Stories of Arda - Lord of the Rings Fan-Fiction Archive

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. (disclaimer copied from the B2MeM site... it is a copyright infrigement? =))

This year the Back to Middle-earth Month (B2MeM) organized by the Silmarillion Writers' Guild (SWG) was a quest game writing challenge:

Imagine yourself far in the future from your favorite age of Arda. The Elves have long passed into the West. The Age of Men began millennia ago. Only in legend, largely forgotten, do the people of Middle-earth recall the Ring War, the ascension of King Aragorn, the last ship to depart from the Grey Havens. The world has again begun to change. The waves break on new lands, and a new threat passes its dark hand across the tired face of the Sun. Perhaps in the deepest and long-forgotten lore the people of Arda can find the secrets to overcome this new threat? (from B2MeM homepage)

Every team had to choose a character to represent them in the game. It was (of course) Aragorn, and my great team-mates were Lirulin (a.k.a. Daenar), openmeadow and StarLight9. Every week we moved on the map, and had to write for the challenge of the place where we ended. In the following chapters I will post my entries for this event.

A/N: A chapter title with an asterisk (*) means a chapter written in frame of the events in the game

Week 1: Aragorn began in Bree, with a few provisions, athelas and the flower of the White Tree.

Challenge (Bree): A character is supposed to meet a friend at an appointed time and place. Upon arriving, his or her friend is nowhere in sight, and instead the character meets someone entirely unexpected.

The mallorns rustle in the gentle wind. I hear his voice in their leaves, young and soft like a touch of velvet on my skin. He sang about Lúthien...

My hand rests on the smooth bark of a young mallorn. It is spring. I feel the sap flowing up to the crown. And there, in the wet and rich soil, are the roots, nourishing and steadying it. Yes, those are the roots of my love... In the day when he called me by the name of Lúthien, its seed was sown, and grew to a sapling, young and tender – and yet I knew that this is the tree of my life.

"It is a fleeting enchantment, Arwen," my father told me, but his voice revealed that it is just his wish, born from his love to me... to us both. Oh Adar, you didn't want to lose me, if my love is true, and you didn't want me to hurt him, if it does not last... "He is but a yearling shoot, and you are a birch of many summers. You must be steady like a strong tree, not leaning in the wind..." you said.

I lean on the silver trunk of the mallorn. Oh father, you knew it, didn't you? Maybe I was leaning in the wind. After my mother sailed, I lost the support that anchored me to the soil; but not with him. With him, I am strong like a tree growing entwined with another.

The tree of my love has a strong trunk, but its branches are naked. Only a King of Men is worthy of my hand, you told him. Oh father, the role of Thingol does not suit you. Your heart is too gentle, and you love him too much. You know he is worthy of me, as worthy as any elven prince could be. However, you know also that he fears the mistakes of his ancestors, and the power of kingship does not allure him. To help him achieve his destiny, you used me and my love. I bear no grudge to you for I know what you will lose if this comes to happen. I fear for him. He is strong, but the goal so difficult, almost unachievable. Now he is far away, in the South, and I do not know if he will return...

Oh, again my thoughts strayed away, to the South... Maybe that is why my grandmother wants to meet me this morning. Maybe I seem too distracted to her. I think she guessed the reason... Yes, she can read hearts. She must have seen that my heart is not mine anymore... I must concentrate. She asked me to meet her at the hill of Cerin Amroth today. She never uses to be late. But now she has not come yet. I wonder what delayed her... nothing serious I hope.

Ah, she comes already... The sun reflects on her white robes. Oh no... it is not her! It is... oh Valar, do I dream or am I awake? Is it him? He looks like an elven prince clothed in white and silver, so tall and fair... and yet it is him! Aragorn. My Estel... I must admire the sight before me, like every woman would. A youth rode to the South – a man returned. His keen grey eyes are as deep as I remember them, but there are shadows and sorrows in them now, and my heart aches with the thought what horrors they have seen far from home.

Grandmother, what should this mean? Did you send a vision to me? No, it is not a vision... It is him, real, here... But you have told me to come here, and the clothes are from you also, I am sure. So well did you read my heart... Suddenly I realize what it means. You approve! You approve of my love! Just like my father, you know that it will part us forever, but you approve... Oh grandmother, thank you, thank you for this!

He stands still for a moment, like frozen to the ground. He beheld me and all the weariness disappears from his eyes. "Arwen..." he whispers in disbelief, and the word from his lips feels like a spring rain to a scorched soil.

In the next moment he holds me in his arms, half-way to the top of the hill, but I have no memory of walking down. This moment is everything that matters now. He is not a sapling anymore. For a moment, I see a black banner, and a white tree shining into the darkness from it beneath a crown and seven stars.

Oh Adar, I cannot wait anymore. I must give him something, a promise, a reassurance. The wind rustles in the mallorn leaves, and the tree of our love blossoms. Will it have fruits once, or will the frost burn the flowers? Take my promise, Aragorn. Take the blossom of my love. May it shine for you in the trials that are yet to come. May the banner of the White Tree blow from the top of Ecthelion's tower once again!

Week 3: A journey from Weathertop to the Lonely Mountain. I'll post the challenge for week 2 later, because this story is a companion piece to The Tree of Love from week 1

Challenge (Lonely Mountain): Have you ever felt totally lost? In a big city? In a foreign country? Because somebody has left you alone? Write a story, poem or create an artwork where the character has to deal with loss--either physical or spiritual.

Summary: After Aragorn's death, Arwen returns to Cerin Amroth one last time.

The mallorns rustle in the gentle wind. The leaves flutter on the silver branches, gleams of gold against the cloudy sky. They whisper an echo of a song, an echo of something that was and is no more. A leaf falls to the ground, carried in slow, wide circles by the sighing wind, like trying to get one more look at the land where it grew out, whispering a gentle farewell to the mourning tree. The branches stay bare, almost like statues with smooth skin, carved of cold stone. No new leaves sprout in this time. The winter comes to Lórien...

Where are you, my love? I wander here alone, and only the wind dries my tears as your hand would do once, strong but gentle, with a healing touch. I look at the sky, and I see your eyes in its deep greyness. I listen to the wind, and it brings to me the memory of your voice, whispering my name like a prayer and assurance in the same time.

You are with me here, in my memories. I see you on the hill of Cerin Amroth, clad in white like an elven prince, the look in your eyes so amazed, and then so joyful, the sorrows in their depths forgotten as you open your arms to embrace me, to feel my body against yours and get lost in the shadows of my hair, shielded from the worries of the world just for a while. The sweetness of your lips... You part your hand from mine reluctantly. Arwen vanimelda, namárië!

