Author notes:  In my story “Holding Back the Flood”, the Nazgûl sorcerer attempted to penetrate Rivendell’s defenses through its unguarded “back door”.  But was there another way?  I just had to explore one more idea...

This story will probably consist of short chapters, but I'm happy to finally be writing it.  I am grateful to Lilybaggins for inspiring this story, and to Lynda for contributing ideas.

DISCLAIMER:  The Professor’s wonderful characters don’t belong to me; I just get to think about them day and night.
__________________________________________

** “And more deadly to Frodo was this!” He stooped again and lifted up a long thin knife. There was a cold gleam in it. As Strider raised it they saw that near the end its edge was notched and the point was broken off. But even as he held it up in the growing light, they gazed in astonishment, for the blade seemed to melt, and vanished like a smoke in the air, leaving only the hilt in Strider's hand. “Alas!” he cried. “It was this accursed knife that gave the wound. Few now have the skill in healing to match such evil weapons. But I will do what I can.”

He sat down on the ground, and taking the dagger-hilt laid it on his knees, and he sang over it a slow song in a strange tongue.

** Briefly Strider told of the attack on their camp under Weathertop, and of the deadly knife. He drew out the hilt, which he had kept, and handed it to the Elf. Glorfindel shuddered as he took it, but he looked intently at it.

“There are evil things written on this hilt,” he said; “though maybe your eyes cannot see them. Keep it, Aragorn, till we reach the house of Elrond! But be wary, and handle it as little as you may!” 

‘Flight to the Ford’, The Fellowship of the Ring

IN THE MIND’S EYE

Chapter 1:  Left Behind 

The sorcerer watched impassively as his Captain rode into the Bruinen along with two others of the deathless ones.  Three were more than enough to retrieve Baggins, who was so close to succumbing to the enspelled shard that they could all now see the Halfling clearly. 

It was he who had enspelled his Captain’s knife, investing fragments of his own essence and will into blade and hilt.  He had learned the process from the Dark Lord Himself, who had unwisely poured such a large measure of Himself into the One Ring that His powers had been greatly limited by its loss.  But the Ring was lost no longer.  Baggins was now raising his pitiful weapon, and his Captain shattered it with a single, focused intent channeled through the ring on his finger.  At last they could...

There was a thunderous roar, and to his horror, the river suddenly exploded into torrential fury.  His Captain and the others were swept away before his eyes.  He frantically turned his horse about, only to discover that Baggins’ companions had come up behind them wielding fire.  The cruel, burning light of an Elf-lord seared his eyes.  The horses, caught between two dangers, neighed in terror and no longer obeyed their Riders’ commands. 

But even while desperately attempting to bring his frenzied mount under control, the sorcerer felt an echo of his own dark magic emanating from one of the shadowy shapes before him.  It was coming from the knife-hilt that had been left behind at Amon Sûl!  So... one of the foolish mortals had brought it all this way on his person, unknowingly allowing the enspelled hilt time to subtly entwine its energies with his own.  The powerful spells he had laid on the hilt had been weakened by some Elvish magic, but it would still be possible to influence this mortal in a limited way.

All of this he realized even as his horse bucked and wheeled in fear, and he felt himself being brought closer to the river which crashed and roared in a deafening flood.  One by one, the mounts of his remaining deathless brethren stumbled into the flood and were gone, until only he was left.  With scant seconds left to act, he marshalled all of his concentration and pointed the withered finger bearing his ring of power directly toward the mortal.  Crying out words in the Dark Speech, he focused on the fragment of himself that inhabited the enspelled hilt, and merged with it.  The mortal -- he sensed a Man of ancient lineage -- staggered and fell, and there was a cry of fear from one of the Halflings.

Using dangerous and subtle craft long-practiced, and honed on unfortunate Men and Elves who had crossed his path, he quickly sought the mortal's mind and cast himself into it, prepared to probe for information to bring to his Captain when next they were together.  

But time had run out. The wraith’s focus was pulled abruptly back to his own body as he, too, was hurled into the river. His horse was no longer beneath him, and he tried futilely to mount one of the water-horses formed by a magic such that he had never before encountered; but his hands fell through the foamy mane, and he was crushed beneath icy talons, crashing boulders, and pounding hooves. But even as he was swept far from Baggins, he experienced a grim satisfaction. Their pursuit of the Master’s Ring had temporarily been thwarted, but into the hidden valley of the Elves would travel the fragment of dagger which even now sought the Halfling’s heart.  And now, a fragment of his own consciousness had been planted -- deeply, and virtually undetectable -- into the Man’s mind. It, too, would be carried into Imladris, where another utterance of the Black Speech would rouse its dark purpose. The Halfling himself would surely cry out in the tongue of Mordor when the Ring claimed him and he entered the shadow realm. The moment the Black Speech cleft the air within the borders of Imladris, the dormant essence within the Man would awaken, transforming him into an unknowing spy in service to the Dark Lord.  All that he saw and heard would be gathered and stored in his mind... for Him.

The Elf lords will surely destroy the knife hilt, and feel themselves safe, but they will never guess that its power lies now within a mortal who walks among them as a friend. When next I find this Man, I will drain him of every memory, leaving an empty shell ripe for enslavement. I will then return with my brethren to this Elvish valley, armed with the secrets to breaching its border. That day will be sweet.

** TBC **

IN THE MIND’S EYE

Chapter 2:  Dazed

‘I gave a shout, but when I got up to the spot there was no signs of them, and only Mr. Brandybuck lying by the roadside. He seemed to be asleep. "I thought I had fallen into deep water," he says to me, when I shook him. Very queer he was, and as soon as I had roused him, he got up and ran back here like a hare.'

'I am afraid that's true,' said Merry, 'though I don't know what I said. I had an ugly dream, which I can't remember. I went to pieces. I don't know what came over me.'

'I do,' said Strider. 'The Black Breath.’

‘Strider’, The Fellowship of the Ring

Although Glorfindel had warned them that the river might flood if the Master of Rivendell sensed a need to protect his valley from great danger, the torrent was so sudden, so loud and so fierce, Sam couldn’t believe his eyes.  His attention had been torn between watching the black horsemen in the river advancing towards Frodo and the white horse, and frantically waving his firebrand at anything that moved.  He was too exhausted to run any longer, and watched in relief and amazement as the black horses left on their side of the river reared and whirled and were swept away with their riders.  Only one was left, and as Merry and Pippin ran to the bank, calling out desperately to Frodo’s still form, to Sam's horror the sole rider pointed directly at Strider, yelling something in a harsh tongue from an invisible face.  A crackling energy filled the air, and for a moment Sam felt that he was falling into a dark void.  He cried out in fear, the flame at the end of the branch he held the only light he could see.  And then the oppressive blackness lifted.  Looking around dazedly, he realized that the rider was gone, taken by the flood... and that Strider lay on his back, his eyes open, staring blankly at the sky.

When the Nazgûl pointed straight at him, Aragorn suddenly felt as if he was looking down a long, dark tunnel, and a powerful wind hit him with great force.  It seemed to come at the same time from outside and yet deep within him.  The flaming branch he held fell from his numbed hand and he slid to the ground, no longer in control of his limbs.  He felt as if he had been suddenly frozen, plunging through ice into deep water.  He heard Sam calling his name as if from a great distance and he tried to respond, but a searing pain shot through his head and everything went black for a moment.  When he came to himself, his head ached dully and there was a moment of confusion as Sam’s blurred face appeared above him.  The hobbit’s huge eyes were dulled with grief and exhaustion, and for a moment he couldn’t remember why.

“Strider?” A small hand touched his face.  “They’re gone, all washed away.  Mr. Frodo is…” Sam’s voice choked, and tears began to flow as he stared across the river.

“Let me see to him, Sam,” came a familiar voice, and the hobbit’s place was taken by Glorfindel, who gazed down with great concern.

“I am all right,” Aragorn said, trying to gather his thoughts.  His vision cleared, and he looked around frantically.  “What of Frodo?”

“He lives.” Glorfindel knelt, and looked deeply into Aragorn’s eyes.  “Are you wounded?  Did one of the Nazgûl touch you?”

“The last rider yelled something at him,” Sam said, pointing to where the wraith had been.

“He did?”  Aragorn frowned.

“Sam, what did you hear?” Glorfindel asked urgently.  “It may be important.”

“It sounded like something awful,” Sam said.  He closed his eyes and saw, once again, the empty, ragged sleeve pointing at Strider.  Strange words rippled through his memory, but they were now indistinct, as if he was listening under water.  

“I can almost...”  But the harder he tried to hear the words, the more vividly the shock and fear of that moment closed around him with cruel, grasping fingers.  He was drowning...

“Samwise!” Out of the darkness came Glorfindel’s clear, bell-like voice.  Sam opened his eyes with a start, and gasped with relief to see that the sun was still shining.  

“I’m sorry, Mr. Glorfindel,” he said, swiping dirt from his face with an equally dirty sleeve.  “I’m just that tired.”

“We all are, Sam,” Merry said, coming to join them.  “Strider, are you all right?  The flood is passing, and we need to get to Frodo.”

“I am fine,” Aragorn said briskly, but he swayed slightly as he got to his feet.

“Strider!” Pippin yelled from where he was gazing anxiously towards Frodo and the white horse.  “I think we can cross now!”  He stepped into the still-frothy river, and gasped as he found himself in cold, rushing water higher than his waist.  Aragorn rushed forward and plucked Pippin up before he could be swept downstream.

“Glorfindel, will you see to Merry and Sam?  I will take Pippin,” Aragorn called out.  His thoughts were once again sharp and focused, the brief weakness of little consequence.  He lifted the hobbit up onto his shoulders, and turned to whistle for Bill.

Even as Glorfindel bent to sweep Sam into his arms and urge Merry to climb onto his back, his eyes never left Aragorn.  The Nazgûl were gone, yet a faint, mocking echo of them remained.  Something felt wrong, and he was uneasy.  

I must learn what the fell rider said to him, he thought.  Perhaps there is a way Sam can be helped to remember.

** TBC **

IN THE MIND'S EYE

Chapter 3: Rivendell

"Your friends crossed after the flood had passed; and they found you lying on your face at the top of the bank, with a broken sword under you. The horse was standing guard beside you. You were pale and cold, and they feared that you were dead, or worse. Elrond's folk met them, carrying you slowly towards Rivendell."

Gandalf, 'Many Meetings', The Fellowship of the Ring

Once across the River, Glorfindel set Sam and Merry on the ground and swiftly knelt next to Frodo. Turning over Frodo's clenched hand, he gently pried open the small fingers and caught his breath. The Enemy's Ring lay before his eyes, deceptively fair. He had no wish to bring this thing past the borders of Rivendell, but dared not leave it behind. He placed a scrap of leather on the ground, then tipped Frodo's hand so that the Ring fell onto it. As he did so, Sam fell to his knees next to Frodo.

"Is he dead?" Sam whispered, choking on his tears. He felt sick, unable to believe what had happened.

"Do not lose hope, Sam. We must get him to Elrond," Aragorn said. He bent down and lifted Frodo's unconscious body gently. The hobbit was cold and still, but he still breathed.

"We need to hurry," Pippin said imploringly. "Can't you or Glordfindel ride with Frodo to Rivendell?"

"We dare not risk it, Merry," Glorfindel said regretfully. He caught Aragorn's eye, and the Ranger nodded in agreement. "I fear Frodo bears something of the enspelled knife within him. We should not jar his body any further. It might hasten the..." He stopped speaking.

"Enspelled?" Merry asked in horror.

"There's something inside my master that oughtn't be?" Sam gasped. "Please do something!" he begged, his anguished face glancing from Aragorn to Glorfindel.

"Take him, Aragorn," Glorfindel said, swiftly wrapping up the Ring. "You know the way. We will follow." He gathered the fragments of Frodo's sword, and got to his feet. "But first, where is that knife hilt you bear?" he asked. "Gandalf and Elrond will want to examine everything."

