Title: Legolas’ Gift
Author: Estel Baggins
Author’s Email: macfal1219@comcast.net
Chapters: 82-83
Rating: NC-17
Summary: On to the “Paths of the Dead,” stopping just before Aragorn
and the others enter the paths. Ahead: two marriages, and a new
interest.


Chapter Eighty-Two

Sam knew why he’d had the dream, but that didn’t stop the effect the
terrible images had on him. As he walked behind Frodo, who walked
behind Gollum, who was leading them to the ‘secret’ way into Mordor,
Sam went over the dream again and again in his mind. He couldn’t
stop. It was as though the Dark Lord, who had tormented Frodo with
so many nightmares through the Ring (Sam firmly believed this, and
continued to do so, no matter what his lover said) had decided that
he must torment both hobbits if there was to be any chance of their
quest failing.

He’d sent them Gollum for the same purpose. Sam knew this for
certain.

Turning his mind forcibly from that (Frodo wouldn’t listen, so what
was the use to fight with them; his lover couldn’t spare the
strength, in Sam’s opinion) Sam recalled the dream again. He was
looking for a calming element, or at least an image that would be so
ridiculous that it could negate the immediacy and horror of the
rest. ‘But everything about that night had cemented itself in his
mind, so the dream (all right, yes, nightmare) was just a string of
memories overlaid with the horror of his current situation.

Strider had left them for a time, and Sam, though he didn’t now
doubt the man, felt himself overwhelmed with the old suspicion as he
and the other hobbits tried to pretend they weren’t afraid. But
they’d all seen the hooded monsters on horseback, and they imagined
they heard hoof beats again and again.

Then the Nazgul- he’d learned the word much later, but somehow it
didn’t seem incongruous in his dream- attacked, and, pressed on all
sides by them, Frodo had been forced to put the Ring on. That’s how
Sam thought of it: Frodo being forced, not that he’d been too weak
to avoid it. There were just some things a person couldn’t deny,
like the rain falling and the sun shining. The call of the Ring was
like that, though not nearly so pleasant. The Ring was the like the
inevitability of some people dying in agony.

The helplessness rushed through Sam again, and his fury came with
it. ‘Frodo! Frodo!’ His eyes were drawn to Gollum’s scuttling form,
and he scowled, safely hidden from Frodo’s eyes. Following Gollum
was like shouting for Frodo and not being answered.

At last, Strider had returned with fire, and he’d driven the Nine
away. And he’d beeen able to help Frodo a little with athelas, but
not much. Then the elf-lord, Glorfindel, had come, and Frodo had
been saved, his wound healed. On they went. Except Frodo was still
suffering from the old wound. Sam could tell. His lover winced
sometimes, or touched the spot while he slept.

The greatest horror of Sam’s nightmare was that Frodo, who hadn’t
been allowed to heal from one stab wound, would never truly heal
from all the things he had suffered, and was sure to suffer, on the
way to Mount Doom.

‘I will love him no matter what happens,’ Sam vowed, but that went
without saying. And love, strong as it was, couldn’t heal all
wounds, right? Of course not. That was a hobbitling tale, and though
Sam was old enough to know that love could heal many things, he was
also old enough to know love’s limits. ‘I won’t give up, even if I
know.’ Yes, and that was true, and it gave Sam a little strength.
He’d need all the strength he could lay hold to, the gardener knew.
To help Frodo, he himself must be stronger than he’d ever though
possible.

Following Frodo’s slow progress, Sam began to look for a cave where
they could hide. These were becoming fewer and fewer, and yet Gollum
insisted they hide during the day. This was the only thing the
creature had said that made any sense to Sam, though the gardener
didn’t doubt that the only reason Gollum said it was because he, the
vile thing, was afraid of the good, clean sunlight.

Frodo glanced back at Sam, startling the other hobbit out of his
thoughts with a smile and an outstretched hand. Sam hurried to catch
up with him and hold his hand.

“You know, I was thinking,” Frodo said. “Do you remember those
beautiful yellow flowers we saw in Lothlorien? What were they
called?”

“Elanor,” Sam answered at once. He’d taken special pains to pick
Frodo a bouquet of these at one point because they’d reminded him of
growing sunshine. Thinking of them now made him smile and he
squeezed Frodo’s hand.

“Yes! I’d forgotten.” Frodo leaned close and kissed Sam’s cheek. “I
was thinking that when we get back to the Shire, we should find a
way to adopt a little girl, maybe a baby, if we can, and name her
Elanor.”

Sam blinked, even as warmth shot through him from the crown of his
head to the soles of his feet. Adoptions were rare in the Shire,
though, of course, Frodo himself had been adopted after his parents
had died. But it happened sometimes, and Sam couldn’t think of a
better way to share the love he felt for Frodo with others than to
have a daughter. “Could we?” He shook his head. That wasn’t the
right question. “Should we?”

“Why not?” Frodo kissed him again. “Why not?”

And for the rest of their journey that night- another hour and a
half- Sam forgot about his nightmare. Only later would he think, ‘We
didn’t travel that fast before Frodo mentioned the baby, and we
didn’t travel that fast after that night. It’s like talking about
our future gave us wings. I wish I’d figured that out earlier. Maybe
the journey wouldn’t have been so long. And maybe we could have
avoided some things.’

***

“So it’s sewn?” Elladan unfurled the standard and gazed at it. Its
beauty stunned him, and he nearly laughed. “Well, I’ll say this: you
have Nana’s skill with a needle.” Winding the cloth back into place,
he said, “Well. Well.”

“A well’s a hole in the ground,” Arwen muttered. “Why do you keep
mentioning it?” She was sitting on the little chair in the wagon
where she’d sat to sew the standard, and though she hated it, soft
and supportive as it was, she stayed there. This way, with her eyes
focused forward and her hands gripping the sides of the chair, she
wouldn’t lash out at her brother. She knew now that Elladan was
beyond reason. She still had hopes for Elrohir.

“Because I can’t believe you,” Elladan said. “You’re not just
grieving, Arwen; you’re stewing, feeding your anger, and when it
flares, you back off from it, then feed it again. I can’t believe
what you’re trying to do to the three of us. We were close as
children, and now that Elrohir and I are both healed, we could be
close again. But you withhold that from us. I don’t think the Shadow
has touched you- never think it- but I can’t help but think you’re
still dwelling in a place better left unvisited. What would you have
us do?” he asked as he leaned the standard against the side of the
wagon and squatted before her.

Her eyes flashed. “Stop acting like Ada, for one!” She shoved him
hard, and he fell back, surprised. “Quit crouching down to me like
you’re the wise lord and I’m just the silly girl. Talk to me like an
equal.”

Elladan shook his head as he got to his feet. “That’s not what this
is all about, but, all right, if you like.” He fetched the only
other chair in the wagon and sat on it, facing her, his back a
little bent, like hers, and his hands in his lap. “You are my equal,
Arwen. You have always been, and I didn’t mean to make you feel
otherwise. Now will you talk to me?”

“What’s the use?” She got up and began to pace. “You won’t listen to
me, and you know what I’ll say.”

“No I don’t. I know your complaints-”

“Worries!”

“-about Elrohir and I staying here, but I don’t understand their
basis, their backing.” He followed her with his eyes, taking in the
unconsciously sensual sway of her hips and trying to remember if
their mother had walked that way. He doubted it. “Why do you think
it’s within your power to change our minds?”

“Aragorn changed mine.”

“That’s too simple. Don’t go blaming this on a broken heart. It’s
beneath you.”

“There you go again!” She spun towards him. “Stop acting like you’re
my better!”

Elladan let out a whoosh of air. “Please stop, Arwen. I want to have
an adult conversation with you. You’ll have to forgive what sounds
to you like my pride, but before we ride into danger, I want to know
what’s going on inside your head. Has it even occurred to you that
Halbarad, Elrohir, Glorfindel and I might all die in the coming
battles? Do you want us to part like this, angry, confused and hurt?
I’d rather that we part as loving family.”

“What makes you think I’m not coming with you?”

Elladan’s jaw dropped. When he could think, he dragged it back up to
where it should have been, then just goggled at her for a moment.
Finally, his mind caught up with his mouth, and he asked, “Why would
you do that? The standard’s done.”

“Because I’m supposed to come with you.” She smiled patiently at his
confusion. “I dreamed it. My destiny lies to the south.” That
annoying smile faded as she admitted, “The dream didn’t say exactly
what I’m supposed to do there, but that’s where I’m supposed to be.”
She glared at Elladan, daring him to gainsay her.

But her warning look was wasted; when Elladan spoke, his back was to
her. “Arwen, are you sure it was a telling dream? Are you sure it
wasn’t just, you know,your wishes invading your sleep?”

She was at his side in an instant, her fingers digging into his arm
like talons. “You wouldn’t ask Elrohir that question!”

“I would have before he was healed,” Elladan answered, “and Ada
asked that of me often enough in the years since I was first
attacked. It’s not a demeaning question, but an honest one. I don’t
remember you ever having a prophetic dream before. Why would you
have one now?”

“Haven’t you been listening? I’m supposed to be there. That’s why I
had the vision. Don’t you get that?”

Elladan turned towards her, measuring her resolve, and judging her
belief. She didn’t seem to be lying. But he knew all about self-
deception. ‘Still, I can’t say anything that won’t sound like
condescension.’ He sighed. “It will be very dangerous.”

She nodded, her eyes satisfied.

“We’ll all have to ride,” Elladan continued. “Grandmother says
Aragorn is in need of us.”

She nodded again.

Her brother sighed again. “Arwen, are you sure you must do this?”

“Yes.”

As if there could be any other answer. Elladan repressed a third
sigh. “All right. We’ll be leaving in two hours. Pack what you must,
but we travel light and fast.”

“I’ve ridden horses before, Elladan. Don’t worry about me.” But she
had never ridden more than a few miles, and they both knew it. “I’ll
be all right, Elladan. Don’t be afraid.”

He thought, ‘I’m not afraid for you. Not really. I just don’t want
you in the middle of all this.’ And he supposed that was because he
was, deep down, terrified that she would die in the war that was
coming. Telling himself he wasn’t afraid for her safety was a lie.
But that fear wasn’t the only reason he didn’t want her to come.
“Arwen, I don’t think you should come with us. But you’re old enough
to make that decision for yourself.” He went out, taking the
standard with him, planning to find Glorfindel and ask his lover if
there was any way to convince his sister to stay behind.

Arwen didn’t waste time in fuming; Elladan didn’t want her to go,
but he would allow it. That was the important thing. Nodding to
herself, thinking of the dream that had come three or four times
over the last week, Arwen began to gather her things.

***

“I would send three messages with you,” Galadriel said to her
grandsons as they prepared to leave. She had walked out of the
living cathedral to the border where the Dunedain had gathered,
ready to depart. They would not follow the Fellowship’s road
downriver, but would head straight into Rohan, going over the
mountains at once and descending into the valley. It would be a
difficult journey for Arwen and Mordecai, though it would be a
little less hard on the boy. The Lady had already tried to talk
sense into her granddaughter, but Arwen remained adamant that she
was supposed to go, so she was just doing her duty.

“The first is to only reiterate what your father has said: if
Aragorn finds that his allies are too few and time is short, he must
remember the Paths of the Dead. The second is for Legolas: Legolas
Greenleaf, long under tree, in joy hast thou lived; be ware of the
Sea! If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore, they heart
shall then rest in the forest no more.”

Elladan, ever the poet and dealer in lore, memorised the second
message without trouble and left the first to Elrohir.

“And, to Gimli Gloin’s son give his Lady’s greeting. Lock-bearer,
wherever thou goest, my thought goes with thee. But have a care to
lay thine axe to the right tree!” She smiled when she saw the
surprised look on the twins’ faces. “You’ll understand all that when
you meet up with the Dunedain, or shortly after. Perhaps my words
come a little late, for I sense Gimli has already made the right
choice, but at least they will bring him comfort to know he’s in my
thoughts.” She moved forward and kissed each of her grandsons on the
forehead. Then she kissed Arwen on the cheek, bid her to go in
safety, and turned to the Dunedain.

To Kehydi, she gave a simple, heartfelt wish that he would listen to
his heart and not to any external influence. “And remember that the
Dunedin are your family and they can help you.”

Standing before Saru, she touched two fingers to his belly. “A
blessing for your babe, that she might be born after all this is
over.”

Saru bowed as she stepped back. “Thank you, Lady.”

She moved on, and Saru wondered why she hadn’t given him a word.
‘But maybe that’s what she did by blessing my babe.’ He decided not
to be greedy or to wonder at it; there were far more important
things to worry about. Annaleh’s words, which had come to her
through Aidan, who had received them from Mordecai, floated about in
his mind, and he had no better luck undoing their terror than his
mother had. Sighing, he glanced at Kehydi, taking his husband’s
measure.

Kehydi seemed to feel Saru’s eyes. He turned and caught Saru’s hand,
lifting it to his lips. “Fear not, my Saru. All will be well.” He
didn’t smile, and the look in his eyes was one of deep
concentration.

