Disclaimer: would that they were mine! But, they’re not, they’re Tolkien’s.

Inside he could hear singing from the Hall of Fire, and leaving his bag outside the door he pushed it open and went in.

The long room was lit with the flickering red light from the huge fire blazing, and the shadows cast upon the walls were strange and tall. At one end Elrond sat in a wooden chair, Elladan by his side. In the middle of the room one tall Elf was singing the tale of the downfall of Isildur, and Aragorn standing there listened motionless, one hand on his sword hilt.

As the song ended, on a single mournful high note, Elrond looked up and saw the figure of the Man in the doorway. He got up from his chair and came forward, the Elves turning as he did so to see Aragorn.

“Aragorn!”

“Master Elrond,” said Aragorn, embracing his foster-father.

“This is a pleasant surprise, Aragorn,” said Elrond, beckoning for a glass of wine. “What brings you home?”

“Mithrandir,” said Aragorn. “We met in Bree.”

A shadow of concern flitted across Elrond’s face.

“I see.” He handed Aragorn the wine. “Drink that, Estel. I’ll have some clean clothes sent to you, and I will be in my room in an hour. I sense we need to talk.”

Aragorn nodded, and turned to go out of the room. As he did so, the clear voice of an Elf was lifted again in song.

“A Elbereth Gilthoniel,
Estannen e môr …”

The sound faded as he walked away into the house.

Later, cleansed and dressed in new clothes, Aragorn went to Elrond’s study. The Elf was sitting in front of a roaring fire, thinking quietly. Aragorn took the seat opposite Elrond and stretched out his legs with a sigh. Elrond glanced across at him and smiled.

“Tired?”

“Yes. Too long in the Wild.”

Elrond folded his hands and got straight to the point.

“You said you met Mithrandir, Aragorn. How long ago?”

“Nearly a week,” Aragorn said.

“What did he say?”

“Very little, save that Saruman’s spies were following him. One of them caught up with me a day outside Bree. He knew nothing. He won’t be going back to Isengard. But there are too many strange people in the North, Elrond, too many that do not belong.”

Elrond assented with a nod, and turned his chair a little more toward the fire. “So what brought you home, Aragorn?”

“I am going South.”

“South?” exclaimed Elrond.

“To Rohan. Mithrandir says that Thengel needs help.”

“Thengel does indeed,” said Elrond, “but it is a long and perilous journey before you reach Rohan.”

“What are long journeys to me?” asked Aragorn. “I have a desire to see the white mountains of Gondor. I am no longer a child.”

“To me you will always be a child,” said Elrond with a sad laugh, “but then I am looking on from another perspective. I remember the founding of Rohan, all those years ago.” He leant forwards slightly. “But, Aragorn, have you thought how you are to get to Rohan?”

“I imagined I would go south through the Gap of Rohan,” Aragorn said with a shrug. “I was going to ask you for the loan of a horse.”

“It would certainly be the quickest way,” Elrond mused. “Otherwise you will have to scale the heights of Caradhras or go into Moria – I do not advise *that* way at all. I have heard the Dwarves wish to recolonise their ancient home, but I am wary of them doing so. Something lurks there. Besides, the way in is hidden and hard to find even for the most skilled hands. Yes, you should take a horse.” He stood, and went to the large table in the centre of the room, on which lay a pile of parchments. He rolled out a map, and Aragorn went to join him.

“See, here is Imladris. And there is Rohan, with Edoras there. You cannot speak the language of the Rohirrim. You should try and learn some words before you set out; they will welcome you more eagerly. Though Thengel, and his wife, I believe, both speak the Common Tongue and possibly some Sindarin.”

“I will try and learn a little.” Aragorn moved across to the window and twitched the hangings aside to look out into the starry night. “Elrond … is the Lady Arwen here at present?”

Elrond looked up from his perusal of the maps.

“No. She is in Lórien again. There are so few womenfolk here. And Gilraen your mother is quiet company, Aragorn. I fear she is lonely.”

Aragorn said nothing, but continued to stare out at the night.

“Tomorrow I can begin to teach you some words of Rohirric,” Elrond continued, watching Aragorn’s back. “And Elladan and Elrohir would be pleased to talk with you; they have travelled further south than you and mayhap can tell you much. In the meantime you should try and get some sleep.”

“I will take a walk first,” said Aragorn, turning eventually. “I need fresh air. Thank you.” He bowed his head to Elrond and left the room, leaving his foster-father staring after him.

