Title: Legolas’ Gift
Author: Estel Baggins
Author’s Email: macfal1219@comcast.net
Chapters: 76-78
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none, except (he he) slash of course
Summary: Starting where the last bit left off, going until the time when
Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli came to Rohan.
Author’s Note: There are 89 chapters in all. I will try to send these as
soon as possible (which is, whenever I have a little time to myself).
Thank you for being understanding.


Chapter Seventy-Six

Glorfindel held Saru’s hands and gazed into his troubled eyes. He felt
another connection analogous to the one he’d felt only an hour ago,
though his mind didn’t make the connection. With his eyes open but
blind, Glorfindel saw Saru’s need, and also his light. The inner glow
wasn’t quite Light, but it was more than the glow that man of the
Dunedain exuded. The only other light Glorfindel had even felt half so
strong had come from Aragorn. It was by no means a trait passed from
father to son, as so many things were, but a gift bestowed by the Valar
for their own purposes. In many instances, it translated into nearly
inexhaustible hope, as it had with Aragorn.

Here, though, it was flickering, coming out bright one moment and all
but vanishing the next. Like an elf’s immortality, once it faded
completely, it could never be reclaimed. And while an elf might either
live as a mortal for a time or die right then, a man had no choice: his
death was assured less than a day from the moment the light went out.

“You grieve, Dunadan.”

“Yes.” Saru clung to Glorfindel like a man afraid of drowning, though
the Elda scarcely felt it.

“Why do you grieve?”

“My babe is dying. Unless you save my babe, I’ll lose her.” The light
grew strong, steadying, at least for the time being. “And I don’t know
what strength I have to bury a child. I think- I know- I’ll die from
this.”

“You long to die, Dunadan.”

“Yes! Sauron invaded me to plant this little one, and I know she might
come out evilly made, but I cannot lose her.”

“That is not all that troubles you. Tell me your fears for the man I
feel in your thougths.”

Saru sobbed and threw himself into Glorfindel’s arms. “Kehydi will fall
if I lose her. She could be his salvation, but not if she’s dead. I’ve
given every inch of ground I can to save him from falling. He must lead
us to Aragorn.”

“You are so sure she is Sauron’s?”

“How can she not be? Kehydi and I had sex-” He shifted under
Glorfindel’s gaze and explained, “I can’t say we made love. It stopped
being an act of love long ago. Consensual sex is the best I can say. I
love him; I will, always. But he’s… diseased. Poisoned. Nothing I do can
save him. He might even be too far gone for Aragorn, Savior of Middle
Earth.” He wept for a few moments, then composed himself. “Elda imbued
with the Light, please help me.”

Glorfindel drew Saru against him firmly and put his mouth on the
Dunadan’s. Saru didn’t struggle, but opened his lips and breathed in the
Light, drawing breath after breath like a starving man taking in food.
And when the wave of Light crested inside him, feeding him as no food
ever could, he arched his back and cried out, “Gondolin! O Gondolin of
the emerald valleys and the jeweled heights! I am home!” Then he slumped
against Glorfindel.

They came out of the trance. Glorfindel was holding Saru against his
shoulder, soothing him with a gentle hand in his hair. “You must tell
all, Dunadan. Your secrets are keeping me out. I cannot hope to save you
without your complete consent.”

“Kehydi’s abuse stopped being physical long ago, but he’s like one of
the fabled vampires of the East, sucking at my soul like it was blood,
draining me, taking everything I believed in and distorting it. I call
to Aragorn in my sleep most nights, and sometimes Kehydi wakes up to
yell at me for lusting after our chief. I don’t lust; at his side is the
only place I feel truly safe. Then Sauron attacked the camp, almost
killing me in my weakened state.” His words were coming almost too
quickly to be understood, and he scarcely drew breath. “But Aragorn
saved me. Then I realised I was pregnant. It had to be Sauron’s baby
because Kehydi hadn’t lain with me in months. But… but Sauron can’t
impregnate from afar, can he?”

“He can’t impregnate at all,” Glorfindel said. “Not since he lost his
form.”

Saru shuddered. “Than it has to be Kehydi’s… but it is so small. I’m
seven months’ pregnant, and not only don’t I show, but I haven’t hadn’t
the cravings or the mood swings or even the nausea, though of course I
don’t miss that.”

“You’ve been under attack for decades, Dunadan. Of course your body
would reach a point where you simply couldn’t carry on. And even now it
is trying to give you a child because you want the child and because
that’s the plan for your life, the center of your wheel of existence.”

“Aragorn said that,” Saru murmured. “Not the part about my wheel, but
about a wheel. He learned to-” He stopped. “But he didn’t say that to
me. He said it to Legolas. How could I possibly know that? I wasn’t
anywhere near them at the time. It’s like the information was just here,
in my head.” He snuggled closer to Glorfindel. “Am I going insane?”

“No, Dunadan. Never think it. But maybe I was wrong to say that the
center of your wheel is your children. Don’t think: just answer this
question. What would you rather give up, your child, or the hope of the
Dunedain?”

“My babes.” Saru blinked. “But isn’t that wrong? I should be devoted to
my little ones.”

“And you are. But when push comes to shove, you want to carry on in the
footsteps of those you have ever loved. Let go of Kehydi. Your love for
him thus far is enough. You must live for the Dunedain now, son of the
North and South. Likewise, let go of the anxiety of losing the girl-
child. If she is meant to be yours, she will come to you, but not just
yet. Release everything that is not connected directly to your true
purpose for being on this Middle Earth.” He moved so the two of them
were face-to-face, and kissed Saru again. ‘You need no lover, no
children, no family, even. You need the Dunedain around you. You need
Aragorn before you, leading the way.’

‘Is it him that I love? Have I been in love with him for years? Was
Kehydi right?’

Glorfindel’s eyes were burning with the Light that sought a way out of
him. ‘Kehydi was right about very few things. And no, it isn’t Aragorn
you love, but the salvation you can bring. Everyone has something they
need. Once you know what you need, you can get about the business of
securing it. All these years, you’ve thought it was to be loved, but
that isn’t so. All you’ve really needed, Dunadan, is to love and strive
for a hope greater than yourself.’ The Light poured from his mouth, nose
and eyes, surrounding Saru, descending into him. Glorfindel cradled the
man’s head in one calloused palm. ‘You cut your hair in grief, Dunadan?’

‘Yes.’ Once again, Saru bowed his back.

‘Let it grow for Aragorn. Let him see what you know. If you relax, it
will grow in moments. Will you trust me, take my Light into yourself,
and keep your eyes on hope?’

‘Yes, Balrog Slayer.’ Saru groaned and shivered, drinking deeper and
deeper of the life-giving nectar. Again, he cried, ‘Gondolin, my
Gondolin!’ as the Light flowed, but then he spoke his own words. ‘Aii,
my Dunedain! I am here! Follow me. That is all I ask. Follow me. We’re
close, Dunedain; can you hear the trumpets?’ He shuddered one more time
then lay still, his eyes vacant.

Gradually, Saru came back to the world around him. When he had control
of his muscles, he reached up and trailed his fingers through the red
locks. And, glancing down, he saw that his belly had swollen. Grinning,
his eyes shining, he turned to Glorfindel. “Thank-” But his voice died.

The Elda was shining like a torch, his Light racing about him like tiny
fire-bugs. His face was so radiant Saru could scarcely bear to see it.

The Light faded and Glorfindel blinked slowly. “Your babe lives,
Dunadan,” he whispered, his voice raspy. “Now I must rest.” He smiled at
the man. “Your faith is only surpassed by your hope. Aragorn will ever
need you.” He closed his eyes. “And there are others things I must tell
you, and things I must ask, but not now. Now I must sleep.”

Saru rose and lifted Glorfindel into his arms. Conveying him to the bed,
he whispered, “Sleep, Holy One, and thank you.” He watched Glorfindel
with a troubled eye, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

***

Elrohir sensed Elladan’s need to talk, and so, though he longed to
discuss Glorfindel’s strange behavior with his brother, he instead
turned to Halbarad and said, “Please, love; Elladan and I need a few
moments. The gardens outside this room are free to all; linger there if
you would.”

Halbarad rose at once, his hand on Aidan’s shoulder. “When you need us,
you know where we’ll be.”

Aidan seemed more than willing to go, and soon the elves were alone.

Elrohir took Elladan’s hands at once. “What is it?”

Elladan sighed. “Perhaps it was best that Luthien had no brothers or
sisters. When she fell in love with Beren, she was separated from her
parents, only. A terrible suffering, to be sure, but nearly manageable.
Our father and uncle endured a greater separation-” he swallowed- “and
that same choice lies before us.”

Elrohir’s eyes widened. “”What do you mean?” But the question was only
an expression of his shock, and Elladan, knowing that, kept silent.
Slowly, Elrohir’s look of incredulity melted away, leaving a stricken
calf’s mournful eyes behind. Then the younger son of Elrond mastered
himself a little and wiped at his eyes. “I hadn’t thought about this,”
he said. “How long has it been in your mind?”

“I’d be lying if I said I thought of it at once. Only after a month
being parted from you did it occur to me.” Elladan bore down on
Elrohir’s hands. “But, Brother, understand that I am happy for you, that
I couldn’t be more overjoyed for your good fortune. You deserve someone
to love; Halbarad seems worthy of you.

“But Halbarad is a man.” He laughed weakly. “Forgive me for stating the
obvious, but I must get it out of my system.”

Elrohir nodded.

“And since he is a man, he is mortal and cannot journey to Valinor. The
question becomes: do you want to stay here with him, or come West with
Ada, Arwen, and me?” He held up a hand before Elrohir could respond.
“Understand that I don’t mean to put any pressure on you. But…” He
looked away.

Elrohir squeeze his brother’s hands. “But what? Elladan, I see the look
on your face. There is something you’re planning, but not telling me. I
deserve to know everything.”

Elladan swallowed again. “I would stay here with you if you stayed.” The
sentence was delivered with no hesitation. “I know not if Glorfindel
would stay, but even though I pray, in my selfishness, that he would, I
know I would have to remain even if he did not.” He saw Elrohir’s eye
widen and sighed. “I love him, Elrohir, but you are my twin; I can’t be
separated from you. I cannot. This short time apart was difficult, but
manageable. But all eternity without you? I can barely think of it.” He
drew back from Elrohir and wrapped his arms around himself. “To leave
Glorfindel would probably kill me within a year, but knowing that you
were staying here while I sailed… I would commit suicide on the ship
from the Grey Havens.”

“Then there is no choice,” Elrohir said. “I’ll go with you. I won’t lose
you, Elladan.”

“No!” Elladan stood and began to pace. “Now do you see why I didn’t want
to tell you?” He threw up his hands. “I won’t have you basing your
eternal happiness on me. Your decision to leave Middle-Earth or to stay
should be completely on your shoulders without any interference from
me.”

“But, Elladan, just as much as you need me, I need you. So whatever you
do and whatever I do are linked. We can’t decide without thinking about
each other.” He frowned. “But what of Glorfindel? Why can he not stay
here? It isn’t as if there is anyone in Valinor that he loves or longs
for more than you.”

“He will find the call of the Sea irresistible.” A shadow passed over
Elladan’s face. “In fact, that is a fate I fear will befall Legolas when
he marries Estel.” He waved that away. “But their love is not our
concern right now; they’re both adults and will have to manage that on
their own. For now, it’s enough that we both know the question that
awaits us. We don’t have to decide today; we just have to be aware of
it. Because the choice will come someday, and probably soon.”

“Unless we both die in the coming battle.” Elrohir stood and took
Elladan in his arms. “As much as I don’t like the choice that is before
us, thank you for telling me of it.”

Elladan nodded. “I only wish I didn’t have to be the bearer of bad
news.” He sighed. “But we’ll be together for a while again, because
Glorfindel and I are ready to journey back to Imladris. If you say it’s
all right, we’ll accompany you to visit the dwarves.” His eyes shone and
for a moment it was as if the terrible choice had never been brought up.
“It was pure genius for the Dunedain to make Aragorn’s banner. He will
appear as a true king.”

***

Saru watched Halbarad and Aidan in the garden for a few moments before
gathering the courage to go to them. He was in no way ready to talk, but
there was nowhere else he could be at the moment. Reaching up, he
fingered his restored hair and marveled at the power of the Eldar. Then
his hand went to his belly and he smiled at how swollen it was. The
child would come in two months or less. They would almost surely be back
in the camp by then. His mind was far from untroubled, but many things
had been resolved. He would have to speak to Glorfindel of everything he
had endured, and the idea of returning to the tension of his marriage
with Kehydi made him feel sick to his stomach, but at least he didn’t
have to address those things right now. Taking a deep breath, Saru
approached his son and Halbarad. ‘I’ll have to say something,’ he
decided. ‘At least I have a few things I can say without giving all my
fears away.’

Halbarad rose respectfully when he spotted Saru, and the red-haired
Dunadan felt his eyes mist a little. ‘He honors me. Someday, I’ll have
to ask him when the transformation took place.’ He held up a hand to
Halbarad to keep him from bowing.

Aidan, too, was standing now, and he approached Saru with hesitant
steps. “What happened to you?” he whispered.

“Lord Glorfindel saved the baby.” Saru’s hand went to his abdomen. “My
babe will live now.” He stepped forward and laid a hand on Aidan’s
shoulder. “You and I have to talk. But first, I want you to understand
that I cut my hair because, in Gondor, it is an outward sign of grief.
My mother cut her hair when I was taken from her. She struggled free of
the men that held her and used a knife she’d concealed to cut her hair
to the scalp. My grief wasn’t all for the dying babe, but the babe’s
waning life was part of it.”

“What was the rest?”

Halbarad strode forward and clamped a hand on Aidan’s shoulder. Saru saw
his son jump. “Don’t press him. And don’t demand answers of him as if he
was below you. Saru is third in command, or would be, if the Dunedain
had such things. You will treat him with the proper respect.” When Aidan
glanced up at him (Saru couldn’t see his expression) Halbarad’s eyes
narrowed. “Or you will leave. I will not stand for your disrespect any
longer.”

Saru said then, “Aidan, we must talk.” To Halbarad, “Thank you. I can
see how hard you work to keep our traditions and way of life alive.” And
he passed by Aidan and went to Halbarad, embracing him. “When Aragorn
sees you, he will surely name you Dunadan.”

Halbarad beamed, a strange expression on one so rough and dour. Then he
stepped back. “I’ve always longed to see the fabled flowers of Mirkwood.
I’ll be wandering, not too near, if you need me.” Turning, he strode
down a narrow path sheltered by tall bushes that were nearly trees.

Saru retreated to a stone bench and Aidan came to him, sitting beside
him. “It’s time you knew about me,” Saru said. “I’m going to tell you a
few things, and you’re going to promise to keep your thoughts to
yourself until I’ve finished. Then you may ask me any questions you
wish, or issue any rebuke. Will you give me the benefit of speaking
without interruption?”

