out from behind a pot
where he’d been hiding. “We can’t leave Frodo now, not after we’ve
come so far!” He grasped Frodo’s hand as if for purchase against
the elves that might try to carry him away. Merry, who had followed
him, grasped Frodo’s other hand. “You’d have to tie us up in a sack
to keep us here,” Pippin finished.

“You don’t know what dangers lay ahead,” Aragorn said, meeting the
eyes of the insistant Took. “What we endured between Bree and
Rivendell is but a taste of what will come. You can do the best for
Frodo by staying here.”

“We aren’t going to leave him,” Merry answered. “It’s like Luthien
and Beren, the story you told us. She would not leave him, even
when death was certain.” He tilted his chin up and stared at
Aragorn. “Strider, we can’t leave him. Please don’t force us to
stay here.”

The man shook his head. “It’s not up to me, Merry.” He included
Pippin in his glance. “Though your friendship might be a welcome
thing on our journey.”

Elrond was silent for a moment as all eyes turned to him. “So be
it,” he said at last. “We will trust to friendship instead of to
strength. The point of the Fellowship was never to overcome the
Dark Lord by force.” He nodded, gazing at all of them. “You will
leave at sunset. Walk warily and stay true to your paths, as far as
each may lead. None has the responsibility to go further than he
will.”

“Faithless is the friend who leaves when the road darkens,” Gimli
grumbled.

Legolas glanced at him, thinking, ‘You have no idea what we’re
about to endure, Dwarf.’ But any frustration he might have felt was
tampered by the joy that he was being allowed to accompany Aragorn
on his final journey.

“The future is hidden from all eyes, Master Dwarf,” said Elrond.
“Do not judge too quickly what you don’t know.”

Gimli humphed.

“For now, go and collect yourselves for the journey,” Elrond
continued. “I know there are many good-byes that must be made.” He
turned and glided away.

As the Fellowship dispersed, Elladan caught Aragorn’s eye and
gestured for the man to come stand with him. Legolas didn’t follow;
Elladan seemed to want to speak with Aragorn alone. Instead, the
blonde went to Glorfindel, who was walking towards the smith’s hut.
Legolas caught up with him at the door, but the older elf gestured
for Legolas to follow him inside.

In the dimness, Glorfindel made his way to a far wall. He crouched
before an iron-wood chest and gestured for Legolas to join him.
Taking a fine key from his pocket (it was an old key, Legolas saw,
one that would be almost impossible to copy, except that a master
do it. He wondered how ancient the thing was and watched in wonder
as Glorfindel inserted it into the lock of the trunk and lifted the
lid.

“These are treasures out of Gondolin, Legolas,” said the elf-lord.
“The sword I carried into battle against the Balrog lies here in
pieces as do the knives with which I cast him down into darkness.
The Valar, when they brought me back, gifted them to me. I wasn’t
brought back as a child, Legolas, but as an adult elf. I fought at
the Last Alliance, though none knew my name. And I used these
weapons then.” He took two silt-wrapped bundles from the left side
of the chest. “Here.” He handed Legolas one of them. “Open it.”

Legolas gazed at the bundle in his hands, but he didn’t open it
just yet. “You knew I would follow you,” he said, shaking his head.
“You knew I wouldn’t follow Aragorn to talk to Elladan, that I
would seek you out.”

Glorfindel smiled. “Did I, Legolas? If you say so.” His smile
broadened when Legolas raised an eyebrow at him. “Aii, but I only
guessed, Legolas. I do not know many things for certain any more.”
He looked at the cloth wrapped thing in Legolas’ hand. “Open it.
Please.”

Legolas did as he was asked, drawing the knife out of its swaddling
cloth to examine the exquisite carvings on hilt and blade.
“Glorfindel… a talented elf indeed made this for you.” He nodded
towards the other bundle. “Is that the brother of the one I hold?”

“Aye.” Glorfindel unwrapped this knife himself and drew the blade
from the sheath. Gazing at it, he said, “When I was suffering from
Elrohir’s attacks and hopelessness, Elladan brought these out of
the room that once held Aragorn’s Anduril. It did my warrior’s
heart good to see them again, Legolas. I kept them hidden in
Elladan’s rooms after he took them, not wanting anyone to hurt them
or take them from me. You see, I had thought….” He sighed.

“You thought they had been destroyed,” Legolas whispered.

“Aye, that was my belief. In time, I asked the most skilled
carpenter- Lindir, Erestor’s former slave- and the most talented
iron worker- my beautiful Elladan- to build me a chest and fix a
lock to it that would fit this key.” He handed the second knife to
Legolas and turned the key in his hands. “Here is the only thing I
kept from the time I was reborn until now, without ever once being
parted from it. Turgon, of Gondolin, gifted it to me when I became
a captain in his house. It once belonged to a chest like this.
These two could be twins, right down to the type of wood used and
the skill that worked on them.” He closed his eyes and seemed to
lose himself for a time in thought.

“Where is that chest now?”

“It burned with the rest of Gondolin. There is no way I would have
tried to take such a precious thing with me when I was leading
others to safety. Such would be the worst type of selfishness.” He
smiled, mocking himself. “I thought maybe I would get a chance to
go back. I never did, of course.” Glorfindel went still for a
moment, then seemed to come back to himself. “Legolas, I want you
to carry those knives in battle. Unless you are connected to yours
through some strong tradition; perhaps they are Dunedain knives- I
know not.  I would be honored to know you are carrying them on
Estel’s final journey.”

Surprised to hear an echo of his own thoughts, Legolas stared at
Glorfindel for a moment before answering, “I will carry them,
Glorfindel. I am honored.” He stood, waited until Glorfindel had
followed suit, and bowed. “Thank you. They will never leave my
side.”

Glorfindel rested a hand on Legolas’ shoulder. “Do not make
promises you cannot keep, Legolas. I would be honored even to never
see them again, knowing they were lost in the battle against
Sauron.” He turned, closed the chest, locked it. “Come. I am sure
there are others you wish to see before you depart.”

Legolas shook his head. “There is no one else, Glorfindel. There
never was. I only want to be near Aragorn.”

Glorfindel smiled. “Then you will have your wish.” He turned and
left the hut swiftly before Legolas could think of a response.

***

Aragorn shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t believe it, Elladan.
It’s only…” He laughed. “I don’t believe it. Halbarad has fallen in
love at last, real, true, unselfish love… with my brother.”
Aragorn’s eyes shone. “I haven’t heard better news in years.” He
shook with laughter. “Aii, and to think I was worried how the two
of them- for different reasons- would survive in the world to come,
whether it’s dark or light.” He grinned. “But now they have each
other…”

Elladan nodded. “It’s true, amazing as it sounds. I have never seen
Elrohir so content. He’s finally found what gives his life
meaning.”

“Lucky elf,” Aragorn said. “To find it after so short a time.” He
didn’t dare even glance at his brother.

“Estel, your jokes haven’t gotten any better, even after all the
years that have passed.” Elladan closed his eyes and went very
still. “And now, I must talk to you about something serious.”

Aragorn’s face changed at once. He took Elladan’s hand in both of
his.

His brother didn’t look at him. “Elrohir’s fate is now bound up in
the fate of the One Ring. You knew we were debating whether to stay
in Middle Earth, yes?”

Aragorn nodded and even though Elladan’s eyes remained closed, the
man knew his brother sensed his answer.

“Elrohir has now made his choice. He could not leave, even if
Halbarad were to die in battle. The two of them are bound, for
better or for worse. I do not want to see Elrohir live in a world
where Sauron rules.”

“Elladan, we will do everything we can. I will, I swear. Elrohir
will not stay here in vain.”

“Aye, I know.” Elladan’s voice broke. “But I must ask you this one
thing. Will you watch over Elrohir? He is more than your foster
brother; he’s like one of your Rangers now.”

Aragorn tried not to show how hurt he was. “You and Elrohir always
meant just as much to me as my own people. And he is one of my
Rangers; if he loves Halbarad, I call him so. I swear to you,
Elladan, that I will watch over Elrohir with all the power that is
in me. And I will strive for the end of Sauron with all my
strength- both that which is in me and that which comes from my
allies.” Aragorn knelt before Elladan, gazing up at his brother’s
ancient face. “I love you, Elladan; I will never forsake any of
those I love. Please believe me.”

Elladan at last opened his eyes and his gaze was bright with unshed
tears.  “I know, Estel. Forgive me; I had to ask.”

Aragorn nodded and took his place at Elladan’s side again. “You’re
going to sail, aren’t you?”

Elladan shivered. “I haven’t made any decision yet, but… I have to
think of Glorfindel as well as myself, as well as Elrohir. Truly,
Estel, I don’t know what I will do. There are times when I am
convinced of one thing, so convinced that I couldn’t foresee
changing my mind. Then something- a tiny thing, maybe a memory-
will overwhelm me and I dedicate my whole heart to the new vow.” He
turned to Aragorn, seemingly unaware of the tears that coursed down
his pale skin. “That is part of the reason I had to beg you to
protect Elrohir if you can; if I decide to sail, I would only be
able to do so knowing that my twin is in the most competent hands
in Middle Earth.” Seeing Aragorn’s hesitation, Elladan clapped his
hands on the man’s shoulders and made Aragorn meet his eyes. “No,
Estel. Stop that thought before it even forms. You are the hope of
men. Without you, they have nothing to believe in. Acknowledge that
and the skill and ability that go with it. You owe me that much.
And you owe it to your allies. You must go forward on your final
road with a committed, believing heart, or all will be lost. You
told me once, when Elrohir brought me back that summer you were
twelve, that anyone’s greatest battle, the one that will make or
break him, is in his heart. I order you to remember those words.”

Elladan rose. “And now I must go and ready myself for the ride to
Mirkwood. King Thranduil must know his son is going to Gondor.”

“But, Elladan-” Aragorn stood, caught his brother’s arm. “Elladan…”
He sighed. “I wish I knew what to say to you.”

“Give me practical advice, Estel. That was always your strength.
Don’t talk of what is beyond you. I want your honest words, words
that you truly believe in.”

Aragorn nodded. “Don’t go to Mirkwood alone. And when you return
from there, I beg you to rest here in Imladris for as long as you
can. This is your home; enjoy it for the little while you can. I
would not see you run all over Middle Earth on a thousand errands
instead of enjoying the restored, purified place of your birth.”

Elladan leaned forward and kissed Aragorn on his forehead. “That is
the sensible voice, with sound advice, I’d hoped to hear. I love
you, Estel. May you be crowned on the throne of Gondor and bring
Sauron to utter ruin.” He paused, seemed to memorize Aragorn’s
face, then strode away, his head high, his shoulders squared as if
he’d been relieved from a tremendous weight.

Aragorn watched him until he was out of sight, then sat back down.
In a few moments he would have to make sure everything was well on
its way to being ready. But for the moment, all he wanted to do was
sit in complete silence and safety.

“I’m amazed anyone believes your lies.”

Aragorn cursed his luck and himself for relaxing his guard. He
waited, his eyes still closed, for whatever the son of Denethor
might say next.

“But they are utterly convinced that you are something special. The
little ones think you’re something very good, though they’re not
sure what. The elves- every elf- speaks of you as the hope of men.
Even the dwarves know you as Strider, the chief of the Dunedain
that saved their people from freezing to death one winter when they
became trapped outside their precious mines. I just want to tell
you that I’m not convinced.”

“Why do you distrust me so, Boromir?” Aragorn opened his eyes and
met the brown eyes less than five feet from him.

Boromir hesitated for a moment and Aragorn knew his arresting power
held sway with this man. That didn’t make Boromir weak, just
untried. Aragorn hid his disappointment. He’d hoped to perhaps find
a colleague here, an ally, mayhap even a friend. ‘And yet, even
now, I will  not say I hoped for too much.’

“You are a man that ran and hid from his people for years upon
years. Why shouldn’t I distrust such a coward?”

‘Can I explain all the years of isolation and their reason? No.’
Aragorn remained silent, gazing intently at Boromir.

“You don’t even defend yourself?” Boromir sneered. “What sort of
man are you? Or are you one of these high-living elves?”

Aragorn showed none of his sudden fury, but in his mind, he leapt
to his feet and ordered Boromir to take back his ignorant words.
That thought calmed Aragorn, and he said, “Very few men speak of
what they do not know with such authority, Boromir. You must have
met many elves before Rivendell to say such a thing.”

Boromir’s cheeks flushed and he spun away from Aragorn. “Just don’t
expect me to bow to you, Strider.” He was gone before Aragorn could
decide if he wanted to call him back.

‘He’s so much like his father. Oh, this trip is going to be
interesting.’

Aragorn glanced up, caught by the voice in his mind. “Hello,
Legolas.”

The elf dropped down beside him. “Hello, love.” He leaned against
Aragorn and closed his eyes.

“Don’t worry about Boromir; he is different than his father too; I
just haven’t found the way beyond his shield, that’s all,” Aragorn
said.

“How can you be so sure there’s more to him?”

“I just feel it.” Aragorn draped his arm over Legolas’ shoulders.
“Now, love, tell me what’s wrong. Please?”

Legolas brought out Glorfindel’s knives and told Aragorn about the
conversation he’d had with the Elda. “It’s not that I’m not
honored, but Glorfindel might need these. Why would he give them to
me?”

“Glorfindel is a warrior, with a warrior’s pride. He wants the
ancient weapons of Gondolin to be carried in battle against
Sauron.” Aragorn smiled. “In much the same way, I cherish a cloak
made by a prince of Mirkwood.”

Legolas’ jaw dropped. “You still have it? I assumed it had been…
That you had been forced to leave it behind.”

“True for you; it’s here in Rivendell. I did not take it on my hunt
for Gollum or on that trip to Harad I spoke of. On one of my
journeys through Lothlorien, I asked Lady Galadriel to keep it for
me. She agreed and sent it back here when one of her warriors
traveled this way. It has lain in the chest in my old room all this
time. I saw it before we left for the Dunedain camp.” He cupped
Legolas’ cheek in his hardened palm. “And I shall bear it to Gondor
and there I will wear it before my people, declaring all the
journeys I have undertaken. What think you, Legolas? Will you blush
when I declare who made it?”

“Aragorn, to know that you have kept the gift of a very young elf
is my reward. Please do not announce my name before all your
people!” Legolas cast his hand over his eyes, moaning. “I shall
never live it down!”

Aragorn kissed Legolas’ neck under his upturned chin. “I’ll make
you a deal, Legolas. If we succeed in making love six times between
here and Gondor, I won’t tell your secret.”

Legolas’ eyes flashed. “No! You’ll win that bet! There’s no way
we’ll be making love in the months ahead!”