The stay in Imladris showed Aragorn how much five years in the Wild had changed him. He no longer felt completely at ease in the homely surroundings, and spent most of the days outdoors under the sky. He talked a little with his mother, whose hair had turned prematurely grey and whose eyes showed the pain of long loss. Still she seemed glad to see him. Elladan and Elrohir proved the most cheerful of Aragorn’s companions in Imladris that week, telling him tales of the south, and continually marvelling at his height; for now Aragorn surpassed all but the tallest of the Elves in that household, and being broader of shoulder and back he seemed much sturdier. Privately, Elrond and his sons spoke of the early wisdom and knowledge in Aragorn’s grey eyes, and indeed it was true that each of them thought of Arwen when they thought of Aragorn.

After a week, Aragorn had a horse saddled up, and made provisions, and he took his leave of Gilraen and of Elrond. Elladan and Elrohir came with him, for they also had an errand and would ride with Aragorn some way down the Bruinen of Rivendell.

On a bright crisp morning the three of them set out, Elladan and Elrohir with the Elven-light in their eyes, and Aragorn stern and proud on his horse. The sun was high in the winter sky, and the three sang as they travelled. They made good progress and on the third morning the brethren turned off East. Aragorn wished he could have accompanied them, for they were taking the high roads over the Misty Mountains before striking south to Lothlórien and their sister Arwen.

Aragorn made good pace after Elladan and Elrohir had gone. He spurred his horse on over the stony ground, and only ten days after leaving Imladris he had reached the ford at Tharbad, and the intersection with the North-South Road.

Here he pulled up the hood of his cloak, wishing anonymity. There was much traffic on the Road; Elves, Men, Dwarves, and at night some other folk; Orcs passed on two nights. His horse seemed to sense his urgency, and they pressed on south. This was the land of the Dunlendings, swarthy people with a look of urgency about them. They paid little attention to Aragorn on the Road. In contrast, Aragorn was much interested in the Dunlendings, finding them different to any Man he had yet encountered. Their behaviour and manners seemed uncultured to Aragorn, used as he was to the house of Elrond, and yet he could tell that he was as like to the Dunlendings as he was to the Elves. He spurred his horse on, sensing ahead of him the hills of Gondor and the grassy plains of Rohan.

Three weeks after leaving Imladris, Aragorn reached the Gap of Rohan. North lay the vast ranges of the Misty Mountains, and he could see a thin wisp of smoke reaching up into the sky not thirty leagues distant – the smoke of Isengard, the home of Saruman the White. To his east were miles and miles of gently swaying grassland, the sweet scent reaching the nostrils of his horse. And away to the south Aragorn could at last see the foothills of the White Mountains, the Ered Nimrais, the border of Gondor. His heart lifted, and he rose in his stirrups and called the horse on. They sped east, on through the Gap in the mountains, on to the plains. The thudding of the horse’s hooves was music to Aragorn’s ears.

He followed the West Road, keeping on the soft grass for pure pleasure. This part of the journey did not take long, and three days on from the Gap of Rohan, with the morning sunrise, Aragorn saw the light glittering redly on the golden roof of Meduseld, the house of the kings of Rohan.

Around the long house built on top of the hill were many other buildings; indeed, Edoras was a large city. Down on the grasslands below the habitations were stables for thousands of horses, and Aragorn could see them grazing – well fed, well-kept battle steeds, their coats gleaming with health. And he caught also his first glimpse of the Rohirrim. They were tall Men, with fair hair and stern features, and they were dressed simply in tunics of brown and green.

As Aragorn came into the grazing lands, the Rohirrim straightened from their tasks and regarded the stranger with interest. But nobody challenged him, and Aragorn listened to their tongue; one full of rich vowels, rolling and deep like the land itself. He continued to ride without having to speak until he reached the gate of the fort of Edoras, where the two guards stepped in front of the gate, their spears crossed, barring his way.

“Hail, stranger!” the left guard said. “What is your business here?”

Aragorn thought he understood the gist of the question.

“I come to see Thengel,” he said, slowly.

“Your name?”

“Men call me Strider,” replied Aragorn.

The guards stepped aside, and the gates swung open. Aragorn rode up the stony path into Edoras. By the side of the road ran a stream, trickling downhill to the plains. Ahead of him were the green terrace and the high golden roof of Meduseld. At the gates Aragorn dismounted and gave the reins of his horse to a boy, who led the horse off talking gently to it. Aragorn adjusted his hood and walked confidently up to the gate wardens. Somehow he knew that this was one of his first tests, and that it was paramount that he passed it.

The gate wardens examined Aragorn for a moment before speaking. They wore high helms topped with horsehair plumes, and the metal on their armour gleamed with care. They carried round shields of green, emblazoned with the image of a white horse. In comparison, Aragorn, in his travel-stained cloak, felt very inadequate. He waited for them to speak.

“You have come to see Thengel?” asked the taller of the gate wardens.

“Yes.” Aragorn had not understood exactly the meaning of the question, but evidently he phrased the answer right, as the wardens opened the doors.

