Title: Legolas’ Gift
Author: Estel Baggins
Author’s Email: macfal1219@comcast.net
Chapters: 79-81
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: bodily functions (not sex) are described in detail
Summary: Chapters in the original book: “Helm’s Deep” to “The Voice
of Saruman” with add-ins from the movie, including time with Frodo
and Sam on their way to Mordor. Also, we learn a favorite Ranger is…
in the family way. And another Ranger may lose his babe.


Chapter Seventy-Nine

Theoden King’s decision the next day shocked them all, and dismayed
those who understood the lay of the land and the way of evil forces.
Aragorn and Legolas shared a troubled glance when the king announced
that the people would be retreating to Helm’s Deep. Gandalf didn’t
say anything, or betray his thoughts with a glance or even a raised
eyebrow. All he could try had been tried; the final decision, no
matter how foolhardy, was Theoden’s.

And so as the call went out across the Mark, and Theoden retired
with his few remaining captains (he hadn’t even sent for aid from
Eomer, believing him to be hundreds of leagues away by now) Aragorn,
Legolas, Gimli, and Gandalf found a quiet place to talk: the
stables. Shadowfax wasn’t kept there, but the building was far
enough from the Golden Hall that all could be reasonably assured
that they wouldn’t be overheard. And Shadowfax would come when
called.

“Theoden King is being cautious,” Aragorn said. “Helm’s Deep has
saved them in the past.”

“There is no way out of that ravine. Theoden is leading them all
into a trap.” Gandalf shook his head. “Foolish, arrogant man! If
only he would send for aid! Well,” he continued, now speaking mostly
to himself, “aid will come, unlooked for by the king.” He put a hand
on Aragorn’s shoulder. “I must find that help. Look for me in three
days. On that day, at dawn, look to the east.” He gave Aragorn a
hard and fierce look. “He will need you before the end, Aragorn; the
people of Rohan will need you. And you will not fail them.” Then,
without giving the Ranger a moment to contemplate his words, Gandalf
strode outside, raised his fingers to his lips, and whistled. Far
off, yet not that far, came the whinnying of Shadowfax, followed by
the sound of pounding hooves. “Three hundred lives of men I have
walked this Middle Earth,” Gandalf muttered, “and now I have no
time.” Shadowfax stopped before him and Gandalf swung up into the
saddle. “Three days!” he called to Aragorn. Then horse and rider
turned and Gandalf bent low over Shadowfax’s neck to whisper in his
ear. The horse seemed to nod, then he shot off across the plains
like a speeding arrow.

Aragorn stood by the stable door and watched them until they were
out of sight. Then he turned back to Legolas and Gimli, his eyes
dark with worry. “The war comes now,” he said, “and many lives may
be lost. And of those that are lost, some will be under my command.
Some that are not Dunedain.” And he retreated a step or two into the
shadows of the stable, becoming Strider again, using the shadows to
hide his true expression.

Except Legolas wouldn’t let him. Whispering to Gimli in Dwarvish to
be a lookout, the elf went to Aragorn. Drawing him further back into
the stables, Legolas began to talk softly in Elvish.

Gimli watched them for only a moment before turning to look for
intruders. His heart was high with the thought of battle, for surely
Saruman, when he came, would send more orcs. The dwarf couldn’t
understand Aragorn’s unease, even if he could feel it. So he stood
watch and left the counseling to Legolas, who surely understood the
man much better than he did.

“What is it, love? Please talk to me,” Legolas said in Quenyan.

“Aii, I hardly know,” Aragorn returned. “Perhaps it is only that I
will be leading people that have not known me for decades upon
decades. Perhaps it is that I see the challenge that lies before us,
and I know we have no guaranteed victory here.”

“It’s both of those,” Legolas answered, “but I would bet my father’s
kingdom that you are more concerned about leading men that are not
your own, especially when the king has given you so few encouraging
words. He does not see you as the King of Gondor yet, but he will.
Maybe this battle will change that view.” He took one of Aragorn’s
hands in his. “Gandalf will return with Eomer. I’m sure it is Eomer
that he went to find. Have faith; Gandalf said to look to the east
in three days. If we can hold out that long, perhaps we will win the
battle.”

“I don’t even know if Eomer’s force will be enough to stem the
tide,” Aragorn said.

“True, but if I know Gandalf, he will bring hope unlooked-for.”

Aragorn nodded. “That is true.” He lifted Legolas’s hand to his lips
and kissed the strong, white fingers. “You always know how to
comfort me, my love.” He kissed the side of Legolas’s mouth, then
whispered in the pointed ear, “I only hope I brought you half that
much comfort last night.”

Legolas’s cheeks flushed. “I wouldn’t call three orgasms comfort,
Aragorn, but stimulation. Still, I drew pleasure from them, and from
the way you held me before and afterwards. Does that satisfy you?”

He nodded. “Yes, love, though last night was comfort to me.”
Squaring his shoulders, he said, “We should see if there is anything
that needs doing.” Another kiss to Legolas’s fingers. “I’ll see you
at eventide if not before.”

***

Frodo had never felt so sympathetic towards anyone. He could see how
much Gollum suffered as he struggled not to give in to the Ring. Or
perhaps that wasn’t right, for Gollum had already given in, long
ago. Now itw as Smeagol who refused to give in, who wanted something
better. And when he saw the way the twisted, hobbit-like creature
suffered and strained, Frodo couldn’t help but pity and understand
what he suffered.

‘I have only had the Ring a very short time,’ he thought.
‘Especially compared to Gollum, and yet I know his pain and his lust
for the Ring. It whispers, and only those who have carried it can
understand its draining and persuasive power.’

Sam didn’t understand, not really; Frodo accepted this fact. He
didn’t let it stop him from loving Sam, but he didn’t delude himself
that Sam could completely know what he was suffering. And somehow,
even though Sam hadn’t needed to know before, it was imperative that
he know now. Because now… Yes, now Frodo was in agony and so
exhausted, even when he had just woken up. He needed someone to
share that with, and who better than a former Bearer? Bilbo would
have been preferable company to Gollum, but maybe not. Remembering
how his uncle had leapt at him while they sat in the old hobbit’s
rooms in Rivendell, Frodo decided that he would find it easier to
strike down Gollum than his uncle, and easier to resist him, too.
And besides, wasn’t it enough that one Baggins had to suffer through
the effects of the Ring? Why should two have to battle its evil?

‘And all of this is foolishness,’ Frodo thought as he removed the
elven rope from around Gollum’s neck and commanded Gollum to take
them to the Black Gate. ‘Dear Bilbo is safe, and I’m with the enemy
that once suggested a game whereby he would eat Bilbo if Bilbo lost,
and he almost ate him anyway. What a wonderful guide we are forced
to have!’ Yes, forced, for there was no other choice; they must get
to Mordor, and if that meant putting their trust in a creature who
had proven himself to be conniving, then so be it. Hadn’t Gandalf
said Gollum had some part to play in all this, for good or ill,
before the end? Well, Frodo was giving him that chance. 

‘And Gandalf believed Gollum might be able to change, so how can
that be impossible?’ Heartened, Frodo followed Gollum.

Sam, walking beside him, drew his attention. His lover was watching
Gollum with such an intense dislike and mistrust that Frodo couldn’t
believe such an expression could be on the face of the hobbit he had
come to love. So, reaching out, setting his own thoughts aside, he
tried for tenderness and reassurance. “We’re here to watch him, Sam.
And Gandalf believed there was still good in him. Please give him a
chance. He can be a wonderful asset to us, and we may be able to
save one soul from the power of the Ring.” And when Sam looked at
him, his brow still lined with worry, Frodo said, “Please, my love.
Have faith. There is always a chance for salvation. For anyone.
Smeagol, too.”

“I don’t like him and I don’t trust him,” Sam said. “Forgive me, M-
Frodo, but my old gaffer taught me that a mean-tempered dog will
always be a mean-tempered dog.”

“But Strider proved to be our friend. We were all wrong about
Strider. Couldn’t Gollum be the same?”

“Begging your pardon, but Strider just looked foul and seemed fair,
like you said, even if I wasn’t quite ready to believe it at the
time. Well, a lot of flowers’ve sprouted since then, and the whole
landscape looks different. I think I can trust what I see and feel.
And what I see is a creature that looks foul, and what I feel is
that what I see is what we’re going to get. He’s not beyond saving,
maybe, but can we afford to take him with us when our mission’s so
important? Gandalf’s counting on us. They’re all counting on us.”

Frodo said, his voice lowered, “I hear you, Sam, but we were lost
without him. And we might get lost again. We need him, whether we
like it or not. And, whether or not we like it, we have a
responsibility to use any means to-” he made sure Gollum was far
ahead, then finished, his lips barely moving- “destroy the Ring.
Please be with me in this, Sam. I can’t do it without you. I need
you on my side.”

“I’m on your side, Frodo!” In his anxiety and heartache, Sam forgot
to say ‘Mister Frodo.’ “Please believe me; I love you. I love you.
And I’ll never leave you. Please believe me, Frodo. When every other
friend falls away and the road’s completely black, I’ll be with you.
And there might be stronger people out there, but there’s none for
loyal than me.”

Frodo stopped walking and took Sam in his arms. “I love you, too,
Sam, and I know you’re here for me. I’m here for you, too.” He
kissed Sam gently, o gently, then turned his head when Gollum popped
up close to them.

“No time, hobbitses!” he cried. “Must move on! Not a safe place to
stop! Not a safe place! Must keep going!”

Hand in hand, Frodo and Sam followed him.

***

Aragorn woke the morning Theoden would muster the remaining men of
Rohan to fight with a roiling belly and a dizziness in his head that
he hadn’t felt since he’d taken a blunted orc-axe to his helmeted
head when he was thirty-four. Rolling away from Legolas, he managed
to get his head over the side of the bed. That was as far as he got
before the scant dinner he’d eaten came up.

Behind him, even as he retched, he heard Legolas come awake at once.
Trying to make the sounds of his suffering as quiet as possible (no
need for anyone outside the room to know that Aragorn, son of
Arathorn, had lost a battle with his stomach) Aragorn listened to
Legolas get up and go to the basin. Bringing this, Legolas set it in
the mess on the floor, catching a little over half of what Aragorn
had to give. He’d moved fast. Then, perching on the bed, Legolas
pushed Aragorn’s hair out of his eyes for him and waited. Aragorn
could feel the tension in Legolas’ fingers at first, but even as he
registered it, Legolas shifted, letting the tension go so he would
be ready to move when and how Aragorn needed him. 

He was almost dry-heaving now; Aragorn began to exercise control
over his body once more, calling on his training as well as on his
body’s natural compliance to his will. He did dry-heave, but only
twice. Then his stomach consented to settle. As he took stock of his
body, he noted that the dizziness was ebbing away like a falling
tide. When he knew he could sit up, he did so, wiping his mouth on
the back of his hand.

“Wash your hands and rinse your mouth,” Legolas said. “I’ll clean
this up.” He rose smoothly and went to gather cloths, but as he went
about his self-appointed work, he kept an eye on Aragorn.

The man did all he was told, then started to help Legolas, but the
elf urged him back to the bed. “I’ll want to look at you when I
finish,” he said. “Just sit and wait.”

Not wanting to obey, but seeing it was useless and a hindrance to
argue, Aragorn sat and began to take slow, deep breaths, centering
his mind within his body for the moment, seeking the source of his
sudden illness.

He could not dwell in self-deception for long. Almost before he had
begun his search, wondering, on the top of his mind, if he had eaten
something rotten, his body spoke the true answer and all of
Aragorn’s other thoughts vanished like morning mist before a burning
sun. ‘Some men of the Dunedain and Gondorian lines can become
pregnant. Legolas took me for the first time two months ago, and
then again in Lothlorien. There’s no denying it: I myself am
carrying the next Heir of Isildur.’

Except, could the child truly be the next Heir, even if he was born
a boy, when Legolas had been the father? Logic warred with emotion
as Aragorn struggled with this. ‘According to our traditions, the
descendants of Elendil have all been born by women. Not one Heir of
Isildur has been the mother of his son. And so, logically, the child
I am carrying is the heir to the throne of Mirkwood, not to that of
Gondor.’ This didn’t immediately distress him; there was still time
for Legolas to ‘mother’ a child. ‘But what becomes of my baby,
surely the first child we will have? Will he be denied the throne
simply because he was borne of me? That hardly seems fair.’ Then,
frowning, he consented that it would have been no less fair if his
firstborn was a daughter. But somehow, that seemed more acceptable,
because it had happened before, though rarely. Aragorn the first had
actually been his parents’ third child, having two older sisters.
‘But if I remember the stories aright, that was even a difficulty,
for the sisters were both skilled in leadership. They both brought
great wisdom to the Dunedain, and it is said that though they both
supported their little brother in his chieftainship, they might have
done more for the Dunedain than he did.’ A wan smile played across
his lips. ‘And just imagine Annaleh’s reaction if I gave birth to a
girl and didn’t let her become queen!

‘More so than any of that, though, is this concern: will my people
take a pregnant king? Will they follow a pregnant king and his
handsome husband?’ Aragorn hated himself at that moment for putting
the question of his marriage to Legolas off for so long. ‘Once I
finally accepted that we would live day by day, and worry about
death when it came, I also put aside half-formed concerns about
riding into Gondor with a male elf at my side. Now those concerns
are full-blown fears and I cannot escape them.’

‘Are you aware that you are projecting your thoughts at a ear-
splitting level, mentally speaking?’ Legolas asked. He was still on
the floor, but the mess was almost gone. His eyes, as he lifted his
head and met Aragorn’s startled and contrite gaze, were impossible
to read. ‘Control your panic, Dunadan, and start looking at this one
step at a time. Let’s discuss our baby before we think of anything
else. If you are sure you’re pregnant, how far along do you think
you are? Your options are: two months, one month, one morning.’ He
answered Aragorn’s mental blink. ‘Saru knew almost at once when he
was with child. True, you had to throw up to know, but that doesn’t
mean it isn’t still very early in the pregnancy.’

‘Morning sickness usually only occurs in the first trimester,’
Aragorn said, ‘but that doesn’t preclude any of the times you’ve
named. As to what my body tells me, I would prefer to think that I
became pregnant last night, but I suspect I am pregnant from our
time in Lothlorien. The sensation of life being created under the
golden trees is very strong.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t regret our baby,
Legolas; I could never do that. Please understand that, no matter
what I say next.’

‘I know, Aragorn. I can feel the truth.’ Legolas’ mental voice was
soft, sad. ‘Have we endangered your road to Gondor? I had forgotten-
perhaps purposely- that, though male pregnancy is fine among the
Dunedain, and among the elves and dwarves, it isn’t so among most of
the kingdoms of men. Here in Rohan it is almost enough to warrant
death by hanging.’

‘And how do you know that, love?’

