Title: Legolas’ Gift
Author: Estel Baggins
Author’s Email: macfal1219@comcast.net
Rating: NC-17
Chapters: 87-89
Summary: The end of the War of the Ring, and a little of what came after.
Warning: lots of character death, even some characters you didn’t get to meet.
Warning 2: I changed the ending a little. Those who want the ending just as it was in the 
book, that’s not happening here. Some greater joy, maybe some greater sorrow.
Warning 3: This is the last section, the last three chapters! Please email me and tell me 
what you thought! Writer need food. Food= critiques/criticism/praise. Questions I’d love 
you to answer are at the end of the story.
Chapter Eighty-Seven
      After facing Shelob, Sam thought, the invisible barrier between the door to the 
Tower of Cirith Ungol and the real beginning of Mordor was easy to pass through. True, 
it took him a moment to realise what was wrong; why, with every step, he and Frodo felt 
weaker and weaker. But once he laid eyes on the three-faced gargoyles that guarded the 
last gate before Mordor, it was only the work of a moment.
      Frodo sank to the ground; he wasn’t up to this bar, and Sam didn’t blame him. “I 
can’t go on, Sam. I’m going to faint. I don’t know what’s come over me.”
      “I do.” Sam helped Frodo back to his feet. “Hold up now! It’s the gate. There’s 
some deviltry there. I passed through it to get to you, and I can get out again. It can’t be 
more dangerous than before.” He tightened his belt, reminded forcibly of Strider telling 
them to tighten their belts and think with hope of the tables of Rivendell. “Now for it!” 
He drew out Galadriel’s phial, and, gladdened by its sudden and steady light, and put in 
mind of the Gildor and the elves who had walked with them part of the way to Bree, 
cried, “Gilthomiel, A Elbereth!”
      Behind him, encouraged, Frodo cried, “Aiya elenion ancalima!”
      The will of the watchers at the gate was broken. The light from the phial rose up 
to the gate, and the gargoyles screamed. The hobbits fled; behind them, the keystone of 
the gate’s arch fell at their heels. They ran a few steps, but then the sight before them 
drew them up short, even though Sam knew they must, must get away, and quickly, in 
case that scream had been heard and understood.
      They stood at the top of the steep path dressed in the foulest orc-rags imaginable, 
and Sam thought on these again now that they were past the gate. Putting them on had 
felt strangely like putting on the skins of his kills. Distasteful. ‘Well,’ Sam thought, ‘at 
least they’re warm. An orc-helmet and pants and tunic are better than no clothes at all.’ 
He stood near enough to Frodo for touching, though neither of them was eager to do that. 
All their safety now relied on acting like orcs as much as possible. They gazed across the 
polluted plain below where nothing grew and only orcs walked. Thousands upon 
thousands of orcs, it seemed. Far too many for two little hobbits to get through without 
being seen.
      Frodo voiced this concern, but Sam, though he’d thought it also, said, “There’s 
nothing for it, Frodo. We have to try.” He risked a touch, laying a hand briefly on Frodo’s 
arm, wishing he could offer more comfort through the thick armor. “Let’s get down this 
hill for starters.”
      So began their journey across Mordor: one step at a time. Sam felt the burden of 
morale on him as strongly as Frodo felt the burden of the Ring, though for Sam it was a 
lifting burden, an encouraging burden. Two hours ago, he had thought his lover dead. 
Now, despite the armies before them and the Eye burning above them, seeking 
everything and anything, he took delight in speaking to Frodo, hearing Frodo answer, or 
in jus being silent and rejoicing that his lover was walking beside him. He felt a little like 
singing. Only a little. Five minutes creeping about the edges of the plain brought swiftly 
home the reality of their situation. And still Sam did not despair, or even lose a great bit 
of his joy. He could rejoice silently; that was just fine.
      It took them twice as long to get down to the plain as it would have a month ago, 
but neither of them had any desire to hurry, despite Sam’s encouragements, and also, 
Frodo was exhausted. Sam felt that complete loss of energy like a wound in his heart, and 
he sought to bolster Frodo at every turn. So when the orc-horn echoed across the plains, 
and the orcs began to disperse, Sam grinned. He couldn’t help himself. “You see, Frodo? 
Some luck at last.” Sam spotted the marching orcs then and thought, ‘No, not yet. We 
still don’t get any luck.’ He and Frodo cast a quick glance at each other, then looked for a 
place to hide. There were none. But there was a shoulder to the road. Quickly, they lay 
there, motionless, and pretended to be dead.
      It did no good. The leader of the battalion, who had been swinging a whip to drive 
his charges along, stopped and glared at them. “Get up!” He swung the whip and Sam 
forced himself not to flinch as it cut his arm. “Come on, you slugs!” Sam got up. “You 
too!” to Frodo, and the orc used the whip again. “It’s straight to the front lines!”
      ‘Surrounded by orcs and walking away from Mount Doom,’ Sam thought as he 
and Frodo fell into line, ‘this is some stroke of luck all right.’
      Two minutes later, Sam wondered if they’d ever hope to escape. The lead orc had 
called a halt. There were men in their way, men who wanted to take the main road ahead 
of the orc battalion to the Black Gate. Frodo leaned against him suddenly, groaning.
      “Stand up, Frodo,” Sam whispered. “Stand up. They’re not looking. We can go!”
      “It’s so heavy, Sam.”
      Sam put his arm around Frodo’s shoulders. “Come on. Come on. You can do it.” 
He helped Frodo to his feet. “Come on. We can make it.” Even as he spoke, the leader of 
the orcs hit the leader of the men, and a melee ensued. Glad of the foul tempers of their 
enemies, Sam and Frodo slipped away into a small hole. They would be nearly invisible 
from the road. Collapsing, Frodo put his head on Sam’s shoulder and closed his eyes.
      “I’ll be all right in a minute, Sam, I think, but I just need to not move for a 
minute.”
      Sam put his arm about Frodo’s shoulders and leaned against the rock. He took the 
opportunity to brush Frodo’s hair off his forehead and plant a gentle kiss there. “Rest, 
Frodo. We’ll have to go soon, but until this lot shoves off, we can rest.” He thought, 
‘Wish we didn’t have to wear all this heavy mail, but how else can we look like orcs and 
sneak past all those creatures? Even if the Eye saw us, he wouldn’t be able to tell us from 
orcs if we’re wearing mail.’
***
      Aragorn rode at the head of the column of eight hundred. Behind them, the dirtied 
walls of Gondor glowed faintly in the first rays of the sun. Upon his chest, Aragorn bore 
the symbol of the White Tree and the Seven Stars. He wore no crown or helm. Roheryn 
carried him, and Anduril hung at his side, ready for the king’s hand. Of the few hours’ 
sleep he’d gotten, none had been without dreams, and it had taken him nearly another 
hour, upon waking, to understand all that had happened while he slept. Legolas and 
Halbarad had explained all, and though he did not now think of the baby they would lose, 
that Legolas would lose, he had grieved with Legolas when his husband woke him two 
hours before dawn.
      Halbarad had also been awake, and strong, and Legolas had been confused. “Why 
are you awake? I have done nothing yet.”
      Halbarad shook his head. “Maybe the sacrifice is to come later?”
      Aragorn had awoken at the first sound of Legolas’ voice, and had bade them 
explain what they were going on about. When he’d heard all of it, he had sat in silence 
for several minutes before drawing Legolas close and kissing him. He could only grieve 
silently for what they would lose.
      Back on the road, Aragorn listened to the sounds of those behind him. His 
Dunedain rode to his right and behind him. Imrahil, Eomer, and their forces, rode on the 
other side. The remainder of the Fellowship, the twins, and Glorfindel rode directly 
behind him, Legolas closest, his eyes scanning far ahead, penetrating the shadow that 
broiled in east, dimming the sun to a weak beacon that only reached the walls of Gondor 
by chance.
      Among their ranks, the Dunedain kept to a tight and ordered formation: Saru first, 
then Halbarad, who carried the standard of the king. Next, with Cein, son of Smetana, 
rode Aaron, and behind came Raven, Annaleh, Cein and Nella. Morwen had stayed 
behind with her brothers. Aidan was not healed enough to ride, let alone fight, and 
Mordecai had been bade, by Aragorn, to stay behind and watch over Faramir. “Do not let 
grief or fear distress him,” he had instructed the young Dunadan, “and, if you can, abide 
for a time with Arwen and Eowyn. Keep both from despair. The Lady Eowyn may be 
particularly prone to it. She is not one to sit idle while others go to war, and her uncle has 
died. Lift her spirits if you can.”
      Saru had spoken earlier to his people, telling them of Aaron’s promise to Legolas, 
and all had pledged anew their loyalty to Aragorn no matter what would come, and 
vowed, also, to protect Legolas, their king’s husband. Aaron, satisfied, had blessed them 
and then led them to the horses so they would be ready when the time came. None were 
left to protect the tents. Kehydi had been moved to the Houses of Healing with Aidan, 
and his other two children stayed with him.
      Elrohir rode close at Halbarad’s left hand. His mind had cleared the moment he’d 
seen his husband, and it seemed that he retained no memory of the hours when he’d been 
raving. Elladan rode just in front of his brother, with Glorfindel, completely recovered, 
by him. The two elves had stolen a brief moment, as had so many lovers among the 
warriors that followed Aragorn, to celebrate their love one last time before battle.
      All felt the sense of destiny that riding with Aragorn inspired. It filled their minds 
and hearts with courage, and all drew on that. Death would come for many of them, they 
knew, and most did not understand why they were riding against such a terrible force, 
except that their captains commanded it and said it would save other lives than their own. 
And, because of their love for their captains, and the reverence for Aragorn that had 
spread like wildfire, that was enough.
***
      Trekking back the way they’d already come drained Sam’s spirits a little, but he 
refused to let this show. Usually, he followed Frodo, but now Frodo seemed to want to 
follow, and Sam led, though he felt nervous about it and wondered how he’d come to be 
the leader in this expedition. ‘It’s only because that cursed Ring is so heavy and he’s 
already been through so much. If Sauron managed to live after we’d destroyed the Ring- 
not that I want any such thing- I’d break his nose and crush his head with my sword. Just 
knowing that he made so much evil to go into one ring, and that Frodo has to carry that 
evil around his neck is enough to make me half-wish I could meet this fabled Dark Lord 
face to face. Just to make him know what he’s done is all, and to make sure he doesn’t 
ever try anything like this again, and to-’ Sam stopped. He was panting heavily. ‘I’m 
getting too angry, and the Ring loves that. I’ll not feed it.’ He squared his shoulders and 
said, loud enough for Frodo to hear, “Almost there now, Frodo. We’ll be on the slopes of 
that fire-mountain in a few minutes. Then up the slope, into the fire with that devilish 
thing, and we can go home.”
      No response from Frodo, but that was all right; he couldn’t spare the strength to 
talk. It didn’t cost him anything to listen, and hopefully it helped. A few minutes later, 
when Sam had put both feet firmly on the slope to Mount Doom, he heard his lover fall. 
Ready to help with a kind word, and more ready to go back and help his lover up, Sam 
turned, but Frodo spoke, and Sam couldn’t move as he listened.
      “I-I… I can’t manage the Ring, Sam. It’s… It’s such a weight to carry…” He 
tried to lift his eyes to his lover, but didn’t have the strength even for this. “Such a 
weight…”
      Sam pointed with his stolen sword at the mountain high above. ‘No words of 
comfort will help, I don’t think. Only the truth, and a promise that we’ll get this done as 
soon as possible.’ “We’re going that way, straight as we can. There’s no point carryin’ 
anything we’re not sure to need.” ‘And if we’re spotted, I don’t care; he can’t walk like 
this, and, truth to tell, this stuff itches. Besides, when we destroy the Ring, the world 
should know we’re hobbits. Let Sauron know we’re hobbits, and that we destroyed him.’
      Off came the mail shirts, the helmets, and the swords. Sam also cast his pots and 
pans over the side of the cliff. ‘Me old Gaffer will have something to say about that, I’m 
sure,’ he thought, and smiled. ‘Well, when we get back to the Shire, let him say anything 
he wants to.’ They had sunk down behind a ledge where they couldn’t see the Eye, and, if 
it looks that way, it couldn’t see them. Sam’s eyes went to the sky, and he gaped, 
surprised to see something besides darkness. “Look, Frodo!” he breathed. “Look! There 
is light, and beauty, up there, that no Shadow can touch.” His heart was light, and he 
thought, ‘We can do this. We can. I’ll help him. I’ll carry him if I have to. I won’t let 
Sauron or his Ring take Frodo away from all that beauty. I’ll remind him what beauty is, 
and where it can be found, and everything will be all right. You won’t stop us, Sauron, 
and now I’ve got proof: you can’t even stop the sky.’
      But when he glanced at Frodo, wanting to make sure his lover was looking, he 
saw Frodo staring with the frozen fascination of a bird before a snake at the Eye, which 
was moving, searching for something.
      “We’ll make it anyway,” Sam muttered, and when the Eye looked far away from 
them, he helped Frodo up. Giving Frodo his canteen, knowing that Frodo didn’t have any 
water left, he said, “Take mine. There’s a few drops left.”
      Frodo drank, then looked at Sam. “There’ll be none left for the return journey.”
      Sam understood then with his head what he’d known in his heart since they’d left 
Cirith Ungol: “I don’t there will be a return journey, Frodo.”
      Frodo looked at him, then at the hand Sam extended. ‘But we’ll keep going 
anyway,’ Sam’s eyes said, ‘and make an end to that Thing.’ Frodo gasped Sam’s hand, 
accepting the help, and nodded. He couldn’t speak, though he wanted to, and so they 
continued up Mount Doom in silence.
***
      Aragorn’s troops came to a halt three hundred paces from the Black Gate. They 
had changed position slightly as the road opened. Aragorn was flanked by Halbarad on 
his right, and Legolas, Gimli and Gandalf on his left. The Standard of the King blew in 
the breeze, glowing with the jewels and precious metals the dwarves had given and 
Arwen Undomiel had sewn. The cloth, black as night, stood out against the lightening 
sky, and Aragorn hoped that Sauron saw a fell enemy that he would send his armies forth 
to take. ‘We’re here, Frodo,’ the king thought. ‘We’re here, and Sauron will be looking at 
us soon. Stay safe just a few minutes longer. All will yet be well.’
      Legolas heard Aragorn’s thought, and his mind opened to the world around him. 
Unknowingly, he sent the thought on.
***
      Sam walked behind Frodo now, ready to catch his lover should he fall, and Frodo 
seemed stronger now, ready to lead again. He was stoop-shouldered, and his gait wasn’t 
straight or steady, but he moved with purpose. No matter what came next, Sam was glad 
to see that. ‘We’ll destroy it,’ he thought, ‘and if we die with it- as seems sure now- we’ll 
die together, with him in my arms. We’ll die free of that cursed burden.’
