Arwen rode south. Away from the road West, away
from Rivendell, away from all the long years of her
life.

   Asfaloth, immortal horse of Valinor, raced lightly
over the lanes and fields of the Angle. Here and there
a farmwife glancing out a window or an idling laborer
caught a glimpse of a white horse flying across their
prosaic countryside with a dark cloaked rider on his
back.

   But Arwen knew nothing of them, she was crying so
hard she couldn't see the road in front of her, much
less the the occasional farmhouse or stray laborer.

   *Father, Father forgive me! I can't leave him - it
would tear the soul from my body and I wouldn't be
Arwen anymore, just an empty shell. And you'd blame
yourself for it - only it wouldn't be your fault it'd
be mine for not following my heart.

   *Please don't hate me, Father, for my unspoken lie,
for letting you believe I'd chosen the Ship. But I
could no longer face your pain. Oh why couldn't you
accept my choice as you did my brothers'? Why did you
have to make it so hard for all of us?

   *Father - Papa - I may never see you again! I will
never see my mother again. Oh Mama, will you forgive
me? will you understand?

   *Do you think I want to break your heart, Papa? I
don't, I don't. If only I could take the ship with
you, if only I could see my mother, feel her arms
around me one more time...But I can't, I can't.*

   Suddenly she collapsed forward onto her horse's
neck, sobbing bitterly into his mane. Asfaloth
wickered his concern, trying to roll an eye back to
get a look at her.

   "No," she choked, "I'm all right. Run swiftly,
Asfaloth. We must catch up with my brothers and the
Rangers."

   She straightened, struggled to calm herself. Soon
they would pass into dangerous lands, Hollin and
beyond that the Enedwaith. She had to be alert, on her
guard. No more time for tears - or regrets.

   *I can't leave him, Father. I can't leave our
world, our people. He needs me. They need me. Nobody
in Aman does - not even you and Mother. You want me,
but you don't need me. Not as long as you have each
other. You know it's true, Father, you love Mother as
I love Aragorn. Oh why couldn't you accept our love
and let me go?*  

   She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and stared
determinedly ahead. No more tears, no more weakness.
Isengard was on the move, and Mordor too. And Aragorn
was somewhere in that maelstrom, he and what was left
of the Fellowship. Needing her, even if he wouldn't
admit it, her and what she carried. His hour had come.
It was time to make the prophecies come true.
*****

   By dusk she'd reached the Swanfleet and the half
drowned ruins of Ost-in-Edhil. The Rangers had a rest
house there, three restored rooms on the second floor
of a semi-submerged palace. Her grandparents' palace.
Celeborn and Galadriel had lived here long ago. Before
she was born, before her parents had even met, before
the Rings were forged.

   The rooms had once been part of their private
apartments. Exquisite low reliefs, still delicately
tinted, adorned the walls of the former presence
chamber with scenes of Elven Tirion in the days of its
Bliss, but the Dunedain had replaced the original
tesselated floor with one of wood, and furnished it
with table, chairs and storage chests.

   The withdrawing room behind it had once had wide
windows looking northward over the orchards and
pleasances of Hollin. Now they were closed against the
elements by stout wooden shutters, the opposite wall
lined with cots. The final room, the privy closet, had
long ago been hung with tapestries wrought by Melian
and her maidens for the walls of Menegroth. Galadriel
still had them - they hung in her chamber in Lorien.

   As a child Arwen had made her grandmother put a
name to every one of Elves figured there over and over
again until she could remember them all. A few faces
had been familiar - those of Elves still in her
father's service, or her grandfather's. But many more
belonged to those slain in the sacks of Doriath. Faces
that would never again be seen in Middle Earth.

   Now it was a bare walled room starkly furnished for
a captain of Rangers with a cot, a table, a chair, and
a locked box of maps. Arwen opened the window shutters
a crack for air, and composed herself upon the cot.
Not to sleep as Men know it, but to wander the paths
of memory and dream in the manner of Elvenkind. She
was not yet weary enough to need sleep.
***

   In her dreams she returned to Lorien to relive her
last visit there. While her father and grandparents
argued she had looked into Galadriel's mirror, seeking
news of Aragorn.

   She saw the near disaster in the snows of
Caradhras, and Gandalf's fall in Moria. The Company's
brief respite in Lorien; Frodo fronting her
Grandmother in this very grove - and Galadriel's final
victory over the pride and ambition that had driven
her all her long life.

   She saw the breaking of the Fellowship; Frodo's
flight across the river with Sam. Boromir's brief fall
and quick repentence, and his death in defense of the
young Hobbits who, dispite all he could do, were
carried off prisoner by the Uruk Hai of Saruman. And
she saw Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli tracking them
across the rocky hills of Rohan.

   After that the visions had fragmented into
possibilities. She saw Aragorn die under Orcish
swords, in torment in the dungeons of Barad-dur,
stabbed to the heart by a treacherous Steward, without
blenching. These things would not happen.

   She saw a joyless victory. A solitary King ruling
for long lonely years before passing his throne to an
heir of his blood, but not his body. And a tear fell
into the water, sending ripples across the vision. For
that *could* happen. That was the future her father -
and his own misguided nobility would condemn him to.

  *And what of me?* she'd asked the mirror. *Would the
Blessed Land heal my grief as my Father claims?*

   She saw the silver domes of Valimar of the Bells,
Taniquetil shining in the sun, Elven Tirion, and a
house on Eressea where her father dwelt with her
mother and a gentle, smiling, empty eyed shell that
could no longer be called Arwen Undomiel. Whose
company was agony, not joy, to those who had loved
her.
   
   That too could happen, if she let it.

   She would not.

   Arwen had returned obediently to Rivendell with her
father. But that very night she had put on the shadow
cloak Luthien Tinuviel had woven of night colored
silks and her own black hair and embued with spells of
sleep and concealment, to walk unseen into Elrond's
library and up the steps to the gallery where the
statue of Elemmire cradled the shards of Elendil's
sword. And she took them.

   She brought them not to a Rivendell smith, owing
allegiance to her father, but to a guest; Fingol
Goldenhand of the House of Feanor, and his companion.

   *Narsil.* he had said softly. *Forged by Telchar of
Belegost under the light of the young sun and moon. If
it is not to loose its virtue it must be reforged by
their light as well.* and he'd smiled at her. *I know
an old forge in a hidden dell. We will do it there.*

   She'd stood watching as the fragments of metal were
heated and hammered, reshaped into a single blade,
under a full moon; the ensign of Isildur. But Fingol
had waited till sunrise for the final forging, and as
he raised the remade blade in salute to the Bright
Maiden sun and moonlight mingled ran down the blade
like water and Arwen felt tears on her cheeks.

   *It is beautiful. Thank you.*

   *It will need scabbard and belt.* Fingol had said
as he laid it across her waiting hands."

   *I have those.* She'd answered. Long made and
waiting in a chest in her chamber.
***

   Arwen opened her eyes to a room completely dark
save for a faint glimmer of starlight from the window.
She got up, pushed the shutters all the way open and
looked southward over the Wilds of Enedwaith.

   "Do I risk travelling by night?" she asked herself,
fingering the soft stuff of her cloak. "The King needs
his sword. Do I dare a night ride to bring it to him?"

   "Yes."

The old South Road was lined with the camps of folk
fleeing the Shadow in the south. The companies, large
and small, slept within circled wagons with armed Men
standing watch. But the guards did not see Arwen as
she flashed past on Asfaloth, both shrouded in spells
of shadow and silence.

   The camps were widely spaced, with long stretches
of empty road between. As she galloped along one such
Arwen suddenly saw red fire bloom like an evil flower
on the side of the road ahead, and heard the cries of
Women and children. She drew Hadhafang (1) and the
blade glowed blue, Orcs!

   Not just Orcs, she soon saw, but giant Uruk Hai
bearing the White Hand. Arwen threw back Luthien's
cloak, her spells of concealment fraying away as she
charged them with a cry of "Elrond and Imladris!"

   Asfaloth crushed one Uruk beneath his hooves and
Arwen sliced the head from another's shoulders. She
caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her
eye, drew her dagger left handed and threw it with
deadly accuracy into throat of a third. Asfaloth
pivoted and Arwen saw, by the light of the burning
wagons, two more Uruks, crossbowmen, preparing to
fire.

   She no longer had her Evenstar but had brought with
her a jewel almost as powerful; the Elfstone of Idril
Celebrindal. She called on the sunlight locked within
the jewel and it blazed around her, bright as day.

   The Uruks cried out in shock. One dropped his bow,
the other fired a bolt that flared sun gold and
vanished. And then the Men behind her cut them down
with arrows.

   Arwen looked at Hadhafang, dripping black Orc blood
onto her glove, and saw the light in it flicker and
fail. The enemy was dead or fled. She looked then at
the flaming wagons and called on the memory of summer
rains locked within the Elessar to douse them.
Darkness fell over all. Then somebody lit a lantern,
and another.

   The Men, Women and children stood staring at her in
the yellow light. She stared back at them. After a
moment she remembered to wipe the blood from her blade
on the skirts of her surcoat and sheath it. Found her
voice. "Is anybody hurt?"

   Two Men were wounded, one gravely. Arwen, when she
came to sew up the long gash in his side, found her
hands were trembling so she couldn't hold the needle.
An older Woman took it gently from her.

  "Here, let me, m'lady."

   A Man of like age helped her to her feet, and she
needed the help for her legs were shaking as badly as
her hands. He sat her down on a wagon haft and
produced a leather cup. "Drink this, m'lady."

   It was mulled wine and she swallowed it gratefully.

   "Your first battle?" he asked sympathetically.

   "The first at least in which I have fought." she
admitted. "I am a healer not a warrior, though I have
been taught the use of arms."

   "Everybody feels weak and sick after their first
blooding." the Man told her reassuringly.

   Arwen nodded. She'd heard her father and brothers
say the same to many generations of Isildur's Heirs. 
"One becomes accustomed, they say, but it should never
become easy."

   "No indeed." the Man agreed emphatically. Grimaced,
though it's hard to feel much compunction over Orcs."
he hesitated a moment. "If I may ask, m'lady, what are
you doing out here all alone?"

   "I am going South to join my husband who is in
Rohan." she answered.

   His eyebrows quirked. "Does he know you're coming?"

   "No." Arwen admitted. "But I want to be with him."

   "Of course you do." said the Woman coming to join
them. Looked pointedly at the Man. "If your husband
makes a fuss tell him you've a right to choose for
yourself where you want to die - and in what company."

   "Still, travelling alone through such country!" the
Man protested, speaking to his wife rather than Arwen.

   "There is a party of my kinsmen on the road ahead
of me." Arwen told him. "I hope to catch up with them
soon."

   Man and Woman exchanged a look.

   "We have seen them I think," the Woman told her, "A
party of Dunedain knights with two Elves."

   "Those are my brothers. But we are Mortal though we
have Elven blood. We too belong to the Dunedain of the
North."

   "They are perhaps two days ahead of you." the Man
warned, still concerned.

   "Asfaloth is very fast. I will catch up with them
tomorrow perhaps."
  
   But she spent the rest of the night in the
encampment, and this time she did sleep.
***

   She woke to find a clutch of wide eyed children
peeking round the tent flap at her, only to scamper
away the moment she stirred.

   She emerged to find several Men, including the
older one who'd been so kind last night, inspecting
the scorched contents of the four burnt wagons.

   "Have you lost much?" she asked.

   "No, we've been lucky thanks to you, m'lady. You
put the fires out before they had time to do much
harm." he gave her a considering look. "I am Celegorm
son of Curufin."

   Arwen maintained a calm front with some difficulty.
Aragorn had told her about the Gondorim's fondness for
First Age names, but how anybody could burden a child
with those two was beyond her. "I am Arwen daughter of
Elrond."

   He took it without a flicker, naturally assuming
her father had been named for *the* Elrond. There was
a tug on her sleeve and she looked down into the
small, serious face of a little girl.

   "Are you a witch?"

   "Elleth!" Celegorm said scandalized.

   "No I'm not." Arwen answered quickly, with a smile
to show she was not offended. She wasn't quite sure
what a witch was but she knew it was not anything she
wished to be taken for.

   "But that was magic, wasn't it?" the child
insisted. "The light and then making the fires go
out?" 

   "Yes, I suppose it was." Arwen unfastened the
silver eagle brooch with its great green stone from
her cloak and showed it to Elleth. "This belonged to
my Elven grandmother, it has certain virtues that
helped me last night."

   "I thought you were an Elf." the girl said, clearly
disappointed.

   Arwen shook her head firmly. "I am a Woman, but I
have Elven blood and so look like one of the Elder
race."
***
 
   Her hosts gave her porridge and thin ale for
breakfast and told her they had come all the way from
the marches of Anorien and Rohan and been on the road
for some four months.

   Celegorm, their leader, was a man of Gondor of
mixed Dunedain and Northmen blood but his wife
Leofwyn, and half their party, were Rohirrim. And they
had only bad news to tell of both realms.

   "I no longer trust the Lord Steward's judgement."
Celegorm said bluntly. "First he sends the Lord
Boromir off on some mad errand and then he keeps the
Lord Faramir out in Ithilien. East and South are
crawling like ant hills with marching armies and Mount
Doom belches fire night and day they say, yet Denethor
does nothing."

   "And King Theoden is no better," Leofmund,
Leofwyn's brother, put in bitterly, "he sits in Edoras
and listens only to the Wormtongue. Some say he's been
bewitched, and I believe it. Such a sudden failing
cannot be natural."

   "And so, no longer trusting our lords to defend us,
we left our homes and headed north away from the
Shadow of Mordor." Celegorm finished.

   "I fear you will find no more peace in Eriador."
Arwen told them sadly. "Yet I can promise you the the
Heirs of the Kings of Old will do all in their power
to defend their people."

   "So it's true.... there is an Heir of Isildur."
Celegorm said slowly.

   Arwen nodded. "And at this moment his kinsmen are
preparing to march, with what strength they have,
against foes north and east."

   "Which is considerably more than *our* lords are
doing." Leofwyn said grimly.
*****

   After bidding her chance companions farewell Arwen
urged Asfaloth into a gallop, not on the road but
beside it, to avoid becoming entangled with the
companies of refugees heading northward. 
  
   There were many of these - and they seemed to grow
ever more haggard and ill equipped the further south
she rode.(2)

   By late afternoon she spotted a mounted party
headed southward, like her riding alongside rather
than on the road. They saw her too it seemed, for they
stopped and waited for her to catch them up.

   As she came to a halt before them Halbarad closed
his eyes in resignation and her brother Elrohir
groaned aloud.

   "Didn't I tell you it was Asfaloth? Arwen, Little
Sister, have you gone mad? Does Father know where you
are?"

   "He does by now." she answered steadily. "Don't
scold, Elrohir, I'd be no safer in Rivendell."

   That got their attention. She turned to Halbarad.
"Greymere's been taken, Aranel and the children are
safe but the Line is broken. Armies of Men, Orcs and
other things are massing in Angmar, the Ettenmoors and
Hollin. Gilvagor, Beruthiel and Belecthor are
preparing to march openly against them. The time for
secrecy, they say, is past. And I," she concluded
simply, "am bringing Elendil's sword to his Heir."

   Halbarad's hands clenched on his reins but all he
said, almost to himself, was: "Aragorn still has need
of his kin." then he smiled a faint, wintery Ranger
smile at her. "And as we can neither take nor send you
back, my Lady Arwen, we have no choice but to bring
you with us."

   "Thank you, Halbarad." she said with relief. "Don't
worry, Aragorn will know who to blame."

   "Indeed he will." the Ranger agreed drily.
***

   There were thirty and one Rangers, mailed and
helmed beneath cloaks of dark grey fastened on the
shoulder by the Star of the North, worn openly as a
badge. Her brothers, in their bright Elvish armor and
mantles of glimmering silver-grey, rode on either side
of her.

   "What have you done, Arwen," Elladan asked quietly.
"and how did you get Luthien's cloak?"

   "Ivorwen gave it to me when I visited the Havens
last year - no, two years ago now." she answered.(3)

   Elrohir frowned. "It should go to Aranel, her
daughter's daughter."

   "So I told her." Arwen agreed. "But she said I was
also her granddaughter, and Luthien's too, and I had
greater need of it." (4)

   "And did you?" Elladan asked.

   She swallowed. "I - I used it to take the shards of
Narsil secretly from their place. Fingol reforged them
for me."

   "Without Father's knowledge." said Elrohir. It was
not a question.

   "You don't know what it's been like," she told the
fingers twined in Asfaloth's mane, "I tell him and I
tell him I've made my choice - but he won't listen! He
goes on arguing, pleading...I cannot bear to hurt him
so but I must!" tears slid unheeded down her face. "I
could stand no more of it. He has cleared Rivendell
and sent our people to the Ships." softly. "I let him
think I would go with them."

   "Oh Arwen!" Elrohir groaned.

   "I know, I know!" she sobbed. "I am a liar, and a
coward. But I had to get away! And I was afraid -
afraid he wouldn't let me go."

   "Arwen!" both brothers stared at her, agast.

   Elladan said: "You can't think - you can't believe
he'd use force against you?"

   "I don't know!" she cried. "He's desperate,
Brother, I think he might do anything to keep me - and
how can I blame him? He's already lost his sons, I am
all the child he has left. If I stay behind too our
mother will never see any of her children again - and
it will be he who must tell her so!"

   The twins flinched a little at the thought of
Celebrian, well and happy again in Valinor, waiting
confidently for her family to join her.

   "But she will see you again." Halbarad said
quietly. The other Rangers were studiously pretending
not to hear but he had fallen back to ride alongside
Elrohir. "And you will see her," he continued to
Arwen, "and your father and all your other kin. You
will just have to wait a little longer."

   "Till the End of the World." Elladan said, with a
wry grimace.

   Halbarad nodded. "A long time I grant you. But long
is not never."
*****************

1. Hadhafang is the blade forged for Idril Celebrindal
in Gondolin before its fall, which she used to defend
herself as she wandered the streets of the burning
city searching for survivors to send down her Hidden
Way.  

2. These are refugees fleeing the devestation of the
Westfold.

3. Luthien left her cloak to her adopted daughter
Elanor, Beren's brother's child, who married a lord of
the Green Elves. Elanor's daughter married Elurin son
of Dior and the cloak has passed from mother to
daughter in her line ever since. Ivorwen, Aragorn's
maternal grandmother, is its latest owner. 

4. Ivorwen means Arwen is, or will be, her
granddaughter by marriage of course.

The company of thirty and one Rangers included
Halbarad's two sons, Halladan and Barahir, who had
been fostered with Aragorn in Imladris.(1) Barahir had
served Rohan's former king and known the country well
once - but that had been more than forty years ago.

   "There was no forest in the Wizard's Vale in my
day." he told his father as the company sat their
horses on the crest of Dol Baran, looking down into
the vale.

   "This is no new planted wood," Halbarad mused, "the
trees are tall and knarled with time."

   "They are not trees," Elladan said abruptly, "but
Huorns. See, there are eyes watching us!"

   Arwen wet her lips. "The last word we had from the
south said Saruman had begun taking wood from Fangorn
Forest to fuel his furnaces."

   Halbarad nodded slowly. "It seems he has paid the
price of such folly. Come, we will see who holds
Orthanc now and ask for tidings of Aragorn."

   The atmosphere of the Huorn wood was surprisingly
peaceful. Arwen sensed a sated, drowsy contentment.
Hidden eyes watched them pass but without hostility,
or indeed much interest.

   "They have had their fill of vengeance." Elrohir
murmured to her. "And are ready to sleep again."

   Suddenly a rowan tree opened great greeny-brown
eyes and raised a branch/arm commanding them to halt.
The company reined in at once, the Men exchanging
quick smiles, normal Ranger grimness briefly lifted by
sheer delight at sight of this reminder of the Elder
World.

   "Ha Hmm. Who are you and what is your business in
the Watch Wood?"

   Halbarad unsmiled with an effort, bowed
respectfully. "I am Halbarad Dunadan comanding a
company of Rangers of the North. We are seeking our
Chief, Aragorn son of Arathorn, who we have heard is
in Rohan."