No! Oh no, do not go! Stay, just for a while. For a little while longer... We were together for so short! How quickly did the time pass, the years just ripples washing a white shore. What seemed like a lifetime of happiness, ended so soon...

You would not stay. For you, there was a gift of the One. Oh, how bitter it is to receive it! And yet you embraced it, choosing the day and hour of your passing, the King of the Númenoreans in glory undimmed. You would not stay. At first I did not ask you to, I did not beg, although my heart begged you thousand times. I did not want to make it even harder for you... But at the end, something broke in me. I pleaded just for one more day, just for a little while, a moment... You tried to comfort me, but did not head my pleas. You were strong. You have always been. You passed the final test, and now it is set before me. Give me your strength, my lord. Give me the will when my steps falter, like you did so many times.

The uttermost choice is before you, you said: to repent and go to the Havens and bear away into the West the memory of our days together that shall there be evergreen but never more than a memory; or else to abide the Doom of Men. Oh my love, that choice is long over... There is no ship for me, for my Blessed Realm is wherever you are...

We were like two trees, growing entwined in a sun-warmed soil. Our love blossomed, and bore fruits - sweet, ah so sweet they were... Our children, the fruits of our love. To hold them in my hands, to caress their hair, and think that our fëar and bodies touched to create a new being, but carrying something from both you and me, sealing us together in one perfect creation... I am thankful now, for something of you stays in them. Eldarion has your eyes, the gentle silver of kindness and stormy-grey of anger. And Gilraen, my little princess, has your smile... She is a woman now, not the little girl that you carried on your hands. They miss you, my love, just like I do. But they can go further. Life can go further. Not I. Without you, there is a piece of me missing...

Here, on this place, we forsook both the Shadow and the Twilight. That was my choice, and I would not choose differently. I regret nothing, my lord. Every moment with you was worth it, even those when we quarrelled, stubborn as we both were...

When we first met, I was a tall birch, and you a young sapling. But you grew to strength quickly, like the White Tree that waited on your touch among the cold stones of Mindolluin. When you found it, you knew that I was coming, and that your line will continue, you told me. And for a moment, I wanted to be that tree, planted and caressed by your hands. Now you are no more, and I am a mallorn with bare branches, watching my leaves flutter to the ground. Winter comes to Lórien...

But the White Tree stands still on the square of Minas Tirith, and its trunk is strong and steady. There is more than memory behind the circles of the world... Here, on this place, I can feel your touch on my skin when I close my eyes. I can hear your voice, calling me. I smile. I'm coming, my love...

I slip my hand into yours. We are young again, and we walk among the birches of Rivendell. It is spring...

Week 2: From Bree to Weathertop. What happened on the way will be a separate story

Challenge (Weathertop):Show a scene in which a character or characters acquire a meal.

I am darkness. I am hunger. Deep under the roots of the world, I spin my nets of un-light to cover the entire land. To take and devour so that nothing stays, just me, me and my darkness, filling everything! Maybe then my hunger will be satiated. For light I hunger, for that living, flickering, imperishable flame. I long for it, but it does not fill me. Only cold darkness, emptiness stays, and I hunger for more, more of the pure, untainted light!

He came. He promised. He seduced me with the vision of light to satiate my hunger. I seduced him, too... This is not my only form. It is most comfortable for spinning the darkness. But I can be beautiful to any eyes if I want, beautiful and dangerous. They like danger, the males. And I always get what I want. Then he promised. And I followed.

When we came, it was quiet. Nobody was there. Nobody saw us. They stood on a hill, shining like thousands of flames.

.........................................................................................mixing

...........................................................................rising

They were diminishing and I was rising. All the light of the world was mine! The emptiness inside me being filled. The light is mine! Ecstasy. Mine! Aaaaah...

The poison born of my thoughts spreads; like black veins under the unblemished skin of their bark. As if a heart would be beating in the middle of their trunk, bearing the poison further and further with every beat and spilling light into my waiting maw.

Nothing is left. Dead branches like naked bones rustle their own dirge in the wind.

The hunger stirs again. More! I want more! More light! I want it! Because I am darkness. I am hunger...

Week 2: the adventure on Weathertop, and Aragorn's new companion (written in the frame of the game)

Challenge (Weathertop): Show a scene in which a character or characters acquire a meal.

Summary: It is short before Dagor Dagorath, and the heroes of the past returned to accomplish their part in the defeat of Morgoth. Aragorn travels with Esmeralda Brandybuck to search the ancient ruins on Weathertop for the palantír of Amon Sûl.

A/N: co-authored with Lirulin

Unexpected Allies

Daenar waited. It had been two days already and he was slowly becoming impatient. In addition to that-and to awful weather-he was getting hungry. At first he had tried to forget about it and then he tried to hunt rodents, scurrying around the place, but quickly rejected this idea as humiliating and not satiating at all. So he tried to forget again, or at least to distract his mind from the thoughts about blood, concentrating on the mission, the sense of which so far was not very comprehensible.

He remembered how it began…

…the bright light, filling Eru's Halls... a throne on a high dais… and the Creator; the intent gaze of his grey eyes… and dry, reserved voice:

"You will go to Arda, Daenar."

"What for?" he deliberately omitted the usual "my lord".

"Your task will be to accompany one human."

"Why me?" Daenar didn't look up, but he felt that the Creator frowned.

"Because that is my word and my will!" Now Eru's voice sounded like a distant thunderstorm. "But if your mind seeks more logical explanation…" he turned to a normal voice again. "…you are powerful enough for that mission."

Powerful… how mocking it sounded now! He winced looking at the dead rat at his feet. Powerful… hunting rodents like some wild animal or a house cat! Powerful…but deprived of three fourths of that power…

"That is necessary," Eru said then.

"You still don't trust me…" Daenar stated assuredly.

"Not quite… you are still too untamed, and the creatures of Arda are too fragile for you." The Creator turned away and continued. "In the last battle you'll regain everything."

"Thank you for your kindness, my Lord!" the vampire bowed, making a long pause. "You haven't told me yet, why I should accompany some human? Why can't I act on my own?"

"He has a role in it, like the others that gathered from all edges of the world and time will. But I think you might get along with this one best. They will need a wizard's assistance."

"Do I look like a wizard? Send Olorin again…"

"He will be needed in another place." Eru replied elusively. "Don't argue, you may look wherever you want, it's your magical powers that count."

"What is the name of the human?" Daenar asked quietly.

"Aragorn."

"Ah, I think I remember… the end of the III Age, right? The War of the Ring… Isildur's heir."