“I know,” Saru answered, and he allowed his hand to be kissed. He
even enjoyed it. But that look of concentration made him nervous,
though he couldn’t have said why.

As the Dunedain left Lothlorien a little later, Saru dropped back to
ride beside Glorfindel, who had separated himself from his lover for
the time being. Saru didn’t speak, but only a few minutes passed
before Glorfindel did.

“You cannot stop this without taking him out of his place,” he said.

Saru shook his head. “I can’t do that. He’s… You know what he is.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Yes.” Then, “Saru, we will be with Aragorn soon.
Then all these questions of following or not following will
disappear. Aragorn is the King the Dunedain have always been
prepared to follow.”

Saru’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t want to lose him to the
Shadow. I know my heart is connected to the mission of the Dunedain,
but I still don’t want to lose the man I’ve always tried to love. I
can’t just turn away from him. That would be like…” He shook his
head. “I have nothing to compare it to.” He was weeping, and when he
reached up to wipe away the tears, he stopped to gaze at his hand.
“It’s as if I’ve been asked to cut off three of my fingers and then
still pick up a sword and defend Aragorn to the death. I’d try, but
there’s no chance of success.”

Glorfindel thought about telling Saru it wasn’t that bad, then
realised he would be a hypocrite to say anything even resembling
that. He rode in silence for a moment, measuring his words, weighing
them for lies, and discarding anything that only seemed half-true.
At last, ready, he said, “Then you must try to save your love and
the Dunedain at the same time. Follow as close to your lover as you
can, and try to protect his back. And when we come to Aragorn, take
your concerns to him. I know we’re practically on the eve of battle,
but that doesn’t mean Aragorn won’t have time to listen.”

A moment of consideration, then Saru nodded. “Yes.” He started to
ride away, but Glorfindel reached out and caught his arm.

“Wait a moment more. Can you feel the Light in yourself yet?”

Saru blinked, started to answer, then stopped. “I dream that I have
it,” he answered, “and when we entered Lothlorien, I thought I felt
something flicker on like a lighted candle in the back of my mind.
But now? No.”

Glorfindel nodded. “That’s well. It’s not something you have to
always feel; you just have to remember you have it when you need it.
But that’s not why I asked you to wait. I just wanted to let you
know that you’ve given up a little of your Light.”

“What?” Saru’s eyes widened, but then he faced forward and got his
mount moving. He heard Glorfindel following. “Where did it go? And
how did I give it up?”

“Unknowingly,” Glorfindel answered. “Mordecai called for it, and you
gave it. This happened sometime last night, maybe when Mordecai was
touched by whatever delivered the message through his mouth. He
needed energy suddenly, and he called for it.”

“We’re not elves,” Saru said. “We’re not even of Isildur’s line. Why
should this affect us? Why are we being turned into psychic dams
that can be demolished and built up again to keep in the energy?
We’ve done nothing special. Well, I meditated under the trees, if
that’s what you want to call what I was doing. I just call it
seeking peace. But Mordecai did nothing. Can I stop him from being
burdened with all this? It’s confusing enough for me; how much will
it bother him when he learns…” Saru blinked. “But it won’t bother my
son, will it? Mordecai would see it as a grand adventure. All my
children have their grandfather’s spirit.” He sighed. “Glorfindel,
please tell me this Light isn’t going to hurt my baby.”

“The Light never hurts; it only heals. And, of course, it can be
used as a weapon.”

“Mordecai isn’t old enough to be a warrior!” Saru realised he’d come
dangerously close to shouting, and reined himself in. “Or would the
Light last, giving him strength later in life?”

“The Light will last as long as the Valar will it; that’s all I
know. Questions of the future are pointless now, anyway. Just
understand two things. First and foremost, you now have less Light
in you than you did before. Light isn’t like most psychic powers,
for lack of a better term.” He frowned. “Though I’ve never heard
those words, they seem apt. Where did you hear them?”

“ ‘Psychic is a word in the Haradrim language that means ‘of the
mind or the spiritual realm’ so psychic powers mean powers from mind
or the spirit world.” He shrugged. “It makes sense to me, though it
sounds strange when I have to explain it.”

“ ‘Psychic.’ It fits.” Glorfindel collected his thoughts. “The Light
isn’t like love, wherein the more you spend, the more you have. It’s
like taking leaves off a tree; there are only so many leaves. Since
you haven’t been aware of the Light in a moment-to moment way, that
won’t affect you much. And your own Light will replenish itself to
the level it is right now, so even if you exhausted it in some
battle, it would come back.” He smiled, and that honestly-amused
expression put a touch of reality on a situation that had been
pulling Saru’s into places he would rather leave unexplored. “And,
likely as not, you’ll never have to worry about any of this. Most of
the men who are given the Light go through their lives without
needing to call on it.” He caught Saru’s eye. “But if you ever need
it, all you have to do is think of using it, and it will be done.
The Light has become one of your muscles now.” He looked away,
though he still spoke. “May I speak to you about something I need
help with?”

Saru turned back to him at once, and the need to help shone so
brightly in his eyes (augmented by the Light, Glorfindel saw) that
he looked twenty or thirty years younger. “Anything.”

“Will you take on an extra task, more than all those that have been
set before you?”

The Ranger simply watched him, the cold mask of duty dropping over
his face, turning him into a man who’d lived at least a hundred
seasons.

Glorfindel found himself wondering how old Saru was, then gave it
up. Did the man’s age really matter? No. And trying to guess at the
number of winters he’d seen was quickly becoming almost as hard as
guessing the number of years on Aragorn’s shoulders, or even on an
elf’s. “Watch out for Halbarad. I do not fear his return to the
Shadow, but his death. I can’t say when it will come, only that
someone will try to take him soon.” He thought of saying all the
things he was thinking, about how Elrohir had lived for so long
without real love, and about how Elladan needed Elrohir, but those
were things he could have said to Saru as he’d been a moment before:
a receptive brother-in-arms. Now Saru was Aragorn’s soldier, and
such sentiments would only fall on deaf ears.

“I’ll watch out for him. You have my word.”

“Thank you, Dunadan.”

Saru rode away, back to join his husband at the head of the column,
and Glorfindel went to ride with Elladan, who was discreetly
watching over his sister.

***

They traveled away from Isengard by slow paths, and Aragorn’s
impatience gnawed at him, even as he acknowledged that they were
taking the best road at present. But soon enough, he was distracted
by his concern for Gondor by Pippin’s ceaseless shifting about
behind him. Aragorn had carried the hobbit out of the valley, and at
first Pippin had been still as- well, as still as the stone he’d
picked out of the filthy waters that had swamped Isengard. Just as
still, and just as full of untold things. Aragorn suspected the true
nature of the stone that was now hidden by Gandalf’s cloak, but he
was in not hurry to know if his guess was right. If it was true,
after all, that truth would lead Aragorn to a battle that he in no
way desired, but one he would not shirk if the identity of the stone
was assured.

“Are you sure a fish or two didn’t swim up your trousers while you
were paddling about in the water?” he asked the hobbit at his tail.

Pippin stopped shifting at once. “I’m all right; just tired of
riding.”

“Well, you’ll have another few hours of it, at least. We want to put
some distance between ourselves and the Huorns before night falls.
They’re being shepherded well, but they are not tame trees, or even
half-tame, like the Ents.”

“Treebeard can manage them,” Pippin said.

Aragorn chuckled. “You trust him so much? Good. I value your
opinion. I didn’t expect the last of that race to be so sure of
himself and his place in world.”

“He wasn’t, not at first,” Pippin said. “But he listened to us.” A
pause, then, “Frodo said you’re almost the last of your race. Is
that true?”

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. “When did Frodo say that?”

“When we were all hanging about in Rivendell.”

“Ah. He must have heard something of the kind from Bilbo. My people
are some of the last descendents of Numenor, but we’re far from the
last. And though I am the last descendent of Isildur, there may be
two more very soon.” He stopped then, wondering why he’d told such a
secret to Pippin. But then he had to smile at himself. ‘It’s quite
simple, you foolish Ranger, and if you don’t understand it, than you
know nothing of the joy of parenthood. You told because you could
scarce keep it behind your teeth.’ His smile broadened. ‘Yes, and
even if I know it may bring trouble later, I am hard-pressed to hold
it in. Like my love for Legolas, it is not something that can be
denied, or even hidden for more than a very little time.’

“You’re going to have a baby with Legolas, aren’t you?” Pippin
asked, forgetting the stone he’d taken out of the water for the
first time. “Is he carrying twins, or are you?”

“We are each carrying a child.”

Pippin was silent for a moment, then he asked, “But wouldn’t one be
the descendent of your house, and the other be the descendent of
Legolas’ family?”

‘True for you, and I should have known I couldn’t fool you. And
there goes my last hope of sneaking something so obvious past the
counselors that will surely surround me once I am king.’ “Yes,
Pippin, that’s so, but when Elendil, the first king of Gondor, and
his lover, Gil-galad, each had a baby boy within a month of each
other, the two boys were equal in the sight of the people. Isildur
became king of Gondor because he was the older son, and Anarion
became the king of Arnor, the northern kingdom.”

“Who’s son was Isildur? I mean, who gave birth to him?”

‘Another question I wish I didn’t have to answer. It makes things
more complicated for Legolas and me.’ “Gil-galad gave birth to him.”

Pippin was silent again for a time, and Aragorn thought he wouldn’t
come up with the significance of that. The man should have known
better. “Who’s baby will be born first? Yours or Legolas’?”

Aragorn sighed. “Legolas’.”

“Well, then that’s fine, right?”

“Yes. But I do fear for our children, that they won’t be accepted as
equals in the sight of the people.” ‘And now I have lost him,
surely.’

“Just give them the example of Gil-galad and Elentil.”

“Elendil, and maybe that would make sense, if so many things hadn’t
changed in Gondor since those two ruled side-by-side.” Aragorn’s
voice dropped. “Forgive me, Pippin; this isn’t the time for my
worries. Is there anything you want to know about the road ahead?”

The hobbit pinched Aragorn’s arm so hard the Ranger grunted in
pained surprise. “What was that for?” he demanded.

“For treating me like a young friend instead of an equal friend.”
Pippin pinched Aragorn again. “And that’s for doing it after knowing
us all for months. Don’t treat me like I can’t listen to your
problems when you listen to mine all the time. I’m just as a good a
listener as you.”

Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, but Pippin pinched him a third
time, as if he knew what the man would say.

“Don’t interrupt. It’s rude, as Gandalf’s told us more than once.
You’re worried about Legolas being accepted as your equal, and
you’re worried about your children being accepted. Well, that’s to
be expected, and nothing to be ashamed of. But you’re forgetting
something, Strider. When you get to Gondor, you’re going to be more
than their long-awaited king. You’re going to be their savior, their
redeemer, and their hope-in-the-flesh. Don’t sell yourself short or
underestimate your own power, persuasive and otherwise. Even back in
Bree, when Sam and I didn’t like the look of you, Frodo had the
sense to see that you looked foul and felt fair. And no matter what
you’re dressed in from now on, you’ll always feel fair to the people
who know you. And don’t doubt that, not even for an instant. You’ve
got to give up being Strider now. I know it’s hard; it’s like giving
up a favorite chair or cloak, one that’s meant the world to you
because of the memories it holds. But you have to do it. Stop being
Strider, especially in your own mind, and become what King Theoden
and Lord Eomer call you: Aragorn. It’s time for your to put Strider
away. There’s no other way you’re going to be able to command and
inspire the people of Gondor. And they need you to lead them. If
they could get along without a king, there’d be no reason for you to
return. But they need you. I know it, and Boromir knew it. He did.
So quit acting like Strider and trying to plan how you’re going to
present things to a committee. You’re the king, outranking the
others. You have to act like it, even if you don’t think you’re
better than everyone else. You still have to take charge. Not just
like a general of an army, but like a king. There’s nothing like a
king, and it’s the one thing you’ve never been. Well, now’s your
time to learn. You’re running out of time to learn. You’ll be going
to Gondor soon, I know. So finally give up being Barliman’s Strider
and be the king you were born to be.” Having said all this, he fell
silent, went completely still, and appeared to fall asleep, though
his hands remained clenched in the fabric of Aragorn’s shirt, both
to keep him on the horse, and as if he was ready at any moment to
give Aragorn another pinch if the man seemed to need it.

‘Well, that was quite a tongue-lashing. I’ll have to give Pippin
some of my rations tonight by way of a thank-you.’ Riding nearer,
Legolas grinned over at Aragorn, letting his pleasure show clearly
in his eyes. Then he moved off again, leaving Aragorn to think.

The Ranger had quite a bit to think about, and he started right
then, chewing it over all the rest of that long, slow-riding day.