"It is here, in my pouch," Aragorn said, gesturing towards his waist. Glorfindel unlaced the pouch and drew out the hilt, frowning as he did so. It seemed rather ordinary now, retaining none of the potent, dark power he had originally sensed.  Had it been discharged somehow, or... His thoughts were interrupted by Merry pleading with Aragorn to take good care of Frodo.

"I will bear him as smoothly as I may," Aragorn assured him, striding forward on his long legs. Sam started to follow, but Glorfindel called him back.

"The Valley is not far, and yet far enough for weary hobbit legs," he said gently. He lay a comforting hand on Asfaloth's nose, and felt his beloved mount relax. The great horse was slick with sweat and breathing heavily.

"You bore Frodo with courage, and did not falter in the presence of the deathless ones," the Elf-lord murmured. "Well done. One more short journey, and you shall feast on warm mash and sweet grasses."

He lifted Pippin and placed him on Asfaloth's back, then turned to Sam and Merry.

"W... wait, sir," Sam murmured, stumbling off the road. He fell to his knees in the grass, suddenly violently ill. Merry ran to him while Glorfindel watched gravely. Although all of the hobbits were pale and shaken from their encounter with the Dark Servants, something had touched Samwise more deeply than the rest. Sam at last rose shakily to his feet, and Merry led him slowly back to where the Elf-lord waited. Glorfindel set Merry on the great horse's back, in front of Pippin.

"Can you ride, Sam?" Glordfindel asked. "Bill has rested, and it would please him to bring you to the Valley."

Sam nodded, and walked over to Bill. He was surprised when Glorfindel followed him.

"Without consulting Elrond," the Elf-lord said quietly, "I know not whether it is still safe for Frodo to bear the Ring. However, I will not carry it on my person, nor ask any of you to do so." He slipped the Ring in its leather wrapping into one of Bill's saddlebags, and placed there also the knife hilt and shards of Frodo's sword.

"Now we are ready," Glorfindel said. "Come, let us follow Aragorn. I sense help coming from Rivendell."

Merry tightened his grip on the horse's mane and Pippin, shivering from his dunking in the River, wrapped his arms around his cousin's waist. Asfaloth climbed the last few feet to the faint trail, and Bill followed behind with Sam. Now on the familiar path towards home, Asfaloth shook his head so that the bells on his harness rang merrily.

"If only your Gaffer could see us now, eh Sam?" Pippin called back, in an attempt to bolster their spirits.

"He wouldn't believe his eyes, Master Pippin, and that's a fact," Sam agreed. He gave Bill a fond pat.

It didn't take long for Glorfindel and the hobbits to catch up with Aragorn, and the Elf-lord and Ranger took turns carrying Frodo. After awhile, a group of Elves joined them, singing softly as they walked. They brought fruits, ripe and crisp on the tongue, and bread warm and sweet, and soon the hobbits’ sharpest hungers were eased. As they travelled, the air grew warmer and the sun seemed to sparkle more brilliantly through the trees.

Sam rode in a haze of weariness beyond anything he had ever felt, his head still spinning, and the thought occurred to him that perhaps they had all indeed died at the River and none of this was real. When at last the path opened up to reveal a fair valley, bathed in light and alive with the sound of fountains and birds, he wondered if he was dreaming, at least. And when he saw old Mr. Bilbo standing on the steps of a grand house, and heard his voice, he was sure of it.  

The Elves' song changed, and melodies urging rest and sleep bathed the hobbits in rhythmic pulses. Sam's fingers slowly loosened their hold on Bill's reins, and gentle hands lifted him and bore him away. As he slid into a deep sleep, his last thoughts were of his master, and hopes that they would all awaken in real beds, to a homely breakfast, far from dark riders or adventures.

** TBC **

Author note: A line in this chapter is adapted from the movie “Cocoon”.

IN THE MIND’S EYE

Chapter 4: Awakened

The change in the wizard's voice was astounding. Suddenly it became menacing, powerful, harsh as stone. A shadow seemed to pass over the high sun, and the porch for a moment grew dark. All trembled, and the Elves stopped their ears.

`Never before has any voice dared to utter the words of that tongue in Imladris, Gandalf the Grey,' said Elrond, as the shadow passed and the company breathed once more.

‘The Council of Elrond’, The Fellowship of the Ring

The hobbits were not the only ones affected by the Elves’ song; Aragorn, weary enough not to be on his usual guard, felt the liquid tones penetrating his mind and body. As if in a dream, he realized that Gandalf was standing before him, his eyes sorrowful, his hands reaching out.

“Give him to me.”

Aragorn gratefully allowed the wizard to take Frodo from his arms.  Gandalf strode away at a great pace, with Bilbo running to keep up. Aragorn heard familiar voices, then felt the strong, supportive arms of his brothers on either side of him. Barely able now to stay on his feet, his thoughts blurred and beginning to drowse, he did not protest when they escorted him into the House and toward the chambers always kept in readiness for him.

Glorfindel watched them go, relieved at the sight. Aragorn and Samwise would sleep long and deeply, and hopefully awaken with any lingering weakness from the Black Breath dispelled. For the moment, he decided to keep his own counsel about the events at the Ford, save what concerned the Ring-bearer. Elrond and Gandalf needed to focus all of their energies to ease Frodo back from the shadows, if such a thing was possible, and he would not burden them with any distraction. The deathless ones had been swept far away and, for whatever reason, the knife hilt now appeared to hold no further malice.

He asked that Asfaloth and Bill be taken to the stable master, but first he retrieved the Ring, hilt, and sword shards from Bill’s saddlebag. He would deliver these items to Elrond personally, then take his own rest – a long and peaceful walk in this fair valley, breathing in the crystalline air. He longed for the refreshment of the singing of bright birds and the sweet mists of sparkling waterfalls, and the trees would welcome him home with their slow, measured voices. When night fell, he would bathe in the starlight that shone here as in no other place east of the Sea, to cleanse his mind and spirit of any remaining taint of the Nazgûl.

In the next few days, Glorfindel was so busy he was able to manage only brief glimpses of Aragorn and Sam, although Pippin and Merry could not be missed as they explored the House, walked with their elder cousin Bilbo (when they weren’t in Frodo’s room), and enthusiastically enjoyed meals in the dining hall. A delegation of Dwarves was on hand, needing to be housed, and the son of Thranduil had come seeking advice on news which he as yet kept to himself. And the Steward of Gondor’s son had unexpectedly arrived in the valley, in need of rest and food. Glorfindel was not surprised to learn that Elrond had instructed Erestor to arrange a council, yet marveled that Frodo would be well enough to attend. He had periodically inquired discreetly of Aragorn’s welfare, and what he heard pleased him -- the sons and daughter of Elrond, as well as the young hobbits, reported nothing unusual. Aragorn had apparently fully recovered from whatever had – or had not – occurred at the Ford.

October 25

“Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.”

Glorfindel was as horrified as the rest when the language of the Enemy rang out harshly from the wizard’s lips. The air grew dark, and he heard a gasp from Frodo. The hobbit’s body had gone perfectly still, and his eyes were wide with surprise. Frodo was seated directly across the courtyard from Aragorn, and Glorfindel was startled to see that the Ranger, not Gandalf, was the object of the Ring-bearer’s rapt attention. Aragorn was staring blindly ahead of him, his face a blank mask. When the darkness passed and the sun again bathed the valley with brilliant light, Aragorn slumped momentarily in his seat, shaking his head as if coming out of deep thought. But he recovered quickly, his grey eyes once again bright and alert. Glancing quickly back at Frodo, Glorfindel saw that the expression on the Ring-bearer’s face had changed to one of confusion. But soon the hobbit was once again as absorbed as the others in listening to Gandalf resume his tale.

The Council proceeded, and through it all, Glorfindel’s keen gaze returned again and again to Aragorn.

Something perilous has happened, he thought, fear rising in him. I should have spoken 'ere this.

*~*~*~*~*

The moment the Black Speech cleft the air, a dark presence flared into consciousness with a vast surge of triumph. Sensing its host’s mind shudder, and the strong body flinch as if bitten by a venomous serpent, it instantly quieted and the dangerous moment passed. Cloaked in silence and shadow, it cautiously peered out through the eyes of the Mortal, reveling in sight and smell and feelings not experienced in thousands of years. Taking in its surroundings, it noted representatives of the so-called Free Peoples. They were discussing the history of the Master’s Ring, which was comfortingly near.

The fools, they know not what powers lurk in their peaceful valley, this pitiable Elvish refuge.  But what is this? The wizard calls my host 'Aragorn'; could this be the heir whom we have so long sought? Better and better. They would value him above all others. Should I feel the wizard sense me, I will show him that this mortal's life is now within my power to control. Only the sorcerer of whom I am a part, or the Master Himself, would be able to call me forth without damaging my host. The wizard and Elf-lords will risk no harm to Elendil’s heir.

The spell was well wrought; I am tightly woven into this Man’s mind, and he knows it not.

I will watch and listen, and wait.

*~*~*~*~*

Glorfindel waited impatiently while the courtyard cleared, and soon only Frodo and Sam were left, speaking quietly together. He hurried to their side, and knelt quickly.

“Frodo, what did you see when Gandalf spoke the tongue of the Enemy?” he asked in a hushed voice. “I saw you staring at Aragorn.”

“It was probably nothing,” Frodo said hesitantly.  “Hearing those words disturbed everyone.”

“It may be of great importance,” Glorfindel urged.

Frodo frowned, and looked uneasy.  “For a moment I thought there was... a shape hovering over Stri— er, Aragorn. Something dark and malevolent. I felt like one of those Black Riders was near. It was... it was attached to him somehow. And then the sun came out again, and it was gone. Then I wasn’t sure I had seen anything at all.”

Glorfindel again felt the sharp jolt of fear run through him like a knife. It was all he could do to keep from seeking out Aragorn and... what? If what he suspected had come to pass, what could he do? He realized that both hobbits were looking at him with alarm.

“It wasn’t anything, Glorfindel, truly,” Frodo insisted. “The light – or lack of it, I suppose – must have been playing tricks with me.”

Glorfindel took a deep breath and forced himself to remain calm.

“Frodo, do you mind coming with me for a moment while I speak to Elrond? Sam, I need you, as well.”

“At your service,” Sam said, bowing slightly. “But will it take long, sir? My master needs his luncheon, and a rest. It’s been a long morning.”

“You need rest as well, Sam,” Frodo said firmly. “I know you haven’t slept or eaten much.”

“Nonsense,” Sam said stoutly, although Glorfindel could see that both hobbits looked drained and weary.

“I would not ask were it not urgent,” Glorfindel said. He took their hands and led them into the House, where he found Elrond and Gandalf conferring in the library. They looked up in surprise.

“Speak, my friend. Why do you bring the hobbits here?” Elrond asked.

“Are you alone?” Glorfindel's eyes swept the large room.

“Yes,” Gandalf said. He frowned, putting down the map he had been studying.

“What became of the hilt of the Nazgûl’s knife?” Glorfindel asked urgently.

“Destroyed, along with the shard removed from Frodo’s body,” Gandalf said gravely. He came forward and rested a gentle hand on Frodo's shoulder. “It was not an easy task. Why do you ask?”

“Elrond, Gandalf…” Glorfindel sighed. “Once every Age… or so… I have been known to make a catastrophic mistake. I regret this may be one of those times.”

** TBC **

IN THE MIND’S EYE

Chapter 5: A New Conspiracy

'You seem to know a great deal already,' said Frodo. `I have not spoken to the others about the Barrow. At first it was too horrible; and afterwards there were other things to think about. How do you know about it?'

'You have talked long in your sleep, Frodo,' said Gandalf gently, 'and it has not been hard for me to read your mind and memory.’