"Right. And I am glad that you know something about him already, so you won't underestimate the importance of the mission. Just try to conceal your awful habits, please!" the Creator shuddered.

"Yes, my Lord…"

He glanced at the darkening sky and the first stars, glittering above. In the West there was one, shining much brighter then the others, and it had the same name as the human he waited for once had. The human who was late.

Maybe he was attacked on the way and didn't survive? Or he survived, but was wounded and was now lying somewhere, losing more and more blood with every minute…

…blood…

…that one word and the image of the dark-red liquid, glistening in the starlight, dampening the ranger's clothes and the ground beyond him, brought the vampire to the edge of sanity. He hissed quietly… as the wind brought the smell of a living being approaching.

"Sorry, whoever you are… wrong place, wrong time, you know… nothing personal…" he whispered before flying up in the air to attack the victim from above…

***

Aragorn looked around. Yesterday the weather was nice yet, and the company of the elderly hobbit made the journey quite pleasant. But now, it rained slightly from grey clouds, and there was no track of Esmeralda. Literally. No, it was not that they would be washed by the rain. He was a Ranger, and could find track that were days old. But now, it seemed as if they would never be there, although he remembered the places where they walked together just a few hours ago... He looked for her for several hours, but found no trace of her. But something told him to return, to climb Weathertop again. Maybe from its top he will be able to see more...

Aragorn pulled his hood deeper into his face. The light drizzle fell steadily, and made everything wet in an almost unobtrusive way, until it got through the clothes and began to plaster them wetly to the skin, followed by the sharp gusts of wind, blowing suddenly and then calming again, as if to trying to surprise an unsuspecting traveller. Weathertop, indeed.

Against the low hanging clouds, he could see the ruins of the ancient tower of Amon Sûl. It looked grey and gloomy, blending with the dull country, colourless in the moment right before sunset, when the sun is hidden behind the clouds.

He had an unpleasant feeling when he ascended the old crumbling road, winding its way to the top of the hill; as if he would hear echoes from long ago. High, blood-chilling screams... He stopped and listened, but only the wind wailed among the cold stones. Maybe it was just his memory that played with his nerves. However he couldn't get the images of riders and evil knights in the darkness from his mind.

Aragorn shook his head, and continued his ascent with a hand on the hilt of his sword. He could see the top of the hill already, crowned with the ancient rumbles. Suddenly, in a split of second, he sensed something was wrong, and drew the sword immediately. Maybe it was the rain... He could see the small drops falling into the grass around him, but for a moment, he didn't feel them on his face. Something was coming – from above. There, he directed the point of his sword as he jumped to the side.

A dark shape descended on the place where he stood just moment before, quick like thought, and a strange chill was in the air around the figure. Violet eyes flashed beneath the veil of raven hair, and the look in them sent chills down Aragorn's spine. Hunger... It was the look of a predator, and he was the prey.

He kept the point of the sword directed at the attacker, waiting for his move, while around them, the soft rain fell steadily.

"Hmm… you are quite quick… for a human," long sharp fangs glistened slightly as the vampire smiled. "But it will not help you…" he paused. "I am sorry, but I am really hungry."

A vampire... Aragorn realized with horror. He has heard about such creatures, but has never seen one, nor did he think that they still walk the lands of Arda after Thuringwethil was defeated. He took a deep breath, watching the vampire carefully. Daenar watched too... and hesitated to attack. There was something about this mortal, something... familiar? The sword perhaps…

"Who are you?" he asked finally.

"And who are you?" Aragorn asked warily, watching his every move. Was it a trick? But what trick? If he just wanted to feed, why would he ask about his name? "My name is Aragorn," he said finally, studying the vampire's reaction.

"Oh..." the vampire smiled."Then... I am lucky that I haven't killed you."

"Why?" Aragorn frowned, not relaxing his battle stance. "Who are you?"

"I was sent here to meet you..." Daenar winced. "And accompany. To somewhere for some reason.... I am Daenar."

The cryptic answer didn't satisfy Aragorn. "Why did you want to kill me then? Who sent you?"

"The second question is easier..." the vampire admitted."I was sent by Eru... and why I wanted to kill you... hmm.. I am just hungry. That's all..."

Aragorn blinked. „By Eru? But why..." he stopped suddenly, and listened. No, it was no sound. It was a feeling... Chilling like the touch of a nightmare. He knew that feeling. A Ringwraith was near... His eyes scanned the surrounding quickly, keeping the vampire in the corner of his vision. How could they be here? Were they not scattered when the rigs binding them lost their power? But... what time was this? It was Weathertop as he remembered it. Surely it would not look the same if a few ages passed. Then... did he return into the time of his memories? A high, chilling scream that made the hairs on his neck stand up answered him. Yes, it was Weathertop from the time that he remembered. From the night that he remembered best...

"What's up with you?" Daenar frowned. "Why have you turned so pale?"

Aragorn didn't have time to reply. Suddenly it stood there, real, or an apparition from his memory? It did not matter. The chill coming from under the black hood felt real, as real as anything in the last days. Aragorn and Daenar looked at each other. And suddenly they knew that they are allies... Here was the enemy.

From that short look, Daenar could tell exactly what Aragorn intends to do. But I think you might get along with this one best... Eru's words came back to him, and he thought he understood them now...

As if on a signal, Daenar leapt forward, aiming at the darkness under the wraith's cloak. Aragorn leaped immediately after him, aiming lower, so that it would be very difficult to avoid both blows at once. But the wraith didn't even try to duck. Instead in breathed out black, ghastly flames... Daenar hissed angrily and turned away from the fire, still trying to hit the wraith with his claws. Aragorn nearly dropped his sword as the flames touched his hands freezing them, but from the corner of the eye he saw Daenar continue the attack, and so he barely adjusted the path of his sword to complement him better.

The sword cut the wraith's cloak… if it was a normal living being, it would be wounded badly... and for a moment it seemed it was. But anyway one blow could not cut it into two parts that fell on the ground, being but pieces of burning cloth that turned into ash then.

Aragorn frowned. "What is it doing?" he whispered.

"It can't be that easy to defeat it..." Daenar murmured. "We'd better step aside a bit... who knows what it will do."

A heap of rags on the ground didn't move. Aragorn retreated a few steps, and watched the ash warily. Slowly it began to rise again, this time covered with pale bluish light and with a crown on the head.

"No..." Daenar breathed out. "It can't be..." he stepped aside again and hissed, addressing to the wraith. "Come on... or are you too afraid to attack?"