“But, Legolas, you do not know the future. There may be time.”

The elf grumbled to himself for a few moments then, seeing that
Aragorn wasn’t going to back down, he answered, “Fine. But if you
embarrass me, son of Arathorn, I swear I will find a way to dump
twice that amount of suffering on your head.”

Aragorn laughed. “I believe you.” He stood. “Now we have work to
do.”

Legolas grimaced. “And yet again you do not tell me of Harad.”

The man laughed. “I cannot help it that time presses.”

***

Elladan saddled his mare and made sure the purse of gold was hidden
safely in the bottom of his saddle-bag. Behind him, he could hear
the singing that had returned to Imladris, calling back memories of
his childhood. Smiling, he finished his preparations. Glorfindel
would be along soon.

Turning his mind back the singing, Elladan recognised the
shimmering sound of harmonies, thin or dense, thrumming under the
melodies. Very few creatures understood which part was the melody,
and which the harmony, or why one simple line, plain compared to
the moving of the other lines, was named the melody. Elladan had
fallen in love with many of the oldest songs when he was young.
He’d learned the melodies and harmonies from his mother, and the
meaning of the stories from Glorfindel. ‘And here we stand, ready
to play our part in the final story of this age. Not a large part,
but a supporting role. And as the Age of Men draws nearer, I am
glad to play any part.’

Hearing the soft whicker behind him, Elladan turned and smiled at
the vision of Glorfindel approaching as the sun soared overhead. It
was past noon. Elladan sighed. “So very beautiful,” he whispered.

Glorfindel’s face glowed as if he’d heard Elladan’s words. He met
his lover in the stable yard and kissed him. “Are we ready?”

“Aye.” Elladan trailed his fingers over the traveling braids in
Glorfindel’s hair, smiling at how cleanly they had been made. He
took in Glorfindel’s riding clothes and grinned. “You’re handsome
enough that maybe King Thranduil won’t accept the gold. Maybe he’d
give all his wealth for just a moment gazing at you.”

Glorfindel swatted Elladan’s arm. “He’s a married elf, Elladan. And
besides, do you really want him to look at me that way?” He turned
his back on Elladan, ready to mount Asfoloth.

Elladan shook his head. “Never. It’s just that I couldn’t help
seeing…” He reached out and touched Glorfindel’s back. “Those
aren’t your ceremonial sheaths.” He drew the knives. “And these
aren’t the ones I found in the Hall of the Sword.”

Glorfindel turned, catching Elladan’s hands. “I gave everything to
Legolas. I want the knives of Gondolin to be carried into battle
against the Shadow.” He stepped back and drew his sword. “And this
is from Gondolin, so I keep a part of my past with me. Legolas had
no need of a sword. Don’t look so surprised, love. I wanted only to
know that the ancient blades were put to good use.”

“But Glorfindel… Those are the heirlooms of your house! How could
you just let them go?”

“Elladan, I have died once. I don’t think of the past, of my first
life, like you do. Honestly, as much as I miss Ecthelion, Turgon,
and the others, there is so much I don’t remember.” He clapped his
hands on Elladan’s shoulders. “The heirlooms I will cling to now
are the painting where you captured us in a moment of complete
happiness, the robes you have given to me, the memories I have of
long rides with you.” He leapt into Asfoloth’s saddle. “And here is
another ride I will carry as an heirloom. Please, Elladan, let the
knives go. I have you, and I am free. There is nothing else I could
ever want.”

Elladan mounted his mare. “Glorfindel, you’ll always be a puzzle to
me.” He smiled. “But I’m not saying I mind the puzzle. I am only
amazed that you can choose your beliefs so freely without caring
about what others think.”

“Oh, I care,” said Glorfindel urging Asfoloth into a walk. “But if
I cared about what everyone said, not only would I not be here now,
but, even if I were here somehow, I would wear the flowing robes of
Gondolin and be weighed down by the myriad of metals I had to wear
to every function of state.” He shuddered, smiling. “No thank you.
I’d rather go like this-” he gestured to his unadorned leggings,
tunic and boots- “as close to naked as possible.” He shot a glance
over his shoulder, catching Elladan’s wide eyes and open mouth.
“Now, love, let’s ride before the sun completely disappears from
the sky.”

Shaking his head, Elladan followed Glorfindel south out of
Imladris.

***

As soon as the sun painted dark shadows under the trees, the
Fellowship departed. Boromir blew his horn before they left.
Legolas wanted to strangle the arrogant man, but Gandalf smoothed
it over.

They had it. None of them went into the journey with a light heart,
but that didn’t stop them. Frodo stuck close to Gandalf; Merry,
Pippin and Sam walked in a little clump, with Bill the pony led by
Sam. Next came Gimli, solitary and seeking no companion. Then
Boromir in a similar mood. Legolas followed Boromir, walking half a
step ahead of Aragorn. Each member of the Fellowship was aware of
those around him, but only Gandalf, Legolas, Aragorn, and, to a
lesser extent, Boromir, were aware of the world around them. 

The night passed. When they lay down to sleep in the morning,
Legolas wondered if perhaps they should set a watch. But there
seemed no need as of yet. They sat around a small fire for a bit,
ate a little, then went to sleep. Three days passed in this way.

The fourth dawned and there was no more peace.

Aragorn had the sense first. Legolas read sudden attentiveness in
the set of his lover’s shoulders. Aragorn frowned, then spoke
without looking at the rest of the Fellowship. His gaze was focused
east. “Can you hear it?” he asked when Gandalf had stilled the
others. “The earth is silent except for ourselves. No birds or
small animals dwell here.”

Legolas read the thought in Aragorn’s expression: but there were
creatures here only a week ago when we rode through this place. 

“Then we must put out the fire and sleep,” Gandalf resolved. “If
you take a Ranger with you, especially when that Ranger is Aragorn,
you should take care to listen to him.”

Boromir scowled, but helped to put out the fire and gather
scattered belongings. The camp sank into silence. Most of the
Fellowship bedded down for the night, but Legolas joined Aragorn on
his two hours of watch. “What evil has come here in the week since
we were here?” the man murmured. “What moves so swiftly and
frightens everything so deeply that all creatures have to leave?
Not even the Black Riders do so to the birds and small animals
because those believe they can hide.” He smiled. “And they’re
right. Then what threat-?”

Legolas put his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder and gazed east, his
unease growing. Something dark was approaching; he felt it more
than he saw it. Focusing all his mind on that sense, he at last
knew what it was. “Birds,” he said softly. “A great flock of birds.
Larger than I have ever seen. They will block out the sun when they
pass overhead.”

“Scout birds?” Aragorn wondered. But there was no time for
contemplation. “Wake the others. I’ll start moving our supplies
into those bushes there.”

“The supplies will be safe enough,” Legolas answered as he moved
away, “but the living must be hidden among the rocks.”

After the supplies were hidden, Aragorn looked towards the flock of
birds. They were much closer now. The hair stood up on the back of
his neck as he rushed to scoop up a sleepy Sam. He grabbed Bill’s
tether and moved among the rocks. Commanding Sam to keep Bill
quiet, he went back for Boromir. The man was staring at the cloud,
unconcerned.

Aragorn crouched behind him and grasped his arm. “They may tell
Sauron where we are. Come, Boromir.” Aragorn saw Legolas dive into
a hiding place with Merry and Pippin. Gimli, Gandalf and Frodo were
already hidden. Aragorn tugged at Boromir’s arm. “Hurry!”

At last, the man moved, leaping up and racing for a rock ledge
under which he could wriggle. Aragorn saw that there was enough
room for two and knew that he didn’t have time to find another
place. When Boromir was under, sprawled there, Aragorn shoved him
further back and curled beside him. He felt Boromir struggle,
wanting to protest. With only the barest movement, Aragorn pushed
his shoulder back against the other man’s mouth.

The scout-birds flew overhead, scraping the air with their cries. 

Only when the last cry died did Aragorn glance out from under the
stone. He checked in all directions, listened to the earth for a
moment, then scrambled out, rising. Around him, the others emerged.
Legolas, Aragorn saw, went at once to the supplies to free them.
Aragorn smiled briefly; the supplies were well-hidden. Legolas must
have watched where they were laid, even as he roused the others.
‘Aii, my Dunadan.’

“The next time you’re going to shove at me as if I was some rabble
in the street, remember who I am,” Boromir said, stepping in front
of Aragorn.

 “I know who you are, son of Denethor. I wished to keep you safe so
that you might return to your father.”

Boromir sneered, but backed down. He retrieved his pack from the
pile Legolas had assembled, giving everyone a surly look.

Gandalf announced, “We’ll sleep nearer the rocks for as long as we
can.”

***

The vision came to him as he half-slept under the inducement of the
drugs he’d prepared himself, the drugs Cein had administered under
the watchful eyes of her mother and Aaron.

The Black Gate rose, impossibly high and preternaturally strong, to
blot out the ash-filled sky. No one could break through, even with
all the will that made up the thousand-strong army. Saru stood with
the rest of the Dunedain to Aragorn’s left. Turning his eye from
the gate as a sudden, stiff breeze whistled over the company, Saru
gazed in wonder at the beautiful banner a Ranger- his face hidden
by another’s shoulder- carried. It was more than a banner: it was a
standard. It was Aragorn’s declaration of himself as King of
Gondor. Saru gazed at the jewels and the gold woven into the cloth,
and wondered who could have wrought such a perfect thing. It must
have been someone powerful, someone rich, someone talented.

‘Not even at my best could I stitch such a thing,’ Saru thought.
But even as he gazed at the standard, he saw tiny changes in
design, small discrepancies in stitching that shouldn’t have been
visible from such a great distance.

The world froze around him, leaving Saru free to walk to the
standard. He still couldn’t see the face of the Ranger who carried
it (perhaps it was no Ranger at all) but that didn’t matter. He
reached up and traced the stitching, his mouth falling open as he
saw the White Tree of Gondor on its ebony background. Amidst three
thousand stitches, Saru guessed that a hundred or more hands had
been at work. He couldn’t fathom it, but then time was running
forward again and Saru was thrust back to where he’d been standing.
No one pushed him; he’d simply been moved, as if by an invisible
hand.

Aragorn raised his right arm, Anduril catching all the light from
the dimmed sky above. His lips moved, but no sound came.

A shadow flew over the gates, and rushed upon them from behind
them, drowning the small army. Saru screamed, but he could hear his
voice no more than he could hear Aragorn’s. He fell, sensing the
others around him disappearing, fading like the last light of the
day. He screamed again, terrified, but no one answered him. No one
was waiting in the darkness to help him.

Sounds leapt out of the darkness, surrounding him. He distinguished
first Annaleh’s firm, commanding tone, even if he couldn’t
understand the words. He clung to the sound and prayed she would
bring him out of his fear. Slowly, the world around him lightened,
turning grey, then beige, then clearing. Blinking, weak beyond
measure, Saru gazed up at the circle of faces above him. Kehydi had
joined the others, and on his face was an expression of paralyzing
grief. Silent tears trickled down his cheeks.

“Kehydi…”

His husband reached out, stroking Saru’s cheek with gentle fingers.
“Saru…” The tears fell faster. “Saru, I’m sorry… I’ve done this to
you… I’m sorry, Saru…”

Annaleh laid her hand on her son’s shoulder. “It wasn’t you,
Kehydi. Sauron would have attacked Saru with or without your help.”
She leaned forward and kissed Saru’s forehead. “The child is not
Kehydi’s; it is too small, too young. But it doesn’t matter who the
father is; the child is yours, Saru.”

“I know.” Suddenly, Saru was struck by the sheer disjunction of his
vision and the world before him. ‘I couldn’t care less who the
father is right now.’ He knew he was too weak to push himself up-
the drugs were still affecting him- but he turned his head, making
sure everyone was looking at him. “I saw Aragorn before the Black
Gate. The Dunedain were with him, and so were a thousand others.
One of us carried his standard: a white tree and the seven stars of
Gondor.” Maybe the others would be able to explain what he’d seen.
“Many hands had stitched the design on the standard, had speckled
it with jewels. What do you make of it?”

Silence reigned for a moment, then Kehydi shook his head. “Isn’t it
obvious? The Dunedain sewed the standard.” He looked around as
everyone gaped at him. “Aragorn said we’re his people; why
shouldn’t we show that we’re his by helping to make his royal
symbol?” But as the others continued to stare at him, Kehydi looked
down at his feet. “Or maybe not. Maybe I’m just…”

“Kehydi,” Saru whispered. “You’ve had your first vision!” He
clasped Kehydi’s hand in both of his. “Aii, love, I’m so proud of
you! You were open to it!” He tried to sit up even though he knew
it was impossible, his eyes dancing with joy. As Legolas had noted
on more than one occasion, Saru could easily forget everything he’d
suffered in the light of forgiveness and hope.

“Saru…” Kehydi urged his husband to lay still. “Saru, please don’t
push yourself.” He moved a little closer and kissed Saru’s lips.
“Forgive me, Saru. Forgive me for all the pain I’ve caused you.”

Kehydi’s hands shook and he couldn’t quite meet Saru’s gaze.

“Please, Kehydi, look at me, and do not question what you see.”

When Kehydi met Saru’s gaze, he opened his mouth to speak. But,
heeding Saru’s words this one time, he swallowed and whispered, “I
love you, Saru.” He closed his eyes and kissed Saru again and
again.

Saru’s face was lit from within and he kissed Kehydi back,
relishing the feel of his lips. He listened to the others leave the
tent- his tent- and smiled. For now, Kehydi acted as the young,
loving man he had once been. Saru was determined to take as much
joy as he could, for as long as he could.

And when Kehydi fell again, what then? Saru tossed the question
over his shoulder without even examining it. He returned Kehydi’s
fervent kisses with everything in him and gave himself to the
moment.

***

“We’ll have to seek out the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain,”
Annaleh said. She sat to Kehydi’s left. Saru sat to his right.
Around the council circle sat every Ranger except those who were
standing watch. They would be told of the council’s decision later,
and had been polled beforehand to see what they wanted to do. Nella
represented their wishes, speaking for each of them in this way:
“This one believes thus-and-so.”

To Saru’s right sat all his children and their spouses. First was
Cein, then Raven, then Aidan, Morwen, her husband, Zehl, and
Mordecai. Aaron sat to Annaleh’s left, and Halbarad and Elrohir sat
on Aaron’s other side. Elrohir had been accepted without question,
a miracle the son of Elrond hadn’t expected. The Dunedain simply
absorbed him, forming friendships with him and seeking him out,
both with and without his husband. Aidan had come to him at once
for archery lessons and Aaron had sought him out for stories about
Aragorn as a child. But more than these simple requests, Elrohir
found that he was included in dances- these occurred once every two
weeks, per Kehydi’s order- and in the daily tasks of hunting,
standing watch and building the wagons.