Aidan nodded. His expression couldn’t be read, but the tension in the
rest of the body spoke easily of what he was thinking.

“Thank you.” Saru spoke of his early life in Gondor, telling Aidan who
his parents were and how he’d been taken from them. He spoke of Versh
and Banshi, then of the coming of Malacai and how he, Saru, had been
carried out of Nennid and introduced to the Dunedain. Moving forward a
few years, he spoke of Legolas and Aragorn leaving for Rohan and Gondor,
then of the first time he had joined with Malacai. He didn’t speak of
the attack by Halbarad; his son didn’t have to, or even deserve to, know
everything.

Aidan opened his mouth when Saru spoke of his first time with Malacai,
back when he was twelve. But then the younger man mastered himself and
closed his mouth. His eyes had narrowed, but he held his peace.

On to Kehydi, their early love, how they had been denied each other,
Aragorn’s return with Legolas, and how Saru and Legolas had been wed.
Then the attack by the Ringwraiths and the orcs, the attack on Aragorn,
the civil war, and the first morning when the Dunedain began to be free
of slavery’s shadow. Saru told his son of the divorce and how Legolas
had gone to Mirkwood and discovered that he was, in truth, the stolen
son of King Thranduil.

“But all this, important as it is, is history that you might have
learned from others. What I must tell you now is that, through most of
my life, my mind has been that of a slave, and even now I struggle
against it. Malacai believed at one time that the Valar put the souls of
freeborns in freeborns and the souls of slaves in slaves when they were
born. He never stated what he believed before he died, but I know that
he saw me, at least, as a freeborn, with a freeborn’s soul, because he
gave me all the love and respect he gave to Aaron or Cristan.

“And still, free though I am, I will never be a willing leader. I must
follow others. I can lead, but I loathe doing so. And that hatred is
driven as much by fear as by my comfort level. I need to be protected;
it’s part of who I am. And part of being protected, at least for me, is
knowing who is doing the protecting, and who I love in return. The
Dunedain have ever protected me, even when I was a slave. I love the
Dunedain more than anything else in my life. More than myself, more than
you and your siblings, more than Kehydi, more than any one Ranger, and
that includes Aragorn. I will cling to the Dunedain, to their hope,
until there is no breath left in my body. But that doesn’t make me noble
or strong or amazing; it makes me weak. Can you understand that?”

Aidan shook his head. “No. You seem strong to me now.”

“But usually I seem weak to you, and please don’t try to deny the truth.
Understand that what you see as my weakness is weakness. I am strong
with the Dunedain around me, or in their name, but without them, I am a
slave again. A slave to my own fears. Without them, I am terrified of
the world. Not of death, though that is a lesser fear, but of going
through life without love.” He sighed. “Aaron said once to Legolas- and
I know not how I know this, but it is true- that everyone has something
they need to survive. And that need is stronger than logic or anything
else you might use to decipher and understand it. Aaron’s need is to
fight for the Dunedain. Legolas’ need is to love Aragorn. Malacai’s need
was to cling to Aragorn and to Annaleh, and fight for them. My need- my
only need- is to believe in the hope of the Dunedain. When I lose sight
of their hope, or of my specific need entirely, then I am weak. And
that’s been happening too often lately. I hadn’t thought of it in years,
I’d say, maybe not since Malacai died. Because Malacai was, just as
Aragorn is, an embodiment of my belief. It’s always easier to know your
need when it’s right in front of you. No one else embodies that hope for
me as much as Malacai did and Aragorn does, and I can’t make anyone take
their place.”

He sat forward, his eyes intense. “Aidan, now that you know I am weak,
and why, I must tell you why you are weak.”

Aidan’s mouth opened, then closed. He waited.

Saru sighed. “You, my son, take everything on your shoulders without
giving anything out to be shared among your family or the extended
family of the Dunedain. Giving is difficult for you because you’ve
allowed very few close to you, and even those few you watch like a hawk.
And you may think you are strong enough to carry the world on your own,
but only Iluvatar is strong enough for that. Even the Valar oversee
certain parts of creation. You can’t carry it all, and you’re too old to
believe you can. You’ve grown up drinking the heroic exploits of the
Dunedain that came before you. But you failed to grasp that they were
not perfect. Now you know that Aragorn succumbed to the Shadow before
coming into his real strength. Malacai fell to it at one time. Aaron
fell early in his youth, long before Aragon or Malacai, and came back
strong and angry, though sure of his place in the scheme of things. If
your grandmother ever fell to it, I know not, but I’m sure even she had
her moments of doubt. And, of course, you’ve seen my slips back from
time to time, and my run back to the Light.

“I don’t think you have fallen to the Shadow, Aidan, but you dance on
the edge, at the border between protectiveness of those you love, and
overprotectiveness, when you would do anything to save us, even if it
meant obeying the Shadow ‘just for a little while,’ you’d say. Come back
from that edge, Aidan. Trust us to walk with you. We aren’t just your
sheep, to be sheltered. We are the dogs you run with to protect the
sheep. The pack protects itself, takes care of its young and its sick.
But no one wolf takes care of everyone. Even Aragorn had Malacai and
Annaleh, and then, later, Legolas. Not even our chief can stand on his
own, so why do you think you can, or should even try? All you’re doing
is hurting yourself. And what hurts you hurts the rest of us.”

He sat back and waited, watching his son’s expression and body posture.
Gradually, Aidan’s face lost that I-won’t-tell-you-anything look and
became like a grief mask in a traveling stage play. He stared first at
Saru, then down at his own hands, then off into the surrounding garden.
“Have I jeopardized our mission?”

“Only insomuch as you have endangered our relationship, yours and mine.
You haven’t had a chance yet to affect anything outside the circle of
our family, at least not in a deep or lasting way.” Saru took Aidan’s
hands. “And you have blinded yourself to certain truths about the world,
but those blinders can be taken away, and our relationship can be
mended. When Halbarad spoke to you of respecting me, he was speaking to
what he saw: your refusal to share your burden with others. But I never
saw your words to me as disrespect, only misused concern. The concern
itself was admirable and right; you just have to find another way to use
it to motivate you. Almost any emotion you feel can be channeled into
the right way. There may only be one path for us: the path of the
Dunedain. But many emotions lead to it again and again, if we somehow
get sidetracked.” He squeezed Aidan’s hands. “Please let me begin to
teach you some of the lessons you’ve missed.”

Aidan looked down at their joined hands, then back up at Saru. “I’m
sorry,” he said. His eyes were over-bright, but like many Dunedain, it
would take a lot more to make him cry. “I love you, Papa. I love you,
and I want to do right by you, and by the Dunedain.”

“And by yourself?” Saru asked.

“Yes.” Aidan felt the urge to move into his papa’s arms, but wasn’t sure
if Saru would take him.

Saru drew Aidan close, rubbing his back. “You never have to ask, my son.
I love you and always want to share your burden, and share my burden
with you, now that you’re an adult.”

***

Gimli and Legolas made the boat they would be paddling ready. The dwarf
was surprisingly calm around water, considering he couldn’t swim. But
maybe that was because he trusted Legolas to help him. Their friendship
had deepened beyond belief in the last month. Legolas had taken Gimli on
his roamings through the forest. At first, the elf had roamed for the
joy of it, then because he wanted to give Aragorn time to cultivate a
friendship with Boromir. The men had started to understand each other,
and even Legolas noticed the many differences between the Steward of
Gondor and his son. There were a myriad of similarities, to be sure, but
the differences ran deeper. What finally changed Legolas’ opinion of the
man was a simple fact: Boromir knew Aragorn was the King of Gondor, and
yet he could occasionally relax enough to talk candidly.

Sam and Frodo had move to the boat with Aragorn, and Legolas watched
them settle themselves as Aragorn checked packs one more time before
getting ready to stow them in Legolas’ and Gimli’s boat. Legolas admired
the lightened expression on Aragorn’s face, though of course the man
wasn’t smiling. But he looked ready for the next leg of their journey,
even though he hadn’t made up his own mind quite yet. Still, Legolas
knew enough about Aragorn to know that his lover would make the decision
when the time came. And, because things had a way of changing, Legolas
thought that decision probably wouldn’t be one the man had prepared for.
But Aragorn had ever excelled more at swift decisions than drawn-out
ones. ‘He’ll be all right,’ the elf thought, ‘once he gets out of his
own way.’ Chuckling, the elf finished readying the boat, then steadied
it so Gimli could get in.

It was then that Aragorn approached, bearing four packs. And while
Legolas steadied the boat once more, the Ranger laid them away. “We have
fair weather to start, at least,” the man said.

Gimli humphed. “Yes, and if we’re lucky, the sky won’t decide to dump a
few thousand gallons of rain on us while we travel in the open like
this.” But the dwarf’s bark lacked bite or conviction, and Aragorn
simply laughed at him.

“Master Dwarf, we will simply hide under your beard if shelter is
required.”

Gimli scowled, but his eyes couldn’t quite match his expression, and
Aragorn laughed harder.

With the last of the luggage loaded, Aragorn went to check on Boromir,
Merry and Pippin before heading back to his boat. As he strode away,
Gimli said, “I only wish I could have seen the Lady of the Wood one more
time before we left.”

Legolas nodded. “She is a vision.”

Gimli humphed. “You have no idea. Your eyes are all taken up with the
vision of that scruffy man taking his clothes off.” He chuckled when
Legolas blushed. “Ah, I knew you had a sensitive spot somewhere. It was
simply a matter of time and patience before I found it.” He grinned
wickedly at Legolas. “And now that I have found it, you can be sure I
will not leave of it so soon. You may come to regret sharing a boat with
me, Master Elf.”

“I already regret it, Friend Gimli. Your stench is enough to repel me.”

“Maybe I simply don’t smell as much as your lover.”

Legolas blushed to his ears, then ordered Gimli to turn around and get
ready to take up his share of the rowing.

“Are you tired already, Master Elf?”

Legolas sighed. “I’m regretting this decision more and more each passing
moment.”

They pushed off from the bank less than two minutes later, Aragorn’s
boat first, then the craft Legolas shared with Gimli, and then Merry,
Pippin, and Boromir. Entering the faster current at the center of the
Great River, the three craft had to labor to stay on a straight course.
Only then did Legolas realise he’d never actually rowed a boat. ‘With
all the years we spent together, and all the things he taught me,
couldn’t Aragorn have prepared me for this?’ Still, he wasn’t too
distressed; rowing came naturally to him. ‘Still,’ he noted with a
scowl, ‘Aragorn looks like a natural. Surely he was taught about boats
such as these.’ Then he consoled himself with, ‘Though it was probably
in Rivendell while he was still a child, and of course the Dunedain
never used the rivers for transportation.’

A graceful ship, grey and lovely as it shimmered in the misty air,
approached them then, and Legolas smiled. “The Lady has come to say
farewell to us,” he told Gimli.

The dwarf was silent, but Legolas could guess at the smile that must be
crossing Gimli’s bearded face. ‘This, at least, will ensure that Gimli
is happy for the rest of today, and perhaps beyond, if this parting goes
especially well.’ For the sake of the friend he had made, Legolas hoped
this was the case.

An hour later, the Fellowship truly began their last journey as a whole.

Gimli was grinning like a fool as he clung to his gift: three golden
hairs from Galadriel’s head. Legolas didn’t even tease him; it was such
a personal gift that he wouldn’t have dreamed of it. Instead, the elf
gazed forward towards Aragorn. The man sat in the middle of the boat,
the two hobbits behind him. Frodo was holding the phail and Sam was
cradling his box. As Legolas watched, Frodo shifted a little closer to
Sam, turned his head slightly, and kissed the gardener’s cheek. The elf
nodded to himself, at last seeing physical evidence of an attraction
he’d been sensing between the two hobbits for weeks. Frodo and Sam had
been abnormally discreet, almost like Legolas and Aragorn, who had been
discovered kissing in Lothlorien shortly after the Fellowship arrived in
that beautiful haven. Legolas didn’t understand the caution of the two
hobbits, but they probably didn’t understand his and Aragorn’s caution,
either, so at least they were all equal.

They left the safety of Lothlorien behind. Legolas glanced back, to
remember the beauty in case he couldn’t return. And what he saw was a
log floating after them. There were eyes on the log. Startled, the elf
pushed down too hard with his paddle and the boat swerved, acting for a
moment as if it would either go into a spin or maybe even flip over.

Gimli cried out in surprise, but Legolas wasn’t listening. ‘Aragorn!
Aragorn, we’re being followed! I saw the thing at the borders of
Lothlorien, but surely it couldn’t have passed in! How did it pick up
our trail and what is it?’ He could guess, but in his shock, he asked
anyway.

‘It is Gollum,’ Aragorn replied, and his voice was completely calm. ‘He
did not pass through Lothlorien, but went around and has been waiting
here by the river, I imagine.’ He drew close to Legolas, and the elf
relaxed. ‘All is well, Dunadan; Gandalf wishes him to live, and so he
will. And even though he is a threat, we are safe for now. We will, of
course, set a watch tonight.’

Legolas drew in a breath as he righted the boat’s course and pursued
Aragorn. Boromir had drawn alongside him, and was looking at him, with
curiosity, yes, but also with concern. To know that the man worried
about him, that the Fellowship had become close enough so he would
worry, eased Legolas’ mind even more. ‘I’m sorry, Aragorn. I was just
startled.’

‘Don’t make an excuse, Legolas. I should have mentioned him before this.
And your reaction was right; you sought understanding.’ A pause, a dry
chuckle. ‘And I am treating you like I did when you were six. Forgive
me. I ramble on when I should just say that all is well.’

‘I’m only glad you make mistakes too.’

***

“We’ll have to leave for the Lonely Mountain tomorrow,” Saru said,
gazing at the half-circle of allies before him. “Aragorn’s time draws
near more rapidly than we could have imagined, I think.” He looked to
Halbarad and Elrohir. “What will you do, Lord Elrohir? Will you stay
here or will you journey with us?”

“I don’t know yet,” the son of Elrond answered. “I’ve been weighing it
in my mind since we arrived here and haven’t come up with a satisfactory
answer.”

“I have a thought,” Glorfindel said, and all deferred to him. “Elladan
and I will accompany you to the dwarves, and then back north. We have
finished our errand here, and there are matters to be settled between
some of us that can be settled on the road just as well as they can be
worked out here.” He smiled then. “Besides, we will show the dwarves
that all of us are willing to work with them and learn from them. Three
elf-lords bowing before them will surely help to improve relations even
more quickly than one elf-lord could.” He looked at each of those around
him, but focused on Saru last. And now it was Glorfindel who was
deferring, and the others followed his lead.