   "Ha Hmm?" The Ent studied them thoughtfully. The
Rangers suffered his scrutiny with their usual silent,
motionless patience. But after several minutes had
passed Arwen's failed. She opened her mouth to speak -
only to be silenced by a firm hand over hers and sharp
look from Elladan.

   Finally the Ent spoke: "I am called Bregalad in the
Elvish tongue, or 'Quickbeam' in the common language.
I will take you to Fangorn. You may ask your questions
of him."

   "But will we get any answers?" Elrohir wondered,
sotto-voce. 
***

   The ring of Isengard had become a lake of grey
water in which spars, beams, chests, casks and other
flotsam bobbed. A number of Ents were busily pulling
down what remained of the great wall ha-ing and
hoom-ing happily as they worked.

   Quickbeam approached a knarled old Ent
resembling a mighty oak tree. Slowly the leafy head
turned to give the Grey Company yet another long,
careful, considering look. Then the greeny-brown eyes
met Arwen's and widened.

   The Ent covered the distance between them in three
long strides, Arwen just managed to hold Asfaloth
still. "Ha Hoom!" he boomed delightedly. "Why it's
little Luthien, what brings you to Isengard, my dear?"

   For a moment she could only gape up at him, then
she recovered herself enough to stammer: "I - I am not
Luthien. My name is Arwen. Luthien was my foremother,
some say I am very like her."

   "Indeed you are, indeed you are." the old Ent
agreed. "But I was forgetting, little Luthien and her
Man Beren both left Middle Earth long ago.... Long ago
even as we Ents measure it...." the great head shook
sadly. "So, Little One, what can Old Treebeard do for
Luthien's child?"

   "Treebeard." she echoed in sudden realization. "Of
course, how stupid of me! You are that same Fangorn
who aided Luthien when she ran away to find the sea."
(2)

   "Hoom! Hoom!" Treebeard chuckled reminiscently.
"Such a pretty little creature, but so reckless. Ha
Hoom! So the story is still remembered?"

   "It is indeed, told and retold to generations of
Luthien and Beren's descendants." Arwen shot an
inquiring look at Halbarad, but he nodded for her to
continue. "We come from the North seeking Aragorn son
of Arathorn, chief of the Dunedain. Can you give us
any news of him?"
    
   "Ha Hoom!" Treebeard boomed meditatively. "Let me
see....Yes..... Gandalf and the King of Rohan had a
Nunatan, a Man of the West, with them. But the Hobbits
called him Strider, not Aragorn."

   "That is the Man." said Halbarad. "He goes by many
names. Can you tell us where we might find him?"

   "Well....no....not for certain. But he and Gandalf
left with Theoden King and might be with him still."

   "Then we will seek news of him at Edoras." Halbarad
decided. "Thank you, Master Fangorn, for your aid."

   "Not at all, not at all." the Ent replied, eyes
straying back to Arwen. "Ha Hoom. Alas, even the
fairest flowers must fade." 

   Arwen lowered her eyes uncomfortably. She had heard
such remarks before and heartily resented the
implication she was somehow duty bound to preserve her
beauty eternally for the admiration of all. She was a
woman, not a work of art!

   "But every year new flowers bloom." Halbarad said
gently.

   "Hoom! Hoom! Very true, Master Ranger, very true.
Fare you well...and good fortune to you."
***

   With Saruman defeated there was no longer any
reason not to travel openly on the Great West Road
that ran from the Fords of Isen to Minas Tirith. They
found it crowded with Rohirrim returning to their
homes in the Westfold from the refuge of Helm's Deep.

   It seemed to Arwen that many of the refugees looked
at the Men of the Grey Company with something very
like recognition, but she didn't learn why until they
made camp by the roadside that night, surrounded by
Rohirrim travellers doing the same.

   Arwen, settling down to sleep, sensed the sudden
alertness of her companions and looked up to see a
small group of fair haired Rohirrim Men standing
uncertainly at the edge of their camp.

   Barahir sprang to his feet to greet them
courteously in their own tongue. She understood only
one word of the reply but that was enough to bring her
eagerly to Barahir's side. "Aragorn! They have seen
him? They have news of him?"

   "Yes, m'lady, answered one of the Rohirrim, in
slightly halting Westron.(3) "The Lord Aragorn fought
for us at Helm's Deep. The Lady of the Golden Wood
sent an Elven army to aid him - and us."

   "What's this?" Elladan said sharply, in surprise.
"Our Grandparents decided to honor the Alliance after
all?"

   Arwen closed her eyes in gratitude. *Thank you
Grandmother, thank you Grandfather.*

   "Elven archers came and placed themselves under the
Lord Aragorn's command. They say he is descended from
the Kings of Old and so part Elf and kin to their
lords." The Rohirrim explained. "As you too are
Dunedain we wondered if perhaps you were seeking news
of the Lord Aragorn?"

   "We are indeed." Halbarad said, coming forward. "We
have come from the North to join him for he is our
kinsman and Chieftain. We were told he might be with
Theoden King at Edoras."

   The Man shook his head. "Not at Edoras. The Beacons
have been lit, Gondor calls for aid. The King musters
his army at Dunharrow and the Lord Aragorn, they say,
means to ride with them."

   "As will we." said Halbarad.
*******************************************

1. See 'The Last Homely House' by this author (adv.)

2. This is a story from Luthien's childhood, long
before Morgoth's release and the Wars of the First
Age. She heard her kinsman Cirdan speak of the sea and
decided to go see it for herself. A dangerous
undertaking in the Dark of the World.

3. The country folk of the Westfold tend to be less
fluent in the Gondor derived Common Tongue, being
farther away  from the Southern Kingdom.

 
   The narrow mountain gorge suddenly opened into an
upland dale. Campfires and stands of torches showed
row upon row of small white tents. The rudy light
reflecting off the fair hair and steel corselets of
the Men moving between them.

   A trio of riders came towards the Company at a hand
gallop, all three were armed but the leader was
unhelmeted with long grey hair flying in the wind of
his speed. They reined to a neat, collected halt
directly in front of Halbarad and Barahir spears
leveled.

   "Who are you strangers, who intrude uninvited upon
the muster of Rohan?" the old Rider demanded.

   "No stranger to you, Grimbold." said Barahir. He
put back his hood, took off his helmet and smiled into
the other Man's stunned face.

   The Rider's mouth worked a moment before words
emerged: "Elfstan? But it cannot be! You are his son
perhaps?"

   Barahir shook his head. "No son but Elfstan
himself." His eyes twinkled. "Do you remember the time
you mistook the pots and painted my shield with
quicklime that ate through the wood, my careless
squire?"

   The old Man's eyes went round. "My Lord Elfstan, it
is you! But..but you have not aged a day!"

   Barahir grimaced. "Oh yes I have, but not enough to
show by this light. I am a Dunedain of the North, my
companions and I come seeking our Chieftain, Aragorn
son of Arathorn. We were told we would find him here."

   "He is here. He is housed in the Hold, along with
the King."
***

   The 'hold' of Dunharrow was no more than a mountain
shelf where the King, his earls and household troops
were encamped. It was reached by a narrow path
zig-zagging its way up the mountainside. At each turn
was a huge, humped statue so weathered as to be almost
unrecognizable as the work of Men's hands.

   "Pukel Men the Rohirrim call them." Elledhir, the
eldest of the Company, told Arwen quietly as they
climbed. "Stone sentinels set up by the Druedain who
made this place as a refuge from the malice of other
Men during the Dark Years."

   She looked at him in surprise, and he smiled. "I
too have served in Rohan in my time. The smile faded.
"I came here with Folca, at the end of the Orc Wars,
to hunt the boar of Everholt. And I helped carry his
body back home to Edoras to lie beside his fathers."
he sighed. Then turned to smile wryly at her. "That
was five generations, or more, of the Rohirrim ago.
There are none of their folk now alive who would
remember me." (1)

   Arwen nodded recognizing a familiar grief, one the
Elves shared with the Dunedain, the remedyless sorrow
for the quick passing of other Men.

   Arwen entered the King's tent with Halbarad, his
sons, and her two brothers. The rest of the company
dismounted and waited outside.

   Theoden King, like Grimbold, recognized Barahir at
once but was far less shaken. "The Lord Aragorn told
me your right name but I do not remember it."

   "I am Barahir. This is my father, Halbarad, captain
of our Company."

   Now Theoden's eyes did widen, as he did his sums
and realized the Man facing him must be at least twice
his own age.(2)

   "This is my brother, Halladan." Barahir continued.
"And Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond Half-Elven.
And their sister the Lady Arwen, who is Aragorn's
affianced wife."

   It seemed to Arwen a stricken look flashed across
Theoden's face at the words, but it was gone so
quickly she wondered if she'd imagined it. Certainly
there was nothing but kindness in the smile he gave
her along with his hand. "Welcome, my lady, please
sit. Would you care for some wine or other
refreshment?"

   "No, no thank you." her heart was begining to pound
uncomfortably hard and she sank gratefully onto the
cushioned stool, but would surely have choked had she
tried to swallow anything. Suddenly she was not at all
sure of her welcome. What if Aragorn was angry with
her? What if he didn't want her, sent her away?

   She heard his voice outside the tent, greeting the
Rangers of the Company, and her heart leaped into her
throat. Then the tent flap was pulled aside and he
came in, looking tired and disheveled in an unbelted
red shirt she didn't recognize. Not one she had made
for him.

   The King, still bent solicitiously over her, made
her a slight, courtly bow. "I will take my leave."

   Aragorn looked after him, puzzled. Then at
Halbarad. "Uncle, what are you doing here?"

   "Word came to us from Rivendell that Aragorn had
need of his kin. So I gathered as many as I could in
haste, thirty all told as you will have seen." he
nodded towards the twins. "Elladan and Elrohir chose
to ride with us. And another caught up with us on the
road."

   Aragorn turned towards her and she stood up,
putting back her hood. "Arwen." he breathed, but it
was impossible to tell if what he felt was unexpected
joy or deepest dismay.

   She tried to smile. "The days now are short. Either
our hope comes or all hopes end. And so I have come to
thee, to share with thee whichever fate befalls."

   He closed his eyes, as if in pain. "Oh, Arwen, you
shouldn't have come. I thought we'd agreed your
destiny lies in the West with your people."

   "No, that is what you and my father agreed between
you!" suddenly she was furiously angry. "Who are you
to decide my destiny? The choice is mine and I have
chosen the Dunedain for my people. Here I stay, to
live and die a mortal Woman in my home of Middle
Earth." she paused for breath, fought to keep her
voice steady. "If you no longer love me you have but
to say so and I will never trouble you again."

   She was trembling, tears briming in her eye so she
couldn't see his face properly, but the pain in his
voice was unmistakeable.

   "You don't believe that." he took her by the
shoulders, almost shook her. "You *cannot* believe
that."

   "Sometimes it's very hard not to," she managed
thickly as the tears overflowed and ran down her
cheeks. "when you keep putting me off year after year
after year..."

   He gathered her to his heart and she gave in to her
tears, sobbing freely into the strange shirt. After a
long moment he pushed her gently away and wiped the
tears from her face with his sleeve. Then he took the
Evenstar from around his neck and offered it her. Her
heart nearly stopped.

  "You gave this to me as a gift." he said softly.
"Take it back now as my pledge to thee, of heart and
hand as long as my life shall last."

   The tears began to flow again as she clutched the
familiar jewel tight in her hand, the sharp edges
digging into the flesh. *At last, at last!*

   "Arwen," Elrohir prompted gently, but with an
undertone of amusement. "You must give him a token in
return."

   She fumbled with the brooch at her throat. "Recieve
this elfstone, my Elfstone, in token of my pledge of
heart and hand so long as my life lasts."

   And then he was kissing her, and she was clinging
to him, never wanting it to end.

   From somewhere far away she heard her brother
Elladan say. "Well thank all the Powers *that's*
finally settled!"

   "And about time too." Halladan agreed.

   They broke apart. "We thank you for your good
wishes, Brothers." Aragorn said, rather breathlessly
as she snuggled contentedly into the curve of his arm.

   Halbarad smiled, a little sadly. "Since neither of
you has any parent here an uncle must serve." He held
out his hand, Aragorn laid his in it, and Arwen put
hers over it, then Halbarad covered them both.

   "May the One who is Father to us all bless your
union and give you long years together. Though parted
in body may you never be so in heart."

   "So let it be." they all responded. Then Arwen put
her arms around Halbarad's neck and kissed him.

   "Thank you, Halya." she whispered, and tried not to
think of the father who had so determinedly refused
her marriage his blessing.

   "You are welcome, Niece!" the old Ranger replied
with a sly twinkle behind the tears in his eyes. "And
I expect to be treated with all the respect due an
elder kinsman from now on, Arwen Undomiel."

   "Yes, Uncle." she said quickly, mock demure.

   "Now, Dunadan," Halbarad continued over her head to
Aragorn, "are we to ride with the Rohirrim?"

   "I almost forgot," Arwen cried before he could
answer. "I have something else for you, Husband."
Reaching under her cloak she unbuckled a sword belt
far to long for her sleander waist and brought out the
long, heavy weapon to present it across the palms of
her hands to Aragorn.

   "From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from
the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that
was broken, The crownless again shall be King."

   For a moment he just stared at the sword, as if
unable to believe his eyes, then he took it from her
and drew it. Sunlight and moonlight ran along the
remade blade outshining both lamp and brazier. Aragorn
read aloud the runes on the blade.

   "I am Anduril, Flame of the West, who was Narsil
the sword of Elendil. Let the thralls of Mordor flee
me!" slowly he nodded. "This only was wanting." he
turned suddenly, the blade flashing in his hand, to
his foster brothers. "Hallam, Amin, do you remember
the dream we shared when we were boys?"

   The looks on Halladan and Barahir's faces showed
that they did, the twins too seemed to understand but
Halbarad looked as baffled as Arwen herself. (3)

   "It was the year the White Council drove Sauron
from Dol Guldur." Aragorn explained. "Hallam, Amin and
I all dreamed one night that we were sailing on black
ships to the rescue of a white city of seven circles.
You were with us, Uncle," he looked down at Arwen,
"and I had Narsil - Anduril in my hand and you at my
side." turned back to the others. "I have Seen Corsair
ships ravaging Gondor's coast, keeping the levies of
the South provinces from coming to the city's aid.
They must be stopped."

   "We're still short an army, Aragorn." Barahir
pointed out.

   "Not to mention having the White Mountains between
us and the sea." added his brother.

   "Father sent you a message, Aragorn." Elrohir said
suddenly. "He bid you to remember Isildur's Heir may
walk roads closed to all others, and summon to him an
army more deadly than any that walk the earth."

   Aragorn nodded slowly. "The Paths of the Dead. I
have thought of taking that road."

   "You would call on the oathbreakers?" Halbarad
frowned. "Traitors and murderers, an unchancy tool at
best."

   "I know." said his nephew. "But we must have an
army and a road to the sea. Here in Dunharrow are both
ready to hand. We have no choice if we are to save
Minas Tirith." no one made any answer to that. "We
ride the hour before dawn. Get what rest you can in
the meantime." the Men nodded and left.

   Aragorn turned to Arwen. "I must speak to Theoden
King." taking her arm he led her to the tent flap and
pointed to another domed pavillion nearby. "That is my
tent. Wait for me there, Wife."
***
  
   The Rohirrim had housed Aragorn according to his
rank in a tent fully as large and well furnished as
the King's own, but lacking the banners and other
touches of royal ceremony. Arwen took off her riding
dress and sat in her shift combing the dust of the
road from her long hair.

   *At last! At last*

   It seemed a very long time before Aragorn finally
came in, his face clouded by a trouble Arwen knew had
nothing to do with her.

   "Theoden is not pleased."

   A rueful smile flickered across his face. "Not
pleased at all." a sigh. "The Rohirrim know the
Dimholt gate. From time to time princes and lords of
their people have passed it seeking adventure. None
ever returned."

   "But you and those who go with you will return."

   Another wry smile. "So I told him. I don't think he
believed me." he looked at Anduril in his hand. "Where
did you get the belt and the scabbard? they are
beautiful."

   "I made them." she answered, voice suddenly husky,
as he laid the sword carefully on a table and came
towards her. "There's a banner too. I've had more than
enough time for needlework waiting for you."

   He reached out to run a gentle hand through her
hair. "I'm sorry."

   "So you should be." she said breathlessly as he sat
down on the bench beside her. "Beren made Luthien wait
too - it must be something in the blood."

   "All Men are fools." he agreed, leaning towards
her.

   "Women too." she said, just before their lips met.

****************************************

1. Elledhir comes of an ancient noble house of Elven
descent. he is one hundred and ninety one years old,
and only now begining to show signs of age.

2. Halbarad, a contemporary and cousin of Arathorn, is
one hundred and forty-five years old.

3. See 'Last Homely House' by this author (adv.)

 Arwen had been more than half expecting Aragorn to
suggest she remain behind in Dunharrow with the
Rohirrim Women and children but he didn't. Perhaps he
was learning.

   "You are one of the Dunedain of the North now,
Wife." he warned. "I expect you to obey your Chieftain
as my other folk do."

   She made innocent eyes at him. "Of course,
Dunadan."

   He shook his head. "No. Seriously, Arwen."

   "Seriously." she said turning grave as he. "I have
been taught Ranger discipline by your own Grandmother,
Aragorn. I will obey any order you give me as my
captain."

   He studied her face, smiled. "I believe you." Held
out his hand. "Time to go."

   The Grey Company had assembled behind Aragorn's
tent in the dark hour just before dawn but was not yet
mounted when a fair haired Rohirrim Woman erupted
among them, arrowing straight to Aragorn. She was
young, lovely and distraught.

   Her voice was not loud but clearly audible to
Elvish and Dunedain ears. "You cannot mean to leave
now, on the eve of battle!"

   Aragorn's answer they could not hear, for it was
pitched Ranger fashion to reach no further than the
ear of his listener. 

   "We need you here! You are our captain and our
hope, you cannot abandon us!"

   Again he answered, and again she was not satisfied.
"Then let me ride with you!"

   By now Arwen had worked her way close enough to
catch Aragorn's reply. "You know I cannot do that
Eowyn, why do you ask?"

   "Do you not know?" she asked, with a simple
poignancy that cut Arwen to the heart.

   Aragorn seemed to brace himself. "You love but a
shadow and a thought." he said, hard words gently
spoken. "A dream of glory and great deeds and lands
far from Rohan." with real pain. "I cannot give you
what you want."

   Arwen had heard enough, too much, she started to
back away but the other woman caught the motion out of
the corner of her eye and turned. Their eyes met.

   Arwen saw a bedazzled child, worshipping a hero out
of legend with all the fervor of an innocent heart. A
heart that was breaking right before their eyes. She
took an impulsive step towards her, stopped at
Aragorn's sharp gesture.

   "This is Arwen." he said quietly. "I was mistaken,
Eowyn, when I told you she had gone oversea. She has
chosen to cleave to me and renounced the Blessed
Land."

   Eowyn said nothing. Just stood there, white and
cold, like a frost blighted lily. Arwen wished
desperately she'd cry. This kind of frozen shock was
dangerous. She looked at Aragorn. He shook his head.

   "Farewell, Lady of Rohan. May fortune bless you."

   He mounted and Arwen had no choice but to follow
suit. Her last glimpse of  Eowyn was that pale,
stricken face looking after them, still without a
tear. *Maybe when she's alone she'll cry.*

   She looked at Aragorn. He seemed in almost as bad a
case. "Estel?"

   "I have been a fool." he said bitterly, sighed.
"She is very young, and brave and high spirited." a
pale smile touched his face. "Very like my White
Flower."

   Arwen nodded understanding. "But she is neither a
child nor your daughter." (1)

   "No." he agreed grimly.

  They wended their way between the tents towards the
gap in the cliff face at the rear of the shelf. Passed
the Dwarf Gimli sitting beside his pavillion, pipe in
hand.

   "And where do you think you're going?" he asked, a
dangerous glint in his eye.

   "Not this time, Gimli." Aragorn told him.

   "Have you learned nothing about the stubborness of
Dwarves?" a clear, Elven voice asked. And there was
Legolas, smiling and leading a white horse.