“We must ask you to lay down your sword,” the other warden said, first in his own language and then in the Common Speech. Aragorn nodded, and unbuckled his belt, laying down the weapon before the gates of Meduseld. Then the wardens parted and Aragorn son of Arathorn entered the hall of the Kings of Rohan.

Inside Meduseld the light was patchy, but clear and bright where it entered through the high windows. The vast pillars held up the golden roof, and as Aragorn walked down the room his footsteps echoed off the wooden walls. At the far end of the room he could see a table, around it sitting a number of men, and in the corners of the room a number of servants. A bright fire burned in the centre of the hall.

Aragorn stopped walking a number of strides away from the table, and bowed.

“Thengel King, I bring you greetings from Elrond and from Mithrandir.” He had learnt this phrase whilst in Imladris.

From the table a man stood, tall and fair, yet the tale of years bore upon his face and his greying hair. His hand resting upon his sword hilt, he came forwards to Aragorn.

“From Mithrandir? Gandalf Greyhame?” he said, in the language of Gondor.

Aragorn breathed an inner sigh of relief.

“The same, my lord.”

“And who is this messenger from the North?” asked Thengel. “Are you Elf or Man?”

“A mortal am I,” said Aragorn. “A wanderer.”

“A wanderer? Even wanderers must have a name,” Thengel returned. “What is yours?”

“What you choose, lord,” answered Aragorn.

“But what do Men call you?” Thengel said.

“My childhood name was Estel,” Aragorn told him.

“A strange name for a Man,” Thengel said, “but it will do. What do you have to tell me, Estel?”

“Naught, save that both Mithrandir and Elrond were concerned for you and your land. I am come to give you what aid you might need.”

Thengel threw back his head and laughed, turning to his advisors.

“This solitary man,” he said to them, “is come to save Rohan. What think you of that?”

“I would ask, lord, what he can do,” one of the Rohirrim said. “He looks to me to be young.”

“I am but six and twenty years of age,” said Aragorn, “yet I have spent the last six years in the northern wilderness. I can track and hunt and kill as well as any Man. And I can ride a horse, and I have some knowledge of warfare.”

“Impressive achievements,” said Thengel. He waved at his men. “Look you, continue with those plans. I will talk with this stranger alone.”

Aragorn followed Thengel out of the back of the hall, his mind full of the splendour of the king’s hall, and the knowledge that should fate work for him, he could himself one day have halls greater yet still.

The passage led into a small antechamber, furnished with comfortable chairs, a table, and tapestries and murals on the walls. Looking around him, Aragorn could see many horses, running on the wild open plains, and streaks of gold and silver glinting in the threads of the wall hangings. Thengel gestured at a seat and took one himself.

“So,” he said, leaning back in the chair and examining Aragorn, who had taken off his hood, “what brings you, a stranger from the North, and by your voice and your looks, a man of Gondorian descent, to me?”

“I have told you, lord,” Aragorn said. “Mithrandir suggested I come to you.”

“Ah – yes, Mithrandir. Know ye not, Estel, that the name of Mithrandir brings the Rohirrim no joy? A wise mage he certainly is, but seldom does he bring good news. And Elrond. We know very little of Elrond. You are fortunate that I know more than most. Wisdom is said to dwell yet in Imladris.”

Aragorn met the king’s blue eyes with his own grey ones.

“You know that Saruman has sent spies to follow Mithrandir, then, lord?”

“No, I knew not this. Yet it does not surprise me. Recently there has been more activity from Isengard, and some of Saruman’s men have come to buy horses from us.”

“Did you sell them?” asked Aragorn.

Thengel nodded.

“Why should we not? Saruman has been in Isengard since Fréalaf’s time; that is, two hundred years or so. Fréalaf was the tenth king of Rohan, I am the sixteenth. Saruman has not harmed Rohan at all, and indeed having a wizard on the border is somewhat comforting.” Thengel bent forwards. “But we are not here to talk about me, nor about Rohan, we are here to talk about you, Estel. I say; Estel is not a name for a Man.”

“Men call me what they will,” Aragorn said. “I am content for them to do so.”

“Well, so be it,” said Thengel, obviously dissatisfied. “It is clear that you will not give me your true name, if you have one. I daresay you will have one given to you. Which brings me on. Can you speak our language?”

“A few words,” Aragorn admitted. “I have been taught the basics.”

“Well,” Thengel said. “It matters little, since I prefer the Gondorian tongue. But that is unpopular here and the éoreds use our language. My queen will be pleased, though; she is from Lossarnach. Have you been to Lossarnach?”

“Nay, lord,” Aragorn said. “This is the furthest south I have yet been.”

“Ah, well, I warrant you will journey further south from Edoras,” Thengel commented. “Gondor is a wonderful land. The stewards’ line is strong.”

“I heard that Ecthelion II is now Steward,” said Aragorn.