“If you would come with us, such would be our good fortune,” Saru
answered, meeting Glorfindel’s gaze, though with difficulty. More and
more as he looked at Glorfindel, he saw the elf-lord’s essential nature,
and that nature was powerful, even more so than Saru had guessed when
they first met. He was beginning to see the natures of the others around
him, but to Glorfindel his eyes were drawn again and again, and the two
of them seemed to share a pre-made bond that amplified Saru’s new,
confusing gift.

“It’s settled, then,” Elrohir said. “Should we leave in the morning?”

Saru nodded. “That would be best. We will have time to thank King
Thranduil, pack, and rest before we leave.” He glanced at Elrohir and
Elladan. “I will speak to him, if you think that will please him, but I
would ask that you both be there.”

Elrohir was nodding. “It will please him to know you are not afraid of
him and wish to thank him in person. Do you speak this elven dialect?”

Saru nodded.

“Good. Then we should go now. He is always more amenable to abrupt
audiences just after dinner.” Elrohir stood, and Saru and Elladan
followed suit. The three left the bedroom Glorfindel and Elladan had
been assigned.

With the door closed, Glorfindel said, “Do you know how Saru spends his
early mornings?”

Both men stared at him as though he had grown a second head. Halbarad
recovered first. “I don’t, Lord.”

“Call me Glorfindel, please. We’re equals here.” He glanced to Aidan.
“Do you know, Aidan, son of Saru and Kehydi?”

“Yes. He leaves the tent before the sun rises most mornings and finds an
open place just outside the camp, where he can see the sky. He kneels
there and is still for several minutes. I’ve watched him many times, but
if he does more than kneel with his eyes turned to the sky, I don’t know
what it is.”

Glorfindel smiled. “If I’d known that about him, I wouldn’t have been
surprised by the strength of the light I see in him. Saru has been
communing with Arda, whether he knows it or not, and that sort of long-
continued devotional was bound to change him in ways he didn’t expect.
He is stronger now, but only because, when he was looking for strength,
he didn’t give up after he was given the first spark, but went back,
time and again, for renewal.”

“You’ve lost us,” Halbarad said, not angrily. 

“Forgive me. I was thinking out loud. Saru must hear these things. It is
well that we are accompanying you for here.” He turned his penetrating
gaze on Aidan again. “You seem to be more at peace, young one. Have you
and Saru talked?”

Aidan nodded, not bothering to ask how Glorfindel knew what he knew. A
profound truth had entered Aidan’s heart and changed the young Dunadan:
Saru looked much better when he wasn’t dragging around so much extra
weight. Knowing that showed Aidan what he himself could be without the
constant fretting. “He isn’t completely healed yet, is he, Glorfindel?”

“No, he isn’t. But he’s taken a few important steps in the right
direction. And we can still heal him in the time we’ve been given.”

“I’ll help any way I can.” Aidan blushed a little. “And I’d ask that you
help me, too. Papa told me I’ve been carrying around too much on my own,
that I’ve been trying to act bigger than I am. Will you help me not to
get too big for my britches?” He turned to Halbarad, including him in
the question.

“Willingly,” Halbarad said.

“Of course, Dunadan,” Glorfindel answered. “We’re allies as well as
equals. It is our job to look out for one another.” He rose. “And now, I
think I must visit the gardens one more time before I must leave them.
Would you walk with me? I would welcome the company.”

***

The blue of the river sometimes faded into the blue of the sky, and
whenever this happened, those among the Fellowship to notice it felt a
vague vertigo that could have been almost pleasant because of the
attendant release of urgency that came with it. But it was still
vertigo, and so none of them looked for it.

Frodo, in his new position in front of Aragorn on the third day of their
trip downriver, had been the first to notice it. And he was watching it
now, letting the feeling oversweep him. Then, closing his eyes, he
willed it away. Thinking he might sleep, he started to arrange himself
more comfortably in the bow. But then he heard something, or rather
noticed that a noise he’d been hearing for days had stopped, and he
opened his eyes again. The vertigo feeling tried to come over him again,
but when he glanced back at Aragorn to see why the man had stopped
rowing, he forgot everything else. Aragorn looked as though he had been
transfigured; his face shone like that of one of the elves Frodo and the
others had met before stumbling into the Barrows. Gildor and the others
had worn that look of pained joy, as if they saw all the beauty in the
world, but couldn’t enjoy it fully because they also saw the destruction
just behind the beauty.

Turning his head, Frodo wondered what had changed Aragorn’s face. That
was when he saw the statues. 

“Long have I desired to set eyes upon the statues of my forefathers,”
Aragorn said, and though he spoke quietly, his voice rang out like a
trumpet, rending the air and yet filling it with sweetness. “There stand
Elendil and Isildur, in all their glory. Isildur, birthed of Elendil,
did not want to be immortalized alongside his father, but the people
demanded it. These were carved before Isildur fell to the power of the
One Ring. They are undimmed by the passage of time.” He sighed and fell
silent, but Frodo sensed that he longed to say more.

“Why do they guard the river?” he asked.

“They guard Gondor,” Aragorn answered. “And even though we can’t see the
White City yet, we may soon see the falls that come just before her.” He
rested a hand on Frodo’s shoulder, and his eyes were again those of
Strider instead of the holy orbs they had been a moment ago. “You must
never set foot in the White City while you carry the One, Frodo. All men
would fall to it. I will go on with you as long as you want me by your
side, but please promise me you will try to keep it from the city of my
fathers.”

“I promise, Strider.”

Aragorn smiled. “Thank you.” And then, to himself, seemingly, “Yes,
still Strider for a little while longer. I will cling to that anonymity
as long as I may. Few other men have been granted such a protective
cloak.” Rousing himself, he made as if to smile at Frodo, to reassure
him, but the hobbit was gazing up at the statues raptly, and so Aragorn
turned to gaze also, passing the statues of Elendil and Isildur in
reverent silence.

***

Legolas sensed the orcs long before he saw them, but at first he was
sure he was simply reacting to the proximity of the Gollum creature.
Ever while the thing dwelt in Mirkwood, Legolas had felt its poison. He
hadn’t feared the thing, though he knew how dangerous it was, and though
he could understand its depth of treachery. He’d been only cautious at
all times while within the thing’s sphere of influence. ‘If Aragorn
brought it to us, and he bore marks from its teeth, even though it was
bound, all must be wary of that thing.’ He hadn’t quite believed what
had been told to him, that Gandalf had hope for the creature’s recovery.
Legolas had never disrespected Gandalf, but he couldn’t hold so much
hope in his heart for a thing he knew, inexplicably knew was evil.

A few days after they passed the statues, they stopped at Parth Galen to
camp. Every time the Fellowship set foot on dry land, Legolas’ senses
jumped up a notch. On the water, they were far from safe, but on land,
they were sitting ducks with crippled wings.

That sense of caution and unease was stronger than ever at Parth Galen,
and so Legolas approached Aragorn, though he had restrained himself
before. His lover was helping the hobbits get comfortable for a light
meal and a short rest; Legolas could see, though, that Aragorn was
tense. ‘He senses it too, maybe.’ Legolas sent, ‘Aragorn?’

‘Yes?’ The tension was in his mental voice, though Legolas, able to hear
Aragorn speak out loud, heard only calm determination.

‘We shouldn’t stay here. Something’s wrong.’

‘What is it?’ Aragorn was helping Merry gather firewood.

‘The orcs on the Eastern bank aren’t going to stay there much longer, I
don’t think. They may already be on the west bank with us. I can’t be
sure. But can we press on?’

‘I still haven’t decided where I should go,’ Aragorn answered.

‘You must decide, and quickly. This place is evil. The creatures that
hunt us are evil.’ A chill crawled over Legolas’ mind and he allowed
Aragorn to feel it. Please, Aragorn. Something is very wro

‘I feel it, Legolas.’ Confusion and a need for answers crossed their
bond. ‘Give me an hour only, and I will decide. Then we will move on.’

Legolas felt the great strain it took for Aragorn to make that promise,
and so he didn’t press any further. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome, love.’ A small smile crossed the link. ‘My Dunadan, you
are precious to me. Where else could I find one so strong that I can
share my body, mind and soul with? I love you.’

‘I love you, too.’ But Legolas was looking at Frodo, and seeing how
agitated the hobbit looked. ‘I must go speak with Frodo. Don’t go too
far from camp. The Dunedain would never forgive me if I didn’t say that
at least once.’

‘We’re within whistling distance. Keep your senses open. Let me know if
I can’t have that hour.’

‘I will.’ Legolas strode towards Frodo, and knelt beside him. “Frodo?
Are you well?”

The Ringbearer looked up at him. “I can’t decide what I should do,” he
whispered.

Legolas’ jaw nearly dropped. The words were so much like Aragorn’s that
it was like hearing an echo. “What do you mean?”

“I know I must destroy the Ring, but I’m afraid to go alone. But I don’t
want to expose the rest of you to the evil of the Ring any longer.” His
eyes went to the tress where Aragorn and Merry could be glimpsed from
time to time. “Strider resists, but the Ring calls to him. I know it
does. And I know how much it hurts him to resist every day. On the
mountain, when he told Boromir to give the ring back to me, I didn’t
understand at first why he didn’t just take the ring from Boromir and
put it in my hand himself. At first I thought maybe Strider didn’t want
to start a fight, but then I wondered, as we were coming down the river,
if maybe he didn’t want to touch it, if he was afraid to touch it.”

Legolas tried to sound reasonable, even as he remembered that day on the
evil mountain above Moria. “Maybe not afraid, only cautious. Like anyone
would be near a roaring fire. No one would grab a live coal, right? And
that’s how Aragorn sees the Ring. Especially for him it is dangerous,
because of Isildur.”

“That’s why I want to get it away from here as soon as possible,” the
hobbit whispered. “But I’m also tempted to go to Gondor, where we can
have many men march on Mordor and distract Sauron so the Ring can be
dropped into Mount Doom.” He shivered. “But could so many men resist the
power of the Ring?” He sighed. “I don’t think so. It’s not too hard for
us hobbits, though it is heavy.” He groaned, then roused himself. “And
you and Gimli don’t seem to be affected. But Strider- Aragorn, the King
of men- struggles against it, and so does Boromir. I don’t want to be
the source of their downfall.”

“It wouldn’t be you,” Legolas answered, but his mouth had gone dry. He,
too, had watched the power of the Ring creeping, then receding, in
Boromir’s mind. And he knew how Aragorn had staggered under the Shadow
years before. Something Galadriel had spoken to him when he had been
grieving for his dying Master occurred to him. “He won’t fall into the
Shadow,” she had told him as he waited for Aragorn to recover, “but he
might fall into traps the Enemy sets more easily.” And even though those
words had been spoken more than two score years before, and even though
Aragorn had gained much strength and wisdom, Legolas didn’t want his
lover anywhere near the dangerous thing.

“But I would bear the evil,” Frodo said. “And don’t tell me everything
will be all right, Legolas; I can see in your eyes that you know the
evil Aragorn and Boromir face.” He sighed. “I must find a way out of
here, and it must be alone.”

Legolas placed a hand on Frodo’s shoulder. “If you must go, take one
other with you. In the midst of the world’s evils, a lover’s kiss or
word can save as surely as a thousand armed men.”

Frodo blinked, stared. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“There isn’t time for word-games or deception,” Legolas answered. “You
love Sam. He loves you. Take him with you. You might reach Mordor on
your own, but you might not. Before you even think of bolting, think of
taking Sam.”

“I don’t want him in those dangers,” Frodo whispered, and his gaze was
fierce. “I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“He surely would say the same thing about you.” Legolas made sure Frodo
was looking at him when he spoke next. “Neither Aragorn or I could have
made it this far without the other. We would most likely both be dead,
or fallen into Shadow, if we hadn’t had each other to love. Yes, there
have been times when I was afraid for him, and wished him back with the
Dunedain, where he would be safe, but I know that he has a destiny, and
it’s my job to support him.” He paused so his words could sink in. “Talk
to Sam. See what he wants. But speaking as the one who has always been
Aragorn’s rearguard, I can guess what he’ll say: that he’d much rather
be with you, no matter the dangers, not only because he loves you, but
because that is his place.”

Frodo was nodding thoughtfully. “How much longer do I have to decide?”

“Three quarters of an hour, I’d guess. That’s how long Aragorn says we
have before we move on.”

Frodo nodded. “All right. I can make my decision by then.” He didn’t
smile, but reached up and touched the elf’s hand on his shoulder. “Thank
you.”

Legolas nodded and stood. “I’m going to go help Gimli and Pippin with a
quick lunch. Don’t forget to talk to Sam before you make your decision.”

“I won’t.”

Legolas didn’t see Frodo again until months had passed.

***

The small band of travelers had split off into groups, inadvertent as
that was. Aragorn, after returning from collecting firewood, sought
Boromir’s company and spoke with him briefly. At that moment, Aragorn
didn’t know what he sensed in the other man, only that he must help
Boromir through something. Their talk didn’t go well; Boromir accused
Aragorn of loving elves more than he loved his own people, then, before
Aragorn could try to bring the man from the path of accusations back to
communicating, the son of Denethor stormed off, saying he must make
water, but that he didn’t even want to piss where an elf-lover had
stood.

Aragorn, grieving, went back to the camp for a short time, but, noticing
that Frodo, Legolas and Gimli were gone (Boromir hadn’t returned to
camp; Merry had told him so) decided he needed to seek help for himself.
He would only be gone a few minutes, he told himself as he climbed the
hill towards the Seeing-Seat. Here he hoped to learn what he must do. He
wasn’t worried for Frodo; surely Legolas or Gimli had gone with him. And
as for the three hobbits still in camp, Aragorn figured the rest of the
Fellowship hadn’t gone far. ‘I can see what I must see, arrive at my
decision, and be back almost before anyone notices I’m gone.’ He sighed.
‘And maybe when I get back, Boromir will be ready to talk sense.’

It had hurt, what the son of Gondor had said, but Aragorn refused to
dwell on that, though it grieved him that all the progress he and
Boromir had been making towards real friendship seemed gone for nought
now. ‘Still, we can resurrect it. There is still time.’

He climbed to the top of the hill, dashed to the seat, and sat there a
moment, gazing East and South, waiting for the clouds to roll away and
show him what he must see. But the clouds drew even closer to him, and
deepened in color, as if before a storm. Aragorn sat there many moments,
hoping he would be able to see in a moment or two.

Then the horn of Gondor, Boromir’s horn, rang out, splitting the air,
and Aragorn, cursing the clouds, cursing the day, and cursing himself
most of all, leapt from the seat and raced back down the hill.

***

Boromir had followed Frodo. He’d watched the hobbit slip away, and when
he was sure the others weren’t paying attention to him (he was glad when
Aragorn disappeared into the surrounding underbrush without so much as
an explanation) he went after the Ring Bearer. He lost Frodo once, but
could hear him nearby. He guessed it was Frodo, and decided to trust the
instincts Aragorn said he didn’t have.