   "We're going with you, laddie." Gimli said, moving
to stand, thick and immoveable, beside his companion.
"To whatever end. Accept it."

   "It seems I have no choice." Aragorn conceeded. Elf
and Dwarf exchanged triumphant grins.

   The camp of the Rohirrim seemed strangely wakeful
for such an hour, many eyes watched as the Grey
Company filed through the narrow gap of the Dimholt
gate.

   Gimli rode pillion behind Legolas. Elf, Dwarf and
horse all seemingly well accustomed to the
arrangement. Clearly Legolas' guarded relationship
with this member of the Fellowship had changed greatly
since they'd left Rivendell.

   Arwen looked at Aragorn. He was frowning broodingly
into the darkness ahead, still troubled about the
girl. She reached over to take his hand. "Eowyn will
be all right." she said gently, drawing on her own
vast experience with infatuated young Men. "Time and
distance are the best medicines." glanced sidelong at
Halbarad, riding alongside. "Indeed some of my
admirers have forgotten me with almost insulting speed
after meeting a few eligible young ladies of their own
kind!"

   Halbarad smiled. "I have never stopped loving you,
my sweet Arwen. Those girls simply helped me put that
feeling into its proper perspective." looked past her
at his nephew. "Hopefully there will be some gallant
Rider to do the same for Eowyn."

   But Aragorn shook his head. "I would it were that
simple. Eowyn has suffered deeply this past year or
more. Watched her uncle sink into dotage, her country
fall under the shadow of Saruman, lost a cousin who
was as a brother to her - and now this."

   Arwen bit her lip. Aragorn was right. There had
been more than simple heartbreak in Eowyn's white
face, something very close to true despair.

   "I fear for her." he said quietly, adding grimly.
"I should never have paid her such attention."

   Come, Aragorn, we all did." Legolas argued from
behind them. "Gimli here flirted shamelessly." to
Arwen. "I had no idea Dwarves were such expert squires
of ladies!"

   "A sweet child with a lovely laugh." Gimli said
quietly. "It lifted my heart to hear it."

   "Mine too." Legolas agreed softly. Then: "She is
young and brave, she will recover Aragorn."

   "I hope so." he answered
***********************************

1. Aragorn and Arwen are refering to Aranel, also
called Niphredil, who is Aragorn's cousin and foster
daughter. See 'The Road to Rivendell', 'Rangers of the
North' and 'The King's Folk' by this author (adv.)

The increasing light showed they were in a
steepwalled gorge of bare and weathered rock. Gimli
looked about him dubiously.

"What kind of an army would linger in such a place?"

"A dead one." said Barahir.

The Dwarf nearly unseated himself whipping around
to stare at the Ranger. "What's that?"

"The people who lived in these high valleys in the
Second Age swore allegiance to Gondor when the Kingdom
was founded," Barahir explained, "but when Isildur
summoned them to war they killed his messengers and
hid in their caves, yet they could not escape his
vengeance.

"Isildur bound them beyond life to these barren
crags, cursed them never to find rest until their oath
was fulfilled."

Gimli swallowed. "And that's the army we're
seeking? An army of wraiths?"

"You wanted to come." Aragorn reminded him without
turning.

"I haven't changed my mind!" the Dwarf snapped
back, but Arwen heard him grumbling under his breath,
caught the words 'Men' and 'quite mad'.

Aragorn heard them too, she saw him hide a grin.

The gorge ended in a high, stony glen of dead
trees. "Just gets better and better doesn't it?" Gimli
muttered.

This time no one smiled. Arwen shivered. There was
death here. No - worse then death, unlife. A shadow
existence bound to Arda yet no longer of it. She felt
sick. How could Isildur have done such a thing? Snuck
a look at Aragorn's grim, set face and shivered again.

He dismounted and the others silently did the same.
They went on, leading their horses, under low thorny
branches until they came at last to the door, a gash
of darkness in the cliff face, framed by skulls wedged
into niches and cracks.

"The very warmth of my blood seems stolen away."
Gimli said, hushed.

An inscription in some strange, unElvish picture
writing had been painted above the door. "The way is
shut." Elledhir read, his voice loud in the silence.
"It was made by those who are Dead, and the Dead keep
it, until the time comes. The way is shut." continued
quietly. "Such were the last words of the last living
Man of the Accursed. Spoken to Brego, second King of
Rohan, who had them written above the door as a
warning in the signs of the Men of the North."

A rush of cold air, smelling of carrion, gushed
suddenly from the door carrying with it a deadly fear
which made even Rangers, hardened to horror, blench.

Their great horses trembled, with white showing
round their rolling eyes. But the Meara Brego and
Legolas' white Arod went mad, tearing the lead reins
from their masters' hands and would have fled had not
the press of Men and beasts behind prevented it.
Asfaloth was the least affected. Immortal horse of
Valinor he but flared his nostrils as at an ill smell
and his skin twitched as if irritated by flies.

It took some moments, and soft sung spells, to calm
the two Rohirrim horses. They stood trembling, heads
hanging, still afraid and ashamed of being so.
Asfaloth pushed his way between them, nickering gently
and nuzzling them as if they were foals. The two
Mortal horses pressed close to his sides and seemed to
take heart from him.

"That is an evil door," Halbarad told his nephew
quietly, "and death lies beyond it."

Aragorn looked up from the torch he was lighting,
"I do not fear death." he strode into the dark, his
voice ringing behind. "The time is come!"

Arwen caught up Brego's lead rein and followed, the
horse sweating, head hanging, but resigned now to his
fate. The passage was close and twisting, the rough
stone of the walls catching at her clothes and hair as
she half ran to keep up with Aragorn's long, swift
stride. Brego pressed close to her heels, she could
feel his breath hot on her neck. Her own came panting,
loud in her ears.

Suddenly the passage opened up into a wide hall and
Aragorn halted so suddenly she nearly collided with
him. "What -?" she began, then she saw it - a glitter
of metal off to the side against the cavern wall.

As the rest of the company crowded into the hall
behind them Aragorn went and knelt over what his torch
revealed to be the skeleton of a Man clad in armor not
unlike that Arwen had seen in the Rohirrim camp,
richly ornamented with gold. His finger bones clawed
at a stone door set into the half finished wall.

"What is it? What's wrong? Why've we stopped?"
Gimli pushed his way to the front, saw the remains.
"Oh." after a moment. "Any idea who he was?"

"Here shall the flowers of simbelmyne come never
unto world's end." Aragorn said softly, rose. "This
was Baldor, Prince of Rohan. Or perhaps one of those
who came after him."

"Why?" The Dwarf whispered. "Why would Men seek to
walk so terrible a road without need?"

Aragorn smiled a little. "Because we are, all of
us, quite mad."

Once when she was a little girl Arwen had disobeyed
her nurse and crawled through a stone crack into a
dark, deep little gorge, nearly drowning herself in
the rushing stream at its bottom.

'Why?' her mother had demanded, as she dried her,
'why didn't you listen to Nellas?'

'I wanted to see what was there.'

'But why, when you'd been told it was dangerous?'

And her father had laughed. 'It is her Mortal
blood, Sweetheart.' he'd told Celebrian. "There is no
riddle so deadly a Man will not seek its answer - and
consider his life well spent if he finds it."

"Yes." said Aragorn, and she realized she'd spoken
the last words aloud.

"But he didn't find his answer." Arwen said, and
somehow that seemed sadder than dying alone in the
dark.

"Yes he did," Aragorn answered, "but not here."
****

The hall continued to widen until it ended in a
vast, echoing space barely illuminated by their
torches. Arwen sensed a gulf to their right and what
she could see of the cavern walls seemed to have been
worked to resemble the facades of buildings. A broad
flight of steps led up to a door, or rather the
semblance of a door, elaborately carved.

A sickly, greenish pale light glowed into being
above the steps and formed into the figure of a Man,
or rather the decaying appearence of what had once been
a Man. A corpse in mail with a sword at its side and a
crowned helm on its head.

"Who enters my domain?" it - he - demanded.

"One who would have your allegiance." Aragorn answered.

The phantom King seemed to glare. "The way is shut. The Dead
keep it and do not suffer the living to pass."

Aragorn drew Anduril, the blade glimmering
silver-gold, advanced to confront the thing. "You will
suffer me." he answered, voice cold and clear. "The
time is come."

"None but the King of Gondor may command me!" the Dead
King snapped, and then he laughed. And as he laughed
his legions of dead warriors, greenly glowing like
himself, poured forth from the gaping maws of
inumerable dark doorways, flowing across the great
gulf dividing the cavern to surround the living in
their midst.

Arwen swallowed with a dry throat, clutched tightly
at Brego's reins with trembling hands. By the sickly
light filling the cavern she could see the pale, set
faces of the Men around her, beads of sweat glistening
on their brows. But Ranger discipline held, only Gimli
and Legolas moved, unslinging bow and raising axe in
futile defiance.

Aragorn turned back to the King of the Dead. "I give  you
the chance to redeem your oath. Fight for us!" the King
made no response. Aragorn turned to the legions of Dead
warriors. "Fight and regain your honor!"

Still no response. Gimli snorted. "You're wasting your
breath,  Aragorn. They had no honor living, and they have
none dead."

"Dwarvish tact at its best." a voice breathed in
her ear. She looked up to see Elladan trying, not very
successfully, to smile.

"Now I know I'm more Woman than Elf." she heard her
own voice whimper in reply. "I'm terrified." Her
brother put his arm around her.

"The way is shut" The Dead King told the living. "Now you die."

He strode towards Aragorn, sword rising to strike. Legolas'
arrow passed without effect through his ghostly head. The blade
slashed down, Arwen tried to scream - and Anduril caught the
phantom sword and swept it aside.

"That blade was broken!" 

"It has been reforged. "Aragorn reached out to gather
a handful of ghostly mail in his fist and put Anduril's gleaming edge
to the Dead King's throat. "I am the King of Gondor, your liege lord."
then flung him back and leveled Anduril's point at his breast.

"I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, and am called Elessar the Elfstone,
Dunadan, heir of Isildur Elendil's son of Gondor!" the long blade blazed
golden white, the sunfire reflecting in his eyes. "Redeem your
oaths. Fight for me and I will release you from this living
death! What say you?"

King and Dead said nothing, but seemed to shrink from
the power blazing unveiled from the living King. "What
say you?" Aragorn demanded again.

The Dead vanished.

Arwen blinked in the sudden darkness. Their torches
had gone out unnoticed during the confrontation. The
only light came now from Anduril, and the Man who
carried it.

He turned to them and Arwen, chilled to the heart,
saw nothing of her husband and her love in those wide,
burning eyes - no longer either grey or blue but
golden white like his sword. "Come." he commanded.

And they did, following him across the great cavern
to a second wide hall that slowly narrowed and twisted
into a claustrophobic passage that seemed to go on
forever.

A pale light grew ahead and Arwen heard the sound
of running water. Brego nudged at her, hurrying her
along. They emerged into a narrow, steep walled chasm.
An old road ran between the sheer cliffs, with an icy
rill of a mountain stream dancing alongside.

Brego shoved past her eagerly to the water. She
stumbled, would have fallen had Aragorn not caught
her. She looked up at him. His face seemed grey tinged
with weariness in the dusky half-light. She reached up
a hand to hesitantly touch his cheek.

He glanced down at her, smiled briefly. Then spoke
over her head to the Men who followed them. "Let the
horses drink their fill. They have a long road ahead
of them.

   It was full night when they finally emerged from
the ravine onto the upper slopes of a steep yet well
farmed vale. Early stars twinkled in the grey sky,
echoed by the warm yellow lights shining out of the
windows of the houses below.

   "Where in Middle Earth are we?" Gimli asked, his
voice a subdued rumble.

   "Morthond Vale in the uplands of Gondor." Elladan
answered him. Nodded at the river springing down a
series of falls like steps. "That is the Morthond, the
river Black Root," smiled grimly, "and now you know
how it came by its name."

   Gimli shuddered. Turning his head to speak some
comfort to his companion Legolas instead caught his
breath. "The Dead are following," he said, with
nothing but wonder in his voice, "I see shapes of Men
and of horses, and pale banners like shreds of cloud.
The Dead are following."

   "I wish you hadn't said that." Gimli muttered.

   "Me too." Arwen agreed, hunching her shoulders.
Careful not to look behind she looked instead at the
faces of the Rangers around her, grey and drawn with
the exhaustion of their fearsome journey. She herself
was trembling, though whether from the aftermath of
fear or simple weariness she could not say.

   "Four days." she turned to her husband. Aragorn
looked as tired as any of them as he sat his horse
next to hers, but his pale, intent gaze was fixed
eastward. "Four days at least to Minas Tirith, Father
grant we come in time." He raised his voice to be
heard by all. "Already I have asked much of you, my
friends, now I ask still more. Forget weariness and
ride, ride hard for the Stone of Erech!"

   Brego sprang forward, galloping down the mountain
track like an eager yearling. The Grey Company spurred
after him, careful not to look behind, yet all too
aware of what came in their wake. 

   They thundered across a bridge and onto a good
paved road running southeast. Cries of alarm, the
ringing of bells and the sounding of horns came dimly
to Arwen's ears through the wind of their speed. She
saw lights vanish as window shutters slammed closed in
farmhouse and hamlet as they raced past. And pitied
the simple country folk faced suddenly and unawares
with a nightmare out of their darkest legends. 

   It was black midnight without moon or star, dark as
the evernight under the mountains, when they reached
the hill of Erech. Aragorn led them up to the great
globe of polished black stone, half buried in the
earth at its crest. Here, long ago Isildur had
mustered the Men of the mountains and upland vales for
the War of the Last Alliance. And here his heir would
muster another army for another war.

   Looking down from the top of the hill Arwen saw
they were completely surounded by the Dead, standing
in their greenly glowing ranks; foot soldiers,
horsemen, and archers. Yet in open air under the sky
she was not as afraid as she had been in their
caverns. Even the horses seemed less perturbed - or
perhaps were simply wearied beyond caring. 

   The King of the Dead slowly climbed the hill to
face Aragorn across the great stone. "We come to
fulfill our oath and have peace."

   "Serve me well and you shall have what you desire."
the living King answered. "Corsairs of Umbar are
raiding our coast. We will drive them back into the
sea, and take their ships to sail up the Anduin to
Minas Tirith and there meet the armies of Mordor."

   The prospect didn't seem to bother the Dead. And
why should it, what further injury could be done them?
Aragorn reached out to take her hand. "This lady is my
wife and Queen. These Men my kin and liegmen, you will
obey them as you do me."(1) The Dead King bowed his
assent." Aragorn smiled a little, wryly. "We living
must rest now. At dawn we ride for Calembel." The Dead
King bowed once more, then he and his legions vanished
- though their presence could still be felt though at
a distance.

   Arwen was too tired to care, more tired than she'd
ever been in all her long life. She slid off Asfaloth
into her husband's arms and clung to him for a long,
shuddering moment. Then realized he was shaking just
as hard and pushed herself away, reaching up to cup
his drawn face. "My poor Estel," she whispered,
"Isildur left you a terrible legacy."

  "But a useful one." there were unshed tears in his
eyes. "I didn't expect to pity them so."

   She blinked at that. Fear had left her no room for
pity - but then she was not bound to these wraiths as
Aragorn was. "Let us sleep while we may. It has been a
long, dark day."
***

   She woke first in a cold grey predawn with Earendil
sinking slowly towards the western horizon. But to the
east there was only darkness as the rising sun
struggled and failed to pierce the glooms over Mordor.

   Arwen levered herself up on an elbow to look down
at her husband's sleeping face. She loved to look at
him, and had never yet had the chance to gaze her fill
upon that broad square brow above deep, widely spaced
eye sockets. the long lashes resting gently on finely
modelled cheeks, and the tender mouth and firm chin
almost lost beneath a scrub of untidy beard.

   His hair was in a state too, as usual, hanging in
untidy strings. And there were all those fine lines,
carved by hardship and care, flaws that somehow seemed
to increase rather than lessen his beauty.

   The long lashes fluttered, then lifted revealing
wide grey eyes, shading slowly to blue as they saw and
recognized her.

   "You are so beautiful." she told him.

   He shook his head fractionally. "No. But you are."
raised a strong, square hand grained with the earth of
yesterday's dark caverns to touch her cheek. Then he
sat up, looked around, the cares of kingship and war
settling again on his shoulders. "What time is it?"

   "The sun is just rising I think, somewhere behind
Sauron's shadows."

   "We must make ready to ride."

   The Rangers were already stirring, needing no
rousing, but Gimli required considerable shaking. "So
much for the vaunted endurance of the Dwarves!"
Legolas teased, but his eyes were worried. Of all
their company only he, the full Elf, had been
untouched by the horror of the Paths beneath the
mountains. But he had seen all to well the effect they
had had on his companions, and on Gimli especially.

   Arwen was worried about the Dwarf too. She selected
a cordial from her saddlebag of herbs and medicines,
poured it into a leather cup and gave it to Gimli with
a wafer of waybread.

   "I'm all right." he said. "It's just I haven't had
a proper night's sleep - or meal - since I took up
with this Elf and your husband, m'lady."

   "I believe you." she answered. "I've travelled with
them myself and they showed me no more consideration."

   Legolas was opening his mouth to rebut when Aragorn
appeared beside her. "You said you had a banner?"

   She went to Asfaloth and pulled it, tightly rolled,
from her other saddlebag. Aragorn cut the thongs that
bound it and unrolled it gently. It was of strong but
soft sable silk embroidered with the winged helm and
seven stars above the star of the North and the white
tree of Gondor, flanked by the moon of Isildur and the
Sun of Anarion. Aragorn held it spread across his
hands for a long moment before looking up at her.

   "It's beautiful. Thank you."

   "You can do good embroidery in fifty years." she
answered, a little drily.

   He grimaced. "You're going to be throwing those
years up to me for the rest of our lives - aren't
you?"

   "I am!" She answered.

   "And why not?" Halbarad asked, taking the banner
carefully from Aragorn and tying it to his spear.
"Ladies don't like to be kept waiting, nephew.
Especially for so long."

   "No indeed. We begin to feel unwanted."

   "You are wanted." was all he said, but with a look
that made her heart flutter like a netted bird. Then
he was turning away calling for them to mount and
ride.

   And ride they did, all day without a stop as
Rangers do when need presses, and the phantom host
followed. At sunset they galloped into the town
Aragorn had called Calembel, and found it empty -
every living soul fled into the hills for fear of
their shadowy retinue.  

   Aragorn looked around the abandoned square,
grimacing a little, intercepted his wife's concerned
gaze. "I am sorry to put such fear on my people," he
sighed, "but I can see no help for it."

   "They will return once we are gone and find all
just as they left it." she said as comfortingly as she
could.

   He nodded, dismounted and led them to a large
market hall. The vast, aisled space was quite empty
but Arwen saw with pleasure that there was a long
hearth down the middle that could be used to cook a
proper meal. Something they all needed, not just the
Dwarf. They ate, and then slept for a few hours until
Aragorn roused them to continue the long ride.

   They crossed the Ringlo, passing through another
empty town in the dark hour before dawn. Then on
through the lowlands of Dor-en-Ernil, following the
road southeast to the sea. They halted only twice and
briefly to breath the horses. The Men neither ate nor
slept, nor wanted too. A mood of urgency had taken
them all, even Legolas and Gimli.

   War was ahead and at Linhir, a port at the mouth of
two rivers, they found it; a bitter battle by night
between a small force of Dunedain and a large one made
up of Corsairs and Men of Near Harad, lit by the
burning waterfront outside the town wall.

   Aragorn drew Anduril, pointed its sunbright flame
towards the enemy. "Elendil!"

   Thirty and four other swords, including Arwen's
flashed out. And thirty-four voices echoed "Elendil!"
as they followed his heir in a blind charge into the
battle. The Dead came behind and seeing them friend
and enemy alike broke and ran. The Haradrim and
Umbarmen to their ships, the defenders behind the
walls of their town. All but one Man, a tall Dunedain,
tattered, soot blackened and wavering slightly on his
feet but still determinedly holding his ground.