      A sound that came not from outside but inside the heads of the two hobbits began, 
and swiftly rose in pitch and volume until it threatened to drown out all thought. Sam’s 
eyes went to the sky, and he saw the Eye. It was moving towards them, seeking them. 
‘No, just Frodo.’ Sam dove behind a rock and shouted, “Frodo, get down!”
      Frodo turned towards the Eye, his face that of a sleepwalker. His hands hung 
limply at his sides as he stared at the fiery eye between the spires of Barad-dur.
      “Hide!” Sam shouted. He started to get up, to grab Frodo, but then the earth and 
sky shook with a voice both internal and external. Frodo trying to turn away, fell, and the 
Eye’s gaze swept over him, then away, then back again. Sam, not knowing if sudden 
movement would attract the thing’s attention, screamed for Frodo, screamed for Sauron 
to leave his lover alone, screamed that this just couldn’t happen. They were so close.
      Frodo heard none of Sam’s words, but a voice that was distinctly not Sauron’s 
echoed in his mind, and though at first he could not draw strength from it, he heard it 
clearly: ‘We’re here, Frodo,’ the king thought. ‘We’re here, and Sauron will be looking at 
us soon. Stay safe just a few minutes longer. All will yet be well.’
      And, as the Eye continued to move back and forth, for a moment, Frodo was able 
to think of something besides the Ring and Sauron. ‘Aragorn.’
***
      One hundred fifty steps from the Black Gate, the army of the West waited. The 
gates had not opened, and not even a shout had come from the walls.
      “Where are they?” Pippin whispered.
      ‘Indeed,’ Aragorn thought, and rode forward, giving a discreet signal to Saru to 
have the Dunedain stand fast. This signal passed to the other captains, so that none but 
Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli, Eomer, Imrahil, and Halbarad followed. Merry was mounted 
behind Eomer, and Pippin behind Aragorn. Elrohir made a move, despite the signal, to 
attend his lover, but Elladan’s forbidding look kept him in place.
      ‘Why didn’t you warn me?’ Legolas thought, but didn’t send, at his lover. ‘For an 
instant, you weren’t surrounded by our protection.’ Sighing silently, he made Arod trot a 
little faster so he was riding immediately to Aragorn’s left, taking Gandalf’s place 
without a conscious thought.
      Aragorn brought them all to a standstill only twenty paces in front of the gate. 
“Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth! Let justice be done upon him!”
      ‘Bold words,’ Legolas thought, ‘and surely ones that will rankle. Come, Sauron, 
send your armies. We’re as ready as we’ll ever be.’ He traded a glance with Eomer, saw 
that the man was ready to uphold his oath and defend Aragorn to the last man, and tried 
to tell himself that Aragorn would surely ride back to join the rest of the host before the 
ten thousand in Mordor came out.
      A moment of silence, as though Sauron were tormenting them, then, as if the 
Dark Lord had seen them from afar and sent someone to welcome them, the gates were 
opened with a creak and a groan that set Legolas’ teeth on edge. ‘They’re coming, 
Aragorn. Go back!’ Still he didn’t dare to touch his lover through their bond. Whatever 
Aragorn was doing, he must be allowed to do it. For such a moment as this was he born.
      The gates opened at last, but only enough so that one lone, hideous rider could 
step forth. If more hosts waited beyond, they were hidden and silent. Legolas felt sorry 
for the horse that had to bear such a rider.
      The gate closed behind the creature, which was neither orc nor man. The 
messenger opened its mouth, revealing long, grey teeth. “My Master, Sauron the Great, 
bids thee welcome.”
      No one spoke.
      “Is there any in this rout fit to treat with me?” He looked insolently around, and 
his eye fell on Aragorn. “Or indeed wit to understand me? Not thou, at least! It takes 
more to make a king than a piece of Elvish glass or a rabble such as this. Why, any 
brigand of the hills can show as good a following!”
      Aragorn said nothing, but held the messenger’s eye. The Mouth of Sauron was the 
first to look away.
      Gandalf spoke. “We do not come to treat with Sauron, Faithless and Accursed.”
      The Mouth of Sauron- he’d had no other name for so long that he’d forgotten his 
own- snarled.
      “Tell your master this: the armies of Mordor are to disband. He is to depart these 
lands, never to return.”
      “Ah!” the messenger cried with new life. “Old grey-beard! I have a token I was 
bidden to show thee.” Then, from under his foul cloak, he produced a glowing shirt: the 
mithriel sparkled and the gems winked at them.
      Reaction ran through the small group. Gimli sighed, and his sorrow couldn’t be 
measured in that sound. His arms tightened around Legolas’ waist for a moment. 
      “Frodo!” Merry cried.
      And from Pippin: “No!”
      Gandalf, fierce and determined, “Be silent.”
      From Pippin again: “No!”
      “Be silent” the wizard ordered, and Pippin but his head against the mail of 
Aragorn’s armor, and closed his eyes. He didn’t weep; it was too soon.
      “The Halfling was dear to thee, I see.” The Mouth of Sauron looked at Aragorn 
again, and this time refused to look away, though the man’s expression hadn’t changed. 
The sorrow of the others gave the messenger courage. “Know that he suffered greatly at 
the hands of his host. Who would have thought one so small could endure so much 
pain?”
      ‘You foul, reeking liar!’
      ‘Legolas, be still.’ Aragorn’s voice came back.
      Legolas cursed his temper. But even as he retreated back to his own mind and 
built the shields doubly-thick, Legolas tried to measure Aragorn’s voice. In it he’d heard 
no belief, no sorrow, only determination. ‘My Aragorn,’ he thought, and set his grief 
aside. ‘I am with you, whatever.’
      The Mouth was still speaking. He’d looked away from Aragorn once again, but 
only, he told himself, so he could address the wizard. “And he did, Gandalf, he did.”
      Aragorn rode forward, placing himself between Gandalf and the messenger.
      “And what would you, Isildur’s Heir? It also takes more to make a king than a 
broken Elvish blade.”
      Anduril was in Aragorn’s hand and slicing through the air before the messenger 
had finished speaking. The edge of the blade cut the creature’s head off cleanly, and both 
it and the body fell. The horse took off, heading for the Anduin.
      Gimli, emboldened and trying to hide his shock, said, “I guess that concludes 
negotiations.”
      Aragorn, turning Roheryn back the way they’d come, said, meeting Gandalf’s 
eyes, “I do not believe it. I will not.”
      The black gates began to open once more. Aragorn and Roheryn turned back once 
more, and the king saw all the host that was coming for them.
      Legolas didn’t send his thought, but it was directed at Aragorn nonetheless. 
‘Aragorn, we must-’
      “Fall back,” Aragorn said, his voice steady. Then, when no one moved (Legolas 
wouldn’t leave Aragorn without protection, and so was determined to be the last one to 
rejoin the host) “Fall back!” And he led the way. Behind them, the armies of Mordor 
marched with a slow, ponderous, deadly step, as if they would simply crush all before 
them.
***
      Sam, at last able to move, darted around the rock and knelt beside Frodo. “It’s 
gone! It’s passed on, away towards the north. Something’s drawn its gaze.”
      Frodo was already halfway to his feet. ‘Aragorn.’
      Sam helped him the rest of the way up.
      ‘Aragorn.’ Frodo set his eyes on Mount Doom, letting that one thought, almost 
the only one that seemed to get through the Ring’s call, carry him forward.
***
      Fear had taken the place of courage in the ranks of the King’s army. Aragorn, 
seeing it, raised his voice ere he had reached his troops. “Hold your ground! Hold your 
ground!” Then, bidding the others in the small company not to follow him with a quick 
gesture, he began to ride the front line. “Men of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers, I see in 
your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the 
courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship. But 
it is not this day. An hour of wars and shattered shields, when the world of men comes 
crashing down, but it is not this day. This day, we fight! By all that you hold dear on this 
good earth, I bid you stand, men of the West!” He drew forth Anduril once more, and the 
blade glimmered and sang in his hand. Before him, seven hundred swords were drawn, 
and every eye filled with hope once more.
      Aragorn turned to face the approaching army, Anduril held high. Now he sat 
alone, unguarded, and Legolas, though longing to be between his lover and the 
approaching enemies, was momentarily overcome with awe. ‘He is King now, even if he 
hasn’t had his coronation. He is, and no one can take that from him.’
      The host of ten thousand broke into fronts, and surrounded the eight hundred. All 
through Aragorn’s army, men spoke words of encouragement and last words of 
friendship to each other. Eomer stood, stalwart and stern, and watched for Aragorn’s 
signal. Pippin drew forth his small blade, and Merry marveled at it. A Gondorian blade it 
was, with two stars on it, both near the hilt. Merry drew his own sword, the one he’d 
gotten in the Barrows, and stood at his cousin’s side. They’d been set down from their 
mounts, and all others had dismounted.
      Gimli spoke then, unable to keep silent. But, also unable to go without a last 
tease, said “Never though I’d die fighting side-by-side with an elf.”
      Legolas glanced at him, and his heart swelled. ‘You accomplished one thing, 
Aragorn: an elf and a dwarf have become friends, just as you always said they should in 
your stories by the fire.’ “What about side-by-side with a friend?”
      Gimli met his gaze, and now his voice was roughened and Legolas realised his 
friend knew what awaited them, and only grieved for it because it would put an end to 
their friendship when it put an end to their lives. “Aye. I could do that.”
***
      The side of Mount Doom was made of shifting rocks and loose dust that defied 
purchase. Frodo and Sam moved forward still, but when first Sam fell, and then Frodo, 
they both lay still for a moment.
      Frodo gathered his strength first, but not because he wanted to reach the mouth of 
the volcano above them. He saw Sam lying nearer, and he crawled to his lover, sinking 
his fingers into the dust and pulling with all his strength. He made slow progress; the dust 
wouldn’t hold him, and only occasionally was he able to lay hand to a rock that stayed 
still while he used it to pull himself up. He thought not of the next grasp, only of the one 
he was on. When at last he reached Sam’s side, unable to drag himself so that they could 
touch, he collapsed and closed his eyes. Everything he knew had shrunk to the polluted 
earth under him and the scream of the Ring in his head. He thought no more of Sam.
      Sam got himself moving, shaking off the fall. He rolled Frodo onto his lap, and 
cradled his lover’s head against his chest. Staring up at the cave, he wondered how they 
could possibly reach it when everything was against them.
      He looked at his love, seeing the dirt that covered Frodo’s face, seeing the way 
Frodo’s chest barely rose and fell. “Do you remember the Shire, Frodo?” he asked, 
hoping the closed lids would open and he could see his lover’s eyes once again. “It’ll be 
spring soon, and the orchards’ll be in blossom, and the birds’ll be nestin in the hazel 
thicket, and they’ll be sowin the summer barley in the lower fields, and eatin the first of 
the strawberries with cream.” Any and every good thought of the Shire came to him, and 
Sam used each as it came. “Do you remember the taste of strawberries?”
      Frodo’s voice was like that of an old man, cracked and mostly gone. “No, Sam. I 
can’t remember the taste of food. Nor the sound of water or touch of grass.”
      ‘No,’ Sam thought. ‘No. He can’t take that from you! He can’t! I won’t let him!’ 
For the time being, he was too anguished to speak.
      “Naked in the dark,” Frodo whispered. “There’s nothing. No veil between me and 
the Eye of Fire. I can see him… with my waking eyes.” His breath caught, and he stared 
past Sam, blind to everything but the world the Ring had created in his head.
      Sam’s fury boiled over. “Then let us be rid of it. Once and for all.” As Frodo 
opened his eyes all the way, hurt and surprised and lost, Sam said, “Come on, Frodo. I 
can’t carry it for you. But I can carry you.” He got his arm under Frodo’s back. “Come 
on!” And he lifted Frodo, putting his lover over his shoulders. Frodo was light as a 
feather, and Sam wanted to scream at the malevolent force that had made him thus. 
Instead, he broke into a running-walk up the side of Mount Doom, wishing he could 
shelter Frodo, and keeping his eyes fixed on the mouth of the cave that would lead inside.
***
      Before the Black Gate, all stood ready. Aragorn held Anduril upright in his hand, 
and met the eyes of one orc after another across the short distance that separated them. 
Almost without exception, the enemies of the free people of Middle-Earth looked away in 
fear. They would fight when the time came, but it would be easier to fight others and not 
Aragorn.
      A voice called suddenly in Aragorn’s mind, and it reached Legolas as well. 
Gandalf, too, heard it, but only because the Dark Lord wished him to. 
‘Aragorn…Elessar…’
      Aragorn turned to look at Gandalf, and at Legolas. There was no way to read the 
expression in his eyes. Legolas risked reaching out through their bond, but Aragorn’s 
shields were firmly in place. Gandalf raised a hand and moved it discreetly before 
Aragorn’s eyes as if to remind him where he was, who he was.
      Legolas thought, ‘He cannot be taken. Not now. Not after all this. He can’t be.’
      He wasn’t. “For Frodo,” the king said. Then he turned, lifting Anduril once more, 
and charged their foes. The first to react and follow were Merry and Pippin, who had 
heard his words and wanted to honor their friends in death if they wouldn’t see them 
again in life. Screaming like warriors of old, the hobbits ran at Aragorn’s heals. The rest 
of the host had to be content to follow them.
***
      Sam wondered distantly at the steps that had been carved into the side of the 
mountain near the cave entrance. But he was grateful for them and, with Frodo still over 
his shoulders, climbed them, glad that they were as close to hobbit-sized as one could 
wish, as if whoever built them had planned for the eventuality of Halflings paying a visit. 
‘But I’ll say nothing of luck at last,’ Sam thought. Then his eyes rested on the opening, 
and he was surprised to see that it wasn’t a cave entrance at all. Like the stairs, it didn’t 
look naturally-made. “Look, Frodo. A doorway.”
      A nasal voice drifted down from Sam’s right, and he looked up, at first not 
believing what he saw. “Clever hobbits, to climb so high!” Gollum flew down on them 
like one of the Nine, teeth bared and eyes burning. He knocked Frodo from Sam’s back 
and went for the hobbit’s throat with both hands, determined to kill him before he took 
the Ring, giving up all else, even the pursuit of his Precious, for the moment it would take 
to kill the one who had It.
      The two tumbled down the stairs, and came to rest at the edge of a cliff that 
neither Sam nor Frodo, in their exhaustion, had seen. “Mustn’t go that way,” Gollum 
said, his hands closing about Frodo’s throat. “Mustn’t hurt the Precious.”
      “You swore,” Frodo said, his hands on Gollum’s, trying to keep the hands back so 
he could talk. “You swore on the Precious.”
      For an instant only, Sméagol came out, and he looked unsure.
      “Sméagol promised!”
      Gollum grinned at him. “Sméagol lied.” He lunged forward with his sharp fish-
ripper’s teeth, and tore at Frodo’s shoulder.
      Sam, above them still, looked for something to throw, and found a rock that 
would have normally been too big and heavy for him. He pulled it free from the ground 
as though it was a potato and lobbed it, two-handed, at Gollum’s head. He hit his mark, 
and Gollum tumbled further down the slope.