The Witch-King's answer was a quick movement to the side... and a lightning, aiming at Daenar. The vampire managed to duck from it, but not low enough to avoid completely...

Aragorn stood like frozen still, looking at the Nazgûl, but before he was able to move, the wraith attacked - almost lazily, as if he would show some sword exercise, the movements so very familiar and deadly. Aragorn ducked under the thrust in the last moment, feeling like trying to move in freezing water that steals the breath from his lungs.

Daenar dared to do a dangerous thing - he bit his own hand till blood was streaming out of the small wounds. The smell assaulted his feelings... but it also spurred him for a new violent attack that left some scratches on his opponent's hood and shoulder.

The black figure withdrew with a growl and threw another lightning at the vampire, and this time Daenar could not evade it... He uttered a short cry of pain and turned back closing his face with his hands.

The Witch-King attacked the man again, and Aragorn finally seemed to shake off the numbness of the wraith's presence. He raised his sword, and blocked the blow, going into an attack immediately. But the wraith raised his sword to a defensive position, and then rotated it so that its point reached over Aragorn's crosspiece and embedded into his forearm. The man jumped back immediately before he could do more damage. Everything happened in a few heartbeats.

Daenar glanced at him through his fingers and sighed. The smell of blood was mixing now with the smell of smoke, and it was so very familiar. The vampire hissed and leapt onto the dark figure, his claws protruding to the extreme and his fangs glistening in the starlight. And again Daenar's claws left only some scratches on the cloak of the wraith. They exchanged several more attempts of attack, each without much success... until the dark figure lowered the sword, unsheathed a dagger... and with an almost imperceptible movement stuck it into Daenar's chest.

As the vampire staggered back, Aragorn attacked the wraith with a new determination, but the Witch-King's defense seemed impenetrable. He even managed to turn the block into attack again, and leave a long gash on Aragorn's shoulder - if he wouldn't manage to turn to the side with the blow, it would severe his arm... He retreated a few steps, and in that moment he saw that Daenar was injured. He hesitated for a moment, trying to find a way how to help him without uncovering himself to the wraith, and his opponent took advantage of this short moment and attacked. In the last moment Aragorn managed to parry his blow, although only barely.

After recovering somehow, the vampire made some steps back with an angry hiss... and some astonishment in his eyes. He could not even count on his regeneration now, it was too slow to help with such deep wounds. The wraith turned his attention away from Aragorn whowas trying to catched his breath. He laughed coldly - and attacked Daenar again, aiming at his neck. The vampire tried to parry the blow, but his previous wound made it so painful to raise his arm, that instead of parrying, he just helplessly waved his hand, like a drowning person trying to reach for anything that would save him. Another cry of pain was muffled and followed with a sound of gurgling blood...

"No!" Aragorn didn't think anymore, but acted reflexively. He reached for his knife in one fluid movement, hurled it at their opponent quickly, and raised his sword just in time to parry the blow. But he didn't have time to bring his left hand to the hilt to block the blow from above, and its strength broke through his cover and hit him to the head with his own sword. He staggered slightly, but soon his vision cleared, and although his forehead throbbed with pain, he knew that the blow was not serious, as he managed to cover the worst of it.

Daenar used his chance to make one more attempt to reach for the opponent - and his claws hit the dark figure twice, each time leaving scratches, though not serious. Enraged by these scratches, the wraith hit Daenar again, but it left only a small cut on his cheek, because trying to withdraw, the vampire stumbled and fell down on the ground...

Aragorn didn't have time to look how Daenar is faring anymore. The duel was lightning fast, and the swords clashed into each other in a deadly song. They seemed equal for some time, without scoring any hit, but finally Aragorn managed to get through his opponent's defense and leave a flaming gash on his chest, although only shallow. But he paid for it - he didn't see the blade coming, he felt only fiery pain that dulled all other senses, and the rush of warm blood from his shoulder. He staggered back, gritting his teeth. His left hand was useless now, and he gripped the sword with his right only.

His mind was dulled with pain. The wraith neared to him. He was almost in the reach of his sword now, and the Witch-King covered the last steps with one jump, and made a quick low thrust. Aragorn saw his chance. He didn't avoid the thrust. Instead, he stepped into it, and thrust his sword through the wraith's chest, uncovered in the moment.

The Witch-King stumbled... and was suddenly covered in bright flames... and again, like before, fell on the ground like pieces of burning cloth. As the ashes reached the ground, all fire was gone. Was it real? It did not matter anymore. The pain was...

Aragorn's vision grew blurry, but he could see the dark shape burning... disappearing. Then there was no more enemy. The sword fell from his hand. He made a few staggering steps to Daenar, not even noticing the blood that was pouring from the new wound, but then his legs betrayed him, and he fell to his knees. His vision was darkening, but he still saw Daenar, lying in the pool of his own blood. He did not try to rise anymore. He lay still and unmoving...

Aragorn moaned, and sank to the ground. Was this the end? He did not fear dying... Once he died already, and he departed in free will. He knew the feeling. But this time, it hurt so much... He gritted his teeth. The pain will pass. It will pass soon... From the last bits of his strength he reached his hand, and grasped Daenar's hand firmly, although it was slick with blood. It was a strange companionship. At the beginning, Daenar attacked him like a hunter its prey. And yet they fought side by side now, as if they would know each other for yeas. Now they were dying together... Aragorn closed his eyes. The darkness from the corners of his vision crept closer, and swallowed him.

***

After some time Daenar coughed and opened his eyes, looking wildly around... then blinked several times and sighed. The blood gurgled in his throat still. The regeneration of his body tried to cope with the wounds, but it was too slow...

"Is it… gone?" he whispered with his lips only and then noticed the wounded man. "No…don't even think of dying..." he closed his eyes again and remained still for some time. But his strength was not restoring yet, and he knew why. He was still hungry, and the hunger that spurred him in the fight, now weakened him more and more. He needed blood. And the blood was so near, all over the place. The human blood…

"Sorry…" he murmured. "Though I doubt you need it any more," he dipped his fingers into the pool of blood and pulled the hand to the lips then, licking the blood off. But it was still not enough... He turned to the side, and with the last effort began drinking blood right from Aragorn's wounds.

"Thank you..." he whispered, though half of the blood was spilled down his chin. "Thank you... soon I will be better and will help you..."

When he really felt better, he sat up near Aragorn and placed his hand over he man's wound, healing it slowly…

***

Aragorn opened his eyes and saw Daenar kneeling near him... but his clothes were soaked with blood, and it was smeared on his cheeks and chin also. "Dae...?" he tried to voice the question that came to his mind first, but then he looked into the vampire's eyes, and felt almost ashamed for it. No, he did not try to feed on him. He... healed him? With surprise Aragorn found out that he is feeling much better. He tried to sit up, but sank back, panting from the effort.