A day ago, even four hours ago, Boromir would have gladly told anyone
that cared to listen that he at last understood Aragorn. The man- the
future King- had been forced to leave his people in Gondor and fight
another fight. The son of Denethor understood that, respected it, even.
It was not a life, he thought, that he could have lived in comfortably.
And yet Aragorn had taken so much from that life, experiences with so
many different kinds of people, that a kingdom would be insane not to
take him as their king.

But something had happened as they disembarked the boats. It was as if
the very earth they walked on was poisoned and Boromir’s mind was
invaded from his feet up. By the time they had set up a temporary camp,
the man had been furious with Aragorn for dragging them all this way
when, obviously, the only choice was to take the Ring to Gondor, decide
what to do with it there (perhaps Aragorn should wield it, perhaps
Denethor or his son should be the bearer, since Isildur had proven to be
such a terrible choice) then make war on Sauron before the Dark Lord was
ready. This talk of sneaking into Mordor was nothing but insanity.
Anyone could see that. Anyone, that was, who hadn’t had their minds
taken over by the strange and unstable Ranger from the North.

He’d taken the Ranger to task; let it never be said for Boromir, son of
Denethor that he hedged around an issue. But the other man had been
maddeningly calm and repetitive. Boromir could see after only a short
debate that his ideas were falling on deaf ears. So he’d left the Ranger
alone and returned to the camp to plan his next move. It entered his
mind to get Aragorn out of the way. Not necessarily to kill the man, but
just keep him busy until the Ring could be secured. Boromir had already
seen that Strider wouldn’t take the Ring by force; he’d been frightened
too deeply by the stories of his ancestor. Well, and never let it be
said that a son of Denethor would let a little thing like fear stop him
from acting, or from taking advantage of an opportunity.

With Strider ignoring him, Boromir had decided to follow Frodo, and
that’s how he found himself at the edge of a clearing, watching Frodo
reappear there. The hobbit was obviously distressed, and as Boromir
approached, he could see the little creature couldn’t carry the Ring
much longer alone. ‘I’ll help him. He’ll help convince Strider. The
others will follow Strider. At least until we return to Gondor. Then all
will follow my father and me.’

“Frodo?”

The hobbit looked up from where he’d sat down against a stone> His eyes
were wide. “Boromir? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. What are you doing out here? It’s not safe for anyone, but
especially not for you.” He moved closer, trying for a brotherly
expression. It had come so easily- so naturally- with Merry and Pippin.
Where was it now?

“I just had to be alone to think. Aragorn said I could have an hour,
while he takes an hour to decide our road.”

“What choice do you have to make that is different than his?” Boromir
felt his hackles rise at the mention of the Ranger’s assumed name, but
he refused to let that show.

Frodo shook his head. “It’s something I must resolve myself.”

Closer now. “Maybe I can help. I’ve been thinking that we should go to
Gondor, recover there, then set out for Mordor. We can distract the
Enemy and carry the Ring to mount Doom at the same time.” His chest was
tightening and Boromir fought to breathe evenly. His eyes were bulging,
but he had no way of knowing that.

Frodo was still shaking his head, more vehemently now. “No. That makes
sense to me, but at the same time I know we can’t.”

Boromir’s eyes flashed and his hands were in fists. “Why?” He stalked
ever closer, and now Frodo was up, moving away from him. “Why can’t you
at least try coming to Gondor? You’ll always have a chance to go to
Mordor, if that’s what’s finally decided.” His heart was pounding so
hard in his ears that he couldn’t hear anything else. Driven suddenly by
the thought that his city’s chance for freedom was slipping away,
Boromir leapt at Frodo, yelling to startle the smaller creature,
reaching with hooked fingers.

Frodo ducked away from him, tripped, rolled, and slipped the Ring onto
his finger.

Alone now in the clearing, Boromir fell to his knees. He thought to yell
in frustration, but, without warning, his mind cleared, and he was
himself again. Aragorn’s face swam before his eyes, and he knew that
he’d failed. “No,” he moaned. “No. I’ve betrayed everything I’ve always
fought for.” He put his face in his hands. Like a tormentor’s whip, the
image of Aragorn shoving him further under the ledge so they would both
be hidden from the scouting birds flashed across his mind. It was
blessedly brief, but the pain was lasting. Now, at last, Boromir saw the
birds for they had almost surely been: servants of the Enemy. And he saw
Aragorn herding all of them into safety, maybe keeping them alive so
they could get this far. ‘And I may have destroyed everything with one
moment of idiocy.’ Except he knew there had been many of those during
the quest, ninety percent caused by him. Groaning, he stood, thinking to
find Aragorn and explain everything.

That was when he heard the sounds of battle. Turning on his heel, he ran
from the clearing, praying he wasn’t too late to at least partially
redeem himself.

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Pippin and Merry tried, at first, to hide from the orcs when they came.
They two were the only ones in the camp; Sam had vanished at some point,
his escape unnoticed until it was too late to call him back. Frodo had
slipped away, Aragorn had disappeard, and Legolas and Gimli were
searching for orcs, or trying to prevent the foul beasts from coming too
close. Whatever they were trying to do, leaving hadn’t been the right
idea, the remaining hobbits knew that as they heard the orcs
approaching. Knowing they needed to hide, they left the open ground and
dashed into the bushes, trying to make as little noise as possible.
Neither of them knew where to go, or how to find a place that would be
safe, but they kept going, just keeping the sounds of their pursuers at
their backs.

Or trying to. Because when they thought they were clear, they found
themselves stumbling out into a ring of orcs and things that were way
too big to be orcs. Terrified, the hobbits ducked and tried to scuttle
under the reaching arms.

Boromir leapt between the hobbits and their attackers, his sword drawn.
Wielding the sword with one hand, effortless and ever-moving, he put his
horn to his lips and let loose with blast after blast.

“Strider will hear that,” was what Pippin thought he heard Merry say,
his voice almost carried away on the sounds of battle, but for once, the
older hobbit was wrong; Aragorn didn’t come to their defense. And
neither did Legolas or Gimli. And though Boromir fought with all the
fierceness he had in him, he was but one man.

When the first arrow hit and Boromir staggered, Pippin and Merry
screamed, but their voices went unheard. And still Boromir blew on the
horn. Then the second arrow hit and the horn fell from the man’s
fingers. It was still strapped to his side, and so it wasn’t crushed.
But a hulking too-big-to-be-an-orc monster cleaved it in two, carving
into Boromir’s thigh as well. That was when Merry drew his short sword
and, howling, charged forward. Pippin went with him, his eyes stinging
with tears and his throat raw from screaming, “Strider! Strider!
Strider, help!”

They weren’t even allowed to use their weapons. As they rushed headlong
into a battle they’d never been prepared for, both Merry and Pippin were
scooped up like sacks of grain and carried off. Merry stabbed at the
thigh of their captor, but it was only a glancing blow, and he was
dashed, hard, against a tree as the Uruk kept running from the battle,
taking most of the orcs and others of its kind along, leaving only one
Uruk-hai to kill the troublesome man who had killed too many of their
kind, even three Uruk-hai.

Pippin kept screaming for Strider, but then he, too, was slammed against
something, and he lost consciousness.

***

Frodo tossed his pack into the boat, then shoved it off the bank. For a
frightening moment, he thought he would lose the boat to the current.
Then, lunging, he was able to get in, though his feet were chilled in
the icy water and the bottoms of his trousers were soaked through. Glad
that he’d had the sense to put the oars in the boat first, Frodo grasped
at them. ‘Now, how did Strider- Aragorn- make these things work?’ Frodo
tried to fit the oars through the notches, and almost lost one in the
river. And all the time, he was being swept further out, into the
swifter current. ‘Why didn’t it occur to me that I’ve never rowed a boat
before?’

A rustling on the bank that Frodo had just left made him glance in that
direction. Sam was racing towards him. Even as he ran, the gardener
scooped up his pack. “Mister Frodo!” His eyes were large, and Frodo
could easily read the fear there, yes, but also the anguish.

To stave off the guilt, Frodo called, “I have to go on alone, Sam.”

“Of course you are!” Sam was running into the river now. “And I’m coming
with you!”

“Sam, you can’t sw-” Even as Frodo shouted his warning, his lover was
sucked under. “Sam!” Frodo’s hands went to the oars, and, like in a
dream, he knew how to do what he had never done before. Visions of
Aragorn working with the oars flickered across his mind, and he knew
just how to move, imitating Aragorn as he had long ago imitated his
uncle in the few words of Elvish Bilbo had taught him. Frodo had watched
his uncle’s lips as much as he listened to the words themselves. And
now, as if he could Aragorn’s voice, he whispered, “Lift. Forward. Down.
Push.” His eyes were trained on the spot where Sam had disappeared.

When he was close enough to look over, Frodo yanked both oars into the
boat, then plunged a hand into the water. He caught hair at once, and
reached in with the other hand to grab Sam’s shoulder.

In a moment, Sam lay, gasping, on the floor of the boat. “I’m not
leaving you,” he said, before closing his eyes and just breathing. “I’m
not leaving you.”

Frodo began to work the oars again, his eyes narrowed with disapproval.
But as Sam lay there, recovering, the older hobbit realised he was
delighted to have his lover with him. He felt selfish for that, but knew
he couldn’t deny it. And it was certainly too son to send Sam away. They
might be caught, stopped, by other members of the Fellowship.
Remembering how Aragorn had helped him along the way, remembering how
Boromir had smiled at him sometimes, like a true friend, Frodo knew he
couldn’t take a chance that the Fellowship would reach him, or even see
him leaving. ‘The Ring needs to be away from them if they have any
chance of surviving.’

He said, “I love you, Sam, and I’m glad you insisted on coming with me.”

Sam’s eyes opened and he said, “I’ll never leave you.”

***

Glorfindel forbid all others with a glance from approaching he and Saru,
who rode rearguard. Elladan knew him well enough to not even need that
look, but Elrohir needed to be told, and so did Aidan. Halbarad seemed
to have retreated into himself, perhaps resting, now that there were
others to watch the road. The small group hadn’t stayed the night in the
palace; Saru had been possessed by a need to leave Mirkwood as quickly
as possible, and though he was polite to Thranduil, he made it clear
that the Dunedain and the sons of Elrond could not stay the night. So
Halbarad’s apparent need for rest was easy to understand.

Halbarad wasn’t resting. His gaze turned inward, he was reliving a
series of memories that seemed to have very little in common, and
nothing to do with their current situation. He remembered Mordecai
bursting in on him while he raped Saru. The shame of that memory almost
distracted him, but another moved to take its place before he could sink
into self-loathing. 

He remembered fighting to protect Glorfindel, standing between the
weakening Balrog Slayer and the wraiths.

And he remembered the feeling of Imladris, oppressive and cloying.
Glorfindel had been there, too, struggling to hold up under the strain
and the abuse and the darkness that might have reminded him of the
cavern lit by only the eyes of the balrog. His Light had been
unquenchable.

And he remembered, finally, how pale Glorfindel had been when he first
joined all of them in the garden. Elladan had gone to Glorfindel, had
supported the Elda with an arm about his shoulders. Glorfindel had
allowed this, but insisted he was fine, only tired.

Intuition tugged at a door in Halbarad’s mind, but he wasn’t even able
to find the door, let alone the key to open the lock. As he rode,
Halbarad sought the door in his mind, letting the memories circle around
it, hoping they were getting closer and closer. But none of them even
brushed the door’s jamb. There was no way to reach it. Halbarad felt
sure the door would open eventually; he only hoped it would open at the
right time. Letting go of his desperate need to know, Halbarad resolved
to keep his mind open, but not to force the issue. If it was meant to
come, now that he was healed, he had a chance of harkening to the
intuition.

Glorfindel, drawn as he was to Saru, still found time to gaze at
Halbarad, who had given the driving of the wagon over to Elrohir and
Elladan, and had taken Elrohir’s horse. Aidan rode Elladan’s fair mare,
but he was ahead of the elves, not really leading the way, just staying
out of the way of the elf-lord who had set up an invisible shield around
himself and Saru.

Halbarad intrigued Glorfindel; he always had. The Elda saw so much of
Estel in the man, even though he also saw much of Elrohir, and bits and
pieces of others. But Halbarad’s resemblance to any one person wasn’t
what held Glorfindel’s attention. Simply put, the blonde liked Halbarad.
The man was complicated, to be sure, and he didn’t give himself enough
credit for the things he did right, but he had a good mind and a better
heart. It didn’t cross Glorfindel’s mind to worry about the love between
the Ranger and Elrohir; he couldn’t have fixed it by worrying about it.
But Glorfindel saw the distraction in Halbarad’s eyes, and hoped only
that whatever was wrong, Halbarad would bring it forward while there was
still time.

‘I can’t save everyone,’ Glorfindel thought. ‘For now, Saru is my
concern. Saru and his place in the scheme of things.’

There were only two things to do with those who had strong light: either
let them be (but watch them from a discreet distance) or walk right
beside them until their reason for being came to pass. When Estel was
young, Glorfindel had taken the latter path, but had been forced to let
the boy go when he became Aragorn. Now, facing that choice again,
Glorfindel found that he hadn’t learned anything. He still longed to
draw Saru to him, to shield him from everything that would interfere
with the man’s mission. Except Glorfindel couldn’t possibly know when or
how Saru would be needed. Still, he couldn’t make himself draw back from
the Dunadan, just watch and wait. He loved Saru as he had ever loved
Estel, and so the choice he’d made was really no choice at all.

“Glorfindel, are you sure you’re strong enough to ride?” Saru asked.
“You could easily ride in the wagon for a little while. No one would
mind. You certainly deserve to rest more than anyone else in this
group.”

“I’m not tired physically, Saru. Don’t worry about me.” Glorfindel was
gazing at the Dunadan, and his eyes were dark blue pools of concern. “I
need to know how dangerous Kehydi is to the mission of the Dunedain.
Someone has to tell Aragorn.”

Saru winced. “I don’t know-”

“Stop. All you believe in is going to be swept away if you don’t tell
the truth now. The Enemy can destroy us through misplaced loyalties.”

“You’re telling me to betray my husband. That isn’t an easy thing to do.
And how can I know if you’re only asking this for the good of the
mission? Maybe you’re-” But Saru stopped. “No. Forgive me. You’ve
already been through all this once. Gondolin must have been awash in
such misplaced loyalties before it fell.” He could see by Glorfindel’s
expression that he was right. Sighing, Saru nodded to himself. “If you
really need to know… Kehydi- He hurt me. Physically when we were first
together, and sometimes he struck me, but it was the way he drained my
energy that hurt most. I learned early in our relationship that I
couldn’t always retreat to him, or even to our tent, to find solace. At
first, I went to Malacai, then to Annaleh after Malacai died. But I
never allowed myself to stay long.” He stopped, his gaze turned inward.