***

They’d camped at the green foot of Dol Baran, two guards to a watch,
but everyone was awakened by Pippin’s scream. Aragorn had been
deeply asleep, dreaming of his Dunedain, but he was up at once,
running to where the hobbit lay. Gandalf was there already, and
squatting by the prone form. The stone, hidden by the wizard’s
cloak, but unmistakable to Aragorn’s trained eye, lay nearby. Still,
the man didn’t go near it. Instead, he set himself to keep the men
back, and to make sure Merry didn’t dart forward. Whatever Gandalf
was doing- seeing how much Pippin had been hurt by the demon in the
sacred stone was Aragorn’s guess- he must not be disturbed. If they
could trust Pippin again, they must know for sure if Sauron had
invaded his mind.

At last, Gandalf carried Pippin back to the hobbit’s bed, and Merry,
released from Aragorn’s restraining hand, followed. He spoke to
Pippin for a little time, then returned to where the others stood.
Scooping up the stone still in his cloak (which Aragorn had been
unconsciously guarding) he gazed at Aragorn, as if taking his
measure.

The man was used to such looks and took no offense. “How is Pippin?”
He noted that many of the Rohirrim had returned to their blankets,
though Theoden and Eomer still stood near.

“I think all will be well now,” the wizard said. “He was not held
long, and hobbits have an amazing power of recovery.” He frowned.
“Though he was strangely fortunate. Pippin saw a part of the Enemy’s
plan. He has vowed that he will raise Gondor to the ground before he
ever sees a king return to the throne of men.” Then, seemingly at
random to those gathered around, though Aragorn understood the
abrupt change, and Legolas wasn’t far behind, “Will you, Aragorn,
take the Orthanc-stone and guard it? This is a dangerous charge.”

He couldn’t afford to think on Pippin’s words any longer. The
decision to follow the advice or leave it by the side, possibly
until it had passed beyond reach, had come. “Dangerous indeed, but
not to all,” Aragorn said. “There is one who may claim it by right.
For this assuredly is the palantir of Orthanc from the treasury of
Elendil, set here by that king. Now my hour draws near. I will take
it.”

If Pippin could have heard this, he would have been delighted. As it
was, Legolas silently rejoiced in the hobbit’s name, and because, to
see Aragorn in this new light was glorious beyond measure.

Gandalf stood for another moment, seeming to consider the man before
him. Then, to the surprise of all but Legolas (and Gimli, for
Legolas had explained things to him while they still lingered in
Lothlorien) Gandalf presented the stone to Aragorn, bowing as he
lifted it. “Receive it, Lord, in earnest of other things that shall
be given back. But if I may counsel you in the use of your own, do
not use it just yet. Be wary.”

Aragorn nodded, thought for a moment, then said, “You’re right; it’s
not time yet for me to reveal myself.” His eyes went beyond Gandalf,
to where Merry and Pippin were huddled, almost surely not sleeping.
“Does Sauron think the stone was in Orthanc?”

“Very likely, and that Pippin was driven to look in for his own
torment, that Saruman made him look, in other words. And that will
delay the Enemy for a little time, but He’ll soon send a messenger
to Orthanc to know the truth.”

At that moment, as if summoned by Gandalf’s words, a shadow passed
between the earth and stars, too high to see clearly, but near
enough to feel.

“Nazgul,” Legolas whispered.

“Yes,” Gandalf answered. “And now not even the nighttime is safe to
sleep in! I’ll take Pippin with me- no place near Orthanc is safe
now- and the rest of you must ride as soon as possible.” He sprang
away, calling Shadowfax, and Aragorn followed him, scooping up the
sleepy Pippin and settling him onto the stallion as Gandalf swung up
behind him.

“Ride hard,” the king said. “I will come as soon as I may.”

“Make haste!” Gandalf commanded. Then he urged Shadowfax to a
canter. Soon horse and riders were gone.

Aragorn turned back to Theoden and his Riders, all of which had come
back at the call of Rohan’s king, and were making ready to ride.
Aragorn stopped a moment, as if considering them, and he sent,
‘Legolas?’

‘Here, love. Gandalf’s taking Pippin to Gondor, isn’t he?’

‘Yes. Denethor must be warned. And as for the Rohirrim, they will
ride to Gondor as well, I’m sure. But I don’t know if we’ll be
riding with them. Despite the time we still have, I can’t see
spending any of it in mustering men. If I’m right, we’ll be riding
East by the swiftest road.”

“The road under the mountain?” Legolas asked, speaking aloud in his
astonishment.

‘Aii, don’t frighten the men!’ His cry was half-amused, but Legolas
heard the other half- hard as stone- as well. Aragorn sighed. ‘Yes,
that road. But I’ll avoid it if I am allowed. For now, we’d better
make ourselves part of this group of departing men.’

Before Aragorn could turn to thoughts of the Rohirrim, Legolas said,
‘It is never my intention to bring you hope that isn’t justified,
but I have had a feeling since I awoke, and it has nothing to do
with Sauron or the Palantir.’

‘What is it?’ Aragorn’s eyes flashed, and Legolas saw this, though
they were separated by better than half the king’s host.

‘Someone we both love is close. My guess would be the Dunedain, but
I can’t be sure. Still, I think we’ll know if its them very soon.
Maybe even before midday. =’ Aragorn sensed the mental shrug. ‘I
don’t know how I know, but it’s more than a guess, though less than
a fact.’

‘Legolas, you need not explain feelings to me. On such were many
monumentous decisions made.’ Now Aragorn was definitely amused, and
Legolas was glad to sense it. ‘I pray you’re right and the Dunedain
are near. My thoughts have ever been on them, and I hope they’ll
only come before I must make my choice.’

The proof of Legolas’ feeling came only an hour later. Theoden had
resolved that all should be ready to ride as soon as possible and
so, driven by his words, and by the winged shadow that had passed
far above, the Rohirrim had leapt to their horses less than twenty
minutes after their king’s order. As a group of twenty-six, with
Gimli behind Legolas and Merry in front of Aragorn, they set out.
Theoden would go to the muster at Edoras, but Aragorn was becoming
increasingly aware that his road didn’t lie in that direction and
so, as the party road, he mulled over his choices, all the while
knowing in his heart that it was really no choice at all. He must
simply do what he must.

Not long after the host had crossed the Fords of Isen (strange to
think that theyd ridden for so long the day before, and yet scome
such a small distance on the narrow and slow hill-paths) a rider
galloped up from the back of the column, calling to Theoden King.
“My lord, there are horsemen behind us. As we crossed the fords I
thought that I heard them. Now we are sure. They are overtaking us,
riding hard.”

‘And so I am denied this last chance to make my choice. Very well.
The decision is made.’ Aragorn drew Brego to a standstill then,
after lifting Merry down, went to stand at the king’s stirrup. ‘Not
that I am grateful for the trouble that might be coming, but perhaps
it was better than I had no more time to think on such a certain,
though difficult, thing.’

He sensed Legolas step up close to him, and knew that his lover
would stand at his side against the very forces of Mordor. Aragorn
drew his sword with a cold whisper of steel. ‘Aii, Legolas, I love
you.’

The elf sent back a wave of like kind, then fitted an arrow to the
string of his bow.

***

The Dunedain had taken to their horses again as soon as the land
permitted. Now, as they galloped over the rolling land, glad of the
moon that allowed their swift progress, each and every one felt the
nearness of their lord. Even Elrohir, newly borne into their family,
felt Aragorn’s closeness, though he didn’t know precisely what he
was feeling. Halbarad could have told him, but Halbarad didn’t have
thought to spare. His mind was taken up with that encompassing,
comforting feeling, and with the charge Saru, with Kehydi’s
distracted consent, had laid on him. And of course, under all this,
lurked the memory of their near-destruction by the Ents the day
before.

They’d come to the foot of the mountains that had to be crossed over
to reach Rohan’s plains, sure their passage would now be swift, when
Aidan, who’d be scouting ahead with Raven and Cein, came back
shouting that walking trees would block any murther progress just
over the next rise. Raven should have ben the one to make the
report, but he was pale with shock. Perhaps Aidan would have been
shocked into speechlessness too if not for his brother’s vision.

Kehydi ordered the Dunedain to reorder themselves, putting the best
swordsmen in the front, and for all others to fall back. And even
though Saru and Aidan were among these, he ordered them back as
well. This nearly made sense in Saru’s case: he was growing rounder
by the day it seemed, though he still could have fought with his
usual strength and grace. But for Aidan it made absolutely no sense.
Still, all knew this was not the time to argue.

The Dunedain rode forward, and when they crested the rise, Kehydi
drew his sword and opened his mouth to loose a war cry.

“Wait!” Saru galloped forward, stopping directly before Kehydi’s
mount. “Wait! Everything about this seems wrong! Wait, love,
please!”

Kehydi’s eyes narrowed and his lips drew back from his teeth. “Get
out of my way, Saru. These creatures are going to kill us if we
don’t frighten them off. They’re like wild beasts that need to be
shown the fire.”

“No. Some are intelligent shepherds, and the others are more like
wargs that aren’t afraid of fire. All you’ll do is enrage them!”

One tree had separated itself from the moving forest and approached.
Kehydi moved to shove Saru aside, if it could be done, but the Ent
beat him to it with a surprisingly swift movement. The tree scooped
Saru out of his saddle and lifted him high into the air.

“HOOOM! HMMMM! What is this? A servant of Saruman, escaped? HOOOM!
Speak!!”

Kehydi tried to move forward again, ready to hack at the tree’s
roots-become-legs. But someone else interposed themselves, and
Kehydi swore in rage. “Am I second in command or am I not?” he
roared at the sons of Elrond who barred his way.

“You are, but we outrank you, son of Malacai,” Elladan said,
reaching out to deftly pluck the man’s sword from nerveless fingers.

Glorfindel leapt from Asfoloth’s back and bowed low before the Ent.
“Master Ent,” he said in Elvish, “forgive our startling you, but we
have traveled far, yet without meeting your kind. I am Glorfindel,
of Gondolin and Imladris, and I beg you to release my friend. Saru
Dunadan has done nothing to you, nor does he wish to. All he seeks
is a peaceful meeting and parting.”

“Hmmmm. Gondolin? That kingdom is long gone. How can you be of that
place?”

“I am Glorfindel, Balrog Slayer, reborn into this world after dying
in defense of my king. Gondolin fell, but I was brought back. In
Imladris I now dwell.”

“Speak the language of that long-lost last if you really came from
there.”

Glorfindel’s eyes changed, as if his gaze were focused within. Then
he said in the rolling language that seemed more like that of Rohan
than that of the House of Elrond, “Alll-ah—hannanleh. Nedulie
Silkanee Glorfindel-nalahn Zee-Gondolin, see neelekshalahm.” Which,
being interpreted, means, “Allow us safe passage, Tree-herder. I,
Glorfindel, Lord of Gondolin, ask you.”

Treebeard set Saru down gently, then lifted Glorfindel up. “Will you
abide with me a little time, Glorfindel? I would learn of your
travels.”

Glorfindel sighed. “I wish I could,” he answered, still in the
language of Gondolin. “We have far to ride and people we must find.
Aragorn, son of Arathorn, will soon ride to his destiny, and we must
be there to give him what he needs for that final journey.”

“Hoom hmmm hoom. Aragorn. Hmmmm. I saw him not a day ago, with young
Master Gandalf and riders of Rohan. They went towards the Isen
Fords.” He pointed. “That way. I will ask the Huorns to step back,
you let you pass. But- Hoom!- will you return and speak with me?”

“If I may. Nothing would please me more, Thank you, Tree-herder.”

Treebeard nodded, straightened, and moved ponderously back into the
forest. Soon, the trees began to move.

Glorfindel returned to his stallion. And when he saw the look on
Kehydi’s face- a confusion of anger and relief- he only sighed and
mounted up, ready to ride again. Let the man, who, for Glorfindel,
seemed more and more like useless baggage, think his thoughts and
stew in his own juices. Soon now, though not too soon for
Glorfindel, the Dunedain would be commanded again by their chief.

Halbarad had no way of knowing all this, of course, but he had
opportunity later to speak to Glorfindel of it, and to ask if the
lord would teach him the beautiful language he’d spoken. Hearing it
had awakened a need in the Ranger that was analogous to ravenous
hunger.

When they’d stopped that night to rest for only an hour or two, long
enough to eat and give their horses a chance to rest as well, Saru
had come to Halbarad, bearing the close-furled standard Arwen had
finished in Lothlorien. Elladan had been bearing it for the last
days, but he’d evidently given it over willingly enough. “Halbarad?”

The older Ranger searched Saru’s face, as he seemed to do
automatically these days, for signs of waning strength. He saw only
a happiness in Saru’s eyes that confused him. “Saru, what is it?”

“Aragorn is close.” Saru’s grin shone forth like a rising sun. “He’s
less than eight hours ahead of us. We’ll see him before the sun
rises.” He hopped from foot to foot in his excitement, and Halbarad
couldn’t help but think that Saru knew exactly what he was talking
about. But before he could say anything, Saru went on, “I asked
Kehydi, and he said I can have you do this. Will you bear the
standard to Aragorn and speak to him when we meet him on the road?
Be our liaison to those that are riding with him. He’ll know by this
simple act that we want you to be a Dunadan again. Will you bear his
standard?”