‘Many Meetings’, The Fellowship of the Ring

Glorfindel left only long enough to summon two members of his personal guard whom he knew could be trusted with any task set before them.

“No one is to enter this room,” he told them gravely. “Unless the Dark Lord launches an attack, or Vingilot itself comes to rest on the front lawn, we are not to be disturbed. Do you understand?” The two Elves nodded, and Glorfindel stepped back into the library, pulling closed the massive, ornate doors. Elrond and Gandalf had not moved, but Frodo was now sitting in Bilbo’s favorite chair with Sam standing next to him. They all looked worried.

“Sit, my friends,” Glorfindel said, arranging chairs in an arc around Frodo. “We are a council of five who must discuss a most serious matter.”

“I fear the Nazgûl have infiltrated Imladris,” Glorfindel announced when everyone was seated. Frodo gasped, and Gandalf and Elrond both looked startled at his words. He proceeded to relate what had occurred at the Ford, and Sam squirmed uncomfortably as his part in the event was spoken of in detail. Glorfindel then asked Frodo to repeat everything he had seen at the Council when the Black Speech rang through the air, and in a halting voice, Frodo did so.

“When first I perceived the hilt of the Morgul blade, it emanated a malevolent presence,” Glorfindel continued. “I shuddered to hold it in my hands, and warned Aragorn not to handle it. When next I saw the hilt, sometime after Aragorn was mysteriously stricken down, it no longer held the malice I had so clearly sensed. I hoped at the time that it had been dissipated when the Riders were swept away, but when I heard Frodo’s account -- and saw Aragorn’s physical reaction to the Black Speech with my own eyes -- I now believe that the dark energy was transferred... to someone who had borne the hilt on his person for many miles. The Black Speech apparently awakened it.”

“I’m trying to understand this,” Frodo said slowly. “Are you saying that the same knife affected me… and Aragorn?”

“That is indeed what I fear.” Glorfindel got to his feet and began pacing in an agitated manner. “I cannot read the language of Mordor; perhaps the words on the hilt warned of this evil.”

“I read the inscription before the hilt was melted,” Gandalf said, speaking for the first time. “Glorfindel, you may be correct. There is one way to be certain.” His gaze fell on Sam.

“I don’t remember what that Black Rider said,” Sam protested. “I… I don’t want to, neither. I’ve not been able to sleep without dreaming about that empty sleeve pointing, that cold, awful voice...”

“And here I thought it was concern for me that was keeping you awake,” Frodo said lightly.

“It was!” Sam exclaimed indignantly. Then he saw that his master was teasing him. “Well, maybe it’s been a little of both, sir,” he admitted.

“Sam,” Gandalf said, “will you allow me to retrieve the words from your memory? I promise that you will not hear them, nor be aware of anything I am doing.”

“If it’ll help Strider…” Sam nodded, and Frodo took his hand. “What do I have to do?”

“Not a thing,” Gandalf said. He knelt in front of the hobbits.

“You won’t make me say those words, will you?” Sam asked.

“I would never wish to hear the speech of Mordor spoken by a hobbit,” Gandalf said softly, “nor have them heard again in this valley.” He lay long, sensitive fingers across Sam’s brow and whispered a few words the hobbits couldn’t make out. Sam’s eyes fluttered closed, and Gandalf swiftly sorted through the hobbit’s recent memories until the incident at the River blazed forth sharp and clear. He whispered again, and watched the scene blur and dissolve. Sam opened his eyes.

“Did you do anything?” Sam asked curiously. He stretched as if waking from a deep, restful sleep. “I feel so much better for some reason.”

“Those evil dreams should bother you no more,” Gandalf said gently, getting to his feet. “Elrond, Glorfindel, we need to discuss what I have learned. Frodo, why don’t you and Sam get some lunch. You must be—”

“No,” Frodo said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “The time for secrets is past, and this involves our friend. We’re staying.”

Gandalf hid a smile at the eternal, blessed stubbornness of hobbits.

“Very well,” he agreed. “Hear me, then. I deem that the words spoken by the Dark Lord’s minion were the same as those written on the hilt. In the Common Speech, they are best rendered as:

Through flesh to cleave
Through mind perceive.”

“Do you say that the the hilt-energy was enspelled to seek and penetrate a person’s mind in much the same way the blade sought Frodo’s heart?” Elrond demanded, his eyes blazing. “The Enemy's weapons grow ever more fearsome.” He turned to Glorfindel. “What of Aragorn? How much does he know?”

“Frodo, were you aware of the blade fragment within you?” Glorfindel asked quietly.

“No,” Frodo whispered.

“Then most likely Aragorn is unaware of the evil essence that sits within his mind. I have been watching him closely. The dark consciousness lurks in shadow like a coiled snake; we must assume that it has seen and heard everything Aragorn has experienced since it was awakened.”

“Then it knows everything!” Frodo cried out. “Will it now leave him and seek out the Dark Lord to reveal all our plans?”

“It would not have the power to do so on its own,” Gandalf said, frowning. “I heard rumors of such a spell long ago. Only its creator, or the Dark Lord himself, can withdraw this entity from Aragorn without damaging his mind.”

“I sensed evil enter the valley, but assumed it was only the Ring,” Elrond said. “The Enemy will now be seeking Aragorn with even greater diligence.”

“I have failed in my duty to protect Imladris,” Glorfindel moaned. He looked stricken with grief. “Aragorn cannot be allowed to leave here. Ever. What hope now remains for Men?”

“That would be a last resort only,” Gandalf said reassuringly. “For now, Aragorn is not aware that he is a spy of the Enemy... nor does the consciousness within him have reason to suspect that it has been discovered. We have a small measure of time in which to act.”

“Is there anything you can do?” Glorfindel asked hopefully.

“There might be a way,” Gandalf murmured, “although we may encounter unlooked-for complications. I have much to think about.” He heard two stomachs growl in unison, and smiled down at the hobbits. “Go now to your luncheon, and try not to worry overmuch; perhaps, after all, there is nothing amiss. But do not reveal any of our suspicions to Aragorn, nor to anyone else.”

“Of course not,” Sam said indignantly.

“Hobbits are good at conspiracies, aren’t they, Sam?” Frodo asked.

“Now sir, don’t be bringing that up again,” Sam admonished. He started to hustle Frodo towards the doors.

“You need a good meal or two, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said firmly, “and then I’ll see to it that you’re not disturbed so you can nap before those cousins of yours wear you out with questions. If you don’t mind my saying.”

“Gandalf,” Frodo said, “if you need a babysitter for Aragorn just send him to Sam.”

“Hmmph,” Sam snorted.

Elrond found himself smiling. How these small ones excel in their ability to bring light into the darkest moments!

As Glorfindel opened the doors just wide enough to allow the hobbits to leave, Frodo looked back at Gandalf with a worried look.  He and Sam hurried away, then the doors were once again shut.

“Elrond,” Gandalf advised, “You need to ensure that Aragorn is not assigned any duties outside the valley for some days.”

“Many patrols will be sent out to seek for signs of the Nazgûl,” Glorfindel said, “and Aragorn will wish to see that the Dunedaín villages are well supplied and fortified. What ruse can we utilize to keep him here?”

“Frodo was jesting, but he may have the right idea,” Elrond said, and Gandalf nodded his agreement. “The hobbits have come far, through many dangers, and find themselves in a strange place. It would be most kind of their friend ‘Strider’ to help them adjust to their new surroundings, would it not?  I believe it would please him to do so.”

“That will serve us well,” Gandalf agreed. “And with Frodo so near, the entity will be focused on the Ring above all else. Thus distracted, perhaps I can discern its presence without being detected. And then...”

“You have a plan!” Glorfindel exclaimed, a relieved look upon his face. “I am heartened to hear it.”

Gandalf looked grim. “To cast out such a fragment of evil and leave the host’s mind undamaged…” He paused, deep in thought. “I would be forced to take a perilous course, one without precedent or guarantee of success. Let us hope it does not come to that.”

** TBC **

IN THE MIND’S EYE

Chapter 6: The Warning

'It was Strider that saved us. Yet I was afraid of him at first. Sam never quite trusted him. I think, not at any rate until we met Glorfindel.'

Gandalf smiled. `I have heard all about Sam,' he said. 'He has no more doubts now.'

'I am glad,' said Frodo. 'For I have become very fond of Strider. Well, fond is not the right word. I mean he is dear to me; though he is strange, and grim at times. In fact, he reminds me often of you. I didn't know that any of the Big People were like that.’

‘Many Meetings’, The Fellowship of the Ring

Glorfindel waited in the dining hall the next morning, watching the hobbits arrive to share their first breakfast together in Rivendell. Taking Bilbo’s advice, they had each brought several cushions with them, which they piled on the chairs grouped around one of the tables. Frodo made sure Bilbo was comfortably seated before he and Sam followed Pippin and Merry to an area of the room already quite familiar to the young hobbits. A long table groaned under a wide variety of foods, plentiful enough to accommodate the House’s many guests. The hobbits brought back to the table large, filled platters, and settled themselves, glancing about the large room curiously. Elves came and went, laughing and mingling, while the contingent of Dwarves kept to themselves, speaking quietly together. Many folk stopped by the hobbits’ table briefly, to pay their respects to Frodo and wish him continued good health, before striding out of the room on business of their own.

When he saw Aragorn enter, Glorfindel caught Frodo’s eye, glad he had spoken privately with the hobbit the previous evening. Frodo glanced at the doorway, then back at Glorfindel. He nodded slightly, then put down his fork and slumped a bit in his seat. Merry and Pippin, speaking animatedly to Bilbo about doings in the Shire since the old hobbit had left, didn’t notice, but Sam glanced worriedly at his master. Frodo shook his head and whispered something, after which Sam busied himself pouring more juice into the crystal goblets set at each place.

Aragorn paused to speak with Erestor, who murmured a few brief words to him and pointed to Glorfindel. Aragorn approached the Elf-lord.

“I understand you have a duty for me of which you have not spoken, my friend,” Aragorn said.

“Estel….”

Aragorn chuckled. “Very few still call me that.”

“Do you mind?”

“Nay,” Aragorn said softly. He met Glorfindel’s gaze. “If I have learned nothing else as Strider, it is that a man needs to acknowledge his own worth independent of how he is regarded – or addressed – by others.”

Glorfindel looked into the clear, grey eyes, and resolve grew ever stronger in his heart. This is the one for whom the kingship has been waiting. The Dark Lord will not have him while I live.

“I am concerned about the hobbits,” Glorfindel continued, his face betraying none of his thoughts. “They are far from home, and there is no one here familiar to them, save Bilbo and Gandalf... and you.”

“And you, as well,” Aragorn reminded him. “What is it they require?”

“A guide for their first few days here... someone who can help them feel at ease amongst us.”

“Glorfindel, anyone can do that,” Aragorn said with a frown. “There is much I need to see to before Frodo and Sam are sent forth on their Quest.”

“It is Frodo who requested this favor,” Glorfindel said gently. “He asked for you particularly.”

Aragorn looked over at the hobbits. Unlike his companions, Frodo sat without speaking, eating nothing. Pippin was pointing to the sideboard and gesturing, but Frodo shook his head.

“He needs to eat,” Aragorn said quietly. “Is he still in pain?”

“I do not know,” Glorfindel said honestly. “He is recovering from an experience the likes of which few will ever comprehend. He trusts you, Estel, and would welcome your company. Will you not spend some time with them?”

Aragorn smiled. “Of course. I should have realized how adrift the small folk would be in Rivendell, at least at first. Their friendship was hard-won, and I honor it.”

Aragorn took his leave of Glorfindel. By the time he approached the hobbits’ table, he had filled a plate with eggs, sausage, and hotcakes, and also a bowl with creamy porridge topped with honey.