‘Simple; I listen. You can’t tell me you didn’t know.’

‘No, I knew; it is only that my mind was taken up with thoughts of
Gondor. But of course Rohan is Gondor’s sister-country. I must not
destroy that relationship just when it is needed the most. And even
after the war, Gondor would suffer to lose Rohan as an ally.’

‘And you don’t want to lose Eomer, either. You loved his father like
he was your brother and you respect the son and already you begin to
care for him.’

‘Guilty as charged. I saw so much of Eomund in Eomer during our
brief meeting that I cannot imagine him ever disgracing his house.’

‘And what would male pregnancy be in Gondor? Cause for regicide?’

Legolas wasn’t kidding, but Aragorn smiled anyway, a sad, tired
smile. ‘Mayhap,’ he sent. ‘There at least is precedence to protect
me a little: Gil-galad and Elendil openly loved each other, and
their love was accepted by the citizens of Gondor. And even though
they both gave birth, it was Gil-galad who gave birth to Isildur,
the Heir.’

‘But you said that in Gondor it matters not who the mother is.’ Then
Legolas stopped. ‘Except that the father is the one that matters.
Forgive me; that was foolish.’

Aragorn’s smile broadened a little. ‘There is nothing to forgive.
The same thing passed through my mind, I’m sure.’

‘If it did, it was never a completely-conscious idea, because I
would have heard it. You were shouting, remember?’ But Legolas’
embarrassment had passed. ‘So at least men- no less the first King
of Gondor and the King of the Elves- were happily married, and it
was a marriage observed and approved of by all. Shouldn’t that be
enough?’

‘Hardly,’ Aragorn answered, and he recounted what Smetana, Verea,
and the others had said to Malacai about the fact that even though
slavery hadn’t been acceptable to Elendil and some of his
descendants, it had become so later on, and thus shouldn’t be gotten
rid of. ‘If other traditions in Gondor have become commonly known
and sworn by, it will be hard, Elendil or no Elendil, to convince
people that what you and I do is natural.’

‘But you are Aragorn, the Hope of Men, the Savior of Gondor, and the
Leader of elves and dwarves and hobbits as well as other men. Why
won’t they accept you as you are?’

‘Do you not have a concept in your heart of what a king should be? I
know you did once, for you didn’t like Thranduil’s treatment of
those outside his realm or how important wealth was to him. Others
will have different notions of what a king should be, and their
estimates, by and large, will be based not on ancient stories but on
how the Stewards have carried themselves.’

‘You’re saying the people of Gondor are going to expect you to be a
jackass like Denethor?’

Aragorn snorted. ‘Huh. You said that. I didn’t. But yes, most people
will see me as another Denethor.’

‘But with the actual title of King,’ Legolas said. ‘Maybe that will
mean something. I’m sure the Dunedain aren’t the only ones looking
for your return, Aragorn. There have to be honest, dedicated people
still in Gondor, or you would be wasting your time in returning.’ He
sat at last beside Aragorn and took his hands.

‘Yes,’ Aragorn said after a moment, ‘yes, you’re right. Of course
you’re right. I am letting the Shadow-’

‘Not the shadow, just your reluctance to take the crown distracts
you,’ the elf answered. ‘Aragorn, you will come to Gondor soon, and
the blame or glory for all that happens will be laid on your head.
But you must understand that you will not stand alone in the moments
of decision or debate or triumph alone. The Dunedain will be with
you. I will be with you. And that will not change. No matter how you
are received, a pregnant King, I will be there. Whether you and I
are accepted at once, or if we must convince and persuade, I will be
there. Have faith, Aragorn, but remember this, too: you are not
alone. Nor will you ever be.’

‘My Legolas.’ Aragorn’s grey eyes flashed.

A knock at the door startled them both, but they were up and dressed
in a moment. Aragorn went to the door. A guard stood there.

“Theoden King requests your presence in the Golden Hall.”

“Please tell him we’re on our way.”

The guard bowed and left. Aragorn closed the door for a moment,
turning to face Legolas. ‘The morning sickness will almost surely
come again. If only I could predict it with more accuracy so I could
be alone in my moment of weakness.’ Then he amended, ‘Alone with
you, I mean.’

Legolas sent, ‘We’ll keep your dignity intact, Strider; never
fear.’ He crossed to Aragorn and kissed him. ‘Thank you for carrying
our child.’ The joy in his eyes that he’d been hiding while they
discussed the future shone forth. ‘Be glad, Aragorn; a baby isn’t a
miracle that comes every day.’

***

Mordecai was scouting ahead; such was his chosen task. And even
though he’d never traveled to Rivendell, the last mile or so was
easy enough to see. He’d been watched by Aaron as he discovered the
best road to go, and the other Dunedain that followed admired his
skill and his quick learning. True, he wasn’t scouting territory
that wasn’t known, but it was unknown to him, and that was the
difference. And because they still traveled fast, they didn’t
begrudge him the lesson. He’d argued persuasively enough to earn the
right to take some of the responsibilities.

The day before the chosen Dunedain (forty men and twenty-two women)
Mordecai had approached his father and grandmother where they sat in
council in his father’s tent. Bowing to them, calm as any adult,
he’d pled his case. He hadn’t extolled his abilities, knowing that
all the others going were more qualified than he; he simply asked to
go, and asked that they give it due consideration before they
answered. Then, after being dismissed, he stayed out from underfoot,
continuing to help the others pack. This, more than anything else,
decided Annaleh. Kehydi hadn’t said much one way or the others,
saying that he had too much else on his mind. But he’d agreed with
her when she suggested that they let him go. They both knew they
were heading into a fight, that they might not return, and that
battle was no place for a child. But Mordecai had followed in
Malacai’s and Aidan’s footsteps: he would be a good warrior one day.
And until they reached battle, he would learn much on the road. And
Annaleh was not blind to the advantages of taking a child, though
she didn’t like to consider herself a plotting woman. If Aragorn
encountered trouble in Gondor regarding his kingship, a child always
helped to ease the tension and heal misunderstandings.

Half a mile from Rivendell, Mordecai sensed something. He stopped,
as he’d been taught, and listened, not only with his ears, but with
his heart. The world around him was still, and yet he sensed the
far-off approach of horses, and possibly a vehicle of some kind.
None of this seemed threatening, and yet he didn’t want to risk
anything, not with the Dunedain following him. He turned back to
where he knew the others were coming a quarter-mile behind, and
whistled, low and long.

Aaron appeared out of the underbrush at once, his eyes questing
everywhere for danger. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. I feel… something. Horses, maybe. Also a vehicle.
Could I be sensing the elves?”

“Doubtful.” Aaron laid flat out on the ground, his ear pressed to
the soil. He listened, every muscle relaxed but ready. After a
moment, he sprang up, and the excitement and anticipation in his
eyes at first made Mordecai think they were about to enter a battle.
But then the old Dunadan smiled. “Saru,” he said. “And Halbarad.
And-” he saw the anxiety on Mordecai’s face and paused to make sure-
“yes, and Aidan.” None of the Dunedain had spoken of Aidan after
they followed his trail to Bree and saw that it joined with that of
Saru and Halbarad, but all worried for the young man, who had
scarcely set foot outside the camp. All only hoped that he had been
found out by the other Dunedain, men or elf, and that he was
traveling safely with them. ‘Now,’ Aaron thought, ‘we will have the
answer to one question at least: how long was it before they
discovered Aidan?’ It had been a shot in the dark, guessing that
Aidan had hidden in the wagon, but it had panned out. Maybe now
Annaleh could rest.

Mordecai grinned. “Should we alert the others?”

“Call them to us.” Aaron had already taken several steps in the
direction of the sensations he’d received, but he stilled his
restless feet and listened while Mordecai made the call. In moments,
they were surrounded by eager faces. Aaron gestured for Mordecai to
speak.

But the boy didn’t take credit for his perception, and in that, he
was like Saru to the life. “Aaron says Papa and Halbarad are near.
Aidan is with them.”

Annaleh sighed almost imperceptibly.

Kehydi nodded at his son. “Thank you.” Then, to Aaron, “Lead on.”

“Let Mordecai finish his task. He’s led us this far,” Aaron
answered, his voice mellow. He’d hidden the need to move from all
but Annaleh, who knew him too well to be fooled by any such trick.

Kehydi’s nod was impatient. “Fine. Let’s just move.”

Mordecai began to stride forward at once, and the others fell back
into their old pattern. To most, it would appear that Mordecai was
walking alone, with no shadows. So he approached the ford, and so he
crossed it. Only when he was on the other side did the Dunedain melt
out of the surrounding landscape and follow.

Mordecai was met on the far bank by a short-limbed, blond elf, who
bowed to him. “Welcome, Dunadan. The others, returned from the
Lonely Mountain, await you.” Then, as the other Dunedain crossed the
ford, “Aaron! Annaleh! Mae govvannen!””

Annaleh came to him and curtseyed, making the gesture for invisible
skirts. “Lord Glorfindel. Well-met.” She smiled at him. “Please,
tell me: is my grandson here?”

“Aidan traveled with us, yes.” He saw her confusion and explained,
“Elladan and I met up with those of your Dunedain that traveled to
see the Dwarven Council. But come, you must want to see them for
yourselves. Only Saru and Elladan are needed to report to Lord
Elrond; the others are waiting in the gardens.” He looked over the
assembly of Dunedain and bowed to all them. “Hail, Men of the West!”
Turning gracefully, he led them towards the main hall.

Even before he reached the doors, they opened and Aidan and Halbarad
stepped out, followed by Elrohir. The forty Dunedain surged forward
as one, converging on those that had been gone. Annaleh swept Aidan
into her arms, chastising him even as she kissed his cheeks and nose
and wept relieved tears. Aaron came to Halbarad and embraced him.
“All’s well,” Aaron whispered, “though the hour draws near and the
road that the Dunedain travel darkens moment by moment.”

“More than you know,” Halbarad answered in like kind. “I’m only glad
we were able to return with good news as well as bad.” His eyes
flicked over Aaron’s shoulder and Aaron glanced that way discreetly.
His eyes rested on Kehydi, who was hugging his son, but whose eyes,
though joyful, were windows into a mind that was detached from all
that had happened.

“I’ve felt it,” Aaron said, then he stepped away, lest the embrace
become suspect. “I must let you alone so you may greet the others.”

***

Saru bowed to Elrond. He had stood aside while Elladan made his
report, but now Elladan had retired, citing other maters that needed
his attention. “My Lord Elrond,” Saru said and waited.

“Speak, Dunadan.” The elf-lord’s eyes were nearly black, and they
seemed to catch most of the surrounding light, even though it was
daytime.

“We are traveling south and east to meet Aragorn. We ask only a day
of rest here before we continue on.”

“You have that day, and more, if you need it. But answer me this:
what troubles you?”

Saru bowed, seeking to make his words sound less disrespectful.
“Nothing that you can help, my lord. Only Aragorn can heal some
wounds.”

“Do you fear he won’t be able to heal this one?” Elrond sat forward
and, reaching across his desk, laid a hand on Saru’s arm near his
wrist. “You may confide in me, Dunadan. I have known Estel for long
years; I may know if he can help you.”

“Whether he can help me or not, you cannot, and I will go to him in
hope.” He drew back from Elrond. “Please do no account my
determination for rudeness, but there are some things that cannot be
concealed or helped by the power of the elves.”

“I know that well,” Elrond said, and it was the One Ring he was
thinking of. “But why do you use that word, ‘concealed’?”

“Because if Aragorn cannot heal the wound, then it must be
concealed, and maybe he can teach me that, too.”

“Estel was never skilled at hiding things for long. Just like his
love for Legolas, whatever you seek to hide will most likely be
exposed.”

“At least then, if it is exposed, I will be in Gondor, and there I
might be separated from my suffering for a little while.”

“I fear you have been speaking with Gandalf and have taken to his
way of speaking in riddles.”

Saru’s hands went to his hair, his fingers running through it.
“Please, my lord. I don’t wish to continue this. I must not tell you
my troubles. Is it not enough that your sons know and Glorfindel
knows? Please don’t make me repeat my suffering again.” His voice
broke then, and Saru stood before Elrond, his hands clasped before
him, his head bowed.

“Fair enough, Dunadan,” Elrond said after a moment. “I won’t press
you. I was only wishing to help.”

Saru nodded. “I know. Thank you.”

“Would you talk of my sons? I must know what they mean to do about
the coming Sea-crossing.”

The man was startled by the sudden change in topic. “I haven’t- they
haven’t said anything. I know Elrohir loves Halbarad, but that is
all I know.”

His anguish was apparent, and so Elrond let him go, saying only one
more thing: “You cannot exist long in the midst of such pain,
Dunadan. Seek help before it is too late.”

Released, Saru left the study. He’d sensed the arrival of the
Dunedain as soon as they had come into the valley, and that
accounted for some of his shortness with Elrond. Striding down the
main corridor, he saw the open doors ahead, thrown wide to let in
all the air and light possible. The Dunedain had opted to stay
outside, and so others had joined them there. Saru made sure his
face was right and his hands were steady before he stepped into the
doorway.

Mordecai leapt up the steps to meet him, and Cein and Morwen
followed, their eyes shining. Saru saw, just before his ten-year old
bowled into him, that Cein would give birth in another month or so.
Why had she come? And why was Mordecai here? Saru kissed his son’s
forehead, then wrapped his arms around all three of his children, no
easy feat with his own swollen belly. “I’ve missed you,” he
whispered, closing his eyes against sudden tears. ‘The Dunedain
don’t cry.’ The sheer idiocy of that fallacy hit him, and Saru wept
anyway.

“Papa,” Mordecai whispered, and he was crying, too. “We missed you.”
He hugged Saru extra hard and on either side of him, Morwen and Cein
tightened their holds.

Saru felt the tears of his daughters on his cheeks and neck, and he
wondered if he would be able to give them up if the time came when
he must follow the hope of the Dunedain. ‘Such things are the stuff
of nightmares,’ he thought. ‘I’ll not think on them.’ He kissed his
children and enjoyed their hands on him, their voices sweet music in
his ears. “Aye, and I love you, too,” he answered them. “And I
missed you. Aidan and I both did. Have you greeted your brother?”
and “Yes, I’ve finally begun to show. Your new brother or sister
will be born in a month or two” until at last they’d all had enough
to allow them to step back for at least a little while.

Glorfindel, who had retreated inside, appeared then, and summoned
Elladan, Elrohir, Kehydi, Annaleh and Saru to a council. Just before
these five could disappear into the house, Aaron caught Saru’s eye
and drew him to one side. “Be wary of Kehydi.”

Saru’s eyes were dark with sorrow. “Please hope that it won’t come
to that.” Then he followed the others.