   Aragorn reined in before him, saluted with Anduril.
"Well met, Angbor." 

   The Man's jaw dropped, grim determination giving
way to disbelief and then incredulous joy. "Thorongil!
Thorongil is it truly you?"

   "It is. Did I not say I would return if Gondor ever
had need of me?"

   "Oh do we have need of you, Captain! With the Lord
Boromir gone we have no one to rally to and no one to
lead us."

   Arwen saw Aragorn's face tighten. "It was Boromir
who sent me to you." he said quietly. "I was by him as
he died and he laid it upon me to save the White City
and our people."

   "Dead." Angbor whispered. Then grimly: "I feared it
was so - nothing else could have kept him away so long
at such a time."

   Arwen saw a wounded Man lying practically at
Angbor's feet, clutching his side and staring at her
as if at a vision. She got off Asfaloth and knelt
beside him. A Ranger, young Adanedhel, dismounted too
and brought her her bag of medicines.

   "This is Arwen, my wife." Aragorn explained to the
staring Men. The other Rangers were also dismounting,
moving among the bodies searching out those who could
still be helped. The Army of the Dead had vanished,
though Arwen could feel their lurking presence.

   Perhaps Angbor could too. "What sorcery was that?"
he asked Aragorn. "I have never felt such terror
before - not even in the thick of battle."

   "No sorcery." Aragorn answered. By now he too was
afoot, he steered his old friend gently to a wooden
barricade, made him sit. "I have summoned the
Oathbreakers from the mountain above Morthond Vale."

   Angbor stared at him. "But only Isildur's heir -"
he broke off. Looked, really looked at the banner
Halbarad held, its devices glimmering in the
firelight, and his face went blank with shock and then
kindled as if a torch had been lit inside. He turned
with shining eyes to Aragorn. "What is the King's
command?"

   Aragorn rubbed his forehead. "Gather whatever force
you can and march for Minas Tirith. I go to Pelargir
and then upriver to the White City."

   "I would go with you, my King, but with such an
army at your command you have small need for Mortal
Men."

   "I will need you when we both come to Minas
Tirith." Aragorn assured him. "For I will not hold the
Accursed beyond that battle. They'll have earned their
rest."

   Arwen finished bandaging her patient, saw Men were
venturing cautiously out the town gates and being set
to carrying the wounded by the Rangers. Went to touch
Aragorn gently on the arm. He glanced at her, and
accurately read her look.

   "My lady wife reminds me we also have need of
lodging. My company has not slept since midnight
last."

   Angbor stood up and bowed to them both. "Linhir
will be honored, my Lord and Lady."
***************

1. Gimli and Legolas, not being Dunedain, are left out
of the line of command. They are present purely as
Aragorn's friends and companions, not his subjects.

   Pelargir was afire, the red flames reflected
luridly in the dark waters of a harbor crowded with
black sailed ships and dyed the stately, half ruined
buildings the color of blood. And showed the company
silver armored Men of Gondor fighting against black
clad Umbarmen and red robed Haradrim in the very
streets of their city.

   Aragorn spoke quietly but with command; "Attend me,
King of Dunharrow." the phantom promptly manifested
himself on horseback at his side. Brego, by now
hardened to the presence of the Dead, didn't so much
as flinch. "These Men are our enemies but also our
kin, and not all serve the Shadow of their own free
will. Therefore I would have you drive them, as at
Linhir, rather than slay."

   The Dead King nodded. "As you wish."

   "Most of all," Aragorn finished grimly, "I want
those ships. As many as you can take for me."

   "As you command."

   Anduril flashed from its scabbard. "Then forward!"

   This time Arwen held back, following the charge
rather than joining it. Her healing skills, she
suspected, would be needed far more than her sword in
this battle.   

   She was right. The defenders, though unharmed by
the Dead, seemed dazed by the terror of their passing.
However they were able to follow orders and quickly
revived once set to work putting out the fires and
carrying the wounded to the square where Arwen set up
her field hospital. Occasionally she would catch a Man
or Woman eyeing her in some bewilderment, and who
could blame them? but nobody asked any questions,
possibly afraid of the answers they might get.

   Wounded soldiers and burn victims were soon joined
by liberated slaves from the Corsair galleys, brought
in by Aragorn's Rangers suffering from shackle galls,
festering whip cuts and the now familiar state of
shock. Arwen, assisted by a handful of trained healers
and about half the goodwives of the town, washed and
salved and fed and comforted the newly freed Men.

  Gradually the square began to empty as the injured
were carried home to complete their recoveries by
friends, kin and generous strangers. So many were
eager to take in the freed slaves that Arwen almost
had to ration them out. She was amused by the
eagerness - but also deeply touched by the generosity
of the Men of Pelargir. Perhaps she was going to like
these Gondorim after all, dispite their shabby
treatment of Isildur's Heirs.

   Finally there was nothing left for her to do and she
found herself looking in some bewilderment at the
neatly rolled bandage in her hand, then at the litter
of abandoned stretchers, empty ointment jars and
soiled linen around her, feeling totally at loss.

    Then she saw Aragorn coming towards her across the
square. A grey bearded Man, his green surcoat ensigned
with three white ships, at his side.

   "You've finished just in time." her husband told
her. Then presented his companion: "Ciyrandil, Captain
of the Ships of Gondor, my wife the Lady Arwen."

   She gave the shipmaster a smile made more radiant
by the thrill of joy the word 'wife' still gave her.
No doubt someday she would become accustomed to it -
but not just yet! The Man bowed, plainly dazzled.

   "Follow me to Minas Tirith with what strength you
can gather as quickly as you may." Aragorn continued
to the Man, grimaced a little. "What you will find
when you get there I cannot say - but I trust there
will still be a city to recieve you."

   "I have no doubt but there will be, my Lord."
Ciryandil replied, his eyes shining just like
Angbor's.
***

   Arwen led Asfaloth up the gangway onto the deck of
the vessel Aragorn had chosen for his flagship and
looked around her in some confusion. There was no one
in sight but Aragorn, Halbarad and her brothers
talking quietly together forward, and Halladan
climbing up a companionway leading to a low door
beneath the sterndeck.

   "Where is the crew?" she asked him.

   He smiled crookedly. "Can't you feel them?"

   She frowned, aware of nothing but the now familiar
presence of the Shadow Host, then her eyes went wide.
"You mean the Dead?"

    Halladan nodded. "They require neither sail nor
oar - which is just as well since both wind and
current are against us."

   The ship lurched slightly beneath her as it pulled
away from the dock and moved out onto the river. A
dozen other black sailed Corsairs followed in its
wake. Each ship with its phantom crew commanded by two
or three Living Rangers.

   Behind them the remainder of the Umbar Fleet, some
fifty ships in all, burned at their moorings in
mid-river. The red-gold flames towered high into the
dark sky and the black smoke was blown back over the
city by the chill east breeze.

   Arwen frowned up at the lightless sky, black clouds
pressing down. "It should be an hour or two past
dawn."

   "No doubt it is, somewhere behind Sauron's fumes."
Halladan answered, smiled at her. "It will be a day
and a night at least before we reach Minas Tirith,
time now, finally, to get some rest. Let's see to
Asfaloth, then I'll show you where you can sleep."
***

   She floated bodiless in empty darkness battered by
the misery and hopeless regret of the souls crowded
thick around her.

   *Alas, would we had done differently but now it is
too late...Forever too late.*
   
   *No. No, that's not true. It isn't too late.* she
told them. *You will make amends and my Lord will free
you as he promised.* But they did not heed her, their
long misery blinding them to the hope she held out.
*It will be all right.* she crooned as to sobbing
children, *Everything will be all right now, you'll
see. Not much longer now. Not long at all, I promise.*

   Arwen woke, her face wet with tears. 'I didn't
expect to pity them so.' Aragorn had said, now she
understood why. As a Man he had understood from the
begining the full horror of Isildur's curse. Being but
newly a Woman it had taken her longer. *Oh, Isildur,
how could you?*

   The stern cabin was as dark as when she'd lain down
to sleep, little light but good fresh air and river
smells coming through its open ports. But her sight
was good enough to make out the companions sleeping on
the carpets and furs spread over floor and benches:
Halbarad and Halladan, her brothers, and the Dwarf
Gimli. Not Legolas, of course, nor Barahir. Nor
Aragorn either, she frowned and throwing aside the fur
coverlet somebody had draped over her, went in search
of her husband.

   She saw him as soon as she emerged on deck, a tall
dark shape watchful in the bow, with Barahir beside
him. Legolas was sitting on a bench near the
companionway, testing his bowstring.

   "What time is it?" she asked.

   "Two hours past sunset, as near as I can judge." he
answered, frowning up at the lowering skies.

    A whole day had passed then. "I have never slept
so long before." she said wonderingly.

   Legolas smiled. "You have never riden over eighty
leagues with naught but a few hours rest here and
there, and fought two battles either." his smile
faded. "And I think the presence of the Dead drains
Mortals somehow - even those so obdurate as a Dwarf."

   "That could be." she agreed. "Perhaps that is why
we feel such a horror of them - at least until we
become accustomed." she nodded towards Aragorn. "Has
he slept at all?"

   "Well, he lay down for a time," Legolas answered
wryly, "but I shouldn't like to answer for whether he
slept or not."

   "I'll have a word with him." Arwen smiled grimly.
"Is it not a wife's part to nag her husband into
sense?"

   "Coax." Legolas corrected. But she shook her head.

   "Nag. Men are too blind stubborn to be coaxed.
Sometimes even nagging doesn't work - but still I will
try." she started forward.

   Aragorn glanced down at her as she reached his
side. "Minas Tirith is burning."

   She looked at the red light on the northern horizon
and bit her lip. It took her a moment to think of
something to say. "I remember when we heard Minas Sul
had fallen and the Enemy was at the walls of Fornost;
Erestor and Glorfindel feared our army would not reach
them in time. But Father said; 'They know I will come.
They will hold.' And they did." (1)

   "And these are our own blood kin," Barahir reminded
his brother softly. "they will fight to the very walls
of the Citadel, to the doors of the Hall of the Kings
itself, as we would."

   Aragorn nodded, face still bleak.

   Arwen closed her eyes. *Elbereth -* she began
silently, then stopped. No, not Elbereth Lady of the
Stars who the Elves revered. *Ulmo, Lord of Waters,
who has ever been a friend to Men, help us now. Let us
be in time.* then she opened her eyes. "Standing here
worrying does neither our people nor you any good."
she told her husband bracingly, took his arm and
tugged at it. "Come with me and get some sleep."

   "I have slept." he answered, a little defensively.

   Arwen looked at Barahir. "Did he?"

   "An hour or two - maybe."

   "Not enough." she said decidedly. "I've just slept
a full day away, and you must be just as weary - if
not more so. Come, Estel, the waiting will go faster
if you sleep."

   "Listen to your wife, Brother," Barahir chimed in.
"a fine inspiring sight you'll be, leaping heroically
onto the docks at Harlond, bleary eyed, to yawn in the
Orcs faces!"

   Arwen laughed. And after a moment, reluctantly,
Aragorn smiled. "Oh very well."

   She threw Legolas a broad wink as they passed him.
But his answering grin vanished the instant Aragorn's
eye fell upon him. "Good night." he said, the picture
of Elven innocence.

   "Hmmm." Aragorn answered, unfooled.

   A lamp had been lit in the cabin and all the Men
were awake, but not the Dwarf. Gimli still snored,
aparently oblivious, under his pile of furs.

   Halbarad gave them a dark look as they entered.
"Has he been on deck all this time?" he demanded of
Arwen. She nodded. His frown deepened. "What are you
thinking, Aragorn? You were taught better than that."

   His nephew raised his hands in surrender. "I have
already been lectured by my brother and my wife,
Uncle, and then dragged in here by main force! I
submit myself to all your wisdom and will try to sleep
a few hours at least."

   "See that he does." Halbarad said to Arwen, and
then left, followed by his son and the twins.

   "Come." Arwen pulled her husband over to a broad
trestle bench generously spread with carpets and
cushions. "Lie down." he obeyed but as she bent to
tuck the fur coverlet around him reached up to pull
her down beside him, there was just room enough for
two.

   "Aragorn! You're supposed to sleep." she scolded
breathlessly.

   "I'll sleep," he answered, tangling his fingers in
her hair, "in my own good time." and pulled her face
down to his.

   Both were too absorbed to see a bright Dwarvish eye
open at the breathless giggles and dangerous creakings
of the bench. It promptly closed again as its owner
pulled the sleeping furs over his head.
***

   "Aragorn."

   Arwen opened her eyes to see Legolas standing over
them - eyes bright with excitement.

   "What is it?" her husband asked, wary.

   The Elf smiled. "The wind has changed."

   Aragorn threw aside the furs and headed for the
deck, Arwen right behind him.     

   It was true. The cold, evil breeze out of the
darkened east had been replaced by a strong, warm wind
smelling of the sea coming out of the west.

   "Look!" Elladan pointed to the horizon. "A star.
And there - another."

   "Sauron's darkness is being pushed back." Arwen
breathed. *Thank you Lord Ulmo!*

   Aragorn nodded, the silver Elven light very bright
in his eyes. "More than the wind has changed." looked
again northward. "We will be in time." he said with
absolute certainty. "They will know help is coming,
and they will hold on." 
******

1. Arwen is remembering the second fall of Minas Sul,
TA 1409, when Arveleg I was slain and his young son
Araphor held Fornost until relieved by armies from the
Havens and Rivendell. The latter having been under
seige itself until relieved by a force sent from
Lorien.

   The three lower circles of the city were on fire
and the townlands within the Encircling Wall black
with Orcs and Southrons, great grey mumakil towering
over them all. And in this mass of enemies bands of
green cloaked Rohirrim gallantly fighting on against
impossible odds.

   "So...you pity us, Queen of Gondor?"

   Arwen jumped a little, turned to find the King of
the Dead suddenly at her shoulder. "Yes I do." she
answered and shivered. "No crime deserves such a
punishment."

   The empty sockets seemed to study her for a long
moment. Then the King said quietly. "Ours did." Arwen
saw her husband's head turn and his eyes narrow. "I
thank you, Lady, for your kindness to my people." the
phantom bowed to her then turned to Aragorn. "What are
your orders?"

   "Relieve the city first." he ansered flatly.
"Destroy the Orcs, but if the Men flee, let them go."
then to her. "Arwen, do what you can for the wounded."

   *If any.* she thought bleakly. This enemy usually
left naught but mutilated corpses.

   Their ship slid silently into dock. A mass of Orcs
approached the docks, a stunted specimen with a Man's
skull as a crest to his helmet pushing his way through
them to shout at the ships: "Late as usual, pirate
scum! There's knife work here that needs doing. Come
on, ya sea rats! Get off your ships!"

   Aragorn smiled that small, deadly Ranger smile.
"Come gentlemen, let's not keep our hosts waiting."
and lept over the side, followed by three Men,
Halbarad carrying the banner, two Half-Elves, a full
Elf and a Dwarf.

   As they advanced upon the nonplussed Orcs Arwen
heard Gimli tell Legolas: "There's plenty for the both
of us, may the best Dwarf win!"

   And then the Dead swept into being, flowing around
her like a chill wind and onto the docks, driving all
before them like withered leaves before the storm.

   Arwen went to fetch Asfaloth. By the time they got
back on deck the little harbor was empty and the
battle front far away, close to the city. She mounted
and rode onto the field.

   Amid the litter of dead Orcs she saw a number of
fair haired Rohirrim, on the ground but apparently
unhurt, their horses in huddles of two or three
shivering, eyes rimmed with white.

   She reined up before the nearest of the Men, one of
rank judging by his elaborate leather and steel
corselet. His helmet with its white horsehair crest
lay beside him. "Are you all right?"

   He looked dazedly up at her, squinting against the
brightness of the sky, said wonderingly: "I was
thrown. I haven't been thrown since I was eight years
old."

   Arwen frowned and dismounted for a closer look. His
skull was sound and his eyes reacted normally to
light.

   "What was that?" he asked her helplessly.

   "The army of the Dead from Dunaharrow." she
answered.

   He stared at her blankly for a moment, then his
bewilderment vanished in a fierce blaze of delight. He
laughed aloud, slapping the ground. "Aragorn! Though
all the armies of Mordor were between he said, I
should have believed him!" he scrambled to his feet,
whistled piercingly. "Firefoot! to me."

   A dark, almost blue, grey with lighter dappled head
and dark and light mingled in mane and tail, walked up
to the Man, head drooping.

   He patted the beast reassuringly. "There's my brave
lad. Never fret, not even Felarof himself could have
stood fast against that!" then swung around to shout
at the scattered Men around them. "Mount up Eorlingas!
There's still a battle to be fought here! The living
as well as the Dead will follow the King of Men!"

   He looked back at Arwen, brows drawing together in
frown. "But who are you, Lady? and how do you come to
be here?"

   "I am Arwen, the Lord Aragorn's wife." she said,
and saw a stricken look flash over his face, as it had
over King Theoden's, but this time she knew why. "I
came from the North with the Rangers."

   He bowed. "Eomer Eomund's son and Third Marshal of
the Riddermark at your service, my Lady." he looked
uncertainly at the battle front, then back at her.
"But we cannot leave you here alone and unprotected."

   "I'll be safe enough I think." she said. "The
fighting is at some distance now. I am a healer, my
lord asked me to tend to the wounded."

   He nodded. "I will leave some of my Men to aid you.
Ceorl, Eadwy, Athulf, Ethelwold and Framgar, I trust
the Lord Aragorn's lady to you. Guard her with your
lives." then he swung up into the saddle and galloped
toward the fighting, all but the five Riders he'd
named surging behind him.

   Arwen looked up into their solemn faces. "Let's see
if we can find any living Men in all this death." But
as she had feared they found naught but mangled
corpses. Unhorsed Riders had been instantly hacked to
pieces by the Orcs around them. Then she saw a flash
of Ranger grey on the ground and her heart stopped.

   Trembling she dismounted and knelt over the body.
It was Halbarad. At least he'd died quickly and
cleanly of a spear through the chest, she told
herself, and not suffered or been mutilated. But that
didn't keep the tears from coming.

   "He is kin to you, Lady?" Ceorl asked gently.

   She nodded, unable to speak. Images of a laughing
child chasing another, also long dead, down the paths
and covered walks of Rivendell; of a handsome young
knight adoring her from afar; and finally of the grim
Ranger overburdened by grief passed before her
brimming eyes.

   "This was my uncle; Halbarad son of Barahir son of
Argonui Isildur's Heir, born of the blood of Elros
Half-Elven." she choked out at last. Then found
herself saying words she had heard many times from her
Ranger kin. "He had much sorrow in his life, but now
all griefs are healed and he will find peace." and
began to cry in earnest for the child she'd helped to
raise; the young man who'd loved her; and the uncle
who'd blessed her marriage.

   Trumpets sounded and she looked up to see a great
force of Men issuing from the broken gates of Minas
Tirith to join the battle.

   "Mundberg is safe." said the Rohirrim, he touched
her shoulder gently. "We will bear your kinsman into
the city where he may rest in honor."

   "Rangers are buried where they fall." Arwen said
numbly, remembering the customs of her adopted people.

   "That would not be fitting." Ceorl said firmly. "He
cannot be left lying among this carrion, Lady."

   He sounded very certain and perhaps he was right.
Halbarad's spirit was gone to the Halls on the edge of
the World but its empty house was still deserving of
reverence. And Arwen suddenly felt very unsure of
herself, this Rohirrim had been a Man all his life but
she was very new to being a Woman; perhaps she should
listen to him. "Very well."

   They improvised a litter from spear shafts and
cloaks and carried Halbarad's body slowly towards the
city, the horses following them faithful as large
hounds. There were other small groups heading for the
broken gate; Gondorim with wounded Men, and what
looked unnerving like a formal cortege; Riders of
Rohan on foot bearing two litters surrounded by a
mounted honor guard with green penants flying from
their spears.

   They met under under the city wall and Arwen could
see the apprehension in Ceorl's face as he asked;
"What burden do you bear, Horse Brothers?"

   "Theoden King." was the solemn answer. "He is dead
and Eomer King now rides in the battle."