For a moment, Halbarad hadn’t been able to speak. But then, at last,
he found his voice. “Saru…” Or perhaps it wasn’t quite ready to be
used. Ignoring his rebellious vocal cords, Halbarad threw his arms
around Saru and hugged him tightly. He felt the tears in his eyes,
and knew they wouldn’t fall. “Saru… Thank you.”

And so, as the Dunedain rode forward less than half an hour later,
Halbarad rode on Kehydi’s right and the three elves of Imladris on
the other.

They came upon the group of twenty-six just beyond the Isen, though
Elladan and Elrohir, acting as scouts, had come with the news that
there was a group of mounted men heading north half an hour ago.
When they said this, the feeling that Saru had had, which had spread
through the Dunedain like wildfire, flared, and every Ranger
unconsciously urged his mount faster, and yet ever faster.

“Halt!” shouted a voice when the Rangers were less than a stone’s
throw from Rohan’s king. “None ride in Rohan without permission of
Theoden King.”

Halbarad dismounted and held his hands away from his weapons, palms
out. “Halbarad am I, and with me some of my kindred. We seek Aragorn
son of Arathorn and were told he rides in Rohan.”

“And you have found him also.” Aragorn strode to Halbarad and drew
the man against him. “Aii, Halbarad. It is good to see you,” he
whispered. Then, because protocol commanded it, he pulled back from
the man and turned to Theoden King. “These are some of my own
kindred from the North. But how they come to be here and how many
they be, Halbarad will tell us.”

“We are seventy strong,” Halbarad answered, “though we wish we could
have brought more.” To Aragorn, quietly, “The others stayed back to
guard the women and children who couldn’t travel, and to defend the
Shire.”

Aragorn nodded. “May I present Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Lord
Elrond of Imladris, and Glorfindel, elf-lord of that same house.”

Theoden inclined his head, though a trifle stiffly.

Elladan bowed deeply. “We are humbled to stand before the fabled
riders of Rohan, Theoden King. Please accept this small token of our
esteem.” From his cloak, he drew a pendant on a long chain.
Surrounded by polished silver, the golden horse gleamed despite the
fact that it was illuminated by moonlight only. “Wrought for your
halls by the elven smiths of our father’s house,” the eldest son
said.

Theoden took the pendant, admiring it. “Your smiths are talented
craftsmen. I thank you, Lord Elladan.” Then, to Aragorn, “If these
men are like unto you yourself, then their strength will be one that
cannot be measured by number of heads.” He gestured to those around
him, introducing them. Then he said, “I am sure you would like a
moment with your people. We will ride a little ahead, and you may
join us at your leisure.”

Aragorn bowed. “Thank you, lord. You’re gracious.”

Theoden shook his head. “It’s the least I can to thank you for all
you’ve done for Rohan.”

At this a cheer went up from the Rohirrim, and Halbarad thought,
‘Our Aragorn has done well by these people.’

Aragorn passed among the Dunedain, touching each on the arm, or
speaking softly. He lingered for a time with Kehydi, speaking so
quietly that none near him could hear the words save his second.
When Aragorn saw Annaleh and some of the other women, he raised his
eyebrows, not disapproving, but surprised, and just possibly glad.
Then his eyebrows shot up of their own accord when he saw Saru’s
youngest son, and he muttered, “Questions later.”

He turned to Halbarad. “Kneel, Ranger.”

The Dunedain stood about Aragorn in an arc; Saru and Aaron stepped
forward. Elladan and Glorfindel, of one mind, took three steps back
and bowed their heads as if in mediation. Elladan brought Arwen with
them, and she, too, bowed her head, but more because she felt
foolish than out of reverence. Aragorn hadn’t noticed her yet, not
with his conscious mind, though he was too much a chief not to have
seen her and known who she was. At Aragorn’s feet, Halbarad bowed
his head, his hand to his chest in the solemn sign of fealty.

“Hear me, Dunedain.”

“We hear,” they intoned, and though their collective voice was
composed, uninflected, their eyes danced and they subconsciously
drew closer to their brother, and to their chief.

“How do you see Halbarad, Aaron, trusted Dunadan, trusted healer?”

“As a man in good standing among us, an honorable man who serves the
good of the Dunedain faithfully, as a good husband to Elrohir, son
of Elrond. A revered warrior, a loving brother and a trusted
friend.”

Aragorn nodded and blessed Halbarad with a touch on the man’s bowed
head. “How do you see Halbarad, Saru, trusted Dunadan, trusted
leader?”

“As a man deserving of respect, trust, and love. I petition that he
be numbered among the Dunedain.”

Another blessing to Halbarad’s forehead, then Aragorn asked, lifting
his eyes to sweep all those gathered about him, “Should Halbarad be
named Dunadan?”

“Yes!”

Their resounding shout rolled over the hills of Rohan to where the
riders had, all of one mind, paused to glance back at the grey-clad
strangers who had evidently found their lord and chief.

Back among his people, Aragorn blessed Halbarad with another touch
to his bowed head, then he bid the man rise. Aragorn kissed
Halbarad’s forehead, then turned him so he faced the rest of the
Dunedain. “Welcome your brother!”

Their shout this time held no one word, but the joy pulsing in the
sound left no doubt as to their love for the man that stood before
them. And when Aragorn stepped back, allowing for informality, Saru
and Aaron were only the first two of many that cam forward at once
to embrace Halbarad.

After everyone had been given a chance to hug the new man, but
before they could slip out of the horseshoe they’d made, Aragorn
called, “There is another who wishes to join us, Dunedain, though I
think you’ve already accepted him.” Aragorn grinned at his brother,
relishing Elrohir’s surprised blink. No one had told Aragorn of the
love between Halbarad and the son of Elrond, but it had been
impossible to miss. “No need for formal pledges,” Aragorn continued
when everyone had quieted down and was looking at him. “Later, in
the presence of all, we can delare the marriage ceremony between
these two, but for now-”

“Is there time now?” Elrohir asked.

The Dunedain blinked at him, even Halbarad gaped at him. He’d
interrupted Aragorn, and he’d asked a question that was on many of
their minds, though some of them were thinking of another pair that
they wished to see wed.

Aragorn froze, his mouth half-open and his mind catching up with
what he’d just heard. He looked rather silly for a moment and
Legolas, standing not far away with Gimli, chuckled. All heard him,
and it broke the awkward moment. Aragorn glanced at his lover,
smiled, nodded. “Would you wed now, Halbarad? Your lover seems
nothing but eager.” He enjoyed the blush that climbed Elrohir’s
cheeks.

Halbarad took the elf’s hand in his and kissed it. “I would.”

“Step forward.” Aragorn made a sign of blessing over the two, and
they knelt, still holding hands. “Hear me, Dunedain.”

“We hear.”

“See these two- a Dunadan and an elf out of Imladris.”

“We see them very well.”

“Feel the love between them that brought them to this place.”

“We feel it.”

“Hear their vows to each other.” He nodded to Halbarad. As Dunadan,
it was his job to make the first pledge., both now and later.

“My brothers and sisters, do you know me?”

“You are Halbarad Dunadan.”

“I pray you see me here, now, in sound mind and sound body, ready to
start a family within our family.” He turned to Elrohir. “I love
you. I pledge to follow your lead in things that I don’t understand,
and I pledge to listen to your voice always. I pledge to defend you
and be defended by you. I pledge to walk, never before you or behind
you, but beside you. I pledge to carry you when you need to be
carried. I will never depart from your side, and I will love you
until my dying day.”

Elrohir’s cheeks were pink as roses. “Aragorn, what do I-”

“Accept his pledge,” Aragorn muttered, his eyes dancing. Around and
behind the couple, the Dunedain chuckled. Husbands put their arms
around their wives, and as-yet-unwed lovers exchanged not-to-secret
looks.

“I accept your pledge.” He glanced at Aragorn again.

“Make your own pledge.”

Elrohir swallowed. “Do you know me, Dunedain?”

“You are Elrohir, son of Elrond Halfelven, Halbarad’s lover.”

“You’re also a talented, wonderful pain in the ass on occasion,”
Elladan muttered, his voice so soft that only Glorfindel, Legolas,
and Elrohir heard him. Elrohir, who had begun to look normal again,
went pink to the tips of his ears. Still, he managed to speak.

“I pray you’ll see me as one of you, your brother, and not just as
Hal’s- Halbarad’s lover.” Then, to Halbarad, “I love you, too. I
will never leave you. I will never deceive you. But I will be
dedicated to you from now until the day I lay in the earth. In times
of peace and war, I will be at your side, ready to fight for you or
to let you fight for me. Please accept my love, Halbarad, and le us
start our family inside your family.”

I accept. Halbarad kissed Elrohirs hand, then looked at A
Elrohir also looked to his foster brother.

Aragorn’s eyes were shining. “I see your love and attest to it. I
declare you wed before all these, your family and friends. Welcome
these lovers-made-husbands.”

Another shout, and again the Dunedain surged forward as Halbarad and
Elrohir, still kneeling, kissed, hugging each other with bone-
crushing force.

But before Aragorn could even start to think everything had been
taken care of, Annaleh caught his hand, and Mordecai grabbed
Legolas, dragging him close to his lover.

“Hear me, brothers and sisters!” Annaleh shouted.

For a moment, they didn’t, but continued to celebrate Halbarad’s and
Elrohir’s joyous union.

Mordecai put his fingers in his mouth, a habit he’d learned from no
Ranger, and whistled so loud a moment of dead silence fell as
everyone turned to stare at him.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Aidan asked, recovering first.

Elrohir was blushing again; would the embarrassment never end? “I
taught him. Doing that was the only way to call Estel in from
playing most nights until he turned twelve.”

Quiet chuckles from the Dunedain, but they were watching Annaleh
expectantly.

“Hear me, brothers and sisters,” she said again, and this time got
the response she desired. “Our chief has gone for long years and
long without a partner, someone to share the burdens of his unique
station with. But now he has brought to us Legolas, son of
Thranduil, fruit practically of our own loins, and he loves Legolas.
They may not seek marriage without our intervention until many more
months pass. Formally, I beg you to help bring them to that
decision.”

It was Aragorn’s turn to blush, but when he sensed Legolas’ eyes on
him, he glanced at his lover and received a shock: Legolas looked
completely comfortable with this prospect, leaving Aragorn to wonder
if the elf of his affection had somehow found time to put Annaleh up
to this. ‘Surely not. There has been no time to be had.’

Aaron stepped forward at once and, bowing before Aragorn and
Legolas, said, “Accept these, my words, and may you take them to
heart. Each of us has a need in life that must be served for us to
be happy. For you, Aragorn, there are two needs: to lead you people,
and to have someone you can truly be intimate with, in all the
senses of that word. For a time, you were blessed with-”

Aragorn cleared his throat.

“-with another, but that is long in the past,” Aaron said hurriedly.
There were chuckles from some of the older Dunedain who understood
that he had been about to name Malacai. “Now the time has come again
for you to have someone at your side. Think on Legolas, and may you
hear your heart’s truth.” After another bow, he stepped back.

Saru stepped up to Legolas and bowed. But Legolas caught his hand
and drew him to his feet. “Please don’t bow to me.”

“We are equals, Legolas; I only bow to you now out of respect.” And
he stepped back and bowed again, grinning as if he was relishing the
amused fury in his friend’s eyes. “Legolas, Dunadan, son of
Thranduil, you have ever loved Aragorn. Do not deny your feelings
now, but commit to him publicly so all might see your bond and
rejoice with you and know the joy and peace you bring each other.
Declare your love to the world, Legolas, that it might never be in
doubt.” He bowed again, stepped back.

Next came Aidan. He was blushing as fiercely as Elrohir, but he also
looked determined. “If nothing else, you need to be married so you
can have children. After you told the Dunedain to all have children,
you can’t neglect the order yourself. We follow our chief.”

Mordecai laughed- silently, his hands pressed over his mouth- until
tears streamed down his cheeks. His mother thought, later, to ask
why he’d been laughing, but he refused to tell her. In truth,
Peregrin Took, looking for someone to tell Aragorn’s secret to, had
confided in the Dunadan child, then made him promise not to tell.
And unlike some precocious hobbits, Mordecai grandson of Malacai
believed very strongly in keeping his promises.

Then Kehydi stepped forward. He was granted one more moment of
perfectly clear sight before the final darkness. He knelt before
Aragorn and Legolas and took one of each of their hands in his.
“Aragorn is ready for his long-awaited our at last. And Legolas
helped him there, and will take him through the battles to come,
keep sure guard behind him as he walks up the dais, and stand beside
him to reign the kingdom of Gondor. No one could ask for two better
rulers to sit on the thrones of the White City and rule over its
people. For this reason, and for their love, and for all the ways
they balance each other, Aragorn and Legolas, you should be wed
today, here, now, under this waning moon. Wed and all your people
will rejoice.”