“The dwarves have always been friendly towards us, and even more so
in the years since Aragorn has helped them in many ways,” Annaleh
continued. “They will give us jewels at a reasonable price.” Kehydi
had opened the meeting, but Annaleh knew how to dicker; was
renowned for it. And so it was she who led the questioning. “What
shall we take them?”

“Cloth,” said Saran.

“Food,” Mordecai suggested.

“”What sorts of cloth and food?” Annaleh asked.

“Linen,” Saru answered. “It can breathe in the heat under the
mountain and is thin enough to fit under armor or cloaks.”

Annaleh nodded. “And food?”

Kehydi said, “Barley. The dwarves make excellent beer, but don’t
always have the resources to make it.” He paused, thought. “Also
salted pork and beef. Ten Dunedain will have to carry it all.”

“But what if they took a wagon?” Halbarad suggested. “Then only two
or three Dunedain would have to go, leaving more here to protect
the Shire, and get ready to leave.” Two nights before, Saru had
shared his vision with the Dunedain; all of them understood the
need for the perfectly-cut jewels only the dwarves could provide.

Kehydi nodded. “How long until a wagon is ready?” he asked Saru.

One can be made ready by
send?”

Kehydi closed his eyes and grasped Saru’s hand. “You have to go,
Saru. You’ve seen the vision; you still have a memory of it. You
alone know what is needed.” Opening his eyes, he gazed around the
circle. “Two others must go with you, but who?”

“Elrohir and I can go,” Halbarad suggested.

“No,” said Aaron at once. “Dwarves and elves don’t mix. They
haven’t in centuries.”

“But who better to know what a perfect cut of jewel is than a son
of Elrond, the great elf-lord?” Halbarad asked.

Elrohir shook his head. “He’s right, Halbarad. I’d know the cut, as
you say, but the dwarves wouldn’t listen to me.” He smiled. “I
don’t fancy coming back with an axe embedded in my skull, if it’s
all the same to you.”

“He could be disguised,” Nella said.

“We aren’t going to deceive our allies,” Annaleh said.

“Send Elrohir and Halbarad,” Aidan said, standing so that all
looked to him. “Aragorn isn’t going to Gondor just to save men, but
to unite dwarves and elves, too, for however long the Firstborn
remain on these shores.”

“How do you know such things?” Cein asked, her eyes wide. Many
others had the same question, but they hadn’t been quite ready to
voice it.

“I feel it,” Aidan answered. “And we can do our part. Let us make
friends with the dwarves, showing them that we treat all people
equally and we want to reforge a peace between men, dwarves and
elves.”

“We can’t force the dwarves to think the way we wish,” Saru said.
“What you’re suggesting is an all-or-nothing mission. Do we have
time for such a venture if it should fail?”

“But it won’t,” Mordecai said, jumping up beside his brother. “Not
with you as negotiator, Papa. You can talk a spider out of biting
or an orc out of attacking. You could convince the dwarves to
listen, and maybe they would begin to trust elves again.”

Aidan smiled at Mordecai, then appealed directly to his father. He
had noticed the change in Kehydi over the last few days, and though
he didn’t trust it, he was willing to work it as much as he could.
“Please, Father. Saru, Halbarad and Elrohir are prefect for his
mission. They will get it done. I’m sure.”

Kehydi was silent for a moment. He glanced at Saru, who shrugged,
sighed, then nodded. Kehydi glanced at Annaleh out of the corner of
his eye, and saw she was nodding to herself, a thoughtful
expression on her face. He closed his eyes, seemed to meditate for
a moment, then came out of his trance. “Halbarad, Elrohir, Saru,
what do you say to this? Will you go?”

“Yes,” Saru said at once. “If we are indeed to live in a world
where all races coexist peacefully, we cannot start forging that
peace too soon.”

Elrohir sighed. “I’ll do what I can,” he said. “After all, my
father accepted dwarves of the Lonely Mountain into his home for a
month, and they enjoyed themselves.” He didn’t add that he hadn’t
been there at the time, that he’d been off with Elladan for a brief
stay in Lothlorien, trying to help his brother heal. “I will remind
them of the hospitality they received in Imladris.”

Halbarad put his arm around Elrohir’s shoulders. “Since I’m the one
who suggested this, I’d look like a fool to say nay now.” He
grinned and some of the others smiled a little.

Kehydi nodded. “It’s decided, then. You’ll leave in the morning.
Make sure to take enough gold to ensure your safe passage through
Mirkwood in case you meet the King.” He rose, as did everyone else.
“Thank you all.” The council dispersed.

Kehydi caught Saru’s eye and the red head followed the second into
their tent. At once, Kehydi took Saru in his arms. “I love you,
Saru. I don’t want to send you away from the safety of the camp.
But I have no choice. I don’t want you to think I would ever
willingly send you into danger.”

“I would never think that.” Saru smiled. “Please, Kehydi, don’t
doubt how much I trust and love you.”

“It’s not that I forget, or that I doubt you, Saru. It’s only that
I don’t understand you. Your acceptance of all things should mean
that you’re weak, and yet Mordecai is right about you: you’re the
best negotiator we have.”

“I forgive and forget the mistakes of those I love,” Saru answered.
“But a stranger has to prove his worth to me.” He kissed the corner
of Kehydi’s mouth. “Now, love, what are you going to do with the
rest of this day? I have to go shortly and help prepare the wagon.”

Kehydi drew Saru closer and kissed him full on the mouth. “If we
have time,” he whispered, “I would make love to you, my Saru.”

Saru shivered and hugged Kehydi, thinking, ‘No matter how long this
lasts, I will enjoy it.’ Aloud, he said, “I will always have time
for that.”

***

“You two helped decide today’s council,” Annaleh said. She was
sitting in her rocking chair and had urged her two grandsons to sit
on the pallet across from her. Turning from one to the other, she
asked, “Do you understand how much power you hold?”

“None,” Mordecai said. “I’m only ten.”

“But we are the children of the second-in-command,” Aidan added,
“so we have some power. It’s limited, but it’s there. And I… Well,
I may be second-in-command myself some day, though we’ll probably
be in Gondor by then and such things won’t matter. The rest of the
Dunedain see and acknowledge that.”

Annaleh studied her oldest living grandson. “Aye, that is true.”
She leaned forward and gazed at Kehydi… ‘No, not Kehydi. Aidan is
not his father.’ And yet, the arrogance was the same. She forced
herself not to look away. “Promise me you won’t step on that
faith,” she found herself saying. “Promise me, Aidan, that you will
not use the control that comes with such power and trust.” Her
world had narrowed to the young man before her. Kehydi had been
lost for so very long; Annaleh swore she wouldn’t lose one of her
grandchildren the same way. Kehydi, too, had been full of so many
good intentions. And though it was his inner weakness that had led
to Kehydi’s suffering, events around him had played some part. She
had forced herself to stand idly by while he fell away from her.
‘No more. This son of my sons will not fall because I stood aside.’

Aidan stared at his grandmother’s narrowed eyes. “I promise,” he
said. “Why would I want to hurt anyone?” He stood and moved to her
side, kneeling before her. “Grandmama, I swear I won’t hurt anyone.
Please believe me.”

His expression was right: determined, sorrowful, loving, and
worried. And his voice, too, was just what it should be. Annaleh
allowed the tension to slip from her face even as she vowed that
she would watch her grandson more carefully. “Thank you, Aidan. I
am like many here: I can sense the end, and I want to protect those
I love from the Shadow that will be walking among us when we travel
south.”

He took her hands in his. “I love the Dunedain; I would never hurt
them on purpose.” Then, shaking his head, he added, “And I love
Aragorn. I would never betray him.”

She squeezed his hands. “How can you love him so deeply when you
scarcely know him?”

“I know him,” Aidan answered. “He is our chief. He is our leader.
Soon he will be our king.”

“But you don’t know him. His passions, his dreams, his failures,
his triumphs. You don’t know Strider, the man that walked hand-in-
hand with your grandfather and made love to him at night.”

Aidan’s eyes grew so wide it was as if they would drop from his
head.

Annaleh went back over her passionate words, and sighed. “Well, now
you know one thing,” she murmured, half to herself. Meeting his
stunned gaze, she explained, “Before Malacai and I were married,
when Aragorn was in his early twenties and Malacai had just seen
twenty-five, the two of them fell in love. They slept together.
Malacai taught Aragorn about adult love and adult pleasure. Those
things are different than they are for children, Aidan. Adult love
and adult pleasure have the consequence of being balanced with the
world around them. There is no such thing as being free to pursue
all urges. An adult chooses to take care of the life outside his
bed, or he tries to slip away from it and is punished.” She smiled.
“Aragorn was always an adult. Nothing he shared with Malacai in the
night made him forget his duty. Once, injured Dunedain were brought
back from an orc ambush. Aragorn was roused by their moans of pain.
Even though the moans were soft, and even though Aragorn and
Malacai were in the midst of passion, Aragorn felt the calling of
his people.” She laughed; she couldn’t have stopped herself if
she’d wanted to. “Aragorn came to tend his injured people wearing
only his britches and his herb-pouch. There was no question in
anyone’s mind what he’d been doing only moments ago. And to know
that Aragorn would appear whenever he was needed, no matter where
his mind was, gave us all strength. Our trust of him jumped ten
notches that night.”

She paused, collecting herself. “Well, maybe now you know a little
more about Aragorn. Except that there are so many things that
haven’t been said in the stories you’ve heard, even in that one.”

Aidan glanced over his shoulder suddenly and Annaleh looked to
where Mordecai had been sitting. He was gone. She sighed. “I forgot
about him,” she murmured.

“So did I,” he answered. Then he turned back to his mother. “You’re
saying I can’t know everything about Aragorn until I become his
friend, until I learn about him through experience instead of
through tales.”

“Yes. That is what I am saying.”

He stood. “But I can still love everything he has done for the
Dunedain, can’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will love those things, and love Aragorn as the legend he
is. But… You are wrong to think that I don’t know of his mistakes
and his triumphs, or at least some of them. Aaron told me about
slavery, how Aragorn, even Aragorn, owned slaves. How my papa was a
slave to my grandfather. I know Aragorn is not perfect, Grandmamma.
But I also know he is our hope and that we cannot come out of this
war triumphant in spirit without him.”

Her heart eased a little. The pride she sensed in her grandson,
Kehydi’s pride, was tempered by Saru’s unconditional love for those
he respected. She would still watch him, but with more interest and
less fear. “I am proud to call you my grandson, Aidan. But I must
say this now: stop hating and distrusting your father. There is
good in Kehydi as surely as there is fault in Aragorn. Please
believe that.”

“He hardly shows it,” Aidan answered. Then, “How do you know I
don’t trust him?”

“Nothing can be kept secret in our small community. And he’s shown
it for the last few days. He loves Saru, hidden as that is. Trust
me.”

Aidan nodded. “All right, I’ll try to see the good things in him.
But he makes me so angry sometimes. Papa gives-”

“Aidan, stop. I am more aware of Saru’s suffering than you could
ever be. If I can still love Kehydi, so can you.”

“But he’s your son.”

She bore down on his hands, which had somehow found their way back
into hers. “And he’s your father. If you forget everything else,
remember that. He deserves your respect because he is your father.
Don’t forget that.”

He was nodding again, though more slowly, his eyes turned inward.
“I won’t forget,” he said. “I promise.”

She released him. “Now, I have cloth to gather. Go see if your
sisters need help packing the barley.”

He bent forward and kissed her cheek. “Thank you.” He left.

She touched her cheek and smiled. “Thank you for listening.”

***

Mordecai stood beside his brother as Aidan tied the sheaf of
barley. “I just thought you’d want to be alone,” he said as the
silence stretched between them. “Grandmamma was talking about…
about Aragorn. I didn’t understand any of it.”

Aidan moved to the next barley pile, unwinding the twine from the
spool as he went. “You wouldn’t have wanted to hear all of it,” he
said, kneeling and setting to work. “Thank you for standing up for
me at the council. I should have thanked you before, but…”

Mordecai stepped a little closer. Aidan was a little cold towards
him, towards all of them. He had always been that way: an excellent
fighter for the Dunedain, a devoted soldier in Aragorn’s army, but
separate from everyone around him. His brother didn’t quite dare
move closer to him. He had hoped when he turned ten- only three
weeks ago now- that Aidan would see him as a near-adult. But Aidan
hadn’t warmed to him in the slightest, nor to anyone else. ‘At
least he speaks to Cein and Morwen… But he treats them like he
treats me. It’s like we’re all outside his circle, but we’re not
because he’s looking out for us. It’s like he’s the dog and we’re
the sheep he has to protect.’ Mordecai stepped back again, sighing.
“I’ll go see if Cein needs any help.” He turned and started away,
but his brother’s voice drew him back.

Aidan was standing now, not facing the pile of unbound barley. He
walked to where Mordecai stood and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“If it wasn’t for you, none of this would have happened.” He
smiled. “I’m proud of you.”

Mordecai beamed. “Really?”

Aidan’s smile broadened. “Yes.” He glanced back at the piles of
barley.

“I’ll go,” Mordecai said.

“Do you want to help me with this instead?” Aidan had walked back
to the closest pile and crouched down. But he was looking up at
Mordecai. “Please? I could use the help.”

Mordecai bounced over to where Aidan knelt and dropped to his
knees. “Okay.”

Two hours later, as he watched Mordecai work, Aidan’s mind raced.
He hadn’t thought he’d needed Mordecai’s help, but the tying went
so much faster with another person to help. And that put an idea in
his head. ‘If I needed help and don’t realise it, maybe Papa needs
help, or will need help, with the dwarves or in Mirkwood. If I
stowed away on the wagon, I could help him when he needs it.’ He
knew it was a foolish, childish idea, and yet it refused to leave
his mind. Apart from his concern for his papa, he felt an almost
desperate need to be out of the camp and doing something for the
coming war. And what better way to help, since he couldn’t actually
ride with Aragorn, than to help gather the jewels for Aragorn’s
royal standard?

Aidan knew he couldn’t ask to go; he’d be denied. And then they’d
make sure he didn’t sneak aboard. No; he’d have to go tonight. The
sheer childish recklessness and abstinence of his plan didn’t occur
to him. And with the strategist’s mind he had cultivated over the
years, Aidan knew he would succeed with his plan.