   "And who else?" asked Ethelwold, looking at the
second bier.

   "The Lady Eowyn, Eomund's daughter."

   "No!" Arwen pushed her way through the file of
Riders to look with anguish on the still white face
she remembered only to well. Aragorn would never
forgive himself for this, she thought unhappily, nor
would she find it easy to forgive herself for her part
in it. "Oh, child, child, could you not have waited
just a little? Given yourself time to heal?"

   She touched the pale cheek and it was cold. But
Eowyn's flesh did not feel empty, as Halbarad's had.
Arwen drew her dagger and held the bright blade to the
Woman's lips, gave a great gasp of relief as a faint
mist formed upon it. "She lives! Quickly, we must get
her to aid before it is too late."

   Entering the broken gate of Minas Tirith Arwen was
immediately reminded of Minas Sul after one of its
several sackings. There were Women tending to the
wounded under a monumental fountain in the middle of
the gate square, while tired Men doggedly cleared up
the rubble around them. Dead Orcs, Wargs, and Stone
Trolls lay tidied into black heaps, and a miasma of
burned stone, wood and flesh hung over all.

   But the true resemblance to long suffering Minas
Sul lay not in any of these depressing reminders of
destruction but rather in the determined spirt
radiated from the people dispite the ruin around them.
Barahir was right; these Gondorim had the same courage
as their cousins of the North. Or could this baffling
resilience in the face of disaster be a trait
belonging to all Men, not just to the Dunedain of
Arnor?

    A slight Woman with whisps of dark hair escaping
from tightly coiled braids and dressed in an
incongrously cheerful scarlet gown left the little
field hospital and came to meet the Rohirric cortege,
a look of concern darkening her face.

   "Welcome, Men of Rohan." she said formally. "what
burden do you bear?"

   "Theoden King." the lead Rider answered, as he had
answered Ceorl. "He is dead but Eomer King now rides
in the battle."

   The Woman moved past the escort to look on the dead
King's face, bowed her head and said "Mighty was the
fallen and meet was his ending." solemnly, as if it
were some customary formula. Then she turned to call
over her shoulder: "Faelivrin!"

   Another Woman detached herself from the group
around the fountain and looked expectantly at the Lady
in scarlet. "Find Ellevain and Vanawen." the latter
directed. "They should be in their houses seeing to
the wounded and children sheltering there. Bring them
to the Citadel." She continued, squinting up at, the
Rider: "Theoden's own sisters will tend him with all
necessary rites."

   The Man bowed his head and Arwen saw tears of
relief on his face. Clearly this mattered, though she
didn't know why. And she'd thought she'd learned how
to be a Woman! How many other things were there that
she didn't know and would she ever master them all?

   The Gondorian Lady's eyes went to the second bier.
"But surely this is a Woman!"

   "This is Eowyn, sister of Eomer." said the Rider.

   The Woman looked back up at him in amazement. "I
knew she was a shieldmaiden, but I never thought
Theoden would bring her to battle so far from your own
fields!"

   "Nor did he knowingly." the Man told her sadly. "We
knew naught of her riding till this hour, and greatly
do we rue it."

   "She is not dead but sorely wounded," Arwen put in
quickly, "she needs aid and at once."

   The Woman looked at her and her yellow eyes went
wide. Arwen too felt a shock of recognition; not of
who this stranger was, but what. And it confused her
immensely.

   Again the Lady raised her voice in command "Dame
Berethil!"

   The Woman who answered was tall and dark and grey
eyed. As she bent over Eowyn, Arwen's bewilderment was
complete. The line of Anarion had supposedly ended a
thousand years before, yet if these Women of Eldarin
blood were not Anarieni then what were they?

   "She needs more help than I can give her here."
Berethil announced. "Come, we must bear her to the
Houses of Healing."

   As Eowyn was carried away the Woman in scarlet
turned to Arwen. "I am Idril, daughter of Narcil, Lady
of Gondor." she said formally.

   "I am Arwen -" for a moment she didn't know what to
add, she was no longer Elrond's daughter of Rivendell,
then she remembered Ellemir's title and Gilraen's,
which was now also hers. "Lady of the Dunedain of the
North."

   Idril's eyes widened again, then turned to look
beyond the broken gate. "So...it is Isildur's Heir who
is come." she murmured, half to herself. She glanced
back at Arwen, noticing for the first time the Men
behind her and what they carried. A look of alarm
flashed over her face. "Say not that this is your
Lord!"

   "No," Arwen assured her quickly, "it is my uncle,
Halbarad Isildurion."

   Idril moved to look down at his face, and something
very like recognition dawned upon her own. "Then he is
kin to me too." she said at last, sadly. "He and King
Theoden shall lie together in the Hall of the King
that all Minas Tirith may pay them reverence and
thanks."
****

   Theoden's sisters were tall and dark haired like
the Dunedain but greeted the Riders bearing their
brother's body in the tongue of the Rohirrim. They had
with them several Women servants carrying water and
rich hangings for the bier and a counterpane of gold
cloth.

   Arwen was glad to have Idril's aid. She had often
helped to prepare her Mortal kin for burial, as many
Kings and Chieftains had died peacefully in Rivendell
and been interred in the Hallow there, but never to
lie in state and had no idea what was fitting.

   But Idril knew, and summoned up all that was
necessary to do Halbarad honor; hangings of black
velvet and silver tissue for the bier, a coverlet of
silver cloth sewn thick with pearls, a banner bearing
Isildur's new moon above the Tree and Stars of Gondor,
and even a knightly honor guard.

   Labor with the hands stills the thoughts and numbs
grief. It was not until all was finished and Arwen
stood back to see the effect that she again felt her
loss and her eyes filled.

   "He was dear to you?" Idril asked gently.

   She nodded, all but blinded. "I have known him from
a child." she answered brokenly. "Oh, my little
Halya!" and buried her face in her hands.

   It was strange how she always remembered the child
more vividly than the Man after they were gone. It had
been the same with Halbarad's ancestors before him.
The lives of Men, even Dunedain, were so swiftly
passed!

   And yet this time was different. Always before she
had mourned her Mortal kin as an Elf and so counted
them lost to her forever, or at least until the end of
the World. But now she was a Woman and knew she would
see Halbarad again, and soon. Not only him but all
those who had gone before from Ailindel, Anoriel and
Arthgon on down(1).

   The thought of leaving Arda and all that she'd
known for she knew not what still frightened her,
perhaps always would, but there was comfort in the
knowledge she would find many she had loved, and who'd
loved her, beyond the Circles of the World.

   Three Men came into the Hall, boots and spurs
ringing on the marble pavement. Arwen lifted up her
head at the sound, recognizing her young Marshal of
the Riders who was now their King. He went directly to
the arms of his aunts. The other two Men approached
Halbarad's bier.

   A look of pain flashed over the face of the darker
of the pair. "Oh no, not my Captain!"

   "You know the Man?" the fair haired knight asked
gently.

   "From the years I spent among the Dunedain of the
North." Hurin answered sadly. "This is Halbarad son of
Barahir, the Dunadan's uncle. I was a member of his
company, and I fear a sore trial to him in my
ineptitude. He said we would meet again. Alas that it
should be like this!"

   He stood beside Halbarad's bier for a long moment,
head bowed, then touched brow, lips and heart in
reverence and turned away. As he did his eyes met
Arwen's and widened. She smiled at him.

   "Arwen Undomiel?" he asked wonderingly. "What are
you doing here, my Lady?"

   "I came with my husband." she said demurely, and
saw his eyes flare still wider with astonishment, then
brighten with laughter. "So you brought him to it at
last! When did this happen?"

   "About six days ago, if I haven't lost count." she
admitted ruefully.

   Hurin broke into a grin. "Tardy again, Dunadan!" he
shook his head. "Well better late than never as they
say." Then, remembering his manners, he turned to
present his companion; "Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth
and chief Noble of Gondor greet your Queen, Arwen
Undomiel, daughter of Elrond Half-Elven and wife to
our Lord Aragorn Dunadan."

   The Prince bowed and Arwen looked at him with
interest; here was another with Elven blood in his
veins, but not Luthien's or even Eldar unless she was
much mistaken. She would have spoken to him but at
that moment Eomer's voice, raised in distress, echoed
through the marble hall.

   "Where is Eowyn? She should be lying here beside
our uncle in no less honor. What have they done with
her?"

   "Eowyn isn't dead, Eomer." Arwen answered him
gently. His eyes turned to her in hope and fear: "She
has been taken to the Houses of Healing." Arwen held
out her hand to him. "Come, we will go to her." 
*****

1. These were the children of Arantar, the fifth King
of Arnor, who were Arwen's childhood playmates. The
elder daughter, Ailindel, was almost of an age with
her. Arthgon was the Sindarin name of King Tarcil of
Arnor (r. 435-515).

   The Houses of Healing were a series of spacious
buildings grouped around a forecourt and fountain
court just below the Citadel, and full almost to
bursting with wounded Men.

   A weary nurse showed Arwen, Imrahil and Eomer to
the small chamber where Eowyn, in deference to her
rank and sex, had been laid apart from the rest. Two
Riders stood guard at the door and Aragorn was within,
bending over the unconscious Woman.

   He looked up as they entered. "Arwen, have you
athelas?"

   She shook her head, chagrined. "No. It is better
fresh and I thought there'd be no difficulty finding
it here in the south."

   "There isn't normally, but these are not normal
times. Never mind, dear heart, some has been sent for
but I would save time if I could."

   "How is she?" Arwen asked, looking anxiously at
Eowyn's pale face.

   "The shield arm is broken," her husband answered. "
but it will mend if she has the strength to live. The
chief evil came through the sword arm." a faint smile.
"It seems she and Merry between them slew the Witch
King."

   "Not by the hand of Man." Arwen quoted, and smiled
almost in spite of herself. "And neither of them is a
Man!" then she added with sudden fear: "But what of
Merry?"

   "He has taken some harm, but is in far better case
than she. Hers was the killing blow." Aragorn looked
at the new King of Rohan, stroking his sister's hair
and crooning to her softly in their native tongue.
"Her malady begins long before this day, does it not,
Eomer?"

   The younger Man glanced up him, and then briefly at
Arwen. "I hold you blameless in this, Aragorn," he
said carefully, "but I saw no shadow on my sister
until she looked on you."

   Aragorn sighed "I saw what you saw," he admitted,
"though too late to undo the damage. Yet it was not
that alone which brought her to this pass: Care and
dread and bitter grief have all played their part."

   "All these she shared with me." Eomer protested

   "But you could act," Arwen told him gently, "ride
forth and wield a sword against your enemies. A
woman's part is harder, sometimes all she can do is
wait - and hope." she grimaced a little. "And that is
sometimes bitter to bear - believe me I know!"

   Aragorn gave her a wry look in reply to the veiled
gibe, before turning again to Eomer. "Stay with her,
hold her hand, speak to her. You, if anyone, can bind
her to life. I will return soon."

   The large outer chamber was filled with wounded
Men, as was the passage beyond it. The miasma of the
Black Breath hung heavy over them and Arwen saw some
had already begun the long withdrawal from light and
life.

   "I fear your nephew is in as sore case as the Lady
Eowyn, or worse." Aragorn said to Imrahil. "Tell me,
how did he come by his wounds?"

   "In battle upon the Rammas Echor, or rather whilst
retreating from it. The rear guard was cut down around
him and he alone came to the gates, dragged at his
horse's heels and pierced by two arrows."

   Aragorn opened a door and they entered another
chamber, little larger than Eowyn's, but crowded with
several Men and one Hobbit lying on cots tended by two
or three nurses; the Hobbit Peregrin; Gandalf,
unfamiliar in shining white robes; and a tall Man in
Numenorean armor of ancient design.

   "They seemed but black Orc arrows," Imrahil
continued, "but when he fell into the Dark Sleep we
assumed one must be a Morgul dart. 

   Aragorn shook his head. "Had that been so he would
have died last night. No, he must have fallen under
the Shadow long before he rode to battle on the
out-walls. Slowly the Dark must have crept on him as
he defended Ithilien. He is a Man of staunch will, he
resisted it well until grief and wounds sapped his
strength.

   Arwen shivered. "The Shadow has hung heavy over
this City for far too long." she said. "I have never
seen so much Black Breath, not even during the worst
of the Witch Wars."

   Her husband nodded grimly. "This House is
full of it. Would that I could have come sooner!"

   Arwen could only agree. But they had come as fast
as they could, she reminded herself, and by Lord
Ulmo's grace they had been in time to save the City.
To demand more was ungratful, even presumptuous.

   Aragorn sat down at the bedside of a fair haired
Man bearing a strong family resemblance to Imrahil.
This must be the Lord Faramir and he was indeed in bad
case, his spirit so far gone that Arwen wondered if
even Aragorn, calling on the bond between King and
subject, would be able to draw him back.

   He intended at any rate to try. He took the sick
Man's hand in his and laid the other upon his sweat
dewed brow. That the Man was fevered rather than cold
like Eowyn was a good sign, it meant he was still
fighting. "Faramir!" Aragorn said, softly but with
Power.

   The armored Man on the other side of the cot
flinched at the strength of the Call. Arwen looked at
him with interest, and then disbelief. *Another* of
them! It seemed the Line of Anarion was far from
extinct in Gondor.

   Intent on his Calling Aragorn did not stir when the
door burst open, and a young boy ran in, clutching a
linen cloth in his hands. "I have it - athelas!" he
panted to the Anarioni. "Mother says it's
not fresh, two weeks old or more, but she hopes it
will serve."

   "It will do very well." Arwen assured him, taking
the cloth and opening it. There were six long leaves
of athelas inside, neither brown nor broken. "Now
bring me some of that hot water if you will." She told
the staring boy, then took two of the leaves and
breathed on them, then closed her hand and crushed
them.

   The familiar scent filled the air, growing stronger
as she cast the fragments into the steaming water the
boy brought. She took the bowl from his hands and
turned to her husband.

  "Well now!" An old Woman standing nearby exclaimed.
"Who would have believed it? That weed is better than
I thought. No King could ask for better!"

   Aragorn opened his eyes to smile up at her as she
held the bowl so both he and his patient could breath
the steam. Arwen was concerned to see the scent of the
athelas did not fully restore her husband, he still
seemed somewhat weary. This healing and demanded much
of him - almost more than he could safely give.

   She stood back and the Man on the bed stirred and
opened his eyes. They fastened at once upon Aragorn's
face with wondering recognition, and with love. "My
Lord, you called me. I come." he whispered weakly.
"What does the King command?"

   "That you rest, and take food, and be ready when I
call." Aragorn answered him gently. He rose pulling
his hand from Faramir's grasp. "Now I must go to
others
that need me, but I will return, my Steward."

   Arwen followed him across the room with the bowl of
athelas, but it was immediately clear it would not be
needed. Merry lay, bright eyed and alert on his cot,
with little Pippin sitting cross-legged at his feet
and the wizard standing over them.

   "Well, Merry," her husband asked, "how are you
feeling?"

   "Hungry." was the prompt answer. Aragorn and
Gandalf both laughed.

   "Hobbits!" said the latter, shaking his head.

   "I am sure we can find some supper somewhere for a
Nazgul bane." Aragorn smiled. 

   "Nazgul." the Hobbit's face clouded in sudden
alarm. "Eowyn! how is she? Is she all right?"

   "I am going to her now." Aragorn said reassuringly.
"Don't worry Merry." he turned towards the door.
"Gandalf, Arwen, come with me if you will." 

   She put down the bowl on a convenient table and
picked up the linen cloth with the remaining four
leaves in it.

   As she started to follow her husband and the wizard
out of the room she heard Merry say: "Here now, Pip,
what are you got up as?"

   And closed the door on Pippin's reply: "I'll have
you know I'm a guard of the Citadel. And you're a fine
one to be talking, where'd you get that fancy armor?"

   Gandalf heard it too and chuckled. "Hobbits!
They'll follow you through fire and battle and then
when all's done demand their tea and a pipe to smoke!"

   "Hobbits," said Aragorn, "have a very good grasp of
what's really important in life."

   "They do indeed." Arwen agreed, thinking of Bilbo.
****

   Eowyn was no better, but at least she was no worse.
Her brother lifted his head from his hands as they
enetered with a look of unabashed relief.

   Gandalf shook his head grimly. "I bear some fault
in this." he said. Both Aragorn and Eomer stared at
him in surprise. "Did you think Wormtongue had poison
only for Theoden's ears? He wanted Eowyn and exerted
all the power Saruman had lent him to draw her to him.
She resisted his arts but not without cost. who knows
what bitter thoughts he planted in her heart? And I,
fool that I am, assumed that as she was young and
strong she could throw off his influence without
help!"

   "I fear none of us has given Eowyn what she needs."
Aragorn said quietly. "Perhaps because it is not in us
to give." he looked at Eomer across his sister's bed.
"I can recall her from the dark valley, but whether
she will awake to hope, or forgetfulness, or despair I
do not know. If it is to despair she will die unless
other healing comes that I cannot give.

   "You may have the power to save her, Eomer, for she
loves you more truly than me. You she both loves and
knows; me she knows not."

   Yet for all that it was the bond of love that he
used to Call her back, having no other. He kissed her
brow and called softly. "Awake Eowyn! Your enemy has
passed away and the sun shines." then he took the hot
water seeped in athelas from Arwen's hands and brushed
a few drops upon the sick Woman's brow then laved the
cold and nerveless sword arm from shoulder to finger
tips.

   A keen wind blew in the open window, fresh and
clean and young, as if it had never been breathed by
any living thing but came new-made from snowy
mountains beneath the stars. Arwen's eyes filled with
tears; Eowyn's spirit had returned to them. She was
not yet out of danger, as Aragorn had said, but at
least now there was hope.

   "Awake Eowyn!" Aragorn repeated, then put her now
warm right hand into her brother's. "Call her!"

   He took Arwen's arm and led her quickly out lest
Eowyn see them when her eyes opened. Once safely
outside though they lingered, ears to the half open
door, and listened.

   "Eowyn, Eowyn!" Eomer called through his tears.

   And she answered weakly. "Eomer? But they said you
were slain! Was it just a dream?"

   Aragorn and Arwen exchanged smiles of relief and he
gently closed the door.
***

   In the passage beyond the outer chamber they found
a portly, greying Man, remarkably like a somewhat
taller Barliman Butterbur in bearing and feature,
confronting a Woman with classic Dunedain looks.

   "I don't know what you're talking about, Hiril." he
said sounding both weary and irritable. "I am Warden
here and I tell you I know nothing of a Lord Aragorn,
much less a call for kingsfoil of all things!"

   The Woman's eyes, green rather than the usual grey,
went over the Warden's shoulder to Aragorn and lit
with recognition. Brushing past the Man she came to
them and made a curtsey. "My Lord I have brought all
the athelas I have in my shop, I hope it will be
enough."

   "We will make it serve, thank you Mistress Hiril."
Aragorn answered, turned to Arwen: "Come, there is
still much for us to do here."

   Almost all in the House were suffering from the
Black Breath to some degree. But fortunately none of
those far gone enough to need Calling home had
wandered as deeply into the Shadow as Faramir. For
most the smell of athelas alone was enough to banish
the clinging darkness.

   Arwen had immediately recognized yet another remote
kinswoman in Hiril. She was no longer surprised by all
these Anarioni underfoot but she was intensely
curious. Why with the royal line apparently
flourishing was there no King in Gondor? She finally
put the question to Hiril as the Woman saw them to the
doors of the Houses once their labors were done.

   "We are but bastard Anarioni, my family and my
husband's and even the Lady Idril." she explained.
"Our blood is not pure."

   "What?" Arwen asked, bewildered.

   "The Law of Hyarmendacil II forbids the mixing of
the blood royal with that of the Men of Middle Earth,
or even Dunedain of common birth." Aragorn said
quietly. "Mistress Hiril and the others are descended
from princes disinherited for making such marriages."

   His wife stared at him, appalled. "That's
outrageous!"

   He smiled faintly. "I am inclined to agree. But
such is the law in Gondor."
   