      Frodo, gasping and coughing, staggered to his feet. Sam went past him after 
Gollum, colliding with the creature and hitting again. Frodo had the strength to go on; 
Sam would see that he got his chance to destroy the Ring.
***
      ‘Impudent man.’
      “Yes, My Lord,” the wraith answered, bowing. He’d never been addressed by the 
Dark Lord since he became a wraith, and standing before the Depthless Shadow terrified 
him. Still, there was nothing for it; fear, giving and suffering, had been part of his life for 
centuries. 
      ‘He must die.’
      “We will see to it, My Lord.”
      ‘Yes, but not alone. Three cave trolls will accompany you. Make sure you guide 
them to Isildur’s Heir. Make sure he is dead.’
      “It will be done, My Lord.” The new lieutenant bowed and rushed from Sauron’s 
presence. He longed to destroy the man who had escaped his captain. ‘If we had known 
that he was Isildur’s Heir, we would have simply killed him in the woods instead of 
toying with him.’ He leapt to his winged beast, kicked it into the air, and ordered the rest 
of the wraiths to follow him.
***
      A hundred small battles raged within the larger one. Legolas and Gimli stood 
back-to-back for a time, and the swath of destruction they cut was wide. Halbarad, 
bearing the standard, nonetheless used his sword to good advantage. And even when the 
standard was hewn in half, Halbarad escaped a similar fate. And as the standard fell, he 
sent out the Dunadan whistle that meant “all’s well”. All that understood knew that he 
didn’t mean he’d lived, but that, even though the standard was destroyed, Aragorn yet 
lived. The Dunedain raised a single, triumphant shout, and redoubled their attacks.
      At first, nothing that Aragorn couldn’t handle while in a half-sleep came his way. 
Enemies met his blade and fell before it, unable to stand before him for more than a 
stroke or two. Many didn’t even get that far.
      But then, rending the sky with their cries, the remaining Nazgul streaked down 
the sky, seeking blood. And only kingly blood would sate their appetites.
      “Wraiths!” Legolas shouted. “Protect Aragorn!” He didn’t care how the cry made 
Aragorn sound, or how many had already been on their way to doing just that; it was a 
needed order.
***
      On the slope below the doorway, Gollum had driven Sam back against a rock. 
Slapping away Sam’s attempt to hold him off, Gollum sank his teeth into the gardener’s 
shoulder deep enough to scrape bone.
      Sam used the pain to fuel his fury. He shoved Gollum back. ‘Why now? Why did 
you have to come now? We were almost done! We were almost there! Why did you have 
to come now?’
      Gollum leapt at him, raving.
      Sam’s blade- how had he kept it? Didn’t matter- cut Gollum’s chest, though not 
deeply enough for Sam’s liking, and Gollum staggered back, unable to fight for a 
moment. Sam turned his attention to Frodo, and saw that his lover was at the doorway. 
“Frodo!” he shouted, but not to call him back. Encouragement was the only thing on 
Sam’s mind. Encouragement, and destroying the Ring. He scrambled after Frodo and 
kept his ears open for Gollum coming up behind him.
***
      Gandalf, like the others, heard the wraiths coming, and saw them, too, but he 
wasn’t near Aragorn. A line of orcs and men separated them, and though these were no 
match for the wizard, they were many. Continually, he fought stay as near to Aragorn as 
possible.
      A brief distraction, something out of the corner of his eye, caught the wizard’s 
attention, and he looked up. A wraith was coming, diving, but suddenly a golden-brown 
miracle crashed into the winged beast and its rider, carrying them away from Aragorn, 
towards the edge of the fight.
      Pippin saw them, too. “The eagles!” he called. “The eagles are coming!”
      ‘At least that threat is dealt with,’ Gandalf thought. ‘Now for the next, whatever it 
may be.’
***
      Sam had made it up to the top of the stairs again in time to see Frodo disappear 
through the doorway. “Frodo!” He ran after, wanting desperately to help Frodo drop the 
Ring the fire and run. The volcano sounded angry, and Sam thought maybe it would erupt 
soon, though he didn’t know what ‘erupt’ meant. His thought was: ‘This thing sounds 
like it’s about to blow like a giant’s pine-knot in a monster oven! And if we’re not gone 
when it blows, we’ll blow too.’
      Inside the ‘oven’ Sam tried to see through the fumes that clouded everything. 
“Frodo!” Had he run in here and been lost in the fumes? Had he fallen into the red soup 
that sounded like it was boiling itself into a frenzy below them?
      The fumes cleared, and Frodo, standing at the end of a long, flat walkway- again, 
made by no natural force Sam had ever seen- glanced over his shoulder. He looked sane 
again. He looked himself again. “I’m here, Sam.”
      Sam began to approach, though slowly; he was afraid, both of the mountain and 
of pushing Frodo. Whenever that Ring got involved, it caused too many problems for 
Sam to trust that Frodo would see his approach as a supportive gesture. “Destroy it!”
      Frodo brought he Ring from is shirt and held it over the fire. He tried not to look 
at it, but willed himself to drop it. ‘Drop it now. Drop it.’
      “Go on!” Sam shouted, staying where he was, seeing that he couldn’t come closer 
without possibly making the situation worse. “Now! Throw it in the fire!” He saw Frodo 
still holding the Thing, and asked, “What are you waiting for?” Then he uttered one of 
the more foolish sentences in his life, and he knew its full measure of stupidity to the 
moment said it. “Just let it go!”
      But the Ring was whispering. It must be, for Frodo was staring at it, and Sam had 
a sense that his lover had gone far away, leaving only a husk that wore his visage. Frodo, 
his spirit, was gone, or nearly there.
      Frodo faced Sam then, and his eyes could have belonged to one of the wraiths. 
“The Ring is mine.” He broke the silver chain and put the Ring on. He vanished.
      “No!” Sam blundered forward a few steps. “No! Frodo!” If the Nazgul had seen 
Frodo when he put on the Ring, wouldn’t the Dark Lord see him now? “No! No! Frodo! 
Take it off! Frodo!”
      His eyes were drawn to footprints that appeared in the ash of the bridge. He 
couldn’t think what to say or do. Could he possibly grab Frodo and take the Ring from 
him?
      A rock smashed into the back of Sam’s head, and he went down, semi-conscious. 
Gollum, having felled his first enemy, leapt at the second. He couldn’t trust that throwing 
a rock would hit his target. Following the wandering footprints, he jumped onto the back 
of his prey and, finding its neck, tightened his grip like a noose.
***
      The cave trolls were all that was left now of Sauron’s well-laid plan. The wraiths, 
sensing the Ring so near, flew back towards Mordor, and Sauron’s attention went with 
them.
      But the trolls cared nothing for the Ring. They followed orders. Orders were 
something they understood, something they could easily obey and execute. The Lord 
wanted the death of a certain man? They could do that. In a line, the three charged into 
the fray. Two were cut off from their goal by elves and men, but the third, spotting the 
bright sword its master had talked of, swung its own heavy blade at the man’s head.
      Its blade was caught, but that was a lucky move on the man’s part. He wouldn’t 
be able to take many more direct hits. His sword would break. Or his arm.
***
      Frodo struggled against the monster that held him, but he couldn’t say later what 
he’d been thinking. The music of the Ring- which was no music at all- was in his ears, 
and all he truly desired was to curl up somewhere and listen to it. The thing on his back 
was a distraction.
      Gollum, too, had lost all semblance of thought. He clawed and bit at the thief he 
rode, seeking a way to injure it, kill it, if possible, though that last didn’t matter. Only the 
Ring mattered.
      In a flash of inspiration, Gollum seized Frodo’s hand, which was trying to pull his 
from the hobbit’s throat. Seizing it, Gollum discovered he could feel the Ring even if he 
couldn’t see it. He found the finger and bit above the Ring, at the thief’s knuckle. The 
bone wouldn’t break, and the thief was trying now to throw him off. Gollum dug his teeth 
in deeper. The bone wouldn’t break, and it wouldn’t break, and- it snapped.
      Gollum spit out the finger and leapt from the thief’s back, the Prize clasped firmly 
in his hand. ‘Mine. Mine. Mine,’ was his only thought.
***
      Aaron threw himself at the troll’s back, trying to bury his sword in one thick 
shoulder. His blade broke, and the troll’s arm swung back, hitting him with such force 
that it nearly snapped his neck. Aaron flew back, crashing into two orcs.
      Legolas had been separated from Aragorn by the swath the troll had made, and he 
was hemmed in by servants of the Dark Lord on every side. “Aragorn! Aragorn!”
      The troll knocked the blade at last from Aragorn’s hand and drove its mighty fist 
forward. The king fell back with a cry of pain. Blood began to almost immediately soak 
his shirt just below the White Tree on his chest. Two ribs broken.
      Lest any not know that their chief and king was in danger, Legolas raised the 
Dunedain whistle of alarm even as he cut down each enemy in his path.
      The troll now stood a few steps from where Aragorn had fallen. It began to 
advance, slow step by slow step. The man wasn’t going anywhere.
***
      Gollum held up the Ring so he could admire it. Beautiful and golden, it sang to 
him, and he knew it had been meant for him all along, not for any other but him. No for 
Bagginses, not for thieves, and definitely not for the Dark Lord. His Prize. His Precious. 
His Only.
      “Yes! Yes!” Gollum began to leap about, rejoicing, unwilling to think about the 
possibility of retribution. The Precious was his now, and with the Precious he could do 
anything. Anything he wanted. Everything was his now.
      Frodo, lying on the ground nearby, agony ripping through every nerve, looked up 
from his bleeding hand, and saw the creature with HIS Ring. Growling, inarticulate, he 
struggled to his feet.
      Sam, still lying where Gollum had pushed him, stared at his lover, and at the beast 
that had taken the Ring. ‘If only you’d fall into the fire before Frodo gets to you. You’re 
leaping about so much, I wish you would. If you would only fall…’
      Gollum didn’t even hear or sense his enemy’s slow approach. Rapturous, lost to 
the song, he cavorted about, heedless of the drop just as he was heedless of the thief’s 
approach. He sang to himself as he danced, and didn’t know Frodo was coming until the 
hobbit grabbed both his hands, one of which still held the Ring, and tried to rip them 
from his body. They staggered about, striving, neither thinking, only needing to have It.
      From his place on the floor, Sam could only watch. And weep silent tears.
***
      Halbarad had been further away from Aragorn than Legolas, but orcs had parted 
to either side, wanting to watch the death of the king. They left a narrow opening and 
Halbarad, not even bothering to use his sword to protect himself, charged between them. 
Some made a grab for him, but he avoided them on instinct. All he was, all he was meant 
to be, had been focused down to this one task.
      Aragorn had regained Anduril, having it kicked at him by the very troll that was 
trying to kill him. He lay with the sword held just above his throat, straining against the 
ton of muscle above him. Something would snap soon. Aragorn tried to push up, tried to 
move out from under his attacker. One troll-hand connected with his abdomen, ripping 
into his flesh there, breaking bone, and Aragorn vomited blood and bile. The swipe had 
only been a casual, unconscious thing as the troll fought for purchase. How any soft-
bodied creature could resist so long was beyond its ability to understand.
      Halbarad flew into the scant space between the troll’s rock chest and Aragorn. 
Grasping his sword halfway up the blade, ignoring the cuts he received, Halbarad drove 
the sword upwards, skimming the chest above him and burying the blade in the troll’s 
throat. The thing screamed and stumbled back, shoving Halbarad back against Aragorn as 
it went. Something burst under Halbarad and he rolled away, fearing that he’d killed his 
king. Aragorn hadn’t cried out again, but maybe death had taken him.
      Lifting his head, Halbarad saw a strange thing: blood, yes, there was blood 
flowing freely from Aragorn’s torso, but a green leaf, also drenched in blood, likewise 
covered the king, soaking up the blood, binding to the skin. Halbarad looked down at 
himself and saw the blood and leaves had covered him, too. ‘Athelas,’ he thought. ‘It’s 
athelas. Aragorn’s pouch must have burst.’
      Behind Halbarad, unheeded by him, the troll was taken down by two Dunedain 
and a Rohirrim soldier. Legolas, still trying to get to Aragorn, killed the last of his 
barriers and rushed forward.
***
      Straining on the very edge of the bridge, far out over the fire, Frodo and Gollum 
each knew only one Object of their desires. And even when they fell over the side, they 
knew only that. Except Frodo, driven by some instinct deeper than knowing, caught with 
one hand the ledge. He hung in space, wanting to go after the Ring, needing it, but unable 
to fight the instinct that held him back.
      The Ring leapt out of Gollum’s hand and fell back into it as the once-near-hobbit 
fell towards the liquid fire below. When he struck the burning surface, thoughts of the 
Ring left his mind for a breath as the pain began to settle in. But then his mind went back 
to the Ring, and he strained to hold it above the fire. ‘Don’t burn, Precious. Don’t burn, 
Precious. Don’t b-’ His body dissolved.
      The Ring floated on the surface of the liquid fire.
      Sam, having gained his feet so he could sprint the short distance, dropped to his 
knees at the very edge of the bridge and looked down, praying Frodo would still be there.
      He was. Clinging to the ledge with his uninjured hand, Frodo gazed up at him, all 
passion gone from his eyes. It was like looking at a living corpse, and Sam wouldn’t 
forget it until the end of his days.
      “Don’t you let go,” he ordered, trying to get through to his lover. ‘Please, let the 
sound of my voice rouse him, remind him of life before the Ring. Please. I can’t lose him. 
Not now. Not when he’s finally free of it. Please. I don’t want to lose him.’
      Below, the Ring glowed its secret letters and called. ‘I will go,’ It sang, “but you 
can go with me, and hold me in Eternity. Come.’
      “Take my hand!” Sam shouted.
      Frodo reached up with his bloodied hand, but he couldn’t grip. His good hand 
began to slip.
      “No!” from Sam.
      Frodo glanced down at the Ring.
      “Don’t you let go,” from his lover.
      ‘Drop. I will catch you.’
      “Don’t let go,” from the only one who had never lied to him, who had always 
loved him, who was crying now, begging. “Reach!”
      Frodo swung up, his whole body moving this time, and Sam caught his injured 
hand. Frodo held on with all his strength while his lover pulled him to safety.
      Below, the Ring melted.
***
      He couldn’t move. He didn’t need to. As his life’s blood, as his half-formed babe, 
escaped his body like fleeing people, Aragorn knew he didn’t need to move. He could see 
the Eye perfectly well, and hear Sauron’s death-scream.
      Above Barad-dur, the Eye began to lose its shape, flames licking out in all 
directions. The building itself cracked and fell, taking the Eye with it. Even as Aragorn 
watched, the Eye, Sauron, winked out of existence.
      ‘And now Mount Doom will blow,’ Aragorn thought, remembering half-true 
legends of his childhood of what would have happened if Isildur’s Bane had been 
destroyed three thousand years ago. And, on the heels of that thought, ‘Frodo. He did it. 