“Indeed. He has ruled four years now, and we have had no difficulties. There are rumours that the people of Minas Tirith are saying that as the king will surely never return, the stewards may as well take the throne.”

Aragorn forced a laugh, and Thengel laughed with him.

“Of course, they never will,” he continued. “Too much tradition behind the post. But here am I once more not talking about you. So you can speak a little of our tongue, and that of Gondor; what else?”

“Westron,” said Aragorn, “Sindarin and Quenya if need calls.”

“A learned wanderer!” said Thengel. “And you can ride, I hear; at least I am told you rode here.”

“I ride, yes, lord,” Aragorn replied. “Yet I would not be able to match your riders, I am sure.”

“And you are a swordsman?”

“Yes, lord.”

Thengel nodded his satisfaction.

“That is good. Well, Estel, I see no reason why I should not let you stay. I see a light in your eyes that convinces me you are not a spy from the Enemy, and indeed a spy would not speak Quenya. I shall order lodgings to be made suitable for you, and you shall have a horse of Rohan whilst your own rests from your journey. You will ride in the first éored. The lands hereabouts are uneasy. Another rider will be welcome.”

Aragorn stood and bowed to the king.

“Your generosity is much welcome, lord,” he said. “Rohan is indeed a great land.”

Thengel shrugged, looking up at his guest.

“Yet not the greatest, nor shall it ever be,” he said. “I swore an oath when I came to the throne, an oath to ride to Gondor’s aid should she call. All those who ride under the banner of the horse must do the same.”

“Ever in Gondor’s need shall I come,” said Aragorn.

At Thengel’s command a servant came, listened to the king’s orders, and led Aragorn to some lodgings. Aragorn bowed again, and followed the servant out, leaving Thengel looking after him thoughtfully. Finally he got up and went to join his counsellors in the great hall.

That evening, after dining with the leaders of the marks of Rohan, Thengel and his wife Morwen sat alone in their chambers. A fire burnt in the hearth, and in the next room their nine-year old son Théoden slept peacefully.

Morwen was a woman younger than her husband, but steadier of mind. She had dark flowing tresses and brown eyes, taking after her father’s people from Lossarnach; yet she was happy in the city of Edoras, for she loved her husband greatly. Still the news of the arrival of the stranger interested her, and she listened curiously to what Thengel had to say.

“Was I right, do you think?” the king asked her. “Right to let him in?”

“I could not say without meeting him,” Morwen said, laughing. “I daresay you were.”

“There’s something … something about him,” said Thengel. “He is young, yet there is an air of authority about him, and a light in his eyes the like of which I have not seen before.” He stood and stretched, yawning. “One man, sent here by Gandalf Greyhame. There must be a reason.”

“Doubtless we shall find out in time,” Morwen said, brushing out her long hair. “So long as he proves to be a loyal and willing servant, what complaint should you have? I am certain the wizard had a valid excuse.”

“Well, if he comes to Meduseld again, I shall ask him,” Thengel said.

On the next morning, Aragorn awoke early, and dressed in the new clothes he had been brought the day before. Then he made his way to the communal kitchens where he was given a roll and some milk.

At mid-morning Aragorn made his way to the great enclosure on the plains, and was given a horse. Evidently orders from Thengel had been passed down, because as he sat astride the horse, a little apart from the rest of the éored, one on a horse taller than the others came to him. His helm was high, and he held his head proudly. He wheeled the horse as he came to Aragorn’s side, and halted.

“Estel?”

“Yes.”

“I am Léod, first Marshal of the Mark. I lead the first éored. I’ve had orders from the king that you should ride with us. Your horse suits?”

“Very well, thank you,” said Aragorn.

“Good. I fear few of the Riders speak the Common Speech. I shall put you next to one who does. Today we ride to one of the settlements in the centre of Rohan. We must verify the safety of all the Rohirrim, wheresoever they may be.” Léod beckoned to Aragorn. “Come.”

Aragorn followed him through the Riders until they came to a group of men earnestly discussing something. At Léod’s arrival they broke off their conversation. Léod broke into a flurry of Rohirric, gesturing at Aragorn, and one of the Riders nodded and said something back. Léod seemed satisfied and rode away. The Rider who had spoken smiled cheerfully at Aragorn.

“It seems I have been selected to look after you,” he said in the Common Speech. “Welcome to Rohan.”

“Thank you,” Aragorn replied. “I must confess to feeling rather inadequate in my inability to speak your tongue.”

“Not many can!” laughed the Rider. “You can at least converse with the king in the language he prefers.”

“True,” said Aragorn.

“But tell me, what may be your name and where are you from?” asked the Rider. “There was a great fluster yestereve when it was told that a stranger from the North had arrived and had held long talk with the king. Did you have important news?”

“No news,” Aragorn replied. “Your lord was but interested in why I had come.”