“Because Kehydi would find out?” Glorfindel didn’t want to press, but
there was something very important here, something that would effect the
future. He sensed it.

Saru swiped at a few errant tears. “Yes. I don’t know how you know that,
but, yes, it’s true. I didn’t want to be hurt, obviously, but there was
more to it. And I didn’t want to hurt Malacai or Annaleh, but that
wasn’t the real reason, either. It’s because… Well, if I betrayed Kehydi
to the rest of the camp, we might lose our focus on the future.” A
shadow passed over his face. “The civil war was so terrible. A lot of
good people died that day, and many more were stained by it. Jamien.
Malacai. Aaron.” He swallowed. “Me. When Adalai and Cein- my firstborn
and his twin sister- came into the world, I tried not to raise them on
the tales of battle, fearing they would die as so many of the Dunedain
had, fighting against their own friends. I wanted for them the way of
peace. And that was wrong, wasn’t it? Because I was putting my desires
above the success of the camp.”

He held up a hand when Glorfindel tried to speak. “It’s all right; I’m
past regretting the things I cannot change, at least with my children.
But I want you to see that part of me has always known that I must be
loyal to the Dunedain, above all others, even when I countered that in
small ways.” Again, that sigh that made Glorfindel want to weep. “What
else do you need to know about how he hurt me?”

The Elda made sure of the intuition in his heart before he asked, “How
much of a threat is he to the mission of the Dunedain? To Aragorn?”

“Those are two different questions, though they’re linked, obviously,
because Aragorn is the living symbol of our hope.” He thought for a few
moments. “It would be a terrible blow to Aragorn to lose his second-in-
command, even though he hasn’t had to rely on Kehydi for much. Nor has
he felt the desire, I don’t think. Kehydi, even at his best, could never
be half the leader Malacai was.” Saru’s eyes clouded. “I must ask you
something after all your questions are answered. And I must not forget
it.”

“Ask now. This can keep a few more minutes.”

Saru nodded, grateful for permission and Glorfindel’s acceptance of his
own needs. “I am learning things from the past, conversations that were
held between other members of the Dunedain- and Legolas. I was never
present for any of these talks, but neither can I remember them by
simply casting forth my mind. They simply come to me. They’ve been
coming to me often recently. I wasn’t always like this.”

“I can guess how you’re receiving the memories, but I can’t guess as to
why. Have you heard any of the Dunedain speak of the earth holding
impressions of the people that once lived in a certain place?”

“Yes. It means bits of buildings are still left, or even just a few
tumbled stones.”

“And much more. The earth we walk on really does remember us. We can
learn much from communing with the earth. If you seek its voice
consistently, in the same way, you will start to know what the earth
knows. A few Rangers over the centuries have done that, but you are the
only one in this generation who can actually tap into the earth’s
memory. And the earth remembers more than long-enduring things. It
remembers conversations. All conversations, important and meaningless.
Few can hear when the earth , and even rarer is the ability to be able
to control that gift. You cannot control it, Saru; not yet, at least.
But you hear the earth speak. That’s why you know the things you know.”

The Dunadan closed his eyes, listening within himself. “I feel what
you’ve said is true. But how did I become like this? Did I cause this,
or was it all preordained?”

“I know little of predestination,” Glorfindel answered. “Some find
comfort in its ideal, but I am not one. If the Valar wanted this for
you, it really doesn’t matter, because you still took the steps to
connection without knowing their plans. Saru, you went to the same
clearing every morning for what might have ben decades, and there you
communed with the world around you.”

Saru blinked. “No I didn’t. I began my morning meditations because I
needed to have strength each day before facing Kehydi. Then, when
Malacai died, I sought a quiet place to remember the beautiful things
about our short time together.” He shook his head. “Strange how my
thoughts go to Malacai first and not to my firstborn.” His voice broke.
“I won’t ask if that’s wrong or right, because I know it simply is. But
still I am ashamed.”

“Malacai was the embodiment of your devotion to the Dunedain. Perhaps
you were doing more than reliving good times.”

But Saru wouldn’t be comforted by that. “I know not. But let’s move on.
If I’m meant to find peace-” he glanced sidelong at Glorfindel-
“predestination, sorry- then I will. After a time, I found that my
drifted away from Malacai when I was alone, and went to memories I had
never possessed. I wasn’t able to remember them, usually, but while they
happened, they kept my attention. And sometimes I was fortunate to come
away with a lesson or two that I might not have learned without the
memories.” He frowned. “Was I communing with the earth then? I was,
wasn’t I? I can understand it now.”

“But you were also communing before,” Glorfindel said. “If you hadn’t
been, you wouldn’t have been able to hear the memories you speak of.
Long before you can hear the earth’s voice, you have to learn to
listen.” Glorfindel touched Saru’s arm. “Have I answered your
questions?”

The Ranger nodded. “Yes.” He even managed a small smile. “Thank you.”
Then the smile was gone and his eyes grew sad. “I said before that it
would be a terrible blow to Aragorn to lose Kehydi, but more because
Kehydi is one of his Dunedain than because Kehydi holds a special
significance in the scheme of things. If it came to that, Kehydi isn’t
needed to help Aragorn to the throne. Others are needed- I think
Halbarad is one, and maybe I’m another. Surely Aaron should be there,
though I can’t know if he’s needed.” Saru drew in a breath. “And I’m
trying to outguess myself. Forget all I just said, except this: Kehydi
isn’t needed. Halbarad is. That’s all I can be sure of.” He nodded to
himself, confirming what he’d said. “Yes. Kehydi could die, and Aragorn
would reach the throne. But if Halbarad does, Aragorn’s road will be
much harder. Maybe impossible.

“As to the effect Kehydi’s death- But that isn’t what you asked, is it?
You asked how much of a threat Kehydi would be, and at once I thought of
the hole he would leave with his death.”

“Follow that train of thought first,” Glorfindel suggested. “Then talk
about his continued life among the Rangers.”

“All right. If Kehydi died, there would be a missing link in the chain
of command. Who would the Dunedain follow to Gondor if Kehydi died? It
wouldn’t be as simple as appointing Aidan in his father’s place. Aidan
has grown on this journey, but the rest of the Dunedain don’t know about
that, and even if they met him now, there wouldn’t be time for them to
gain enough trust in him to follow him. Maybe they would follow me, at
least as far as Gondor.” Then his eyes widened. “Glorfindel!” he also
shouted. Then he reined himself in, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“They would follow Halbarad! They would follow Halbarad!” Saru’s eyes
shone. “That’s who they would follow, and all would be well, because
Halbarad, though he isn’t of the right line, has earned the trust of
all. And he can lead, Glorfindel; I know he can.” Saru sat perfectly
still for a moment; even his mare had paused, turning her head partially
back to him. Then the Ranger shook his head and his mare began to walk
again.

“If Kehydi lives, he is a great danger to all of us. He could lead us
easily into the Shadow, even though Mom and I are trying to keep him on
the right path. And that, of course, is a danger to Aragorn and to all.
I don’t think we would follow him into Darkness with our eyes open, but
everyone can be fooled. And it would only take a moment’s distraction to
bring us to a place we couldn’t escape in time to fulfill our hope.”
Saru bowed his head. “Holy One, what should I do?”

“If you aren’t going to see Aragorn any time soon, I suggest you bring
this to Halbarad, Elrohir and Elladan. Aidan may not be ready to hear
it, but the others should. If you like, I’ll bring Aidan back here with
me and you can hold your council now. My counsel, without hearing their
opinion, is to assign several Dunedain to watch Kehydi at all times. You
can’t guard his thoughts, and you can’t remove him from his position-
you were right to think such a thing would hurt the Dunedain just when
they need to be at their strongest- but you can watch him. Sometimes,
that’s all you can do, lazy as it sounds.”

Gathering his strength, Saru nodded. “All right. We should do it now
before I lose my nerve.”

***

Boromir didn’t hear Aragorn approach; he lay against a tree, his eyes
closed, his life’s blood sticking his sword to his hand. He felt very
little pain. Perhaps that meant his death was near. ‘At least, dead, I
can cause no more damage.’ He’d lost Merry and Pippin, and that hurt as
much or more than knowing he’d betrayed Frodo, whom he’d sworn to
protect. Because Frodo had escaped his lunacy, but Merry and Pippin had
not.

Pressure on his arm drew Boromir’s attention and he opened his eyes,
thinking he was to see death coming at last. But no; he could see
Aragorn’s eyes looking down at him. Boromir searched their depths as
best he could, seeking the hatred and rage he knew must be there. When
he couldn’t find what he thought he wanted to see, he said, “I tried to
take the ring from Frodo.” There. There was the pain, not in Aragorn’s
eyes, but in Boromir’s body. He gasped and blood appeared on his lips.

“Frodo is safe now,” Aragorn answered.

“The orcs- they took Merry and Pippin.”

Aragorn paled, but he still held Boromir’s gaze. “We’ll get them back.
Rest, now, D- Boromir. Find peace.”

“I was wrong,” Boromir said. He still sought Aragorn’s hatred. “You are
my King.”

“And you are my faithful Steward. Peace, Boromir. I promise your death
will not be in vain.” Aragorn bent forward and kissed Boromir’s
forehead. “I love you, Boromir.”

Boromir coughed. He couldn’t believe the forgiveness he saw in Aragorn’s
eyes, but that kiss- he’d felt its truth. ‘You forgive me. I don’t know
how, but you forgive me. And you are not glad to see me die.’ He tried
to speak some of this, but couldn’t manage. He died with his eyes
focused on his King.

***

Aragorn removed Boromir’s wrist gauntlets and put them on his own arms.
“Pass, Dunadan,” he whispered, then closed his eyes. ‘Not one of my
Dunedain, but one that was as honorable as they. My brother. Certainly
one of my people.’ He knew he would have to give thought to where Frodo
had gone, if the Ring-Bearer was safe. But his heart wouldn’t go there
just yet. Neither would it go to Merry and Pippin, though his concern
for all four hobbits grew moment by moment. Still, he must decide what
to do with Boromir’s body before he could even think of the hobbits.
Boromir deserved that much, at least. He had paid dearly for a moment of
weakness.

***

Aragorn didn’t weep; there was no time for that. But when Boromir was
still, the Ranger kissed the other man’s forehead, then sat back on his
heels so he could take stock of the situation. ‘We will pay homage to
his memory, but whatever we do must happen quickly. And we must decide
what to do about the hobbits. Boromir said Merry and Pippin were taken
by the orcs.’ At that moment, he knew what he was must do, and, as
Legolas had known, his decision was instantaneous and surely the best
choice. 

He heard movement behind him, the heavy steps of a dwarf trying to be
quiet. Not glancing up, Aragorn said, “Boromir has died and the orcs
took Merry and Pippin.”

“Sam and Frodo took a boat,” Legolas said, approaching slowly. “I saw
them leave across the river. They’re gone.”

“Should we follow them?” Gimli asked, picking his way through the
reeking orc carcasses. 

“No.” Aragorn set aside Boromir’s broken horn and the pieces of the
man’s sword. “He’s safer without us. And we will not abandon Merry and
Pippin.” Without glancing at the other two, he said, “Gather these-” the
horn and sword- “and some of the orc weapons. Those will go beneath his
feet.” Moving quickly, Aragorn lifted Boromir into his arms. The man was
heavy, but Aragorn managed his weight. “We’ll take him to the river and
give him a boat. There isn’t time to bury him.” Aragorn made his way
towards the river.

Legolas and Gimli glanced at each other. Gimli grunted. “I’ll carry the
orc trash.” He began to gather things, and Legolas, obeying, his mind
with Aragorn, picked up the broken sword and horn. Picking up part of an
orc tunic, he wiped the blood from the blade, then he followed Aragorn.
Gimli came last, his arms loaded with broken scimitars.

At the river’s edge, Aragorn had laid Boromir in one of the two
remaining boats. Taking off his cloak, Aragorn folded it and laid it
under the man’s head. “Put the orc weapons under his feet and give me
Boromir’s things.” He spoke with an edge to his voice, and Legolas,
reaching out to his lover through their bond, shied away from the wave
upon wave of grief that pounded at Aragorn’s mind. ‘Oh my Aragorn,’ the
thought, and tears stung his eyes. Boromir had become a friend, but only
very recently; Legolas felt scarcely touched by the man’s death. Perhaps
later, when Aragorn wasn’t in such pain, Legolas would mourn.

When Boromir was prepared for the water, Aragorn stood. “We’ll drag him
out to the middle of the river and let him go there. No orcs will touch
him. Roaras will have him.” Aragorn was looking south to the towering
falls. “Let’s go. We don’t have much time.” He went for the other boat,
and Legolas and Gimli followed him.

When they were in the middle of the river, dragging the funeral boat
behind them, Aragorn began to row backwards slowly to keep them
stationary. Then he nodded to Legolas, and the elf released the boat.
They watched it move past them, and Legolas was put in mind of the usual
funereal practices of the Dunedain. That led him to a memory of how
Malacai, standing watch the night after Mordecai died, had made a song
for his brother, an invented song that, while clumsy, had been
passionate and loving. ‘I can reach Aragorn if I suggest a song,’
Legolas thought, ‘and he can grieve a little.’ Through their bond, he
sent this thought: ‘Aragorn, we can sing his funeral song. Send him off
like one of Dunedain.’

The screaming, roaring fire of grief in Aragorn’s mind parted, then
dropped down to half an inferno. ‘Yes.’ Aragorn began the song,
connecting the winds of the world to a song of Boromir’s death. Legolas
admired the way Aragorn included many of Boromir’s best traits in the
song. He himself, following Aragorn’s lead, sang the second verse,
leaving Aragorn to finish the third verse out. It was true that Aragorn
knew more about Boromir than Legolas did, but to the Dunedain, to have
one person sing of your death was a blessing; to have two sing was an
assurance of a happy life in the after-world.

When they rowed back to shore and had left the last boat to cast it
adrift so no enemies could follow Frodo and Sam east, Gimli said, “You
left the East Wind to me, but I’ll say nothing of it.”

Aragorn nodded, and his eyes were lit with more than anguish. “That’s as
it should be. The men of Gondor endure the east wind, but they don’t ask
it for news.” He put a hand on Gimli’s shoulder, then drew Legolas close
with the other. “Thank you both. I can think again.” He released them,
though his hand lingered on Legolas’ arm a little longer. “And I think
we won’t abandon Merry and Pippin to torture and death. While there is
still hope that they may be alive, we will follow them. Are you with
me?”

Gimli nodded. “Yes.”

Legolas met Aragorn’s gaze. “We will follow where you lead. But first,
we must divide the packs and take what we need. And I must hunt for
arrows. All mine are spend.”

Less than ten minutes later, as the sun set, the remains of the
Fellowship took off through the forest, Gimli and Legolas letting
Aragorn lead, though Legolas, too, checked for sign as they hurried
past.