   They passed through the forecourt of the Houses and
out the gates and found themselves confronted by a
great crowd of Gondorim, Women chiefly with a few
older Men, orderly enough but all demanding entrance.
The Warden was holding them at bay with the aid of few
servants in the green and grey of the Houses and a
pair of Northern Rangers. 

   Aragorn and Arwen stopped in their tracks in the
gateway and the Warden, looking more harried than
ever, exclaimed: "I am glad you are come, my Lord."
adding to the crowd. "This is the Lord Aragorn."

   King and people stared at each other in mutual
consternation; the Gondorim's faces reflecting all too
clearly their shock and disbelief, Arwen bristled.
Then she looked at her husband, shabby and unkempt and
looking grim and forbidding as only a startled Ranger
can, and ruefully conceeded that the Gondorim perhaps
had some right to feel disillusioned.

   She saw a Woman in the crowd give the Man next to
her a sharp nudge and he reluctantly stepped forward
to make Aragorn a nervous bow. "My Lord, 'the hands of
the King are the hands of a healer' or so the old
saying goes and we have heard you healed the Lord
Faramir and others in the Houses so we would ask -
that is to say - " he faltered to an uncertain halt,
intimidated by Aragorn's bright, unblinking gaze.

   The Woman, no doubt his wife, cut in: "M'lord,
there are many sick of the Black Shadow in the City.
Women and children as well as Men. If you cannot help
them they will die - " and it was her turn to break
off, swallowing tears.

   Aragorn's stern expression melted into something
gentler and more kindly, he reached out to take the
Woman by the hand. "My Lady and I will do all we can."
he promised. Then to the nearer Ranger: "Menelgil,
find my brothers and the Lady Arwen's. We will need
more than our two pairs of hands."

A small boy raced over the marble paved floor of a stately pillared hall towards a Man clad in grey and silver silhouetted against the bright sky of an open porch. The Man turned to meet the running child and Arwen saw that it was Aragorn. He caught the boy in his arms and swung him high, both laughing. Then the little one looked over his father’s head and his eyes met Arwen’s, wide and pale grey with excitement in a soft, still unformed face that would, one day, be the image of Aragorn‘s.

He smiled at her, her little Eldarion, and she smiled back. She was still smiling when she wakened from the dream to find herself lying in Aragorn‘s arms in a strange bed canopied and curtained with hangings of white damask and yellow silk all fringed with gold.

He woke at the same moment and sat up, frowning at the unfamiliar room’s splendid furnishings of ivory and gilt and pale wood gleaming in the dusky light filtering through the heavy curtains over the windows. “Where are we?”

“The Citadel,” Arwen replied, stretching, “the Lady Idril’s apartments.”

“Idril?” Aragorn reached for his boots. “Who is she?”

“I have no idea. She called herself Lady of Gondor and she’s Anarieni, that’s all I know.”

Her husband shook his head in confusion. “It’s hard to believe Denethor would marry again after losing Finduilas. He loved her dearly, and she had given him two sons to carry one the line.” (1)

“Idril would be much younger than he.” Arwen said doubtfully.

Aragorn smiled at her over his shoulder. “I am nigh on three thousand years younger than you, dear heart.”

She threw a pillow at him. “Idril need not be his wife, perhaps she is a kinswoman.”

Aragorn shook his head again, lacing his leather jerkin. “Not if she’s Anarieni.”

Arwen slid off the bed and pulled open the curtains covering the nearest window. It seemed to be a little after midday and the white stone of the City reflected the bright sunlight, filling the room with a cool radiance. As Aragorn finished dressing she idly inspected the objects on a low dressing table near the window. Picking up a heavy gold backed mirror, chased with the sun of Anarion , she turned it over and almost failed to recognize her own reflection.

She stared in near horror at a face somehow thinner then the one that had looked back at her just a few days ago in the tent at Dunharrow. Pale and hollow cheeked and very dirty, with smudges of dark soil, grey stone dust, and brownish stains that could only be dried blood. And her hair! It was as if each individual lock was trying to work itself free of her braid. Some had succeeded and hung lank around her face while the rest to fell in a tangle down her back.

“I look terrible!” she blurted almost incredulously.

Aragorn laughed, and his face appeared next to hers in the mirror. Eyes blue and dancing with amusement, his hands warm upon her shoulders. “You look like a Ranger.” he corrected.

“Dirty and weary.” she agreed wryly. “Well, I don’t suppose Luthien was at her best either after escaping the deeps of Thangorodrim. But at least I can wash my face,” she glanced back at her husband, “and yours too!”

Faces and hands were clean when they emerged at last from the bedroom, but she’d quickly given up trying to comb her hair, sticky as it was with smoke and salt air. It would have to be thoroughly washed - and she shuddered to think of working out the matted tangles. Aragorn’s travel worn leathers and her riding dress were quite beyond help - it would be the fire for both as soon as she found them something else to wear.

The outer chamber was full of Rangers, some sleeping on floor or daybeds, others simply waiting with characteristic patience for further orders. Bread and cheese and cold meats and fruit had been laid out on a table. Arwen loaded a plate and put it firmly into her husband’s hands before taking a small roast fowl for herself and biting into it with a will, she’d seldom been so hungry.

Gimli, Legolas and her brothers were nowhere to be seen but she saw the Anarioni from the Houses of Healing sitting slightly withdrawn in a window seat, dressed now in unadorned black and grey rather than Numenorean armor. He came to his feet as Aragorn‘s eye fell questioningly upon him and bowed.

“My Lord, I am Beregond son of Baranor -” he began.

“Baranor.” Aragorn nodded. “Of course, of the Ancalimonioni. What can I do for you, kinsman?”

The Man seemed, for some reason, slightly taken aback at being so addressed but quickly recovered himself. He took a well wrapped bundle from the corner of his window seat. “I have here the Anor stone, one of the seven palantirs of Elendil. By right it is the property of the King and so I have brought it to you.”

Aragorn looked at the bundle in Beregond’s hands for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “I may have a use for this stone. Keep it for me a little longer, kinsman.” he turned to Arwen. “Let us see what’s been happening in the City.”

Three Rangers, Menelgil, Elledhir and his grandson Adanedhel, followed them through a presence chamber hung with white and gold and scarlet, and a gallery overlooking a terrace facing east then down a flight of stairs and through a lower hall to the outside doors. Aragorn clearly remembered the Citadel well from his days as Thorongil, he led his wife and the Rangers confidently through a confusing labyrinth of narrow stone walled passages and tiny cobbled courts to a sunken door leading to a long corridor beneath the great hall. He opened the door to a small, workroom and frowned in surprise at finding it empty .

After a moments thought he continued through another door and up some steps to a long yard hemmed in by high buildings and piled with baskets and crates and thence through an archway into the Court of the Tree, with its fountain and the silent, black liveried guards standing watch over Nimloth’s dead husk.

Legolas and Gimli were there, in front of the doors to the Hall, along with Prince Imrahil and Arwen’s brothers. “Good morning,” Aragorn greeted them. “I was looking for Hurin -?”

“He has gone out to greet the new levies from Lebennin and the western provinces.” Imrahil answered.

“They are come then? Good.” said Aragorn, pleased.

“Gimli and I were just going to look for you,” Legolas told him. “Gandalf is within, he wants to speak to you before you meet with the Captains.”
****

Arwen had paid very little attention to the appointments of the Great Hall the night before, her attention being on other things. Now she did look and decided that the white and black stonework, though severe, had majesty and a certain beauty. But the out scale statues of ancient kings lining the hall did not please her, being far too stiff and monumental to suit Elvish taste.

Theoden and Halbarad’s bodies had been carried away somewhere but young King Eomer, Halladan and Barahir stood with Gandalf at the foot of the steep flight of black marble steps leading up to the snowy white throne.

“Any news of Frodo?” Aragorn asked the wizard.

He shook his head. “No, nothing.”

Aragorn turned away to hide his emotion. Arwen sat down on the steps to the throne and hugged her knees unhappily, remembering Bilbo’s gentle, rather frail nephew and trying not to imagine all the terrible things that could be happening to him.

Gimli sat himself down heavily in the Stewards’ black chair and filled his pipe. “You’ve seen nothing at all?”

“Frodo has passed beyond my sight,” Gandalf answered bleakly. “The darkness is deepening.”

“If Sauron had the Ring we would know it.” Aragorn said to the monumental statue towering over him.

But the wizard would not be cheered, he shook his head. “It's only a matter of time. He has suffered a defeat, yes, but behind the walls of Mordor our enemy is regrouping.”

Gimli, puffing at his pipe, said “Let him stay there. Let him rot! Why should we care?”

Because ten thousand Orcs now stand between Frodo and Mount Doom.” Gandalf snapped back. Then added with grief and guilt: “ I've sent him to his death.”

Aragorn turned to face the wizard, shining brightly as the luminously white walls of the Hall, radiating the power of his blood and his conviction. “No. There's still hope for Frodo. He needs time, and safe passage across the Plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that.”

“How?” Gimli wanted to know.

“Draw out Sauron's armies.” Aragorn answered. “Empty his lands. Then we gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate.”

The Dwarf choked on his smoke. Everybody else, including Gandalf, looked at Aragorn as though he’d lost his mind

“We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms.” Eomer pointed out.

“Not for ourselves,” Aragorn agreed. “but we can give Frodo his chance if we keep Sauron's Eye fixed upon us.” directly to Gandalf. “Keep him blind to all else that moves.”

“A diversion.” said Legolas.

Gandalf was unconvined. “Sauron will suspect a trap. He will not take the bait.”

“Oh yes he will.” said Arwen, suddenly understanding what Aragorn intended to do with the Anor stone. “He will not refuse a challenge from Isildur’s Heir.”

Her husband met her eye and smiled. “Sauron will not have forgotten the sword of Elendil.” he agreed. “He will not be able to resist a chance to take it - and me.“

She shivered at the thought, but managed to smile back.

“Our father gave us this very counsel before we rode from Rivendell.” said Elrohir. “We must go on as we have begun. To waver is to fall.”

“I have little knowledge of these deep matters.“ Eomer said simply. “But as my friend Aragorn succored me and my people, so I will aid him when he calls. Rohan will go.”

Imrahil smiled. “The Lord Aragorn is my liege-lord, whether he claim it no, his wish is to me a command. I will go with him even to the Black Gates.”

Halladan and Barahir said nothing. Where their chieftain led the Rangers followed, there was no need to belabor the point with many words.

And Arwen restrained herself, knowing very well that her company on such a desperate foray would be a grief and care to Aragorn rather than a comfort. But even so she could never have let him go without her had she not been sure in her heart that he would return.

Gimli snorted gently. “Certainty of death. Small chance of success.” he shrugged. “What are we waiting for?”

Arwen laughed. “I like your spirit, Master Dwarf.”
****

Aragorn stopped in the doorway of the council chamber with his companions behind him and studied the faces of the Captains standing around the long table, his own masked by that grim and forbidding Ranger look. The Men stared back, dazzled and overawed by the fierce white flame of his spirit shining though the flesh and shabby leathers. Arwen was a little awed herself. Unkempt and roughly dressed as he was, Aragorn was at that moment every inch the King.

She saw Hurin, Angbor of Lindhir and Ciryandil of Pelagir at the table as well as three Men she did not know, two bearing wounds from yesterday’s battle. Quietly Gandalf, Eomer and Imrahil went to take their places behind the last few empty chairs, leaving the great seat at the table’s head for Aragorn.

He hesitated. To take it would be to proclaim his leadership and perhaps precipitate the strife he so feared and had accepted exile to avoid. Arwen, looking at the awestruck faces of the Men at the table, wondered if perhaps he overestimated the danger.

Finally he moved. Flanked by Halladan and Barahir he walked to the great chair and standing in front of it, with his brothers at his back, said to the Captains: “Some of you will remember me as Thorongil. My true name is Aragorn son of Arathorn, Isildur’s Heir and Chieftain of the Dunedain of the North.” his eyes swept the table, bright as molten silver. “I have come in this dark hour not to press old claims but to join Gondor in her war against the common foe. Sauron and Sauron alone is the enemy.” He surveyed again the faces of the Men before him and seemed satisfied he’d made his point. To Arwen’s admittedly unpracticed eye the Captains looked more bewildered than anything else. Aragorn sat down and the other Men followed suit.

There was no place for her at the table. She looked around, saw Pippin swinging his feet in a window seat and took another near him. Her brothers followed and stood on either side of her, with Gimli and Legolas just beyond. The three remaining Rangers stayed silent, and motionless by the door.

Aragorn looked at Gandalf. “My Lords,” the wizard began, “The late Steward spoke truly when he said: ‘against the power that has now arisen there is no victory’ for he had looked into the stone of Anor and not even Sauron can make the seeing stones lie. Yet I do not bid you to despair as he did. Victory cannot be gained by force of arms - this we all know. But there is still hope of victory. What you have heard is true, the One Ring has been found but it is not yet in Sauron’s hands, nor is it in ours. In wisdom or great folly it has been sent away, even into Mordor itself, to be destroyed lest it destroy us. We must at all costs keep the Eye from his true peril. We cannot achieve victory by arms but by arms we can give the Ringbearer his chance.

“Sauron now knows for certain that which he has long feared.” Aragorn continued. “An Heir of Isildur, who defeated him of Old, still lives and the sword that was broken has been reforged. I mean to challenge him, face to face, and to march with whatever following I can gather on the Black Gates.” He smiled grimly. “I am a bait he cannot resist.”

“Sauron fears the King of Men.” Gandalf agreed. “He will send out all his power to defeat and take Isildur’s Heir. And we must walk open eyed into the trap, with courage but small hope for ourselves. Even if the Ringbearer succeeds and Barad-dur is thrown down we still may all perish in black battle far from the living lands.”

“This I deem to be my duty as Elendil‘s Heir.” said Aragorn quietly. “And according to my oath to the Ringbearer - to protect him with my life or my death. But I do not claim to command any Man. Let you choose as you will.”

“I’ll go with you, Strider.” Pippin piped from his window. He was very pale but his eyes and voice were quite steady as he continued: “Sauron thinks I have the Ring. If he sees you have me along he won’t bother to look for it anywhere else.”

Arwen saw Gandalf make a movement of protest, silenced by a sharp gesture from Aragorn. “Good thinking, Peregrin.” her husband said warmly to the Hobbit. ”The sight of the supposed Ringbearer in the livery of Gondor will indeed give Sauron pause.”

Pippin managed a feeble smile in reply then huddled back in his window seat, overwhelmed by the enormity of what he’d just done but not regretting it for a moment.

“The King has spoken.” said Hurin flatly. “Gondor follows, what more is there to say?”

Aragorn shook his head. “No Hurin. I have told you that I demand no allegiance.”

“And yet you have it unasked.” said one of the stranger lords, a tall Dunedain his dark beard shot with silver.

“My lord, my Men did not march for Minas Tirith at the behest of a Captain of Rangers.” said Angbor.

“Nor did mine.” Ciryandil agreed. “We have come to follow and serve the Returned King.

“My very dear and stubborn Lord,” Hurin said with great affection and some exasperation, “what will it take to convince you that the only Man in Gondor like to oppose the return of the King lies dead by his own hand?”

Aragorn rubbed his eyes and Arwen looked at him in sudden concern. The few hours sleep he’d had could only have taken the edge off his weariness. She must try to get him to rest some more once the council was ended.

“We cannot afford division in our ranks, not now.” he said.

“My Lord,” said the bearded Dunedain, “giving us a King to rally around will not make for divisions - far from it!”

“Very well then,” said Aragorn quietly, “I would have chosen to leave this matter to the days of peace, should they come, but if you will have it so then I will declare myself now. In the high tongue of old I am Elessar, the Elfstone, and Envinyatar, the Renewer. Elendil‘s heir of Arnor and Gondor, and by right of blood your King.”

Arwen suppressed an urge to cheer. Her brothers too managed to restrain themselves, though the look they exchanged spoke volumes.

Pippin was less reticent. “How splendid. Congratulations Strider!”

Imrahil laughed. “It is we who are to be congratulated, Master Peregrin. But is ‘Strider’ a fit name for a King?”

“It will be the name of my house, if I live to found one.” said Aragorn with a smile for the Hobbit. “And it will sound fairer in Quenya; ’Telcontar’ I will be, and all the heirs of my body.

‘Hail Elessar Telcontar, King of Gondor!” said Hurin. “And now, what are the King’s commands?”
*****

1. Remarriage is, IMO, both rare and not quite respectable among the Dunedain. One of the few acceptable reasons is to get heirs if the widowed partner is left childless.

The door to the inner room opened. Arwen stopped pacing midstep and the others; Gimli, Legolas, Beregond of Gondor, and the half dozen Rangers who hadn’t ridden out on scouting missions, stood up. Grey faced with weariness Aragorn steadied himself for a moment against the doorframe.

“Did you see him?” Gimli asked. “What did you say to him?”

Aragorn didn‘t answer. His eyes fastened on Arwen and he crossed the room to hold her tightly, then pushed her gently back to stroke her hair and cup her cheek in his hand. His eyes were haunted and she knew instantly that he had seen something terrible, something concerning her.

Gimli was nothing if not persistent, a characteristic of Dwarves. “Aragorn?”

“Yes, I saw him.” he answered without turning. “But I spoke no word to him, and in the end I wrenched the stone from his control which he will find hard to endure.” he smiled faintly, with satisfaction. “He saw me and I showed him the blade reforged. He is not so mighty yet that he is above fear. He is afraid now, and doubt gnaws at him.

“Once I had mastered the stone I saw many things.” he continued directly to her: “Arwen, I saw Elrond fighting beside our people in the Ettenmoors.”

“Of course you did.” she said, voice husky with a mixture of pride and sudden fear. “He is Fingolfin’s heir and has the blood of Tuor and Beren in his veins. He might send his people to the ships but he would never abandon his kin in their last need.” She braced herself to ask: “Is he - did you see him fall?”

“No - no he is safe and whole as far forward as I could See.” Aragorn assured her quickly, then smiled again, more broadly. “I only wish the twins could have seen him too - I had no idea our Uncle was so formidable a warrior!”

“They saw him fight, long ago in the Witch Wars.” she answered, feeling weak with relief. It was not then her father’s death that he had seen - So what had distressed him so, and what had it to do with her?

Aragorn released her and faced the others. “Our people are fighting on the marches of Angmar and in the Moria dale as well as the Ettenmoors.” he told his Rangers who, typically, allowed little emotion to show at news which was not entirely unexpected. His eyes shifted to Legolas. “Lorien and the Woodland realm are both under attack from Dol Guldur.” the Elf bowed his head. Finally Aragorn turned to the Dwarf. “Gimli, Dale has fallen and Erebor is besieged.”

He stared fiercely at the floor and Legolas roused himself from his dark thoughts to lay a hand on his comrade’s shoulder. “One more axe would make no difference.” Gimli said gruffly. “And the Ringbearer‘s quest was a great matter needing the presence of a Dwarf.”

“That is true.” said Legolas.

Gimli looked up at him, alert for a jibe, but saw at once that Legolas was quite serious. His face softened. “It needed an Elf too.”

Legolas smiled a little. “Thank you.”

“It was worth attempting - even if the company did fail.”

“We did not fail, Gimli.” Aragorn said firmly. “We brought Frodo safe to the marches of Mordor - beyond that we would have been a hindrance and a danger rather than an aid to him. And there was work for us elsewhere.”

Slowly the Dwarf nodded. “Aye, I suppose you’re right.”

Arwen touched her husband’s arm. “You are weary, you must rest.”

But he shook his head. “No. There is too much to be done.”

“Indeed, and Hurin and the other Captains are doing it.” she answered with a touch of asperity. “They don’t need you breathing down their necks!”

“I should greet the Men Angbor and Ciryandil brought up from the south,” he argued, “they deserve at least that much courtesy after coming so far and so quickly at my word.”

“Later.” Arwen said firmly.

“But -” he began.

She stamped her foot. “Estel! Am I going to spend the rest of my life nagging you into being sensible?”

“Probably.” said Legolas and four of the six Rangers in near chorus.

Gimli chuckled and even somber Beregond smiled.