“And why have you come?” pursued the Rider.

“I wanted to see more of the world,” Aragorn said honestly. “I have lived all my life in the North and I have tired of it. That is all.”

“Fair answer,” the Rider said. “And your name?”

Aragorn shrugged.

“Call me what you will. I have been given many names over the years, one more will not matter. I do not know your name either?”

“I am Rodulaf,” the Rider said. He turned to his fellows and there was a quick debate in the language of the Rohirrim, before he swung back to Aragorn. “For now, we shall call you Thorongil. It is fitting you should have a name in your own tongue.”

“Thorongil,” Aragorn said. “Eagle of the Star. Well, Rodulaf, so be it!” With his free left hand Aragorn touched the brooch on his shoulder gently.

“But there is an Elvish light about you … your clothes and your sword at least!” Rodulaf continued. “Mayhap an Elvish name is more appropriate …”

“You see well, Rodulaf,” Aragorn said. “In truth, my sword was forged for me …”

He was forced to cut off his sentence as several horns were blown from the front of the éored, and the host began to move, the horses trotting in time with each other. Aragorn followed Rodulaf in the middle of the éored.

They rode all day, crossing the great plains of Rohan. Aragorn marvelled at the landscape he found himself in; vastly different from anything he had ever seen before, he recognised its usefulness as a border for Gondor, and he sensed also the fierce pride the Rohirrim had for their land as well as the way they had adapted to be at one with the grasslands. He liked the Rider Rodulaf, and he realised very quickly that Léod was well respected by his éored.

By the end of the day the group of horsemen had reached the small rural settlement almost in the centre of the land, farmed by a few men. The land looked healthy and the people were content, but happy to see Léod and his men. The éored camped out that night under the stars, their horses tethered by stakes driven into the ground. Before he slept Aragorn lay for a while looking at and learning the southern stars, feeling glad he had come, and then he closed his eyes and fell at once into a deep slumber, within sight of the kingdom awaiting him.

For the next week the éored traversed the great plains, inspecting the king’s lands and practising battle manoeuvres, and at night sleeping under the open sky. They arrived back in Edoras on a clear bright evening. Aragorn took his horse to a stable and then visited the Elvish horse from Imladris, who seemed to be content and was growing fat on the lush grass. He then returned to his lodgings, where he found an invitation to dine that night with Thengel and the queen. He dressed accordingly in the clean clothes he found lying on his bed, and fastened his cloak over the top with the star brooch he had been given.

The hall of Meduseld was lit by firelight, the gold glistening in the flames. A long table was set down the centre of the hall, with two carved seats at the far end and long benches down the sides. Other men and a few women were arriving also, and servants directed them to their places. Aragorn was seated directly to the left of the seats, at the top of the table, and soon he found that Léod was opposite him. The marshal introduced Aragorn to his neighbours, and soon a three-way conversation in Rohirric and Gondorian was flowing. They were interrupted by the voice of a servant announcing the arrival of the king and queen, and all the assembly rose from their seats as Thengel and Morwen entered and stood behind their own places. A few words of Rohirric were said, and then everyone sat down and the food was served.

Thengel, accepting a plate of mutton stew from a servant, turned to Aragorn with a smile.

“So, how goes it?”

“Well, lord, thank you,” Aragorn replied, taking a plate himself.

“I must present to you my wife. Lady, this is our guest from the North, called by our Riders Thorongil, or so I am told. My queen Morwen.”

Aragorn bowed his head to her.

“I am honoured to make your acquaintance, lady,” he said.

“And I yours,” Morwen said. “It is not often we have visitors from elsewhere, least of all those who speak my own tongue with such ease and grace. From whence do you hail?”

“The North, lady,” said Aragorn.

“The North is a large place,” Morwen replied.

“Nevertheless, it is my home,” Aragorn said. “I am a wanderer, a huntsman. I do not belong anywhere.”

“But where did you grow up?” she pursued.

“I spent some of my childhood in Imladris,” Aragorn said, though reluctant. Next to him, Thengel listened intently. Here was perhaps a chance to discover more about his strange guest. Morwen looked interested.

Aragorn picked up his goblet and drank a draught of the light ale they were served with, his eyes far away. He put down the ale.

“But Imladris is far behind me,” he said, marshalling his thoughts, “and now I find myself in one of the fairest lands I have yet seen, with one of the fairest ladies at its head.”

Thengel laughed.

“And very fair is the tongue of one who has lived with the Elves,” he said, still laughing. “But tell me, Léod, how do you find your new Rider?”

“A credit to the éored,” the marshal said cheerfully. “He’ll do well, lord.”

“I am pleased to hear that,” Thengel smiled. “I hope you stay long, my friend.”

“I hope so too,” Aragorn replied sincerely.