"Please, don't get up! You are too weak still..." the vampire tried to make him lie down again. When Aragorn made no further attempt to rise, but fixed his gaze on him, Daenar smiled sadly, answering the unvoiced question. "Yes, I drank your blood. I am a vampire, you know... And I healed you, too... I needed the strength from your blood to do it. It would come in vain otherwise..." he murmured apologetically, and looked away, already thinking about the way how he will explain Eru that he didn't fulfill his request.

But Aragorn did not avert his sight, and waited until the vampire looks at him again. When Daenar did, sensing his intent gaze, Aragorn smiled weakly. "Thank you..." he said.

Daenar blinked a few times, and then smiled uncertainly, too.

Aragorn hold his sight for a while, and then scanned him quickly. "Are you... injured?" he asked, certain that he remembered how the wraith injured Daenar, but seeing no wounds under he torn clothes.

"Have some rest and don't worry about me," the vampire smiled. "I am too bad to be killed so easily!"

Aragorn raised his eyebrow at that, but didn't say anything. After he assured himself that Daenar is indeed well, he relaxed, feeling suddenly very weary... and very cold, after a while. The rain was falling still, but this coldness reached deeper, to the very marrow of his bones. Aragorn shivered. He propped himself on his elbows, and looked at Daenar. "We must... get away from here..." he said urgently.

Daenar bit his lip, and watched Aragorn worriedly. "You've lost a lot of blood..." he remarked, aware of the double meaning of this phrase. Yes... what Aragorn lost, he gained... for Aragorn's profit though. He sighed finally, and helped Aragorn to get up.

Leaning on Daenar, Aragorn managed to get to his feet. They should return to the tavern... The thought about the steaming mugs and fire in the hearth made Aragorn shiver even more. He wanted to turn to the way down the hill, but suddenly he spotted something from the corner of his eye.

On the place where they defeated the Witch-king, or his apparition, whatever it was, something glistened in the rain. With Daenar's help, he walked to that place, and knelt. A smooth round stone... Immediately he recognized it. The palantír...

He has seen one of these before. Once upon a time, in an age—a life-long lost, he gazed into a Seeing Stone and met with fire.

Once again, he took the stone into both hands and gazed deep into its swirling depths. And, as before, fire leaped forth and he saw the wasteland of Mordor, clasped by mountains once jagged as teeth but now worn smooth by wind and rain and time. Amid them, Aragorn sensed *him.*

But, surely, that must be a mistake, for Sauron was destroyed utterly at the end of the Third Age. Surely he could not--

Yet the thought tormented him that many have returned who should not have to fight in this Final Battle. Perhaps the forces of Light are not the only ones with the power to bring back those who live now beyond even memory?

Aragorn shook his head, and torn his sight away from the Seeing Stone. "He returned..." he whispered, shivering now from more then just cold. With a new urgency he struggled to his feet. "We must tell the others..."

A/N: Written as a roleplay with Mirach as Aragorn, Lirulin as Daenar, and the dice as a Ringwraith. The dice almost defeated us, but at the end we had some luck... =) The description of the vision we got from the mods. Daenar is Lirulin's original character, and more stories about him can be found in his profile (www.fanfiction.net/u/1875614/Lirulin-yirth-kaio)

Week 4: Sauron returned to Mordor. To defeat him, we could use the weapons gathered during the game, and put them to fight by writing for any of the unlocked challenges

Challenge (Halls of Mandos): Show us a character having or coming to terms in the aftermath of a near-death experience.

'This is an evil door,' said Halbarad, 'and my death lies beyond it. I will dare to pass it nonetheless; but no horse will enter.'

(J. R. R. Tolkien, The Return of the King, Book V, Chapter 2: The Passing of the Grey Company)

Week 4: Sauron returned to Mordor. To defeat him, we could use the weapons gathered during the game, and put them to fight by writing for any of the unlocked challenges

Challenge (Alqalonde): They say music soothes the savage beast. Or does it? Write a story surrounding the idea of music and music-making as something that does not calm and soothe but, rather, energizes or antagonizes.

Summary: Aragorn discovers a beautiful harp among his posessions. But can he play it? (written in the frame of the game)

A/N: co-authored with Lirulin-yirth-k'aio

Somewhere on the way to Mordor:

"Daenar, I fear we are lost..." Aragorn stood on a rocky hill, trying to look through the thick mist.

"Are we? I thought you know all paths here..."

"Yes, of course I know all paths here. I just don't know where *here* is..."

"Are you serious?" the vampire frowned.

Aragorn nodded wryly. "I'm sorry, the mist makes it difficult."

"Should I fly up and look?"

"Ah true, you have wings..." Aragorn looked at Daenar, as if realizing this fact for the first time. "And you tell only now?" he smirked. "Yes, that would be very helpful..."

"You haven't asked," Daenar smiled flying up and looking around.

Aragon sat down with a sigh, and awaited his return.

Soon Daenar returned with news about a village nearby. "Shall we go there to ask the way?" he asked with a smirk.

Aragorn rolled his eyes. "That's really not necessary. I know the way. But... it wouldn't harm to ask where we are..."

"Surely! Let's go... there!" Daenar waved his hand in the direction of the village

Aragorn nodded, and together they walked through the mist in the appointed direction, until they really found a small village, built at the foot of a hill. Aragorn told Daenar to wait for him at its border. After a while he returned with a relieved expression. "I didn't know we got so far to the south in the mist... We should go more to the east from here..."

"So now you know where *here* is?"

"Yes, I hope..." Aragorn had the grace to blush slightly. "But how should I thank them? I fear I have nothing of value..." he rummaged through his thin pack. Suddenly his hand touched something, that made a sound... a tune. With surprise he took out a beautifully carved harp.

"Oh, what is this?" the vampire inquired, raising his eyebrow. "I didn't know you are so much fond of singing and playing harp..."

Aragorn looked puzzled. "I... didn't know I have it. Hmm..." he struck a string, and smiled slightly. "Elrond used to play such a harp sometimes..."

"Did he teach you?"

"He... tried." Aragorn replied distantly, and struck some more strings.

"But he didn't succeed much you mean?" Daenar smiled

"Why? Are you implying he didn't?" Aragorn's play quickened - he seemed to really like the harp...

"No... you play well enough..." the vampire took a deep breath. His eyes flashed green..

Aragorn seemed happy with that answer, and didn't notice the flash, immersed in the music.