Making everything look completely normal, Aidan readied himself for
the journey by storing a pack among the barley in a dark corner.
Then he made as if to spend one last night with his papa before
morning brought the journey south. When supper was done and Aidan
had stood his half-night watch, he crept to the wagon, concealed
himself, curled up and went to sleep. If all went well, he wouldn’t
be discovered until they were well on their way.

Chapter Seventy-Three

Aragorn dreamed two nights before the Fellowship came to the
disaster of the Redhorn Gate. He lay, fast asleep, a little
distance from the rest of the Fellowship, having set himself a
little apart so he could think without being disturbed. Having left
the first watch to Legolas, he slept as easily as he could,
considering the nature of their journey.

But the dream gripped him only an hour into his needed rest. At
first, the images were confused and did little more than replay the
worries in his mind. Blackness, a half-formed demon in the
blackness of Moria that Glorfindel had named “a thing of fire and
shadow” on some long-ago morning when Estel was but an awkward
teenager, rose up to meet him as he sank deeper into sleep. Then
the shadow of the Balrog, a thing Aragorn wasn’t sure he truly
believed could still be living in the dark places in the world,
faded, only to be replaced by its antithesis: bright, sharp, frozen
snow, reflecting the light of the sky above, but giving no warmth.
Both roads were dangerous; both were somehow cursed, Aragorn
sensed.

But all this passed away, replaced by a vision so shocking in its
sweetness that Aragorn moaned in his sleep, rolling over and
reaching out.

Legolas, hearing his lover, glanced at him. But Aragorn had become
still again and Legolas didn’t want to invade Aragorn’s mind while
the man slept. The elf turned away to gaze south and east, shaking
his head as he took in the mountains.

As for Aragorn, his mind suddenly couldn’t be further from the road
ahead. In his dreaming arms, he held a beautiful little boy, no
more than a year old. Dark brown hair, fine as an elf’s, tumbled
across the child’s forehead, getting in his eyes and almost hiding
the delicate points of his ears. His grey eyes sparkled and flashed
as he laughed, holding onto Aragorn’s fingers with all the strength
of his small hand. A sense, potent as the feelings of danger
Aragorn felt sometimes in the wild, but far more wonderful, filled
the man’s heart that this tiny miracle would speak any day now.
‘Let his first word be Yeggy,’ Aragorn thought as he kissed the
boy’s nose. ‘Let it be that or something that will make Legolas
smile.’ He kissed the boy again, then whispered, “Aii, my son, you
are the picture of perfection. I am so lucky to have you.”

The boy reached up and tugged at Aragorn’s long hair. The man’s
usually-unruly locks were clean, the Ranger noted with some
surprise. The boy pulled at Aragorn’s hair again, and the man’s
crown slipped down, trying to fall off his brow. Aragorn, laughing,
pushed it back up. But then he stopped laughing and his skin
crawled. To be king… ‘I am not ready. I will never want the power I
am given.’ But he knew he must accept it. The child’s hand showed
him.

Aragorn passed into other dreams, but that one stayed with him,
returning the next day, and the one after that. Even in Moria it
returned. Aragorn, if questioned, would have said the dream was one
of hope, uneasy as the crown made him feel. (Yes, he dreamed the
crown each time; the dream was scarce changed during each
retelling.) He couldn’t guess its deeper meaning, and would have
been shocked that a man’s body could send him such warnings.

***

Cahadras was the frozen hell they had all feared and so, tails
between their legs, they made their way back down the baleful
slopes, having lost much time and some of their hope. The only
bright spot in all their suffering came to Frodo by Sam while they
shivered, half-buried in the snow.

Sam had been watching the snow before his feet, shaking his head as
he walked, muttering to himself about how the snow would be much
more welcome in the Shire than it was with the travelers. And, put
in mind of his home, Sam began to mutter an old bit of song about
snowflakes on noses and laughing Lily Ann, daughter of the Ruby
Rose King.

No one heard him except Frodo, and the hobbit slowed down to better
hear the song. Sam, oblivious for the moment to the presence of his
master, who he was always nervous about singing in front of, went
on, embellishing the melody with small ornaments, creating a
lilting, romantic quality to the familiar song that charmed Frodo.

‘Nothing will ever keep him down for long,’ the older hobbit
thought. ‘Not one thing, I don’t think. He’s so beautiful in his
trust that everything can be sung away, worked through. I mean his
innocence, but it’s more than that, because Sam isn’t so innocent
now than he was. None of us are, I suppose, except maybe Gandalf,
Strider and Legolas. Those three have seen much of the world, I’d
guess. No, it isn’t Sam’s innocence that I find beautiful. He
refuses to give up, or to give over even a little part of his mind
to everything around us. He retreats to the Shire when he needs
comfort, and he always finds what he needs there.’

Frodo tried to move a little closer, but Sam looked up, right into
his eyes, and the older hobbit blinked, shocked to see such peace
and surprise mingled there. Overcoming this, he reached out and
took Sam’s hand. He couldn’t help it.

“Are you all right, Mr. Frodo?”

“Yes, Sam. I just wanted to walk with you.”

Sam’s eyes shone. “I’m grateful, Mr. Frodo. I don’t know where
we’re going and everything’s starting to look the same.”

“It looks that way to me, too, Sam. The only difference I see is
that you brought a little piece of the Shire with you all the way
up here.”

Sam blushed and Frodo wondered if he had shamed his faithful
servant. But then Sam smiled and said, “Well, it’s like Mr. Bilbo
says: When you can’t be home and warm by the fire, take the memory
of the fire with you.”

“Oh, Sam…” Frodo moved closer and felt Sam’s hand tighten on his.
“You’re wonderful, Sam.” They walked in silence for a little time,
not knowing that this would be one of their better moments for a
while, but still enjoying it fully, as many of the Shire-folk tend
to do. Living a simple life before the quest didn’t stop either
hobbit from taking joy in every day they shared. Soon, Frodo’s mind
drifted back to the Shire, as if following the path Sam’s song had
made. He remembered watching Sam out in the garden last spring,
just sitting by a flowerbed and talking to the blossoms before him,
fingering them gently and singing softly as he pulled out the
weeds.

Frodo drew strength from the chilly fingers wrapped around his own
and he whispered, unheard over the wind, “I’m glad my friends
didn’t let me go alone, but I’m even more deeply glad that, of the
three, Sam decided he must come. I don’t know if I could have
gotten half so far without him.”

***

Saru let out a long sigh as he opened his eyes. His mount shied a
little, surprised by the sudden tightening of Saru’s leg muscles.
Saru forced himself calm and soothed his steed, murmuring to her.
She wasn’t really his; he’d ridden her many times, but she was
still really Kehydi’s. Not because he tended her more often but
for… other reasons.

“What is it?” Elrohir urged his stallion to walk beside Saru. “What
do you sense?”

“Nothing, but… Something is wrong.”

Elrohir glanced back at Halbarad, who was driving the two-horse
wagon team, then he turned his clear eyes back to Saru. “Can you be
more specific?”

“We’re being followed.” Saru shook his head. “I don’t understand it
any better than that. And maybe that isn’t really what I feel;
maybe I’m just looking for something normal to compare it to.” They
were three days out of the camp; they would reach Bree by sunset if
they didn’t stop for lunch. They hadn’t stopped for lunch once.

“Trust your feelings,” Elrohir said. “You’re Dunedain; your
instincts are almost like an elf’s.” Then he shook his head. “I
didn’t mean that to sound so arrogant.”

“I don’t take offense,” Saru answered. “It’s not in my nature.” But
his mouth was running without as his mind as he gazed about him
without seeming to look, trying to hear the threat before it came.

“You belittle your own feelings,” Elrohir said. “What’s wrong? It’s
something more than this thing you sense.” He reached out, touching
Saru’s arm.

Saru flinched, then tried to smile. He failed. He licked his lips
and his horse shied again.

Elrohir touched the mare’s neck; she calmed at once. “Saru-”

“He’s watching me,” the man whispered. “He’s still here. He never
left. I didn’t sense him before; he kept himself hidden in other
towns. But he’s in Bree. He’s waiting for me. He calls to me,
searches for me, even though he doesn’t know it’s me he’s looking
for. Malacai cheated him out of my full price… Malacai… He would
kill Malacai if he could. He doesn’t know Malacai is dead, but he
knows I’m still alive, that I don’t live far from here. I don’t
know if he can feel me coming closer, but he knows I’m coming. He’s
waiting in Bree for me.” Saru shivered so hard that his mare
snorted and tried to bolt. Saru barely acknowledged her, and when
she stopped short, he fell sideways, tumbling off her back into the
dusty road.

“Saru!”

His Ranger training saved him from a broken neck and he rolled to
the side as the mare danced and fidgeted and tried to look
everywhere at once.

Elrohir caught the mare’s reins as Halbarad drew the wagon team to
a half and leapt off the low bench. Halbarad called again, “Saru?”
as he rushed to the younger man’s side. He made as if to drop to
one knee and take Saru in his arms, but Saru rolled away from him,
protecting his head as if he was being attacked.

“Saru…” Halbarad stared down at the panicked Ranger before him.

Elrohir tied the mare’s reins to a branch, spared an instant to
make sure the team was completely calm, then approached Saru at a
slow walk. He spoke softly in Elvish, murmuring calming words in
the liquid, musical tongue of his people, many of the words those
he remembered Elladan murmuring to Estel as they carried he and his
mother away from the grieving Dunedain. His steps were soundless,
which was perhaps why he was able to get closer to Saru than
Halbarad had. “Speak to me, son of Malacai,” he whispered in
Elvish. “Tell me who is waiting for you.”

“My master wants me back. He stayed here in the north, telling
himself he was making better money here and hiding from those who
might kill him in Harad. But in the back of his mind, he dreams of
me. He longs for me. Banshi is dead, but Versh still remains. He
has sworn in his innermost heart that he won’t die or leave until
he has me again. He doesn’t care that so much time has passed; he
thinks I have grown beautiful. Even if I haven’t, he will know me
and he will keep me. He wants the certainty of my promise. He wants
me to lie before him and beg for him to touch me. He thinks I will
mean it now. He knows I would rather surrender to him than die, but
maybe I would kill myself first.” Saru rose to his feet, setting
his back against a tree, his hand dipping to the knife at his belt.
“I would rather die than serve him, but he knows it not. He… He
doesn’t know I’ve given my life over to the cause of following
Aragorn. He can’t know. He would tell me I should be Steward, that
I should be at Aragorn’s side. He tells me I must serve him and…”
Saru coughed, then fell silent. His eyes moved like those of a
trapped bird and the pulse in his throat beat incredibly fast. Its
speed could kill him if he didn’t come out of the strange fugue
that had sucked him in.

A commotion from the back of the wagon startled all of them and
Saru drew his knife, though his eyes were still only half-aware.
Like a man fighting while he’s still half-asleep. He can still be
deadly, but he may not remember who he attacked or why, only
registering that he had fought some threat.

Aidan leapt into view and rushed his papa’s side. Halbarad caught
him about the waist, dragging him back the instant before Saru’s
knife flew.

Elrohir caught the weapon by the hilt and tossed it behind him.
“Saru, it’s your son. It’s…” He couldn’t remember the boy’s name in
the shock of seeing the young man there.

“Aidan,” Halbarad finished. “Aidan stowed on the wagon. Maybe you
just sensed him and…”

“No, Versh is watching.” But Saru’s eyes were clearing. He shook
his head violently and rubbed at his eyes for a moment. His hands
were shaking. When he stood straight, facing Aidan, he was
frowning. “What are you doing here? Why did you follow us? Does
your father know you’re-?” He stopped, held up a hand as if to stop
himself from talking, then said, “You’re going home. I’ll give you
my horse.” He glanced at his jittery mare. “She’ll do better for
you, I think.”

“Papa, I came because-”

“You’re going home,” Saru answered. “I don’t care why you’re here;
you’re going home. I hate sending you on the road alone, but you’re
going home.”

Aidan squared his shoulders. “I won’t. Something’s wrong; we both
feel it. I’m not going to leave you when something could happen to
you. I came because I wanted to see a little of the world, but it’s
clear I was meant to be here. You need me. Something deadly is
waiting here. And you’re right: it’s waiting for you. Not just for
a man, or a Ranger, but for you.”

Saru closed his eyes for a moment. “Aidan, there are some things I
need to do on my own. Please act more like my son than my caregiver
and go home. I don’t ask much of you, but I ask this. I need to go
this alone.”

“But they’re coming with you,” Aidan said, gesturing with his head
towards Elrohir and Halbarad. “What’s so different about them going
with you?”

“For one thing, they were asked to come,” Saru said. “But that’s
not the real difference. Elrohir and Halbarad know of true evil in
the world.”

“I’m an adult. I can learn. I should have known before this if the
times were different, if this was back when you grew up.”

“Slavery is one evil you don’t want to know,” Saru answered,
turning from his son.

“Papa, I didn’t mean-”

“Go home, Aidan. You must. There is no way I can protect you if you
stay.”

“I don’t need to be protected! I’ve protected you!” 

“Aye, and you think you’re stronger for that, stronger than me,
probably.” Saru spun around and caught Aidan’s shoulders in a
painful grip. “Obey me just this once, Aidan. I want to save you
from seeing a part of my past that few know about. And now you know
more than you should. Please leave me to face my shame alone. I
would rather that than think that my son is going to despise me.”

“I could never-”

Halbarad rested a hand on Aidan’s shoulder. “Are you going to keep
compelling him until he is forced to ask the Vow of the Dunedain
from you? Why would you try to humble him so?”

Aidan blinked. “I don’t want-”

“Your papa has been through enough this day.” Halbarad bowed to
Saru. “May I make supplication for you?”

Saru’s eyes were closed again and his skin was deathly pale.
“Please.”

Aidan’s jaw dropped and he tried to speak. But now Elrohir was
standing beside him and gripping his shoulder.

Halbarad sank to one knee. “Aidan, son of Kehydi, son of Saru, I
come before you in the place of another. Saru, your papa, asks that
you leave without further questions or protests. I make this
supplication in his name at his permission.” Halbarad touched his
fist to his forehead. “Oh son of the North, brother of those who
have gone before you, Aragorn’s warrior, will you agree to honor
the supplicant’s wishes? Will you let him take the rest of this
journey without your assistance?”

Aidan swallowed twice. “You have no right to ask this of me,” he
said at last. Then he turned away and stalked to Saru’s mare. “But
if you want to die, there’s nothing I can do to save you.” He
untied her reins and leapt onto her back. “I hope you get
everything you’re afraid of!” he shouted at Saru before he kicked
his mount into a gallop. 

The three stood listening until the sound of hoofbeats was gone.