“May I join you, my friends?” he asked. A welcoming chorus greeted his request, and Pippin hopped down to the floor, scattering his cushions, to drag a sixth chair over to the table. With a word of thanks, Aragorn sat down, and was soon attempting to eat while answering an endless barrage of questions about the House, its residents, and why Master Elrond had chosen such an out-of-the-way place to live. Aragorn was pleased when Frodo at last began to eat... slowly at first, and then more heartily as the Ranger’s stories caught and held his attention.

“Slow down, Strider,” Merry said after awhile. “You’re eating as much as Pippin, and that’s saying something.”

“Really, Merry,” Pippin said mildly, buttering a third stack of hotcakes. “It’s not as if any of us have been able to eat our fill since Bree.”

Aragorn looked down at his depleted plates, surprised, then he laughed and put down his fork.

“I truly do not usually eat this much at one time,” he said. “It is odd... I feel as if I have not tasted food in a thousand years, and am only now savoring each flavor.”

He didn’t see the alarmed glance Frodo shared with Sam at his words.

“Bilbo told us that the food is marvelous, and he was right,” Merry agreed.

“And of course,” Pippin added, “the Elves have had ever so long to perfect their recipes.”

“The kitchens are wonderfully well equipped, and Master Elrond trades for spices from all over the place,” Bilbo said happily. “I’ve even tried my hand at a bit of baking myself over the years.”

The hobbits fell into a lively conversation about the merits of nutmeg, with which they were familiar, and cinnamon, which was new to them.

“My friends,” Aragorn said when the conversation lagged, “I understand you are interested in a tour of Rivendell, and learning more about the ways of those who live here. I offer myself as companion for a few days, if that will please you.”

He was met by four such joyous, beaming faces that he felt warmed by their welcome.

“That’s splendid, Dúnadan,” Bilbo said. “Frodo lad, I’ll stay here for awhile, then have a brief nap before tackling a tricky bit of poetry. Come by my room later, won’t you?”

“Of course I will,” Frodo assured him. “Bilbo, I’m so happy you’re here, and doing well.”

“Never better, my boy,” Bilbo said, gazing about the room contentedly. “Never better.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

With their small packs stuffed with food, the hobbits eagerly followed Aragorn along the beautifully landscaped trails that wound through the valley. He pointed out the layout of the many gardens, fountains, groves, and clear, sparkling streams. They visited the kitchens, loom houses, gardens, craft halls, and barns, and Sam was particularly delighted to find Bill being well cared for in the immaculate stable. They ate their luncheon amid one of the orchards where they gathered crisp apples, and enjoyed tea cakes and fresh berries at the base of the nearest of the waterfalls. After many hours, with the Sun growing low in the sky and Frodo showing signs of tiring, they returned to the House. The day had been so enjoyable, the hobbits were loathe to go back indoors just yet for a bath before supper. They sat on the steps with Aragorn, their cheeks and eyes a-glow, talking about all the things they had seen.

None of them noticed Gandalf, who had hidden himself behind an ancient oak where he could observe unseen. He watched Aragorn closely, and wondered if Glorfindel had been mistaken. The Ranger seemed his usual self -- even perhaps a bit more relaxed than usual.

If he is indeed host to an enspelled fragment of consciousness, the wizard pondered, he does not know it. And as the entity has spent the day listening to hobbit chatter, it will be distracted. Perhaps, indeed, it sleeps until it senses that there is information to be gathered for its Master. There will be no better time than this.

Closing his eyes, Gandalf reached out with his thoughts and touched Aragorn’s mind as lightly as a feather wafting to earth... and caught his breath at what he encountered. There was something foreign, a dark maelstrom of energy, woven into every fiber of the Man’s mind. Through Aragorn’s eyes, it watched Frodo rapaciously, pulsing in dark cadence with the Ring’s energy. The entity hovered weightlessly, unfelt and unseen, yet its tendrils penetrated deeply, absorbing and storing thought, memory, and senses.

Our worst fears are realized, Gandalf thought grimly. Although he had made the connection delicately and with great subtlety, just as he began to withdraw he suddenly felt the shrouded presence stir, its focus shifting… to him.

Wizard! So you have discovered me, but what of it? You are not my Master. I am in control here, not you.

To Gandalf’s horror, he sensed the fragment of consciousness narrowing its focus to the host’s internal functions, aligning itself with the impulses flowing easily from mind to body.

Difficult, but not impossible, the entity exulted. Yes, I see how it can be done.... It waited to act for a split second, as Aragorn finished a sentence and exhaled, emptying his lungs of air.

Breath, it ordered. Cease.

Aragorn’s eyes grew wide, and he clutched at his throat.

“Strider?” Pippin cried out, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

Aragorn got to his feet and staggered down the steps, unable to take a breath. As he saw Gandalf running towards him he fell to his knees, blood roaring in his ears. Spots of black began to dance in his vision, and he felt small hands grasping him as Sam and Merry tried to loosen his clothing.

Hot blood pumping. Falter. Yes... again...

Aragorn convulsed as a crushing pain exploded through his chest. As Gandalf reached him, Aragorn’s eyes met his in confusion and fear. But Gandalf saw something behind them, unveiled momentarily for him alone. Something cold and ruthless, arrogant and totally evil.

Your feeble powers mean nothing, wizard. I know the value of this mortal, and you put him at risk. Heed this small lesson. Do not attempt this again.

Aragorn suddenly felt his lungs fill with air, and the pain vanished as quickly as it had come. As he lay gasping for breath, a swirling dizziness took him, the voices of his friends growing dim. Then consciousness fled, and he knew nothing more.

The hobbits clung to one another, wide-eyed and shaken, as Elves came running in response to their cries. They swiftly lifted Aragorn’s limp body and bore him into the House, calling for Elrond to be summoned.

Frodo pulled frantically on Gandalf’s robe, and the wizard took him aside.

“What happened?” Frodo asked urgently.  He was trembling. “Will he be all right? Did the... I mean, was that...”

The wizard nodded. “I attempted to perceive whether there was indeed anything sharing Aragorn’s mind. There can now be no doubt.”

“It attacked him because it sensed you?” Frodo was aghast. “Then how are we to help him? What can we do?”

“I believe there is but one course open to us now,” Gandalf said. He knelt, and took Frodo’s hands. “It will require great courage, and could very well be dangerous. I will need your help.”

“Anything,” Frodo said.  His voice was now steady, his eyes determined. “Anything, Gandalf.”

** TBC **

IN THE MIND’S EYE

Chapter 7: The Plan

'You may escape from Bree, and be allowed to go forward while the Sun is up; but you won't go far. They will come on you in the wild, in some dark place where there is no help. Do you wish them to find you? They are terrible!'

The hobbits looked at him, and saw with surprise that his face was drawn as if with pain, and his hands clenched the arms of his chair. The room was very quiet and still, and the light seemed to have grown dim. For a while he sat with unseeing eyes as if walking in distant memory or listening to sounds in the Night far away.

'There!' he cried after a moment, drawing his hand across his brow. 'Perhaps I know more about these pursuers than you do. You fear them, but you do not fear them enough, yet.'

‘Strider’, The Fellowship of the Ring

Aragorn grew aware of a gentle hand on his brow, and a presence that always stirred in him love, hope, and devotion. He smiled and opened his eyes.

“Remain still,” Arwen said. She was sitting on the bed beside him.

“What happened?” Aragorn asked, struggling to remember.

“In a moment,” Arwen said. “How do you feel?”

“Somewhat sore.” Aragorn felt his chest, which was bare.

“I was told that you were outside speaking with the hobbits, and were suddenly unable to breathe.”

“Yes,” Aragorn said. “And then there was pain unlike anything I had felt before.” He looked around. He was in his own room, and he heard night-birds singing outside the open window. The room was lit only by two softly-glowing lamps. “What time is it?”

“The midnight hour has long passed.” Arwen took his hand. “Why did you not tell me that you were attacked at the River?” As he began to protest, she shook her head. “Father told me that you were felled by the words of one of the wraiths.”

“It lasted but a moment,” Aragorn said with a sigh. “I barely remember it. What has that to do with what happened to me today?”

“This is not your first encounter with one of the deathless ones,” Arwen reminded him, and Aragorn nodded. “You may be more susceptible to the Black Breath because of your earlier experience. You no longer feel the sharp pain? You are breathing easily again?”

“Yes,” Aragorn said with relief, taking several deep breaths. “I am sorry you were frightened.”

“I felt your distress,” Arwen murmured, resting her cheek on his for a moment. “You were taken to the healing rooms... where I found you surrounded by distraught hobbits.” She kissed his brow. “I must tell Father you are awake; if you require anything, Pippin will get it for you.”

“Pippin?”

“Really, Strider,” came a sleepy voice. “We appreciated the tour of Rivendell, but we saw quite enough of the healing rooms when Frodo was ill. We hoped not to spend time in them again.”

Aragorn’s eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light, and now he saw that the small divan near the bed was inhabited by two hobbits – Pippin, who was sitting up and smiling at him, and Merry, who lay under a blanket and appeared to be sound asleep.  

“Father deems you will recover more comfortably here in your own room,” Arwen said. “You are not to get up until he gives you leave. It will do you much good to sleep, and heal more fully.”

Aragorn recognized that Arwen’s voice was subtly modulating into the smooth, melodious tones of a healer. For a reason he could not have explained, he felt compelled to resist the lassitude that began settling over him like a warm bath.

“Do not fight me, Estel,” Arwen whispered. She caught and held Aragorn’s gaze. “Even a man such as you would not remain unscathed from such fearsome encounters. You must allow yourself time to recover.” She began to sing softly.

Apparently the grey wizard has not shared his discovery of my presence with this Elf woman, and most likely with no one else. Doubtless he is as arrogant as the one inhabiting the tower Orthanc; he will never admit that his spells are powerless against those crafted by the Master.

The dark presence within Aragorn’s mind was enraged to feel the Man’s consciousness begin to waver once again. It had waited long enough for the mortal to wake; it needed him alert so that it could continue gathering information. But as it tried to take control, it felt the Elf woman’s power build and the Man’s focus lock to hers.

So be it; I will permit this, else they may take measures to keep the Man constrained without the freedom to come and go. There is still time, much time.

Arwen was pleased to sense her beloved relaxing his guard, his eyes meeting hers in trust and love before closing in a light sleep. After a moment, she rose to her feet and saw that Pippin had also succumbed to her song. She crossed to where the young hobbit lay slumped across his cousin, and looked down at them fondly.  The four hobbits had insisted on taking turns staying with Aragorn, which warmed her heart.  She shook Pippin gently awake.

“Sorry, my Lady,” Pippin gasped. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It was not your fault, Pippin,” Arwen said softly. “If you would, please remain a short time longer; I will send someone to relieve you.”

“Strider will be safe with me,” Pippin said firmly, and Arwen gave him a smile that seemed to light the room with a golden radiance.

She left, and Pippin marveled at the sweet fragrance that marked her passing. He yawned and stretched, checked to see that Merry was still warmly covered, then walked over to the window, where he stood enjoying the cool, autumn air and the glittering stars. After a short time, he heard a rustle at the door, and turned to see Gandalf.

“I will watch over him for a bit, my lad,” Gandalf said. “You and Merry may go to your rest.”

“Will Strider be all right?” Pippin asked anxiously.  “He missed supper, and now he’s asleep again.”

“Why don’t you get some sleep, then bring him a nice breakfast?” Gandalf asked, understanding the hobbit’s distress.

“That will be splendid,” Pippin said, brightening.  He shook Merry awake.  “But Gandalf, you didn’t answer my—”

“Go now,” Gandalf said softly.

“Hmmph.  Come on, Merry.” 

Pippin led his drowsy cousin back to their rooms.

Gandalf settled into a chair next to Aragorn’s bed. Now that he had briefly touched the presence clinging to his friend’s mind like a parasite, he could easily discern its shadowed aura without again risking contact. The entity’s imprint seemed at the moment less sharp than before.