As Aragorn’s second stepped to one side, not retreating, but his
eyes sweeping the Dunedain, Aragorn and Legolas exchanged a glance.
A glance was enough; no thought was even exchanged. “Will you
perform the ceremony, Kehydi Dunadan?”

Aidan hated himself for the thought he had at that moment: ‘Kehydi
Dunadan doesn’t fit him.’

“I would be honored.” Kehydi and the lovers changed places; Aragorn
and Legolas knelt before him, clasping hands. The Dunedain moved
back into their semicircle, one that was a little tighter than that
which had attended Halbarad’s and Elrohir’s binding. None wanted to
miss a word of their lord’s marriage ceremony.

“Hear me, Dunedain,” Aragorn said from his place at Legolas’ side.

“We hear.”

“When a chief marries, it is customary for his second to perform the
ceremony Kehydi, son of Malacai, will carry out the ceremony as his
grandfather did for my father, Arathorn, and his beloved, Gilraen.”
Aragorn nodded to Kehydi.

Kehydi’s hour in the light wasn’t quite over. “Hear me, Dunedain.”

“We hear.”

“See these two- chief of the Dunedain and an elf, more Dunadan than
son of Mirkwood.”

“We see them very well.”

“Feel the love between them that brought them to this place.”

“We feel it.”

“Hear their vows to each other.” He looked to Aragorn.

“My people, you have been my shelter and my salvation day after day.
To you my thoughts often turned while I was separated from you, and
it is from your strength that I drew my own many times. I would add
another to our family, and begin a family inside our larger
community.” He took a breath. “Legolas, Beloved, dearest friend and
confidante, I have loved you for many years, though we’ve only been
able to admit our love recently. Now, though we’ve only had a few
months together, I would ask that you join with me, marry me. You
have ever been my strength, my joy, my lover in peace and in war.
Please marry me before these our people, and bind yourself to me
under the law. In return for this simple kindness, I pledge my
lifelong devotion, appreciation, jubilation, and love.” He kissed
Legolas’ hand.

The elf was silent for a moment, then he said, kissing his lover’s
cheek, “Aragorn, you’re so long-winded. But I accept, love. For my
part, I insist only on one thing: that you bring all your problems,
domestic and political, to me, and accept my problems in return.
Marry me, Aragorn, before the Dunedain, our noble people, and I will
make you a happy man.”

“That’s already happened, love. Nevertheless, I will marry you
gladly.”

Kehydi blessed each of them, them traced a sign that rested half on
Aragorn’s forehead and half on Legolas’. “I love you both. Rise,
joined in marriage, and greet your people. They love you, too.”

Chapter Eighty-Three

There was no more peace that day. The Dunedain and those that had
traveled with them rejoined Theoden King, and all rode for Helm’s
Deep. They arrived at midday, and all scattered to tend to various
tasks. The Dunedain set up a quick, close camp before the walls, and
then dispersed among the Rohirrim to learn all that had happened in
recent days. They would seem to make friends, but much more
information would be taken in than given out. As for Aragorn and
Legolas, the time for wandering in fogged love had passed the moment
they remounted their horses to join Theoden, though Legolas had
suffered a great deal of ribbing from Gimli.

Mordecai had none his age to talk to. Even though many of the women
and children were still in the Deep, most were either too young
mentally and emotionally, or they had seen and heard things in
battle that caused them to draw back from everyone, but especially
from strangers. And so, not wanting to get underfoot, Mordecai found
a place on the outer wall where he could look out on the world, and
thought of the coming war. His thoughts were not those of a child.
Another prophetic word had come to him, though this time it had come
in a dream, and he hadn’t told anyone of it just yet.

‘His name is Faramir.’ Mordecai frowned and folded his arms on top
of his knees, which were drawn up to his chin. ‘His name is Faramir,
and he lies in a sick-tent or other place of healing. There will be
a strong temptation to give him something that I have, but I cannot
give it; whatever I have is meant for another. An elf, I think. Or
maybe for Aragorn, who is almost an elf in his movements and in some
of the ways he thinks.’

Sighing, Mordecai thought again of telling his dream to someone. His
grandmother, perhaps, or Aidan. But neither of these seemed quite
the right person, and the right one didn’t enter his mind. So,
temporarily without the assurance and guidance that had led him
throughout his short life, Mordecai turned his thoughts to what he
could do without the help of others. He knew at once that stewing
over the details and trying to make them sharper would only cause
him to either confuse things or become frustrated. So, with no
further information, what could he do? Let the dream simmer seemed
to be the best answer he could come up with, and yet Mordecai,
unlike his namesake, couldn’t find peace in that. What he really
wanted, needed, even, were answers. And while he might have been
able to find peace in the truth that no answers could come, he felt
uncomfortable with the thought that he was meant to figure something
out, and soon, before another disaster could happen. True, they’d
managed to escape the Ents, but Mordecai couldn’t help but feel that
he should have been able to give more clues, or infer more from the
voice that had spoken through him. ‘I’m not just a riverbank that
doesn’t remember the water that’s already past; I’m a Dunadan, a
descendent of the men of Numenor.’

And so, against his better judgment, Mordecai stewed. He worried
about the dream, pawed at it from different angles, and fretted that
he’d missed something crucial. And it was in this state of near-
panic and crippling guilt that Glorfindel, seeking a surcease from
the press of men, found him.

“Young Dunadan?” Glorfindel sat beside Mordecai, but he turned his
eyes to the land below as if his words had been naught but a
greeting.

“Lord Glorfindel,” the boy answered, then fell silent and stared
into the distance, his eyes unfocused, his mouth drawing down at the
corners.

“Are you well, son of Saru?”

Mordecai stiffened. “The Dunedain take care of themselves. And I am
really the son of Kehydi; the Dunedain reckon their line through the
father.” He looked askance at Glorfindel. “As do the elves, or so
I’ve heard.”

Glorfindel didn’t respond to that. He sat beside the boy in silence
for nearly five minutes. At last, roused by the thought that he
would soon be missed, the Balrog Slayer said, “I came here to seek a
place to think. Thank you for giving me that. But my thoughts keep
circling around something I can’t change, so I should go back down
before my meditations drive me crazy.” In truth, the thought of his
coming separation from Elladan was very much on his mind at all
times, even if it was just slinking around the back to tug at his
heart strings. But sitting still had drawn the thoughts forward and
so Glorfindel, distressed and distracted, decided he couldn’t wait
for the young Ranger to speak to him of his own troubles. He’d
wanted to help when he saw the boy sitting alone, but now he could
scarcely think for the monotonous and terrible death-chant in his
head.

He stood. “Farewell, son of Kehydi. Forgive my grieving; it’s
obvious you have your own sorrows.” He made to leave, already
struggling to remove the signs of strain from his face. It wouldn’t
do to grieve before all the strangers below. Tonight, maybe, he
could huddle beside Elladan and cry, and maybe Elladan’s hand on his
hair would make him feel better.

“We all have our own troubles. Aragorn says so, anyway. But he says
we have to pull together at times like this.” Mordecai jumped to his
feet and caught Glorfindel’s hand. “Forgive me; I was doing the
Enemy’s work. The Dunedain are not, nor have they ever been,
separate unto themselves, unable to aid others and ask aid in
return. Just because our road has often been hard doesn’t mean we
have to travel it alone.” He drew Glorfindel back to the wall.
“Would you have me go first, or would you tell me your trouble?”

Glorfindel looked at the boy, wanting just to leave. But then he saw
the Light in the Ranger’s eyes, and he couldn’t leave. “Elladan and
I will be parting soon, and I will die when that happens. Nor do we
have the ability to see each other after death.” He sighed. “I know
Lord Elrond is planning to leave these shores soon, and I won’t be
able to delay my own separation much longer.”

“Then are you going to fight in this war? Shouldn’t you go somewhere
alone and spend your remain days in happiness?” Mordecai shook his
head. “It’s like having a terminal illness and spending the last
days away from those you love, serving strangers that will never
thank you or even know you were there.”

“But isn’t that what the Dunedain do? You serve people every day,
and many don’t trust you, let alone understand what you do for them
And living in danger is like having a terminal illness: you could
die at any time. Shouldn’t you spend that time in comfort instead of
servitude?” He shook his head. “Elladan and I couldn’t leave, even
if we didn’t have Elrohir to worry about, and Aragorn to support and
protect. We are meant to fight for those who will not know, and for
those don’t care.”

“But you and Elladan have only just found love; you should be
allowed to spend a little time together in peace. It isn’t fair that
you’re being thrown into pain.”

“Who told you we haven’t had much time together?”

“No one. I just know.” Mordecai blushed a little. “I know a lot of
things that I couldn’t tell you how I know.”

Glorfindel processed that, thinking that such knowing was often a
manifestation of the Light in humans, then said, “We’re meant to be
fight in this war, Mordecai. If we tried to avoid it, we would find
ourselves here anyway. No; we have to simply make each moment as
good as possible.”

“Then why aren’t you with him right now?”

“I wanted to be away from all the men. There are too many for my
liking, and also, I wanted to… think about my pain, I suppose, which
is selfish and useless.”

“Everybody feels sorry for themselves at some point. I’m sure even
Aragorn felt sorry for himself, for what he’d lost, when my Grandpa
Malacai died. They used to be in love; did you know that? Before
Grandpa married Grandma, they were together.”

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “No, I hadn’t known. I’m sorry for
Aragorn’s loss.” He gazed at the boy. “You admire Aragorn, even
though you hardly know him.”

“Of course I admire him, and I know a lot about him. He’s not just
our chief; he’s been through everything. He defeated slavery, at
personal cost, he endured the first civil war between the Dunedain,
he became friends with Papa, which was harder a long time ago than
it is now. He’s trying to help my dad, and he won’t give up on him,
not like Aidan and Grandma and some of the others. And he would
understand why I’m afraid of my father, and for him, and why I want
to help him, but why I can’t. Aragorn has led us through some really
bad times, and we’re so lucky he’s here with us when we’re getting
ready to see if we can come back to Gondor. I don’t think we could
have followed anyone else half this far. And even when he was gone,
his spirit was with us; it’s like he left a little part of himself
behind to give us strength and keep us safe.”

“When you talk like that, I can’t help but think you know why we
must stay to fight this war.”

“Oh, I understand it; I just don’t like it. If there really is an
Iluvatar, and so many Valar, why can’t they stop this? Why can’t
they protect those who have fought their whole lives for peace? When
you’ve finally found peace, why does that have to be taken away from
you? The Dunedain will not be at peace until after Sauron is gone
and Aragorn is on the throne, and my father is healed, but why can’t
you and Elladan be given a little peace? It isn’t fair.”

“I know not why Elladan and I personally must fight, but some among
the host that will fight Sauron had tasks to complete before they
would be allowed to return home. Lady Galadriel is one. Gandalf is
another.” He sighed. “And I am getting off-topic a-purpose so I
don’t have to think of what’s coming. The purposes of the Creator
and his grandest creations are beyond us, and we can’t hope to
fathom them. I know there’s no comfort in that, but it is the truth.
Mordecai?”

“Yes?”

“I must go back down soon. Will you tell me your trouble? I would
hear and help if I can.”

“You can’t help me. Not because you’re not a Ranger, but because
you’re not me, and maybe what I’ve seen isn’t really dangerous.” The
boy smiled. “But here it is anyway: I’ve dreamed of a man named
Faramir. He’ll be dying, or very badly hurt, and I’ll want to give
him something, even though I’m supposed to give it to someone else.”
He shrugged, looking up at the tall elf with eyes that shouldn’t
belong to a child. “That’s all I know. And I likely won’t know more
until I’m in the midst of it. So it’s a waste of time to think on
it, but I can’t seem to help myself.” Mordecai caught Glorfindel’s
sleeve even though he already had the Elda’s attention. “Don’t tell
anyone about this. I’ve already scared them by being an unworthy
mouth for the message about the Ents.”

“Why do you think you’re an unworthy line? Just because the message
was vague? That wasn’t a problem at your end, Mordecai; it was a
problem with the sender. You spoke all that was given to you.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Distrust, suspicion, a grain of
hope.

“Your Light flickered when you spoke to Aidan. I felt something come
towards you, and I turned to see what it might be. Granted, at first
I thought the presence was after your papa instead of you, but when
I saw that Saru was unaffected, I sought you out.”

“You were with the Lothlorien elves.”

“I was but an extra dignitary. Elladan and Elrohir handled
everything. Listen to me. You have been given part of your papa’s
Light and you have to-”

“How did my papa get this light? Its it the powerful light you have,
and how did he get it? And how do you know he has it?” Then, with a
frustrated shake of his head, “Of course you know; you can see his
light.”