Saru sighed, passing his hand over his eyes. “Thank you,” he said,
glancing at Halbarad and Elrohir. “I only wish he had received you
better, Halbarad. I apologize for my son’s rudeness and disregard
of the sacred rites.”

“I’m not offended, Saru. But I’m worried. What do you both sense?
Can you tell me more about this Versh?”

Saru stood still for a moment. “Let’s get moving again,” he said.
“I’ll tell you as we go.” He climbed up on the box behind the team
and settled himself, making no move to touch the reins. Halbarad,
after a glance at Elrohir, moved to sit beside him. Elrohir mounted
his stallion and moved so that he was walking beside the wagon, not
close enough to disturb the team. “Versh wasn’t my first master,
but he is the one I remember best. I cannot account for that,
except to say that Versh was almost the first person to show me
kindness. He didn’t let his servant, Banshi, rape me, even though I
wasn’t very valuable. He was almost kind in his way, though he
still hit me from time to time. He wouldn’t sell me to just anyone;
others had come by, looking at me, before Malacai came. When Banshi
asked Versh why he hadn’t sold me to a rich Breelander, Versh
answered something like, ‘My little one needs the right master.’

“He was gentle with me. He protected me, even if I was still his
slave and used to serving men sexually.” Saru sighed. “He used me
but once, and when he realized that I was trying to please him, but
couldn’t because I was so thin and so afraid, he tried healing me.
He never held me, like Malacai did, never comforted me, but he was
kind in his way.” Saru held up a hand, seeing the look of confusion
in Elrohir’s eyes. “So why am I so afraid? Why am I convinced that
I’ll either die here or become his slave again? I don’t’ know,
except that now I know what freedom is- or at least what it is for
me. I don’t want to go back. And if I see him… I might go with him
if he offers safety as he once did.” Saru shook his head violently.
“It makes so sense!” he whispered. “I have a loving family; I have
the Dunedain; I have Aragorn to follow. I don’t need him to give me
a sense of safety. But I’m still tempted, would be tempted if he
offered it to me.

“But back to when I was younger: Versh saw Malacai and watched him,
almost like a mother who had to give her child away and was trying
to assure herself that he would be taken care of. Versh by no means
loved me, but he still watched Malacai with the intentions of a
mother. I remember how Versh picked me up and set me in the cradle,
hoping the sight of me would inspire pity in Malacai.” Saru
laughed. “Having Banshi threaten to rape me was Versh’s idea. He
was determined that Malacai should notice me and take me.” Again,
that feeble laugh. “It worked. Malacai picked me up and held me
with all gentleness. He comforted me with a hand on my back, and
talked to me in different languages, trying to find the one I
understood.

“And…” Saru seemed to come back himself. “You don’t want to hear
all this.”

Halbarad said, “Yes, Saru, we need to know. We’re going to help you
through this; we need to know. Please tell us.”

Saru gazed at Halbarad. “I don’t want to shame you.”

Halbarad closed his eyes for a moment. “Saru, I am not proud of
that time in my life, but it won’t kill me to hear of it. Please, I
would like to know what you felt.”

Saru swallowed, then asked, “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“… Aaron tended Legolas and Malacai tended me as we left Nennid.
Every night, I fell asleep on Malacai’s chest and he kept me safe.
He was scarcely more than a pace away from me at all times. And
Legolas… Legolas was wonderful. He was always there for me, too,
even though we didn’t speak the same language. Sometimes, Legolas
would make motions like he was shooting a tiny bow and arrow. He
shot invisible arrows at shadows, at long-branched trees, at
anything that frightened me. Between Legolas, Malacai and Aaron, I
began to feel safe. But I still dreamed, sometimes, of being back
with Versh, just waiting in the slave market each day and not being
bought, just being safe. I know; it sounds insane, feeling safe in
a slave market where anyone could buy me. But it was a thousand
times better than Harad, even than Gondor, and I would have given
almost anything to be back with Versh.

“You must be wondering how I remember all this,” Saru continued,
for he saw the confusion on Elrohir’s face and in Halbarad’s eyes.
“It’s simple; I’m older than you think I am. I was seven, not
three, when Malacai bought me. But I’ve always looked younger than
I am-” he touched the grey in his hair and smiled- “and I saw no
reason to correct Malacai or Aragorn when they assumed I was three.
In Harad, it was always better to be a younger whore than an older
one. It was safer.

“And now I have to tell you how I managed to forget Versh and
settle into my new home. Malacai made the first gestures of
kindness, and Legolas the second, but it was Aragorn that I trusted
almost at once. I didn’t show it, retreating against Malacai’s
knees when Aragorn spoken to me. But the way Aragorn spoke to me:
like a master, a father, and a king all at once, convinced me that
I could be safe away from Versh.

“But Aragorn isn’t here now.” Saru loosed a laugh that sounded
suspiciously like a sob. “And I’m going to meet Versh again and I
don’t want to be tempted back into that way of life, not for
anything. It’s only with Aragorn, with the hope of following him,
that I feel truly safe. That doesn’t make sense. I spent so much
more time with Malacai.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand it.
I can only believe.”

“But Saru, it makes perfect sense,” Halbarad said. “Malacai rested
all his faith and trust on Aragorn; you must have felt that. And
Aragorn imbues his own strength of character that draws all of us
to him. Not for nothing does Sauron fear the Heir of Isildur.
Aragorn is the Leader of Men for a reason. It’s perfectly natural
that you should trust him so deeply and depend on him so much. It
makes perfect sense.”

Saru smiled, but only some of his tension was drained away.

“Saru,” Elrohir said then, and his voice was filled with purpose,
“you can still be safe from Versh, and from the pull of him.
Aragorn is going to call the Dunedain to join him soon. Remind
yourself of that, and you won’t lose yourself to Versh. And if you
need reminding, Halbarad and I aren’t going to leave you unguarded.
You might see Versh, but we won’t let him take you. If you don’t
even want him to open his mouth, we’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

Saru blinked, and his smile became a little fuller. “Thank you,” he
said. “I forgot that Aragorn is still with us.”

***

In the darkness of Moria, even the silence whispered. But, at least
for the moment, no one was thinking about the impossible four-day
journey that lay ahead oft hem. The hobbits were asleep, as were
Gimli and Boromir.

Gandalf was sitting against the wall, smoking and thinking. His
lips curved up gently at the corners as he watched Aragorn and
Legolas slip way from the others. No need to tell the two to be
careful; they were both experienced warriors. ‘And here I thought
Aragorn was meant to be with Arwen.’ Gandalf shook his head. ‘Three
hundred lives of men have I lived, and still I make mistakes. I’m
only glad Aragorn and Legolas made the right decision.’ He started
to think about the road ahead, about what might be waiting in the
darkness for them. But when he glimpsed Aragorn’s hand straying to
Legolas’ backside, he abandoned thoughts of coming evil and sorrow.
For the moment, he only smiled and smoked as Legolas and Aragorn
disappeared around a corner.

In the next chamber, Legolas drew Aragorn towards the blankets he
had already prepared. Urgently, he tugged at Aragorn’s hand to get
the man moving faster. Yes, they were both tired. Yes, they had a
long way to go. Yes, the darkness oppressed them. But Legolas
didn’t give of that a moment’s thought. His mind was taken up by
the earthy, leather, sweat smell of his lover.

Sinking to the blanket, Legolas yanked on Aragorn’s hand until the
man joined him. And once Aragorn was on his knees, Legolas grabbed
the Ranger’s face in both hands and began kissing him passionately,
doing everything in his power to make sure Aragorn’s mind was
coming on him, completely on what they were about to do. It had to
be now. The thought of Aragorn’s challenge had been running circles
in Legolas’ mind, and he was more than willing to use it as an
excuse to make Aragorn take him.

‘This time, my lord, you will claim me. I enjoy having you beneath
me, but tonight I need to be filled.’

Aragorn chuckled and wove his fingers into Legolas’ hair. ‘Aii, my
beautiful love. I will give you anything tonight. But maybe we
shouldn’t count this among the six, since you’re urging it and I
hadn’t even thought-’

Legolas threw himself backward, dragging Aragorn on top of him.
‘Dream on, Man. Now strip.’

Twenty minutes later- sex had to be approached, begun and climaxed
in a time that seemed tortuously short to both of them- Aragorn
drew himself up on an elbow, knowing that they couldn’t sleep out
of sight of the others.  “Legolas, we must-”

‘Shh.’ Legolas kissed Aragorn, then sat up, pushing Aragorn into a
position where the two of them could lean, one against the other.
‘Just be still for a moment. Turn off your mind, if not your
senses, and just be in this one instant.’ He drew Aragorn’s hand to
his mouth and rested his lips against Aragorn’s knuckles. He smiled
against the rough skin and listened to Aragorn breathing.

But Legolas found, to his great annoyance, that his mind couldn’t
be as still as his body. ‘Aragorn?’

The man chuckled.

‘Don’t laugh at me.’ Legolas punched his lover’s shoulder. ‘Tell me
about Harad.’

Aragorn considered teasing Legolas, but quickly set that idea
aside. The time for long hours of fencing with words was at an end.
‘I heard a rumor that Sauron was deepening his hold in the South.
And since I was headed that way to assuage my curiosity about
another matter, I just added the rumors to my list of things to
investigate.’



‘Another matter?’ Legolas raised an eyebrow. ‘And what was the
matter?”



‘Nothing. I was fine.’



Legolas slapped Aragorn and the man laughed albeit quietly so the
rest of the Fellowship wouldn’t hear him.



‘I wanted to know about Saru.’



Legolas stilled and his eyes narrowed. ‘What about him?’



‘I needed to know if he was truly from Gondor.’ Aragorn sighed. ‘My
heart told me he was, and the fact of his pregnancies and visions
said he was, but I wanted to know if I could find his father or
mother. You would think I’d be cured of curiosity by the myriad of
things I’ve seen in this world. But I can’t be. I had to learn
about Saru’s parents. I know he’s a Ranger now and doesn’t want to
leave, but if we were ever to get back to Gondor, might he not want
to see his family again?’



‘Did you? Did you find his family?’

Aragorn was silent for so long that Legolas almost thought his
lover had gone to sleep. But he knew Aragorn better than that. He
waited, determined not to interrupt. If Aragorn was hesitating, he
probably had a good reason. ‘But if he doesn’t answer me in a
minute, I’m going to shake him, remind him he still has an
audience. This ‘silent Ranger’ trend of his could get on my
nerves.’ Legolas grinned at himself.

‘Yes. I did.’ Aragorn shifted, sat up, drew Legolas against him,
then pushed him back. ‘Let’s get dressed. I don’t want someone
wandering out to find us… but I want to tell you what I found.’

Legolas didn’t argue; his practical side wouldn’t let him. In less
than two minutes, he and Aragorn looked just as they had when they
slipped away from the rest of the sleeping Fellowship and the
watchful Gandalf.

Aragorn sat against the wall and drew Legolas close, so that the
elf leaned against him. ‘Do you want the long version or the
short?’

‘Any story worth telling is worth telling well.’ Legolas smiled.
‘Do you know who taught me that?’

‘It isn’t one of my sayings, though I might add it to my
collection.’

‘Aaron said it once when I was seven or eight, and it makes perfect
sense to me. Start telling your story, Aragorn.’

Something loud clattered in the nearby chamber. Aragorn and Legolas
were on their feet in an instant, their hands going to their
weapons. Without glancing at each other, they started to creep
towards the chamber where the rest of the Fellowship was coming
awake with cries of alarm.

“Fool of a Took!” Gandalf cried as Aragorn and Legolas appeared.
“Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!”

The two Rangers relaxed slightly when they saw that it had only
been Pippin’s silly mistake. But then the drums started, and there
was no more time for relief or stories.

***

Aidan stabled the horses with a hobbit family that lived just
outside Bree. The hobbitess reminded Aidan strongly of Annaleh, and
so he felt no concern about leaving his papa’s horse with her. Out
of habit, he didn’t tell her he was a Ranger. But she seemed to
know and accept this without his having to say a word. In her
instinct, too, she was like Aidan’s grandmother.

Once in Bree, he didn’t stay at the Prancing Pony but slept in
abandoned shed on the edge of town where he would be warned if
anyone approached. He’d watched the shed for a day before deciding
it was satisfactory, and though this annoyed him to no end, he knew
it was necessary, and prided himself on acting like a Ranger. Above
all, he didn’t want his papa or the other to know he was there. Not
only would his papa be angry, but he would be disappointed. He
wouldn’t be able to understand that Aidan had to act the way his
instincts told him to act, no matter what others said. That sort of
decisiveness was what separated leaders from followers.

‘And fools from those with common sense.’ Aidan groaned into his
mug as he watched Saru, Elrohir and Halbarad talk quietly in a
corner of the Prancing Pony’s common room. ‘And unfortunately, all
I can do is have faith that I’m doing the right thing. It’s
certainly too late to go back.’

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Aidan watched a swarthy man
enter the room. Was this one Versh? Aidan had seen four Southern-
looking men so far, but none of them had been called Versh. ‘He
could have changed his name.’ But none of them seemed to give the
Rangers at the corner table a second look, not even the one with
fire-red hair who sat among them.

Now the new arrival sat by himself and when a hobbit came to wait
on him, he ordered a simple dinner. He seemed to be well-known; the
hobbit nodded to him and said, “The usual, then?” But he still sat
alone. Aidan watched him more closely.

As the hobbit (Nob, his name was) moved away, the swarthy man
looked around quickly before staring fixedly at the table before
him. But after a minute of doing this, he glanced around again,
taking quick peeks without moving his head. His eyes flickered over
the regulars, paused for a moment on Aidan, who drank down a little
ale and almost choked on it, then gazed at the three Rangers in the
corner. Unlike Aidan, who had disguised himself as a Breelander,
the other Dunedain made so secret of what they were. The barkeeper
and many of the others treated them with a distant respect, and
more than a little superstitious fear, emotions Aidan was used to
seeing in others. Only the barkeeper spoke more than a word with
them, and sometimes, when he spoke too much, Halbarad or Saru would
tell him to be careful what he said. Aidan caught the words
‘Strider’ and ‘Mr. Underhill’ and ‘dark riders’ from where he sat
and knew the others didn’t want these things to be overheard.

Elrohir scarcely spoke, and when he did, he made sure no one was
near enough to hear him. His fair voice would have been easily
distinguished from those of the men all around him, no matter what
language he spoke.

Aidan watched the swarthy man glance around again before returning
his attention to Saru and the others. Tension began to creep into
the young man’s shoulders and he forced himself to relax. But one
hand dropped to the concealed knife at his side. If the man made as
if to attack the Rangers, or to separate Saru from among them,
Aidan was determined to stop him.