But… Frodo…’ His grief kept him conscious as the other towers shattered and as the orcs 
and Easterlings and Southrons all fled the destruction. His army about him stood their 
ground, out of shock, Aragorn thought. And above it all, he heard Merry and Pippin 
screaming Frodo’s name. ‘Frodo, you have saved us all. Please, fly from there. Find a 
safe place, if any place exists. Live.’ He turned his eyes to Gandalf, and though the 
wizard wasn’t watching him and he himself couldn’t speak, he sent, with all his 
remaining strength, ‘Send the eagles to find Frodo and Sam. Send them while there is still 
time.’ Then Aragorn passed into blackness.
      Legolas relayed the message, though he didn’t hear it or know who he was 
sending it to. Every Dunadan heard it, and every elf, and the dwarf. Gandalf heard it, too.
***
      Sam and Frodo, holding hands, fled. Behind them, the bridge dissolved in flame. 
Down the steps they raced, followed closely by a river of fire. Fear spurred them on, fear 
and a hope of getting to hold each other at the end. Even if the fire came, let them be 
somewhere where they couldn’t escape it, but where they would have a moment to hold 
each other.
      Running up a slope, they stood at the top. The rock under them might melt, but 
the fire had surrounded this rock. They could go no further.
      Frodo, his eyes wide, but very much alive, whispered, “It’s gone.” He didn’t see 
Sam turn to him. “It’s done.”
      “Yes, Frodo. It’s over now.”
      Frodo heard the shock in Sam’s voice, and smiled. A real smile, though sad, 
almost as he would have given in the Shire. Then the ground shook and nearby stones- 
not on their little island, but too close for comfort- exploded. Frodo and Sam staggered to 
the top of their rock, and collapsed, lying close enough for touching.
      Frodo said, then, his eyes on the sky, “I can see the Shire. The Brandywine River. 
Bag End.” He paused, drew a breath. “Gandalf’s fireworks. The lights in the Party Tree.”
      “The garden at Bag End in the rain. You standing out in the mist, letting the rain 
fall on you, letting it kiss you. If I could marry… If I was to live to marry…”
      Frodo sat up and took Sam’s hands, drawing his lover to him. “Sam, marry me. 
Here. Now. Will you?”
      Sam stared at him, blinked twice, then began to cry softly. “Yes, Frodo. Yes.”
      Frodo put his arms around Sam, and kissed his lover’s hair. “I’m glad to be with 
you, Sam Gamgee…” he kissed Sam again, on the lips now, and Sam returned the kiss, 
hugging him close… “here at the end of all things.”
Chapter Eighty-Eight
      The Ranger who had saved Aragorn’s life sat with his head in his bloodied hands 
while all moved around him, working to make ways to carry the injured and the dead. 
Stones there were in abundance, but no tree limbs or even sticks. Those among the 
Dunedain and Rohirrim who were uninjured went looking for these things, and with them 
went the Rangers of Ithilien. Halbarad couldn’t have joined them even if he’d been urged. 
His mind was taken up with the shock of the fulfilled words of the thing that had been in 
his mind. ‘It wasn’t me,’ he told himself again and again. ‘It wasn’t me. I would never 
require such a sacrifice, from Aragorn or Legolas!’ He shook his head a little, but only 
weakly; his shock was total. ‘The baby was Legolas’, but not the one he carried; the one 
he sired was the one that must die. The one that did die. And I was washed in its blood- 
his blood? hers?- along with athelas and Aragorn’s blood.’ He moaned softly and put a 
hand on the ground to anchor himself to the world around him.
      His hand fell on something that was not dirt, and Halbarad glanced down at it. 
The standard, slightly torn, but still mostly together, winked up at him. He drew it into his 
lap and wiped at the jewels, trying to make them shine again. ‘I’m sorry, Aragorn. I 
couldn’t protect your banner, and I couldn’t protect your baby. I’m sorry, Aragorn. Please 
don’t hate me for this. I didn’t have to live. I could have died back in Gondor. Then this 
sacrifice-’ he moaned- ‘blood sacrifice wouldn’t have been necessary. Forgive me, 
Aragorn. I didn’t mean for this to happen.’ Then, remembering his king, Halbarad looked 
to where Aragorn had been lying a moment ago. But Aragorn was gone.
      Halbarad tried to get to his feet, but fell back. “Aragorn!” His scream startled 
several warriors nearby.
      Gentle hands fell on Halbarad’s shoulders, and Saru was kneeling before him 
then, his eyes intense and reassuring. “Aragorn is well, Halbarad. All’s well now. He will 
live.”
      “Saru…” Halbarad shook his head a third time. “Saru, I killed his baby. I-”
      “You’ll talk to Aragorn about that when you’re well. For now, I need you to stand 
up.” Saru helped Halbarad to his feet, casting the man’s arm around his shoulders. 
“Elrohir must see you. Then you both must sleep. Later you will see Aragorn.” Talking 
thus, walking carefully, keeping Halbarad close, Saru led his brother away from the 
carnage and to a place where litters were being made with limbs and cloaks. Here they 
passed between the rows, Halbarad still talking of Aragorn, and Saru urging him on. He 
knew nothing of the ‘deal’ Legolas had made, and so didn’t understand Halbarad, but 
only sought to reunite the lovers. Elrohir, injured and yet refusing to rest, kept calling for 
his husband, and not even Elladan and Glorfindel could quiet him. Finding the elves at 
last, Saru called their attention to the man he carried, and Elladan and Glorfindel rose to 
help Halbarad lay down beside Elrohir.
      The second son of Elrond quieted at once and took Halbarad’s hand in both of his. 
“Hal? Hal, are you well?”
      Halbarad was silent for a moment, and Saru feared he might go on about his 
concern for Aragorn and what he thought he’d done to his king. Then Halbarad blinked, 
looking at Elrohir with calm, loving eyes, and answered, “I love you, Elrohir. 
Everything’s well now. The Ring’s destroyed. We’re free.” He kissed Elrohir, then lay 
down beside him on the ground. He glanced up at Saru. “Will you tell me when Aragorn 
is awake, or at least when Legolas is? I would speak with them.”
      “I’ll tell them,” Saru answered. Then he started away. Twenty paces from the 
lovers, though, he was stopped by a hand on his arm.
      Glorfindel blessed Saru and kissed him. “Thank you for all you’ve done, 
Dunadan. But I have no reward I can give you. Even the Light has left you.”
      “If it was part of what saved Halbarad, I am glad to give it. And I want no reward, 
Glorfindel. I am content.”
      Glorfindel sighed, kissed Saru once more, and left him. ‘I know you are not, but I 
will let it go for now. Mayhap there will come a time when I may give you something in 
return for all you’ve done here.’
***
      Saru went to Aragorn, and found that Legolas and Aaron were there before him, 
tending Aragorn as best they could. He joined them in their efforts. Aragorn’s bleeding 
had stopped, at least. Relieved by that, and praying this wouldn’t be another injury like 
Halbarad’s, the three labored long while all could not leave the fields under their own 
power were loaded on litters. At some point, Annaleh came to Saru and, bowing, told him 
that they had lost two others of the Dunedain, and that Eomer had lost sixteen and Imrahil 
had lost ten. Saru accepted this in silence, and asked her to discover if the families of the 
two they had lost wished burial or cremation for their dead.
      She nodded and went away, grieving within herself for those who had died, for 
her chief who lay, maybe dying, and for Saru, who seemed so far removed from the boy 
she had helped raise. ‘The Ring may be destroyed,’ she thought as she sought out Nella to 
ask how she would honor her dead husband, ‘and that is a great thing done, but there 
won’t be peace in my heart until my sons are at peace.’
***
      The King’s army returned to Gondor, bearing their injured- yet breathing!- lord in 
honor, and bearing also those who had fallen in the last defense of the West. Frodo and 
Sam, asleep, both of them, traveled the road as well, tended frequently by Gandalf, 
Elladan and Glorfindel. When the final count was taken, it was found that twenty-seven 
had died- one of the Dunedain, presumed dead- Nella’s husband- had been only badly 
wounded and half-smothered by the orcs that had fallen on top of him.
      There was some joy among the company; how could there not be, with Sauron 
defeated for all time? But the Dunedain walked beneath a shroud of grief and foreboding 
that not even thoughts of the Dark Lord’s fall could lift. More dour and fierce than ever 
they seemed, and any with good sense stayed away from them as they surrounded 
Aragorn and watched always for some final trick or ambush from those enemies who had 
fled the Dark Land. Some of their hearts were turned the child growing inside Legolas, 
Aragorn’s heir, but this brought further grief. None now lived who remembered 
Arathorn, but they all knew the stories, and the thought of losing their chief when he had 
come so far and changed so much and saved so many was unbearable. There were 
whispers among them that if Aragorn died, they would travel back to the north to bury 
him. Some unlucky few would stay to watch over Legolas and the baby, but the rest 
would go back to their home and do as they had always done.
      Legolas walked beside his husband with one hand on Aragorn at all times. He 
didn’t bow his head, but neither did his eyes shine with the light of curiosity and courage 
that had shone there so long. He noted the circumspection and kindness of all the 
Dunedain around him, and was grateful for it, but he couldn’t thank them. He didn’t have 
the strength. Guilt assailed him, and he wondered, over and over, if Aragorn would have 
been so close to death if he, Legolas, hadn’t agreed to give his babe up in order to save 
Halbarad. To blame Halbarad never entered his mind, and so all the blame was on his 
own shoulders. ‘Yes, my babe,’ he thought more than once. ‘My sired babe.’
      When they were two miles from the city, they were met by a rider. Straight he sat 
upon a shaggy-coated horse, and he wore the grey of the Dunedain, but he was only a 
young man. He dismounted in their road and bowed.
      “Mordecai, what are you doing here?” Elrohir asked. He had been walking in the 
front of the company, just ahead of his lover.
      “I came to bring good news,” Mordecai said, but he looked frightened now. 
“Where’s Aragorn?”
      “Still alive,” Saru said, emerging from the cluster of Dunedain. He put his hand 
on his boy’s shoulder, and turned him. Together, they walked before the rest, Mordecai 
leading his horse, so that they could talk. Saru told his son all of what had happened.
      “But he’ll live, won’t he?”
      “We all have hope,” Saru answered, his eyes on the country ahead. Even so close 
to Gondor, he wouldn’t let his guard down. ‘And maybe I won’t let it slip even a hair 
once we’re in the city.’ “Aragorn has survived worse, I know.” He drew Mordecai closer. 
“It is hard for most to believe that the war is indeed over. We’ve been fighting for so long 
that it is almost impossible to not expect more danger.”
      “Will there be more? Did the Dark Lord have any reserves of power?”
      “None.” Saru sighed. “There’s that, and much else besides, to be grateful for. But 
all we can think of is Aragorn’s injury, and the injury of the Ringbearers.” After a minute 
or so of silent meditation, he asked, “What news do you bring?”
      Mordecai looked down at his feet. “It doesn’t seem so important now, and it’s 
probably things you already know. The skies have cleared over Gondor, and the Darkness 
in the east is dissipating.”
      “Please tell me the rest,” Saru said, and he hugged his son close for a moment. 
“There is still joy to be had, and Aragorn would chastise us all for grieving so much when 
there is so much hope for life.”
      “The Ladies Arwen and Eowyn have fallen in love. There can be no doubt of that. 
Lord Faramir is strong again, and though he grieves for his father and his brother, he will 
be a good Steward to Aragorn. Aidan is well-healed, and will be ready to take his place in 
Aragorn’s Guard, whenever Aragorn calls him to that.” He hesitated. “The rest isn’t good 
news,” he said finally. “And I don’t want to talk about it. I won’t be able to.”
      Saru called Raven to him and entrusted Mordecai’s horse to him. Then he took 
Mordecai away from the slow-moving company, off the road to Gondor and to a small 
rise in the land. Here they sat, and Saru held his son’s hand. Watching the company draw 
closer to Gondor, he said, “The end to war is never perfect, not even for the victors, 
because so many lose their lives and we still have to go on. I’m grateful all my children 
are safe, though, and that is a reason to rejoice, in spite of everything.”
      “And if you knew one more terrible thing it would be all right, because you have 
us, and you have the Dunedain?”
      “No pain is all right, Mordecai. You’ve always known that. But I would live, truly 
live, and not waste away. No matter the news. Even if Aragorn died now, I would live. 
His child will live, and so there will always be something to keep me going.”
      Mordecai’s voice trembled and he clung to his papa’s hand. “But if Aragorn dies, 
you’ll lose the last connection you had to Malacai. Even Grandma can’t give you that.”
      Saru nodded. “Yes, you’re right. It would be another blow. But I won’t die from a 
thousand blows as long as I have hope. And I will still find joy in the world, even if some 
things are made sad by those that are gone.”
      “I’m afraid to tell you. Morwen and Aidan don’t know yet, either. I was the one to 
find him, and I cut him down. I didn’t want them to see. I didn’t want anyone to see. Like 
at the burial after the battle before the city walls, when the Gondorians saw what Aragorn 
was doing and tried to stop it, I didn’t want them seeing him and thinking that he was 
faithless or wrong or bad. He just lost hope, and he had so little to begin with, and hardly 
any faith at all… He faltered often, but he tried. He tried, Papa; he should be judged at his 
best, like Aragorn says. Just like Aragorn judges Boromir. He should be judged at his 
best. That’s the way it should be, but even if Aragorn is king and can make people do the 
right thing, he can’t make them think the right thing. So I didn’t want anyone to see him.” 
He was crying now, and he turned his face into Saru’s shoulder so he could sob without 
showing his grief to the world.
      Saru held his son and let his own tears come. “Kehydi,” he said. “My husband, 
your father. He hung himself?”
      “Yes. From a ceiling-beam in the Houses of Healing. I was coming to talk to him, 
and I found him there. He’d been dead at least an hour or more when I found him.” 
Mordecai’s hands were shaking, but still he managed to open the pouch at his belt and 
give Saru two pieces of folded paper. “This was-was on his bed. One for you, and one for 
Aragorn.”
      “Would you have me give the other to Aragorn?”
      Mordecai nodded. “I don’t want to carry them anymore.”
      Saru put the one page away, and opened the second. Mordecai had turned his face 
back to his papa’s shoulder, and so Saru read silently, understanding why Mordecai 
wouldn’t want to hear one of his parents’ final words to the other.
Saru-
      You were never my Saru, as I always called you, or not in the way I meant it. For 
loyalty, honesty, love, honor, truth and devotion there is none like you in all of Middle-
Earth. For me, you were all these things and more, only I never saw it as clearly as I see it 
now.
      The Darkness has been destroyed, but something broke within me when that 
happened. I don’t have strength enough to live, and scarcely enough to write this. But you 
deserve all the truth and love I can give. You always deserved so much more than I gave. 