Perhaps it drifts, unfocused, when Aragorn is asleep, Gandalf mused. I can withdraw this enspelled awareness by force, but at what cost? It is so deeply entrenched, I have no doubt that it will rip Aragorn’s mind apart even as it yields to me. But if the Dark Lord called it forth... if it was convinced that a different host would better serve His mission...

Gandalf felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Erestor beside him, gazing down at Aragorn with tender concern. With a start, Gandalf realized that he had been sitting and thinking for several hours, and the room had begun to brighten with the rising of the sun.

My plan puts Aragorn at risk, and Frodo in great danger as well. Will it even be possible? This will test me as never before.

“My dear friend,” Gandalf murmured, patting Aragorn's limp hand. Yielding the chair to Erestor, he strode away, still deep in thought.

I will have only one chance at this.

*~*~*~*~

“You want to do what?” Glorfindel asked in astonishment.

Elrond tapped a long finger on the arm of his chair. “Gandalf,” he said with a frown, “are you certain there is no other course?”

Breakfast was done, and the library was once again shut and guarded. Elrond, Gandalf, Glorfindel, and Frodo sat in a close circle. As before, Sam chose to stand protectively next to Frodo. His face was wrinkled in confusion.

“I don’t understand,” he said, trying to work out what Gandalf had told them. “You’re going to somehow turn yourself into the Dark Lord, and trick that… that thing into leaving Strider?”

“Not precisely,” Gandalf said. “Do you recall that I said only the creator of this spell – or the Dark Lord himself – can coax this fragment of consciousness out of Aragorn without harming him?”

Sam and Frodo both nodded.

“I will not become Sauron, but the entity will hopefully believe that I am He.” Gandalf looked around the group. “Something I sensed when I touched the dark entity’s awareness alerted me to its weakness: it gloated, You are not my Master. I believe I can assume a glamour, perceived only by this entity in its own thoughts, which will fool it into believing that the Dark Lord is making contact from Mordor. I will drain it of its information, as Sauron would, and draw it forth.  If I am successful, the entity will leave Aragorn’s mind without damaging it.”

Glorfindel leaned closer. “Can you explain what you will do, Gandalf?”

Gandalf grew thoughtful. “I learned much about the Dark Lord when we routed him from Dol Guldur. He has taken the guise of an Eye, ringed with flame. Sauron and I…” He paused. His true nature, and that of the being known as Sauron -- both of the Maiar -- need not be revealed. “We are not entirely unalike, and I have spent many long years understanding the nature of fire. I believe I can fool this entity into believing that I am its Master.”

“Gandalf,” Elrond said slowly, “forgive me, but I see several flaws in this plan. For one, the entity sees through Aragorn’s eyes – whatever else it senses in thought, it will see that it is you standing before him.”

Gandalf nodded. “That is why Aragorn’s eyes must be closed when I attempt this. He must be blindfolded, asleep, or… ideally, unconscious. That is when the entity is the least alert, and will know only what it senses through its own powers. Elrond, do you have a sedating potion that works quickly? So quickly, the person taking it will not be aware that he has been drugged before losing consciousness? Our foe must suspect nothing.”

Elrond nodded slowly, but still looked troubled.

“Speak,” Gandalf encouraged. “That is why we are meeting thus.”

“Even if you are able draw out the entity without harming Aragorn… What then?” Elrond asked. “It will be loose in Rivendell, to inhabit who knows which other mind!”

"I have thought on this, as well," Gandalf said. "If I can convince the entity that I am its Master, it will most easily allow itself to be withdrawn if given a new purpose. What better than to be embedded into a new host… someone whose mind Sauron would eagerly wish to probe, and whose movements could be controlled?" His gaze fell upon Frodo.

“What?” Sam yelped. “That evil thing would be zooming around, and encouraged to aim for Mr. Frodo?”

“Fear not, Sam. In the split second it is free of Aragorn, it will be destroyed.”

“But what if it takes less than a split second for it to hurt Mr. Frodo?” Sam persisted. “I won’t have it.”

“I can think of nothing else,” Gandalf admitted. “If the entity cannot be drawn from Aragorn’s mind, we will have no choice but to imprison him here -- at least until the Ring is destroyed. There can be no risk of his capture by the Dark Lord’s minions, his mind emptied of the knowledge that the entity has gained.”

Elrond sighed. “If you feel this has a chance of success, we must try it.”

“The person who administers the potion to Aragorn must be one of us,” Glorfindel said.

“I will do it,” Elrond said. He shook his head. “I hope you know what you are about, Gandalf. This path seems fraught with peril for Aragorn, for Frodo… for all of us.”

Frodo looked up at the wizard. “When will you try this?” he asked.

“Frodo,” Gandalf said, “are you willing to stand with me?”

“I am,” Frodo said, his voice calm and certain. “I trust you.” Sam looked unhappy, but said nothing.

“Where is Aragorn now?” Elrond asked.

“Still in his room,” Glorfindel responded. “He waits -- rather impatiently, I might add -- for you to give him leave to return to his duties. Bilbo and the young hobbits took him breakfast just a short time ago.”

Elrond got to his feet, thinking rapidly about the herbs he needed to combine. “I will let you know when I am ready. I must also find Arwen, and share with her what has happened… and what Gandalf is planning.”

“The fewer people who are aware of this, the better,” Glorfindel argued.

“She has the right to know,” Elrond insisted. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if in pain. “If things should go ill, it is better that she be prepared... for whatever we would be forced to do next.”

** TBC **

IN THE MIND’S EYE

Chapter 8: Preparations

Aragorn, being now the Heir of Isildur, was taken with his mother to dwell in the house of Elrond; and Elrond took the place of his father and came to love him as a son of his own.

Appendix V, The Return of the King

Elrond knocked gently on the door of Aragorn’s room, through which he could hear the bright voices of hobbits. When no one answered, he opened the door to a strange sight. Aragorn was standing next to his bed talking with Pippin, who was standing on Merry’s shoulders and wavering back and forth in an effort to keep his balance. Bilbo sat in one of the chairs, chuckling softly, holding a cup of tea. Mostly empty trays, platters, and bowls lay crowded on every chest and table.

“Master Elrond!” Pippin cried out happily. Startled, Merry turned toward the door and, with a squawk, Pippin flailed his arms wildly in an effort to keep from falling. Aragorn swept up Pippin in his arms and set him down on his feet, laughing along with the young hobbit.

Elrond closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the sound. Would he ever again hear his foster son’s laughter?

“Am I interrupting something of importance?” he asked.

“My friends felt that I needed entertainment during my confinement,” Aragorn said, smiling down at Merry and Pippin.

“And good meals,” Bilbo said firmly. “If appetite is any measure of health, and it is, I declare that you are back to full health.”

Aragorn smiled fondly at Bilbo, and rested a hand on the old hobbit’s shoulder. “Thank you, Bilbo.” He looked at Elrond hopefully. “I hope all of my healers agree?”

“That is what I am here to determine,” Elrond said. He addressed the hobbits gravely. “My friends, thank you for keeping Aragorn company. Would you leave us so that I may examine him?” The hobbits nodded, and began to gather up the remains of breakfast. “By the way, what was it I interrupted here?”

“Pippin wanted to speak with ‘a mountainous, looming hulk of a man’ without craning his neck, or having me kneel before him,” Aragorn explained.

“I never said he was mountainous,” Pippin protested as Merry and Bilbo hustled him away. “Merry, you should try it. Strider had to look up at me, you saw him! It was delightful. Do you think second breakfast is being served yet? There are lovely orchards here, aren’t there? Later on, we can...”

“You are dear to them,” Elrond said to Aragorn as the voices faded. “Would you remove your tunic, please, and lie down?”

Aragorn pulled his tunic over his head, and lay back on the bed. Elrond sat beside him, and pulled a cunning ear trumpet from a pocket of his robe. He pressed it gently against Aragorn’s chest, and listened to the Ranger’s heartbeat.

“Breathe deeply. Again. Very good. Now sit up, please. Follow my finger with your eyes, back and forth.” Elrond tested Aragorn’s reflexes, then peered deeply into the clear, grey eyes so like his own. He neither saw nor sensed anything amiss... to his relief, there was no hint of the dark presence lurking within his foster son’s mind and body. He wasn’t certain he could bear to sense the Enemy lurking within one whom he loved so dearly. And yet… it was disconcerting to realize that there was something within Aragorn, seeing through his eyes, watching every move he made with the rapacious greed of a dragon coveting gems and gold. He kept his face a blank mask.

“I vow to you that I am well,” Aragorn insisted. “Whatever fit took me yesterday, it is long gone. I am eager to join one of the patrols searching for signs of the Nine or their spies.”

“I know that,” Elrond said softly. “I ask only one thing first. I will prepare a tonic that I wish you to take.”

“I don’t need any--”

“My son,” Elrond said firmly, “what happened to you yesterday was quite severe, and very worrisome. I believe you when you say that you feel no ill effects; even so, I wish to ensure that your heart is strengthened.”

“One tonic?” Aragorn asked warily.

“Just one.”

“All right,” Aragorn capitulated. He put his tunic back on. “If that is the price for me to be released from confinement...”

“It is,” Elrond said. “I will return soon.”

“I will be here,” Aragorn sighed. He was reaching for the teapot when Elrond left the room.

That so-called Elf-lord suspects nothing, the entity exulted. Soon my host will be free to roam about again, and I will be able to continue gathering information for the Master. It withdrew its attention deeply into itself, savoring all it had learned in just the past few days.

Elrond went directly to the healing rooms, where Glorfindel, Gandalf, Frodo, and Arwen were waiting.

“The time is now,” Elrond said, striding to the cabinet that contained bottles and packets of crushed and powdered herbs.

“What will you give him?” asked Arwen. She was very pale, and looked worried.

“I told Aragorn I wished him to take a heart-strengthening medicine,” Elrond said, swiftly but carefully measuring ingredients in a bowl. “I spoke the truth to him; there will indeed be a small amount of that in the potion.”

Arwen watched everything he was doing very carefully. “Isn’t that too much?” she asked, frowning at the strength of the ingredients he was combining.

“No,” Elrond assured her, adding water to the bowl and stirring its contents. “I only hope it is strong enough for our needs. A sedative powerful enough to work as swiftly as we hope on such a strong man, yet not endanger him, is a delicate balance.” He regarded the mixture for a moment, nodded, then added a few drops of mint oil.

Glorfindel turned to Gandalf. “Are you prepared?”

“I am,” Gandalf said. Frodo looked up at him, wondering what was going to happen. “Does everyone understand what to do, and when?”

“Yes,” Frodo, Elrond, and Glorfindel chorused.

“And I?” Arwen whispered.

Elrond went to Arwen and took her in his arms. “I know how difficult this will be for you, my daughter. You may stand with Glorfindel and me until we are summoned, but you may not attempt to contact Aragorn’s mind, or interfere with anything Gandalf or the rest of us are doing... no matter what you hear, or sense.”

“I will try,” Arwen said. She took a deep breath, and tried to smile.

Elrond kissed her brow, then returned to the bowl.  He poured its contents, through a funnel, into a small vial, then stoppered it.

“Gandalf...” Frodo said, “what if... it doesn’t work?”

“I believe my plan is sound,” Gandalf said. “As your body was freed of the enspelled blade fragment, so Aragorn’s mind will be freed of the enspelled hilt consciousness.”

“But...”

“Frodo,” Gandalf said gently, “if I should fail, the Quest must go on. You and your companions will leave Rivendell, and travel south in hopes of reaching Mount Doom unhindered. Aragorn... will remain here.”

Frodo’s eyes filled with tears. “As a prisoner?”

Arwen turned away, and bowed her head in grief.

“For now, we will focus only on the task at hand,” Gandalf said briskly, giving Frodo’s shoulder a comforting pat. He got to his feet, and nodded at Elrond and Glorfindel. “Let us proceed.”