"This music... do you know what you're playing?" Daenar murmured

"Improvising..." Aragorn grinned widely.

"It's... the theme... the third theme, second variation..."

"Errr... what? You know it? But I've just made it up now..."

"I know it, yes... I've heard Eru play it sometimes. It's the theme of human race. From the music of creation..." Daenar looked really excited - and hungry.

Aragorn stopped playing, dumbstruck. "But... that's not possible..."

"Everything is possible if you play a harp that appeared in your bag out of nothing! And if you returned from the dead millennia after your death..." the vampire spread his wings in excitement even.

"Daenar?" Aragorn frowned. "What's happening? Are you alright?"

"I am... it's just the music... the music that is too powerful..." Daenar shook his head trying to drive away sudden dizziness. Green flickers in his eyes became even brighter. "Play more please.."

Aragorn looked at the harp, then at the vampire... and at the harp again. He began to play hesitantly, but soon the music quickened.

... the vampire listened to the music, breathing hard, nearly hissing... biting his lips... but it didn't help much.

But Aragorn seemed lost in the song, and did not notice his companion's reaction...

...Daenar sighed... closed his eyes, able no more to hold the melody within... and started singing the song that wasn't heard since the day of creation.

Aragorn missed a tune with surprise, but then his hands fell into the rhythm of the song again, while his ears quarrelled with his mind if what he is hearing is true...

...the tune was so sophisticated in its seeming simplicity... with some unexpected moves.... sometimes almost wild, sometimes very gentle..

Aragorn began humming softly, entranced by the song while he played.

Some part of Daenar's mind wondered what could happen if they sang it to the end, but larger part was entranced as well and sang further.

The weariness of the long journey fell from Aragorn's shoulders as he listened to the song, and he felt new strength in his limbs.

...suddenly the song stopped.

Daenar blinked several times and then murmured. "It's... the end... of the song I mean, not the world!"

Aragorn blinked a few times also, like waking from a dream. He felt something wet on his face. It were tears...

"Oh..." the vampire sighed again. "That was... something! I suppose lord Elrond never taught you to play this particular music?" he asked to conceal his nervousness.

Aragorn shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts. "No... He tried to teach me, but... I didn't have much patience for it in that time..."

"Until you found this in your bag..." Daenar reached his hand to take the harp.

Aragorn hesitated, but then gave it to him reluctantly.

The vampire touched the strings gently... and winced. "No... take it. And don't give it to me. It's too dangerous... if I play it. If even you, a mortal one, produced some piece of the music of creation... I won't dare check what will I produce!"

Aragorn took the harp back slowly, awed still. He touched one string gently. Suddenly he smiled. "I will play for the people in the village. How better can we thank them for showing us the way?"

"Well, it's a good idea! They deserve it, surely..."

Aragorn nodded, and headed to the village square.

Daenar followed him silently, hoping the villagers won't be frightened of him. Sometimes people were... and it would not be good now.

Aragorn stood in the centre of the square, everybody who was outside looking at him - he has been a king, he should be used to it, right?, he reminded himself, but despite that he began feeling quite uneasy.

"Why are you hesitating?" Daenar asked mentally. "Is something wrong?"

No, nothing is wrong... Aragorn shook his head, and took a deep breath. Then he began playing... but the music was not the song that he played earlier... it was hardly any song.

Daenar watched him suspiciously.

Aragorn coughed, and tried to begin anew. The villagers began giving him strange looks... But the sounds that he got from the harp were discordant...

The vampire approached his friend slowly... put his hand on Aragorn's shoulder...

Aragorn frowned, and continued playing... or trying to play... the harp stubbornly.

"Sh-sh... don't think... just feel it..."

Frustrated, Aragorn stopped, and looked at Daenar. He nodded slowly, and closed his eyes. The looks of the villagers got meanwhile even stranger... Aragorn didn't heed them, and began playing from the beginning.

"Feel the music... don't try to remember, just feel... it's inside of you, it's your essence..." Daenar's mental voice was slightly trembling, as the sounds turned slowly into the tune.

There were a few tunes of the Song... He felt it as he touched the strings. Just when he had the feeling, that the discordant jangling is going to turn into real music, he felt a hesitant hand patting his shoulder. He turned, and saw one of the villagers, apparently a representative of the group in the corner of the square, looking at him, and speaking among themselves in hushed voices.

"Er... good sir..." the man began. "Look. We showed you the way. We really don't want anything for it. And we want to thank you for your... song. Here, we gathered some gold. Just promise us that you stop playing..."

"Oh, and he has just begun..." Daenar murmured. "It was going to be better, really..."

"Yes, I believe you..." the man said cautiously. "But we are not very musical here... Just take the gold and leave, would you?"
Aragorn, meanwhile, blushed deeply.

Daenar glanced at him with sympathy and a shade of sadness. "Maybe it was not meant to be heard by anyone.." he sighed mentally. "But... you've played *that* music..."

Aragorn looked at him thankfully, and sighed. "I'm really sorry for disturbing you. Keep the coins, and I will be on my way..." he turned, and walked away, stroking the harp absentmindedly.

Daenar followed him having cast one last glance at the village. No, they were not allowed to hear that... then it perhaps meant the end of the world was not so near...

Aragorn looked at him, and smiled wryly. "It is said about Maglor's harp that it inspires generosity from all who hear it... It is true, it seems...

"Was I also generous?" the vampire laughed quietly. "I felt more like... hungry. Or... like my power was restored."

"Hungry?" Aragorn looked slightly alarmed.

"It was only a feeling... not the real hunger."

"Really?" Aragorn sighed, and smiled slightly. "Good, because I'm not going to get wounded for you again..."

"Who would let you get wounded once again?!" Daenar frowned. "That was an emergency case.."

Aragorn smiled. "Good then. But..." he looked the vampire into the eyes. "...we played that music, didn't we?"

"We did. That is for sure!" Daenar smiled wryly and repeated half-dreamily. "We did..."

Written (again) as a roleplay starring Mirach as Aragorn and Lirulin as Daenar. Inspired by the item in our inventory:

"Maglor's Harp: The beauty of music from this harp inspires generosity from all who hear it. Each week, you may collect the items and treasure from one location that you bypass."

and the comment of mods when we voiced our doubts about Aragorn's musical competence and the popularity of music in Angmar: "The discordant jangling of Aragorn attempting to play Maglor's harp is just what they like in Angmar, so he has collected the following extra item on his journey: (...)" But somehow, it turned in an entirely different direction...