The council chamber was open to the sky, but it was surrounded on
all sides by high walls that looked so much newer than the rest of
the buildings that Saru, surprised out of his sadness for a moment
or two, gazed at them in wonder. ‘Were these built after Aragorn
left on the Quest? Yes; they must have been.’ He found a place in
the wide circle beside Kehydi and a little distance from the twins,
who sat to the right of Elrond. Glorfindel sat on the elf-lord’s
left. Annaleh sat off to Saru’s right, almost across form Elladan.

Kehydi hadn’t hugged him; he’d taken Saru’s hand as they walked the
halls, but he didn’t nothing else. True, that could be because he
didn’t want to give in to emotion when they needed clear thinking,
but Saru longed to weep; he knew what a lie that was. Ad now, as
they sat in the circle, he felt the tears pressing in on him.
Forcing them back, trying again to look only forward, he hoped
Elrond would start soon.

“Will the Dunedain leave tonight?” Elrond asked, and Saru decided it
was relatively safe to breathe again.

“Yes,” Kehydi replied. “We will leave under cover of darkness.”
Saru’s hand was still in his, and he gripped the slender, strong
fingers in his own. “Is there any message you would have us take to
Aragorn?”

“Only this: ‘If time presses and allies are too few, remember the
Paths of the Dead.’ He will understand that and though I am sure it
is a path he would avoid at almost any cost, it is a road that could
save many lives.” He gazed at those around the circle. “Please, if
there are any questions you wish to ask of me, ask them now. Time
grows short, and I would speak with my sons before it slips away.”

Annaleh spoke at once. “We need your help, Lord Elrond. There are
talented seamstresses among us, and our tailors are unmatched by
men. But we need elven skill to create the standard for Aragorn’s
return to the throne. I wouldn’t ask, except that we didn’t
trulyunderstand the task before now. Saru and the others asked the
dwarves to sew the jewels into the black fabric, and that was well
done, but it isn’t enough. We need someone to help finish Aragorn’s
symbol. Please, Lord Elrond, hear our plea.” She closed her eyes for
a moment. “And yet understand that we would not be able to remain
here; whoever you named to help us, if you chose to name someone,
that elf would have to come with us.” Her face suddenly bore the
weight of all the years she had lived. “I know who the greatest
seamstress is in your household, Lord, but I would not ask for her.
And yet, our need is great, as I have said, and so maybe I need to
ask.” Another pause, then Annaleh collected herself. “Lady Arwen’s
skills are unmatched, Lord. I know it infuriates you to hear me
speak of separating her from her home, but I ask that you send her
for the love that you have for Aragorn, and for the one-time,
unparalleled alliance between elves and men.” She bowed her head,
her eyes closed once more, and was silent.

Saru stared at her for a moment, but then he turned his eyes on
Kehydi. He’d know none of this, but when he saw his husband’s face,
he saw that Kehydi knew of this. ‘How can we ask such a thing? And
yet, how can we not? Aragorn is our King, our Hope, but, more than
that, he is our brother, father and chief.’

“You would have me sew this standard all the way to Gondor?” Arwen
Undomiel stepped from the archway that led into the rest of the
house. Her hair cascaded down her back, and the star she wore on a
chain about her neck caught the light and winked at all of them.
“And there Estel would display it as his symbol of royalty?”

“Arwen…” Both twins had spoken, and their identical tones of awe
rippled across the intervening space.

“What has happened, Sister?” Elladan asked.

She bowed her head and a shadow passed over her face. “I have
suffered much since you both left, though it was only for a short
time. I see now the foolishness of the choice I had made, and I beg
your forgiveness.” She glided towards them, but then turned to the
Dunedain. “Would you turn from us for a time?”

Saru rose and the others followed him from the circle. Glorfindel,
too, went.

Alone with her brothers and her father, Arwen whispered, “I have
lost all drive to marry Estel. I thought at first that I loved him,
and yet I didn’t know what love was.” Her eyes darkened with grief.
“I know now. I have had long days to dwell on the love both of my
brothers have found. Please understand that all I want now is o
leave these shores of suffering, even though I dread being parted
from you.” She went to Elladan and kissed his cheek. “You always
talked of love when Nana left us. And though I didn’t understand it
then, I do now. Love isn’t an ideal; it isn’t about happiness. It’s
about long-suffering and resolve. And it’s about the joy of knowing
you love and are loved.” She laughed, low, but only a little bitter.
“I never loved Estel; I thought of him as a feather in my cap and as
someone I could leave when he finally died and I was ready to sail.”
She kissed Elladan again. “Pleaes, Elladan, understand that you
taught me more than you think. I’m just so glad you kept repeating
the lessons to me. Without your constant love, I would have made
many more terrible mistakes than I have already made.”

Arwen wrapped her arms around Elrohir’s neck. “I don’t want to lose
either of you, but I know I will. You were always closer to each
other than you were to me.” She laid a finger against his lips as he
tried to protest. “Don’t argue, and don’t feel guilty; it’s true,
but I take no offense.” She lowered her hand. “Elrohir, I’m so glad
you’ve found love here. I’m afraid that I’ll never see you again,
but I want you to have love’s joy.” She kissed him, then looked at
all of her family. “I’ll be sailing with Ada, but that won’t be
quite yet. I’ll go with the Dunedain to Gondor, and I’ll help them
sew the standard. And maybe I’ll have a chance to beg his
forgiveness.”

Elrond gazed at her, his eyes troubled. But he didn’t argue; there
was no use. He could see that. “Will you both go with her, to
protect her?”

The twins nodded and, as one, they embraced Arwen, kissing her
cheeks. She held onto them, then went to her father and hugged him.
“I must get ready,” she said. “Please understand that I love you,
Ada, but I must do this.”

He nodded. “I do understand, Daughter.” He kissed her cheek. As she
glided away, he said to his sons, “She has grown up much since you
both left, more so than in all the centuries since Celebrain sailed.
Go with her, protect her, and I pray all of you will come home
safe.” Then, after a moment, “And before you leave, I must speak
with the both of you, with Glorfindel, and with Halbarad. A decision
stands before you, and though I am sure you have discussed it among
yourselves, I would hear your honest words for myself before you
go.”

***

The Dunedain needed to rest, but none of them wanted to venture
inside the hall, and so Lindir showed them to a clearing where they
could wait. They arrived there at noon, and the elves of Imladris
fed them. All ate, but not much; they wanted to be able to march
without distraction. Groups of elves brought them leaf-wrapped
lembas, and the Dunedain took these with many a bow and a thank-you,
their dour expressions lifting in the sight of such kindness.
Annaleh and the other women packed away the lembas and packed the
feast-food which hadn’t been consumed. Saru accepted healing herbs
from the elves. He gave over the furnishing of the wagon to his
children. They settled it well, using small places for herbs, but
leaving the greater part for Arwen. She tried, once, to argue that
they must not go to such trouble for her, but she was flattered, and
they treated her like their princess.

Cein and Morwen marveled at the change in Aidan, and Mordecai just
enjoyed it. Aidan was approachable, suddenly smiling and helping and
asking for help. He looked so much like Saru as he moved about, the
weight gone from around his neck, that his siblings thought
secretly, ‘He should go away more often, or at least he should have
gone away long before this.’ Then Morwen would giggle, or Cein would
shake her head and roll her eyes, then they would move on. There was
much to do and not much time for daydreaming.

And yet, as the day moved down towards sunset and the twins,
Glorfindel and Halbarad hadn’t emerged from their council with
Elrond, there was noting for the Dunedain to do but sit in the
clearing and wait.

Saru meditated on the fact that Kehydi hadn’t done more than hold
his hand since he’d returned. He tried to think of something,
anything, else, but his mind kept returning to that simple fact. And
when he glanced at Aidan, he saw the anger and sadness warring in
his son’s eyes, and knew that Aidan saw Kehydi’s distance, even
though he’d been spared the council on the road back from the Lonely
Mountain. As Saru gazed at him, he felt a wave of love for his son.
But the wave was capped with shame- ‘why should my son have to know
his parents’ problems? He shouldn’t have to suffer that’- and Saru,
gazing at his son, suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

Kehydi, for his part, seemed fascinated by the play of light between
the leaves above hem, and maybe by the elves singing among the
branches. But maybe he was meditating on his own pain (whatever pain
that might be; Saru couldn’t imagine it) and not taking in the music
from the surrounding world at all.

“When will the council be over?” Aidan asked.

Saru’s stomach did a little twist beneath his ribs and he thought,
‘He’s said that before- or something very much like it.’ Aloud, he
answered, “As soon as they’re done deciding who’s going with us.”
And that caused his nausea to increase. ‘I’ve said something like
that before, too.’ At last, he remembered the vision he’d had after
Aragorn left to take Legolas to Mirkwood. ‘I told the vision to
Kehydi and…’ He shivered. ‘And Malacai will be walking into this
clearing any moment.’ He sucked in his breath and groaned.

“Saru?” Annaleh was at his side then, her hand on his shoulder.
“What is it?”

“I’ve dreamed this- seen it in a vision- and Malacai…” He swallowed.
“Malacai will be appearing soon. And I don’t want to see him. I’m
afraid. I can hear ghosts, like all others, but to actually see him-
I can’t do it, Mother!”

Above them, the elves stopped singing, and Saru rose, hearing the
Dunedain rise around him. He longed to look away, to cover his ears,
maybe even to run. But he knew he would do no such thing. Annaleh
took his hand and squeezed hard. He nodded without taking his eyes
from the gap between the trees. ‘Please, Malacai, don’t come.
Please. I can’t bear to see you.’

Three figures appeared: two elves and a tall, beautiful man. His
face was hidden by the shifting shadows, but his bearing was so
regal that how could he be anyone but Malacai son of Melchelai? Saru
felt his tears starting. All reason had left him.

As the small group stepped fully into the light, Saru was so sure he
would see Malacai that he actually began to kneel before his former
master. Then Annaleh whispered, “It’s Halbarad.” She laughed weakly.
“Of course it’s Halbarad; he went to the council.” She shook her
head and looked at her son. “Saru, it’s all right; it’s Halbarad.
Your vision must have been-”

“It was right. I just assumed…” Saru was blushing from hairline to
chin. “I can’t believe I thought… I must be…”

Aidan said, “How can you not make mistakes? Aren’t you a Ranger too,
Papa?”

The amusement layered over the reproof made Saru laugh and he hugged
his son. “I love you, Aidan.”

Elladan- ‘he looks like the Lord of Imladris, as if he’s been
leading expeditions for years,’ Saru thought- strode forward and
bowed to Kehydi, though he included Saru in his glance. “We’re ready
to leave when you are, Dunedain. Elrohir, Glorfindel and I will be
joining you, if you don’t mind.”

Kehydi frowned. “We don’t need help protecting her. Your sister will
be safe.”

“True enough, I have no doubt,” Elladan answered. “But our father
asked Elrohir and I to go; let us please him. Will you let us go?”

The frown deepened, but then he nodded. “All right. You may come.”
Turning, he gestured for the Dunedain to retrieve their horses. “We
leave as soon as all are mounted.”

The forty moved away in one direction. Halbarad, Saru, Aidan and the
twins went to the stables. “What did I do?” Halbarad asked, his
voice a near-whisper as he walked beside Saru.

“It wasn’t you.” He laughed weakly. “I… It’s silly. I’m all right
now.” He glanced over his shoulder, and Halbarad followed his gaze
to where Kehydi was just disappearing between two trees.

“He’s worse than we thought, isn’t he?” the older Dunadan asked.

Saru nodded. “Yes. I-I’m afraid for him. And for us.” He leaned
against Halbarad so suddenly and so completely that the older man
almost didn’t catch him. “We need Aragorn,” Saru said.

Halbarad nodded. “I know. But we’ll see him soon. At last we’re
following the road he took.”

The other stood on his own. “Thank you.” His smile was as weak as
his laugh. “That helps.”

***

The mustering of the fighting men of Rohan took only two hours-
there were so few left, since Eomer had taken the loyal ones with
him. And so it was that well before noon, Theoden sat astride his
horse, ready to lead most of his people to Helm’s Deep. There was
nervous, excited talk among the ranks, and Aragorn was troubled by
the lack of battle-readiness he saw among them. The older men-
younger than Aragorn, but ancient by Rohirrim standards- were grim
and silent, but each looked so exhausted already that the Ranger
couldn’t imagine them fighting. And then there were the young men,
almost boy. Stars, many were boys, younger than little Mordecai,
who’d at least had Raven and Nella, adult Rangers, to protect him.
Aragorn’s heart ached to see their ‘troops’ and could only pray
there would be no actual fighting.

That was impossible. War was coming, and it was coming to Rohan,
whether the king and his people were ready or not. Aragorn mounted
Hasufel, who had been gifted (grudgingly) to him by Theoden only
half an hour ago. But as he settled himself in the saddle and waited
for the order to ride (slowly, slowly; women and children were on
feet all around them) his mind drifted back to that morning.

After the council with Theoden and several of his advisors, knowing
that Legolas was busy packing their gear (he’d volunteered to help,
but after he’d thrown up the night before, Legolas ordered him to
stay out of their chambers, saying only that Aragorn needed to be in
the fresh air as much as possible, and, oh, by the way, did Aragorn
eat? His lover’s concern was heartwarming and took the edge off
Aragorn’s anxiety about the coming birth. He was worried about the
morning sickness, but not for the reason he and Legolas had laughed
over; he feared it would come upon him in a moment when others
desperately needed him. Compared to his thoughts about Gondor, his
concerns about inopportune weakness were but musings. 

He’d left the king’s presence and sought out a place to think.
Wandering about, trying not to look as troubled as he felt, Aragorn
found himself near the stables,
panicked and infuriated whinnying of a steed. Venturing inside, he
saw almost at once where three men with long ropes were trying to
soothe a frighted, handsome stallion. Aragorn had approached,
holding out a pacifying hand. Speaking softly in Elvish, he’d
reached up to catch a rope and draw the stallion’s head down.
Talking, stroking, he’d calmed the stallion. His voice had come
across as almost singing, and dimly he’d been aware of the blonde
woman who had given Theoden her arm to lean on as he took some of
his first free steps unaided.

She spoke. “His name is Brego. He was my cousin’s. Theodred’s.”

Aragorn nodded. “He should go free. He’s seen enough of battle.”
Even as spoke, he removed the halter while other men moved
cautiously closer and unbuckled his girth and took away his saddle
and blankets. When Brego stood free, he hesitated a moment, nuzzled
Aragorn’s shoulder, then, as everyone cleared a path, he fled the
stables. Aragorn had stood still, listening until he was gone. “I
know how you feel, friend,” he’d whispered. “I, too, tire of war.”

The maiden had said, “I have heard of the magic of elves, but did
not look for it in a ranger of the North. You speak as one of their
own.”