Abruptly, Saru stood and walked deliberately towards Aidan, who
dropped his eyes and stared at his mug. Had his papa seen him? In
his heart of hearts, Aidan had known he probably couldn’t hide from
his papa and the others the whole time; he’d only hoped.

When he dared to glance up, though, Aidan saw that Saru was taking
a seat across from the swarthy man. The two of them sat in silence
for a time, but then Saru leaned forward and began to speak in the
language of Harad. Somehow, when he spoke it, the tones and
cadences weren’t jagged or rough. Saru brought romance to a
language Aidan had always thought harkened more to a dog’s back
than any logical, sane speech.

Tearing his eyes away from a moment, Aidan was shocked to see
Halbarad standing right next to him and looking down at him.

“Outside with me,” the older man said.

Aidan opened his mouth to protest.

“Not now,” Halbarad said. He headed for the door without looking
back. Aidan stood and followed him.

When they were outside, standing in the shadow of the stables,
Halbarad caught Aidan’s upper arm and squeezed it firmly. “Not that
you deserve to know, but Elrohir is watching out for your papa.” He
wasn’t looking at the younger Ranger beside him. “What do you think
you’re doing here?”

Aidan tried to sound unashamed. “Protecting him.”

“Disobeying orders is what you’re doing, and betraying your papa’s
plea. You have no respect for him or for the ancient and sacred
vows of your people.”

Aidan glared up at Halbarad, but when the man’s grip on his arm
tightened, the younger man looked straight ahead again. “Everything
I do is with the good of my people in mind, and their traditions
are just as sacred to me as they are to you. But I love my papa,
and when I feel he’s in danger, I can’t just leave him alone.” He
pulled away from Halbarad. “And how do you know he’ll be safe
talking to Versh? What if Elrohir can’t move fast enough to save
him?”

“We’ve been watching Versh since we got here. Saru knew him at
once. And Versh knew Saru. This is the second time they’ve talked.
While you were staking out that shed-” Aidan blushed- “the two of
them were talking. Versh isn’t a threat to Saru, at least not
overtly. He might be a temptation, but nothing else. And if it
turns out that he’s truly dangerous, we’ll leave. We’ll only be in
town for another two days. We must get to the dwarves. But we
couldn’t leave without giving Saru this chance to heal a wound from
his past.” Halbarad folded his arms across his chest. “You don’t
understand everything about your papa, Aidan. I don’t understand
everything. Only Saru truly knows what’s going on inside his head.
All we can do is help him come to terms with-”

Halbarad fell silent and his hand was back on Aidan’s arm. Aidan
started to pull away, but then he saw the three cloaked figures
approaching the inn from out of the darkness. The sparkle of jewels
and silver made Aidan blink, and he wondered who the strangers
could be. He watched them, noting that each was carrying a barely-
concealed sword. Probably no one in the Prancing Pony would notice
the men were armed- except Saru and Elrohir- and surely the men
didn’t think they would have to be any more careful in concealing
their intentions.

When the three had passed through the front doors, Halbarad
murmured, “Now there are three men with murder on their minds.”

Aidan took a step towards the doors. “We should warn-”

“Saru will see them. So will Elrohir. Come on; let’s go around
back. We don’t want anyone to notice us.”

“But that could take too long! They might-”

“It will take too long if we stand here arguing.” Halbarad strode
away, looking for all the world like just another Breelander going
about his business, no matter his Ranger garb. He understood a
basic truth: if you looked busy, most people didn’t give you a
second glance.

Aidan sighed, decided he didn’t have time to debate his options,
and followed.

The Rangers entered through the kitchen door. No one saw them; the
cooks were too busy. But then there came the sound of breaking
glass from the common room, and suddenly the bakers and dish-
washers and waiters were in a frenzy. After being frightened out of
their skins only a short time ago by the rush of the Black Riders
through Bree, they were equally curious about the noise and nervous
about anything out of the norm.

Unfortunately, when all those in the kitchen started rushing
around, the two Rangers knew they wouldn’t be able to slip through,
as they’d intended. Halbarad wondered briefly how much he could
push these people by using the power of persuasion in his voice.

The whistle of alarm from the next room put an end to his
wondering. He shoved forward, using his shoulder like a battering
ram. Cooks and cleaners alike scattered before him, and Aidan
followed in his wake. Throwing his weight against the kitchen door,
Halbarad spilled out into the space behind the bar. Without
hesitating, he vaulted the obstruction and leapt at the first
attacker he saw.

Aidan took in the scene as he exited the doors and ran around the
bar, his fear of the unknown slowing him just enough so he wasn’t
sure that he could have made it over the obstacle. Two of the three
well-dressed men were holding bows with arrows notched in the
strings. Saru stood between these men and Versh. Elrohir couldn’t
be sure of reaching the men before the arrows flew, so he stood
still, his eyes dark with rage. The third man had been stepping
towards Saru when Halbarad tackled him.

And still no arrows flew. One of the men was speaking then,
ordering everyone to get out, get out now before there were any
accidents. There was a mad dash for the door and Aidan had to jump
on top of the bar to keep from being trampled as half the people in
the room made for the kitchen exit. Soon enough, the room was
clear. Even the bartender hadn’t dared to stay and reason with the
insane people who had taken over his inn.

“Get down off there,” the same man said. “I’m not just a good shot;
the tips of my arrows have been dipped in poison. One prick, and
not even the famed Dunedain medicine will save him.”

Aidan hesitated.

“Those are Haradrim arrows,” Saru said. “Do as he says, Aidan.”

“And you get off my friend,” the leader continued, nodding at
Halbarad. The man beside him still had his arrow trained on Saru’s
heart.

Halbarad stood, keeping his hands well away from his weapons.

“You, the crazy jumping bean and the pale one go stand over there,
backs to the wall. I don’t want you. At least not yet.” He waited
until Elrohir and Halbarad had replied, then said to Aidan, “You’re
not the one I want, but you know him. Tell me where Saru Dunadan
is, and I’ll let you live.”

“Why do you want him?” Aidan asked.

The leader drew his bowstring back a little more. Aidan knew he
wouldn’t be able to move fast enough to save his papa.

“I am Saru.” Aidan’s papa took a single step forward. “You aren’t
men of Harad, and yet you carry their dishonorable weapons. Why?”

“You’re half Haradrim,” the man said. “Don’t speak to me of
dishonor.”

“I was raised among men of the North, and since you know their
name, maybe you know their blood as well. It doesn’t matter where I
was born, but whose traditions I follow. Who do you follow?”

The man Halbarad had knocked down got up and went to help guard the
three helpless Rangers by the wall. “Who’s that behind you? He’s no
Dunadan.”

Versh squared his shoulders. “I am Cornith Versh of Umbar and
points south. Who are you?”

The man nodded to himself. “Good. At least you’re both together
this time.” His gaze shifted back to Saru. “Do you know who your
father is?”

Saru nodded. “Is that why you’re going to kill me?”

“Yes, but not for just that. You’re to be a message to your chief,
Thorongil. And we both know that’s not his real name. You’re to die
here in the North, in his place. When he comes to Gondor, he will
die there, as he should have the first time.”

“And you think my death will stop him?” Saru smiled. “You don’t
know or understand the lord I serve.” He spread his arms. “Kill me,
then. I have died in my lord’s service; that’s all I ask.” He
frowned. “But I don’t know why Denethor would send you to kill
Versh, who took me off his hands when I was still very young. And
how does my high-born father even know I’m alive?”

“The Dunedain aren’t the only ones with spies.”

Saru smiled. “Aii, and here I thought Gondor was above such
trickery and backstabbing.” Chuckling, he said, “Then I guess my
father believes in killing even his own when it comes to ensuring
his place on the throne. Take this message back to your craven
lord: the Dunedain will never be ruled by him.” He clasped his
hands before him. “Well? Are you going to kill me or not, knowing
that it will accomplish nothing, and you won’t live to leave this
room? Each of the Dunedain around you is a brother of mine, and
they won’t let you get away with murdering one of their family
members. And even, if by some chance you managed to escape all of
us, Thorongil would find out. Haven’t you ever wondered how the
Dunedain manage to stay in touch over long distances? You know we
can do it, and you fear that very fact. Ask yourselves: do you
really want to spend the rest of your lives looking over your
shoulders, waiting for a man who will clear his throat, ask you to
turn, then bid you prepare to die for the murders you committed?”

Aidan shifted, but Halbarad and Elrohir both glared at him and he
stilled again. He himself had spoken of his papa’s ability of
persuasion, but this was different. Saru simultaneously kept the
man listening even while he seemed to be giving up.

The leader had no answer for Saru, or at least not yet.

Saru let his hands drop to his sides. “Please at least tell me why
my father wants this man I guard dead. He has done nothing wrong.
He but rescued me from my master in Harad.”

“You were supposed to die in Harad,” the man answered. “You were
supposed to die that day on the stage.” His eyes dropped, but only
for an instant. His face had hardened. “Don’t you understand?
You’re the eldest son; you could come to Gondor and demand the
Stewardship.”

“And that’s why I’m a danger? Tell your father I have no such
desires, and even if I did, the vow I swore to my lord wouldn’t
permit me to take that step.”

The man’s bow-hand trembled. The other two men with him were
staring at Saru, completely forgetting about the Rangers they were
supposed to be guarding. Halbarad warned the others with his eyes
not to take advantage of the situation.

“Why do you say he is my father?” the leader asked.

“You look like him. And you carry yourself with grace and power, as
your grandfather did. My lord told me of your grandsire, but I
remember him, a little. He didn’t want me removed from Gondor, no
matter that I was illegitimate, no matter that my mother was a
whore. He wanted me to be raised as a page.” Saru took another step
forward. He was quite close to the other man now; he could have
plucked the bow from the other’s nerveless fingers. “What did he
name you, Brother? And since you are not his oldest legitimate son,
whose place did he send you to protect?”

The man lowered his bow. “You are a Dunadan; you know my heart, as
the stories said all men of that line would.”

“I am of your line, which is just as noble and long as that of my
lord’s. Please tell me your name. I know not what I was called when
I was in Gondor, or I would share with you my birthname. But I have
been Saru for long years and long, and I beg you take that as my
true name now.”

“I am Faramir, second-” he smiled a little- “or third son of
Denethor. My elder brother is Boromir, and it has long been just
the three of us in the Citadel. Our mother died when I was six.”

“I am sorry to hear it. I have heard great things about the lady
your father married.”

“And what have you heard of our father?” Faramir gestured, and his
men lowered their weapons. “But wait. Maybe I should apologize to
the innkeeper and let everyone back in, if they will come.” 

“I doubt they’ll come,” Saru said. “They’ve seen frightening times
here and won’t be easily persuaded.” He grinned. “But they’ll be
back in the morning to ask all about us, I’m sure.”

After some smooth talking, Barliman and a dozen or so others were
persuaded to come back to the inn and observe the two groups, who
had seemingly been enemies only minutes ago, sit down to dinner
together. The dozen people who had accompanied Barliman (two of
these being Nob and Bob) kept as much distance from the large group
as possible, while still trying to be close enough to overhear.
Nothing they caught by eavesdropping was of any use to them,
though.

Saru sat close to both Versh and to Faramir. He wasn’t distrustful
of the good-hearted man he’d called brother, but his hard-earned
caution wouldn’t entirely desert him. He was gratified to notice
that Elrohir, Halbarad and Aidan hadn’t relaxed their guard, though
to a casual observer they would seem to have been taken completely
in by the friendly words that were spoken to them. Faramir learned
many things that day, but he didn’t learn two important facts:
Thoronigl’s name was really Aragorn, and Aidan was Saru’s son.
Neither did Saru tell Faramir of Denethor’s attempt on Aragorn’s
life, nor how the older man had raped Legolas. But this was more
out of respect for Faramir’s honor than to protect himself. Saru
would say only that he had not seen Denethor in many years and he
wouldn’t form his own opinion of the man until he had met him.

Bechand, one of Faramir’s most ardent supporters, nevertheless saw
his captain’s abandoning of the mission as one of his lord’s few
mistakes. He determined, in his heart, to kill both Saru and Versh,
and capture the others to take back to Gondor as slaves.

***

Aragorn lunged for Frodo, drawing him close, keeping him from
leaping across the intervening space and making Gandalf’s sacrifice
meaningless. He would have marveled at the hobbit’s strength if he
hadn’t been so shocked.

‘Fly, you fools!’ Gandalf had said just before he plunged into
darkness. And Aragorn realised that he was defying that final order
even now. Scooping up Frodo under one arm, he gestured for Legolas
and Boromir to help with other others. Drawing his sword, Aragorn
led the way towards the eastern gate. He could hear the screams of
the goblins that had expected their prey to die before the balrog.
‘Joke’s on you; we only lost one, the best and most powerful of
us.’

The goblins were trying to block the eastern gate. Aragorn surged
ahead of the others, drawing Frodo even closer to his side. At
least the hobbit had stopped struggling.

The leader of the goblins, larger than most and certainly much
stronger than he had any right to be, stood between the Fellowship
and the free air.

Aragorn snarled and brought Anduril down between the leader’s
shoulder and neck. When his blade connected, the Ranger threw his
weight sideways, dragging the Flame of the West through the orc’s
neck, severing flesh and bone. The orc’s head rolled away, and as
the leader dropped, his troops scattered. The Ranger spit at the
orc as he leapt over its carcass and began to run again, sparing
only a single glance back to make sure the others were following.

Out in the chill wind, Aragorn kept going, wanting to put a little
distance between the mouth of Moria and the ragged Fellowship. It
wasn’t enough distance; while they were on the hills, they were
still in terrible danger. But Aragorn knew enough about grieving
civilians to know the hobbits would need a moment. Maybe even
Boromir and Gimli would need a moment. Legolas wouldn’t; Legolas
would understand the need to keep going. Like Aragorn, Legolas
would hold in his grief until they reached Lothlorien.

When Aragorn set Frodo down a few minutes later, the hobbit
wandered off by himself, but he didn’t go very far. His shoulders
slumped, his hands shaking, he sat down on a flat rock and stared
back the way they had come.

‘I know how you feel,’ Aragorn thought as he took in the others,
making sure they were all within shouting distance. ‘I wish we
could go back and do that over again.’ Glancing up at the sky,
Aragorn saw that it was an hour past noon. They had to keep moving.
“Alas! I fear we can stay here no longer!” He hated the detached,
husked-out sound of his voice, but continued, grief holding sway
over his tongue for a moment, “Farewell, Gandalf!” He raised
Anduril in salute. “Did I not say to you: if you pass the doors of
Moria, beware? Alas that I spoke true! What hope have we without
you?”