“Yes, I can.” Glorfindel resisted the urge to smile. Doing so now
would seem, to the boy, struggling to get along in a world made for
adults, to be at the very least demeaning. “Your papa was given the
Light because he went out to commune with nature every day for a
long period and was subconsciously asking for the strength the Light
brings. Not every man could do as much: Saru is especially attuned
to the world around him, in a way that only one or two oher men in
each generation are. In Saru’s case, the Light came to him and will
abide in him until he dies. But it’s different with you. You tok the
Light from your papa just as unintentionally as he took it from the
world around him. And though that Light is yours for the time being,
it will not always remain with you. There will come a time when you
will be asked to give it up.”

“So is that what my dream was about? Giving up my light, which
really isn’t even mine, to someone who needs it? Because I’m
supposed to give it to an elf, I think, or maybe to Aragorn, and not
to Faramir at all, though it’ll seem-” He stopped, smiled. “And I’m
repeating myself. But there’s so much. How long have you known that
I have the light?”

“Since Lothlorien. I saw it leave Saru and flow into you. And I’ve
known Saru has it since before he and the rest of us arrived in
Rivendell to reunite with the Dunedain.”

Mordecai said something then that caused Glorfindel to blink. “Will
you kneel for a second?”

The Baalrog Slayer paused a moment, the complied.

The young Dunadan kissed Glorfindel’s forehead. “You’re not going to
lose Elladan. Something good is going to happen, and you won’t lose
him. And he’ll still be here for Elrohir. Don’t worry.”

“Is this something you’ve seen?”

“No; it’s a feeling. Maybe just a hope, but I don’t think so. I
think you’ll be here to see me marry-” He blinked. “You’ll be here
to see me turn from temptation. And you’ll be here to see Elladan’s
baby born.” He blushed. “Uh, is he really pregnant? That just sort
of popped out, like things do sometimes. It’s like a know things,
but I don’t know how I know them most of the time.”

“Yes, he’s pregnant.” Glorfindel chuckled. “I must be honest with
you, Dunadan; I don’t know if I believe you, but hearing your words
makes me feel better.” He rose. “I must go. Elladan needs me, I
think.”

“Tell him what I said, that all will be well.” Mordecai paused, then
said, shyly, “Thank you for talking to me. I’m still worried, but-”

“I suggest you talk to Aragorn about this dream. He’ll know what to
do.”

“But what if it isn’t important? What if it’s just a distraction? He
has more important things-”

Glorfindel held up a hand. “You don’t know how important it may or
may not be. And unless I’m very much mistaken, Aragorn will have the
time to help you.” Glorfindel waited a moment to make sure the
Ranger had taken his words in, then he bowed, turned, and headed for
the lower levels of the Deep.

Mordecai watched him go, then went to look for Aragorn.
Unfortunately, Aragorn was quite busy when Mordecai at last found
someone who could tell him where his chief had gone. The battle for
the Palantir had begun.

***

They’d reached the long stairs. Sam couldn’t believe they’d made it
this far, or that they were even here in the first place. But then,
the world around him had taken on a nightmarish quality recently
that had nothing to do with the locale. Gollum had begun to work his
subtle deceptions, and Frodo was falling for them.

Sam saw it first in the way Frodo watched Gollum with pity in his
eyes. That was all right; Frodo had a big, open heart. This feature
was one of the reasons Sam had fallen in love with him. But then
Gollum began to poison Frodo against his faithful lover. Sam didn’t
hear any of these conversations, but he saw Gollum taking Frodo
aside again and again, and saw Frodo casting nervous or downright
suspicious looks at him. Sam wasn’t sure how much longer he could
stand those looks; they were so devoid of the warmth he’d always
taken for granted, or the love he’d come to depend on in the short
time he’d had it. If Frodo stopped loving him, maybe he could go on.
But if Frodo stopped trusting him and went on to put his whole trust
in Gollum, the gardener couldn’t imagine going on as nothing more
than Frodo’s baggage, trying fruitlessly for the rest of his life
(however long that might be) to help a hobbit who wouldn’t listen to
him. 

Surely that was the stuff of true nightmares.

They began to climb the steps early one night, wanting to put as
much distance between themselves and the gate of the Witch-King as
possible. Gollum went along at Frodo’s side, both of them ahead of
Sam, who had taken to watching Gollum with all the attentiveness of
a vixen protecting her kits from a predator. Gollum was muttering
things again, and Frodo was too obviously listening.

‘Frodo, come back! Come back! Stop listening to him! Don’t let him
poison you! He has another motive, I know he does! Don’t let him
tear us apart! We’ve only just-’ That was when Frodo stumbled and
fell, gasping, his hand going to the Ring on its chain. Sam was
kneeling beside him in a trice, shoving Gollum aside. “Master Frodo?
It’s heavy again, sin’t it?” Then he did something that he would
laer curse himself for, but which had terrified him at the time: he
made the suggestion. “Maybe I could carry it for awhile. Just a
little while, not forever, just until you get your strength back.”

And Frodo recoiled from him as if he were one of the Nine half-ghost
things. “You want it for yourself!” he screamed in a weak voice.
“You want it for yourself!”

“No!” Sam shuddered. “I don’t want it, Mister Frodo. I just want to
help you. If I carried it for a little while-”

Frodo slapped away Sam’s hand, which had drifted of its own accord
towards the older hobbit’s shoulder. Too near the Ring for Frodo’s
comfort. “Get away from me! You want it for yourself!” He stumbled
to his feet and Sam scrambled up, ready to catch him if he should
fall.

He was shocked to see the sorrow in Frodo’s eyes. “Mister Frodo…”

“Go home, Sam. I don’t want you to follow me anymore.”

“But, but Mister Frodo-”

“See? You still think of me as your employer, not your lover.” Frodo
shook his head and the sorrow and resolve deepened in his eyes.
“Good-bye, Sam. Go home.” And, gesturing to Gollum, Frodoheaded up
the stairs.

Gollum glanced once over his shoulder, and the nasty grin on his
face tempted Sam to murder.

But there was nothing to be done. He saw that now. Frodo’s turned
back said as much. There was nothing Sam could do to protect him
anymore, not even follow him and try to anchor his mind to the world
back in the Shire. ‘Frodo, don’t go,’ he thought and only when Frodo
glanced back at him did Sam realise he’d said the words out loud.

“Go home, Sam. Love the Shire for both of us.” Then he and Gollum
were gone.

Sam stood and stared at the place where his lover had stood, and he
fancied he could see him yet, beautiful blue eyes calling to him,
begging him not to go even as his mouth spoke obscenities.

Such dreams were worse than foolish. Sam scrambled back down the
stairs, crying silently as he went. The world’s nightmarish quality
had deepened. But when he was near the bottom of the staircase,
wondering how he would be able to get back the way they’d come
without Frodo to gentle him out of his fear, Sam Froze, then sat
down, hard, on the stone. His hands went into his hair, tugging and
tearing. “Samwise, you idiot!” he whispered. “Even if he doesn’t
want you to follow, you could follow secretly! You stupid gardener!
Who doesn’t think of all the choices? Not you! You just left him!
Now get off your arse and back up those stairs! And for his sake,
don’t let him know you’re following until he needs you.”

Getting up, saying similar things to himself under his breath, Sam
reshouldered his interrupted duty.

***

Aragorn had retreated into an upper room of the Hornburg to find
solace. Legolas, Gimli, the twins, and Raven, prepared to act as a
runner, if such was needed, went with him. The palantir was in
Aragorn’s pack, and he carried this close. When he at last found a
place that suited him, he called the others around him in a circle.
“When I go into that room there-” he pointed to the closed door
nearby- “I’ll need all of you to stay out here and not to interfere.
Even if I seem to be in trouble, you must stay out.” His eyes were
on Legolas. “And we must sever our bond, at least for the time
being. Elladan knows how to do it so that it can be re-forged when
all this is over.”

“And why can’t I stay connected to you? Or better yet, why can’t I
fight this battle beside you?”

“Because it’s Aragorn’s battle,” Elrohir said. “None of us can get
in the way. To turn the stone to his will is Aragorn’s right and
duty.”

Aragorn crossed to Legolas and kissed the corner of his mouth. “I
love you, Legolas, and you’re going to be the first person I call
for the minute this battle’s won, but Elrohir’s right; the stone is
my responsibility. I must face the Dark Lord alone.”

The elf frowned deeply. “I can’t pretend to like this.”

“I know, Beloved. I wouldn’t ask you to. Just promise me you’ll help
me see this done. Please.” He took both of Legolas’ hands in his.

After a long moment of consideration, the elf nodded. “I love you.
Go into this battle with that sure knowledge, and also with this.”
He kissed Aragorn firmly on the mouth. Then, turning to Elrohir,
“How do we split for now?”

“It’s a conscious decision. More than putting up your shields, it’s
a conscious severing. Close your eyes. Picture the bond like a-”

Aragorn gasped and his eyes flew open. Legolas’ cheeks were white as
paste, and for a moment, it seemed he would faint. Then he steadied
himself and looked back at his lover. “I did that, I think,” the elf
said. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s… you did it just right.” Aragorn calmed himself. “All will
be well again soon.” He kissed Legolas’ cheek, then picked up his
pack again. Turning back to the others in the room, he said, “I have
no way of knowing how long this will take. All I can pray is that
you’ll wait on me.”

“You couldn’t say or do anything to make us leave,” Raven said, and
the others nodded and murmured their agreement.

“I am so blessed to have all of you,” Aragorn said. Then he left the
room.

The king of men removed the stone from his pack and set it on the
table by the bed. Planting his feet and clearing his mind, Aragorn
reached to the stone, resting his fingers on its too-warm surface
and ventured into the stone. He couldn’t have said how he did this,
except that the knowing and understanding seemed intrinsic. Aragorn
didn’t wonder at it; there wasn’t time. In his mind, he strode
forward, his hand on his sword hilt.

That was when Aragorn lost the ability to tell whether he was still
in his own mind, or in another place entirely.

Rivers of blood raged around him, but Aragorn stood on a high rock
before the blood falls. Beyond, using darkness to disguise His
formless self, hovered the Dark Lord. Aragorn sensed him, poisonous
as a pinch of hemlock tossed into a pouch of athelas, lurking there,
contaminating everything He touched.

“Who are you?” Sauron demanded.

Aragorn stood silent for a moment, then he made a conscious effort
to change their locale. He succeeded for a moment- the blood-rivers
flickered in and out like candles glimpsed through a dense grove of
trees- then Sauron exerted His tremendous will and Aragorn was
forced to make the choice between remaining on his feet and
continuing the fight. He steadied himself, regrouped, and tried
again. But even before eh could get fairly started this time, the
Dark Lord pushed at him with an invisible, deadly hand, and Aragorn
staggered, burned, drained.

“WHO ARE YOU?” The voice of the Enemy almost deafened Aragorn and a
lick of blood swept over the rock where Aragorn stood, soaking his
boots.

Aragorn cried out in agony; the blood burned hotter than any fire.

“I AM THE LORD OF ALL THINGS, FOOLISH THING. WHAT DO YOU THINK TO
ACCOMPLISH HERE?”

“I bring a message and a promise,” Aragorn said. He had discovered
that he could control what he himself felt even if he couldn’t
control his surroundings. This cost him energy, but doing so made it
possible for him to think. Aragorn turned his back on the thing in
the shadows and surveyed the world around him. For a moment, before
Sauron brought his powers to bear, Aragorn glimpsed the room in
which he was surely still standing. Nodding to himself, he said,
“Your reign is at an end, servant of Morgoth. All that you have
built will soon come tumbling down around your ears, with no hope of
rebuilding.” He extended his hands out in front of him in a parting
gesture, much like the way he separated the leaves of the athelas
plant from the fragile stems that would break at the slightest
touch, or so it often seemed. But instead of simply letting things
part on their own, trusting them to part, in other words, Aragorn
bent his will to the world around him, pushing aside the rivers of
blood with his mind. At first he saw the room where he was still
standing before the palantir, but then he parted this, too, and took
the stone into his own hands.

‘Caution, son.’

The voice was so unexpected that at first Aragorn thought Sauron was
trying to trick him. But he could feel the Dark Lord trying to pry
into his mind, and this voice was coming from the inside. ‘Who are
you?’

‘Don’t ask what you already know.’

The voice was so stern that Aragorn was put in mind of the father
he’d never known, but of whom stories upon stories had been told.
“Too close and dour,” Melchelai had said more than once. “A good
man, Aragorn; never doubt it. But he needed more hope than he was
given. You have that hope, Aragorn. More: you are that hope.
Arathorn believed in your destiny and that alone could bring his
smile to his face in the final days. It was as if he knew what was
going to happen, though he never said as much directly to me or to
your mother. Arathorn was closer than most of your line. I pray
you’ll avail yourself of the counsel of your people.” Aragorn had
promised.

But this voice wasn’t Arathorn’s, and only after a moment of
consideration (while Sauron screamed behind him and Aragorn’s energy
reserves were draining rapidly) Aragorn knew to whom he spoke,
impossible as that sounded: Elendil.