“I was raised in Rivendell,” Aragorn had replied, “the home of
Elrond Half-Elven.” He offered her a small smile, all he could
manage as the happiness at releasing a tired soldier to freedom was
swept away by worries about the coming battle. “I’m Aragorn.” He
bowed to her.

She curtsied. “Eowyn.”

His eyes had filled with understanding and appreciation. “You’re
Eomer’s sister. I might have known you would stay here to clear your
brother’s name and to tned your uncle. I knew your father. He was a
noble and honorable man. It was my great priveldge to ride with him
for a time.”

Calling himself back to the present, Aragorn looked about, taking in
all those around him, unconsciously seeking Legolas. When he spotted
his lover, mounted on Arod (another gift) with Gimli behind him, he
nodded, acknowledging that, for better or worse, they were both in
this war, and they would see it through to the end. And, like
Legolas’ loving concern, that comforted him.

A horn was blown, and the company began its long, slow march away
from the Golden Hall of Theoden’s fathers.

Many turned back, to view their home a final time. Even the king
turned back. But Aragorn was conscious only of the woman who rode
beside Theoden King. She wore chain mail, and she carried a sword,
but her hair was unbound. ‘Eowyn,’ he thought, ‘you know little of
war. And yet you may succeed where many of these will not: you have
skill with the blade, and a spirit to match. Who among these can
claim so much?’ Recalling how he had crossed blades with the king’s
sister-daughter, he nodded to himself. ‘Yes. She would be a good
fighter if she were allowed into battle.’ Rohan law was clear on tha
subject, and so Aragorn didn’t dwell on it. ‘Besides, if many others
fall, and if Eomer doesn’t return, Eowyn will be needed to comfort
her uncle. She must not be lost in the coming battle.’ The Ranger
resolved to keep Eowyn out of the fight, even if she begged him
(possible) or tried to trick him (much more likely). ‘It is only for
the good of Rohan that I do this, my lady,’ he thought. ‘I hope you
won’t be insulted by my attempts.’ But he guessed that she was
proud, and that nothing he would say would matter; it would be his
actions that she would judge him by. ‘Then by those actions I’ll be
condemned because I won’t let her die when she is needed.’

Four hours later, as they traveled along the edge of the mountains
(and into the mountains themselves, sometimes) Aragron rode a little
behind Gimli, who had taken a liking to Eowyn. She, too, seemed to
enjoy his company, and, because Legolas was scouting ahead and there
was little for Aragorn to hear in the midst of the many people, he
listened to their conversations.

“May I ask you a personal question, Gimli?” Eowyn’s voice was
tentative, a little too afraid of intruding.

“Of course!” The dwarf’s answer rang with the high spirits Aragorn
usually associated with a dwarf well into his cups: not tipsy, just
out ot have a good time.

“Why don’t we see dwarf women? I’ve never seen a dwarf man either,
but at least I’ve heard of you.”

Gimli chuckled. “It’s true you don’t see many dwarf women. And in
fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance, that they’re often
mistaken for dwarf men.”

‘A good way to answer the question,’ Aragorn conceded. ‘This way you
didn’t have to tell her that baby dwarf girls are rare, seven in
fifty boy births. It wasn’t always like that, but the count was
never more than one in five. No one understands why the change
occurred, except that maybe it was because the Age of Men was
coming.’ His lip almost curled as he thought of that. Many men took
pride in the fact that they were increasing in number while all
other sentient races diminished, but Aragorn had always longed for a
world where man, dwarf, elf, hobbit, Istari, and Ent could dwell in
peace and safety, depending on each other and learning from each
other.

He couldn’t make any sort of face, though, because Eowyn was looking
at him, as if for an explanation. “It’s the beards,” he said,
whispering dramatically to make her smile. He stroked his own beard
to make sure she understood. Her smile was radiant as the dawn and
he was determined anew to keep her from the coming fight.

“And this, in turn, has given rise to the belief that there are no
dwarf women, and that dwarves just spring out of the ground!”

Eowyn’s joyous laughter rang out over the party. Many turned to gaze
at her, and many smiled, nodding, glad to see her so content.

Gimli was laughing harder, smiling at her. “Which is, of course,
ridiculous,” he said, giving the reins of the horse he was sitting
on (Eowyn’s own, so that Legolas could have Arod) a hard tug. The
mare, docile, yet obedient, started to canter, carrying the helpless
dwarf along with her. Aragorn kenw the two wouldn’t get far. There
were others on horses in front of them, and Gimli was already
slipping to the side. Before Aragorn could call out in Elvish to
calm the dwarf’s mount, or try to urge his own to move a little more
quickly, Gimli fell off. Shaking his head, Aragorn waited to see
what excuse the dwarf would give for his mistake and embarrassing,
rough meeting with the ground.

Eowyn dashed forward to help Gimli, but the dwarf was already
struggling up. “It’s all right. Tss all right. Nobody panic,” he was
saying, though only some were looking at him, and hose were smiling.
Even Eowyn was laughing a little as she bent down and grasped his
arm. “That was deliberate,” Gimli went on. “It was deliberate.”

Aragorn grinned. ‘Friend Gimli, if nothing else has been
accomplished during our journey from Rivendell, you’ve developed a
thicker skin.’

“I’ve not seen my niece smile for a long time,” Theoden said. He’d
ridden up beside Aragorn. Now the Ranger turned to him respectfully.
“She was a girl when hey brought her father back dead, cut down by
orcs.”

‘So that is how you died, most noble Eomund. I pray you died with
your sword in your hand and two dozen dead enemies at your feet.’

“She watched her mother succumb to grief. And she was left alone to
tend her king in growing fear and-” He stopped, then started again
at once, as if to hide his hesitation. “Doomed to wait on an old man
who should have loved her as a father.”

Even as he felt sympathy for Eowyn and Theoden, Aragorn thought, ‘I
know now approximately how long ago it was that Wormtongue began his
leechcraft. And I know, too, how recently Eomund died. At least he
had some time to live.’ He couldn’t think of anything to say to
Theoden that might comfort him.

Near sunset, the company stopped. It had been a long day of travel,
and there would be still more tomorrow. But they would reach Helm’s
Deep before dark the next day if they kept this pace, and that was
reassuring to Aragorn. When the enemy came, he wanted as many as
could be kept safe within the walls of the Deep.

Sitting alone, after securing the perimeter of the makeshift camp,
Aragorn’s thoughts turned to Gandalf and his search for Eomer. ‘Let
them be close by,’ he thought. ‘Let them have disobeyed the order
for banishment and be near at hand. We surely need them now, if we
ever did.’ Dimly he heard Eowyn saying something to Gimli and
Gimli’s reply. The dwarf sounded distracted, almost nervous.
Curious, Aragorn glanced up. But when he saw Eowyn with a pot of
stew and his friend continuing on with only a little haste, he
relaxed. All was well. Perhaps Gimli only had to make water and
wasn’t srue where to do it within the press of so many people.

Eowyn came to him then, and he met her gaze, wondering, for the
first time, how she expected to feed so many from such a small pot.
It was easily a third as big as Annaleh’s smallest one. Then he
rebuked himself for thinking so little of her. ‘There must be other
pots. She’s just handling this side of the camp.’

She smiled. “I made some stew. It isn’t much, but it’s hot.” Eowyn
dipped a dark-wood bowl into the pot and handed it to him. When she
was sure he could manage it, she gave him a wooden spoon to match.

Aragorn had half been expecting no spoon (not that he hadn’t taken
his soup straight before) and said, “Thank you,” meaning both for
the stew and the utensil. He dipped the spoon into the thick, grey-
brown broth. He could see a vastly-overcooked, probably old potato
floating there, amid other things he couldn’t identify. He aimed for
the potato. ‘It doesn’t have a bad smell; it may not be much, as she
said, but it’s food. I hope the children and elderly got enough to
last them the journey.’ Then he brought the spoon to his mouth.

The potato wasn’t a potato- he knew that at once. It squelched when
he bit down, and the slime on his tongue reminded him of a frog he’d
swallowed on a dare when he was ten. He’d paused with the spoon half
in his mouth, and when he glanced up, to see if she was gone so he
could discreetly spit out the non-potato, Aragorn realized she was
waiting for his approval. ‘When did my taste start to matter so
much, and why must it matter now?’ He swallowed the half-chewed
thing, nodding and making a sound of contentment. When the spoor or
fungus or orc-dropping was down, he said, “It’s good.” His voice
didn’t come out perfect, but it seemed that she believed him.

“Really?” That dawn-smile came back and she turned away, heading off
to feed others.

Aragorn watched her go with a mixture of guilt, relief, and concern
for those she would offer soup next. Then he realised, ‘Now I know
why Gimli left her so fast. He has better sense than I do.’ Aragorn
only hoped Legolas wouldn’t get wind of the incident. He began to
dump the soup out on the ground beside him. It blended in nicely
with the dirt.

Eowyn turned back to him, and Aragorn quickly righted the bowl,
dipping the spoon into it once more as if he’d been about to take
another bite. He pasted a polite smile on his face.

“My uncle told me a strange thing,” she said, moving near again. “He
said you rode to war with Thengel, my grandfather. But he must be
mistaken.”

‘So he remembers me,’ Aragorn thought. ‘That bodes well; if I must
lead these people into battle, it is well that he remembers that I
fought beside his father loyally.’ “Theoden King has a good memory.
He was only a small child at the time.”

Eowyn squatted down beside him, her eyes wondering. “Then you must
be at least sixty,” she whispered.

‘There’s an age I haven’t seen in a long time. Back when I was
sixty, Malacai was sill alive.’ He tried to keep the pain from his
face.

“Seventy?” she asked. Then, seeing that he still didn’t nod, “You
cannot be eighty.” Total disbelief rang in every syllable.

Aragorn met her eyes when he spoke, wanting her to believe. “Eight-
seven.” ‘And there are days I feel every year, just as there are
days I could be fifty years younger.’ A random thought crossed his
mind, and Aragorn marveled, ‘In fact, it’s been exactly fifty years
since Legolas came into my life.’ Some of the remembered pain of
Malacai’s death went with that realisation.

Eowyn stood and took a step back from him. “You are one of the
Dunedain. A descendent of Numenor, blessed with long life.”

‘She knows the stories. Who taught her? Nothing is written down in
Rohan; where did she hear of the island kingdom?’ Aragorn marveled
that such knowledge would be memorized by her, and marveled even
more that someone who teach lore to a woman. Such was commonplace
among the Dunedain, but among the people of Rohan or Gondor? Rare.

Eowyn continued, unaware that his thoughts had wandered. She was
smiling again, and that sense of wonder hadn’t left her eyes. “It
was said your race had passed ino legend.”

‘Well, accurate enough. The Breelanders only know of us as
rangers.’ His mind wanted to go to those he’d lost once again, but
he forbade it, saying only, “There are few of us left. The northern
kingdom was destroyed long ago.” And perhaps even that was too much
to tell her, for she looked stricken.

Then she smiled, a little embarrassed expression, and said, “I’m
sorry. Please, eat.”

‘And you’re going to stand here while I do it, aren’t you?’ Aragorn
repressed a sigh. Bringing the spoon loaded with dirty water to his
lips, he struggled to swallow once more and look cheerful about it.

Chapter Eighty

That night, the civilians slept in little clumps, and the fighters
slept restlessly, near the borders of the camp. Only Aragorn,
Legolas, and Gimli were awake to guard the sleepers, but that was
all right; Aragorn thought the boys and old men needed all the sleep
they could get.

They patrolled separately, making circles around the camp, slow
circles broken by pauses as they looked out into the night and
checked for intruders. Their strategy was one Melchelai’s great
great grandfather had devised when there were only a few sentries to
protect a large group. Legolas had learned it early on in his
training, and though Gimli hadn’t, the dwarf had picked it up with
the speed of a trained fighter. Aragorn was deeply grateful for
this; it was almost like having his Dunedain by his side.

Except it wasn’t quite like that, because Aragorn could see how
distracted Legolas was; his lover was almost frantic. He patrolled,
yes, and he did the right things, moving the right way, pausing at
the right times to listen, but his face was a pinched mask of worry.
And when he darted glances at Aragorn, the Ranger could see how
haunted his eyes were. Aragorn suspected the vision as the culprit,
but this was neiher the time or place to talk to his lover. And,
perhaps, watching Legolas’ distracted air was like watching Malacai
worry about something he couldn’t possibly control. Such thoughts
were destructive, and Aragorn knew he was going to have to make time
to talk to Legolas. Unfortunately, that couldn’t be now. ‘When
battle comes, there isn’t time for building up others in any way but
to their duty. And that isn’t what Legolas needs; he knows his duty,
will do that very thing to the end.’

Aragorn sent a thought across the intervening darkness, not wanting
to distract his lover any more than he already was, but needing to
send one gentle command. ‘Legolas, don’t worry about something you
can’t control. If we’re to be attacked, you can’t prevent that. Just
be ready for the moment when it comes.’

The elf’s anger swept over him like a sudden, fifty-meter high wave
that sprang out of a calm sea. ‘Shut up, Aragorn. And get out of my
mind. If I want to prepare in my own way, let me.’ And he closed
their bond.

The Ranger stood stock still for a moment, then got himself moving
again, patrolling again. Now it was his own thoughts he had to
marshal, and his own concern that he had to beat down.

***

Eowyn had been studying Aragorn as the company resumed its journey
the next day. He looked preoccupied and troubled. Thinking to
distract him, and because she had an insatiable curiosity that had
long been Eomer’s greatest fuel for gentle teasing, she asked,
“Where is she?”

Aragorn glanced at her, one eyebrow raised.

“The woman who gave you that stone?”

While they lay together in Lothlorien after making love, Legolas had
rolled onto his side, then sat up. “Aragorn?”

“Yes, Beloved?”

“I want you to wear something for me.” Legolas took the necklace
with the red stone on it off over his head. He held it out to
Aragorn, who was now sitting. “I will take it back when we reach
Gondor, when we wed. But I want you to wear it for now. In Malacai’s
memory. In memory of the Dunedain. And because it will give you
strength to have it near.”

“I have you,” he had argued.

“Yes, but now you will also have this. I know soon we will not be
side by side every moment. Please take it, so I know you’ll have
comfort if I’m not there.”

Aragorn took the necklace and slipped it over his own head. The red
stone dropped into his shirt as if it belonged there. He smiled.
“Thank you, Dunadan.”

Legolas kissed him. “Good. You’ve accepted it. Now get some sleep.”
And without another word (though he couldn’t completely hide the
smile that tugged at his lips) Legolas had turned away, curling up
on his side. He had drifted into reverie a moment later.

“My lord?” Eowyn’s hand was on his arm for a moment, then she pulled
back, as if realising it wasn’t her right. (Though she longed for it
to be; she’d felt the electric spark pass between them when she
touched him, and as she pulled away, her fingers still tingled.)

Aragorn came back to the present. “Prince Legolas gave it to me.”