Aragorn raised his hands in surrender. “Very well.” he looked over at the Gondor Man. “I give the stone back to your charge, kinsman, for now.” paused and then continued; “as for the other matter - this is not the time for such things. For now you may consider yourself a member of my following. When we return - if we return - I will render judgment.”

Beregond bowed. Then Aragorn obediently followed his wife into the white and gold bedroom.

She drew the curtains, dimming the room to pale twilight. “What was that all about with Beregond?”

“Our kinsman is troubled.” Aragorn answered quietly, sitting on the bed to pull off his boots. “He was forced to break solemn oaths and worse to kill a comrade to save the Lord Faramir’s life.”

Arwen knew very well how oathbreaking and bloodshedding would weigh on a Dunadain conscience, however justified by need. “I see. He is not likely to fall into despair and seek death is he?”

Aragorn shook his head. “I think not. He is too level headed for such follies. But his conscience will demand some kind of expiation in due course. I will think of something fitting when I have leisure to consider the problem.”

“And in the meantime keep him close so he cannot do himself a mischief.”

“Something like that.” Aragorn lay down.

She sat on the edge of the bed. “Estel, what did you see that troubles you so? Not just scenes of war I think.”

“No.” he closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them to look into hers. “Sauron showed me your death.”

Her heart gave a little jump of fear but she kept it from her face. “My fate is not in his hands.” she answered steadily.

“If he gets back the Ring you will die.” Aragorn said flatly.

The tightness in her chest eased. She smiled: “But he’s not going to get it back is he?”

Aragorn looked at her for a long moment, then smiled back. “No, he is not. We will give Frodo his chance, and he will put an end to the Ring and to Sauron forever.”

She leaned forward to kiss his lips. “Trust in Frodo,” she said, “and sleep.”

*****

Arwen closed the bedroom door gently behind her then turned to see the Lady Idril had joined the company in the antechamber, attended by two waiting Women. She offered a smile and her hand in welcome. “Kinswoman, I am glad to see you again. I don’t believe I thanked you fittingly for your hospitality last night.”

Idril curtseyed and kissed the extended hand, then straightened to face Arwen with a courteous, if reserved, smile of her own. “It was not a moment for ceremonious speeches, my Lady. I have come to see if there was ought else I can do for your grace?”

“There is indeed!” Arwen answered with fervor. “I need a bath, and a change of garments for both myself and my husband.”

Idril looked at her stained and tattered riding dress and said tactfully. “My lady‘s garb does seem somewhat worn.”

“I am a sight.” Arwen answered flatly. “It didn’t matter when there was work that needed doing but now I would like to look rather more the queen and less the vagabond!”

The other Woman grinned up at her, suddenly dropping her careful formality. “I am not exactly dressed for calling on royalty myself.” she said, flicking a hand at her dirty and crumpled scarlet gown - the same she’d been wearing yesterday.

Arwen smiled back. “As you say this is not a time for ceremony, Lady Idril.”

“It is not.” she agreed. “Comfort and cleanliness however are another matter. We should be able to find something suitable for yourself and the King in the great wardrobe.”

This proved to be a large rambling building off the maze of narrow alleys behind the great hall. The wardrobe of the robes was a long room, on its top floor lit by small, high set windows, with a file of columns down the center and rows of tall clothing presses lining the walls on either side.

“I fear you may be hard to fit, my Lady,” Idril said briskly. “There are few Women of your height in Gondor.”

Arwen found that easy to believe. Idril herself came only to her shoulder and the other Women she‘d seen had been little taller.

“I have not yet seen the King, he too is tall I suppose?”

“He is much the same height and build as our Uncle Halbarad, whose body you saw last night.” Arwen answered.

“Taller than Father or Faramir then, and leaner than Boromir.” Idril mused, then turned to the clerk of the Wardrobe waiting at her shoulder for orders. “Unlock some of the presses belonging to the Lord Ecthelion,” she ordered, “the older ones. And I seem to recall that his sister, the Lady Elenwe, was very tall?”

“She was, my Lady,” the Man confirmed. “taller than many Men.”

“Good, open her presses as well.”

The clerk and his assistants brought racks and Idril’s Women began to shake out the folded garments and arrange them for inspection: Tunics and surcoats, mantles and robes, kirtles and gowns, all in silk and satin, velvet and damask and brocade; tinted in deep, jewel like colors, adorned with elaborate embroideries in silk or gold or silver thread. Some garments were encrusted with pearls and gems and many of the robes and cloaks trimmed with rich furs.

Arwen stroked the deep soft nap of a velvet mantle appreciatively, and admired the fine needlework of an embroidered surcoat. The craftsmanship of the garments was superb even if some were a little over ornamented for her taste.

“What colors does the King prefer?” Idril asked.

“Black and grey and silver, the colors of his house.” Arwen replied, then grinned mischievously. But I like brighter hues, and as I am doing the choosing...”

“Of course.” Idril said, eyes twinkling. “But we’d find no black and silver garments here, in any case. Nobody wears the colors of the Kings any more, except me.”

Which gave Arwen the opening she’d been looking for. “What is your connection with the House of the Stewards, Lady Idril?”

The other Woman’s _expression chilled. “I was the late Steward’s foster daughter.”

“I see.” said Arwen. She was only to well acquainted with the various forms grief could take, anger was not unusual - and from what she had heard Idril had good cause for it. Denethor had taken his own life, his daughter might well see that as an abandonment.

Idril quickly changed the subject. “If I might ask, my Lady, what are the King’s plans?”

“Of course you may ask,” said Arwen, “the matter concerns you and all Gondorim closely. My husband means to march on the Black Gates.”

The waiting Women stopped working to stare. Idril did too, then suddenly laughed. “I think I’m going to like you husband, my Lady!”

This Anarieni obviously shared the reckless streak Arwen had come to know so well in the Isildurioni. “It’s not quite as mad as it sounds.” she explained. “The One Ring, lost these many years, has been found. It came into the hands of a Halfling named Bilbo Baggins, who passed it to his nephew Frodo. Unfortunately the Enemy learned this and Frodo was forced to flee to my father’s house, Rivendell, for protection. There, by chance, were gathered representatives of all the Free Peoples seeking advice for their troubles - your foster brother Boromir among them. They held council together and it was decided that the Ring must be destroyed. Frodo offered to bear it to the fire and eight companions were appointed to guide and guard him -”

“Including Boromir.” said Idril, nodding slowly, “so *that’s* why he didn’t return directly to us.”

“Yes. Boromir and my husband were of the Company. The others were a Dwarf, Gimli and an Elf, Legolas. Also Mithrandir, and three other Halflings; Peregrin, who you know, his kinsman Meriadoc, and the Ringbearer’s servant; Samwise Gamgee. The Company was sundered by the attack which killed Boromir and Frodo and Samwise went on alone. By now they must have entered Mordor itself. My husband attacks the Black Gates to divert the Eye from his own lands so that the Ringbearer may escape his notice.”

“If this Frodo is anything like our Peregrin, he may well have the strength to succeed where great Men have failed.” said Idril.

“He is a most exceptional person.” Arwen agreed. “My husband believes in him, and so do I. If it can be done, Frodo will do it.”

After due consideration she settled on a magnificent robe of hearts’ blood red velvet for Aragorn, faced with broad bands of gold and silverwork. It was to go over a surcoat of pearl grey damask with silver broideries at the throat, and a high necked tunic of heavy grey-violet silk. For herself Arwen chose a gown of blue cloth of gold (1), its wide sleeves lined with gold tissue, and with raised flowers of gold stitched at neck and hem.

They returned to Idril’s apartments by the back way to lay out the new clothes in the dressing room. Arwen peeked through the door into the bedroom and was pleased to see Aragorn still soundly asleep, she closed it gently. Idril took a yellow gown from the wardrobe and a few other small items from the dressing table and the four Women withdrew as silently as they had come.

“Now,” said Idril, “for that bath!”

****

1. This means cloth that’s been woven with gold thread as the weft and blue silk as the warp, (or maybe vice-versa!)

The Queen’s bathhouse was a small, foursquare building with a marble dome and cupolas at each corner tucked in a corner of a high walled garden. It was elaborately decorated but in a lighter, more pleasing style than the severely icy great hall.

Tall windows of colored glass lit a vestibule paneled in pink and gold marble. Double doors directly ahead led to a large, circular drying room under the central dome. Couches and small tables of cedar and sandalwood inlaid with ivory, lapis and silver stood upon a tessellated floor around a marble fountain. The walls were lined with airily draped statues of Falmari and Nenari and paintings of ladies disporting themselves in gardens.

Another set of double doors led to a room about the same size and shape as the vestibule but lined with painted chests containing towels, robes and other nessisary items. A side door led to the dressing room. It had two broad tables for anointing with oils but the Women didn’t bother with them, after undressing they went straight to the tub room; an oval chamber with three large marble bathtubs.

It took four washings in very hot water to get Arwen’s hair back to normal. She worked at the snarls with her fingers with little success and finally snapped in frustration; “Maybe I should just cut it off!”

“Do!” said Idril enthusiastically from the next tub. “You will start a new fashion, and think of all the time and trouble short hair will save us Women!.”

“The Men wouldn’t like it.” her maid, Annalind, objected from the third tub which she shared with her fellow, Faelivrin.

“And I’m sure my husband would not approve.” Arwen said, freeing her fingers with difficulty. “But I may have no choice.”

“Don’t bother with it now, my Lady,” Faelivrin soothed, “We’ll comb it out as it dries.”

“I only hope you can.” Arwen said gloomily.

After the heat of the tub room they cooled off in the cold plunge, a deep pool lined with tiles of blue and green glass and gilt, that almost filled its circular chamber. Then, donning linen robes, they retired to the drying room where Annalind and Faelivrin both set to work on Arwen’s tangles, first loosening the knots with their fingers than attacking them with wide toothed ivory combs.

“Ouch!” said Arwen yet again.

“Sorry, m’Lady.” said Annalind, sounding less sincere with each repetition.

“Shall I get a knife?” Idril offered, slightly maliciously.

“No you shall not.” Faelivrin scolded. “Make yourself useful, my Lady, and divert the Queen’s mind.”

“That‘ll take some diversion.” Arwen said ruefully. “Ouch!”

Idril visibly struggled to think of something sufficiently diverting. Finally she said; “Customs must be very different in the North, no Gondorian would dream of bringing his lady with him on campaign.”

“Nor would my husband.” Arwen assured her. “I followed the company of Rangers and by the time I caught up it was too late to send me back.”

“Not so different then.” said Idril. “Last year I visited Osgilliath after it was retaken and my father and brothers near died of apoplexy.” she snorted. “What foolishness. If it was safe enough for the Steward and his heir, it was safe enough for me.”

“The Lord Steward ordered you not to go.” Annalind reminded her.

“That he did not.” Idril said firmly. “He simply refused to let me ride with his party. He never once said I couldn‘t go at all.”

Arwen laughed. “I‘ve tried that same argument once or twice. It did not go over well with my father.”

“Mine either.” Idril admitted ruefully. “Fortunately I am too old to be sent to bed without my supper.”

“So am I,“ said Arwen, “but Father managed to make his displeasure clear nonetheless. Ouch!”

“Sorry, m’Lady.” said Annalind.

“If only I’d remembered to comb my hair from time to time.” said Arwen.

“No doubt you had other things to do, my Lady.” said Idril.

“Indeed I did.” Arwen agreed ruefully.

The maids did have to resort to a knife to cut through the tighter knots but finally Arwen’s hair was smooth again, falling straight and sleek well past her waist. But she had already wasted far to much time on it to be willing to subject herself to the further ordeal of waving irons. And while she had, of course, noticed Gondorian Women wore their hair tightly braided and pinned it never occurred to her to do the same. After putting on her new blue gown she plucked some blue and yellow lilies from the garden and braided them into to locks framing her face but let the rest fall loose down her back in the usual Elvish fashion. Nor did she think anything of it when Idril and the two maids followed her example and left their own hair unbound.

***

The moment they left the peace of the high walled garden the leisurely atmosphere vanished and Arwen found herself dropped back into the turmoil of a City at war. Their first stop was the great house in the sixth circle Idril was using as her headquarters. The writing table in the mistress’s closet was piled high with papers and several Women were sitting on the chairs and couches busily comparing lists.

“We’re trying to rationalize the billeting.” Idril explained, “Reunite families that were separated and make the best use of what space we have.” She picked up a stack of papers from the table. “These are damage reports from all quarters of the City.” she explained, passing some to Arwen. “As you can see, my Lady, the First and Second Circles, where the bulk, of our folk live and work, are severely damaged with considerable loss of property and most of our food supplies. Thanks to the King’s timely appearance the Third Circle is in better case, some of buildings on the back streets are all but untouched. And of course the three uppermost Circles and the Citadel are completely undamaged.”

“Will we be able to shelter everyone?” Arwen asked.

“I believe so.” Idril answered. “The City has been somewhat under populated for several generations - which has caused us some concern but is fortunate now.” she frowned. “But conditions are bound to be very crowded and that leads to disease. It would be better to get the Women and children out of the City as soon as possible.”

“That wasn’t what you were saying before the siege.” a Woman observed, looking up from her lists.

“That was when I thought we were doomed and saw little point in being chased from hiding place to hiding place before the end.” Idril retorted. “But now that it seems we are going to live, and so must be more prudent.”

“A friend once told me that folk do better in their own place, whatever the conditions.” Arwen said slowly, remembering Emeldir of Endorien, Lady of frequently sacked Minas Sul.

“Maybe so, my Lady, but if the Plague or the Sweat or the Red or Blue Fevers gets loose in the City we will be as hard pressed as if an army still besieged us.”

“Surely measures can be taken to safeguard against disease?”

“Yes indeed, my Lady. But removal is the best of all protections.”

The decision was apparently hers but the new Queen felt unable to decide. Emeldir had been very certain, all those years ago. But Idril was too and she knew Gondor and the Gondorim. Arwen put the papers aside. “I would like to see the living conditions here in the upper circles for myself. And the damages as well, I fear my mind was on other things last night.”

****

They went first to a tall house with four cupola crowned towers at each corner standing across and a short ways down the avenue from Idril’s mansion. The bronze outer doors, cast with figures of knights and kings and inset with many enameled devices, stood open as did the doors of decorative ironwork at far end of the vaulted, marble paneled hall. Beyond these they found a garden courtyard, fragrant with roses and herbs, and with a fine Yavannamire tree standing over the central fountain.

It was full of children playing with balls and hoops, somewhat to the detriment of the plants. A little boy ran to call the mistress of the house and soon she came out to meet them, followed by two maids one carrying linens and the other a box of medicines.

She was a very tall lady, almost as tall as Arwen herself, dressed in a plain grey gown with a tail of long dark hair showing beneath her white kerchief. The new Queen of Gondor felt an entirely unexpected joy at the sight of her, though they had never been little more than acquaintances. Somehow there was an inexpressible comfort in the sight of a familiar face after a morning spent with strangers.

“Laebeth!” she said delightedly. “Of course how silly of me to forget, you married Hurin didn’t you. Do you know we have Edennil with us?”

The Woman nodded, smiling in the restrained Dunedain way that Arwen knew well concealed more enthusiasm that it revealed. “I saw him last night and he gave me the news; so you brought the Dunadan to it at last!”

Arwen laughed. “I threw myself at his head, what could he do but catch me? I should have done it years ago.”

“You two know each other.” Idril observed, looking curiously from one to the other.

“I lived for a time in Lord Elrond’s house when I served the Dunadan’s mother.” Laebeth explained with a hint of a twinkle. “I told you I had been in service.”

“Laebeth,” Idril explained to Arwen, “has let us think this forty odd years she was no more than a simple country girl and a former maid-servant, which I gather now was less then the truth.”

“I have never said a word that was not true.” Laebeth answered calmly. “But I admit I have not told all the truth.”

“Laebeth was a maid of honor to my husband’s aunt, then later to his mother.” Arwen answered. “And I would never call a daughter of the Belenioni a ‘simple country girl‘ however fallen her house’s fortunes.”

“The House of Belen you mean, the younger son of Beor the Old?” Idril said slowly.

“Yes, but we are no more than country folk these days,” Laebeth told her mildly, “though with memories of other things.”

Laebeth’s house was filled to the eaves, quite literally, with people. They were bedded in the Great Hall, the reception rooms, the passages and the attics. Despite the crowding the people were good humored, even cheerful which surprised Arwen a little, though perhaps it shouldn’t have. The Northern Dunedain had faced their disasters in much the same spirit, and these folk were their near kin.

Laebeth was confident enough of the order of her house to turn its management over to her young daughter-in-law and join Idril and Arwen on their tour of inspection. They found those great houses that were still inhabited and had an able mistress or steward at their head also in good order, however crowded. But the refugees billeted in the derelict mansions had not fared as well. Though the people in them were determinedly making the best of things the confusion was considerable and the stench of decay and the sound of scampering vermin told Arwen Idril’s concerns about disease were well founded.

On the second floor of such a house in the Fifth Circle she unexpectedly encountered her brother Elrohir accompanied by the twin sister of the Anarieni healer Arwen had encountered at the gate.

“Surely there haven’t been any more cases of the Black Breath!” she said in alarm.

“There are other wounds, Little Sister,” he answered wryly, “Dame Baradis and I are checking up on our patients of last night.” He smiled warmly at the Woman beside him and she smiled back, then blushed slightly and lowered her eyes in confusion.

Arwen looked speculatively at her brother. Perhaps she was reading more than she should into a Master Healer‘s interest in a promising pupil, but the twins should marry and what more suitable match than a Woman with Luthien’s blood in her veins? And Baradis was a twin herself and so would understand the special bond between the brothers. Maybe Elladan and the sister Berethil - Arwen cut herself off, she was going far too fast based on a single smile. And they had other concerns.

Elrohir, serenely unaware of the trend of his sister’s thoughts, was speaking of them now. “We cannot keep people mewed up in these ruinous old houses, we’re like to have an epidemic on our hands.”

“Lady Idril has advised sending the Women and children into the country.” Arwen admitted. “But I do not quite like the idea. You remember what Emeldir used to say about home being the best place for folk.”

“I think you would find few willing to go.” said Baradis. “But certainly it is true the people should not stay in places such as this.” All three of them looked at the stained walls of the ruinous hall in which they stood and grimaced.

“Could we perhaps allow them to return to their homes?” Elrohir wondered. “I know most are burned out hulks but most will have a wing or ell or cellar that could be made habitable while the rest of the house is rebuilt.”

“That is what they did at Minas Sul,” Arwen remembered, “and at Cardol during the Witch Wars.”

“The people would like that I think. But would living in the ruins of their homes be any healthier than staying here?” Baradis wondered.

Arwen sighed in frustration; now she had three choices and still no idea which one to pick. “Thank you, Brother, you’ve been a great help!”

“Perhaps we should see what the lower Circles look like before you decide, Arwen.” Laebeth put in tactfully.

She grasped gratefully at the suggestion. “Yes, I would like to see the rest of my City.” It didn’t occur to her until the words were out that Idril might resent them. She shot a quick, nervous look at the other Woman.

“As you wish, my Lady.” was all the former Lady of Gondor said, but Arwen sensed pleasure rather than resentment behind the words. It seemed Idril welcomed the new Queen speaking of Minas Tirith as ‘her’ City.

***

Note: The ’Red Fever’ is measles; the ’Blue Fever’ is cholera. The ’Sweat’ is a disease that assailed England during the sixteenth c. but has since vanished. It may have been an extremely virulent form of Influenza. ’Plague’ I am sure needs no explanation.

Most of the damage in the lower Circles had been done by fire or trebuchet, the enemy had had no time to loot, but that was quite bad enough. Still the Men of Minas Tirith, assisted by the newly arrived troops, had made a good start at clearing up; the rubble had been cleared away and precarious walls shored up by timbers. And the heaped bodies of Orcs, Trolls and Wargs had disappeared.

"Good," Arwen said approvingly, "I see the carrion has been disposed of."

"Yes," Idril agreed, "at least we need not worry about that source of infection."

Arwen missed the slight, questioning inflection in the Woman's voice but Laebeth didn't. "Sunfire cleanses." she explained quietly. "My brother told me he and some of his fellows burned the enemy dead as soon as the sun rose high enough to kindle the fires."