Do not blame yourself for my death. With my mind almost gone, and my spirit failing 
fast, death is my only option. I will not live long enough to be permanently turned into 
the monster that I was many times in my life. The darkness that is gone still lives in me 
and whispers to me to kill Aragorn, kill Aragorn, and that I will not do.
      With all that is good within me at this moment, Saru, I send you this last truth: I 
loved you, and Aragorn, the best I could. And I love you still.
-Kehydi
      Saru laid his cheek against his son’s hair, and wept. He put the paper away and 
held Mordecai against him, rubbing his back and letting his silent tears fall. They stayed 
that way until Raven came for them, and then Saru sent him away. Helping Mordecai up, 
Saru started for Gondor. His youngest son walked beside him, holding his hand, and they 
passed into the city unremarked by any expect the Dunedain. Cein, Aidan, and Morwen 
fell into step with them, and Saru asked Annaleh to join them. Together, they went to 
where Mordecai had laid his father, and they grieved there.
***
      Gimli wandered between the room where Legolas tended Aragorn and the one 
where Merry and Pippin watched over Frodo and Sam. In his heart, he knew that he had 
never felt so lonely, not even at the beginning of the Quest, when he had not a single 
friend among the Fellowship. His booted feet made echoes in the Houses of Healing, and 
he hated their sound. After trying for half a day to muffle the sound of his walking, he 
simply took off his boots, stored them where they would neither bother anyone nor be 
discovered, and went about barefoot. He expected this to raise Legolas’ eyebrow, but 
when it didn’t, the dwarf felt lonelier than ever.
      He tried wandering in the great stone city to calm his mind, but that did no good. 
Everyone bowed to him and deferred to him as one of the returning conquerors, but that 
was not companionship. He sought out the Dunedain, but they kept their own counsel, 
even Saru and Mordecai, who had, until then, been especially friendly and open with him. 
He found the sons of the Elrond the same, and though Glorfindel spoke to him, it was 
with a distracted and grieving air. The Rohirrim were a little better, but most of them 
would be leaving on the morrow, to start the rebuilding of Rohan, and Eomer, though he 
was staying, often sat beside Aragorn and did not speak. He thought to keep company 
with Eowyn, who had been so kind to him and laughed at his jokes, but she was taken up 
with her lover, and Gimli knew he was in the way.
      None to talk with. None to spar with. None to just sit with in companionable 
silence. Gimli was growing restless, and desperate.
      At last, needing some relief, any kind, it didn’t matter what, Gimli found and 
raided Legolas’ bag, putting on the elf’s clothes as best he could, thinking that he 
wouldn’t mind if they ripped, just so long as he got Legolas’ attention. Likewise, he did 
his beard in a myriad of braids with ribbons intertwined, each tied with a gaudy-bright 
bow. His ensemble complete, Gimli found and looted the kitchen, coming up with cakes 
and pies and muffins in a basket. He only chose the lightest pastries, and prayed they 
would break when stepped on.
      To Aragorn’s room he went, drawing startled looks from those he met along the 
way. In the corridor before Aragorn’s room, he met a dozen Dunedain standing guard, 
and he smirked when he saw that not a single one was unaffected by his ensemble. Even 
Raven and Cein, Saru’s daughter, standing together, unbent sufficiently to raise their 
eyebrows at him. Aaron went so far as to let the corner of his mouth twitch.
      Gimli entered the room, closing the door firmly behind him. He spotted Legolas 
by the bed. The elf hadn’t looked up; his head was bent as he talked to Aragorn in Elvish. 
Not understanding that language, but hearing the distress in Legolas’ voice, Gimli 
concluded that Aragorn still wasn’t awake yet. ‘But not dead, or I don’t know if Legolas 
would be able to speak.’ Gimli set out his pastries, all the time keeping an eye on 
Legolas’ bent head, and hoping the elf really didn’t see him. ‘It would have been better if 
Legolas wasn’t in here at all, but that would be too much to hope for.’ With everything 
laid out, Gimli went to stand behind Legolas. He glanced at Aragorn, and saw that the 
man was semi-conscious. ‘That should be a good thing, but he’s been this way for three 
days now, not asleep and not awake.’
      Readying himself for anything, Gimli grabbed Legolas’ shoulders and dragged 
him around so that they were face-to-face.
      Legolas’ hands came up to pry away Gimli’s hands. Then he took a good look at 
his friend. His jaw dropped and his hands fell back to his sides. He stood. “Gimli?” He 
brushed his hair out of his face impatiently. “Gimli? Are those my…?”
      Gimli did his best imitation of the bow he’d seen the twin sons of Elrond execute. 
Making his voice as high and light as possible, he said, pronouncing each word with care, 
“Mah-ee goh-vehn-neen.” He lapsed into Dwarvish. “Don’t you recognize a fellow elf 
when you see one?” He trotted, light on his feet as he could manage, over to the pastries. 
“But, of course, the only way to prove that one is an elf is to be able to walk, light as a 
feather, on something like snow. We have no snow, so I found these. They will serve.”
      Legolas’ jaw had hit the floor again. “Gimli, have you lost your mind?”
      “Would you ask Elladan that?” Gimli poised at the beginning of the first line of 
pastries he’d set up. He bowed again to Legolas, still that Imladris bow. “Watch and be 
amazed. Elves are light on their feet!” He stepped on a muffin. Crunch! went the tin and 
pfoo! went the muffin within. Gimli pretended not to notice, though he was disappointed 
that it hadn’t squished. He stepped onto the pie, and this squished to his satisfaction, 
gushing goo all over the floor. Legolas’ squeak of surprise was everything Gimli could 
have wished.
      On to the next pie, and the next, and then a real joy- a cake, three layers deep. 
Gimli didn’t bother to lift his boot, but plowed right through it, earning another squeal 
from Legolas. At the end of the line, his boots covered with confection, Gimli turned and 
made the bow again. “If you can do better, I’d like to see.”
      “Y-” cough- “es, Le-” drier cough and a soft gasp- “Legolas, I want to see.”
      Gimli grinned. “If I’d known my dressing up like an elf would bring you around, I 
would have done it earlier.”
      Aragorn smiled. “I didn’t know it myself.” He closed his eyes for a moment, but 
when Legolas started towards him once more, he looked at his husband. “Please-” cough.
      Legolas stood at the beginning of the second line, his joy making him much 
younger. Like an elfling, he bowed to the man and dwarf-elf-thing before him. “Let me 
show you how a real elf walks.” He started along his row, scarcely leaving an impression 
in any of the pastries. But when he reached a three-layer cake similar to the one Gimli 
had demolished, the dwarf leapt on his back and- squash!- the cake splattered with such 
force that a large chunk, complete with icing, hit Aragorn square in the face. The man 
didn’t have the strength to move in time, though he saw it coming, nor did he quite have 
the energy to wipe off the mess because he was laughing too hard.
      Legolas grabbed up a bit of cake and hurled it at Gimli. The dwarf ducked, and 
the cake hit Aragorn again, this time in the chest. Aragorn’s eyes streamed with tears, and 
though he could scarcely breathe, he continued to laugh. Then, with a force of will that 
Legolas found nearly miraculous, he calmed himself and lay quiet, not bothering to wipe 
off the mess. “I-” gasp- “don’t want to move the stitches.” He closed his eyes and 
breathed slowly. “Gimli-” raspy cough- “thank you.”
      The door opened then, without even a perfunctory knock, and Aaron poked his 
head in. He took in the disaster, seeing the cake on Gimli’s boots, and cake Legolas was 
still standing in. He grinned when he saw Aragorn’s eyes open and lucid. “I’ll tell the 
Dunedain you’re well,” he said, and, from the hall, came a resounding shout. Aaron’s 
grin widened, then he closed the door behind him as he left.
      Legolas went to Aragorn began wiping away the pastries. “Aragorn,” he 
whispered, and his tears glowed as they coursed down his cheeks. “My Aragorn.”
      Aragorn smiled. “I’m-”
      “Don’t talk,” the elf said. “You need to rest.”
      For a moment, Aragorn disobeyed him. “Gimli, thank you.”
      “You’re welcome, Aragorn.” The dwarf grunted. “I hope this teaches you, Master 
Elf, not to ignore the rest of the world for so long. I’ve tried other things, but you’ve been 
completely oblivious to them.”
      Legolas was still crying. “If nothing else, this teaches me I can’t lose you.” He 
kissed Aragorn on the lips, tasting the sweet cake there, and the deeper, wild taste of his 
lover. “Melanin,” he whispered. “Melanin. My love. My Aragorn.”
      Aragorn cupped Legolas’ cheek in his hard palm. “I love you, Legolas. Even in 
death would I love you. Don’t give up hope.”
      “But we are to be separated in death,” the elf whispered. “I don’t want to lose 
you.”
      “I have it on good authority that death will not be the wall we think it.” On that 
score, Aragorn would say no more. He kept his near-death experience to himself for 
many years.
***
      Two days later, at the cremation of Kehydi Dunadan, all the Rangers stood about 
in a circle, watching the flames. Aragorn had spoken a few words, but mostly it was Saru 
who had spoken. His eulogy would be remembered for years to come.
      With the Dunedain gathered about the unlit pyre, and Aragorn standing near for 
support, Saru looked at his husband. He made a sign of blessing over the body, then 
turned to face his people. “I will not deny that Kehydi was different from his father, less 
than his father in many ways. But he did love as best he could, and for that I will always 
be grateful. He even died in love, knowing, in the end, that since he wasn’t strong enough 
to resist the evil inside him, he must end it another way before it could hurt the Dunedain. 
The inner battles Kehydi must have fought most of his life will never be known, except 
for this: he lost many battles, but in the end he did not lose the war. He died so that 
Aragorn, our hope, could live. Even though there were mistakes he made, I beg you to 
balance those out against this: Kehydi knew his own strength against darkness and would 
rather die than give in. Aragorn has said it often, though many times without words: each 
person deserves to be judged at his best. That is what I ask of you.” He bowed his head 
before them, and received his eldest daughter’s assistance to step to one side so that the 
pyre could be lit. He watched the burning until there was nothing left of his husband’s 
body, and nothing but ashes of the wood on which he had burned.
      When the pyre was out, Saru looked around to see who had waited with him. It 
was the Dunedain tradition to wait for a few minutes after the pyre had been lit, then to 
leave the immediate family alone with the dead. Annaleh knelt nearby, sobbing. Beside 
her knelt Cein and Morwen. Mordecai and Aidan were standing at a remove off to Saru’s 
left, Aidan with his arm around his younger brother’s shoulders. Their eyes were dry, but 
Saru thought that was only because they were trying to be brave for their sisters and 
grandmother. ‘And for me maybe, just possibly.’ Saru looked across the ashes, and saw 
Aragorn still there, though he should have gone back to bed. This was his first trip 
outside, and only his second out of bed since he woke to see Gimli in Legolas’ clothes. 
Bracing himself to confront his chief and king, thinking he’d probably fight a small battle 
with Aragorn to get him back in bed, Saru moved to Aragorn’s side. He waited for 
Aragorn to notice him and speak first.
      Aragorn put his arm around Saru’s back. He gazed into the ashes as though 
expecting another flame to kindle, or for Kehydi to rise from the ashes and say, “I’m well 
now; I can follow you now, Aragorn.” Minutes passed.
      At last, thinking that Aragorn might stand still for another hour, Saru said, “You 
should rest. You’ve scarcely been out of bed. Will you go back now? I know Legolas 
waits for you nearby.” Legolas had not stood with his husband, thinking it not his place, 
and Saru, as much as he loved Legolas, agreed. “He will escort you back to your room. 
Tomorrow you will be stronger and may spend more time with your Dunedain.”
      “You ask much of me, my second,” Aragon said. He did not smile. “If a litter or 
other seat is brought, might you allow me to stay here a little longer? I would see the 
sunset on the day Kehydi was committed to the air and earth.”
      Saru considered this, then nodded. Stepping away from Aragorn, he called one of 
the Dunedain who were standing at a discreet distance, watching over them, and bade 
him bring something so that Aragorn didn’t have to stand anymore. Having accomplished 
that much, Saru returned to Aragorn’s side and prepared himself to stand there as long as 
his lord needed him.
      Aragorn sang the song Malacai had sung after Mordecai’s death (Dunedain, 
please walk with me. I’m afraid of the new light. Please don’t let me fall.) only changing 
a few words. Then he sang the song of Rohan that had affected Legolas so deeply. With 
that done, he spoke a simple benediction: “May you find our people, Kehydi Dunadan, 
and may they welcome you and judge you at your best.” The sun was near the horizon 
now. Again, after half an hour of silence, where he closed his eyes and lay completely 
still on the litter two of his Dunedain had brought, he sang the sun down.
      Rising, Aragorn asked the sentry that stood nearby to help him walk to Legolas. 
As the man came forward and put Aragorn’s arm over his shoulders, the chief turned to 
Saru for a final time that day. “I love you, Saru, and I loved Kehydi.”
      “He loved you, as do I. Rest well.” Saru bowed before Aragorn, then returned to 
his family. None of them had moved.
***
      The next morning, as Aragorn sat in bed, reading over the petitions he was 
already being assailed with by counselors and lords despite the fact that his coronation 
was being delayed until Frodo and Sam awoke, there came a knock at his door. Legolas 
had gone out in search of something, and so Aragorn called, “Come in. Please.” He set 
the papers aside and sat up straight, expecting anyone, from his Dunedain to one of his 
new subjects.
      The door opened, and Mordecai stepped in, looking nervous and excited and 
hopeful. “Do you have a minute, Your Highness?”
      “Please, Mordecai, it’s only me,” Aragorn said. “It’s only Strider. Close the door 
and tell me what’s wrong.” 
      Mordecai obeyed, coming to sit on the chair by the older man’s bed. “Forgive me, 
but your hall is lined with Guards o’ the Watch as well as Dunedain, and I didn’t want to 
anger anyone. Every moment is a delicate balance.”
      “Aye, I know. And you’re doing well to see that and react to it. How are the rest 
of the Dunedain holding up?”
      “Some better than others. Aaron has been in one fight, but publicly apologized in 
front of all your counselors and so forth. Now he restricts himself to the camp for most of 
the day, and only comes into the city with other Dunedain.” He hesitated. “He’s not the 
worst, though, and Papa and Legolas have been working hard to soothe all the hurt 
feelings. What we really need is you out there, talking to everyone, reminding everyone 
why we fought this war, and why we need to still hold together.” He sighed. “If my 
dream came true today, it would go a long way to helping everyone start to understand 
each other.”
      “Did you have another dream, or do you speak of the one concerning Faramir?”
      “Of that one. I’m meant to marry him, Aragorn; I know I am. I’ve been receiving 
less feelings since the Light left me, but they still come two or three a day-”
      Aragorn’s eyebrows went up of their own accord.
      “-and each says the same. Faramir and I are meant to be together. Our friendship 
deepens day by day, and I know I cannot yet think of marriage.” He blushed. “I’m only 
ten. But I still wish I was older so we could unite and unite Gondor and the Dunedain. It’s 
not fair that so many have given so much and the people are ready to tear each other 
apart. Not you; all revere and honor you. But the Gondorians speak of you as though they 
have always known you, and that frustrates some of us- Aaron, Papa, though he hides it, 
me.”