‘As a token of friendship? Elves are strange.’ But his answer eased
her mind, for if Legolas had given it to him, and not a maiden, then
more than likely he was still available. ‘And we would be an
unbeatable team, winning battles for out people. We would not be
like most monarchs, who sit on their thrones while their men go to
war; we would lead them.’

***

On a ridge high above the winding company, Legolas stood straight as
one of his arrows. His mind reeled with the implications of his
dream and Aragorn’s useless assurances. ‘Of course you aren’t
concerned; it’s your life, and you’ve always been willing to lay it
down for others. But you are my lover, and I cannot just wait and
see what will happen!’ His eyes found Aragorn in the slowly-moving
line, just behind Gimli and the blond-haired woman, Eowyn. He
couldn’t see Aragorn’s face, but he thought that maybe his lover was
troubled. ‘Have my words reached you at last? May the Valar curse
you, Strider, you’re not immortal! And even if you were, immortals
die too, all the time. Can’t you see that and acknowledge it? At
least don’t ride so near the king, who will likely be the center of
any attack!’ But Aragorn would never listen to him.

Turning away, Legolas scanned the country they were about to
traverse. At first, he saw nothing. But then his ears picked up the
frightened whinny of a horse. Taking a single step forward, Legolas
stared hard at the two Rohirrim scouts that had gone on ahead. After
a moment, he saw Hama on his jittery, panicked horse. Following the
horse’s line of sight, Legolas realised the threat hadn’t come into
view yet. Had the horse seen a simple snake?

Then, from atop a ridge above the men, an orc appeared. He was
riding a foul-toothed warg, and Legolas at once sprinted towards the
attack. His knives were out and ready as he bounded over the hard
ground. But he wasn’t in time to save either Rohirrim soldier. They
were cut down, and their throats ripped out, even as he raced
towards them. One-Hama- had managed to kill the orc, but the warg
was still alive to kill the horse he rode, and then him. Hama cried
out as he fell, and behind him, from the direction of the company,
Legolas heard running feet. He recognized Aragorn’s stride.

Legolas was close enough now to smell the warg’s rancid breath. The
thing was turning towards him, preparing to lunge. The elf moved
first, sinking both of his knives hilt-deep into the warg’s hide,
one at the throat and the other at the temple. The warg died with a
snarl on its lips.

Aragorn stopped two dozen paces behind Legolas. The elf glanced over
his shoulder, his eyes blazing. “A scout!” And as Aragorn sprinted
back the way he’d come, the elf ripped his knives- Glorfindel’s
knives, he realised- free and turned to follow. There would be a
short pause between this first attack and the onslaught, but it
would be very short.

Aragorn was already shouting, warning the people. “Wargs!” he
shouted, and Legolas had a moment to wonder if these people even
knew what wargs were. But Aragorn’s next words left no doubt: “We’re
under attack!”

The people panicked; of course they did. Legolas ignored a sudden
spike of rage. Saruman- for he must have sent the warg riders-
wouldn’t even hesitate to kill women and children. The faithless,
evil wizard deserved nothing more than death. In the back of
Legolas’ mind, he acknowledged that his rage was fueled by fear,
also; this was the attack that would end Aragorn’s life.

“Not today,” the elf whispered, sheathing his knives. Gimli was
riding to meet him, though it would be more accurate to say Arod was
galloping to him and the dwarf was along for the ride, and Legolas
cursed his sharp words to Aragorn even as he resolved that he would
have a chance to recant them.

Theoden was ordering all his riders to the head of the column of
people; the others, Legolas realised, would flee to Helm’s Deep by
the steeper road. All able-bodied men were heading Legolas’ way, so
the elf simply stood his ground on the rise of land, fitting an
arrow to the string. The horses would pass around him, and Arod
would find him, but before he mounted, there would be enemies to
kill. Over another rise in the land, wargs and their masters poured.
Legolas counted close to twenty riders. ‘Oh for the Dunedain behind
me, who have fought these beasts, or at least for my father’s
guards, who are quick to learn any new adversary’s ways.’

He had time for two shots- two orc-deaths- before the horses cleared
the rise. Turning, sensing Arod close, Legolas swung up into the
saddle, letting his momentum carry him and his balance keep him from
toppling over the far side. Gimli was in the saddle, but give the
dwarf his due: when he saw Legolas, he moved back, despite the fact
that this put him off-balance. The moment Legolas was firmly seated,
one strong dwarf-hand grasped his cloak and held on. The other
gripped a short throwing-axe.

They met- man and horse, orc and warg- on the level plain, and that
was good for the horses, and no better or worse for the wrags.
Legolas shot another warg from under its rider, and then another
creature- like a rabid wolf it was- collided with Arod, and Gimli
was thrown from the saddle. Legolas wasn’t too worried; the dwarf’s
armor would protect him. But he was still hard-pressed not to seek
out Gimli at once. Moments later, he heard the dwarf bellow at the
warg, “Bring your pretty face to my axe.” And partly because he
wanted to tease his friend, even in battle (though Legolas also saw
a warg creeping up on the dwarf) the elf shot the warg that Gimli
was chasing. The dwarf’s cry, “That one counts as mine!” was music
to Legolas’ ears.

Then he lost sight of his friend. He killed many, losing count as he
sank into a battle-calm he hadn‘t truly needed since he fought side
by side with Aragorn. He hadn’t needed it in Mirkwood, because being
the prince, he’d been unnecessarily protected. And even fighting
Elrohir in Imladris hadn’t brought out his need for a condition the
Rangers- Malacai, especially- had instilled in him when he was quite
young.

But a blur of movement to his left, where Aragorn had been moments
before (Legolas had been trying to fight his way to his lover’s
side) drew Legolas’ attention. He watched, powerless to intervene,
as a warg killed Aragorn’s mount from under him. The man fell,
rolled, and was on his feet again in a moment. The orc made a quick
U and charged Aragorn again. 

Another orc leapt towards Legolas, and after the elf killed both it
and its mount, hating the thing for stopping him from reaching his
lover, he looked back. The orc that had meant to ride Aragorn down
lay on the ground, bleeding, surely dying. Looking around, Legolas
realised that he’d more than likely killed the last orc-warg team.
Rohirrim lay everywhere, dead or injured. He couldn’t see Aragorn. 

“Aragorn!” Legolas worked hard to keep the fear from his voice.

Gimli didn’t bother. Leaving the warg he’d just killed, he raised
his voice so it echoed off the rocky slopes nearby. “Aragorn?”

Searching for clues, Legolas went to the edge of the cliff,
crouching down. He read the skidding tracks of a warg’s clawed feet,
and the shallow furrow of something man-sized being dragged. Before
his imagination could take wing, the dying orc behind him began to
laugh. Blood choked the sound and he was obviously in a great deal
of pain, but he was just as obviously enjoying his last moments in
Middle Earth.

Legolas moved towards the orc, but Gimli beat him there. Holding up
his axe, the dwarf offered, his eyes dark with rage, “Tell me what
happened and I will ease your passing.”

“He’s-” the orc coughed up black blood- “dead. Took a little tumble
off the cliff.” The glee in his eyes was unmistakable.

Legolas’ hands balled into fists, and his fear and grief were
momentarily swallowed by grief. Dropping to one knee, he yanked the
orc up to a half-sitting position and said, “You lie.”

The orc laughed-coughed another time, then died, its mouth still
gaping in its final, triumphant grin.

Legolas dropped the orc. There was nothing he could do to it now.
But his eyes were caught by a gleam of red. The elf uncurled the
orc’s reeking fingers, claiming their treasure for his own. In the
palm of his fair, strong hand, the elf held the red stone on its
chain. ‘No. Aragorn. No. Aragorn.’ The chant went on in his head,
without anguish or denial, as Legolas stood. He ran to the edge of
the cliff, where Theoden already stood. Gimli came up on his other
side. The three of them stared down at the brown, swiftly-traveling
water and the rocks that stood everywhere. Legolas had hoped that
Aragorn was clinging to a rock below them, but he gave up that
desperate wish now. His eyes began to sting, but he refused to let
the tears fall.

Theoden broke into his chant- No. Aragorn. No- but Legolas didn’t
really hear the words. “Get the wounded on horses,” the king said.
“The wolves of Isengard will return. Leave the dead.”

Legolas’ head snapped sideways, fury lighting his eyes. Theoden was
looking at him, and there was compassion in his eyes. Compassion,
but no sadness. “Come,” the king said, laying a hand on Legolas’
shoulder. Then he turned away, leaving Gimli and Legolas to stare
down into the hungry river. In his grief, Legolas forgot to lower
the mental shields he had raised the night before.

***

The people fleeing around her reminded Eowyn of frightened horses.
Not quite sheep, they were still panicked, though they tried to keep
calm for the sake of their children. In that way only did they
maintain the dignity of horses. But her mind strayed from them, and
from her mission. The battle was behind them now, and the orcs (and
the monsters they rode) had shown no interest in them. ‘That’s
because they know what I know; Helm’s Deep has never fallen, that’s
true, but that has only been while men defend it. If our fighters
don’t return, I’ll be the only one fighting, and I’m only one.

‘But they will return,’ she insisted. ‘They will return. I know it,
and I believe it. They are stout men; they will return.’ But her
thoughts returned, again and again, to the screams she’d heard from
the scouts. Hadn’t Hama and Naj been experienced and excellent
fights? What had it availed them?

‘If Eomer had been but with us!’ She hid a shudder. ‘He and his
would have been able to turn the tide easily in such a battle. But
now we have been abandoned on all sides. Even the wizard has left
us. Maybe Wormtongue was right in this only: Gandalf is only a
bearer of news, not a fighter that will help us.

‘At least he was good enough to leave Aragorn here. Aragorn will
return, I know it, and with him will be my uncle. Others will come,
to. I must not doubt. Didn’t Gimli een tell me hat a dwarf’s axe is
meant to hew orc-necks? He’s surely fought orcs and wargs before.
And neither Legolas or Aragorn looked surprised in the slightest ot
see the beasts the orcs had mastered. There is still hope. Even if
my people have never seen those things before- even if we’ve only
seen orcs once or twice- those three have seen both beasts and are
not intimidated.’

A shout of joy went up from the women ahead of her, and Eowyn looked
that way. “Helm’s Deep!” a woman cried. “Helm’s Deep! We’re saved!”

Staring at the fortress built into the mountain, Eowyn felt
sometimes how she felt while in her bower late at night. The walls
would close in around her, the shadows making them seem to move. The
world would shrink to just the space she occupied, and she mourned
the cage she would be trapped in. Helm’s Deep wasn’t their
salvation; it was a cage. A strong cage that would keep the world
out, at least for a while, but a cage nonetheless. And a coffin as
well. None of them would ever emerge alive.

Something Aragorn had said occurred to her then, and, as his words
had done for so many others, they brought hope to her. ‘You are a
daughter of kings. A shieldmaiden of Rohan. I do not think such will
be your fate.’ And so comforted, she was able to smile when a woman
beside her said, “We’re safe, my Lady!”

***

All those who had gathered in Helm’s Deep (with precious little
food, Eowyn had discovered) broke off their conversations when a man
shouted, “Make way for the King! Make way for Theoden! Make way for
the King!”

Everyone poured into the Deep’s largest ground chamber, though must
stuck close to the walls. Eowyn ran to her uncle’s side, scanning
his face first, seeing there was no injury on him. Then her eyes
went to the rest of the men. “So few,” she whispered. “So few of you
have returned.” She was unable to hide the horror in her voice.

Theoden gazed at her, and she couldn’t read his expression. “Our
people are safe. We have paid for it with many lives.” His voice was
strained, and Eowyn resisted the urge to run to him and embrace him.
At such a time, with all watching, it might seem that Theoden needed
comfort, rather than his niece. She would not allow that thought to
enter anyone’s mind. They all had to have faith in Theoden, or there
would be no hope in the battle to come. And despite what her uncle
said, Eowyn knew the orcs wouldn’t just let them live in peace here,
even for a few days to gather supplies. They would follow quickly.

As Theoden moved away, Gimli, helmetless, as she had never seen him,
approached. “My lady.”

Eowyn gazed at him, seeing the anguish in his eyes. She knew
instinctively that he had not come to tell her that Legolas had
fallen. “Lord Aragorn? Where is he?”

One glistening tear trembled at the corner of Gimli’s eye, but did
not escape. The dwarf wiped at it. “He fell.”

Again, the world shrank around her. Eowyn turned, searching for a
strong face. She found her uncle gazing at her. She knew her eyes
showed her knew knowledge. But he only met her gaze for a moment,
before turning. Aragorn’s death was regrettable, yes, but it was
also only one of many. She looked away from his retreating back,
sank to her knees. Refusing to cry, she waited for the worst of the
grief to pass.

***

Legolas didn’t like the stone walls they were crouching behind like
frightened children. They were man-made and brought him no comfort.
They had been built, not in a day, as could most any Dunadan-tent,
but over years. And they were not even like his father’s palace,
which, while it had taken a long time to rise, had been built among
nature, not on top of if.

Gimli tried to help. “This country is made of strong bones,” he
said. “We’ll survive this if the walls are only half this strong.”
They were riding Arod still, and the dwarf hugged Legolas from
behind, his voice  had been little more than a murmur. The elf had
tried to take comfort, but the shock of losing Aragorn was starting
to wear off. Inits place came an ocean of grief that he was
powerless to escape from, or to even hold his breath so he wouldn’t
drown. Legolas’ thought was much like Eowyn’s: ‘This place isn’t a
safe haven; it’s a cage and a dead end. We’ll be sitting here,
waiting to defend this chunk of rock, when the walls are taken and
we’re all slaughtered before we can hardly begin to fight.

‘And what are we fighting for, anyway? Rohan?  Rohan will not stand
before Sauron. Let it be destroyed here. It’s only chance for safety
was in its close ties to Gondor, and now, with Gondor beset, and the
Ring who-knows-where, and Gondor’s king unable to return to the
throne-’ He stopped. Such thoughts were the beginnings of madness.
‘But I don’t have many reasons to stay sane now.’ As with most of
the Dunedain, Legolas believed that peace could only be achieved by
way of Aragorn’s crowning. Now, without that possibility, the
question was not if they would fall, but if they would hold out
until summer.

Once within the Deep, Gimli had gone to tell Lady Eowyn the news.
Legolas, in turn, retreated to a small chamber that didn’t seem to
be in use. He barred the door from the inside and knelt by the high
window. Here he bowed his head to the stone floor and sobbed. The
clarion call

(No. Aragorn. No.)

still chimed in his head, and he seemed unable to think past them.
Bile rose in his throat, then the bit of lembas he’d eaten that
morning joined it. Legolas pulled back his hair with one hand, but
it was an instinctive gesture; his mind was focused only on
expelling everything in his stomach, and hoping that some of the
anguish he felt would be allowed to go with it. He puked up the
lembas, but his stomach didn’t settle. He dry-heaved for nearly a
minute, until his stomach, seized with cramps, consented at last to
subside.