Week 4: A compilation of our tavern posts concerning the fight with Sauron. The Tavern was a place for roleplaying the characters during the game. (And I couldn't resist to show you what happened there =))

Summary: It is short before Dagor Dagorath, and the heroes of the past returned to accomplish their part in the defeat of Morgoth. But someone else returned also... Aragorn travels to Mordor to fight against Sauron, and distract him for long enough for the hobbits (Handy and Esmeralda Brandybuck this time) to reach Mount Doom (written in the frame of the game)

A/N: co-authored with Lirulin-yirth-k'aio (unbetaed)

In Mordor Where the Shadows Are

It is quiet. The low clouds swirl in dark spirals like dancers, driven towards one point. In that point, a ominous tower looms dark, a tower that has fallen long ago, and yet it stands now, a terrible silhouette against the sunless sky. Barad Dûr...

Two figures descend noiselessly the slopes of the Ash Mountains. One is a Man, but moves with elven grace and stealth among the sharp stones, while the other looks almost unearthly - a deeper shadow in shadows.

Aragorn stops, and surveys the barren land and dark tower ahead. "We will wait for the others here," he whispers to Daenar.

"A new Fellowship?" the vampire smiles slightly. "Of what?"

Aragorn looks at Mount Doom, flaming in the distance. "Of Hope, my friend..."

***

They waited behind a mound of debris near the Dark Tower. Daenar glanced at Aragorn with a slight smile. "Do you believe that our 'Finrod-and-Beren' trip will end better than the first one? Though there is already one difference to our advantage - instead of Luthien hurrying after us you have a male version of Thuringwethil here with you." the smile became broader. "I only don't know if Eru will return me at least my sword to fight with."

"Could you please stop eavesdropping on my thoughts?" Aragorn asked with a wry smile. "It can be useful in battle, but still it feels strange... Ah well, good that the male version of Thuringwethil is on our side!" he smirked. "But I doubt Eru would personally deliver your sword here. These will have to do..." he pointed to the quite impresive collection of weaponry that appeared nearby. "And there are many famous blades that would be a honour to wield. The others are helping us..."

"I am sorry!" Daenar smiled too, when the hobbits left. "It's just a bad habit... I hear your thoughts well, and... couldn't help commenting!"

Then the vampire glanced at numerous swords, daggers and bows. "I know, each of these is famous enough even for an ainu to wield... and of course I wouldn't wait for Eru himself to arrive here just to give me back my sword," he paused. "I am not as lucky as you were once. But my weapon was quite special. It is... in me. Like part of myself. But when my powers are restricted, I cannot... cannot get it." He felt that words were failing him in this task of explaining what seemed so simple and natural to himself. "And if our being here is meant to repeat the events of the past, then the wizard will have to use a plain sword instead of magic... right?"

"Gandalf was not allowed to reveal his full power..." Aragorn said quietly. "Maybe you have to take his place now..." He smiled slightly. "Black instead of white, but the intention is important, not the color. Come, let's fulfill that intention!"

Aragorn looked at everyone in turn, to assure that they are prepared and armed. Then he nodded to the hobbits. "Go..." he said simply. "Valar be with you..."

And he stepped forth himself, and walked to the Dark Tower. The others followed him.

***

Aragorn stopped before the iron gates of the Dark Tower. He stood there lordly and proud, with his face lifted, his hand resting on the hilt of Andúril. "Come forth!" he cried in mighty voice. "Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth! The King of Gondor demands that he should atone for his evils, and depart then for ever. Come forth!"

There was absolute silence. Nothing moved. There was no living thing in this place, and the very air seemed dead. High in the tower, the fire seemed to burn brighter, and illumnated the grey debris like blood mixing with ash.

Suddenly, the gate trembled, and with a sound of iron grating on stone, it opened slowly. But it remained empty for a long time. Aragorn glanced back at his companions. The twins had their swords drawn, and the arrows of Haldir and his brothers were knocked on the strings. Even Daenar has chosen a blade. Aragorn drew Andúril, and the red light reflected on the blade, but the sword shone with its own light, like the shine of Sun and Moon. But still the gate was empty, a waiting maw of darkness.

The sound of steps was heard then, heavy and reverbetating. Approaching. Aragorn clutched the hilt stronger. A figure in dark armor emerged from the darkness of the gate. Fire blazed behind the slits of the helmet, unclean and hot like the depths of the earth. Aragorn shivered beneath the palpable evil of that gaze.

"So you come to fight me again, Heir of Isildur?" the voice was cold like iron, and mocking.

"I will fight you until all lands are free of your will!" Aragorn replied steadily. "For Frodo..." he whispered then quietly, words that only he could hear. With those words, he attacked.

***

For the entire night they fought the figure in dark armor looming above them. The black mace swinged through the air like a deadly mass of iron. His shield was shattered soon, and Andúril could not block it. Aragorn didn't try to. He threw away the useless shield, and grasped Andúril with both hands. He moved like a dancer, avoiding the mace, and trying to reach his opponent.

Hours passed, and he was tripping with exhaustion, but he forced himself to move as quickly as before - slower would mean his death... and maybe Sauron's victory in changing the past...

He saw a chance! A gap in Sauron's defence. The Dark Lord was getting too confident... Aragorn thrust Andúril into the joint of the black armor. The scream was deafening, like the shriek of a Nazgûl, but even more piercing. Andúril grew red-hot in Aragorn's hands. He staggered back, but didn't let go of the sword burning his hands.

Sauron recovered sooner then they would all like. His movements were slower, but equally deadly. Aragorn was panting, and sweat dropped into his eyes. Every movement with the sword was painful, but he clutched it with all force. He tripped again, and in that moment, something knocked the air from his lungs, and made his chest burst in pain. He was flying through the air. Everything blurred. He tasted blood...

***

Daenar, who was not so exhausted like the others, continued attacking the Dark Lord, hissing and growling like a wild beast. Glamdring in his hand – he chose it deliberately, according to Esmeralda's theory - crushed against Sauron's armour from time to time, but without much result. And he felt being lucky not to be wounded himself so far. He was quick enough, but what was the use of staying safe if there was no progress in the fight?

Then there was a scream… and Daenar realized with some odd calmness that their opponent was wounded. Finally… It gave him time for a new attack – but in the next moment he understood that he had to choose… He could give the maia a blow, but it would be too late to stop his mace. Or he could throw all his strength to soften the blow, meant for Aragorn.

Moments became eternities…

…too late… no, no I can't let him die… late? No!

…sound of metal crushing metal… an impact…

… and the mace continued its way, but the might of the blow was more than half reduced. Daenar glanced quickly at the twisted blade in his hands. Maybe it would be restored later, but for now it was useless. And all he had were his claws – and rage.