      “Why can’t your friendship be a testament to tolerance and acceptance?” Aragorn 
asked. “You cannot wed for years yet, and perhaps your feelings towards him might 
change. But there is nothing to stop the two of you from being friends and letting any 
who wish to see that do so.”
      “But people see us together and they don’t say anything.”
      “Mordecai, they may say nothing. It is their hearts which we must try to change 
first, and those we can’t see. Where do they see you?”
      Mordecai sat forward, excited again. “Faramir sits on the Steward’s chair, as you 
bade him, and I sit beside him. Where should we be?”
      Dizziness and exhaustion overswept Aragorn and he leaned back against the piled 
pillows. “Invite Faramir into the camp. Let him eat with you and your family. And ask 
those of the Dunedain who can keep their tempers to approach Faramir and ask for 
quarters in the city. I know they are not used to such things, but tell them I wish it, and it 
does not have to be forever, just until peace settles here.”
      Mordecai grinned and jumped up. “Thank you!” He started for the door.
      “Mordecai, wait.”
      The boy turned back, his eyes shining.
      “Would you send Halbarad to me, please?”
      The boy nodded and scurried from the room.
      Aragorn closed his eyes and lay very still, conserving his strength. ‘By the stars, if 
this is what it will be like when I am an old man-’ he smiled at the irony of that- ‘I hope 
to die in battle or of a sudden illness when old age has just set in.’ Then he chastised 
himself for thinking of anything but life, and turned his mind to the troubles of his city. 
‘Mordecai, you are just like your great-uncle, ever the peacekeeper, though I doubt 
Mordecai would have thought to unite two people by his own marriage. You are full of 
great and glorious plans, and I hope all come to fruition, in one way or another. Though I 
cannot imagine your papa’s face when you marry his-’ Aragorn choked. ‘His brother. His 
half-brother, but still his brother. Aii, I hadn’t thought of that! Mordecai wants to marry 
his uncle!’ Groaning, Aragorn calmed himself. ‘I’ll have to talk to him. This dream of his 
must not have been right. So much for all his plans ripening beneath a benevolent sun.’ 
He tried to think of a way out of the situation for the young Dunadan, and could not. But 
he did stumble upon something for his restless Dunedain to do, if they could stand to be 
away from him for a little time.
      Soon there came a knock on his door. He sat up, made sure his hair lay fairly flat, 
and called, “Come in, please.”
      Halbarad entered, closing the door behind him. He bowed, and, upon standing 
straight, met Aragorn’s gaze only after a moment of difficulty. “Yes, my lord?”
      Aragorn sighed inwardly. ‘Is this how it will be from now on? No, just for a 
while; I must accept that it will pass in time.’ “Halbarad, it is only me, Strider. Please 
don’t call me lord. You are one of my people, one I have known for years upon years. 
Don’t act as though we’ve just met.”
      Halbarad nodded, took a hesitant step closer, then looked at the wall over 
Aragorn’s head.
      ‘Perhaps his concern mirrors my own,’ Aragorn thought, and decided to address 
Halbarad’s issue of distraction only if what he had to say didn’t cure it. In a gentle tone, 
he said, “Dunadan, hear me please.”
      “I hear.”
      “The baby I was carrying died during the battle before the Black Gates, true?” He 
saw the nod, and caught the flash of misery in his Ranger’s eyes, and tired quickly of 
delicacy. “And you did not kill the baby. True? A cave troll did that.” Silence. “Am I 
right?” Still silence. “Attend me, Dunadan.”
      Halbarad winced. “Aragorn, have you forgotten the bargain Legolas made? Your 
baby died because I had to live.” He met Aragorn’s eyes now and he looked desperate. “I 
didn’t have to live, Aragorn. Surely you wouldn’t have been hurt if I had fought the 
agreement.”
      “And so suddenly you are the Valar?” Aragorn blamed the healing drugs for his 
sharp tongue, but still tried to curb it. “Halbarad, my Dunadan, maybe another would 
have been there. Or perhaps the cave troll wouldn’t have come at all. But maybe no one 
would have come, and both I and the babe I carried would have died.” He reached out, 
and Halbarad came to him, allowing his hand to be taken. “The past is the past, Halbarad. 
Sometimes we can learn from it, but never can we go back to change it. I grieve for the 
babe Legolas and I have lost, but I am sure the rest of the Dunedain and Gondor hold you 
as a hero. I do, grief aside. I could not have asked for a more loyal or trustworthy man to 
stand at my side.” Halbarad’s face was starting to clear. Aragorn urged him to his knees 
so they could look in each other’s eyes more easily. “Did you wonder why I asked you to 
carry the standard? It was because the same voice that told me you were needed for a 
great blessing also told me to give the banner to you. And it was the right thing to do.”
      Halbarad reached into his cloak and came out with the folded cloth he’d kept 
there, inside his shirt, over his heart. He unfolded it, and Aragorn smiled.
      “You are a wonder, Halbarad. Look! You have even repaired the tear!” He ran his 
hand over the new stitching, smiling at the date Halbarad had stitched into the material: 
First day of the Fourth Age. “Halbarad, this is beautiful and perfect. I wouldn’t have 
wanted the banner to be completely repaired; let it show that it was at the last battle of the 
war.” He set the cloth aside and took Halbarad’s hands. “Please don’t grieve any more for 
the past. I need you to help us build a new and glorious future. Please, Dunadan.”
      Halbarad closed his eyes, and concentrated on his breathing until he was sure his 
voice would come out steady. “Yes, Aragorn. I’ll help.” He opened his eyes and they 
were bright. “Thank you. I didn’t realise how much of an obsession the battle had 
become.”
      “All’s well,” Aragorn answered. Then his face paled.
      “Aragorn?” Halbarad moved so that he was supporting his chief. “Lay down. 
You’ve done too much today. I’ll tell the others that you aren’t to be disturbed until 
you’ve slept.” He covered Aragorn, making sure the blankets were tucked around him. 
“Is there anything you need?”
      “My strength back,” Aragorn responded good-naturedly. “For now, though, I’ll 
take rest. When I have rested, though, I must speak with Mordecai again. Something he 
told me earlier needs to be addressed.”
      “That will most likely happen tomorrow,” Halbarad answered. “I’ll send someone 
in to sit with you, to make sure you sleep.”
      Aragorn opened one eye. “Are you commanding me now, Dunadan?”
      “Only when you lack sufficient sense to command yourself.” Halbarad went out.
***
      When Aragorn awoke next, it was night, and he felt so strong he sat up without 
even taking the time to measure his body’s current state. Beside him, Legolas opened his 
eyes and sat up also. “Aragorn!”
      “Yes?” The man grinned, glanced out of the window, then back at his husband. 
“I’ve only been asleep for six or so hours. What did I do to inspire such a surprised 
look?”
      “You slept for three days,” Legolas answered matter-of-factly, rising. He went to 
the table near one wall and brought back bread, cheese and water. “Eat. Slowly, and only 
a little. And drink. I must tell the Dunedain you’re awake.” He went to the door and 
Aragorn heard him whisper something. Then the elf staggered back as Rangers rushed 
into the room, forgetting all decorum as they surrounded the bed, upsetting the chair at its 
head and knocking the water and food from Aragorn’s lap as they hugged, blessed and 
kissed him. Neither were their voices reserved. They woke up people below Aragorn’s 
room, and on the two nearest corridors besides.
      Faramir, in nightshirt and nothing else, appeared at the door, looking hopeful. He 
didn’t intrude, but when Legolas spotted him and called him forward, the Dunedain 
parted, more or less willingly, and Faramir was able to see Aragorn with his own eyes.
      The king smiled at his steward. “I didn’t mean to frighten everyone so,” he said. 
“Did we wake you?”
      “Yes, my lord, but I’m glad.” Faramir’s eyes shone. “If you want, I’ll leave you 
now, but I had to know if you had been truly restored to us.”
      “I have been.” Aragorn reached up and touched Faramir’s shoulder. “Forgive me 
for not saying so before now, but I have heard all the reports of how you are filling the 
Steward’s chair. I am proud of you, and grateful that you’re here.”
      Beaming, Faramir left. In the doorway, he nearly collided with Gimli, who had 
been roused by all the noise. Grinning like a young boy, Faramir executed a bow to the 
dwarf, then disappeared. He didn’t sleep the rest of the night, but woke the servants to 
prepare to array Aragorn in the robes of a king come morning.
      “It’s about bloody time!” the dwarf roared, plowing through the Dunedain and 
grabbing Aragorn by his shoulders. “By Durin’s beard! If you do that to us again, you’ll 
likely find an axe ready to chop off your head when you wake. Don’t do that again.”
      “The threat is duly noted, Master Dwarf.”
      The door opened again, and Eomer strode into the room, looking both furious and 
almost out of his mind with relief. “What did you think you were about? Was I to rule 
Gondor and Rohan? Was that your plan, Wingfoot?”
      Aragorn grinned and shook his head. “Apparently I need to get permission before 
I sleep for more than a few hours.”
      “You’ll never get it!” Nella cried, and a wave of mirth lapped at the walls until 
they rang.
      “I wish you’d told him that before,” Legolas said, and Aragorn drew his lover to 
his side, kissing him, earning whistles from the Dunedain, a grin from Eomer, and a 
becoming blush from his husband.
***
      As Aragorn sat tending Frodo and Sam the next afternoon, bathing their foreheads 
in athelas, Gandalf joined him. The wizard had spent almost all his time alone with the 
two hobbits, but he’d taken a moment to himself when Aragorn appeared to tend them. 
Now refreshed, the wizard watched Aragorn’s face as the man worked.
      “What is it, Aragorn? The White Tree’s seedling has been found- you discovered 
it this morning- and I know you are not worried about these two. They will recover soon. 
So what troubles you?”
      “Mordecai,” Aragorn answered at once.
      “Ah, yes, the young Ranger who has set himself up as Faramir’s shadow.”
      Aragorn had known Gandalf too long to be surprised by the wizard’s knowledge. 
‘Mayhap he even knows about the dream.’ Still, Aragorn spoke of it, and of his 
realisation that Mordecai was Faramir’s half-nephew.
      For a moment, shorter than Aragorn was used to, Gandalf sat in the silence. Then 
the wizard surprised him after all by throwing his head back and laughing until tears ran 
down his cheeks and into his beard. He continued this way for several minutes, and 
Aragorn let him go on, patient, but curious what had set his old friend off.
      In time, Gandalf calmed himself and looked at Aragorn. But the sight of the 
man’s waiting eyes set him off again, and he shook his head now, chuckling to himself 
and wiping at his eyes. When again he thought he could risk it, he looked at Aragorn, 
snickered, and at last was in control of his amusement. “Who told you Denethor is Saru’s 
father?”
      Aragorn blinked. “The brother of Saru’s mother.”
      This wiped all mirth from Gandalf’s face and he said softly, “She was loyal to all 
then, even lying to her brother to fulfill the vow she made. She was a noble woman. I’m 
sorry I never got a chance to meet her.” Then, focusing on Aragorn again, “But I’m 
surprised that you never heard the truth from Ecthelion?”
      “Please do not tell me Saru is his!”
      A snort of laughter was his only answer for about a minute, then Gandalf said, 
“Adrahil, Imrahil’s father, is Saru’s father also. In a moment of weakness- the only one in 
his life, so far as I know-”
      “And you know nearly everything,” Aragorn couldn’t resist adding.
      “-yes, true- Adrahil raped a slave woman who had served in his father’s house 
faithfully for five years. When he came to his senses the next day, he went to Denethor 
and begged help. Denethor was once a decent man, known for his foresight and wisdom. 
Did you know that?”
      “Yes, though I never saw that side of him.”
      “Because he had already begun to look into the palantir. That is why you felt such 
evil when you were here the first time with Legolas. But it is true: he was once a man to 
be admire and respected, and feared, by his enemies.
      “Adrahil came to him and pleaded for advice. Denethor did better. He went to 
Adrahil’s palace and spoke directly with the slave woman. He found her loyal to her 
master despite his crime against her, and decided to use that. ‘You will live for a time in 
Gondor, where you will be kept away from all men for six months. At the end of that 
time, if you are found pregnant with your master’s child, you and that child will be sent 
away to another part of this kingdom. There you will be given the means to support 
yourself as a free woman. In exchange, all I ask is this: you will surely be missed, and 
people will ask you questions. You are to say this: “I slept with Lord Denethor and carry 
his child.” You are not to mention Adrahil at all, ever. Do not even meditate too long on 
his name. Can you do this?’
      “She agreed, but when it was discovered that she was with child, Denethor sold 
her into Harad. There she lived with her son until he was three or so, then Denethor, 
growing worried that the boy would return to demand his place in the White City, though 
he wasn’t truly of that line, had the mother killed and the boy sold again. When Saru was 
stolen and taken north by Versh, it seemed like a blessing to Denethor. But as he delved 
deeper into the Shadow, he became convinced that Saru was still alive and was only 
biding his time. The palantir gave him Saru’s image and said he was among the ‘Rangers 
of the North Woods.’ Denethor then sent Faramir to kill his uncle, only explaining that 
Saru was a threat to Boromir. As you’ve doubtless heard from Saru or Faramir since, the 
two of them became friends instead.” He assessed Aragorn’s reaction, and smiled. “You 
understand now why I laughed.”
      Aragorn nodded, grinning incredulously. “Not his nephew, but his half first 
cousin. Perfectly acceptable.” He laughed. “And here I was so worried about all of this.”
      “You worry unnecessarily, but that’s part of being king.” Gandalf rose. “I think 
I’ll take my leave again for a time. Will you sit with Frodo and Sam for a little while?”
***
      When Frodo opened his eyes, everything was warmth and light. For a moment, as 
he struggled to match this vision with the reality of his last remembered moments in the 
middle of the river of fire, he thought, ‘No. I’m back in Rivendell, after the Nine 
attacked, and all that was a dream. I still have to do it.’ But then, as he looked for the 
driving need to hold the Ring, he discovered he had no such need. In fact, the fear, the 
despair, and the guilt of having tried on the Ring one too many times were a distant 
memory.
      Frodo closed his eyes for another moment, then opened them again. In the middle 
of the light stood a shape. He waited for his eyes to adjust, too stunned by the realisation 
that he was alive to think much besides ‘It’s gone. It’s really gone.’
      Then his vision cleared, and before him was a ghost, a spirit, a miracle. 
“Gandalf?” The wizard’s eyes twinkled. “Gandalf!” And when the wizard laughed, he 
laughed, too, so shocked that he couldn’t do more than that.
      But the miracle didn’t end there. The door to his room opened, and in walked two 
that he loved: Merry and Pippin, looking fresh and happy… and taller. By at least three 
inches. Frodo gaped at them, shook his head, and braced himself as they jumped on the 
bed. And when they were on either side him, hugging him, he hugged them back for all 
he was worth, thinking that he would be perfectly content for this to go on for hours.