***

The half-dozen visitors knelt before Gloin and the rest of the Dwarf
Council who had agreed to see them. Saru, between Elladan and Elrohir,
spoke eloquent Dwarvish, his eyes never leaving the faces of those above
him. “…And so we come seeking your help and a chance to renew our
friendship. It has been too long since the Dunedain paid the brilliant
smiths of the Lonely Mountain. I only regret that we must do so now with
a request and mission on our minds. We long to learn from you, and to
share our own craft, but now, with the war marching on all our lands, we
must make this supplication and return to the north.”

Most of the Council had been openly hostile when Saru arrived with the
elves, but that was changing. All the dwarves had been suitably
impressed with Saru’s commando f their language. He spoke, not as
someone who had learned their words for this journey, but someone who
had studied it long and used it regularly. Saru, though the dwarves
couldn’t know it, was in charge of teaching Dwarvish to the younger
generation of Dunedain, and he used it all the time, not just in the
woodsy classroom, but with the rest of the Dunedain so that all would
retain it.

Gloin spoke then. “Aragorn is a good friend of ours; he has ever been
respectful of our people and our way of life, and so I will trust you
for his sake and because you, too, are respectful. But I don’t know
these others.” His eyes went to Elladan, Glorfindel, and Elrohir. “Can
they speak our language?”

“No, Lord Gloin; we haven’t had the good fortune to learn,” Elladan said
in the Common Speech. “But we come to you in the name of our father, who
sheltered you and yours in Imladris.”

“And I come to you as one of the Dunedain,” Elrohir said. “Halbarad and
I are married, and I was taken into their camp as one of them. We beg
you to accept the things we bring in trade and help us make Aragorn’s
banner. When it flies in battle, all will see the glory of the jewels
hewn by the most skilled miners in all of Middle Earth.”

Glorfindel rose smoothly and held out two jeweled bowls. “These are from
Gondolin-that-was. I beg you take them as a sign of our goodwill.”

The eyes of the council members widened, and a younger dwarf brought
them to Gloin, who gazed at them, then handed them around. “And how did
you come to have these things?” Gloin asked.

“I am Glorfindel, resurrected Balrog Slayer. The bowls you hold are the
heirlooms of my house.” He returned to his kneeling position, bowing his
head.

Some of the council members began to talk excitedly, but Gloin took back
the bowls from them. Rising, he approached Glorfindel. “Rise, Balrog
Slayer. When Aragorn was here, he sang of you, and of Gondolin’s former
glory. You have endured much and lost much; we will not take these from
you.” And he placed the bowls in Glorfindel’s hands. “Take them; bear
them in honor back to Imladris. And you will also bear away our best
jewels for Aragorn’s standard.”

Glorfindel tried to kneel. “Thank you, Lord.”

Gloin stopped him. “Do not bow to me, Balrog Slayer. The loving esteem
with which Aragorn praised you makes you one of us.” He turned to the
rest of the visitors. “As are all of you. Please, rise. Bring forth what
you have in trade and then we will help you select the best jewels for
the banner.”

***

Annaleh woke early the same morning Frodo and Sam set foot on the east
side of the river and started towards Mordor. Her eyes were wide with
shock, and anyone who had seen her would have taken her for another
woman. She looked so different from the Annaleh that all the Dunedain
knew that it was as if some wizard had worked a spell over her as she
slept.

But it was no spell; Annaleh, daughter of Sarahe, had dreamed a vision.
She hadn’t had many in her long life, and most of the others had
occurred while she was yet a child. Still, Annaleh knew the vision for
what it was, and so she sat up on her pallet, drawing the blanket up to
her chin. She crossed her legs and sat silent for a long while as she
tried to bring the vision back. It wouldn’t come, and at first Annaleh
was frustrated. Then a voice spoke silently within her, and she knew
that the vision wasn’t the important thing. The message it had left in
her mind was what she must remember: ‘Start the standard. Prepare the
black cloth and lay out the pattern of the tree and stars on the
background. Find a rowan branch that can serve as the pole, and carve it
with all the names of Aragorn’s ancestors. Do this quickly; you must
leave for Rivendell in a week. There you will meet those that carry the
jewels.’

Nodding to herself, sure of the message, knowing she wouldn’t forget it,
Annaleh rose and dressed. Aragorn’s hour was closer than any of them had
ever dreamed, and so they must change their plans a little. Ready to
face her son and plead her case, Annaleh left her tent. Around her, the
sights and sounds of a mostly-slumbering camp made her smile.  She
watched a young Dunadan- surely no more than sixteen- carrying water to
her parents’ tent. Annaleh waved and the young woman grinned at her,
stopping so Annaleh could catch up with her.

“Mama’s pregnant,” the fair-haired girl said. “She thinks she’s carrying
twins, at least. And Auntie Nella’s baby will be born soon. And Rae
swears she’s pregnant, too.” She set the bucket down for a moment. “Will
Saru be happy when he returns?”

Annaleh nodded. “Yes; he’ll be quite pleased.” She patted the girl’s
arm. “Thank you for the news, Varrah.”

“If you see Mordecai, will you give him a message for me?”

Annaleh chuckled; it was impossible not to see how Varrah looked after
Saru’s youngest as if he was her younger brother. She had been
Mordecai’s sewing teacher the year before, when both Cein and Morwen
were too busy to spend the time with their little brother that he
needed. “Of course.”

“Please tell him I expect the dress by moonrise three days from now, or
I’ll just have to make it myself.”

Annaleh laughed outright now. “Is he still your student?”

Varrah shook her head. “Hardly. But he insisted on making my mother a
maternity dress for her coming months. It will be his first big
project.” She giggled. “If he can ever decide on the right color. I
swear, he worries more about colors than most women.” Varrah took up her
bucket again. “Thank you.” Bobbing a half curtsey, she left Annaleh.

Annaleh watched her for a moment, then made her way to Kehydi’s tent. At
the flap, she whistled an owl’s hoot to warn him.

There was a rustling from within and then Kehydi appeared. He seemed to
still be half-asleep. Annaleh waited, measuring his expression as she
did daily now. A creeping dread had entered her heart weeks ago, and
though there was no cause for it, she still found herself watching her
son whenever he was near. She still trusted him, as she ever had, but
that didn’t make the worry go away. Her heart ached with it, with the
need to watch him, but she kept it up. The Dunedain needed her to.

At last, after blinking several times, Kehydi seemed to realise who she
was and where he was standing. “Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning. Kehydi, we must talk. I’ve had a vision.”

He frowned, rubbed at the back of his neck. “A vision? When?”

“Last night.”

“What about?”

“I’d rather we sat down and discussed it.” She caught his elbow and
started to lead him away. “Maybe my tent would be better. I’m sure
Mordecai is still asleep.”

“Actually, I haven’t seen Mordecai since last night. He didn’t come back
to the tent.”

She frowned. Kehydi sounded unconcerned, and certainly there were much
more dangerous places than the Dunedain camp where a child could go
missing. But that aching need to watch her son flared in her mind, and
Annaleh said, “We’ll find him first before we settle down to talk.”

Kehydi yawned. “All right. He’s here somewhere, I’m sure. Should we
split up?”

‘No. I want to find you when I need you.’ “No. I’m sure we can find him
together.” Annaleh started off across the camp, her steps purposely. But
for all her seeming single-mindedness, she listened to make sure her son
was following. ‘Oh Malacai, where did we go wrong?’ But as happened so
often lately, her husband was silent. Mentally squaring her shoulders,
pushing away her wish that Saru was home so she could sit in his calm
presence, Annaleh sent up a low, long whistle, calling her grandson
home. She and Kehydi were now standing in the center of the camp.

For a moment, the camp slumbered on. Then there was an answering whistle
from near the border of the camp, and Annaleh started off that way, her
eyes narrowed. Why was her grandson so far away from his tent? She
navigated the last few tents, nearly running now, and found Mordecai
just getting to his feet. He’d apparently been sleeping in the crotch of
a tree. Aaron was the one who had whistled. He stood nearby, his hands
on his hips, a rueful smile on his lips.

Annaleh grabbed up Mordecai, lifting him for a brief moment.

Before she could speak, Aaron said, “He came out here around midnight,
when the watch was changing. I said he could stay if he was silent and
returned to his tent at dawn.”

Annaleh crouched before Mordecai. She didn’t have to crouch very low.
Mordecai was going to be a tall man. “Why didn’t you tell your father
where you were going?”

“He was sleeping,” Mordecai answered. “I didn’t want to bother him. I
told Cein and Raven.”

Annaleh sighed. And there was the crux of the problem: Mordecai had done
the right thing, but usually the rule about reporting to an older
sibling instead of one’s parent applied only if the parent was injured
(and asleep) or dead. Sighing, Annaleh straightened. “All right. You did
right.” She glanced at Aaron. “Is your watch over at dawn?”

“Yes.”

“Before you rest, take Mordecai to Morwen’s tent, please.”

Aaron nodded a bow. Then he put his hand on Mordecai’s shoulder and led
him away.

Kehydi said, “He was fine, Mom. What did you expect to happen here in
the camp? We are strong.”

Fighting the urge to strike her son, or at least to yell at him, Annaleh
gripped her son’s arm (her hand caught him above the elbow, but in her
anxiety she didn’t notice) and led him back to her tent. Kehydi didn’t
struggle and soon they were inside. “Sit.” She propelled him towards a
pallet, and he sat, looking dazed. “There isn’t time to tell you all the
things I want to tell you,” she said. “But listen closely: I’ve been
told, in my dream, that Aragorn’s hour is closer than any could ever
imagine. We must start sewing the standard, and find a rowan pole to
carve. Then, in a week’s time, we must set out for Rivendell. Just those
that are heading out to meet Aragorn must go. Once we’re in Rivendell, I
don’t know how long we’re going to stay, but I have to speculate that
we’ll know when to leave.”

He blinked at her.

“I need you to help me muster the Dunedain. It’s your duty.”

Kehydi stood. “Mother, I know my duty.” He started for the tent flap,
but she grabbed his shoulder. Turning to face her, Kehydi shook off her
hand. “Don’t treat me like a child. I’m second-in-command.” His voice
softened. “I’m a little lost without Saru here, but believe me when I
say that I still know how to gather our people.”

Annaleh nodded, her heart eased a little by his reasonable tone.
‘Perhaps I’m overreacting,’ she thought as he left. Then, ‘No, I must
watch him. I just made the mistake of letting him know that I’m
watching.’ Sighing once more, Annaleh began to prepare the large tub she
kept in her tent for dying cloth. ‘We’ll have to use a lot of dye to
make the standard completely black, but that’s all right; we women are
up to the challenge.’ Then she had to smile. ‘Though Raven has to be the
best cloth-dyer besides me, so that’s a little sexist.’ She giggled like
a teenager, then shook her head and began laying plans in her head for
the standard.

***

The chase across bear rocks pounded mercilessly on Gimli’s feet. He was
accustomed to hard stone, to be sure, but he’d never thought he would be
chasing a long-legged man and a limber, swift elf for days and nights
across a barren landscape. He grunted and grumbled and groused, but that
was more to distract him than because he was really angry. Glad to be
doing something at last, to be moving under his own power, the dwarf
thought he might be able (or at least willing) to run for another week
if it meant he could just stay under the bright sun, working towards an
end he could see.

Understanding the need for the destruction of the Ring had never been
difficult for Gimli; he just didn’t understand why they had to travel so
dragon-cursed slowly. Maybe that was all right for the hobbits, and all
right for Gandalf, but Gimli personally couldn’t fathom why they hadn’t
just run through the Gap of Rohan, then marched on Mordor. He didn’t
believe the stories Boromir had told about the spine-chilling evil of
the place, and couldn’t see how they could possibly be stopped by
Sauron, who was just a shadow, right? Yes, there were orcs, and Gimli
had seen firsthand, in Moria, what orcs could do, but if they all made a
run for Mount Doom, keeping Frodo in their midst, why couldn’t they have
made it? The majority of the Fellowship (two men, an elf, a dwarf and a
wizard) could fight; why not just take a chance at running the Ring to
Mordor? If Gandalf had been right, then Sauron wouldn’t expect it. So if
running in all together would have worked, why all the secrecy and
sneaking? It was enough to make Gimli’s hands itch and flew for his axe.

The chase across fields was a little easier because the grass cushioned
his steps a little. ‘But not nearly enough, dragons curse it! When this
is all over- when the hobbits are safe- I’m going to put my feet in
steaming water and just sit.’

So occupied with his thoughts was Gimli son of Gloin that he nearly fell
over Aragorn, who seemed to have collapsed from exhaustion. Cursing,
Gimli jumped back. He started to reach for the man’s shoulder, but
Legolas caught his eye and shook his head, mouthing, “Wait.” Scowling,
Gimli obeyed.

Aragorn was completely still for a moment, then he said, rising, “They
passed this way not long ago, and their pace has quickened.” Leaping
forward, he cried, “Hurry!”

Legolas sprang away at once, but Gimli had always had trouble getting
his motors started. After a few running-steps, he at found his rhythm
and was able to follow. “I’m wasted on cross-country,” he called, unsure
if Legolas or Aragorn heard him, but not really caring. The words were
mostly for himself. “We dwarves are natural sprinters.” A total lie,
that, but surely the others couldn’t hear him now. So Gimli added a
little more: “Very dangerous over short distances.”

They traveled, Gimli marking the hours as the sun moved across the sky,
painting their shadows on one side, then shrinking them. Just as their
shadows started to grow again, Aragorn stopped again. Gimli was able to
stop this time and he stood, hands on his knees, trying not to pant or
gasp for air. The man was on the ground again, and Gimli shifted from
one foot to the other, trying to be ready for the next spurt of
movement.

Aragorn said, his eyes keen, “A company of horsemen, headed this way.
Let’s see what news we can get.” And he rushed into a clump of bushes,
kneeling there, effectively screened from passing riders. Gimli and
Legolas followed him, though the dwarf was hard-pressed to understand
how they could possibly ask anyone anything if they were hiding.

He had his answer a minute later. The horsemen- at least fifty, probably
more- rode by, then Aragorn stood and strode swiftly from the protective
cover. “Riders of Rohan!” he shouted. “What news from the Mark?”

In less time than it takes to tell, the riders had turned and were
circling the trio. Spears surrounded them like lowering branches in a
malevolent forest.

“What business do an elf, a man and a dwarf have in Rohan?” the lead
rider asked.

Gimli had taken out his axe. He and the others were on a noble and
desperate mission. What right did this horse thief have to refuse
Aragorn’s question? Surely Aragorn outranked him and every man here.
“Give me your name, horse thief, and I shall give you mine.”

The thicket of spears drew closer, and Gimli saw the shock in Aragorn’s
eyes. To have shocked Aragorn, who could usually hide all emotion in the
presence of others- Gimli felt his rage boiling over.