*~*~*~*~*

Aragorn was standing at the window when Elrond returned, closing the door behind him. Elrond motioned for him to sit on the bed once again, and placed a vial in his hand.

“Drink up,” Elrond said lightly. “I am certain the hobbits are eager to see you up and about once again.”

“As am I,” Aragorn said heartily. “I am not meant for long hours of leisure, or lying abed when there is so much to be done.” He opened the vial and sniffed it, smiling when he smelled the spearmint oil that he, also, would use as a healer to mask a bitter taste. He put the small bottle to his lips and quickly swallowed its contents.

“Thank you, Ada. I know you have been worried.” Aragorn handed the vial back to Elrond. “Now, if you will excuse me while I continue to dress...”

“Of course,” Elrond said. Aragorn stood up and took a step, swayed slightly, then staggered as his vision blurred and the room spun. Before he had time to wonder what was happening, he fell into a soft, white light that abruptly went black.

Elrond caught Aragorn as he collapsed, and carried him back to the bed. As he laid him down, Aragorn sighed and went completely limp. Elrond waited, heart pounding, fearing that the entity might lash out and caused Aragorn harm. The seconds went by, then a full minute, and nothing happened. As Aragorn’s heart continued to beat strongly, his breathing slow and deep, Elrond bowed his head in relief. The potion had worked exactly as he had hoped, and the entity had been taken by surprise. If Gandalf's guess was correct, it was now adrift inside a mind and body drugged and helpless, only partially aware... and susceptible to the wizard’s planned deception.

Elrond touched a finger to Aragorn’s throat, comforted by the strong pulse, and whispered a blessing in Elvish. Then he got to his feet and stepped out into the corridor, where Glorfindel, Arwen, Gandalf, and Frodo were waiting. At Elrond's nod, Gandalf took Frodo's hand and together they entered the room. Gandalf closed the door.

The others could only wait, and hope.

* TBC *

IN THE MIND’S EYE

Chapter 9: The Eye

In the black abyss there appeared a single Eye that slowly grew, until it filled nearly all the Mirror. So terrible was it that Frodo stood rooted, unable to cry out or to withdraw his gaze. The Eye was rimmed with fire, but was itself glazed, yellow as a cat's, watchful and intent, and the black slit of its pupil opened on a pit, a window into nothing.

‘The Mirror of Galadriel’, The Fellowship of the Ring

Frodo scrambled onto the couch on which the hobbits had kept their vigil when Aragorn had been taken ill, and sat tensely, hands clasped in his lap. Gandalf nodded to him, then turned to face the bed where Aragorn lay unconscious. Frodo watched him wrap both hands about his staff and close his eyes.

Gandalf took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then cleared his mind of thought, feeling, every sensation of the body he inhabited. The pure, white-hot energy of his true essence -- a small, bright spark of the Flame Imperishable --filled his consciousness, and Narya pulsed to life, its purpose joined to his.

Frodo watched in awe as the air surrounding Gandalf began to glow. It grew brighter and brighter, until the wizard stood at the center of a swirl of sparkling light. Frodo felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to tingle as Gandalf raised his right hand and pointed at Aragorn. The room grew suddenly cold, and the birds fell silent outside the window.

Remembering what Gandalf had told him, Frodo lay down and buried his head in the couch cushions, his eyes tightly closed.

His inner preparations complete, with a blazing surge of power Gandalf cast himself into Aragorn’s mind, hurtling at great speed directly towards the evil parasite that inhabited it.

Drifting in a timeless state, the essence of Nazgûl consciousness was taken unawares by the concussion of a powerful blast. It reached out in confusion for the host’s mind, relieved to find itself still embodied, but neither the mortal’s eyes nor limbs responded to its frantic commands.

It hung suspended in a vast, empty space, terrified and confused.

With a sudden, thunderous crack, a rift split the darkness down the middle and tongues of fire burst out, reaching and probing. Then the flames drew back, coalescing into a form the entity recognized instantly --a form inspiring both hatred and lustful worship.

Master! How is this possible?

You question My powers?

No, Master, the entity cringed. Forgive me. Much has occurred since we left Minas Morgul.

Indeed. Four times Baggins was within your grasp, and four times he eluded you.

The entity was silent.

The sorcerer of whom you are a part has redeemed himself in the casting of the spell that embedded a part of himself into this mortal. You have much to report.

I do, Master, the entity exulted. Through great fortune I found myself embodied in the heir of Elendil. He lives!

A prize indeed. He will be brought in chains to Mordor to witness firsthand the final defeat of the West. Yield to Me now what you have learned while inhabiting his mind.

The entity hesitated. Master, it whispered timorously, how is it that you are here? I understood that without… without your Ring, your abilities were not…

Insolence!

The entity cringed in terror before the Eye that pierced its being in a merciless gaze, but after a few moments, the searing, fiery rage resumed the throbbing, hypnotic rhythm it recognized as the Master’s familiar essence pulsing through a Ring of Power.

You are fortunate. This once, I will be lenient and ease your fears, for you are trapped within a mortal and know not what has been taking place outside the Elves’ valley.

Thank you, Master, the entity groveled. The presence of a wizard here in Imladris has made me more cautious.

Wizards are irrelevant. Those not under My influence have not the wit to warrant any concern. Now hear me. Once you release your information to Me, I will embed you into another.

Another? The entity puzzled. Who is more valuable to you than Elendil’s heir?

Baggins.

The entity gasped.

Do you not sense My Ring nearby?

I do, Master.

Baggins is in the room with you. He keeps watch over your host, who has been drugged.

So that is why this body is inert, the entity seethed.

You have been discovered. You must leave the Man’s mind before it is too late. I have a mighty task for you.

You have but to command me, Master.

Listen, then. The Nine have regrouped, and combined the power of their rings as a beacon for Me to follow. I am with them, and yet remain in Barad-dûr. The sorcerer acts as a conduit between My consciousness and you -- that part of him enspelled within the Man. The Nine are gathered out of sight beyond the Bruinen, their great task still before them: the capture of Baggins. After I have absorbed what you have learned, I will draw you forth… and send you into Baggins. The Shadow realm is now a part of his being; you will have even greater power over this Halfling than with the Man. And thus embodied, you will be guardian of My Ring… for a short time.

The entity felt a great excitement fill it. To bear the Master’s Ring!

*~*~*~*

Sam came racing down the corridor towards Aragorn’s room, skidding to a halt before Elrond, Glorfindel, and Arwen.

“Where’s my master?” he gasped, looking at the closed door. “Is he in there? Please, what’s going on?”

“Peace, Sam,” Glorfindel said gently, kneeling in front of the frantic hobbit. “Gandalf and Frodo are within. We need to wait.”

“How long?”

“As long as it takes,” Elrond murmured worriedly. The raw power emanating from behind the closed door was unlike anything he had ever felt before.

*~*~*~*

None will know that the Man is free of you, and it is he they will continue to watch. Settle quickly and deeply into the Halfling’s mind, then at nightfall you must still his tongue and control his limbs. Lead him out of the valley in silence and secrecy, to where the Nine await.

You are high in My favor; I have confidence that you will do well, and Baggins will soon be ours.

The entity preened, impatient now to proceed.

Master, your plan is flawless. Forgive me my doubts.

Yield to Me.

Talons of flame reached out again, and the entity felt a powerful force probing its store of memories. It offered no resistance, and within seconds, the sights, sounds, and experiences it had gleaned in the past days had been sucked away, leaving a hollow space.

Excellent. This information will ensure our victory. And when this so-called heir leaves the valley to pursue Baggins, My servants will claim them both.

The entity felt a stab of contempt for the mortal he inhabited. The arrogance of this Man, daring to believe he might someday vanquish us and stand as king with the Elf woman at his side! Emboldened by the Master’s reassuring presence, it boldly sent one final signal through the mind and into the body.

Something to remember us by, mortal. Experience the fire of the Dark Lord. Feel a taste of what awaits you in Morder. Until we meet again…

The connection with its host was abruptly severed, and the entity drifted without anchor, anticipating the words of the Black Speech to rework the spell and embed it into the mind of the Halfling.

“Elrond, Glorfindel… Now!”

At Gandalf’s cry, Elrond burst open the door to Aragorn’s room and raced in, Glorfindel at his side. Gandalf stood in the middle of the room, a cold, violent wind churning about him. Out in the corridor, Arwen grabbed Sam and held him close, shielding the hobbit’s eyes. A flash of scarlet blazed from Gandalf’s hand, joined by a bolt of ice-blue from her father’s. Then the brilliant light she recognized as Glorfindel’s fëa blazed fiercely, blotting out everything else.

The entity writhed in agony, battered from all directions by whips of crackling light, searing fire, and sharp piercings of ice. What filled the air was not the Black Speech, but liquid, ancient words of Command in a language it knew not.

Master, save me!

But there was no answer from the Eye, which rippled as a reflection in a pond, then abruptly vanished.

In horror, the entity felt the sinews of the spell holding it together stretch thinner and thinner, then dissolve.

With a shriek, the threads of dark consciousness shattered into nothingness.

The wind fell silent, and Arwen opened her eyes in time to see the mingled lights dim and then go out. The room flooded with sunlight, and one bird, then another, resumed their morning calls.

Feeling the grip on him loosen, Sam wriggled free and ran into the room, straight to where Frodo lay.

“Mr. Frodo!” Sam cried out, shaking his master’s shoulder. “Mr. Frodo, it’s your Sam! Are you alive?”

Frodo raised his head, feeling a bit dizzied, and smiled wanly at Sam.

“I’m all right,” he said slowly. “I think.”

“You’re shivering, sir!” Sam grabbed the blanket bunched at the end of the couch, clambered up next to Frodo, and helped him sit up. As Sam wrapped him warmly, Frodo looked around. Gandalf’s hair and beard were askew as if blown by a mighty wind, and his head was bowed in apparent exhaustion.

“What happened?” Sam asked, looking around, wide eyed. The room was a shambles.

“I wish I knew,” Frodo said. “Is it over?”

Gandalf slowly nodded.

“It is done,” he said. “The spell was a strong one; it took the efforts of all of us to unmake it.”

Sam took Frodo’s cold hands in his own.

“Mr. Frodo,” he asked seriously, “are you sure there’s nothing inside you that oughtn’t be?”

Frodo smiled, then laughed out loud with the release of the tension from the past few days.

“I’m sure. Dear Sam, you just wouldn’t allow it, would you?”

“No sir,” Sam said firmly.

Elrond was kneeling by Aragorn’s bed, one hand on the Ranger’s brow. Arwen stood next to him, pale and silent.

“Is Aragorn all right?” Frodo asked anxiously.

“He lives,” Elrond said softly. He covered Aragorn with a blanket and rose to take Arwen into his arms. “He burns with fever, but I am at a loss to explain it.  Just an hour ago he showed no signs of illness.”

“Perhaps the fever is a parting ‘gift’ from our unwelcome visitor,” Glorfindel guessed grimly.  He led Gandalf to a chair, in which the wizard sank wearily.  “What of Aragorn’s mind?”

“We will know for certain when he wakes,” Gandalf said.  “I did all I could.”

“Of that we have no doubt,” Elrond said. He turned to where Frodo sat watching them. “Are you well, my friend?”

“Yes, I think so,” Frodo said shakily. “I could do with a cup of tea, though.”

Sam instantly slid off the couch and walked over to the teapot, which was miraculously undamaged, and lifted the lid. “Cold,” he announced in dismay. He lifted the pot and headed for the door.

“I’ll be back.”

** TBC **

IN THE MIND’S EYE

Chapter 10: A Breath of Hope

As soon as Strider had roused them all, he led the way to their bedrooms. When they saw them they were glad that they had taken his advice: the windows had been forced open and were swinging, and the curtains were flapping; the beds were tossed about, and the bolsters slashed and flung upon the floor; the brown mat was torn to pieces.