The cramping didn’t disappear, however. Legolas rolled away from the
mess on the floor, curling into himself as his lower belly screamed
that it was being eaten from the inside by rusty mental blades and
it needed to let them go.

Instinct again took over. Legolas yanked down his leggings and
kicked off his shoes. Then, lurching to his feet, he staggered to
the nearest wall, leaning his forehead against it. His hips spread
of their own accord and his entire body pushed down on the thing
that was hurting him. Squeezing his eyes shut, Legolas watched the
muddy river race far below, and he imagined he could hear Aragorn
coughing down there. Impossible as that was, he couldn’t deny it.

Straining to hear, Legolas rose outside himself. The pain now seemed
to belong to memory, where it could be felt with the body’s
forgetful detachment. His need to push went with it, and Legolas
endured a brief moment of embarrassment as he realised what he must
look like: a half-naked elf leaning against a wall, looking as
though he was trying to take the biggest shit of his life.

‘But you weren’t trying to shit.’ The dazed, slightly amused voice
rose from the water below as the coughing had.

‘Aragorn? Aragorn… Aragorn, is it you?’

‘I think so. Though right now I feel like Estel when he broke his
leg and Glorfy gave him strong drugs to-’ cough- ‘dull the pain.
Where are you?’

‘In Helm’s Deep. Where are you?’

‘On the edge of the river, I think. The current brought me here.’ A
moan. ‘I can’t move. Everything hurts. I can’t stand, or even
crawl.’ A moment of concern so bright it was as if Aragorn were at
his normal strength. ‘Gimli! Is he all right?’

‘Yes. All the women and children made it, too, though many of
Theoden’s men fell.’

‘I know.’ He was sending in that dazed way again. ‘I’ll try to get
there, love, but I can’t see how.’

Legolas’ perspective changed. Drifting down, as on the back of an
eagle, he left the cliffs and glided into the ravine. Below him were
rocks and water, and that was- Wait. A horse was galloping, its
nostrils flaring. It had obviously picked up a scent it knew and
loved. Breaking into a run, it charged over the rocky land with
obvious experience. This horse had been bred and raised in Rohan.
Legolas watched it for a moment longer, then he spotted what it was
heading for. ‘Aragorn, your rescuer is at hand.’

‘What do you-? Wait. Legolas. What’s wrong with you? You’re hurt!’

‘I… My stomach just hurts. Probably from throwing up.’

‘No. No, it’s not that. It’s…’ Aragorn reached into Legolas’ mind
and body, and Legolas felt that bright concern that defied all
logic. Then his lover touched something, and Legolas gasped.

‘I’m… pregnant.’

‘And you were trying to miscarry. Your body was. You mustn’t,
Legolas. I’m not there to remove the baby from your abdomen, and you
can’t expel it by yourself. You must… you must…’ The brightness was
fading.

‘I won’t lose the baby, love. I promise. Now just hold on. Your
rescuer is coming. I’ll stay with you until he-’

“Master Elf?” Gimli’s heavy knock sounded at the door. The dwarf was
trying very hard to sound tough and yet gentle at the same time.

Legolas pulled out of the connection he had with Aragorn, though he
didn’t close his mind. Quickly, he dressed, calling, “Just a
minute.” When he was sure he looked presentable (though there was
nothing he could do about the puddle of mess on the floor) he went
to the door and unlocked it.

Gimli was standing much as he had been when he’d approached Eowyn,
though Legolas hadn’t seen that. Still, the elf noted that Gimli’s
helmet was in his hands and that he was twisting it nervously. “It’s
all right, Gimli. I just needed to be alone for awhile.” He thought
about telling Gimli what he’d seen, but then he remembered something
Aragorn had told him when he was eleven or twelve: ‘Dwarves don’t
have visions. They consider visions or bonds or prophetic dreams to
be a sign of Sauron’s influence. Never speak of these things to a
dwarf unless you want him to become your enemy.’ Maybe the
circumstances were different here, considering all Gimli had seen,
but Legolas decided he didn’t want to make any more waves in the
stormy sea. ‘When Aragorn arrives, we can rejoice then together. And
maybe someday Gimli and I will know each other well enough that
we’ll be able to share such things.’ He took a breath. “I’m better
now. I’m ready to fight in Aragorn’s name.”

Gimli nodded, managing to look impressed, relieved and touched all
at the same time. “I’d be honored to fight beside you in his name.”

They left the room, shutting the door so no one would see the mess
Legolas had made. Gimli didn’t mention it, and for that Legolas was
grateful. ‘Now if only I can keep from hopping up and down with
anticipation and nerves.’ He touched his abdomen. ‘Little one, you
had a narrow escape, all thanks to a man’s power over me. But if you
want my opinion, it was worth it. Love is always worth it.’

***

When Legolas left him (the man was aware that he was most likely the
one who had left) Aragorn drifted for a time. His eyes, which had
opened briefly when he ‘spoke’ to Legolas had closed again, and he
could hear nothing except the weak rasp of his own breath and the
chittering sound of stones being moved by the current. Then a
crunching sound, much closer and louder, broke into his thoughts. At
first, Aragorn wasn’t able to respond even to that, nor to the
whuffing sound that came close to his ear. He knew, in some dim way,
that he was being rolled onto his back, and that this hurt, but he
didn’t connect the sounds with the movement until soft, hairy lips
and a velvet muzzle kissed his mouth.

The world swam into focus as he opened his eyes. “Brego.” His voice
sounded cracked, but at least he could recognize it as his. As he
watched, Brego knelt down beside him, offering him help. Aragorn
would wonder later why the horse still wore his bridle and saddle,
but he wasn’t equipped for such musings just then. Groaning,
throwing his will up around the pain like the protective shield it
was, he forced himself to half-roll, half-climb onto Brego’s back.
When he was seated, his head bowed and his entire body screaming for
him to lay back down, Brego rose slowly to his feet and began to
walk. He started out at little more than a crawl, but as Aragorn
found his balance and his muscles remembered how to go again with
the sway of his partner below him, the stallion moved into a
respectable walk, then to a trot, and finally into a gallop. They
began to eat up the miles between the site of what had almost been
Aragorn’s grave and a walled fortress that still might be.

As they rode, Aragorn saw that the sun was near setting. Another
hour, perhaps, or two. His head wouldn’t let him judge any better
than that. Putting off the hour, Aragorn started to employ his other
senses. Without turning his head (such would have been a possibly
fatal mistake) he scanned the surrounding countryside. He’d become
convinced, just as Gandalf had been, that Theoden had led his people
into a trap. And so now the Ranger looked for the coming army
Saruman would no doubt be sending. And, as he topped a rise, he saw
them.

Five thousand or more marched towards Helm’s Deep from the direction
of Isengard. Then, as he got a better look at the horde, he saw that
there were at least ten thousand, and his heart seized in his chest.
‘We need back-up,’ he thought. ‘I won’t be able to lead those we
have without back-up.’ He remembered Gandalf’s words, and found
himself wondering if those in the Deep would last the night. Then,
shaking his head (regretting it, yet glad that his head didn’t split
quit so badly as he’d expected) Aragorn vowed, “We will stand until
Gandalf comes. We will.’ He gigged Brego and they backed away
hastily from the brink of the rise. Turning left, Aragorn urged his
savior back into a gallop. They rode with the fading sound of the
drums and marching feet in their ears. 

They galloped, no longer two creatures, but one, across the barren
lands. And when they reached the final rise before the Deep,
overlooking it like a king gazing down at his kingdom, Aragorn
whispered in Elvish, “Thank you, Brego. Thank you, my friend.”

The horse snorted as if to say, “Let’s go already. Time’s wasting!
Did you see the size of that army coming up behind us? They’re not
going to stop for an evening meal, I’ll bet.”

Aragorn laughed, though softly, mindful of his head and aching body.
“Right,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Ten minutes later, they rode across the great stone bridge that
stood before the gates. Aragorn relished the clip-clop of Brego’s
stride on the stone. As he went, he heard, “He’s alive! He’s
returned!” from those around him, and he thought, ‘Thanks to Brego…
and Legolas, of course. I could not do without Legolas.’

He was about to reach out to his lover through their bond when he
heard Gimli’s unmistakable bellow from ahead of him and off to his
right. The dwarf sounded furious. Aragorn grinned. He couldn’t help
it, despite the circumstances. “Where is he?” Gimli roared. “Where
is he? Get outta the way! I’m gonaa kill ‘im!” His voice was loud,
the anger in it a good disguise, but Aragorn heard his friend’s
grief in the way he clipped his words and ran them together. 

Then the dwarf himself came out of the crowd. Without his helmet, he
looked somehow diminished and sad. He stopped two paces from Aragorn
and stared up at him. “You are the luckiest, the canniest, and the
most reckless man I ever knew!” He lunged forward and wrapped his
arms around Aragorn’s waist. “Bless you, laddie!”

Now, if others cared to listen, they would have heard the tears in
the dwarf’s voice. And Gimli was holding Aragorn like he was
drowning and Aragorn was his way back to dry land. The Ranger knew
the embarrassment Gimli would feel later, and so, gently, yet
firmly, he pushed the dwarf back, saying only, “Gimli.”

The dwarf looked up at him, realised what he’d been doing, and
stepped back, a glower tightening his features.

“Where is the King?” Aragorn asked. He laid a brief hand on Gimli’s
shoulder, then turned as the dwarf pointed deeper into the fortress.
The man gave Brego a similar, though longer, pat as he passed. Then
he was striding away from the press of the crowd.

Outside the door that surely led to the king’s inner sanctum, he
found Legolas. His lover stood straight and tall with no trace of
his former grief showing. His eyes sparkled and his lips twitched.
Aragorn stopped before him and waited for what he suspected was
coming.

“You’re late,” Legolas said in Elvish. He still didn’t let himself
smile. Then, in the Common Speech, “You look terrible.” His concern
and relief flew across their bond, but then Legolas reined it in. He
smiled at last.

Aragorn grinned, and a small chuckle escaped his lips. ‘Aii, my
Legolas,’ he thought but did not send. Possessed by the need to
touch Legolas, he laid a hand on his lover’s shoulder. It would have
to be enough; there wasn’t time for more.

Legolas held out something to him then in a cupped hand, and Aragorn
took it, cradling it in his palm. It had been restrung, and
seemingly the red stone had been polished. “My Legolas,” he
whispered. “Thank you.”

Legolas stepped aside and gestured for Aragorn to proceed. ‘We’ll
find time when all this is done to discuss how you will repay me,’
he sent before turning away, seeking out Gimli.

But Aragorn called him back. ‘I would have you and Gimli with me
when I tell Theoden what is coming. I need your input.’

Gimli, as if he’d been summoned, appeared at Legolas’ side. “Well?
What are we doing standing around here? We have a war to win!”

***

The talk with Theoden hadn’t gone well. He was shocked by the idea
of so many marching on Helm’s Deep. Once he’d accepted that (it had
only taken a moment, but that moment had seemed like an hour) he and
Aragorn argued about the coming battle. Aragorn wanted to send out
riders, to call for aid, but the king had other ideas.

“And who will?” he demanded of Aragorn as they stood together on the
outer wall. “Elves? Dwarves? We are not so lucky in our friends as
you. The old alliances are dead.”

“Gondor will answer.” ‘I will make them answer. Denethor must listen
to me, for now is the hour when all people must band together or be
destroyed.’ But Aragorn had one more lesson to learn before he would
be ready to lead men.

“Gondor?” Theoden nearly sneered the name. His hand on Aragorn’s
upper arm tightened. “Where was Gondor when the Westfold fell? Where
was Gondor when our enemies closed in around us?” The vehemence in
his voice stung Aragorn. “Where was-?” But his voice had failed as
his rage consumed him. After a moment, he had composed himself and
continued, his voce loaded with both sarcasm and truth, “No, my Lord
Aragorn. We are alone.” Then he had walked away, leaving Aragorn to
ponder his words.

‘My hope was foolish,’ Aragorn thought. ‘He’s right; there isn’t
time to call for aid, and probably none would come. But I can’t see
how we will possibly-’ He stopped hat thought before it could
overwhelm him. Never in his life had he felt so powerless to change
was what about to happen.

Now, as the women and children were called to the caves, Aragorn
headed to the armory to see what could possibly be used. He wished
briefly for more archers like Legolas, but knew they wouldn’t come.
‘Whatever we have we must use, and wishing for more will only waste
energy. Theoden King knew that, and now I do.’ He was ashamed of his
childish longing for help, for his inability to see what was right
in front of his face until it was pointed out to him: they were
indeed alone.

Then he remembered the other words Theoden had spoken, and took them
to himself. ‘ “Look at my men. Their courage hangs by a thread. If
this is to be our end, then I would have them make such an end as to
be worthy of remembrance.” Yes, that is what he said, and now I
truly understand it. I, too, will build them up as much as they can,
and fight alongside them to the end, whatever that may be.’

Around him, women and children passed, called back towards the
caves. The entrance to the dark recesses of the mountains had been
lined with strong timbers, and each had been engraved with a
beautiful horse crest. Aragorn gazed at one of these for a moment,
then he turned to Legolas, who walked close behind him. “We’ll place
the reserves along the wall. They can support the archers from above
the gate.” He heard the exhaustion in his voice and hoped that no
one except Legolas would pick up on it.

“Aragorn!” Legolas sounded furious. “You must rest.” He laid a hand
on Aragorn’s shoulder to slow his relentless pace. “You’re no use to
us half-alive.”

‘Spoken like a true Dunadan,’ Aragorn thought, and, responding to
that, he slowed his pace just a little. Night was an hour away (he
was able to judge now; Legolas had set him right on the time, and
his mind was working well enough now to keep it on its own) and many
of the troops had been fitted already. Only he and Gimli remained.
Legolas refused to wear heavy armor, and Aragorn didn’t order him;
it was against his own intuition, too. He didn’t want Legolas to be
uncomfortable, even if he had to be. But the way a commander dressed
was important; it fell to Aragorn to uphold the traditions of a
people he had never led and whom he had only become reacquainted
with too recently.

“My lord!” Eowyn’s voice, from somewhere behind them. Aragorn
stopped and turned. Legolas followed suit and Gimli, who had been
somewhere ahead, joined them. “Aragorn!” she called, as if she
hadn’t realised that he had stopped to wait for her. She pressed
through the crowd to his side, and her lovely face was creased with
suppressed rage and helplessness. “I’m to be sent with the women
into the caves.”

He was touched by her desire to help, and they certainly could have
used her, but now wasn’t the time to go breaking custom. Theoden had
been right: his men’s courage hung by a thread. Any change could
distract or dismay them. Neither must be allowed to happen, not even
for one more could sword-arm. He tried to console her. “That is an
honorable charge.”