      The door opened again, and in came Gimli, his arms open wide, though he didn’t 
come too near the bed. And with him Legolas, though at first Frodo couldn’t believe it 
was Legolas. His clothes were silver and white, and he wore a circlet of silver on his 
brow. And with him, also changed almost beyond recognition, was Aragorn. He wore 
clean clothes of leather and velvet, and his hair was combed and clung in waving 
cascades to his shoulders. His grin, completely untroubled, was something Frodo decided 
he’d never seen.
      There was only one person missing, the most important person. And as Aragorn, 
Legolas and Gimli stepped into the room, Frodo saw Sam standing by the door, a small 
smile on his face. Their eyes met and locked, and for a while, all the rest of the world was 
gone except for them.
      Later, when Frodo had been held and petted and talked to and hugged and praised, 
Gandalf sent everyone away except Sam, and the wizard went, too, closing the door 
behind him. Sam, blushing, got up from the chair he’d at last taken at Frodo’s side, and 
locked the door. Then he returned, and his fingers were on the buttons of his shirt.
      They didn’t make love that first night together in a real bed, but lay, skin to skin, 
all night long.
***
      The coronation had been the source of heated debate and outright fighting during 
the week before it actually occurred. The council that undertook to make it happen was at 
first made up only of counselors, and so plans went smoothly. But the Dunedain, led by 
Saru, who spoke softly but firmly, and Aaron, who spoke loudly and often, interrupted a 
session to demand to be allowed to help plan Aragorn’s crowning. They refused to leave. 
Aragorn was forbidden by all to attend the council; this was the only thing the men of the 
Gondor and men of the north agreed upon.
      Mordecai, who had followed his papa into the council chamber, though he’d been 
asked to stay away, saw the turmoil and fled the room. Down one corridor and the next 
he ran, seeking Faramir. At last, he found Faramir, Aragorn and Legolas in the king’s 
calling-chamber (“rather like a glorified sitting room,” Aragorn had been heard to say) 
enjoying a peaceful game of chess, with Faramir and Legolas playing against Aragorn. 
Aragorn was losing, but not by much. When Mordecai burst in on them, ignoring the 
guards outside who yelled at him to stop, the three raised their heads. Aragorn’s and 
Faramir’s hands dropped to their sword-hilts, and Legolas reached for his knives. They 
relaxed as one when they saw who the visitor was.
      The guard pushed his way past Mordecai and bowed to Aragorn. “Forgive me, my 
lord, but he insisted-” he glared at Mordecai- “on seeing you. Would you like me to 
remove him?”
      “All my people are free to see me whenever they wish, and though courtesy is 
always encouraged, in the face of danger or emergency anything is allowed.” Aragorn 
had risen, and he clapped the guard on the shoulder. “It’s all right, Beregond. Let it go.” 
Then, turning to Mordecai, “Beregond, this is Mordecai, son of my second-in-command, 
Saru. Mordecai, this is Faramir’s personal guard, and one of my most trusted men, 
Beregond Fellsland.”
      Mordecai bowed hurriedly, but he was already speaking as he rose. “Aragorn, I’m 
sorry for interrupting, but we need Lord Faramir’s help.” He pushed his hair out of his 
face. “The council isn’t going well.”
      “And you aren’t allowed to attend,” Beregond and Legolas said in unison as 
Aragorn started to speak. The guard and prince exchanged a glance and smiled.
      “It seems I am outnumbered,” Aragorn said, and he sat back down. “Be my guest, 
Faramir. I think Legolas will mange to defeat me soundly without your help.”
      “Nay,” the elf contested, “I’ll wait until you return. He is too much of a strategist 
to attempt his total humiliation-by-chess alone.” He glanced out the window. “In fact, 
since it’s already night, I suggest we hold off on this game until the morning. Aragorn has 
only been out of bed completely for two days.”
      “How long will you use that excuse?” Aragorn asked.
      “Until midnight. After that, I will say ‘It has only been three days since my 
husband has been completely out of bed.’ Must I explain what I will say the day after 
that?”
      Beregond, Mordecai and Faramir beat a hasty retreat, leaving the lovers alone. 
The second they were gone, Legolas locked the door.
      In the hall, Mordecai began to jog. Faramir kept up with him by long strides. 
“What is this all about?” he asked.
      “They won’t listen to anything,” Mordecai answered. “Not each other, not an 
impartial third party- Elladan tried to mediate for two hours and got nowhere- and 
certainly not themselves. They’re saying things that will quickly lead to blows, and they 
don’t even seem to care. My papa hasn’t yelled yet, or even raised his voice, but I have 
scarcely ever seen him do that. If he did, I think his next step would be a sword.”
      Faramir sighed. “Sometimes I wonder how we will all live in the same city, let 
alone look after the same lord. Aragorn inspires loyalty in all who come to know him, 
loyalty and love, but contests for his approval can arise very easily, even though he does 
all he can to dissuade them. Sometimes I wonder how he managed to hold everyone 
together during the battle of the Pelannor fields and the battle before the Black Gate.”
      “I wouldn’t know about the second; I wasn’t there, either. But as to the first, it 
wasn’t easy. There were problems from the moment we got the on the ships. Aragorn just 
held it together somehow.” He sighed. “I wish everyone could see Aragorn in my papa, 
or in Aidan, or Grandma Annaleh. The Dunedain see it; the Dunedain listen. No one else 
does.”
      “I do,” Faramir said. “Did you papa tell you how I was sent to kill him and ended 
up listening to him and hearing about Aragorn for the first time?” The boy shook his 
head. “I’ll tell you about it when this mess is sorted out.” Faramir put his hand on 
Mordecai’s shoulder.
      In front of the council chamber doors- the noise from inside leaked into the 
corridor- Mordecai faced Faramir. “I have an idea. People have seen us together, right? 
They know we’re friends, even if everyone else seems at odds. What if we walk in there 
and show them the proper way to have a debate. I know all the things the Dunedain want. 
Do you know all the things the men of the city want?”
      “Yes.” Faramir grinned admiringly. “You are Saru’s son.”
      Side-by-side, they walked into the chamber, drawing everyone’s attention because 
all those in the room were expecting Aragorn to walk in any moment to break things up. 
Faramir and Mordecai took advantage of the silence to start their debate, and everyone 
listened. When many of the big issues had been compromised, smaller issues started 
popping up from around the room. Mordecai took each from his people, on at a time, 
thank you, and presented them to Faramir for discussion. Faramir did the same with the 
counselors. An hour and a half later, every detail of the coming coronation was settled.
***
      “I don’t approve of such male-dominated customs,” Eowyn said to her brother as 
they sat on a bench in a rock garden near the citadel. “But it’s the accepted thing in 
Rohan, and the expected thing in Imladris, so I’ll have to bow to it just this once. Though 
since we are both female, perhaps Arwen should be asking your permission. Maybe she 
will.” Tugging at her braid for a moment, then letting it go, Eowyn asked, “Are you just 
going to sit there staring at me, or are you going to speak?”
      Eomer rubbed at his chin and stared at a very interesting grey rock across the 
garden. “You want me to walk up to an elven lord-”
      “You’re King now-”
      “-and ask him if my baby sister can marry his only daughter, the Evenstar, Arwen 
Undomiel, the jewel above all other jewels for five thousand years or more? Is that what 
you want me to do?”
      “Are you saying I’m not good enough for Arwen, or that you’re afraid of her 
father?”
      “I’m saying I never thought you would fall in love with a woman.”
      Eowyn shook her head. “You were gone when Isabella and I were forced to go 
our separate ways.”
      Eomer frowned. “I heard about that, but didn’t understand what it meant until 
now. I thought you weren’t allowed to spend time with her because she was married and 
thus had household duties to tend to!” He laughed and put his head in his hands. “I didn’t 
know you loved her! A woman!”
      Eowyn’s usual anger deserted her. “Are you disgusted with me?”
      Eomer’s head snapped up and his eyes were wide with shock. He took her hands 
and raised her to her feet. Holding her against him, rubbing her back, he said, “Never 
think it. Just because I’ve never been attracted to a man doesn’t mean I can’t see why it 
would be so, or why two women would be attracted to each other.” A roguish smile 
crinkled his eyes. “That would actually be rather attractive to me, two women together.”
      She swatted his ass. “Sex-crazed man!”
      “As long as one of them wasn’t you, I can’t see the harm.” He pulled away from 
her before she could strike him again. He held her by the shoulders and said seriously, “I 
didn’t mean that. About watching women.”
      She shook her head. “You take yourself too seriously, Brother. But that’s all right; 
you’re a good friend for Aragorn. So, will you ask Lord Elrond when he arrives? His sons 
are sure he will be here soon; they say he has an instinct for arriving on time for things 
when no one knows he’s coming.”
      “All right. I’ll do it. I can’t promise I’ll be alive at the end of the meeting, but I’ll 
do it.”
      Eowyn threw her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
***
      Aragorn had Nella and her husband ride north to get the Dunedain and bring the 
rest of them to Gondor for the coronation, but the two met the caravan from Rivendell on 
their way, and the Dunedain were already there. As a happy group, all made their way to 
the city, Nella and her husband filling the Dunedain and the elves in on all that had 
happened, glossing over Aragorn’s injuries, but telling about Legolas’ pregnancy and the 
wedding that had already taken place between the elf-prince and their chief.
      On Midsummer’s morning, the caravan came in sight of the city, and riders were 
sent out to meet them. A Dunadan and a Tower guard met them halfway across the 
Pelannor Fields and escorted them to the city in style. In through the city gates they went, 
past where the grey tents had been (the Dunedain who had been there for two weeks had 
moved into the city when Aragorn asked for a few volunteers), and up the street through 
the seven levels, finally coming to rest before the citadel itself. Aragorn was there, 
standing on the steps, ready to welcome them. He wore clean clothes, and many of his 
people laughed to see how different he looked without even a speck of dirt on him, but 
they knew him instantly as their Strider and no amount of gravity could keep them from 
leaping up the steps and surrounding him. Out of the doors behind Aragorn poured all 
those Dunedain who had joined him in Rohan, and the two groups merged back into one, 
laughing and singing.
      The twin girls who had comforted Aragorn when he wept before the Dunedain 
came to him in the midst of the crowd. Gondorian and Dunadan alike hushed. In a woven 
duet, they sang “Eriador, My Home in the North”:
In the place of forest-life,
Where the birds and foxes play,
Lies the home of the Dunedain,
The home they protect with their lives.

Eriador! My home in the North,
Where all the foxes play,
Eriador, my home in the North,
I will defend you until my dying day.

Eriador, you once were
The southern kingdom, Arnor,
Coupled with Gondor under Elendil’s reign,
Eriador, you were the northern jewel of the new kingdom of men.

Eriador, my home in the North,
Where the Dunedain guard the people.
Disguised, reviled, rejected,
Still we will defend those near our home who know us not.

Dunedain! Sing for your chief!
Sing for your home in the North!
Dunedain, sing for the suffering-joy you have endured,
And will endure for Eriador in the North!

      Applause came when the song was ended, and though the Dunedain were not used 
to such a thing, they, too, applauded, then Saru sent up a resounding shout: “Long live 
Aragorn, King of Gondor in the south and Eriador in Arnor, kingdom of the North!” The 
Dunedain cheered, and, after a short pause, the Gondorians joined them.
Chapter Eighty-Nine
      A hundred different accounts were kept of the days of the King Elessar. A record 
of every major kingly event was kept in the official records of Gondor, but most of the 
important events were not written down there. One notable exception to this was the 
coronation of King Elessar Telcontar, Elf Stone, Aragorn, Isildur’s Heir, and the half 
dozen other names Legolas sewed onto the cloak he’d started when he was still a child.
      On Midsummer’s Eve, before all the united people of Middle Earth, wearing the 
cloak Legolas had made, and kneeling before Gandalf on the steps that led up to the 
citadel, Aragorn was crowned. He asked that Frodo bring the crown to Gandalf, and that 
Gandalf place it on his head. In this way, he hoped to show that he had not become King 
without all those around him, and that he couldn’t have gotten half so far without his 
friends and loved ones.
      Legolas’ coronation took place at the same time, though his was an add-on that 
Gimli, interrupting two minutes before the ceremony began, insisted must occur, and no 
one wanted to argue with an angry, axe-wielding dwarf. The elf didn’t care. His father 
hadn’t attended, though the Dunedain had stopped for a brief time in Mirkwood to tell 
him that Legolas and Aragorn had been wed. Even if his father had attended, Legolas 
would have been more than happy to give the glory and attention to Aragorn. ‘I’ll only be 
taking control of this huge kingdom on rare occasions,’ he thought. ‘And if I’m lucky, I’ll 
never have to do it.’
      Gandalf raised the silver crown high so that all could see it, then set it on 
Aragorn’s head. “Now are the days of the King,” he announced to all that watched. Then, 
softly, so that Aragorn alone heard him, “May they be blessed.”
      Aragorn gathered his courage and stood. Turning slowly, he faced his people. 
Thousands of people he had now, not just two hundred, or even five hundred, but 
thousands, and lands that stretched from where he stood to the forests where he had 
learned to hunt and live and love. When the cheering crowd quieted, he spoke. “This day 
does not belong to one man, but to all. Let us together rebuild this world, that we may 
share in the days of peace.” Another cheer greeted this, though Aragorn could hardly 
think of when he’d said something less eloquent.
      When this cheer, too, had passed, Aragorn took Legolas’ hand. “Legolas and I 
have been married two weeks now, but I ask you to bless our union here.” A third cheer. 
Aragorn and Legolas walked down the steps, hand in hand, and before them everyone 
bowed. Eowyn and Arwen, standing on the right, and Eomer across the way. The 
Dunedain, in perfect unison, went to one knee and gave Aragorn the sign of fealty. 
Faramir, standing with them, at Saru’s side, did this as well. Aragorn and Legolas passed 
them all and came to where the hobbits stood.
      All four hobbits bowed, but Aragorn, dropping Legolas’ hand, surprised and firm 
in his belief, stepped towards them. “My friends,” he said, and they straightened, looking 
at him in confusion. “You bow to no one.” Aragorn dropped to one knee before them, 
and around him, everyone followed. The hobbits glanced at each other (Pippin with a 
silly smile on his face and Frodo with eyes that blurred with tears) and then looked out at 
the crowd. None of them could speak. Luckily, none were expected to.
      The official record of Gondor wondered at Aragorn’s bowing to these “little 
people,” but Aragorn, curious to see what had been written of that day, found the record, 
read it, dipped a quill in ink, and added this note: Hobbits are the true free people of 
Middle-Earth. With no king, no Steward, no lords or ladies, they are to be honored for 
their strength of spirit, common sense, and simplicity of life. Besides, Frodo Baggins 
destroyed the Ring- destroyed Sauron. Who am I to demand that he bow to me, or to even 
allow him to do so? signed, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and none shall ever change these 
words.