Stay long he did. For nearly seven years Isildur’s Heir rode as the Rohirrim in the first éored, rising swiftly to become one of Thengel’s most trusted advisors. The Rohirrim soon learnt that the stranger had far more skill in tracking and hunting on foot than they, in their lives spent on horseback, could ever hope to gain, and so it was that when an enemy was spied and then disappeared, Aragorn was sent to find them. He grew to be respected and liked by the other Riders, and he picked up their language quickly, being fluent in under a year. Yet Aragorn at times longed for the peace and quiet of the North, and he missed the sound of Elvish voices, of the song and stories of Elrond’s halls, and he missed also the gentle voice of his mother Gilraen, living in eternal grief amongst the joy of Imladris. From time to time he would spend the nights asleep under the stars, dreaming of those he loved, and at these times Arwen Evenstar would come to him and smile upon him.

Three years into Aragorn’s life at Edoras, Thengel had a visitor. Aragorn heard only rumours as he returned to the city from a foray into the plains, but when there came the gentle tap on his door as he washed away the dust of travel, his heart rose as he crossed the room and opened it.

“Hail and well met, Thorongil!” said Gandalf, smiling broadly under his hat. Aragorn smiled back.

“Come in, old friend, come in.” He ushered the wizard in and pushed a chair forward. “Sit down.”

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Not at all,” Aragorn said. “In truth, I have missed the scent of smoke; the Rohirrim do not use leaf at all.”

“You’re well?” asked Gandalf, cupping his gnarled hands around the pipe to get it going.

“Very,” Aragorn said, sitting himself. “The Rohirrim are gracious people.”

“They’re certainly generous hosts,” Gandalf agreed. “I’ve heard good things of you. Thengel thinks highly of you.”

Aragorn said nothing.

“Your mother has gone home to your kindred,” Gandalf said. “Imladris is a lonely place for those who are unhappy.”

“Have you seen her?”

“Before she went.” Gandalf lowered his voice. “She’s left the shards of Narsil with Elrond, Aragorn. He sends his best wishes.”

“When you next see him, greet him for me?”

“I will do that.”

“So, what brings you to Edoras?” asked Aragorn.

“I had business with Saruman,” answered Gandalf, his face a little grave. “I am going on to Minas Tirith to speak with Ecthelion. Have you been there yet?”

“Not yet,” Aragorn said. His voice was full of longing. “One day, maybe.”

Gandalf puffed a smoke ring out of his pipe and thoughtfully sent it spinning up to burst on the ceiling.

“But what will be the manner of your coming?” he mused. “I cannot see. You have kept your lineage a secret, I trust?”

Aragorn frowned.

“I am not a fool, Mithrandir. I know as well as you what must and must not be said. Yet Thengel is no idiot, and neither is his lady Morwen. I believe they guess I am from Gondor, which is both right and wrong. The Dúnedain are a forgotten people.”

“Not forgotten everywhere,” Gandalf said. “I have not forgotten, neither has Elrond or the Lady Galadriel. Ecthelion remembers too, but he has been taught that the race of Isildur died out. And Sauron also remembers, but with fear in his black heart.”

“Ah, well,” Aragorn said. “If he remembers but no more, that is good.”

Gandalf sent a smoke ring spiralling around the rafters.

“He remembers. He remembers. The Eye is searching for something, and on whether he finds it or not rests the future of Arda.” He puffed again at his pipe. “But we are too close to Mordor now. I will not speak further.”

For a while the two friends talked of lighter matters, and Aragorn promised once more to be careful. Then Gandalf left to sleep, and Aragorn lay down on his own bed and thought long into the night. The image in his mind as he drifted off to sleep was that of his mother.

Aragorn awoke early the next morning and was able to say goodbye to Gandalf as the wizard rode off towards Minas Tirith. Thengel rose also to see his guest away, and he noted with interest the relationship between the young Man and the old wanderer. Aragorn stood awhile watching the wizard ride away before turning and going back into his quarters, lost in thought.

Another four years passed, during which Aragorn grew restless, and as summer grew into autumn in the fourth year he went to Thengel and begged leave of absence from the Riddermark. Thengel was loath to see his favourite Rider go, but he could not deny Thorongil leave after so many years’ faithful service, and reluctantly granted the boon. Aragorn left the next day, having saddled his horse and gathered provisions from the stores. He dressed in his old clothes, a green cloak over brown and green garments, and carried no token of Rohan with him as he rode off into the grasslands.

To the south the great White Mountains rose up, impenetrable, and Aragorn kept on the West Road east, through the Eastfold and the lands of Anórien. As he rode the grass grew thinner and the desolate Mountains of Shadow, the Ephel Duath on the borders of Mordor, formed a dark barrier. Aragorn skirted the forest of Druadan, leaving behind him Thengel’s lands, and on one sunny morning, with the sky tinged pink and orange, he saw with a leap of his heart the City of Minas Tirith, the white tower at its peak shining in the morning light.