Without any further hesitation he jumped forth, hitting the Dark Lord's face, covered with helmet. Stripes of metal flew off it with each hit.

***

Moving was pain... Breathing was pain... Andúril burned in his hands, but he did not let go of it. He knew he must get up and fight... Where are the hobbits now?, he wondered. He had to get up... but his body refused his command, flooding him with a wave of pain that made him almost cry out. He saw Daenar fighting Sauron with bare claws, but he had no strength to help anymore...

Do you believe that our 'Finrod-and-Beren' trip will end better than the first one? No, it's not going to end better, it seemed... Finrod-and-Beren... There was an idea, circling in his mind, but he could not grasp it. It avoided him, sank under the surface of pain... Finrod and Beren...Finrod...

The harp! He had the harp still! He remembered the song he has played once already... With a hiss of pain he let go of Andúril, and reached for the harp. The strings cut in his burned fingers, but he gritted his teeth, and began to play. He did not think about what he is playing. His fingers bled, and blood covered the strings. But from the harp, a song streamed.

He chanted a song of wizardry,

Of piercing, opening, of treachery

The lidless Eye

The evil lie

To quench the hope in misery

But in the darkness Hope rose swaying,

And sang in answer song of staying

Of faithfulness

Of Western seas

Of the light deep in the soul laying

Resisting, battling against power,

Of secrets kept, strength like a tower

Like hardened steel

The strength of will

Before the Eye there is no cover

The chanting swelled: Elessar fought

And all the hope and light he brought

Into his words

Like mighty swords

To guard the secret that the Eye sought

The song echoed over the battlefield, and the darkness of the armored figure seemed to shrink a little. But another song rose from it, dark and violent, and wrestled with the tunes from the harp. Aragorn felt like being thrown into that evil fire that burned behind the slits of the helmet. He burned... His hands trembled violently, but he continued to play. He played until he had no strength left, until there was nothing left, and he was naked in the devouring flames.

His song wavered. A string snapped. The darkness enveloped him, enveloped everything...

And suddenly, it disappeared. The fires around him were extinguished, and he felt that the earth had been cleansed from a great evil. The realm of Sauron is ended! The Ring-bearer has fulfilled his Quest... Handy and Esmeralda were successful... A great peace washed over Aragorn. It's over… He closed his eyes tiredly, and knew no more.

***

Daenar fell on the ground. For some time he just sat there, blinking and trying to understand why everything is so reddish and blurry… Then he realized that it must have been blood. Yes, Sauron hit him several times… how many? He didn't remember right…

He stood up slowly, wiping the blood off his face and looking around. Aragorn should have been somewhere near. The vampire heard him sing and play the harp – and it was that tune again. He smiled, but this simple movement caused pain… Frowning slightly he limped towards the ranger who seemed to be unconscious but alive still… so far.

Daenar knelt near Aragorn, clutching his shoulders:

"Don't even dare die, do you hear me?" he whispered. The whisper turned into hiss as he felt incredible pain in his hands. Slowly, as if not quite believing yet, he let Aragorn's shoulders free and looked at his own hands. They were burned almost to bones. He hadn't noticed it in the fight, but now… now the wounds didn't heal.

He didn't dare look at the elves, standing in a distance. It was too much for them, he thought. Burned hands, scratched face… and no sign of healing. An omen. He glanced up, into the clearing sky. There should be an eagle. There could be… The vampire called for any of them mentally, and turned his glance to Aragorn again. "Soon we shall return… home, if it can be called so."

***

The door of the tavern opened with a bang and someone, almost completely black from soot and blood, entered, limping and carrying another one, not less dirty, but still recognizable as Aragorn.

"We've... won!" he breathed out, as he had no more strength to speak. "We've won..." he repeated, laying the ranger on the bench near the wall. "But he needs help... we both need." he finished helplessly, trying not to raise his head.

"Estel!" the twins called his name, but Aragorn did not stir. After they tended to his wounds, their faces were grave. His burnt hands were still clutching the harp, and when they wanted to gently pry his fingers away, he moaned and clutched it even stronger. They ceased immediately.

"Aragorn?" Elladan whispered.

"Fire... Eye..." he muttered, breathing heavily, but he didn't open his eyes.

The twins looked at each other worriedly. Then Elrohir nodded slightly, and went away, while Elladan stayed with their brother. After a while he returned, carrying a vessel of cold water.

They washed his face with it, and continued to his hands. Under the soothing coolness, their grip relaxed slightly, and they were able to take the harp away. The strings released a weak tune as they put it down, and Aragorn stirred slightly, but didn't awake. He was still unconscious as they tended the burns, and bound them with clean cloth. Then they could only wait.

Elrohir shook his head helplessly. Aragorn's breathing was getting more difficult, and there was nothing more they could do. "If we only would have athelas..." he sighed.

"Athelas..." Elladan bit his lip. Then he slued round. "Aragorn is a healer himself! Maybe he has some!" Hastily he rummaged through Aragorn's pack, putting aside a pipe and some ropes. There! He found a small, crumpled package, and the unmistakable scent told him what it is even before he opened it enough to look at the leaves. He sighed with relief. Elrohir went to heat the water quickly, and then Elladan put a few leaves into it. A fresh scent streamed from the bowl, like the memory of mornings in Rivendell, and all who were nearby felt refreshed.

Aragorn's breathing evened too, and both twins sighed with relief again. But suddenly his breath hitched, and his eyes opened, looking around wildly. "Fire... Burning... everything..." he panted, writhing in pain.

"Estel! Estel, we are safe! We're back in the tavern!"

But Aragorn didn't perceive his surroundings, he seemed to be still fighting Sauron in his mind.

Elladan looked around desperately. He couldn't even take his hand to reassure him. The hands of a healer... he thought sadly. His sight fell on the bloodied harp, and in a sudden inspiration he picked it up. He wiped away the blood, and began to play quietly.

After a moment, Aragorn's look seemed to focus a bit. "El...?" he whispered hoarsely, his sight too blurry to recognize which twin is leaning over him.

"Yes, little brother..." Elrohir smiled, while Elladan continued to play.

Aragorn moaned in pain, but he hold his brother's sight. "The...hobbits?" he asked.

The song is from my story The Song in the Darkness (where Aragorn faces Sauron also, but in different circumstances...)

Week 5: This week was about cooperation between the teams to defeat Morgoth at the end of the game. We accepted the challenge of Glorfindel to write a drabble for every one of the 63 challenges together.