Unlike most of the King’s line, the King himself didn’t linger as a
ghost and then disappear. Legend had it that he and Gil-galad’s
spirits had risen from the battle and crossed over at once, and yet
there were stories of the King of Men returning from time to time at
times of greatest need.risen from the battle and crossed over at
once, and yet there were stories of the King of Men returning from
time to time at times of greatest need.

And if Aragorn remembered and believed anything from these stories,
it was that the contact was brief. ‘What would you have of me,
Father?’

‘The stone isn’t yours to wield, but your partner, like your lover.
Sauron can only control the stone as long as you treat the stone as
a thing to own and command.’

Aragorn nodded. ‘I understand, Father.’

Elendil said, his voice nearly warm, ‘You’ve made a good choice in
Legolas.’ Then he was gone, and Aragorn was alone.

Turning back to Sauron, Aragorn was hit with a wave of pain so
shocking it knocked Aragorn off his feet and his protections
crumbled around him. For less than an instant, panic tried to
overwhelm him, but Aragorn refused to give in. ‘Stone of my fathers,
one of the seven, treasure of my house, connecter between the lands,
aid me, I beg.’

The pain did not retreat, but settled into Aragorn’s bones and
burned there, as if the fire-blood had gotten into his veins. Still,
he thought he could manage the agony as long as he had someone to
help him. ‘Friend of old, help me now, I beg. I, a child in all such
things, need you.’

The very air around Aragorn hummed then, and though he had struggled
halfway to his feet, something sucked away his strength and he
dropped back onto his heels, resting there with his fingertips
brushing the floor. Exhaustion threatened to drag him down, and
Aragorn felt his eyes watering with the effort it took to stay
conscious. But when Sauron tried to hurt him again, an invisible
wall rose up between them and shielded Aragorn from the worst of it.

‘Thank you. Please help me to see what you would have me see.’ He
felt compelled to rise, and though he didn’t think he could, Aragorn
struggled up, staggering forward until he was at the very edge of
the blood river. There he stood, unable to move back, his arms and
legs trembling.

Sauron tried to push him in, then, but Aragorn didn’t fall. Instead,
he made that parting gesture, and this time the air before him
rolled away as if it was a curtain. Aragorn saw Gondor, but before
he could view his city, he turned to Sauron, empowered by the stone,
and drew his sword. “Behold! The Sword-That-Was-Broken is re-
forged!”

“WHO ARE YOU?” A pause then, as Aragorn didn’t move, but only
allowed his grey eyes to burn silver-bright in the oppressive
darkness. “Who are you?”

“I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Heir of Isildur, King of Gondor,
Arnor, and Men.” Aragorn sensed that the stone was shielding his
true form from Sauron, and silently he thanked his ally. Then,
lifting Anduril, Aragorn clove the air before his eyes in three
swift movements. Sauron screamed as if Aragorn had physically cut
him, then the rest of His illusion faded and was gone, leaving
Aragorn to see his city.

The White Tree still stood, but Aragorn saw that it was dead, and
his heart broke to see it. ‘Still, there will be a way to bring it
back to life or find one of its seedlings.’ He let the worry go. The
next vision was harder to dismiss, and Aragorn groaned. ‘The Paths
of Dead. Yes, I see them,’ he told the stone. ‘And if I must take
them, I will, but-’ He stopped, feeling the stone’s answer rather
than hearing it. ‘I need the help then? So be it.’

‘Aragorn, you will always have those around you that will help you.
Look to them. They are your people, and no king should be without
his people.’

‘I thought you rarely returned right after leaving,’ Aragorn
answered, then blushed at his insubordination and brazenness.

Elendil, impossible as this seemed to Aragorn, chuckled. ‘Well, your
hour, the hour my descendents have long prepared for, is at hand.
You won’t hear from me often, son. You’ll hear from me when I deem
it necessary. But I warn you of this: you are heading into a nest of
deceit and political murder. These are your people, yes, but they
are still human. None are saints. All are flawed, even as you are.
Be prepared to fight once you’re finally king. The battle with
Sauron will be decided soon, and I believe you’ll be victorious, but
remember that the battle for freedom and decency never ends. Are you
up to that task?’

Aragorn was silent for several moments. Then, when he was sure of
his heart, he said, ‘I am up to it as long as I have others to help
me shoulder the burden. It matters not if I am the head, the one who
will be accused for mistakes made. I don’t need others to share the
blame, though I will make sure that if they deserve glory, that they
will have if they want it. I only need others to help me think
through things.’

‘You answer well. You are certainly my son.’ The amusement and
respect in his voice belied any conceit. Then, again, he was gone.

Aragorn turned back to the view of his city, thinking to look at the
lands about it and remember the best places for defense, but the
image was replaced by the rivers of blood, which were running higher
now, and of the Dark Lord’s Great Eye, which flamed and pulsed and
focused on Aragorn with hateful, enraged intent.

“I SEE YOU.”

And the battle began again. At least this time Aragorn knew he
wasn’t alone.

***

Eowyn pushed her way into the room where the elves, dwarf, and
Ranger sat or paced. Mordecai came in her wake. Raven took in her
general air of distraction and heightened excitement, and resolved
to calm her before things could get out of hand.

“My Lady,” he said, striding forward and laying a soothing hand on
her arm, “how may I help you?”

She drew back from him and ushered Mordecai forward. The boy looked
unsettled and in need of much more than a pat on the back or a few
comforting words. “Mordecai needs to see Aragorn. Where is he?”

“Aragorn is indisposed.” Raven dropped to his haunches and gazed at
his brother (the add-on ‘in-law’ was a Gondorian creation unknown to
most of the Dunedain) and said, “He’ll be out in a little while.
Maybe I can help?”

Mordecai shook his head. “I’ve had a vision Aragorn needs to hear.”

“Another?” Raven rose and guided Mordecai to a chair. “Foolish of me
to ask; of course another. Forgive me, Brother.”

“It’s all right. What’s Aragorn doing?” He sat, but leaned forward
and kept his bright eyes on Raven’s face.

Raven glanced at Eowyn, then at Legolas, who, as his chief’s
husband, was technically equal to Kehydi. ‘Can I say it in front of
her?’ he asked with his eyes. Legolas nodded discreetly. Then, to
Mordecai, Raven said, “He’s wresting the Palantir from the Dark
Lord. It’s his right and duty.”

The boy accepted this. “Can I wait here until he’s done?”

“If you want. Do your parents know where you are?” ‘This isn’t our
camp; they might worry, and I wouldn’t blame them. It’s not that I
distrust these people, but I don’t know them.’

“Yes. Lady Eowyn brought me here, but I asked Papa first.”

“Good.” He crouched in front of Mordecai, using the boy’s presence
to calm his nerves. Glancing over his shoulder, he thought to thank
Lady Eowyn (and steal another look at her face in an attempt to
figure out why she was so disturbed) but she had gone, closing the
door silently behind her.

Elrohir said in Elvish, perhaps thinking Mordecai wouldn’t
understand, “She looks in love, but confused about it.”

Legolas said, not bothering with Elvish, “She loves the idea of
Aragorn.” Then he shook his head. “But this was different. She
seemed… distracted.”

“So she’s really in love this time, that’s all.” Elrohir shot
Legolas an angry look, frustrated that Legolas wasn’t trying to
spare the boy. And when Legolas didn’t respond to that look, Elrohir
broke into Elvish once more. “He’s only a child, Legolas; he doesn’t
need to hear this sort of thing.”

“You haven’t been with the Dunedain long enough,” Legolas answered.
He asked Mordecai, “Would you mind telling Lord Elrohir what
languages you speak?”

Mordecai had colored slightly, but he looked at Elrohir when he
spoke. “Common Speech, Quenyan, Sidarian, Dwarvish, most of the
language of Rohan (I get a little confused sometimes when they speak
fast) and the language of Hard and Umbar.”

Elladan chuckled as Elrohir blushed. “Forgive my brother, son of
Kehydi and Saru,” the older son said, “but neither of us is used to
the freedom with which the Dunedain share information with their
children.”

“Why not share everything?” Mordecai asked. “Ignorance can’t protect
anyone, except sometimes for a very short time, and usually not even
that long if you live in the Wilds like we do.”

“We find it difficult to discuss certain delicate issues with
children, because we don’t want to frighten them.” Elladan laughed
again. “Listen to me, as if there have been children in Imladris
since Estel left.” He shook his head. “And please don’t ask me what
delicate issues I’m talking about; even going this far with you
makes me uncomfortable.” He was still smiling, but Mordecai could
see the truth of his words in his eyes.

Legolas, though he was loathe to leave, took Mordecai into the hall
and walked him until the two of them stood by a window. “The
Dunedain are right to believe that education is a better way to
ensure safety than ignorance, but they’re the only ones in Middle-
Earth who believe that way.” He shrugged. “It’s just one of the
differences we’ll have to live with when we reach Gondor.”

“Will we like Gondor?” Mordecai asked. “We’ve been away from cities
for a long time. I’ve never even seen one. What if the Dunedain
don’t like cities?” His hand went to the short sword at his side and
he gripped the hilt. “I sound like a child, I know, but...”

“They will. You will.” Legolas sighed. “No, that’s a lie. We’ll all
pretend to like them, for Aragorn’s sake.”

The Ranger shook his head. “Aragorn doesn’t want us to lie to him.
Do you like cities, Legolas?”

“No. The King’s city, in Mirkwood, is a stuffy place. And terrible
things happened to Aragorn and me in Gondor. But to rule Gondor and
the surrounding lands is Aragorn’s destiny, so it’s our job to help
him do that to the best of our ability.”

“More duty.” He nodded. “It’ll always be like that, won’t it? Will
Aragorn like being king, do you think?”

“I can’t say. He knows it’s his duty, and I know he’ll make a king
such has there has not been since Elendil sat on the throne, but
whether he’ll enjoy it… Joy isn’t always made up of what we must do,
but what we choose to do when we have moments to spend with loved
ones.” The elf’s hand went to his belly. “Aragorn and I will enjoy
our children. No matter what else happens, we will enjoy our
children. And we will enjoy being together, and being with all of
you. And we’ll make friends in Gondor, I’m sure, maybe even some as
close as the Dunedain are.” He blinked. “I just gave a speech,
didn’t I?” He laughed.

“What?” Mordecai was smiling, too. Talking with Legolas was like
talking with Aidan as he had become: comfortable and right.

“I sound like Aragorn. Maybe I’ll make an all right Prince.”

“But aren’t you already a prince?”

“Being born a prince and being a prince are two different things.
Aragorn was born to be king, but he has all the makings of a king
that don’t have anything to do with blood. And, knowing that, we’ll
be able to follow him to the end, even if that end means sitting
around in great stone rooms, surrounded by great stone statues and
presiding over great and important and boring councils.”

“Were you afraid before of being a prince?”

“Not exactly afraid. More like nervous. It’s so much easier to be
Aragorn’s back-up than the one who stands equal with him in the eyes
of the people.” Legolas turned to the window, gazing out into the
fading night. “Do you understand any of this, Mordecai?”

“More than I probably should, at least according to everyone else’s
rules.” He frowned. “So we might not be happy all the time, but we
can make our own happiness. Is that what you’re saying?” When
Legolas nodded, hiding his surprise, Mordecai said, “When I was
little, I used to think that when Aragorn became king, we’d all be
instantly happy all the time. We’d be warm and safe and never go
hungry, and none of us would die in battle. But I think now we need
more than good food and shelter to be content. Is it like that for
you? Is that why you didn’t like Gondor or Mirkwood?”

“The reasons I didn’t like the two kingdoms are completely
different. Mirkwood was stuffy, and I couldn’t journey about as I
did with the Dunedain, but most of my sadness came from being
without Aragorn. And in Gondor…” He faced Mordecai. “Now I’m doing
it: I’m afraid to tell you what happened to me there, even though I
know you’re mature and almost surely ready to hear it.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I don’t need to hear it. The
Dunedain don’t keep secrets from each other, but we don’t shout
things from the tent-tops, either.”

“Rooftops,” said Legolas, amused. “If you stood on a tent, it
would-” But then he stopped and chuckled when he saw the gleam in
Mordecai’s eye. “You were having fun with me, weren’t you?”

“Can’t the Dunedain joke? Adalai used to say the world may be
sheltered by the sword, but that, without laughter, there’s nothing
really to protect.”

“True for you,” the elf answered. “As to Gondor, I was raped there.
Aragorn saved me before it could happen twice, but it still
happened. I’m just lucky I didn’t catch pregnant that first time. I
don’t know what would have become of my baby then.”

Mordecai said, “I want to tell you my vision, but I think we should
get back, just in case Aragorn comes out. He’ll want to see you.”
And, as they started back together, Mordecai drew close to Legolas
and held his hand. “Even if I can hear all the adult things, as
they’re called, I still like…” He blushed. “I’m still scared.”