“I would cut off your head, Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from
the ground.” The man’s eyes couldn’t be read, but his hand had dropped
to his sword.

Legolas’ bow was in his hands, pulled back so an arrow was aimed at the
horse thief’s throat. “You would die before your stroke fell.”

Aragorn laid a hand on Legolas’ shoulder, and on Gimli’s arm. “Please,”
he said, first in Elvish, then in Dwarvish. Legolas and Gimli glanced at
him, then at each other. Slowly, they lowered their weapons. Gimli was
disappointed; he would have liked to challenge the man above him. There
was still the matter of Aragorn’s honor, and, on top of that, his own
injured pride to contend with.

“We apologize, horse lord. I am called Thorongil here; Eomund, Third
Marshal of the Mark, gave me that name. This is Gimli, son of Gloin of
the Lonely Mountain, and this is Legolas, son of Thranduil, King of
Mirkwood. Legolas and I were ever friends of Thengel King and of his
son, Theoden.”

“Theoden King no longer recognizes friend from foe.” The man took off
his helmet. “Not even his own kin.”

Aragorn dropped to one knee before the man and Legolas and Gimli copied
him. (The dwarf was mystified, but he kept his confusion to himself.)
“Eomer, Eomund’s son, you have grown as strong and tall as your father.”

Eomer dismounted and raised the man up. “You knew my father?”

“He was my captain during the years I spent in your fair country.”

“He has spoken of you.” The horse lord’s eyes went to Legolas and Gimli.
“It has been a long time since I’ve seen a dwarf, and I have never
seen-” he frowned at Legolas. “Forgive me, but what are you?”

“An elf,” Legolas answered, also rising. Gimli had scrambled to his feet
and though his axe was back at his belt, he kept a hand on its shaft.

Eomer nodded to himself, and his eyes were back on Aragorn. “What do you
seek here?”

“We tracked a band of orcs west across the plains.”

“You can stop searching. We came upon them and slaughtered them during
the nights.” He pointed to the edge of the great forest on the border of
Rohan where all three (Legolas best of all) could see the smoke from a
great fire. “We burned the bodies there.”

Gimli’s heart broke. “But there were two hobbits with them! Did you see
two hobbits?” He forgot all anger in the presence of his grief. To lose
others, close friends, so soon after Balin; it was intolerable.

“They would only be children to your eyes,” Aragorn said, and Gimli
stared at the man, shocked that he could sound so calm. Didn’t he
understand that Merry and Pippin could be dead?

“We saw no children. Only orcs.” Eomer looked at the three of them, his
eyes resting longest on Gimli. “I’m sorry,” he said. Then, turning, he
whistled, and two riderless horses trotted forward. “This is Hasufel and
Arod. May they bear you to better fortune than their former masters.” He
gazed at Aragorn. “One question only before I let you continue your
search.”

“Anything, Eomund’s son.”

“Where did you come from before following the orc band?”

“From Lothlorien.”

Eomer’s eyes widened. “From the Hanted Realm? They say it’s ruled by a
white witch, terrifying to look upon.”

Gimli’s axe was in his hands once more. “Take that back. Galadriel, Lady
of the Golden Wood, is the most glorious and perfect creature to ever
walk this earth!” And he took a step towards Eomer, ignoring the sudden
tensing of hands on spears.

Aragorn stepped between the two, his eyes flinty. “We don’t have time
for this.” Then, to Eomer, “You have insulted Gimli’s greatest devotion.
Beware of his vengeance.”

Eomer said, “When you return with our horses, Gimli son of Gloin,
perhaps you and I may visit this Lady of the Golden Wood and I will have
a chance to reconsider my hasty words.”

The dwarf grunted, but nodded. “There will be a time, horse master.”
Then, as Aragorn swung up onto Hasufel’s back, “There are but two
horses, and I cannot ride.”

“You can ride with me, Friend Gimli,” Legolas said. “Then you neither
need to be troubled by one or have to guide one.” The elf was removing
the horse’s saddle and bridle. “I won’t need these,” he said, handing
the affects with all reverence to a nearby Rohirrim. Then Legolas
stroked the horse’s nose, murmuring soft Elvish to him. Arod leaned his
head into Legolas’ hand.

Again, Gimli grunted. But he allowed Legolas to lift him to Arod’s back.
When Legolas was settled before Gimli, with the dwarf’s arms wrapped
tightly about the lithe elven waist, Aragorn bid Eomer and the others
good-bye, then turned Hasufel west with a Rohirrim word. Breaking at
once into a gallop, he and the double-mounted Arod sped away from the
Rohirrim.

Eomer watched for a moment, then leapt to his own saddle. With a wave of
his hand, he led the rest of the Rohirrim north.

***

The jewels were beautiful, and true to his word, Gloin had given the
best. The diamonds were priceless, and cut so that they would lie almost
flat against the black cloth. Gloin’s best tailors even offered to sew
the jewels to black cloth in the desired pattern, but after Saru saw how
it was done, and proved that he, Halbarad and Aidan could all do what
was required, the dwarves nodded and grunted, consenting the Dunedain
could do a passing good job (which would have been considered excellence
by any man or hobbit, and perfection by most elves). Saru had a feeling
that the only reason the tailors allowed it was because Gloin had
convinced them this was something the Dunedain must do on their own.

The seven stars were each made of six jewels: red, green, blue, ice
blue, pink and yellow-orange. And the white tree was diamonds, each pure
and perfectly cut. The dwarves insisted on putting the jewels in a large
box that had been fitted with a mould so that each jewel would be placed
in the correct part of the design when they were sewn. This the Dunedain
agreed to willingly, because they could easily see that each gem had
been cut to fit a specific purpose. And when Halbarad and Aidan loaded
the box onto the wagon, they did so with the utmost care.

All of this took but a day; Saru had begged the coming of Aragorn’s
coronation as a reason not to stay and enjoy the hospitali
dwarves. He had promised that the Dunedain would return if at all
possible.

“You are an honest man, Saru Dunadan,” Gloin said in the rock-sliding
dwarven tongue. “We are well met.”

Saru bowed. “Yes. We are.” He started towards the wagon when Gloin waved
him out of his bow. “All will sing of the dwarven jewels on the standard
of Aragorn, the King of Men.” He jumped up onto the box with Halbarad
and the older man flicked the reins. “Good-bye, Gloin. If fate smiles on
us, we will meet again and renew our friendship.”

Gloin bowed and waved until the wagon and its following of four horses
was out of sight.

When the small company was well on its way, Saru called Elladan to his
side. Elladan, in turn, called Elrohir, and also asked Glorfindel to
keep Aidan back. Aidan had figured out that the others didn’t want him
around, and although that hurt a little, a little humility had entered
Aidan’s heart and he consented that he wasn’t the most senior Dunadan
there, nor did he have experience equal to any of the others.

“You can go, Lord Glorfindel,” he said as they rode rearguard. “I won’t
try to listen. Whatever it is, I’m sure you need to hear it.”

Glorfindel’s eyebrows climbed into his hair, and he smiled. “You’ve
grown up over the space of a week, Dunadan.” With a last nod of respect,
Glorfindel rode forward to join the others.

Saru glanced at Glorfindel, but didn’t ask. “I only wanted to reiterate
my request. Do you all understand why Kehydi must be watched?”

“He’s dangerous,” Elrohir said. “Saru, we see it. I know I’ve only been
with the Rangers for a short time, but even I can see it. But I repeat:
if Kehydi betrays us, who is going to take his place and lead us to
Gondor? Could you do it if you had to?”

“I could, but not in the right way, and probably not with the right
results. And this isn’t cowardice, only truth,” he added, making contact
with all those that listened to him.

“We understand that, Saru,” Glorfindel said. “You are no coward.” The
Balrog Slayer turned his eyes on Halbarad. “Could you lead the Dunedain,
do you think?”

Halbarad swallowed. “But I am not called Dunadan yet.”

“True, but that’s because of your own choosing. It has nothing to do
with the Rangers’ trust in you. Would they follow you, and could you
lead them?” The blonde waited, his eyes never leaving Halbarad’s face.

The man frowned and looked away from Glorfindel, his eyes journeying
throughout the surrounding countryside before locking on the Elda again.
“Yes. I could.”

Saru sighed. “It’s settled then. We’ll ride back and start for Gondor as
soon as possible. There we will meet Aragorn and help him fulfill his
destiny. And whether Kehydi leads us, or Halbarad does, we will arrive
and do our duty.” A troubled smile crossed his features. “Now if only I-
all of us- can be strong enough to know when Halbarad must take over.”

“Just remember the burden isn’t yours alone,” Halbarad answered, putting
an arm around Saru’s shoulders.

Saru leaned into the embrace. “Thank you.”

Chapter Seventy-Eight

They’d found the path into the mountains, but now they couldn’t find the
way down. Frodo was growing weaker and weaker, but Sam didn’t waver; his
eyes were always questing for a comfortable place for the two of them to
rest if need be, or for danger. He didn’t know exactly what he was
looking for, but he hoped he’d know it when he saw it.

And so they wandered around in circles. Sam summarized it best when he
said: “Mordor. The one place we don’t want to see any closer. The one
place we’re trying to get to. And it’s just the place we can’t get to.”
Frustration chewed at the gardener’s nerves, but he never allowed that
to show. Each hour, his hand was ever ready to take Frodo’s, and his
tongue was ready with an encouraging word or, sometimes, a joke that
probably wouldn’t have been called funny back in the Shire, but was all
they had out here, so it was nearly humorous. Frodo laughed
occasionally, anyway, and that was enough for Sam.

He hadn’t truly appreciated how heavy the Ring was until the two of them
were out on their own. Sam had known, of course, that sometimes Frodo
couldn’t help himself; he had to put it on. But that was the power of
the Ring, not its weight. And the weight was draining Frodo’s reserves.
Sam had never seen his lover, or anyone else, so weakened. And still
Frodo struggled on. Sam loved him even more for that, and showed his
love every chance he got, in touches, words and smiles. And each time
Frodo reacted, smiling back, or gripping Sam’s hand in return, the
gardener’s heart soared.

The night before they would meet Gollum face to face, Sam found a warm,
dry cave. While Frodo leaned against the wall, Sam gathered moss and
leaves (they were about to the leave the last of the trees behind) and
spread these on the stone floor of the cave to make a bed. Then he laid
Frodo’s blankets out, both of them on the bottom, then laid his over
these, turning down the right corner like it was a real bed. “Come
sleep, Mister Frodo,” he said. Even though they were lovers now, Sam
still sometimes called Frodo “mister” or “master” and though Frodo
laughed about it, or reminded him they were equals, Sam always
maintained that he knew they were equals; some habits just died hard.
And usually Frodo would smile, give Sam a sweet kiss, and say, “All
right, Sam.”

Now Frodo rose and crawled into the offered bed, tugging at Sam’s hand
until Sam was snuggled beside him. “Sam?”

The other hobbit glanced up at Frodo, smiling. The moss and leaves were
more comfortable than he’d thought possible.

“Will you live with me when we get back to the Shire?”

“Of course.” Sam bit his tongue to keep from saying “Mister Frodo.” It
was a near thing.

“And will you sleep with me, like this, when we’re back in the Shire?”

“Complete with the leaves and the cave?” Sam asked. “I don’t think you
could fit a cave in Bag End.”

Frodo chuckled and kissed Sam’s nose. “How about minus the cave?” He
moved around a little until his head was on Sam’s shoulder. “Though I
don’t mind the leaves; they’re comfortable as my feather mattress back
home.”

“Maybe,” Sam said, his breath ghosting through the dark brown curls that
brushed against his lips and chin. “But that might only be because we’re
tired.”

Frodo had shifted again while Sam was speaking, and now his hand came to
rest on Sam’s upper thigh. “I’m tired. Of traveling and struggling and
looking over my shoulder. Before we try again tomorrow, can we-?” He was
blushing in the dimness, but Sam couldn’t see it. Frodo’s hand caressed
Sam now, slowly, drawing small circles with the tips of his fingers.
“Will you make love to me before we have to go out and face the world
again?”

Sam’s ears felt hot, but at once he captured Frodo’s fingers in his and
drew them to his lips so he could kiss each digit. “This will only be
the first of many nights like this.” Then Sam, surprised at how poetic
that had sounded, grinned. “But it may be the only time we do this in a
cave.”

Laughing, Frodo twisted so his member came into sudden contact with
Sam’s thigh. “Please, Sam. Make this the first time of many.” His hand
drifted up, stroking Sam’s ear, and the younger hobbit gasped, his eyes
slitting shut with pleasure. His grin almost wicked, Frodo said,
“Please, Sam. Take me. Love me. Make me the happiest hobbit in Middle-
Earth,” And when Sam’s eyes opened, Frodo added, “Actually, it’s too
late for that last one; you’ve already done that.”

Sam moved then, turning so he was half on top of Frodo. Now he
controlled the kissing, his tongue plunging into Frodo’s mouth. The
hobbit on the bottom moaned, and wrapped his arms around Sam’s back.

Sam had never felt so relaxed or so fulfilled; having Frodo kiss him,
touch him, spread his legs for him, was like being granted eternal life
and someone to share it with all at once. Neither of them was
experienced; both were certainly virgins. But they were both also old
enough to understand what they should do. And so, as they moved through
the slow, heated dance, there was some discomfort on both sides, but
their determination to be gentle and loving saw them through the brief
pain to the mounting and cresting pleasure. And when it faded, they
dressed and snuggled together in the afterglow, closing their eyes and
drawing as close as possible. Relaxing into each other’s arms, they
slept through their last peaceful night before Mordor.

***

Aragorn sifted through the steaming, reeking pile of orc carcasses, and
tried not to wonder if Merry and Pippin had been dead when they were
burned. There was still a chance that the hobbits had escaped, but
Aragorn was starting to see the impossibility of that. True, he and the
others had seen the crescent half circle where one of the hobbits-
Pippin was Aragorn’s guess- had dropped his elven leaf broach, marking
their trail. But since Pippin had gotten loose once, was it likely the
orcs would let them go again? The tracks had changed after that, arguing
that the hobbits must have been carried after that instance, because
Aragorn, no matter how fervently he looked, was unable to find another
hobbit-track. Aragorn thought maybe the hands of the hobbits had been
bound before Pippin’s brief taste of freedom, but now he guessed that
both their hands and feet had been tied, which argued that they would
have difficulty escaping their captors.

None of this clouded Aragorn’s face as he continued to search, but then
Gimli loosed a grieving cry, and Aragorn found himself staring at the
charred remains of a hobbit belt. Turning away from the pile, the Ranger
saw an orc helmet and kicked it hard as he could towards the forest. He
screamed at the top of his voice, something he’d rarely done while among
the Dunedain, except in the midst of battle. Grief threatened now to
overcome him, but even as he felt Legolas reaching out to him through
their bond, his anger vanished.