Idril gave Laebeth a slightly odd look but made no answer.

Arwen suddenly wondered if Gondor had forgotten the art of kindling sunfire, which consumes all unclean things and leaves not even ashes behind, as they had forgotten the value of Athelas - and who knew what else besides?

When they arrived at the great gate square she was saddened but not surprised to see bodies salvaged from the wreckage decently laid out on clean linen, waiting to be claimed by their kin. But she checked sharply at the sight of row upon row of battered, severed heads set out on long trestles for the same purpose.

"Men slain in the taking of Osgiliath or the defense of the causeway forts and outer wall." Idril told her grimly. "The enemy pelted us with them, hoping to break our spirit." she glanced sidelong at Laebeth. "For myself I'd feel it a comfort to know one I loved was free from torment and safe in the Hands of Eru."

"Turin and Tuor are not among them, I have looked." Laebeth said quietly, then explained to Arwen: "Two of my sons were with Faramir in Osgiliath but did not win free to the City. My husband and his kin fear the worst but I will not give up hope."

"Nor should you." Arwen agreed. "Never count a Ranger as dead until you see his bones, as we say in the North."

"So I have told Hurin, and our cousin here." Laebeth smiled at Idril who looked worriedly back, clearly unconvinced.

They found Aragorn standing with Imrahil, Hurin, Gimli and Legolas, Pippin and two Rangers beneath the doorless gate. Arwen smiled with delight; the grey and crimson robes she had chosen for him became him very well indeed. He was as beautiful as the day she'd first seem him in Imladris, so many long years ago. And she saw by his answering smile he was equally pleased with her appearance.

By then Arwen had made up her mind that the people should stay. But she left the final decision to Aragorn, who knew both Men and Gondor better than she and was pleased when he confirmed her judgment.

Fortunately Idril didn't seem to mind being overruled. But then what Woman could mind anything when Aragorn smiled at her? "I trust my wife has already thanked you for all your kindness to us, Lady Idril." he said.

She looked gravely up at him, "A small return for my brother's life." and then she broke into a brilliant smile of her own. "Thank you for Faramir."

"I foresee I will have good cause to be grateful for him myself in days to come." Aragorn answered.

Arwen saw her husband was studying his distant kinswoman closely, much the way he had scrutinized the Captains at the council, and no doubt for the same reason. Idril was Anarieni and might well consider her claim to Gondor's throne better than that of Isildur's Heir. But she didn't, of that Arwen was quite certain. Idril was no more likely to make trouble for Aragorn than Hurin or Imrahil. As for her brother the new Steward, Arwen remembered very well the expression in Faramir's eyes when he looked on Aragorn for the first time, there was nothing to fear there either.

Indeed she was beginning to wonder if there ever had been anything to fear. Had Aragorn worried all these years about a danger that had never existed?
***

She ventured the question, a little hesitantly, over a late supper. The table had been set up in an outer chamber of their apartments with windows looking north, east and west and doors opening onto a terrace. Arwen sat on Aragorn's right hand at the round table, with Imrahil beside her and Laebeth and Hurin beyond him. Idril was seated on Aragorn's left with Gandalf beside her then Legolas and Gimli. The six remaining Rangers filled the rest of the chairs and Pippin, now the King's esquire, was among those serving.

"Oh no, my Lady, his Grace's fears were very well founded." Idril assured her. "My father for one would never have accepted Isildur's Heir." she smiled wryly. "He said so to me many times, and expected me to feel the same."

"But you do not?" Aragorn said mildly.

She shrugged. "I am a Woman as well as of impure blood, I have no claim."

"And if we put aside both the Statute of Hyarmendacil and the custom that says the crown cannot descend to a Woman or through the female line?" he probed.

She smiled at him. "Even if we do so my claim is still inferior to yours, my Lord, for you are descended from the daughter of Ondoher and I but from his sister."

He smiled back. "That is so."

Idril turned the subject - or seemed to. "Now that you are King of Gondor, my Lord, you should have Gondor Men to guard you as well as your knights from the North."

Aragorn looked at her thoughtfully. "And who should I chose for this duty?" he asked.

There was the rub, Arwen thought ruefully. A City like this must have its feuds and factions - Men were no different from Elves in that respect. The new King couldn't risk taking sides, especially when he had no idea what the sides were.

But of course Idril understood the problem every bit as well as her Northern cousins. "The garrison of the Great Gatehouse." she answered. "You will have heard how they held their post even after the City was breached. The honor is well deserved and could not possibly be resented."

Aragorn nodded, eyes glinting amusement as well as respect for the neatness of the solution. "A good thought, Cousin. Hurin, you will see the Men are suitably outfitted for their new duty."

"I will indeed." he replied with some enthusiasm. Then he smiled at Arthamir, senior of the Rangers left behind with their chief: "Do not begrudge us our share in the Dunadan."

The Man smiled back. "We will try not to, Hurinya, but it will be difficult after having him all to our selves these last years."

"I am not a bone to be fought over." Aragorn scolded, half jokingly, then added quite seriously: "I belong both the Gondor and the North." He turned to Hurin: "Uncle Halbarad was my banner bearer, now that he has fallen I need another. I would have one of your sons for they too belong to Arnor as well as Gondor."

"It would be a great honor to my House -" he began formally, then his face twisted in pain. "You ask a hard thing, Dunadan, I have already lost two sons to this war."

Laebeth let out a breath in controlled frustration and explained to Aragorn: "Our middle sons, Turin and Tuor, were in Osgiliath when it fell but not among those who won free with Faramir." then she turned to her husband. "Nor are they among those slain and desecrated by the Enemy so we need not bury them quite yet! Aranor has gone to look for her brothers."

Hurin blinked. "You sent our daughter across a war ruined land to a City but lately held by the Enemy?"

"She asked to go and I gave her my leave." Laebeth answered coolly. "Why not? She is armed, and far more skilled with bow and sword than I."

"And better than many Men." Idril put in. "Aranor will be all right, Hurin."

"The Enemy was in full flight last we saw of them," Imrahil reminded his friend sympathetically, "your daughter is unlikely to be in any danger."

Hurin turned to Aragorn in something like despair. "You see what I must put up with, Dunadan? Between my wife and my daughter it is a wonder my hair isn't white as snow!"

"I warned you I was no meek City lady when we married." Laebeth said unsympathetically.

"Our Southern Women are none so meek as all that." said Imrahil, husband and father.

"Not all of us." Idril agreed.

The candles on the table and set in sconces around it fluttered as the terrace door opened. Edennil and Bregedur, The two Northern Dunedain assigned to scout east to the River, came in accompanied by a tall, fair haired young Man in the brown leathers of a Gondorian Ranger.

"Tuor!" Hurin overturned his chair as he rushed to embrace his son, Laebeth followed more composedly, a faint smile on her face. "we had given you up for lost, son!"

"I hadn't!" the mother said with some emphasis. "Never count a Ranger as dead until you see his bones, Hurinya. Where is Turin?"

"Safe at the Houses of Healing," Tuor answered, "he was wounded in the leg, not seriously but he could neither run nor ride, and so we were left behind. The old city is full of hiding places, we had no trouble concealing ourselves from the enemy."

"And your sister, where is she?" Hurin asked.

Tuor looked at his mother, she nodded: "Yes he knows."

"Aranor is fine, she took Turin to the Houses and is probably there with him still."

"My niece joined our company just outside the Pelannor wall." Edennil told his brother by marriage. "She is a fine archer with a keen eye."

"And an even better swordswoman." Laebeth said to her brother with maternal pride.

"That we didn't get a chance to see."

"Well thank the Valar for that much." Hurin said resignedly.

"I take it back, your Men are far different from ours." Idril said to Arwen.

"Northern Women do not ride on errantry or to battle, save when there is no Man left to do military duty," Aragorn told her, "but we train them in arms alongside their brothers for they must defend the holdings when the Men are away. And knowing they can take care of themselves we do not hesitate to let them ride on scouts or patrols when they have cause."

"And seeking lost brothers is a very good cause." said Edennil, then proceeded to give his report in the usual spare, Ranger manner: "The lands to the River are clear, Dunadan, and those strays sulking in the ruins of Osgiliath have been disposed of." A faint smile crossed his face. "But my nephew has a report of his own to make for he and his companions did rather more than hide. Tuor, this is Aragorn Dunadan, our Chief."

"And our King." Hurin said with some emphasis.

Tuor stared at Aragorn, standing at his place behind the table, then recovered himself and bowed. "My brother and I were not the only ones forced to remain behind by wounds or misfortune." he began. "There were perhaps a score of us all told, Rangers mostly but a few knights and men-at-arms as well. Fortunately for us the Enemy was more concerned with moving his army across the River than searching the ruins for possible survivors."

He swallowed, composure wavering for a moment. "We saw the Lord Faramir's charge, and its result." Tuor's eyes darted briefly sideways to his father. "We could not keep the Enemy from desecrating the bodies of the dead but we did manage to rescue the few Men taken alive." then he looked back at Aragorn. "The Enemy had built a wooden span between the stone ends of the great bridge. Two of our Men, Damrod and Irolas, stole a keg of blasting powder and we used it to bring the bridge down, but by then the main body of the Orc army had crossed. And it was soon rebuilt for the Southron and Easterling armies, so I fear we did little good."

"That is why they came late to the field!" said Idril. "I did wonder."

"Your deed was far from useless, Tuor son of Hurin." Aragorn assured him gravely. "Thanks to that delay the Orc army was destroyed by Rohan before their allies came on the field. Had it not been for your Men and the Riders, and the determined defense of the City Guard my aid might well have come too late." He looked at Hurin, standing with a possessive arm around his regained son, and smiled faintly. "No doubt you and Laebeth are eager to see how Turin fares, I will not keep you. As for the other matter, think on it Hurinya and tell me your decision tomorrow."

"Yes, Dunadan, and thank you." Hurin bowed and led his wife and son out of the room.

"Well I am glad!" said Pippin, forgetting his place as usual. "Poor Hurin, I knew something was eating at him but I didn't know what."

"With your permission, my Liege, I will take my leave as well." said Imrahil, smiling, "I feel a sudden need to see my own sons."

"Of course. Good night, Prince."

Idril rose too, "And I will take advantage of Imrahil's escort if I may."

"But where will you go?" Arwen asked, suddenly dismayed, "We have turned you out of your rooms!"

"No, my Lady, I have lent them to you." Idril replied firmly, then laughed. "I have no less than two houses in the Sixth Circle and so do not lack a place to lay my head!"

By the time Aragorn and Arwen returned from seeing their guests to the door the table had been cleared away, Edennil and three of his fellows had vanished, and Gandalf was sitting in a big armchair before the hearth lighting his pipe. "Well, Aragorn," he said, "are you convinced yet?"

"I do not doubt Hurin's good faith, or Imrahil's or Faramir's or Idril's if that is what you mean." he answered. "But they are not all Gondor. I will be challenged, Gandalf, but I hope not until after Sauron's fall should we live to see it -"

"There he goes again!" said Pippin, handing around cups of wine. "Honestly, Strider, must you always assume the worst?"

Arwen laughed.

"It's a failing of Kings, young Hobbit." Gimli explained, taking a cup. "They must needs prepare for the worst."

"Even while hoping for the best." said Legolas.

"Assuming the best then," Aragorn said, smiling at his esquire, "I expect to be challenged after the battle when the question of crowning arises." he looked at Gandalf. "But I promise you I will not just go away as Tarondor did."

"He had no choice." Arwen said, stung on behalf of her long dead nephew. "The people were with Tarostar and he would not throw away the lives of the few who'd stayed faithful in a futile war."

"I know." Aragorn told her gently. "I meant no reproach, Sweetheart, Tarondor did the right thing. But my circumstances are somewhat different I think."

"They are indeed." said Gandalf. "You have the Lords of Gondor and its people with you, Aragorn, never doubt that."

"I will not." he promised.
***

Note: (Warning Fanon!!) Tarondor was the seventh King of Arnor, (515-602) and briefly King of Gondor as well. In TA 470 the Southern Kingdom was still small and weak, threatened by invading hords of Easterlings the King of Gondor, Ostoher, appealed to the High Kingdom for help. As a result Tarcil of Arnor's heir, Anduher, brought an army south and became co-ruler with Ostoher taking the name 'Tarondor' (King of Gondor). He made his seat in Minas Ithil, and Ostoher made his in Minas Anor, which he rebuilt, and Osgiliath was jointly held by both as in the days of Isildur and Anarion. Ostoher's heir, Tarostar, resented this arrangment and worked against Tarondor doing all in his power to turn the people and the Lords of Gondor against him. In 501 Tarondor rode out with his force of Northerners, but few Southerners, to meet the last great assault by the Easterlings. He was victorious but when he returned he found the gates of Minas Ithil locked and the walls manned against him. He returned to Arnor without a fight for the reasons Arwen mentions.

Peregrin’s knock at their bedroom door was Arwen’s signal to slip from her husband’s arms, pull on a robe and shut herself into the privacy of Idril’s dressing room. A rose red velvet gown, lavishly decorated with gold on neck and sleeve, was laid out on the table in the center of the room beside a gold edged surcoat of a blue so dark it was almost black. A light golden coronal, encrusted with garnet and ruby, glittered against the black felt lining of an open coffer next to them.

Gown and surcoat came not from the long dead Lady Elenwe but from Laebeth, and were made in the familiar Northern fashion. Idril had chosen the crown for her, taking it from the vault beneath the White Tower where the Queens’ jewels had been gathering dust since the death of Ioringlas, wife of Earnil II. Arwen donned her finery rapidly and sat down to wait - but not for long. Soon there came a knock on the back door and she opened it to Idril and Laebeth. Both were formally attired; Idril in silver edged black with a thin pearled circlet on her unbound hair, and Laebeth in dark crimson velvet banded with gold, her long hair crowned by a netted gilt cap.

Arwen had invited them to help her arm Aragorn, a lady from Gondor and a lady from the North. She was a little proud of herself for having thought of that, it was important that she as well as Aragorn not be seen as favoring her own people above the Gondorim, or the other way around either.

Peregrin opened the bedroom door to them, a faintly scandalized look, instantly suppressed passing over his face. Arwen knew from Bilbo’s tales of the Shire that proper Hobbit ladies didn’t call on gentlemen fresh out of their beds, but of course Pippin had the sense to know that this was quite a different matter.

Aragorn had politely but firmly declined the ornate plate armor favored by the Kings of Anarion’s Line. Instead his wife and kinswomen helped him don mail of galvorn with pauldrons and rerebraces of gilt edged Mithril. Then a long red velvet tunic went on, and over it a black leather surcoat embroidered with the Tree and Stars in silver thread, followed by vambraces and shin plates engraved with the winged crest of Elendil. Then Arwen buckled Narsil around his waist, and as a final touch, Idril and Laebeth fastened a long cloak of red lined black to his shoulders with the Elessar and a Mithril brooch etched with the Tree.

Arwen stepped back for a look and beamed her approval, he was truly magnificent, but she wasn’t quite finished yet: “Sit down and let me comb your hair.”

“I have combed it.” he said, a trifle defensively.

“No doubt.” she answered. “Now I’m going to do it right.”

Peregrin grinned openly, and only years of strict training allowed the two ladies to keep a sober front. Aragorn gave her one of his dark looks but he sat, and she set to work combing the sable brown hair smooth then plaiting two narrow side locks with silver and fastening them at the back of his head Elvish fashion. That should keep his hair out of his eyes for once!

When she had finished Peregrin presented his lord with a glittering helmet with a star of adamant set above the noseguard and a crest of wide spread seagull wings on either side. Aragorn shook his head, smiling. “Leave that, Pippin, I will not wear it. And leave the shield as well. It will be no use to me and awkward for you to carry.”

“To put it mildly.” the Hobbit agreed with evident relief. Arwen didn’t blame him, the shield was near as tall as he was and no doubt very heavy.

Aragorn rose from his chair but she stopped him before he could turn with an upraised finger. “Wait, there is one thing more.” She had her saddle-bags near at hand, reaching into one she found what she was looking for and turned to present her husband with a silver fillet set with a great Elf-crystal.

“The Elendilmir!” Aragorn exclaimed, astonished and more than a touch disapproving.

“Gilya gave it to me to bring to you along with Narsil.” she answered, and now it was her turn to sound defensive.

He half frowned but the deep eyes glinted with humor. “And what else do you have in that saddlebag of yours,” he teased, “the Scepter of Annuminas? Elendil’s chair itself?”

“Of course not,” she answered, blushing just a little, “don’t be silly, Estel. Now bend down and let me put this on you.”

He bent his head and she fastened the fillet at the back and he straightened with the Star of the North blazing upon his brow, no longer merely Chief of the Dunedain of the North but High King of the Realms in Exile. Arwen’s breath came faster, and not just with passion, for a moment she was almost frightened of the power blazing from her husband. But the fear, if that was what it was, quickly gave way to glowing pride.

“Onan-i-Estel Edain.” she proclaimed. ‘I give Hope to Men.’

Surprisingly Aragorn’s face darkened. “U-chebin estel anim.” ‘I keep no hope for myself‘ he answered grimly, and took her hands in his. “Arwen -”

She pulled one free and put three fingers over his lips. “You will come back to me, my Beloved,” she told him firmly, then smiled. “I have Seen you with our son.”

“Son?” he echoed, a little blankly.

“And why shouldn’t we have a son?” she demanded, half laughing. “Beren and Luthien did after all. His name will be Eldarion and he will be the very image of his father!”

“I cannot see that far ahead.” Aragorn answered painfully.. “I can see nothing at all.”

“But I can.” she told him. “Believe in my vision since you have none, believe in us.”

He took a deep breath. “I will try, but if I do not return -” She huffed out a breath in frustration but restrained herself. He would keep trying until he had his say, she might as well let him get it out now. “- it is still not too late for you to repent of your choice and sail with your father into the West.”

“It is too late.” she answered steadily. “If you do not return I remain here to abide the Doom of Men. I could not bear to wait all the ages of the world to see you again.”

He let out a breath. “Promise me at least you will not lay down your life in despair and come flying after me as Luthien did. Go home to Rivendell, let your father comfort you if he can.”

*’He still thinks I may change my mind.’* she thought with a touch of annoyance, but she would not lose her temper over something that would never happen. “I promise I will not follow you until I can do so in hope rather than despair. But you must promise in return to wait for me on the shores of the Outer Sea, as Beren waited for Luthien.”

“I will.” he said, and managed to smile. “And remember I won’t mind if it is a long wait.” And then, finally, he kissed her

***

Arwen gave the parting cup first to Eomer of Rohan, then to his lieutenants and finally to Meriadoc, his new esquire. Imrahil and his three sons were next, then Aragorn and those who stood with him. Halladan of course and Siriondil, the Captain of the new Royal Guard still uneasy with his new rank. Hurin had given both his eldest and youngest sons permission to ride with the army. The elder, Beren, was Aragorn’s new banner bearer. Last but far from least came the King’s esquire, Peregrin of the Shire.

She stepped back, the massive golden grail cradled in her two hands, and said the parting words traditional in the North: “We part but for a time. Fare you well until we meet again.” then the Captains bowed to her and led their Men out of the court and down the long tunnel stair to the Sixth Circle.

Arwen shoved the heavy parting cup into the hands of one of Idril’s maidens and ran to the edge of the long stone buttress, moving slowly down its length as she watched the long, glittering line of the army snake back and forth beneath her, zig-zaging down the Circles past cheering, banner waving crowds. Finally she reached the embrasure at its tip, and saw Aragorn and his companions ride out the Great Gate some seven hundred feet below.

For a moment her heart almost failed her, but the moment quickly passed leaving her faith unshaken. Aragorn would come back to her and they would have many years together raising their son and ruling the Realms of Men. But still she stood watching until the last glint of armor had vanished into the distance. Turning away at last she found Hurin standing by, concern in his eyes, and smiled determinedly at him.

“Well, Hurinya, we have much to do if this City is to be fit to receive the King when he returns.”

TO BE CONTINUED....In ‘The Steward and The Queen’ coming - eventually - to a PC near you! ;-)