‘A Knife in the Dark’, The Fellowship of the Ring

Aragorn bent low, plodding wearily through thigh-deep snow, an icy wind blasting him from all directions.  His hands, clutching his cloak about him, were frozen, and he was so cold and tired that he was unable to remember why he was out in such a storm, or where he was headed.  There were fell voices in the wind, but the words were in a language unknown to him. 

Suddenly there was a warmth on his face and numbed fingers, and he looked up, glad of the rising sun.  But it was not the sun he beheld, but a disk rimmed with fire.  It caught his gaze and held it, the blazing circle seemingly alive and aware of him.  Then the snow was gone, and the wind, and even the ground upon which he stood; there was nothing but flame and terror and a black void, the same voices calling back and forth.  With a gasp, he felt himself being pulled directly towards the circle of fire at dizzying speed, then he was through it and falling, falling, through wind and brilliant light that burned and chilled and tumbled him over and over until he saw the Valley far below him, rising to meet him faster and faster.  He plunged into the Bruinen, its icy waters closing over him.  With a fierce effort, he struggled to the surface and gasped for breath.

“Easy there,” came a familiar voice.  Aragorn opened his eyes, flailing wildly.  Strong hands, firm yet gentle, took hold of his shoulders and guided him back down.  His head sank onto a pillow, and with a start, he realized that he was in bed, in his own room.   Gandalf was bending over him.

“What’s happening?  There was a storm...” 

“I know,” Gandalf said.  The wizard’s grey eyes were clouded with worry.

“I don’t understand.  The last I recall, I was preparing to go on patrol.”  Aragorn was utterly confused, and shivered with cold under a thick comforter.

“You have been ill,” Gandalf said softly.  He slid a hand under Aragorn’s head to raise it, and brought a mug of warm broth to his friend’s lips.  “Do you know me?”

“Of course,” Aragorn frowned.  He raised shaking hands to the mug and drank deeply.  His head ached dreadfully, and he sank back down in exhaustion.

“What about me?” came another familiar voice.  Aragorn turned to see Frodo gazing at him with the same anxious look as Gandalf.

“You bear a strong resemblance to a hobbit I saw dancing on a table in Bree,” Aragorn said, smiling weakly.

Frodo looked delighted at this response, his eyes now full of mirth. 

“Surely you have me confused with one of my cousins,” he said.  “A respectable Baggins would never find himself in such a state.”

There was movement behind Frodo, and Aragorn saw that three other hobbits stood behind him.

“Am I still dreaming?” Aragorn asked weakly.  “Why are all of you in my room?”  He shivered again as a flurry of chills raced up his spine and caused his limbs to shake.  “I’m cold,” he whispered.  He slid more deeply under the comforter, and the hobbits brought over another which Aragorn felt Gandalf tuck about him.

“We were ever so worried, Strider,” he heard Sam say.  “We’ll be right here in case you....”

Aragorn nodded, but was finding it impossible to resist an uncontrollable urge to sleep again.  The hobbit’s voice faded out as he slid into a soft, dream-free blackness.

Frodo sank into a chair with relief.

“I was afraid he wouldn’t remember us,” he admitted to Gandalf.

“Why wouldn’t he?” Merry asked.

“Pip, Merry...” Frodo turned to face his cousins.  “Sam and I have quite a lot to tell you.”

“Yes, they can hear about it now,” Gandalf said.  “I will let Elrond know that Aragorn was awake, and most importantly, aware.” 

“Why wouldn’t he be?” Merry asked again. 

“His fever seems awfully high,” Pippin fretted.  “Wasn’t he just fine this morning?”

“What happened?” Merry persisted.  “He’s not contagious, or Master Elrond wouldn’t let us stay.  And he was just fine earlier, as Pip said.”

Gandalf got to his feet and wavered a moment, raising a hand to his brow.

“You’re worn out, Gandalf,” Frodo admonished.  “Even a wizard needs his rest, especially after what happened.”

“After what happened?” Merry burst out.

Frodo motioned to the couch and chairs.  “Have a seat,” he said.  “It’s rather a long story.”  After Gandalf left, he proceeded to tell them everything he knew, with Sam filling in details from what he had seen and heard at the Ford.

“Are you telling us that all this was going on and you didn’t say anything?” Merry looked from Frodo to Sam in astonishment.

“We couldn’t,” Frodo said.  “Elrond, Glorfindel, and Gandalf felt that the fewer people who knew what was going on, the better.  That thing inside Aragorn was very dangerous.”

“And everything got smashed up in here?” Pippin asked, looking around.

“Master Elrond’s folk put it to rights before you got here,” Sam said.

“Sam rescued the teapot,” Frodo said.

“Thank goodness for that.” Merry gave Sam an approving nod.

“You should have seen it,” Frodo said, winking at Merry.  “This room looked like Bag End used to, after Pip’s parents would bring him for a visit.”

“As bad as that?” Merry asked, impressed.

“Was it like what happened in Bree?” Pippin asked.

“Bree?” Merry frowned.

“What do you mean, Pip?” Frodo asked.

“Remember after the Black Riders came to the inn, and our room was such a mess?” Pippin asked earnestly.  “We thought they had slashed about with swords, but... maybe they just got angry they had been tricked, like that thing inside Strider got angry when it found out Gandalf tricked it.  Maybe the bedding and such was damaged because of some angry force or... or something,” he faltered.

“Hmmm....” Frodo mused.  “That’s an interesting thought.”

“Is it?” Pippin beamed.

“It is,” Merry agreed.  “I suppose we’ll never know for sure, though.”

There was a soft rustle from the bed, and all four hobbits raced over.  Aragorn’s eyes were open, and he was watching them. 

“I... heard you talking about the Black Riders, and—”

“Shhh,” Frodo said quietly.  He touched Aragorn’s bare shoulder, dismayed by the heat radiating from the Ranger’s body.

Merry soaked a small cloth in a basin of cold water next to the bed, wrung it out, and wiped Aragorn’s face with it.

“That feels wonderful,” Aragorn sighed, closing his eyes against the dizziness.  “What was I saying?”

“That’s enough talking,” Pippin declared.  “You just go right back to sleep, Strider, and we’ll stay with you.”

Aragorn sighed, and drifted away to the sound of Pippin singing softly, his voice sweet and soothing.

*~*~*~*~*

After supper, the hobbits returned to Aragorn’s room to find Elrond and Glorfindel at his bedside.  Glorfindel told them that Aragorn had been waking at intervals, sometimes lucid but more often confused and somewhat delirious. 

“We’ve brought tea, and some apple cake from the kitchens,” Merry said.  He and Sam set laden trays on the table.  “We know you’ve been here all day.”

“Thank you,” Elrond said warmly. 

Glorfindel lit a lamp, and its warm glow filled the room.

“Rest for a bit,” he said to Elrond.  “You are expending all your strength for naught.”

“Isn’t anything helping, sirs?” Sam asked worriedly.  Aragorn had stopped shivering, but tossed restlessly in his sleep.  He had received a cooling bath, followed by a chest rub of potent herbs he had breathed in deeply, but the fever was not abating.

“He is caught in evil dreams,” Elrond said.  He shook his head in frustration.  “It is difficult to cure a fever the cause of which is unknown.”

“But I thought you did know the cause,” Pippin piped up.  “Frodo told us that the nasty Black Rider’s mind – or whatever it was – told Strider that he had a fever, so he does.  Can’t somebody just convince Strider that he doesn’t have a fever?”

Elrond stared at the young hobbit in amazement.

“Sorry,” Pippin said, reddening in embarrassment.  “I guess that’s not much of a—”

“Perhaps it is as simple as that,” Glorfindel mused.

“It is certainly worth a try,” Elrond said, causing Pippin to gasp, then blush with pride.  “Joining thoughts with Aragorn, then planting a new suggestion powerful enough to counteract the first one...”

“Can you do that?” Merry asked hopefully.

“Gandalf could easily do so, but he is still quite wearied from what occurred,” Glorfindel replied.

“Is there no one else?” Frodo asked anxiously.

 “Would you excuse me, my friends?” Elrond said to the hobbits.  He headed for the door, the beginnings of a smile lighting his face.  “I believe I will have a word with my daughter.”

** TBC **

IN THE MIND’S EYE

Chapter 11: A Soft Summer Day

And on the evening of Midsummer Aragorn, Arathorn's son, and Arwen daughter of Elrond went to the fair hill, Cerin Amroth, in the midst of the land, and they walked unshod on the undying grass with elanor and niphredil about their feet. And there upon that hill they looked east to the Shadow and west to the Twilight, and they plighted their troth and were glad.

'And Arwen said: "Dark is the Shadow, and yet my heart rejoices; for you, Estel, shall be among the great whose valour will destroy it."

'But Aragorn answered: "Alas! I cannot foresee it, and how it may come to pass is hidden from me. Yet with your hope I will hope.'

‘Appendix A’, The Return of the King

When Elrond returned with Arwen, the hobbits reluctantly agreed to leave the room. As they filed out, each looked back with a hopeful glance. Arwen smiled when Pippin called out, “We left some cake for Strider when he wakes up!” Elrond closed the door, then sat down with his daughter next to Aragorn’s bed and gazed into her eyes. In them, he saw strength and fear in equal measure.

“The hobbits have no doubt that you will succeed; nor do I,” he said gently. “Aragorn accompanies Frodo on a long journey soon, perhaps the greatest of his life. I foresee very little of the path ahead for him, or for any of Frodo’s companions. What you do now will bring him back to us, and strengthen your bond; it may be that in the days ahead this connection between you will be of great benefit to you both.”

“How do I begin?” Arwen asked. Her eyes strayed to Aragorn, who lay deeply asleep, still flushed with a fever that would not abate.

“Consider your weaving,” her father advised. “You begin with a vision of a completed tapestry or garment, then use your skill to bring the vision to fruition. It is much the same when guiding a wandering fëa. When you reach the lost one, share your vision with him. You must see, hear, and feel it so strongly that it becomes reality for you both. Once Aragorn’s consciousness has reached a place of safety and peace, healing can begin.”

“Did you attempt this for... mother?” Arwen asked hesitantly.

“I did,” Elrond said quietly. “On many nights, after her return from captivity, she was plagued by black and unrelenting dreams.” He took a deep breath, forcing his mind to unveil memories long buried. “Her only relief came when I would guide her, in thought, to a time and place that held joyous and peaceful memories.” He sighed. “It would help… for a time.”

A tear slid down Arwen’s cheek.

“Do not despair,” Elrond said, taking her hands in his own. “Aragorn is not gravely wounded in body and spirit, as was your mother. He wanders in confusion, lost in darkness without guide or path. His mind has been deceived by an enemy subtle and malicious, of whose presence he was not aware. The vision you weave must be strong enough to break its hold on him. Hear me, daughter; choose a place -- a moment -- which will fill Aragorn’s heart and mind with light and joy. Reassure him that he is not alone, and that the darkness, in the end, does not prevail.”

“I understand,” Arwen said, her voice now steady.

Elrond rose to his feet, then bent to kiss his daughter’s brow. “I will be close by.” He moved silently to the other side of the room.

Arwen sat quietly for several minutes, gazing at her beloved’s face. She slowed her breathing, then reached out to lay one cool hand on Aragorn’s brow, another touching his bare chest lightly. “Estel,” she whispered, again and again. “Estel.” She closed her eyes, clearing her mind of everything save the energy that pulsed between them, the love she felt, the calm joy she knew when he was near. Her body grew light, and there was a dizzying rush as her fëa flew as straight as an arrow shot from an Elven bow. Through a black void she plunged, on and on, at last finding herself at rest in a dark cavern, the air smotheringly hot. At the foot of a sheer wall Aragorn lay crumpled, exhausted from his efforts to free himself from this place.

“Estel.”

Aragorn slowly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as his blurred vision cleared.