But his plan was not yet to enter into the city walls, and instead of passing through the Rammas, the outer walls, he turned away and headed towards the fortress of Osgiliath. Here his papers from Thengel smoothed his passage, and soon he was over the River Anduin and heading south on the Harad Road.

Disclaimer and notes: see chapter 1

He returned north along the coast after crossing Anduin at Pelargir, a city in which dwelt mariners of Gondor, and with the Sea always on his left, and the Ered Nimrais on his right, he set his horse to gallop, and swiftly the leagues passed. Finally, after eight long years, Aragorn saw once again the sunlight on the roof of Meduseld.

Thengel welcomed him back warmly, and in return Aragorn gave him all the news he could of the lands on Rohan's borders. It seemed to him that Thengel had aged greatly, despite the birth of a daughter, and he was leaning on the counsel of his son Théoden, now a tall, handsome young man of twenty-two; and on the company of Théoden's closest companion, the eighteen-year old Éomund, son of the Marshal of Eastfold. Aragorn spoke briefly with the two young Riders before they went to oversee happenings in the Marks, leaving Thengel in Meduseld.

"Does all go well in Rohan, lord?" he asked the king, that night at table.

"Well? With the Shadow out East, and my people scared?"

"But thus far there have been no battles?" said Aragorn.

"No deaths," answered Thengel, "but I am no longer content to have Saruman on my borders. A foul stench has been reported close to Isengard, and scouts have seen smokes rising from the valley. It is at times like this I would wish for the coming of Gandalf Stormcrow, for he may have something to say."

"Indeed he may," Aragorn said. "I would counsel prudence in affairs with Saruman, lord, if indeed his attitude towards Rohan has altered. He is powerful and wise, but I myself would trust Mithrandir more."

Thengel sighed.

"It is clear you know Gandalf well, Thorongil, and I will take what you say into account." He pushed away his plate. "And you, what are you going to do?"

"With your leave, lord, I will remain in Rohan a while. But I wish to go to Gondor, sooner rather than later."

"Gondor?" said Thengel, and his eyes bored into Aragorn's. "Why Gondor?"

"I have my reasons, lord," Aragorn replied, "but it is not yet the hour for them to be revealed."

Thengel looked hard at Aragorn for a while longer, and then shrugged, and rose. Aragorn swiftly rose too.

"I said when we met there was much hidden about you, Thorongil," the king said. "Yet I will not press you."

He left, walking slowly away, and Aragorn sat down again, deep in thought.

He remained in Thengel's service for a year, staying near Edoras, riding only occasionally to the fortresses far away. When the four seasons had turned, Thengel called Aragorn to him.

"Now is your time to leave us," he said. "I have a message for Ecthelion in Minas Tirith and I would that a trusted messenger take it. If you are willing, I will release you from your service and send you, Thorongil."

For a moment Aragorn was silent, marshalling the emotions running through him. Then he raised his eyes, and nodded.

"I will accept your offer, Thengel King," he said, "and take the message to Minas Tirith."

Thengel held out a scroll, tied and sealed with the seal of the white horse.

"It must go into Ecthelion's own hands," he said. He handed Aragorn a smaller, folded message. "This is my recommendation of you. You have served Rohan well, Thorongil. Never before have we taken a stranger in, but never has an unexpected visitor served us as you have. You will forever have the freedom of Rohan, and I pray that one day you will return when we need you."

"I shall not forget the green grass of Rohan, lord," Aragorn said. He bowed and kissed the king's hand. "Farewell, Thengel King."

"Farewell, Thorongil," Thengel said. "Journey well."

Aragorn nodded and left the chamber.

He was on the road within two hours, the messages for Ecthelion stowed safely in his pack, urging his horse onwards. He stopped only to eat and sleep briefly, such was his desire to reach his destination, and before the fifth day had reached noon he was riding across the peaceful fields of the Pelennor, the great wall of the Rammas Echor behind him and the towers of Minas Tirith before him. The white walls of the city dazzled his eyes, and the white banners of the Stewards fluttered from the towers, against the backdrop of Mount Mindolluin.

"Minas Tirith!" said Aragorn to himself. "That I should see thee first on such a fair day." He set his horse trotting steadily to the city, and reached the first gate as the bells were pealing six.

"Hail, stranger!" said the guard, turning his tall spear horizontally.

Aragorn withdrew his messages and dismounted the horse.

"I come with a message from Thengel King of Rohan to Ecthelion," he said. "The King bade me deliver the message into the hands of Ecthelion personally."

The guard examined the seals of the messages before turning his gaze on Aragorn.