“To mind the children.”

Despair had crept into her voice, and Aragorn thought, ‘She fears
neither death nor pain, but she fears dying a dishonorable death.’

“To find food and bedding when the men return! What renown is there
in that?”

‘What renown is there in protecting a young man who may never grow
to be king? Many live without renown; why can’t you?’ But it was an
unfair question; not all people were raised the same way, or even
saw the world just alike if they were. Aragorn thought of hiding the
possibility of defeat from Theoden’s niece, but in her ferocity she
reminded him so much of Annaleh that he didn’t dare. “My lady, a
time may come for valor without renown. Who then will your people
look to in the last offense?”

Her eyes pierced him like dagers. “Let me stand at your side.”

“It is not in my power to command it.” ‘Forgive me for that truth,
though it sounds like the coward’s answer to your question.’ He
turned away.

Eowyn called, her voice raised in rage once more, “You do not
command the others to stay. They fight beside you because they would
not be parted from you. Because they love you.”

‘Aii, no. No. Not another.’ In the midst of so many other things
that needed his attention, Aragorn didn’t want to break this noble
woman’s heart. He stepped nearer her, but closed his eyes until he
could be sure she wouldn’t see the anguish there. Then he gazed at
her, and waited to see what she would decide.

Eowyn bowed her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Then she moved
past him, and past Legolas, who watched her go.

Aragorn watched her until she was lost in the throng.

In the armory, Aragorn weighed swords and judged them for each hand
that needed one. Many were too heavy, but Aragorn did his best to
meet each need as he saw it. He saw the young faces (a year or two
older than Mordecai, some maybe even younger than Saru’s youngest
son) and the old, those who were younger than he was, and yet hadn’t
his ancestral blood to sustain them. ‘Of course their courage hangs
by a thread,’ Aragorn thought. ‘Courage is all they have, and it
alone can’t hope to support the weight of a coming battle.’

He spoke aloud without meaning to. “Farmers, furriers, stable boys.
These are no soldiers.”

Gimli spoke then from beside him. He still wasn’t wearing his
helmet, as if he were in mourning for those around him. Aragorn
wished he would put it on; he looked small and lost without it.
“Most have seen too many winters.”

Then, from behind Aragorn, “Or too few.” Legolas gazed at the doomed
grandfathers and grandsons and his control slipped a little. “Look
at them.” ‘Aragorn, look!’ he sent. “They’re frightened.” ‘I know
you see it. We need you to do something, yes, but can you do
something here? Gondor is where you’re really needed. That is our
destiny, what you were born to do.’ “I can see it in their eyes.” He
switched to Elvish because he didn’t want the men to understand him,
but he had to speak out loud. His anger and fear wouldn’t allow him
to do otherwise. He resisted the urge to touch his abdomen as he had
seen Saru do so many times. “And they should be,” he said in
Sidarian, liking the harsher sounds it made when compared with
gentle Quenyn. “Three hundred…” he made sure Aragorn was meeting his
gaze “against ten thousand!”

Aragorn tilted his head just a little and tried to give Legolas a
hopeful wink. “They have more hope defending themselves here than at
Edoras.”

‘My father says Thorin said such a thing to his eleven dwarves when
they were holed up in the Lonely Mountain awaiting the advancing
Mirkwood army!’ He sent that message loud and clear, but before
Aragorn could react, he said, still in Sidarian, “They cannot win
this fight.” Making sure Aragorn could see the need in his yees.
“They are all going to die!” ‘And you must not-’

“Then I will die as one of them!” His beloved’s voice raised in
anger. He’d switched back to the Common Speech and many glanced at
him. Aragorn didn’t see them. In his fury, he stepped to within a
pace of Legolas, as though he was going to hit him. Then, his eyes
smoldering, he turned and stalked away.

Legolas wanted to follow at once- he could feel the dread behind
Aragorn’s determination to stay where he was needed at that moment
instead of abandoning those who would surely need his help in the
coming hours- but Gimli stopped him with a hand on his wrist. “Let
him go, lad,” Gimli said, his voice sad. “Let him be.”

***

Aragorn sat on a set of three steps as the men of Rohan prepared for
battle around him. He was using the excuse that he needed to rest,
but mostly he was just watching those around him and weighing the
coming slaughter (‘we must hold until Gandalf gets here with help’)
against his argument with Legolas. He must find a time to apologize,
and yet he hadn’t sought a chance yet. Something else held him here,
and when Aragorn saw the boy who was most likely a year Mordecai’s
senior standing nearby, carrying a large sword and looking
completely lost, he knew why he hadn’t moved. He said o the long-
haired boy, “Give me your sword.”

The child looked at him as though he wasn’t quite used to talking to
strangers among his own people, let along a dark-haired, bloodied
man from beyond Rohan. But he was an obedient lad, approaching
Aragorn slowly, turning the sword slowly to give Aragorn the hilt.
He leaned forward to deliver the sword rather than approach too
close.

Aragorn was still sitting on the stairs, trying to appear as non-
threatening as possible. His Ranger garb and greasy hair worked
against him, and so he spoke gently. “What is your name?”

“Haleth, son of Hamanue.”

‘Which is Hama’s full name. He told it to me when we were both
attending to Theoden.’ Aragorn turned his eyes to the sword, hoping
this would invite the boy to talk. He held up the weapon and gazed
at it, noting with approval the keen edge. It was light enough; the
boy would be able to manage it.

Haleth said, “The men are saying we will not live out the night.
They say that it is hopeless.”

His voice cracked and Aragorn grieved silently for the loss of
innocent trust this child had owned before he was put into armor.
‘And he hasn’t even seen battle yet. Aii, but I thought it was bad
when Mordecai was sent on surveillance. This is infinitely worse.’
He rose, and was grateful when Haleth didn’t retreat from him. He
lifted the sword, pointing away from the boy, and let its tip drop
through the air in a graceful arc. The boy watched as Aragorn
cleaved the air. The blade made the wistful, hungry sound of all
well-made swords whistling through empty air. Then Aragorn held the
blade up before his eyes. “This is a good sword, Haleth, son of
Hama.” He moved closer to the boy, who didn’t retreat, and handed
him the blade. ‘Let him know that I respected and knew his father.’
Aragorn crouched down and laid a hand on Haleth’s shoulder. “There
is always hope.”

Haleth nodded. “My father said so.” He looked stricken, as if he
hadn’t meant to mention that he missed his father.

“He’s right. Listen to his words. Don’t give up.” He stood straight,
his shoulders back, and the boy nodded again, before managing a
small smile and turning to join with those other boys near his age.
‘And maybe to tell them what I have said, if I am fortunate.’

Aragorn went his way then, disappearing into a room full of chain
mail. He had selected his own pieces earlier that day, and now he
lifted the shirt. He gazed at it for a moment, then slipped it over
his head, stretching his back when it was settled on his shoulders.
On went his belt and the vanguards for his wrists. As he dressed,
his mind strayed first to the coming battle, but it didn’t linger
there. He found himself thinking of Legolas, and the apology he must
make. They couldn’t go to death- if it was death they must meet-
with anger in their hearts. And even if there hadn’t been a battle
coming, Aragorn couldn’t imagine going much longer without his lover
beside him. They’d spent too long apart to let little things
separate them now.

As Aragorn reached for his sword, which he’d laid aside, he found it
held up for him, in its sheath. He expected maybe Eowyn, or possibly
Gimli, and was both startled and relieved to see Legolas gazing back
at him.

His lover took a step towards him. “We have trusted you this far.
You have not led us astray.” His voice was full of regret, and when
he reached out through their bond, Aragorn felt his sorrow. “Forgive
me. I was wrong to despair.”

They were formal words, the words of a Dunadan to his chief, but
Aragorn heard the undercurrent of need in Legolas’ voice and he
responded to that more than to the words. ‘I love you, Legolas,’ he
sent, even as he said in Quenyn, “There is nothing to forgive,
Legolas.” He spoke aloud for there were men around them, listening,
but his tongue had betrayed him, insisting that he speak in the
language he had always thought of as the language of love. So that
none would misunderstand, Aragorn laid a hand on Legolas’ shoulder
and smiled.

The elf returned the gesture, though he sent Aragorn an image of the
two of them embracing, kissing, which made the man glad he was
filthy. No one could see his blush.

The sound of shifting chain mail and heavy, shuffling feet reached
their ears, and accompanying these sounds was Gimli’s characteristic
mumbling. “If we had time, I’d get this adjusted,” he said, making
his words clearer as he realised that they were looking at him.
Aragorn had the idea that the dwarf had been standing just out of
sigh, listening to them make up, and now he was coming to smooth
over any discomfort that might remain. Standing a little distance
from them, Gimli let the heavy links of mail that he’d been holding
in his hands clank to the floor. The chain mail made a pool around
his feet.

Legolas darted a glance at Aragorn, saw how hard the man was trying
not to grin, and schooled his own features at once.

Still, Gimli must have seen the look, for he explained, “It’s a
little tight across the chest.”

Legolas’ smile had returned. Gimli stood before them with his arms
spread wide like a woman modeling a new, flowy-sleeved dress. The
mail hung off him everywhere except across his barrel of a chest. He
knew he looked ridiculous, and was giving them permission to enjoy
it- provided they at least pretended not to notice. Dwarven pride
was a complicated thing, but it could be satisfied if one only knew
how.

A horn was blown then. Gimli lifted his head, a look of concern
crossing his features, but Legolas said, “That is no orc horn.” His
eyes shone and he sprinted out of the room. Aragorn and Gimli
followed. Aragorn recognized the sound- how he could not, after
spending so many years in Rohan, long ago though that had been- and
it brought joy to his heart to hear the sound now.

From the outer wall came a shout to confirm what Aragorn knew:
“Eomer has returned!”

Chapter Eighty-One

Darkness had fallen completely as Eomer led his Riders into the
Keep. Gandalf hadn’t come with them, and though Aragorn was
disappointed, he wasn’t surprised. Gandalf said to look for him at
dawn on the third day. ‘That’s not until tomorrow morning. This must
have only been part of the errand Gandalf had to complete. But what
could the other half be? Or the other third?’ On Shadowfax, Gandalf
could travel almost as fast as eagles; there were many things he
could do in two days and three nights.

Now, standing on the Deeping-Wall, watching the valley fill with
orcs and Wild Men carrying torches, Aragorn and Eomer had taken a
moment to talk. There was nothing they could do until their enemies
came within range of the archers. Aragorn had told Eomer two short
stories of the day when he’d ridden to war with the young man’s
father. Not stated, but obvious in both stories, was Aragorn’s deep
and lasting respect for Eomund. And thus, moved by Aragorn’s words,
Eomer began to open up to the man from the north.

“It was hard, watching Wormtongue lead him down a path none of us
could follow,” the marshal began. “I left because I was banished,
but there were many times I just wanted to run away because I didn’t
want to see my uncle succumbing to evil and uselessness.” He laughed
cynically. “I would have left Eowyn here to tend him alone, and at
those times, I didn’t even care. All that mattered was my escape and
the fact that, when Rohan fell, I wouldn’t have to see it. Even
though I’d most likely have to leave on my own, it didn’t matter….”
He gazed up at Aragorn, wearing an expression that looked alien on
his face. “Do you understand?”

“Yes. When Wormtongue had you banished, using your uncle’s mouth, it
must have seemed like the secret longing of your heart had been
heard and given permission. But it must have also hurt, because you
knew Eowyn would be alone.”

Eomer nodded. “I thought of ordering one or two of my men to stay
behind and watch out for her, but they all wanted to come with me,
and couldn’t in good conscience leave any of them to suffer under
Wormtongue as I had. I told Eowyn to stay in safe places and away
from Wormtongue unless there were othe
best solution, but it was the only one I could see at the time.” He
considered Aragorn’s expression, then said, “You do understand. I
can see that much. It’s foolish to look back to the past when
nothing can be done to change it, but I seem unable to help myself.”

“Talking it out helps,” Aragorn said. “I came to your father on
three separate occasions when I was in need of advice that I knew
only he could give.”

“Were you and my father of an age?”

“Eomund was ten years my senior, and twenty years my better, as far
as fighting on horseback and communing with the animal you rode
went. And he was wiser than me in other ways, too, ways I hadn’t
expected. Eomund knew all about love, you see, and I don’t mean how
to get a woman to sleep with you. Watching him helped me to lay the
foundation for the most long-lasting of all loving relationships
I’ve had.”

“With Legolas, do you mean?”

Aragorn’s eyebrows climbed into his hair. “What makes you say that?”
he asked, thinking, ‘He hasn’t seen us together tonight; how can he
come to that conclusion?’

Eomer smiled. “On the plains, when you popped out of the grass, and
I threatened Master Gimli, the way you spoke to and of Legolas
conveyed something more than one soldier’s respect for another.” He
grinned at Aragorn’s stunned face. “I don’t think anyone else
noticed, if that’s of any consolation, but don’t hold me to that.
I’m perceptive, but I’m probably not the only one. If anyone else
has noticed, my sister is probably counted among their number. And
old Gamling might have seen something. Little gets past him.” A
pause, then, “Will you marry him if we survive this war?”

“When I reach Gondor and after the coronation, yes.” Imagining the
future, a thing he hardly ever did unless he was worried about
something, Aragorn thought of the life growing inside him, and for
the first time wondered if it was a boy or a girl.

“What will his title be? He can’t be King, can he?”

This was something Aragorn hadn’t considered. “Well, in all
honesty-”

A screech and howl rose from the gathering host below. The enemy
chose that moment to attack. Aragorn and Eomer faded back from the
wall a little; neither of them was carrying a bow, and though they
were both proficient with the weapon, they preferred to leave the
shooting of enemies in the dark to those for which a bow had become
an extension of their bodies.

The enemy raced up to the gates, but broke and fell back as arrows
decreased their number. Then they returned. Each time they charged,
they came closer to the gates. The bowmen on the walls killed
probably close to two hundred, but that was far from enough. Then
they were out of arrows and switched to stones. With these, many men
were less accurate. But Legolas (and Gimli, who hadn’t used arrows,
but could throw stones with deadly accuracy) hit his mark every
time.

Until, that was, the men who had joined with the orcs, the men of
Dunland, covering their heads with their shields, assailed the
gates. Behind them, orcs shot a cloud of arrows up at the archers on
the wall. Hidden by the shields and the press of men were two large
trees. Using these, the men rammed the gates.

The noise of their assault on the gates couldn’t be heard for the
screaming of the orcs and the boom of thunder overhead. Glancing up,
Aragorn was shocked to see that a storm was gathering. Used to being
aware of weather changes long before they were to occur, Aragorn
cursed silently, noting the dark clouds that covered the stars and
moon, clouds he should have taken notice of before. ‘It’s going to
storm. Beautiful.’