Something in the grass drew all of his attention and his rage, like a
flame without fuel or air, was snuffed out. The imprints in the grass
were so close to those he’d seen in the fields about the Shire hundreds
of times that Aragorn couldn’t mistakethem. “A hobbit lay here,” he
said, his eyes avid as he moved some dry, uprooted grass. “And here the
other.” He almost laughed.

Merry and Pippin had crawled out of these places, but their hands were
close together. “Their hands were bound.” Aragorn listened to the
discreet sound of Legolas following close behind him, and the heavier
presence of Gimli just behind the elf. Smiling, Aragorn thought, ‘We’re
all right; they lived. At least one choice didn’t go sour.’ That was
when he found the ropes, and Aragorn picked them up, studying them, then
seeing the sharp edge of the rock poking out of the grass. “Their bonds
were cut.” Jumping to his feet, Aragorn began to follow the tracks of
the fleeing hobbits. They ran over here and-” he stopped, gazing up at
the beautiful, intimidating fringe of Fangorn Forest, a place he and
Legolas had visited once while they were in Rohan, because Aragorn had
wanted Legolas to see a place Arathorn had once visited, when he was
only in his thirties. “Straight into Fangorn Forest.”

“What insanity drove them in there?” Gimli whispered, his eyes wide and
his hands dipping down to his stoutest axe.

“Desperation, most likely,” Aragorn said. “Come on; let’s go. And keep
your hands off your axe, Gimli.”

***

Merry and Pippin rode high in Treebeard’s raised hands. Behind them, the
chanting of the Ents and the pounding feet of the Huorns shook the sky
and rocked the earth. The hobbits, their hearts riding as high in their
chests as they rode above the ground, called like the Ents, trying to
make their voices deep and fell. But when they failed, they still
chorused along, letting their high voices carry above the Ents’ song
like the froth on the top of a deep-ocean wave. All seemed to be right
at that moment: yes, the Ents had been hurt, but they were taking
action, and neither hobbit could imagine anything or anyone standing in
Treebeard’s way. Of course the Ents would march on Isengard; of course
they would change history. How could they not? They were amazing and
beautiful and so frightening that any enemy who didn’t take their song
to heart and flee was a moron as well as stubborn. And if Saruman didn’t
listen, he would surely die. Merry and Pippin had never wished for
anyone to die, but they didn’t honestly think Saruman would try to stand
against such insurmountable odds.

When they left the outskirts of the forest (marked by desolate tree
stumps that saddened the Ents and yet fueled their rage) Merry
whispered, “Pip, look.” He pointed south, and his cousin nodded, his
eyes wide.

“That must be Isengard,” the young Took said.

“Must be. Treebeard, do you think you can break the walls? They look
awfully strong.” The walls were high, too, but Merry didn’t add that
because, even if the standing stones seemed impossibly high to him, they
might look like only small rocks to Treebeard.

“Saruman destroyed everything,” Pippin whispered. “The land looks so
sick.”

“Hoom hummm, Saruman infected all the grass and trees he could reach.
Foul orcs sucked the earth dry and spat it back out. HOOM!!!” His cry
seemed to rend the sky, and the others Ents and those they shepherded
took up the call until the hobbits had to cover their ears.

“Saruman can’t miss us now!” Pippin shouted, but no one heard him. He
scarcely heard himself. But that didn’t matter; his blood was high and
his eyes shone like stars. ‘When Gandalf gets here- I know he’ll get
here, because he promised us and Treebeard- we’ll be able to show him
all the Ents have done. And Saruman will be begging Gandalf’s
forgiveness. Maybe he’ll even give us some things that can help against
the Dark Lord.’ Grinning to himself, Pippin imagined how happy Frodo
would be to see Gandalf come back from the dead just in time to lead
them all to Mordor. ‘Maybe the Ents will come with us too, and storm
Mordor. The Dark Lord can’t stop all of them and the Huorns, too.’

The Ents were chanting again, and Pippin, his hands still over his ears,
chanted with them, raising his voice to the sky, not caring that the
noise he made was nearly swallowed up by the basso profundo sounds
coming from the walking trees. It was enough that he shouted and called
just like everyone else. And beside him, his mouth also open, his voice
likewise nearly buried, Merry shouted too.

***

Standing on a high rock above the three companions, it was all the old
man-wizard could do not to laugh when he first appeared to Aragorn,
Legolas and Gimli. Surrounded by a pure, white light, he knew he
resembled Saruman. Speaking in riddles, as he once had, Gandalf asked
the three companions if they were comforted to know that the two hobbits
they’d been tracking had met someone they didn’t expect. Of course, this
tempted Gimli to anger, and all three drew their weapons against him.
‘They must know weapons would do no good against Saruman,’ Gandalf
thought. ‘Aragorn especially must know that. And yet, he has no way to
defend himself except with weapons. If I was truly Saruman, the Hope of
Men might have died here.’ It was time to put an end to the charade, but
Gandalf paused a moment later to gaze on Aragorn and appreciate what the
‘upstart Ranger’ had become. ‘And even now, when he must know he could
die here, I see no fear in Aragorn’s eyes.’

Gandalf’s own gaze went to Legolas, who had moved so that he could
partially shield Aragorn. The wizard read the protectiveness in that
stance, and had to suppress an appreciative chuckle when Aragorn retuned
the gesture, though he also included Gimli, urging the Dwarf with a
quiet word to move closer to him.

‘I should disarm them first. I don’t want them to lose their weapons
because of me.’ Gandalf, with but a thought, made the sword and axe too
hot to hold and made the arrow, though not the bow, burst into flame.
And when Aragorn commanded that he show himself, Gandalf stepped out of
the light that surrounded him and smiled. “Hello, my friends.”

Legolas dropped to one knee, bowing to him, but Aragorn moved forward,
his eyes filled with hope and a need to know the truth. Gandalf reached
out and laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Gandalf,” the man whispered.

He said nothing, waiting for the shock of his transformation to wear
off. Sometimes, when dealing with those who hadn’t know the Valar
firsthand, that was all you could do. But that name… Why did Aragorn
call him that name? It stirred a memory, but only slowly; the wizard for
his past memory to catch up to his current state.

Gimli sounded close to tears. “Gandalf.”

The memory came slowly. “Gandalf,” the old wizard said. “Yes, that was
the name. I was Gandalf.” Jumping down from the high rock so he was
close to Aragorn, he picked up the grey cloak that had been hidden among
the shadows of large ferns. Wrapping it over his snow-white robes, he
veiled the light, hiding it and becoming simply Gandalf again, though
his hair remained snowy white, so that those who knew him could sill see
the light of his transformation if they cared to look. “Yes, you may
still call me Gandalf. Pick up your weapons, my friends. They are safe
to touch again. Be merry!” His eyes twinkled with the memory of leaving
Pippin and his cousin in the care of Treebeard. Hadn’t he told them to
be merry, too? Yes, and Pippin, that irrepressible Took, had answered,
“He’s Merry already and if you called me that, too, it would be
confusing.”

Gandalf said it again: “Be merry! We meet again. At the turn of the
tide. The great storm is coming, but the tide has turned.” He met
Aragorn’s eyes, letting the man know that the words were meant for him
above all others, for Gandalf could see the ghost of Aragorn’s pain.

Gimli had taken a step forward, and Gandalf reached out, laying a hand
on Gimli’s head. The dwarf looked up and laughed, too shocked to pretend
at surliness. “Gandalf! But you’re all in white!”

“Yes, I am white now. Indeed, I am who you thought I was: Saruman, or
Saruman as he should have been.” His eyes went to Aragorn and to
Legolas, who was still keeping close to the man, as though he didn’t
quite trust the miracle. ‘Or maybe that is too harsh. Legolas perhaps
just needs to be near Aragorn.’ He hid a sad smile. ‘As Arwen never did.
Ah, but I was a fool not to see this bond much earlier.’ And there
wasn’t time for any regrets at the moment, so Gandalf said, “But come
now, tell me of yourselves. I have passed through fire and deep water,
since we parted. I have forgotten much that I thought I knew, and
learned again much that I had forgotten. I can see many things far off,
but many things that are close at hand I cannot see. Tell me of
yourselves.” Gandalf tried to put a positive spin on that admission,
that he’d traded normal sight, the sight of mortals and the sight that
elves operated under most of the time, for that which some of the Maiar
had been gifted with. For a time, until he became firmly established in
the physical world again, he would suffer this annoying partial-
blindness.

Aragorn asked, “What do you want to know?” The four of them had settled
themselves together on the ground. Gandalf still in front of the three,
who formed a semicircle with Aragorn in the middle. “If we tell you
everything that’s happened since the bridge of Khazad-Dum, we could be
here until tomorrow morning. Please tell us if you have news of the
hobbits.”

Gandalf knew at once that Aragorn didn’t speak of Merry and Pippin, but
of Frodo and Sam, and he nodded to himself. Aragorn had grown wise. He
would make a good King, perhaps one greater than any had been since the
days of Elendil. It hurt Gandalf to not be able to award that discretion
with good news. “No, I did not find them. There was a darkness over the
valleys of the Emyn Muil, and I did not know of the captivity of Merry
and Pippin until the eagle told me.” In this way, Aragorn would
understand that Gandalf shared his concern about both sets of hobbits.

Legolas’s eyes brightened and he sat forward a little. “The eagle! I
have seen an eagle high and far off: the last time was three days ago,
above the Emyn Muil.”

“Yes. That was Gwaihir the Windlord, who rescued me from Orthanc when
Saruman had captured me. I sent him before me to watch the river and
gather tidings. The Ring passed into peril, and out again.”

“Then you know about-” Gimli began, but fell silent when Aragorn cast
him warning look. “How is he?” the dwarf amended.

“I can’t say. He resolved to go alone to Mordor, and he set out: that’s
all I can say.”

“Not alone,” said Legolas. “We’re almost sure Sam went with him.” Then,
because he couldn’t keep the news to himself any longer, “They love each
other, Gandalf. They’ll be stronger for that.”

“Did he? Did he indeed?” Gandalf’s eyes gleamed. “Good.” Then, “I’ve
known of their budding love, but are you saying they confessed it to
each other?”

The elf nodded. “I saw them kissing in Lothlorien and on the Great
River.” His hand slipped into Aragorn’s, a child-like gesture that made
Gandalf stop and turn.

“Legolas, what is it? Please tell me.”

“I-” He glanced at Aragorn, then Gandalf, then away. “We don’t have time
for my waking nightmares.”

But now Aragorn, too, was gazing at him, concern glowing deep in his
eyes. “Please, love,” he said in soft Elvish.

Legolas’ heart broke and he grasped both of Aragorn’s hands in his. “I
see death coming for you,” he whispered. “It came to me as we ran across
the plains and I haven’t been able to shake it, no matter how often I
tell myself I’m being foolish.” He closed his eyes and his face changed,
becoming that of a near-child. “Wargs I see, and orcs, and death. Men
with blond hair falling in a terrible battle. And an orc laughing at me,
telling me you’re dead.” Legolas shivered and looked at Aragorn again,
drawing strength from the man’s very-much-alive gaze. “I don’t know how
to keep this from coming true, or if it’s even a true vision I’m seeing,
or only my own fears. But if you’re destined to fall before we reach
Gondor-”

“He is not,” Gandalf said. “Aragorn is meant to be King, Legolas, and
his hour is soon. Perhaps what you see is a possible future, but you
have been warned; there will be a way to prevent it. As to the blond men
falling in battle, I would guess those are Rohirrim. And Saruman keeps
both orcs and wargs.” He frowned. “Possibly you have seen a battle to
come, where the Rohirrim rode out to meet Saruman’s forces and were
overwhelmed.” Gandalf touched Legolas’ shoulder. “Stay at Aragorn’s side
and you will be able to prevent this future. His place is in Gondor, not
dead on the plains of Rohan. Have faith in your ability to protect him.”
Starting away, he called Aragorn to join him for a little council.

The Ranger kissed Legolas. “Beloved, all will be well.” Again, a kiss.
“Thank you for the warning. I am sure we will avoid it now.”

Legolas watched him away, but then Gimli coughed at his side, drawing
his attention.

“I’ll not let any orc or warg hurt him,” the dwarf said, his hand
resting for a moment on his axe. “Don’t worry, lad; I’ll hew the neck of
any foe that gets within a stone’s throw of Aragorn.”

Legolas smiled, touched and a little reassured. Also amused. ‘Lad? He
isn’t so much older than me, I don’t think.’ While he still wished he
and Gimli were joined by at least half the Dunedain as Aragorn’s
protectors, he knew that between himself and the dwarf (and Aragorn’s
own, not-inconsequential skills) his lover would live.

***

Elladan laid a hand on his belly as he and Glorfindel lay, resting, in
the wagon. They had been spelled at the driving by Halbarad and Elrohir
a short time ago, and both of them should have been resting, but Elladan
felt his lover’s eyes on him, and he knew he was a long way from the
Shores of Sleep.

“What are you thinking about?” Glorfindel asked, his voice carrying over
the creaking of the wagon and the rumble of the wheels. In the darkness,
his fingers found Elladan’s arm, then made their way to the dark-haired
elf’s hand, where it still rested on his abdomen. “Is it the baby that
worries you?”

“Will the Valar let our baby make the choice to sail, or will she be
trapped by whatever decision we make?” Elladan rolled on his side and
caught Glorfindel’s fingers, kissing them. “We must not put off this
discussion, Glorfindel, or we may find the decision being made for us.”
He sighed, though, and fell silent.

“What decision, Elladan? I admit you’ve lost me, love.” Sitting up and
drawing Elladan’s head into his lap, Glorfindel began stroking his
lover’s hair in the dimness, and there was a long silence between them.
Glorfindel couldn’t even feel Elladan’s mind, because his lover had put
up his shields, perhaps so Elrohir wouldn’t hear them and be distressed,
but maybe because he didn’t want to hurt Glorfindel. If that was the
case, he must be afraid. And what was there to be afraid of- really
afraid- except their coming separation? “Do you wish to speak of my
leaving these shores?”

Elladan moaned.

Glorfindel’s fingers began a gentle massage, and his melodious baritone
belied his terrible words. “Elladan, for me it is no choice. The Valar
gave me second life, but no way to stay here when the time comes for the
last ship to sail. If I tried, I would be driven literally insane by the
need to go. If I chained myself to the great oak in Imladris, so that I
couldn’t follow the call of the Sea, I would perhaps hold onto my sanity
for a day or two after Elrond left. But more than likely, those who left
would do so to my demented screams.” He winced, but refused to stop.
Elladan needed to hear the truth of everything. So much of their
relationship had been eaten up by half-truths and downright lies; let
the end at least have honesty going for it.

The Elda bent forward and kissed Elladan’s forehead. “But for you,
Beloved One, it is a choice. Will you stay here, with Elrohir, or will
you go with me?” He placed a hand over Elladan’s