“Arwen!” he gasped through parched lips. “How did you get here? Or is this another trick?” He reached out a shaking hand, wondering if this image, like the others, would dissolve into nothingness, leaving behind mocking laughter. But this was no dream; his fingers brushed against her shining hair, and gently touched the petal-soft skin and lips of his beloved.

“It is I in truth, Estel,” came Arwen’s low, soft voice. “You have been trapped here long enough. Do you trust me to lead you home?”

“There is no way out,” Aragorn moaned in despair. “For days I have searched.”

“It is only your mind which is trapped,” Arwen said forcefully. “Your body lies in Rivendell, burning with fever.”

“Fever?” Aragorn was afraid to hope, and yet... “I remember that Gandalf said I was ill...”

“Yes,” Arwen said. Her eyes shone with love, and she caressed his face. “Let me take you home.”

“How?”

“Do you remember that day on Cerin Amroth, beloved? We walked among the flowers, and the wind carried the fragrance of sweet plums and ripe berries.”

“I will never forget it,” Aragorn whispered. For a moment, he imagined he could feel the wind in his hair, the song in his heart. And then the cavern walls closed about him once again.

Arwen drew Aragorn to his feet. “We were barefoot, and the soft grass yielded beneath our feet, taking no hurt as we passed.” She concentrated as never before in her long life, holding his eyes in a steady gaze, expanding her clear memory of that joyous day so that it enveloped Aragorn’s fëa, filled his every sense. “Feel the summer breeze. Feel the grass cool beneath our feet.” She felt him trembling, the dark walls surrounding them beginning to shudder.

“I feel it,” Aragorn whispered. “I feel it, beloved.” As her strength of memory became his, there was a thunderous crack as the dark walls shattered and the cavern flooded with light. And then they were standing together on a fair green hill on a soft summer day, with the gentle radiance of Lothlórien all about them. Arwen stood before him, as she had then, aglow with love and sweet laughter. And as he laughed with her, spinning her about, the last clinging remnants of heat and darkness and fear drained from his body and mind.

Then he slumped to his knees, weary and dizzied, but at peace, with Arwen’s arms holding him and the sweet fragrance of her hair filling his senses.

“Arwen.”

She heard a voice from afar, calling to her over and over in a firm, soft voice. Her father’s voice. With an effort, Arwen remembered that she was in Rivendell, not her grandmother’s realm. Still holding tightly onto Aragorn, she imagined herself back in his room, seated upon the bed. There was a pull, a rushing wind, and the energy about her shifted subtly from a summer day in Lothlorien to that of autumn in Imladris.

“Welcome back, my daughter.” Elrond knelt before her, his eyes shining. “His fever has broken. I am very proud of you.”

“It worked,” Arwen whispered, then began to sob with joy as Aragorn’s eyelids flickered, and his eyes opened.

“Do not try to speak yet, my son,” Elrond said at once. He was ready with a cup of cool water, which he held to Aragorn’s lips.  After draining the cup, Aragorn reached out and touched Arwen’s face.

“I dreamed... or was it real?”

In answer, she took up his hand and kissed it.

“I will leave you for a time,” Elrond said, but Aragorn called him back.

“Ada, what happened?”

“A great deal happened,” Elrond said with a smile. “You will hear the story in full after you have bathed and eaten, and rested once more.”

“As you wish,” Aragorn murmured, still groggy. “Ada...”  Elrond bent close to hear him.  “How long were the hobbits here?”

“How do you know they were here, Estel?” Arwen asked.

Aragorn smiled sleepily.  “I smell apple cake.”

** TBC **

Author Note: I’m posting this chapter (and story’s end) on the 10^th anniversary of my first LOTR fanfic posting. My thanks go out to all the readers who encouraged me, the authors who inspired me, and of course, now and always… the Professor!

IN THE MIND’S EYE

Chapter 12:  The Road Ahead 

And laugh they did, and eat, and drink, often and heartily, being fond of simple jests at all times, and of six meals a day (when they could get them). ‘Prologue’, The Fellowship of the Ring

The hobbits shouted with joy as Aragorn walked into the dining hall the next morning, accompanied -- or “kept from falling flat on his face”, as Pippin whispered to Merry -- by Gandalf. As one, they rushed over and swarmed about him, asking about his health and insisting that they sit with them and make up for lost meals. More shaky on his feet than he let on, Aragorn willingly allowed himself to be led to their table, and sat down with a relieved sigh.

Amid a clattering of plates and cutlery, the hobbits took a good look at their friend. He had slept well, and bathed, but looked rather paler than usual.

“Well, Strider,” Merry announced, “you don’t look too bad.”

“Considering what happened,” Sam agreed, uncovering a steaming platter of eggs scrambled with sweet peppers.

“On the subject of ‘what happened’,” Aragorn said, glancing at Gandalf, “Arwen and Elrond told me quite a bit last night.” He shook his head. “I could scarcely believe my ears. They said you would fill in the rest at breakfast, and here we are.”

“Here we are!” Pippin crowed, sliding dishes of butter and toasted bread down the table.

“How are you feeling, Gandalf?” Frodo asked the wizard.

Gandalf smiled fondly at Frodo. “It is kind of you to ask. I have rested as well.”

“Should I start, Gandalf?” Sam asked, and the wizard nodded. “Well, Strider,” he began, “just as the River started to flood that Black Rider pointed at you, and he said some words that chilled my very bones. You fell to the ground. It was just awful.”

“My memory of that is unclear,” Aragorn frowned. “I do remember plucking Pippin from the River before we crossed.”

“I just wanted to get to Frodo,” Pippin insisted, and Frodo reached across the table to squeeze his cousin’s hand.

Frodo then took up the tale, describing what he had observed at the Council. Gandalf continued the story, with the hobbits filling in details they thought were important. The longer Aragorn listened, the more astounded he became.

“When I couldn’t breathe, and felt that pain... the reason I fell ill...”

“It was in control,” Gandalf said, and Aragorn shuddered.

“Did I... harm anyone?”

“Absolutely not. The only one for whom we feared any harm was you.”

“And Mr. Frodo, of course,” Sam added before Frodo could stop him.

Aragorn felt a pang of shame. “I feel... rather violated,” he murmured.

“It’s dreadful, isn’t it?” Frodo said quietly. “I know how frightening it is to be invaded by the Enemy.”

“For one thing,” Pippin said lightly, “it makes you eat more.”

Aragorn was startled to discover that his hand was halfway to the cake platter. He grinned, and to Pippin’s delight, everyone started laughing. The tension was broken.

“It’s all right, Strider,” Sam said encouragingly. “Both you and Mr. Frodo could do with some fattening up, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“If the only residual effect of my misadventure is being hungry as a hobbit for a time,” Aragorn said, “I suppose I can endure it. Gandalf, every last bit of that... that thing... is gone? You are certain?”

“We are certain,” Gandalf nodded. “Elrond, Glorfindel and I, working together, shattered the spell and the entity along with it.”

“Do you suppose the sorcerer was aware of it?” Merry asked.

“Perhaps,” Gandalf said, “but I can guarantee all of you that everything the entity saw and heard dissipated along with it.”

“The Nazgûl are more powerful than ever,” Aragorn said grimly. “It does not bear thinking what the Dark Lord may have learned, had Frodo and Glorfindel not suspected the entity’s presence. It was a clever plan that may well have succeeded.”

“But it didn’t,” Merry said firmly. “Now all you have to worry about is getting better.”

“And four or five good meals a day,” Sam said. “At least.”

“I am in your capable hands, gentlemen,” Aragorn said. He winked at Sam and looked around the table. “Is there by chance any of that apple cake left?”

Frodo looked up guiltily, his mouth full.

“Not a crumb,” Merry said calmly. “Due to the greediness of a certain cousin, you’ll have to settle for these cinnamon cakes which *I* was thoughtful enough to save for you.” He whisked a cover off a small dish.

“Thank you, Merry.” Aragorn took a few bites of one of the delicious pastries, then pushed back his plate. “I must prepare my horse and weapons; I should have left on patrol long before this.” He started to stand up, but sat down again abruptly as his legs refused to hold him. He looked stunned.

“Strider, how do you feel... really?” Pippin asked.

Aragorn sighed. “As weak as a kitten,” he admitted.

“Then you’re absolutely not going anywhere today,” Sam declared, then looked astonished at his boldness.

“Sam’s right, as usual,” Merry said, causing Frodo and Pippin to nod in agreement. “You’ll spend the day quietly, Strider. You can read in the library, or nap, or see what’s going on in that grand Hall.”

“But—”

“There’s no arguing with Merry once he’s set his mind to something,” Pippin declared. “We’re off to do some berry picking for the cooks, then we’ll be around to check on you.  If you see Glorfindel, would you let him know where we are?”

“He’s to rest today, Gandalf,” Frodo insisted as the hobbits got to their feet and grabbed a few leftovers for “afters”.

“I concur,” the wizard said. After the hobbits left, Aragorn smiled suddenly.

“It is long since I felt fussed over and coddled. Perhaps I should enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Indeed,” Gandalf said with a chuckle. “That would be very wise.” He looked up as Glorfindel approached their table. “How are you today, my friend?”

The Elf-lord greeted Gandalf with a slight bow, then asked if he could join them.

“I am just leaving,” Gandalf said. “Would you watch over our friend for a bit? The hobbits have left orders that he take it easy today.”

“Of course,” Glorfindel said. “Who am I to argue with the small folk?” Gandalf strode off, and Glorfindel looked about the depleted table. He discovered a small loaf of herb bread, and pulled over the butter dish.

“So, Aragorn. I had thought that any disturbances this week would come from so many hobbits, Dwarves, and Elves in one place. I never dreamed it would be you we needed to keep an eye on.”

“Nor did I,” Aragorn admitted.

Glorfindel put down the knife, and all traces of a smile left his face.

“I wish to apologize,” he said formally. “It is I who urged you to retain the knife hilt, and it is I who did not recognize that your unusual encounter with the Black Rider needed to be investigated at once.”

“Glorfindel, even you are not infallible,” Aragorn said, piling what was left of the scrambled eggs onto his plate. “The haste needed to get Frodo to the Valley superseded all other concerns. Who could have predicted such an occurrence? And everything turned out for the best; we will be doubly on our guard now that we know even more about what the Nazgûl are capable.”

“I appreciate that,” Glorfindel said. He looked over his friend with a keen eye, taking note of Aragorn’s pallor. “We will ride out together in two days, if Elrond gives you leave. Until then, perhaps you might enjoy a bit of sun while I join the hobbits? I promised to assist them today.”

“You?”

“Berries do not pick themselves,” Glorfindel said solemnly. “And the way you are eating, we will be fortunate if our many guests do not starve during their time with us.  What of the reputation of this House should something so unthinkable occur?”

They both laughed.  Glorfindel got to his feet and offered his arm, but Aragorn looked around warily.

“I would not wish the Steward’s son to see me helped about like an invalid.”

“He shall not,” Glorfindel assured him.  “I last saw Boromir in the stables, conversing with Erestor.”

Aragorn nodded, and allowed Glorfindel to help him up and support him as they left the room. Once outside, he lowered himself gratefully into one of the long, comfortably padded chairs on the porch. Glorfindel took his leave, and Aragorn watched him go, shaken more than he had let on by the knowledge that one’s mind could be shared without knowing about it. It had been so very close… Listening to the far-off sounds of hobbit voices greeting Glorfindel with great enthusiasm, he took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and felt himself relax. Soothed by sun and bird song, he drifted into a deep sleep.

After a time, Arwen emerged from the House and sat next to him, grateful for the peace and strength she once again sensed emanating from Aragorn’s fëa. In a few days he would be gone once more, returning to Imladris again only briefly before accompanying Frodo on a long and dangerous journey whose end not even her father could foresee.

Touching lightly upon her beloved’s dreams, she marveled at how easily she could now do so. Their bond had been strengthened indeed, and she would be with him to the end of their road – through light or darkness – wherever it led, and beyond.

** END **