A finger of lightning, long and jagged, as though bent with age,
rent the clouds and showed the peril of the gates. Aragorn spotted
the trees between the covering shields, and, springing away at once,
shouted in the language of Rohan, “Eomer! The gates! The gates!”

The two of them sprinted towards the small, hidden door off the main
gates that would take them to their enemy. On the way, they gathered
a handful of men. With swords unsheathed, they tore into the men
from the left, cutting them asunder. Their enemies couldn’t hold
onto the trees and fight; they let the rams fall and broke off,
fleeing the bright swords of the Rohirrim and Dunadan.

Standing before the gates for a moment, Aragorn and Eomer saw the
destruction the men had wrought. “We didn’t come a minute too soon,”
Aragorn murmured, shaking his head at the rent bars and straining
hinges.

“But we can’t stay out here to defend them. We’ll have to see what
we can do from within. We can piles stones on the other side.” Eomer
gestured for the future king to precede him, and Aragorn, who was
closer to the secret door, started that way. But as Eomer followed,
half a dozen orcs who had lain motionless among the dead reached out
and tripped Eomer. As the Third Marshal of the Mark fell to his
hands, a short shape detached itself from the wall nearby. An axe
gleamed in the light of torches above. Two orcs fell, headless. The
rest ran. Even as Aragorn ran back for Eomer, the younger man was on
his feet. He sprinted for the secret entrance, followed by Gimli.

Back inside the walls, in relative safety, Eomer turned to Gimli. “I
didn’t know you followed us.”

“I followed to shake off sleep,” Gimli said. “But the men weren’t my
side, so I sat back to watch your swordplay.” His eyes flicked to
Aragorn, doing a silent inventory of injuries, glad to see there
weren’t any new ones. Legolas would be relieved to hear that.

“Well, I’m glad you came,” Eomer said. “I won’t find it easy to
repay you.”

“You may get your chance before the battle is over.” Gimli made a
half bow, then started off for the walls again. Legolas had to be
told, and not just about Aragorn’s safety. The dwarf longed to tell
Legolas that he had felled two orcs. The elf would no doubt claim a
ridiculously-high number, but Gimli wanted to see his face when he
heard the news.

***

They reached the border of Lothlorien, and were met, as the
Fellowship had been, by Haldir and his brothers. But there were no
difficulties with entering this time; Elladan and Elrohir’s presence
alone would have ensured that, but Galadriel had also seen the state
of things in her mirror. And so while the higher-ups talked of the
darkening world, Mordecai turned his eyes to the glorious trees
around him. The gold leaves were falling, being replaced by green.
With emerald above, gold below, and silver in between, Mordecai
couldn’t help but think he’d entered the last true palace in Middle
Earth. ‘No matter what Gondor looks like, it won’t rival this.
Because this palace is alive!’

A hand fell on his shoulder, and Mordecai looked up into his older
brother’s face. Aidan was smiling. He’d done more and more of that
after he returned from Mirkwood with their father, but the
expression was still startling; he’d worn the distracted gaze for so
long.

“Lothlorien,” Aidan said, his gaze moving to the trees. “Aaron’s
told stories about this place, stories that were passed down to him.
No one among us except Halbarad and Kehydi have actually seen this
place with his own eyes.” He gripped his brother’s shoulder a little
more firmly. “We’ll all lose something dear and precious when the
elves pass.” Sighing, he smiled at Mordecai’s upturned, saddened
face. “I’m sorry; I was going to say something good about this
place. I’m trying not to think about the future in terms of all the
things we’re going to lose.”

Mordecai didn’t answer him for a moment; his eyes had gone to their
father, who stood, straight and tall, like Malacai before him,
speaking to Haldir as of right, though most likely the marchwarden
outranked him. Seeing Kehydi like that should have been a comfort to
him, but Mordecai drew closer to Aidan and lowered his voice. “I
want Aragorn.”

Aidan dropped to one knee at Mordecai’s side. Putting his hands on
either side of his brother’s face, he made sure their eyes were
meeting. “What do you see?”

“Trouble. And in our road.” Mordecai shivered. “I don’t know. Not
Shadows, but Trees. Great, deadly Trees that will challenge us to
know friend from foe at a glance, or die. And Daddy doesn’t, can’t,
know. Aragorn would know. Malacai would know.” He closed his eyes.
“Aidan, what’s wrong with me? I feel all weird inside.”

“Someone just used your mouth to carry a prophetic message.” Aidan
hugged his brother close, rubbing his back. “I’m here. I’m here. Let
everything go. You’ve delivered the message. Become Mordecai again.
Let the weird feeling go. It isn’t you. It isn’t in you. Let go.
Come back.” He kissed Mordecai’s forehead.

The ten year old boy blinked, came back to himself. He smiled. “Are
we going to stay here a night before we move on?”

“Almost surely.” Aidan was on his feet again and leading Mordecai
back to the rest of the Dunedain. As they passed the wagon where
Lady Arwen sewed, day in and day out, it seemed, the lady herself
appeared from around the other side. She saw them, smiled, curtsied,
and held out a hand to Mordecai. “Will you help me unpack the
presents I brought for my grandparents?” she asked.

Mordecai grinned, then remembered his manners and bowed over her
hand, even managing to leave a tasteful kiss somewhere near her
knuckles. “I’d be honored, My Lady.” And he escorted her the three
short steps to the wagon’s opening.

Aidan, relieved, went to find his own grandmother. Saru was busy
with the marchwarden and his brothers, but Annaleh didn’t need to
present herself to the nobles. She would have time and an ear to
hear him.

Annaleh had never heard of such things being passed to children from
‘others’ as they were called by those who didn’t quite know if the
message came from friend or foe, but she did know that Mordecai was
an extraordinarily receptive child, and also that Aidan would never
lie about such a ting, and so she accepted the prophecy (cloudy
though it was) with utmost attention and belief. It made no sense to
her at first, but then she remembered the trees in the Old Forest,
and their ancient relatives, the Ents of Fangorn Forest. Such Trees
could be dangerous, yes, quite dangerous, and a wrong move against
them could cost the Dunedain many lives as well as precious time.

‘We’ll have to be on the lookout for them,’ she thought. ‘Surely a
moving forest can’t be hard to spot.’ She had to laugh at herself.
‘Unless one is already in a forest.’ Annaleh didn’t know if Ents had
golden leaves, and she’d never heard of Hurons, and so she was
decidedly nervous as she looked about herself. Gathering her
courage, she decided her concern was justified and that it could not
wait on endless protocol. She approached the Marchwarden of
Lothlorien and, interrupting what her son was saying, made a deep
curtsey before him.

Haldir blinked at her, his usual composure unable to hide his
surprise. Then he mastered himself. “My lady, we are well-met. But
you seem distressed. What is wrong?”

Annaleh flushed. “Are there trees in Lothlorien that walk?” The
question sounded so girlish that her flush deepened and she had to
keep reminding herself that she was asking a very important
question, no matter how asinine it might seem to others.

Haldir answered, his expression inscrutable, “There are no Ents
here, my lady. You seem to go in fear of them, but the Ents have
ever been our friends.”

“It is not the Ents that I fear, but our reaction. If we do not act
correctly when we first meet them, that one thing may be the last
thing we ever do.” Then, because she couldn’t avoid it, Annaleh told
the vision. She had everyone’s attention now; the Dunedain, who had
been gazing at the trees with barely-veiled exaltation, turned to
her and took in her words, knowing that her concern was one they
must all heed.

Annaleh recounted what Aidan had told her, leaving out the fact that
Kehydi’s ability to lead was in question. And she added one thing:
“Please don’t ask Mordecai to say it again. He’s been through
enough.”

Haldir frowned.

Rumil pulled at his brother’s arm, and the three Lothlorien elves
retreated a short distance. Rumil spoke for a full minute while the
other two listened. Then Haldir turned to Annaleh and bowed to her.
“Lady Galadriel will speak with you of this. Please be assured that
all is well here in the Golden Wood. No one will hurt you here. All
danger stops at our borders.”

Kehydi spoke to his mother as they started to walk. “Now you’ve
involved them in something they can’t stop or control. Don’t you
understand how they’ll try to mismanage this? The Dunedain have ever
relied on themselves; why did you have to break with that right
tradition?”

“We’ve relied on allies, too,” she answered. “Elrond raised Aragorn
for us, to keep him safe.”

“Maybe he should have grown up here.”

“There’s no time for maybes.” Annaleh dropped back so that several
Dunedain separated her from her son. She saw Saru wince, but his
hand was on his belly, so maybe the baby- whose sudden growth
shocked her and made her uneasy- was kicking.

***

That night, as the Dunedain who weren’t attending the official
welcoming ceremony (over half) divided into those that wanted to
sleep in the trees and those that preferred the ground, Arwen came
and found Elrohir. She had been keeping a frigid silence towards
him, and though he knew what it was about (Elladan had explained
things) he wasn’t quite sure he was ready for her to break it. But
he went with her willingly to the banks of the Silverlode. Helping
her onto the lowest branch of the very tree Aragorn had stood under
years ago, Elrohir stood by her, gazing at the swiftly-moving water.

“I’m afraid, Elrohir,” Arwen said after several moments of silence.
When he didn’t answer, her temper flared. “And you aren’t going to
make this easy for me, are you?”

“You’re an adult,” he answered. “And you didn’t make it easy on
Elladan.”

“I’m sorry. Elrohir, you can’t stay here. I know you think you love
Halbarad-”

“Don’t demean me, Little Sister. I am in love.”

“Fine. But how can you just decide to stay here without thinking
about the rest of us?” Her voice broke.

Elrohir turned to face her. “I do think about the rest of you.
Elladan and I have been talking about it. There’s very little we can
do, either for you or for ourselves.” His hands had balled
themselves into fists. “My staying here is a death sentence for
Elladan. I know that. But my leaving is a death sentence for me.
Either we live here for a time- he’ll live a few years, and slowly
fade- or I die on the ship across the sea. Both ways lead to death,
and though I might choose to die while on the waves, that would do
no good because Elladan would die shortly af-” Elrohir’s eyes
widened. “But I would appear in Mandos’s Halls, wouldn’t I? Any elf
that dies in transit between Middle Earth and Valinor appears in his
halls. We’ve been taught that since infancy. I’d still see Elladan.
And Elladan would be alive. We would all be together.” Covering his
face with his hands, Elrohir whispered, “But I would have to leave
Hal. We’ve only had a months together, and I would leave him.”

“Leave him before the attachment gets too deep,” Arwen said, laying
a soothing hand on his shoulder.

Elrohir faced her, his eyes wild. “Can’t you see? It’s already too
deep! It’s already too deep! I can’t leave him here! I can’t walk
onto the ship, see him standing on the shore, and wave good-bye. I
can’t! I’d throw myself into the sea and swim back. Or if I was
bound, I’d go mad before death took me. He might be able to hear my
madness.” Elrohir took a step back from the tree. “I’ve done what
you’re sure is wrong. But I can’t go back and change it, and even if
I could, I wouldn’t. I love Halbarad. We belong together.” He held
up a hand as she opened her mouth. “No. Don’t. My love is going to
kill me, and it will kill Elladan. And what of Glorfindel? I know my
love is deadly, but I can’t change it. I don’t ask for forgiveness
or even understanding. I just want you to know that nothing I can do
will change what’s happened and what’s going to happen. So whatever
you’re going to say, please save it. Say it when you’re ready to
sail to Valinor, but for now, I need to be near Halbarad. I won’t
let the doubts you’re going to express, the anger you feel, to
poison our time together. You’ll have eternity to rage against what
you see as injustice; let me have my little time.”

Elrohir took another step back. His left foot met only air instead
of bank, and as he fell back, he saw the angry amusement in his
sister’s eyes. Then he was under the chilly water, and he forced
himself to the surface, grateful that he hadn’t hit his head on a
rock.

The sound of running feet caught his attention and Elrohir looked
down the path. Halbarad was standing, silhouetted between two trees.
Then the man strode forward, his eyes dark with a mixture of
laughter and concern that Elrohir found erotic. Crouching down at
the edge of the river, Halbarad held out a hand. “Beloved? Are you
all right? I heard someone fall and I came to investigate.” He
chuckled. “I didn’t think you’d be the one to fall, if you don’t
mind me saying so. You always struck me as the graceful sort.”
Rising to his feet, he grasped one of Elrohir’s hands and pulled the
elf to his feet. And when Elrohir stood with him on dry land,
Halbarad hugged him, despite his soaked clothes, and kissed his
parted lips. “Seriously, are you all right? Can elves even twist
their ankles?”

“We can and do, but infrequently.” Elrohir was very much aware of
his sister’s eyes on him, but he didn’t allow this awareness to
show. Returning Halbarad’s kiss, he said, “I can walk, I think,
though I’d like a chance to change before I introduce you to my
grandparents. They aren’t much for ceremony (all that matters is
that your heart’s in the right place) so they won’t be offended by
my state of messiness, but I’d rather not be known as Elrohir, the
clumsy son of Elrond.” He kissed Halbarad again, reveling in his
sister’s fury and acute embarrassment. He watched as her ears turned
pink and she had to look away.

Guilt swept Elrohir then and he was aware that he was performing for
his sister. Putting his hand in Halbarad’s, he said, “Let’s go find
me some dry clothes.” And trying very hard not to think of Arwen’s
eyes on the back of his head, he walked back up the path with his
lover.

Alone by the river, Arwen held her fierce expression until her
brother was out of sight, then she lowered her head and let her hair
hide her face. She didn’t come to bed as the moon set, and by the
time someone came to fetch her (it was Mordecai who found her,
though many elven guards had been sent to look) she was ready to
return with a smile on her face. No one troubled her with questions,
for which she was very grateful, and none but Elrohir knew what
she’d been doing sitting on that low branch by the racing
Silverlode.

***

As the last of the orcs were driven beneath the shadow of the Huorn
forest that had sprung up before Helm’s Deep, Legolas drew close to
Aragorn, taking his hand discreetly. “Are you well?”

“Yes.” Aragorn lifted Legolas’ hand to his lips and kissed the tips
of his fingers. “Have you ever seen such a miracle?”

Legolas laughed softly. “You mean, you alive after a battle, or the
trees?”

“Take your pick.”

“No. I have not.” Legolas drew closer and kissed Aragorn’s cheek.
“Gandalf saved us, even though we were most of the way to saving
ourselves. Think of all the loss of life he prevented.” Legolas was
shaking his head. “And by the look of him, rescuing an entire
kingdom isn’t the only thing he’s done since we parted. He looks as
if he’s given birth to a whole new era.”

“Maybe he has. Miracles seem to abound today, not the least of which
is this: both of our children live still. I can feel it. Can you?”

“Yes.” Legolas gave his lover’s hand a squeeze. “I love you, my
Aragorn?”

T