‘Aragorn, stop!’ Legolas’ grief and rage bloomed in the man’s mind,
silencing him. 
no hope. I know it doesn’t seem like anyone is listening to you,
but they are. Please, Aragorn, hold us together until we get to
Lothlorien. Then we can all fall back on our own resources. But for
now- we need you.’

Aragorn bowed his head. ‘Forgive me, Legolas.’ He sighed, muttered,
“We must do without hope,” then spoke to the company. He could see
the fury in Gimli’s eyes, and because it was Gimli, along with
Legolas and Boromir, that he relied on to get the hobbits moving,
he spoke to the dwarf, though all could hear him. “At least we may
yet be avenged. Let us gird ourselves and weep no more!” The
formal, dead speech that he used now lent strength and
determination to his heart, and so he continued to use it, seeing
that it was slowly reaching Merry and Pippin, and maybe even Sam.
‘I’ll have to get Frodo,’ he thought. “Come! We have a long road
and much to do.” Aragorn went to Frodo and crouched beside him,
giving the hobbit his arm to lean on. “Come, Frodo,” he whispered.
“In Lothlorien will we all be comforted.”

“Can’t you give them a moment, for pity’s sake?” Boromir demanded,
his voice breaking.

That show of strain made Aragorn wonder about Boromir for the first
time in weeks. He hadn’t thought much of the man as they traveled,
except to be annoyed by him. Had Gandalf reached the son of
Denethor in some way that Aragorn had left untried? The ranger
silently cursed himself.

“Come evening, these hills will be swarming with orcs,” Aragorn
said, low, trying for kindness and understanding from Boromir. “We
must get to safety. We must reach Lothlorien.”

 Boromir nodded, then urged Merry and Pippin to their feet. That
left Legolas to help Sam. Gimli walked beside Merry and when Frodo
was standing beside Aragorn, the Fellowship set out again.

Legolas longed to descend into his grief and leave others to watch
the road. But he had nearly bullied Aragorn into going on, so he
knew he had to do the same. To distract the others as much as he
could, he spoke of Lothlorien. Pointing south, along the path of
the new-sprung stream they followed, the elf tried to smile at the
golden haze far ahead. “There lie the woods of Lothlorien! That is
the fairest of all the dwellings of my people.” He thought of how
he had come to Lothlorien for the first time, holding an
unconscious, dying Aragorn against his chest and winced inwardly.
But his face remained clear. He refused to let the others see
anything but peace in his face, at least until they were all safe
in the Golden Wood. He felt Aragorn at the back of his mind, not
intruding, just listening and appreciating, even as they man turned
all of his senses to the trail ahead and behind, and to the rocks
and nooks on each side. 

Legolas continued, “There are no trees like the trees of that land.
For in the autumn, their leaves fall not, but turn to gold.” He
heard the formality of his words and knew he was following
Aragorn’s lead subconsciously. ‘Ai, I don’t know what comfort I
will find in this, but I will take anything I can get.’ Not till
the spring comes and the new green opens to they fall, and then the
boughs are laden with yellow flowers; and the floor of the wood is
golden, and golden is the roof, and its pillars are of silver, for
the bark of the trees is smooth and grey.” He sighed, deciding not
to admit that he had been to the Golden Wood before. He didn’t know
why he decided to keep this secret, only that it seemed important
at that moment. “So still our songs in Mirkwood say.” ‘And among
the Rangers, though the Rangers had more cause to sing, because
their lord had seen it, as had his father before him.’ “My heart
would be glad if I was beneath the eaves of that wood, and it were
springtime!”

“My heart will be glad even in winter,” Aragorn said, and the smile
he gave Legolas was thin and weary, though well-meant. “But it lies
many miles away. Let us hasten!” And he picked up his pace, and the
others did the same, fear replacing grief for the time being and
driving them on.

Chapter Seventy-Four

Saru sensed the fierce protectiveness that Bechand exuded; it was
almost a stench. Elrohir sensed it, too, for he showed exceedingly
bad decorum by breaking into Elvish for a moment, asking Saru if
they should switch places. Saru shook his head, then apologized to
Faramir, explaining that they were used to talking among themselves
and used to slipping from one language to another.

“Was that Elvish?” Faramir’s eyes gleamed. “It was, wasn’t it?” He
smiled. “If I had time, I would ask you to teach me. I can read a
few lines- those that were translated in the Gondorian records- but
I’ve never heard it spoken.”

“Some day, when you meet our chief, he could teach you. He’s a
talented tutor.”

“Your chief seems amazing, from what you’ve told me. What does he
look like? Maybe I’ve met him. I’ve known some talented men in my
time.”

‘You’re only a third my age,’ Saru thought. “Our chief hasn’t been
to Gondor in years. And of course, to protect us, he didn’t use his
name in your fair city.”

“What danger could there be in Gondor?” Faramir sat forward, his
eyes focused solely on Saru.

The Ranger noted this and wondered how many negotiations the son of
Denethor had been involved in. ‘But then, maybe he thinks we’re all
friends here.’ Saru glanced at Bechand out of the corner of his eye
without seeming to look away from Faramir. He didn’t like the way
the soldier was looking at him. “You must understand that we’ve
walked in the shadows for so long that it’s difficult for us to
give up years and years of training. Perhaps there was no danger,
but in Gondor our chief was surrounded by hundreds of people; he
could not forsake his wary ways under those circumstances.”
Unnoticed, Saru drew one of his knives, cradling it loosely in his
hand. He shot Halbarad a glance and saw the man shift a little so
that he was closer to Aidan. ‘We’re as ready as we can be. I don’t
want to lose the friend I’ve made in Faramir. When Aragorn comes to
the throne, he will need such loyal, brave men at his side.’ He
smiled. ‘Besides, I like him.’

Bechand made his move just as Elrohir, his senses sharpened by
concern, caused a distraction by knocking over his full flagon of
mead. None of the Rangers reacted to this, but the attention of
Faramir and the other men was drawn. These men of Gondor saw
neither Bechand’s knife, aimed at Saru’s heart fly, nor Saru’s
discreet move with his mug to protect himself. But all heard the
scrape and clatter as the knife hit first the cup, then the table.

Versh cried out and grabbed Saru’s hand, meaning to save him from
the danger that was already past.

“No!” Halbarad reached out to draw Versh back, for the Ranger had
spotted the liquid that dripped off the knife and had fallen
everywhere in little droplets.

Versh jerked back in surprise, but that couldn’t save him. His
finger, which he’d cut that morning, brushed Saru’s cloak, where
three drops had fallen. The Dunedain all heard the sizzle of khre-
hleh poison as it merged with human blood.

Saru caught Versh about the shoulders and drew him close. “Peace
now,” he whispered. “All is forgiven.” He touched his fingertips to
Versh’s cheek, which had gone grey. Halbarad, Elrohir, and Aidan
moved as one, Aidan guarding his papa and the other two seizing
Bechand.

“What-?” Faramir began as he rose to his feet.

Halbarad hushed him with a forbidding eye.

Versh gazed up at Saru in obvious confusion. “Saru, what is it?”
His hand trembled and his expression changed.

“All is forgiven and all debts are paid.” Saru’s eyes shone with
holy light. “Be at peace. A world of loved ones awaits you.”

“Saru, I don’t under-” Versh’s eyes lost their focus as his lips
turned first dark red, then split so that black blood made a
grotesque contrast with his white skin. He shuddered once,
strongly.

When he was still, Saru looked up, meeting Bechand’s baleful gaze.
“You’ve come to the fullness of your purpose, servant of the Dark
Lord. You will not kill me and you will not win favor in the eyes
of Denethor, Lord of Treachery and Lust.” Turning to Faramir, he
said, “Tell our father that his eldest son lives, but I do not seek
my birthright. I have all I want-” his eyes went to Versh and his
mouth twisted in grief- “right here. Your errand has failed,
Brother. I am sorry for any lecture you must endure on my account.”
Standing, Saru addressed the other Rangers without looking away
from Faramir. “The poison will still kill anyone who touches it to
an open wound. Remove any contaminated thing and burn it.”

Butterbur started forward.

“Would you have anyone else suffer his fate?” Saru gestured towards
the corpse. Butterbur stopped. “Faramir, Brother, I love you and
wish you no harm. Don’t try to find me again. I have a new family
now that will foil any attempt. And to protect me, they will spare
no outsider’s life.”

Faramir took a step back. He seemed hardly able to look away from
Saru. But then, shaking himself, he ordered his man to bind
Bechand. When he turned, though, he found it had already been done.
Nodding in understanding, he said to Saru, “We will help you burn
what must be burned.”

Saru was checking Aidan’s hands for open wounds. “Help us set all
alight, and keep all villagers safely away, and that will be
enough.”

In the road north of Bree, the table, two mugs, three knives, six
cloaks, and one body were burned. Surrounded by the other Dunedain,
Saru wept. His son stood close beside him, and from Aidan’s
presence his papa drew strength. The blaze briefly outshone the
dawn, but as the fire died and the sky lightened, the new day won
over the night, killing it that, heralded by the stars, it would
rise again.

***

Aragorn could see in Haldir’s eyes that the Marchwarden of
Lothlorien wasn’t going to simply let them pass. Aragorn and
Legolas were known to him, and he was obviously not worried about
the hobbits attacking. But Gimli and Boromir were a different
story, especially Gimli. Keeping himself calm, Aragorn said, “If
you insist that Gimli must go bound and blindfolded, we will all go
that way.”

Legolas’ eyes flashed. “No. We are not enemies, Haldir. You cannot
force us to go bound.”

“I am your friend, Legolas, but to dwarves these borders have been
closed for centuries.”

Gimli made as if to draw his axe, but the sight of Haldir and his
brothers still holding their bows at the ready stopped the
movement, if not his tongue. “And I’d just as soon rather not set
foot in a kingdom controlled by an elf witch.” 

Aragorn moved forward to make sure Haldir was looking at him. “If
Gimli goes bound, so do I. Let the others do as they may. But we
cannot stay here. The danger is great.” He slipped into Elvish, his
voice roughening in his grief. “Please help us, friend. We have
nowhere else to go.”

Haldir sighed. “Very well. But the dwarf must still be bound.”

Legolas scowled when he saw that Aragorn meant to go through with
the gesture of appeasement, wondering if he, too, should surrender.
But no; if an enemy attacked them before they were completely safe,
he needed to be ready to defend Aragorn. ‘Noble you are, love, but
practical you are not.’

Aragorn’s answer came back at once, though Legolas hadn’t meant to
send the message. ‘Gimli is one of us. I must uphold his honor.’

‘He isn’t one of your Rangers.’

‘He is just the same.’

Legolas sensed the anger in Aragorn, and he sent, ‘Don’t be angry
with me. Please. I didn’t bind Gimli.’

Aragorn sighed and Legolas felt the rush of the man’s pain. ‘I
know. I’m sorry.’

‘I love you, Aragorn. Don’t lose hope. We can still do the right
thing.’

‘Thank you.’

They walked deeper into the wood, and Legolas began to recognize
things. He welcomed each silently, but couldn’t rejoice in
anything. The death of Mithrandir weighed heavily on him, and he
felt how much it tortured the others. On top of that, he felt the
despair he’d told Aragorn to overcome for the time being. Aragorn
didn’t know where to go next; that frightened Legolas more than he
cared to admit. And knowing that rifts still existed in the
Fellowship made Legolas wonder if it would last much longer. If it
didn’t, how could they hope to take Frodo to Mount Doom that he
might drop the Ring in the fire? There would be no hope, as far as
Legolas could see.

‘Be at peace, Legolas, son of Thranduil. You are safe here and here
your hearts can be healed.’

Legolas returned, ‘My Lady Galadriel, we are in so much pain.
Please help us. And please be kind to Gimli, who can become a
friend if we give him a chance. And please soothe Aragorn and show
him the right path. And calm Frodo, who suffers, maybe, more than
all of us.’

‘Legolas, if peace may come to them, it will. Rest in the safety
that is here and you will be healed.’

Legolas sighed. ‘I only wish we could go back and save Gandalf. He
would know where to take us.’

‘Aragorn also knows; he just must heal first. Give him time.’

The younger elf wasn’t sure he believed that, but for the moment,
it didn’t matter. They wouldn’t be moving on for at least a few
days. He could wait a little while before asking Aragon what they
were going to do next. If he’d learned anything as a Ranger, it was
to watch, wait, and above all be patient. 

***

‘The moon shines just for me,’ Aragorn thought. As soon as all the
formalities were taken care of, the Ranger had sought out a quiet
place to think. He hadn’t been able to sit, though, and so, tired
as he was, he wandered the forest, staying away from the borders.

‘True, the moon lights up all the trees around me, but its light
seems to have marked me, singled me out.’ He knew the thoughts were
foolish, but gave in, at least for the moment. They were all safe
here; he could afford to wander in body and mind for just a little
while. When Boromir awoke the next morning, Aragorn would have to
be there to speak with him, to pick up wherever Gandalf had left
off. And there would be Gimli’s pride to console and the hobbits to
comfort. And there would be Legolas, who must also be in pain. ‘But
at this moment he and I are the strong ones; we must be there for
the others.’ Then, with a sigh, ‘Or I might be the only strong one
now, and in my weakness that thought is almost funny. Whatever the
case, I will wander now and be strong in the morning.

‘And as to the moon shining for me, I would be naïve to think that
means my actions are being condoned, or that anything is trying to
comfort me. I will find no comfort here for my sorrow unless I make
it myself.’ Looking up again, Aragorn stood still and gazed at the
pale moon. ‘What can you offer me besides light? And right now, I
don’t even need that. I need only Gandalf; you cannot give me
that.’

Closing his eyes, Aragorn walked on, feeling his way with that
long-honed sixth sense that only one other in all the history of
the men of Westernesse had rivaled. Elendil of Numenor had traveled
as well in pitch blackness as in daylight. The stories went that
Gil-galad had given his lover lessons, and maybe a little elven
magic, when such things existed. But the patience to master the
gift had been Elendil’s own, and this he had passed down to his
descendants, so that every king after him, then every chief, had to
pass a different sort of test before he could be worthy of his
honored place.

The tests for adulthood must be passed, of course, but more than
that, the test of ‘walking in perpetual night’ had to be conducted.
A would-be chief could prepare for it, but in the end it must be
passed without aid. And the test could only be tried once. ‘Did any
of my ancestors ever fail it?’ Aragorn couldn’t answer that, though
logic told him it must be so. ‘But they still became chief. They
were forgiven, or the success of the test was exaggerated.