“I don’t blame you,” Legolas said, and he squeezed the young man’s
hand. “I’m afraid, too, without Aragorn. When I feel scared, I
sometimes touch him just to make sure he’s there.”

***

Eowyn went to her chambers and paced for a little time, but then the
walls seemed to close about her and she left again. Wandering the
corridors, she loathed the idea of going to the outer ramparts,
though she would have felt free there. But she’d also have been
stared at or questioned by the men that watched the night, and she
was in no mood to answer any questions. Likewise, she couldn’t go to
the main hall, where many were celebrating Theoden’s return in
glory. The one who had disturbed her might still be there, was
almost surely still there, even though her brothers chose to wait
upon Aragorn.

Eowyn shivered and walked faster.

It wasn’t that she was afraid of the Lady Arwen; she told herself
this repeatedly until she was sure she believed it. Only the idea of
the she-elf was frightening. Her eyes were like two polished
obsidian stones set amid creamy cloth. Her voice was deeper than
Eowyn would have expected, and it wound its way around the
shieldmaiden’s thoughts, tugging at them, warming them, speaking
words of promise that the Lady Arwen had never voiced. And the
combination of that come-hither voice, those jewel-eyes, and all the
rest of the Lady’s mysteries, called to a secret place inside Eowyn
that she was hard-pressed to ignore. Repression was no problem, at
least not yet, because she was used to keeping a tight rein on her
emotions.

The Lady Arwen had taken Aragorn’s place in her mind, and though
Eowyn was nervous about this, she was also relieved. And, what was
better, now able to see things as they truly were instead of how she
wanted them to be, Eowyn saw the love between Aragorn and Legolas,
and wasn’t infuriated by it. Saddened, yes, but thoughts of the Lady
Arwen were replacing the sadness with other, more desirable,
feelings.

Eowyn collapsed on a bench in a small niche far from the bustle of
the rest of the Hornburg. She leaned back against the cold, clammy
stone, uncaring if the moisture ruined her gown. Breathing
shallowly, she squeezed her eyes shut and saw Lady Arwen dancing
first with Halbarad, of the Dunedain, then with Glorfindel, who had
appeared scant moments before Mordecai had come looking for Aragorn.
The boy’s entrance had caused a bit of a stir. Glorfindel had
offered to take him to Aragorn, but Arwen had kept his hand firmly
in hers. Eowyn had taken the boy, but even as she’d walked out,
she’d felt the Lady’s eyes on her.

‘Nonsense,’ Eowyn thought as she let her chin sink to her chest.
‘She was focusing on Lord Glorfindel as if he were the only person
in the world. I mean, it’s him she was keeping behind, not me.’ She
sighed. ‘Lady Arwen doesn’t want me.

‘And why should I want her? And what do I want of her?” Unbidden, an
image of Aragorn and Legolas came to her, and Eowyn had to admit
that she had similar thoughts in her mind about herself and the
elven maiden from Rivendell.

If this had been Eowyn’s first female love interest, she might have
shuddered at the idea. But she’d had half a dozen before, and though
all but one of those had ended before they’d scarcely begun, one had
gone from infatuation from a distance to love in close quarters.
Eowyn might be with that woman yet had not Isabella’s father ordered
her to marry a man and “do something good for this family, like
produce heirs.” Even if two years had passed since their last tryst
in Eowyn’s own bower, and even if the pain had mostly faded to a
dull ache, Eowyn hadn’t forgotten how magical and perfect and
fulfilling having a lover could be.

She’d never been interested in men, and now she saw the
ridiculousness of her love for Aragorn. Love? Hunger for power, yes,
but not love. She loved the idea of him; they would ride to battle
together, and she would win renown at his side. She would unite
Rohan and Gondor in a way that had never been done before. She would
be admired from the White City to the far-off, dreamed-of kingdom of
Arnor in the North. That she did not love Aragorn in the traditional
sense shouldn’t matter to her; she’d even convinced herself, to some
degree, that she belonged with a man and that she would learn to
love him.

Faced with the beauty of Arwen, Eowyn laughed at herself for ever
dreaming that she could love a mere man. Women- females of any
species, she privately believed- were just more passionate by
nature, and no man could rival that. Or if it could, that stemmed
from the simple fact that he was slightly womanish himself.

Eowyn sat up, staring at the wet wall across from her. Sighing, she
admitted that she was going to have to do something about this. ‘I
must tell her. Even if she isn’t interested in women, I have to tell
her. With war crowding out all other possibilities, the time for
dithering has passed, if it was ever a good course to begin with.’
She stood. ‘Better sooner rather than later. I’ll have to ask her
for a private audience…’ Eowyn started down the corridor, then
thought check her gown. The back was a little damp, but it wasn’t
soaked, and her hair hid the worst of it. ‘Of course, if an elf’s
nose is as good as their ears are said to be, maybe she’ll be able
to smell me.’ She colored at the thought, but kept going,
recognizing it as a wish to delay on-coming heartbreak.

Skirts swishing, she strode into the main hall of the Burg, and at
once started hunting for the Lady Arwen. She wandered from place to
place, trying not to seem too obvious. She spotted Dunedain
everywhere, including the three women Aragorn had brought with him.
She didn’t see Aragorn, or Mordecai, for that matter, and perhaps
that was for the best. She didn’t want to have to talk to Aragorn
right now. Her mistakes burned hot behind her eyes, and she
struggled to keep that burn from her cheeks.

“My Lady?”

Eowyn turned, preparing for a polite chat with one of Aragorn’s
people, hoping it wouldn’t take too long.

Saru bowed to her. “Far be it for me to guess your mind, Lady, but
you seem to be looking for something. May I help?”

She shook her head. “I know this hall quite well, thank you.” She
watched him bow again, and start to move away. But then she reached
out and caught his arm. “Wait. Please. I didn’t mean that the way it
came out. It’s only-” He was looking at her, and she flushed under
his regard, surprised how beautiful his eyes were, and yet how
endlessly sad, as if he’d been drowned once by sorrow and had never
completely climbed out. “I wasn’t expecting to be stopped,” she said
at last. “I’m looking for the Lady Arwen.”

“She’s there,” he said, steering her around a group of mingled
Rohirrim and Dunedain, who were having some sort of drinking
contest, “by the high table, talking with Merry. I think he comforts
her. It’s hard to be surrounded by so many strangers when you’ve
scarcely left home before.” Then, as if realising that he’d said too
much, he bowed to her and went away, melting into the crowd as if it
were a forest and he was a dappled hart.

Eowyn stood for a moment where she was, then crossed the room,
gliding with a grace that was usually unconscious, but tonight she
was aware of every movement and breath. Stopping a few paces from
the two, she made a slight courtesy.

“Hi, Eowyn!” Merry grinned at her, and waved for her to join them.
He even patted a seat at his side, and as she settled into it, the
hobbit said, “Lady Arwen, this is Lady Eowyn, Theoden King’s
daughter. Or niece?” He peeked at Eowyn. “I forget.”

“Sister-daughter is what it’s called here,” Eowyn said, studiously
not looking at the beauty beside the hobbit. “But niece is the same
thing.” Then she turned her eyes on Arwen, and was struck by the
sadness in her grey eyes, so much like the Ranger’s, and yet
different, too, because it seemed mixed with resentment and
frustration. “My lady,” Eowyn said.

“We’re of the same rank. Call me Arwen.” Her tone was imperious, and
yet her eyes lost some of their unrest. She stood then, and the
other two followed suit. “Would you walk with me, Eowyn?”

“Gladly.”

Merry scurried away, calling over his shoulder, “I want to see if
the Dunedain have out-drank the Rohirrim yet!”

He was gone in a moment, and when Eowyn glanced back at Arwen, she
saw a fond and honest smile on the elf’s face. Arwen caught her
looking, but instead of taking the smile back, she let it widen.
“He’s got a good heart. If Pippin was like him, I see how the
Fellowship got as far as Perth Galen.” She turned then, her long,
lavender skirt brushing Eowyn’s leg, and walked towards the small
balcony beyond the royal table. “You took the boy to Aragorn?”

“To the rooms where Aragorn was, but I didn’t see him. Aragorn is
fighting with the Palantir.”

Arwen nodded. “He’ll win it. Estel is strong.” She glanced at Eowyn.
“Estel was Aragorn’s name when he was growing up in Rivendell.”

“He said he had been raised among the elves for a time.” Eowyn had
no desire to discuss Aragorn, but since she couldn’t think of
another subject, she kept with this one, just to have something to
talk about. “He tamed my cousin Theodred’s stallion after Theodred
died. I’ve never seen anything like it. Aragorn spoke to Brego in
Elvish, and in less than a minute, Brego was calm. He was set free,
Brego, I mean, not Aragorn-”

Arwen surprised her by giggling. Even though Eowyn had meant it has
a joke, she hadn’t thought that elves laughed often. Certainly the
sons of Elrond, who she admittedly had only observed for a little
time, and Legolas, who she had spent much time around, hardly seemed
to crack a smile. But maybe that was because she’d only glimpsed
those elves before battles or just after battles.

“-found Aragorn after he’d been separated from the rest of the
warriors and injured during a battle. Not only did he find Aragorn,
he brought him to Helm’s Deep. I always knew Brego was smart, but I
couldn’t believe he’d found Aragorn and saved him and brought him
right where he needed to be until I saw it.”

“Elvish works subtle magic with the horses we ride,” Arwen said.
“And of course Estel was taught that.” They had passed out onto the
balcony, and Arwen went to the railing, resting her hands on its
smooth surface. “Enough of Estel. Tell me about Rohan. It’s
beautiful here, and I’ll bet it was even more so before the orcs
came through.”

Eowyn nodded. “The grass when on for miles and miles, shining like
emeralds, especially in the first sunbeams of morning, and glowed
like dark green fire when the sun was setting. I grew up riding with
my father before he died, though I only rode in front of him on his
horse, and I saw a lot of sunrises and sunsets.” She stopped, unsure
what to say next.

Arwen asked, “What sort of horse do you ride now?”

“A gelding named Yenling, which means “dawn’s firstborn” in my
language.”

“That would be Reeyan in Quenyan- the Elvish we speak in Imladris.”

“There’s more than one kind? Of Elvish, I mean?”

Arwen cast a smiling glance at Eowyn. “Once, there was only one
language, but we’ve gone our separate ways over the millennium. And
not all the new languages last. Lord Glorfindel from Gondolin spoke
the language of his city, but Gondolin fell. Glorfindel was there to
see it, even though it fell close to ten thousand years ago.”

“Were you alive then?” Eowyn blushed. “I’m sorry; I detest when
someone asks my age. Forget I asked.”

Arwen’s smile had remained, and when Eowyn looked into her eyes, she
saw a great deal less frustration and resentment. “I don’t mind, but
I’m nowhere near that old. I’m only two thousand five hundred, two
whole millenniums younger than my brothers. I’m the youngest elf in
Middle-Earth right now, except for Legolas, who is only sixty or so.
If he’d been raised in Mirkwood or Imladris instead of by the
Dunedain, he would still be considered a child. But Aragorn brought
him up like a man, of course, ignoring elf customs completely.”
Bitterness entered her tone.

“You’re beautiful, no matter your age,” Eowyn said, then blushed
furiously. She hadn’t known what she was going to say until she’d
said it, and what had come out sounded so childish and fawning. ‘But
I had to say something. I don’t want her to be unhappy. At least now
maybe she’ll forget about Aragorn and Legolas and start rebuking me
for acting my “childish age of” twenty-two years.’

“Thank you.” Arwen reached out and touched Eowyn’s hand where the
shieldmaiden had unconsciously rested it on the railing. “I forget
sometimes that I can’t do anything about the choices others make.”
She took a step closer to Eowyn. “May I ask you something?”

Eowyn’s head was spinning slightly. “Of-of course.” She kept
glancing down at their joined hands, then back up at Arwen. She
supposed she must look ridiculous, but she seemed unable to stop
herself. And Arwen was smiling at her, and not in a mocking way, so
Eowyn allowed herself to keep looking from Arwen’s hand to her face
and back again.

“Why did you want to talk to me?” She saw Eowyn’s startled blink and
shook her head a little. “I could tell it was me you wanted to talk
to, and not Merry, wonderful and comforting as he is. So why?”

Eowyn thought of pulling away, turning her back, and running, but
Arwen’s gaze held her, and seemed to draw the truth from her. “I saw
you earlier and I wanted to know you. You’re beautiful, but you
aren’t perfect, like I thought elves should be.” She blushed. “I
mean that you seem to feel pain like all the rest of us. And that
pain makes you more beautiful because you’re mature and you know
what the world is. You know good and evil, and you’ve chosen good
things even if it hurts you.”

Arwen drew back from Eowyn. “I don’t understand what you mean.” She
clasped her hands behind her back and even went so far as to take a
step back. “Pain doesn’t make anyone beautiful, and even if it did,
what could a country princess possibly know about elven beauty?” She
took a further step back, towards the crowded room beyond the
balcony. “Good night, Lady Eowyn.”