***
      Also into the official record went the names and birthdates of thee children of 
Aragorn and Legolas. Eldain (Elf-Dunadan) was born on the third day of the eighth 
month of the Fourth Age. He was followed by the twins, Malacai and Gilraen. They were 
followed, in their turn, by Berennin, Elara, and Frodo. After these (all except Elara being 
borne of Legolas), the prince begged Mithrandir for a way to keep from getting pregnant. 
The White Wizard gave him an effective potion, but the elf forgot it one night and their 
last two children, twin boys, Elladan and Elrohir, were born. By the year Aragorn turned 
one hundred and ten, they had eight children. The twin boys turned four that year, and 
started with their first toy bows and arrows.
      The Dunedain had made a bet among themselves as to whether Aragorn would 
turn out to be an overprotective father or if he would actually let his children grow up 
without too much smothering. Over ninety percent believed Aragorn would be 
overprotective. They lost to the other ten percent, which included Halbarad, Mordecai, 
Aidan, and Annaleh.
      Saru did not bet.
***
      No official record of Gondor included the birth of Glorfindel’s and Elladan’s baby 
girl, Estella, though Aragorn wrote it down. She had blond hair, as Glorfindel had 
foreseen, and had her father’s Light as well. From Elladan she inherited long limbs and 
almond-shaped eyes, and their color. She became, quickly, a favorite of all the Dunedain, 
and learned bow-craft from Annaleh, knife-work from her papa, and swordplay from her 
ada. None surpassed her for beauty in all of Gondor, but though she was courted by many 
a man, she ended by marrying Rumil of Lothlorien, though he was two thousand years 
her senior. Even with the age difference, all saw their love for each other, and how the 
gentleness of their temperaments complimented and enhanced each other’s own 
disposition.
      Another baby that made it not into the records of Gondor was Saru’s son. Saru 
named the boy Imrahil, after his brother, whom he had come to love and respect before 
he left Gondor for the north, and whom he visited whenever he came south, which was 
not often, to see Aragorn, Legolas, and the rest of the Dunedain.
      By all accounts, Imrahil was as noble as his uncle, and, growing up with 
Mordecai to look after him and teach him about the world when Saru was too busy or in 
too much pain, he soon learned to live up to the standards of the Dunedain. He became a 
great swordsman, second only to Aragorn. His only sadness was that his papa was often 
gone or asleep. In many ways, Mordecai was his father. Cein, Morwen and Aidan were 
there for him, too, but they were all married by the time he was two, so Mordecai was the 
only one who truly guided him in all things. When Mordecai returned to Gondor at the 
age of eighteen to serve his king, Imrahil went with him, being seven years old. Saru 
grieved to lose his two youngest sons to the south, but his pain was such that one more 
sorrow only deepened the wound instead of making a fresh one.
***
      Aragorn kept his own record, though he preferred to think of it as a diary, and into 
this book went all the important things the official record-keeper didn’t think needed to 
be written down. Soft and loving things, like the first steps and first words of all his 
children, as well as his first night with Legolas after being crowned king. He didn’t put 
his near-death dream in it; this he kept on a single sheet of paper hidden from all, even 
from Legolas. But other things went into the book, including two notes, which he made 
after visiting the Shire with Legolas, Eldain, some of his Gondorian guards, and several 
of his Dunedain who had remained in the city and wished to visit those of their friends 
who had moved back to the north to keep an eye on that part of Aragorn’s kingdom.
      The first note: ‘Frodo won’t be on these shores long. He is pale and tired, and 
though he takes refuge in Sam, he cannot remain here long. He has suffered too much. I 
don’t think any of us, except perhaps Gandalf, understood how the Ring hurt him. When 
he goes (Legolas has given up his right to go, and Gandalf says he will be given the 
honor) I pray Sam goes with him. He, too, is a Ringbearer. I want them to go together. 
Must someone else give up their right so Sam can go too? I can’t think who else there is, 
except maybe Arwen. When I see Gandalf again, I’ll ask him.
      The second note: ‘Saru. My second, my dear second, who has endured so much, 
deserves to rest. But there is no place in Middle-Earth that will comfort him. He works 
for the Dunedain, and he loves his children and grandchildren (all are married now, 
except Mordecai, who just turned eighteen this spring) but he does not love life. Hope 
lives in him, keeps him from despair, and from following his husband, but his grief is so 
thick I can taste it when I kiss him and feel it when I hold him. I do not know how to help 
my Dunadan, my second, my trusted friend. Not even Legolas knows a way.’
      Within five years, the book was full, cover to cover, though Aragorn scarcely 
wrote in it more than twice a month. He set this book aside, had another made just like it, 
and started afresh. Into his second volume went more joys, more sorrows. Soon it, too, 
was full. Into his third volume went the Passing of the Elves.
      Elladan, Elrohir, Halbarad and Glorfindel had lived thirty years in Gondor, 
traveling between there and Rohan, to visit Arwen and Fangorn Forest. But the morning 
they came to Aragon in the throne room, they came for the last time.
      They sought a private audience on a day unusually cool for summer. They were 
admitted, as they always were, and came before Aragorn, bowing to him. Aragorn stood 
from the throne and came down the steps so he could treat with them as equals. They sat 
on stools before the dais, and held hands in a circle.
      “The time has come, Aragorn,” Elladan began. “Ada has sent word.” He closed 
his eyes and struggled for a moment. Finally, failing, he glanced at Elrohir to finish, then 
freed his hand from Aragorn’s grasp so he could wipe his eyes.
      “Glorfindel will be sailing,” Elrohir said, and his voice broke. “All the elves will 
be going. Ada, our grandparents, Haldir. Frodo will be going, or so Ada thinks.” He 
sighed and squeezed Halbarad’s hand for strength. “We’re going to collect Arwen from 
Rohan and ride with Glorfindel to- to the Grey Havens.” His voice failed completely.
      Halbarad spoke. “We were hoping you would come with us.”
      Aragorn made sure he could speak before he attempted it. His voice still cracked. 
“Yes. I will journey with you. Is it all right if Legolas comes?”
      “How could it not be?” Glorfindel asked. He stood. “Forgive us.” He and Elladan 
left the room almost at a run.
      Alone with his brother and his lover, Elrohir broke down. Sobbing and clinging to 
Halbarad, he wept for what would come soon for his twin, and for what Elladan suffered 
now. He wailed into Halbarad’s cloak, and the Dunadan, long ago grey and not far from 
his own death, held his lover and soothed him and looked pleadingly at Aragorn for help.
      Aragorn came to them and held them, but couldn’t think of any comforting words. 
And when they had gone to pack (all would leave in two days’ time) Aragorn sought out 
a private place. He ended up in one of the gardens that Legolas had modeled after those 
in Rivendell. Climbing a strong and hardy tree, he sat on the highest branch that would 
bear his weight, drew his knees up to his chin, and mourned. No matter how he looked at 
the situation, he couldn’t find a way to fix it, to make things well, or even a little easier 
for those involved.
      “Ada?”
      Aragorn glanced down, and saw Eldain looking up at him. The thirty year old 
brushed his blond hair out his eyes so he could meet his father’s gaze.
      “Are you all right?” Eldain started to climb the tree.
      “No,” Aragorn answered when his son sat on the branch below him. “Glorfindel 
is sailing. Legolas and I will accompany him, the twins, Arwen, and Halbarad to the Grey 
Havens the day after tomorrow.”
      His son’s grey eyes darkened with sorrow. “Will Uncle Elladan die when Uncle 
Glorfindel leaves?”
      Eldain was long past the days when Aragorn could decide not to tell him things he 
should know. He’d passed that time at age two. “Most likely,” the king answered. “It may 
take a few years, maybe even a dozen, but more likely Elladan will be dead within the 
year. The bond he and Glorfindel share is a special one. Rare as a red moon.”
      “Is there any way they can stay together?”
      He didn’t want suggestions or descriptions of why things wouldn’t work; he 
waned a simple answer. Eldain had always been that way. “No.”
      Eldain said, “You want me to stay behind and look after Gondor.”
      “Yes. Faramir will help you, of course, but you’ve tended things here with great 
success the other times I’ve been away. I have no doubt you will do so again.”
      “Yes, Father.” Eldain looked out across the gardens. “I wish he didn’t have to 
leave. It’s normal that men die, but not elves. Will Glorfindel live long in the Undying 
Lands without his lover? Can elves still die there?”
      “They can, but it is rare.” Aragorn held no doubts about Glorfindel’s fate, 
however, and so he shared them with his son. “But I fear Glorfindel would be one to pass 
soon after he reaches Valinor’s shores.” He sighed. “I must go break this news to 
Legolas.” He swung down from the tree, and Eldain followed. “Nothing is going to make 
this other than a depressing journey both ways.”
      “You’ll see Saru again,” Eldain said. “Maybe you should take Aidan with you and 
suggest that he take his papa’s place. Saru could come back here. We’d have a chance to 
try and help him.”
      Aragorn knew, in his heart, that Saru was beyond any help that he could give. But 
that didn’t mean others couldn’t help. “I’ll suggest that to Aidan and see what he would 
think of taking command of the northern kingdom. He’s spent enough time there that the 
transition wouldn’t be too terribly difficult.” He turned to his son and embraced him. 
“You think well. Someday, Gondor will be yours, and I cannot think of better hands to 
leave this kingdom in.”
      “You won’t die soon,” Eldain said as they started towards the citadel. “It’s hard 
for all of us- especially Dan and Rohir- to think of you as gone.”
      “Don’t grieve too much. That day is not near.” They walked out of the gardens, 
but before they could make for the citadel, Legolas appeared, having dropped from a tree 
on the edge of the garden. He caught Aragorn’s arm, and Eldain watched them disappear 
back into the gardens before he turned to the citadel. A messenger must be sent to Ithilien 
to let Faramir and Mordecai know that Aragorn would be leaving the White City for a 
time. ‘A month, maybe. Probably two.’ Eldain sighed and made his way up the stairs. 
‘Death is the great enemy, and sometimes I think Sauron was the Enemy because he 
brought slaughter and more horror to death than it naturally has.’
***
      Two weeks later, the company from Gondor entered Bree. Aragorn called a halt 
here, as he always did, and Butterbur, now ancient and leaving most of the running of his 
business to his son, Bartil, received them with many a bow and word of praise for their 
beautiful mounts and their regal bearing and the size of the entourage.
      Aragorn had meant to leave Gondor with no more than a dozen people, but that 
had been blown away almost at once. Elladan, Elrohir, Halbarad, Glorfindel and Arwen 
of course rode with the king and prince of Gondor, but Eowyn came also, as did Aidan, 
Malacai, Elara, and Frodo. Add to this half a dozen Dunedain and seven Guards o’ the 
Watch, and Aragorn’s company numbered two dozen.
      Half an hour after they had arrived, and as Bartil was taking orders around the 
largest table the Prancing Pony had to offer, five Dunedain appeared, bowed to Aragorn, 
then hugged him almost to the point of breaking ribs. But the king was not to spend a 
restful night in Bree before continuing on; the five Dunedain had been sent to find him as 
soon as possible and bring him to the camp. With many apologies to Bartil and Barliman, 
and with a promise to stop for two days on their way back through, Aragorn went with 
his Dunedain at once, riding so swiftly that only Legolas and Aidan could keep up with 
him. The Dunedain out of Gondor would have joined them, but Aragorn asked that they 
remain to escort those had not been in the north before.
      And so it was that they came to the camp only an hour after setting out from Bree. 
Dismounting at the camp’s edge, Aragorn saw that Saru was waiting for him. He 
followed, and they entered Annaleh’s tent. The air smelled of flowers, athelas, and the 
scent of near-death.
      Aragorn dropped to his knees beside the pallet where his Dunadan lay. Her hair 
had long since grayed; now it was pure white. Aragorn took her hand and kissed it. 
“Annaleh?”
      Her eyes opened. “I knew you would come,” she whispered, and the ghost of her 
old mischievous smile tilted up the corners of her mouth. “Our Strider… I wanted to tell 
you… I was wrong to divorce Malacai and suspect the two of you… I wanted you to 
know I’m sorry…”
      “Rest easy, Annaleh.” Aragorn kissed her hand again. “I have never harbored 
anger towards you. Malacai was a lucky man to have such a wife as you. And I am lucky 
that my second’s wife has been so honorable, loving, and strong. Fiery you have been, 
Annaleh, and I would not change anything in the years since I’ve known you. Thank you 
for everything you have done for the Dunedain, and for me.”
      She tugged him closer, and when he leaned very near, she kissed his cheek. “You 
talk too much, Strider.” She kissed him again. “I’ll take your love to Malacai and the 
others. Wherever they are, I know they still live.”
      He blinked. “Has Malacai come to you, too, then?” he asked, his voice barely 
audible.
      “Aye. Last year.” She kissed him once more. “When you come, we’ll be there.” 
She closed her eyes, and Aragorn felt her give up her life.
      He kissed her forehead. “Pass, noble Dunadan, beautiful and fiery Annaleh. Take 
my love with you from this world to the next.” He knelt by her a moment, then stood. 
Legolas and Saru stood nearby; Legolas had his arms around Saru, and they stood 
perfectly still.
      “She gave her final good-bye to me this morning,” Saru said. Tears made shining 
trails on his cheeks. “She says there is hope in the next life for happiness.” He sobbed 
then, and Aragorn went to him, holding both he and Legolas.
      “There is hope, Saru. There is. Keep the faith.”
      “That gets harder each day,” Saru answered and a shudder passed through him. 
“Some mornings now, I cannot even rise.”
***
      Aaron met Aragorn by the central fire two hours later. Leaning on a cane, swathed 
in cloaks and blankets, Aaron had shrunk, looking like a child-sized man. He sat down 
beside Aragorn with difficulty, refusing to accept the man’s help.
      “I can only pray I’ll die while you’re here,” he said. “If I don’t, will you take me 
with you? Nella’s boy, Yen-shi, has taken my place as historian. I am ready to follow 
only you.” He smiled a little at Aragorn’s startled look. “A name out of Harad, I know. 
But Yen-shi means ‘zealous student’ and so he has become.” He cursed softly and rubbed 
at his eyes. “I wish I could see you better. I’m sure you look just as you did the last day I 
saw you.”
      Aragorn kissed Aaron’s forehead. “Of course you can come with me,” he said. 
“We’ll be leaving for the Grey Havens as soon as the others come from Bree. IF you 
choose, come with us then. Roheryn will bear you.”
      “Will you never tire of that name? Is he the great-grandson of the original?”
      “Great-great-great grandson, actually, but who’s counting? I’m not imaginative 
when it comes to stallion names, it seems, and I’m perfectly happy to be that way.”
***
      An hour from the Grey Havens, a rider approached the company, which had been 
considerably reduced. Aragorn had bade all his Dunedain and Guards o’ the Watch to 
stay behind. He