‘At least I passed mine.’ He had walked about the camp that day,
followed by Melchelai, Malacai and others. He identified his people
by voice and worked at his various chores, never deviating from his
usual routine. ‘It was as if I could see everything in my mind, as
if I didn’t need my eyes at all. Like now. I don’t fear running
into anything or being injured. All I fear is the moment I must
face the rest of the Fellowship and tell them… What will I tell
them? That we must go on, for Gandalf’s sake, in his memory? That
we must put grief aside until the quest is done, one way or the
other? And what hope can I offer them? I don’t even know where I
want to go myself. Gandalf would have guided Frodo to Mount Doom,
and I would have been free to go to Minas Tirith, to strengthen my
people for the war that will almost certainly come before the
destruction of the Ring. But now I must choose: the evil of the
Ring and its possible destruction, or the survival of my people. I
know they are not all the people of Middle Earth, and I have a duty
to all others as well as to the Dunedain and those of Gondor. But I
cannot deny that I want my people, above all others, to be safe. A
selfish thought, but if I’m not going to be honest with myself,
then I am already beginning the work of the Enemy. And that I will
try not to do again. I will fight that possibility more fiercely
than I fight for Gondor, for Middle Earth, for Frodo’s chance to
reach Mount Doom.’

He laughed. ‘And more selfish thoughts. They do not become you, son
of the North, son of Arathorn, Chief of the Dunedain. Who do you
think you are that you can put your own fight against Sauron above
all other battles?’ Something moved against his face, and Aragorn
reached up, touching the wetness of tears he hadn’t even known he’d
shed. ‘Aii, Gandalf, I cannot avoid it anymore. We need you, now
more than ever. And I am afraid. I see no way out of this. Help me,
Gandalf. Are you like the Dunedain that your spirit can speak to
me? Or are you like the elves? Tell me, Gandalf; should I be
calling out to you? Can you possibly answer?’ Putting his hands
over his face, Aragorn sank to his knees and wept, praying for the
release that might come after he’d cried himself out.

‘Gandalf, I love you. I will miss you. I pray you have found peace.
Don’t grieve for us here. Don’t worry that we have no where to go
and no way to get there.’ Aragorn’s thoughts dissolved into
mindless grief, and he let himself be wrung dry.

***

Malacai watched the Witch King from a safe distance. The Nazgul
couldn’t hurt him, but he could still be sensed. And considering
the nature of his mission, he needed to remain undetected. To his
right and left hovered Mordecai and Adalai, respectfully. Others of
the vanquished Dunedain remained as well, and Malacai often felt
his heart (as much as a ghost could have one) seize every time he
thought of the lives that had been lost in the civil war. Most of
those were here, now; even Olorin was here, having coming to
Malacai to beg forgiveness. Smetana had passed on, as had Verea.
Malacai still missed them, but because they hadn’t been around, he
felt the pain less than he might have. Let them move onto the next
plain of existence and try to explain things to Arathorn. They
would find it difficult, he had no doubt.

For two months, they did nothing but watch the Dark Lord’s many
followers and wait. The hour of Aragorn’s triumph was near; they
all felt it with a keenness they had never been able to feel in
life. Adalai had said to Malacai when he’d first died, “If It’d
known all this when I was alive, I would have dedicated myself more
fully to my duty. Forgive me, Grandfather.” Malacai had answered,
“There is nothing to forgive. All that is in the past. We will do
what we can for Aragorn now and keep looking forward. Remember, son
of Kehydi and Saru, one trick of the Enemy is to make you grieve
and doubt. Let the past go and attend to the future of the
Dunedain. There is no better way to bring honor to yourself and
your family.”

And now, here they were, gathering information that might be useful
to Aragorn when he came closer to them. They all knew he was on the
east side of the mountains, and their sense of urgency had
sharpened, driving them on. Their ghostly bodies didn’t need sleep,
so they were able to use every moment.

‘Yes, and so we should be content to watch,’ Malacai thought. ‘But
I am uneasy and my heart tries ever to fly to Aragorn when I know
well that I’m doing the most good for him right here. There is no
danger I can protect him from. All I can do is give information.
And so, if that is what my lord needs, and what I can do to help
him, I will do it. Besides, the only reason my heart is drawn to
him is because I love him and I wish only to stay with him. The
long separations are always hard. Why should death have changed me
in that regard?’ Scanning their surroundings for the thousandth
time, seeking anything that had changed, Malacai felt eyes on him
suddenly and he turned at once, expecting to see a Nazgul staring
back at him.

But it was only Mordecai, his eyes narrowed, his hand on his
ghostly sword.

‘It’s funny how everything we wore in the living world is still
with us, even though we can make no use of it.’ Malacai raised an
eyebrow. “Yes, Brother?” He tried to sound flippant, teasing, but
the seriousness of Mordecai’s expression destroyed that idea.
Malacai’s blood ran suddenly cold and he reached out to touch
Mordecai’s shoulder. “Mordecai? What is it? Tell me, I beg.”

Mordecai caught Malacai’s hand and grasped it with desperate
strength. “Aragorn needs us. He is lost in the wilderness and no
one is there to lead him out.”

Cristan spoke up. “Mordecai, that’s impossible. Think, man! How
could Aragorn, our Strider, be lost in the woods? Be reasonable!
Maybe it’s another man that you see, or maybe you’re dreaming.”

“No!” Mordecai bore down on Malacai’s hand. “Listen to me! Aragorn
is lost in the wilderness! I don’t understand it, but it’s true.
He’s not lost in the woods, but in the wilderness. Malacai, we have
to find him and lead him out! He could stay there for the rest of
his life, even if his feet take him somewhere else!” Mordecai shook
his older brother. “Do you hear me?”

Malacai tried to speak calmly. “I heard you. But you need to calm
down and tell me this rationally. Where did you come by this
knowledge and what exactly do you feel?” His heart screamed, ‘See?
See? I told you Aragorn needs you, that you need to be with him!
Move your ass! Get there! He needs you!’ It was difficult for
Malacai to block out the noise in his mind so he could hear his
brother.

“There isn’t time for this, but I can’t go alone.” Mordecai
released Malacai’s hand. “Aragorn is lost somewhere, in a
wilderness I don’t understand the nature off. Forest or bare rock
it might be, but I think it’s more a creation of Aragorn’s mind.
He’d been hurt badly by something. No telling what. As to how I
know this, it came to me just the way I’m telling you, half-formed
explanations and all. And with the information comes a summons.
Aragorn needs us. He needs all of us, dead and living Dunedain
alike, but right now, he needs those who understand him to comfort
him.”

“But he is with Legolas,” Malacai said. “He understands Aragorn.”

“Legolas is in pain. He needs to heal himself before he can help
Aragorn, and by then it may be too late. Aragorn is suffering, more
lost than he has been since the days before the civil war. Believe
me, Malacai; I wouldn’t call us from our mission if it wasn’t
absolutely necessary.”

“Forgive me, Brother, but no one else has sensed what you’re
reporting.”

“And so that makes it less valid?” Mordecai laughed. “Yes, I know.
I was never the one in touch with the spirit world.” His lip
curled, but only for the barest instant. He caught hold of
Malacai’s shirt and drew him close. “But maybe I was just the first
to hear it because all the rest of you are focused on watching the
Enemy. My mind never held to something unless it was healing; you
know that.” Turning away, he appealed to the rest of the Dunedain,
who were watching him. “Please believe me. I have never been prone
to flights of fancy Believe me when I say that Aragorn needs us to
go to him and help him. We must help him. We’re his only hope.
Please follow me to him. I don’t think I can help him on my own. It
will take more than one voice to help him. Please help him.”

Malacai assessed his brother, from his posture to his tone, and
then looked to the other Dunedain. They in turn were waiting for
him to speak; he could feel it. He was oldest among them, and his
title of second-in-command still held, no matter that Kehydi bore
that title and burden now.

Adalai spoke. “We can afford a few hours away, can’t we? Or we
could split up-”

“No! Aragorn needs all of us! He has come to a crossroads in his
journey, and no one of us could help him choose the path without
the others. Even if we knew the right way, he needs to hear many
voices. I don’t understand it; I only know it’s true. Please help.”

Mordecai’s agitation was infectious; Malacai could feel the others
stirring. His own heart hadn’t stinted its noise. “All right. We’ll
go. But we must return here within a day. Because whether this is a
true threat or a figment of our imaginations, we will find it hard
to leave his side once we return.” Without another word, he turned
to the north and began to fly. They would reach Aragorn in a
fraction of the time it would have taken on horseback, but still
time must be spent in travel. No spirit could be everywhere at
once. Not even Sauron could claim that ability.

Mordecai led the way and the others followed. Malacai was content
to let his younger brother guide them. There were times when being
a leader meant letting others go ahead of you, counterintuitive as
that was.

***

	The ghosts gathered about Aragorn, having passed safely into
Lothlorien. The Lady had sensed them, but had let them pass when
Malacai explained their errand. She had informed them of Gandalf’s
death.

Mordecai guided them to Aragorn, but for a moment, none of them
could move to help him. Aragorn lay on the ground, his face in the
dirt. He wasn’t sobbing, but the sense of defeat hung around him
like the stench of death. Hope and resolve had completely left him.
He hung in that place between life and death where a person simply
watches events march by in succession; walking death, in other
words, not interacting, merely existing. No Dunadan could survive
for long in that state. Men in a village could live that way for
awhile, but the soul of the Dunedain was aggressive self-change.
Not necessarily improvement, but change. 

Malacai shook himself first and made to move forward, but Mordecai
stopped him. “We have to do this together. And none of us can speak
to him. He isn’t ready to hear us.”

“Then what do we do?” Adalai asked.

“Sing.” Mordecai led the others to surround Aragorn. They settled
about him in a circle, drawing close to him. A song out of Gondor
came to Mordecai and he sang it, leading the others. Such was the
connection between the ghosts that they could all know the song
instantly just by touching Mordecai’s mind. And when Malacai raised
a song from Numenor, the others knew that one, too. Adalai raised a
child’s song from the Dunedain, one Aragorn’s father had written to
explain the changing of the season to children. No one challenged
the subject-matter; that hardly mattered. The emotion did. Their
unity did. Their voices did.

Their songs, only half-heard by Aragorn, drew the chief from hope
to deepest grief. He soaked the ground beneath him until it turned
to mud and caked his face. He beat at the earth with his fists
after a time, then raised himself up to scream at the sky and the
Valar. His cries remained wordless, and for a time he danced on the
edge of insanity. Nothing held him to his fated course, and if
there were times during the Quest when Sauron almost won, this was
one.

The ghosts continued to sing, now laying their hands on Aragorn,
even though he couldn’t feel them. But they could feel him, and
they poured into him all their strength and love and hope for the
future.

Malacai passed a thought to Mordecai, knowing his brother would
understand. “We’re going to truly pass now, aren’t we? None of us
will be here, even in spirit, to see Aragorn crowned.” His energy
flickered like a candle in a stiff breeze. “Some ghosts leave
because they want to, but many leave because they run out of
energy. Isn’t that true?”

“Yes.” Mordecai pushed Malacai forward. “Speak to him, Malacai.
Tell him. He’s ready to hear you.”

Malacai moved at once, listening to the singing quiet around him,
though it didn’t disappear completely. When he glanced back at
Mordecai, he saw his brother’s eyes dimming, but also saw that he
was still singing. Turning back to Aragorn, Malacai spoke.
“Beloved, please hear me.”

Aragorn had been crying steadily, silently, into his hands. Now he
wiped at his face and said, “Malacai, why do you speak thus to me?”
His voice was nearly that of their stalwart chief.

“We are ready to pass now. Nothing we have gathered from Mordor
will help you. You have already taken the best gift we could give.
Go on, Aragorn, and know that none of us will be there to speak
with you after the battle. Our time to pass has come.” He kissed
Aragorn’s brow, praying Aragorn could feel it.

Aragorn reached up and touched the place Malacai had kissed. “You
bless me as I cannot bless you. Aii, my beloved Dunedain. Are all
of you here?” By which he meant, ‘all that have died.’

“Yes. We’re all here.”

“You are nearly gone. I can feel it now.” Aragorn opened his arms.
“I love every one of you. My dear ones, my people, thank you for
saving me. Thank you for every sacrifice, and especially for this
last. You will never be forgotten, my beloved ones. Long after I am
gone, the world will sing of the miracle you have wrought.” He
crouched on one knee, his fist against his forehead. “I love you
all and pledge that your sacrifice will not be in vain.” Taking a
knife from his belt, Aragorn cut open the palm of his hand and let
three drops fall onto the ground at his feet, the ground he had
watered with his tears. Holding up his hand, he snatched the first
seed that blew past and planted it. “You gave birth to the true
Hope of Men, my people. Middle Earth thanks you, and so do I.”
Aragorn touched his forehead again with his fist. Blood tricked
from between his fingers, but he only let it fall onto his tunic.
It wouldn’t touch the soil. “Good-bye, Beloved.”

The Dunedain swirled around him, and he saw each face and blessed
them by name. Then he was alone again.

For a time, he didn’t move. But then, aware that he’d been given a
new day, he stood and blessed the departed one more time. And as he
turned away from the place where the seed lay buried, he thought,
‘We can survive without you, Gandalf. Not only because we must, or
because that is what you would have wanted, but because we can. We
can be strong without you.’ Lifting his eyes to the sky, Aragorn
sang the song of Rohan in which the words meant ‘peace on
horseback.’

***

Aidan met his papa’s gaze only after a long struggle. First, he had
sat in the wagon, deprived of even the small distraction of a
horse, while Elrohir and Saru rode. Saru’s mount had calmed, and
she had seemingly forgotten the crisis that occurred before Bree.
No one spoke to Aidan until they’d traveled for three days. The
young Dunadan endured this punishment more because he had no choice
than out of remorse.

But as he faced Saru under the early-afternoon sun on that third
day, he tried to look apologetic. ‘I’m not fooling him, but maybe
he’ll appreciate the effort.’

Saru took in a breath; his hand came up as if he would reach out to
his son, or perhaps strike him. His hand hung in the air and he
went very still. But then his hand returned to his side, empty of
meaning. He looked away.

“Just say it. I dishonored you. I should be ashamed. You’re ashamed
for me.”

“Those are the words of-” Saru stopped. His shoulders were tense.
“We’ll move on when Halbarad and Elrohir return.” His back still
turned, he crouched and picked up a small stone. Turning it in his
hands, he said, “No more than this. Let this be the way of things.
A building block, a tool, someth