"The messages seem genuine, but you are not one of the Rohirrim," he said. "How comes a Man of Gondor, for such you seem, to be in the service of Thengel?"

"I come from the North," Aragorn replied, "but I have served Thengel for many years. Should Ecthelion wish for proof of my identity he can send to Thengel."

The guard beckoned to another.

"You will be accompanied through the gates and to Ecthelion," he said, "after which the Steward may decide your fate." He raised his spear, and Aragorn mounted the horse and entered into Minas Tirith.

With his guide, a tall guard in the black and silver uniform of the City, they made their way through the busy streets, past shops and markets, taverns and eating-houses, all handsome and well-kept. The people appeared joyful and healthy and the buildings were fair.

At the seventh gate of the City Aragorn's guard left him in the care of another, his uniform embellished with a tree and seven stars glistening. Aragorn dismounted from his horse, which was led off by another guard, and he followed his new guide down a long stone passage, lit with flickering candles. It could not be more different from Meduseld, thought Aragorn; this place was older and loftier, a house of the Kings of Gondor and of Arnor. The house of his ancestors.

A door swung open, and Aragorn and his guide stood at the end of a huge hall, lined with pillars, at the end of which stood a dais and a stone throne mounted on many steps. At the bottom of the steps a figure sat, a table pulled in front of him, and on either side candles shone.

Aragorn walked slowly up the avenue of pillars to the figure, and once there he bent on one knee.

"Hail, Ecthelion, Steward of Gondor," he said. "I come with a message from Thengel of Rohan."

The figure put aside some papers and raised its head. Aragorn found himself looking into a pair of keen eyes below a lined brow.

"So the messages from the gates have told me," Ecthelion answered, his voice sonorous and echoing in the great hall. "Give the message to me."

Aragorn stood and went to the Steward, passing him the papers from Thengel. There was silence as Ecthelion opened the messages and read them, before putting them down on his table.

"You are Thorongil?"

"I am."

"Eagle of the Star. Hmm. I see the star upon your cloak. Is that not an emblem of the Northern line of the Kings?"

"It was a gift to me," Aragorn said, treading carefully.

"Thorongil, then, is not your proper name?"

"It has been my name for many years," replied Aragorn, "and I am content with it."

Ecthelion raised his eyebrows. "Indeed. Thengel says you have left his service."

"I had a desire to see Gondor," Aragorn said. "If you will take me, my lord Steward, I will serve Minas Tirith and her lands faithfully."

"Give me your sword," Ecthelion ordered. "I trust Thengel's words, and I trust my own intuition. You have a look that pleases me, and you speak fair. I will take your service."

Aragorn drew his sword and presented the hilt to Ecthelion, who stood and came out from behind his table.

"Kneel. Repeat after me. Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, and to the Lord and Steward of the realm, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me, or the world end. So say I Thorongil." Aragorn repeated the words. "And this do I hear, Ecthelion son of Turgon, Lord of Gondor, Steward of the High King, and I will not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given: fealty with love, valour with honour, oath-breaking with vengeance."

Ecthelion raised the sword to return it to Aragorn, but paused to examine the blade.

"Are these Elvish runes?"

"They are, my lord."

"How came you by such a weapon?"

"I spent some time in Imladris in my youth," Aragorn explained. "The sword was forged by the Elven smiths of Elrond's household."

"The mystery deepens," Ecthelion said, and gave Aragorn the sword. "I will order food and livery for you, Thorongil, and you will have lodgings with the Guards of the Citadel. Now go thee and rest, for you have journeyed long. I will call you on the morrow."

Aragorn bowed low before the Steward, and, sheathing his sword, turned and left the high chamber. Ecthelion stared after him for a short moment, then turned his attention back to the affairs of the land.

They gave him a room in one of the buildings of the Citadel, and in the livery room he was handed a uniform: a black tunic and a black surcoat embroidered with the Tree and the seven Stars of Elendil, and a tall helm with silver wings set on either side.

"Thus are our vestments," said the guard who gave him the clothes, "in honour of the High Kings that are gone." He noted the name of Thorongil in a large book. "Though in all probability they will never return," he added, putting down his pen. Aragorn fingered the fine work of the surcoat.

"Never give up hope," he said, and the other man smiled.

"I will not, as long as Minas Tirith stands. Welcome to the Guard, friend!"

Alone in his lodgings Aragorn put on the uniform, buckling his Elven-blade around his waist. Had he known it, he looked verily a leader, his stern grey eyes shining beneath the helm.

He was assigned to the Second Company, and after a few hours spent asleep he was shown around the Citadel by its captain, a grey-haired man named Orodin. He marvelled at the stonework, strong and finely carved, with everywhere images of the old Kings - of Elros Tar-Minyatur, Elrond's brother, of Elendil, Anárion, and of Ostoher who rebuilt the city of Minas Anor. And although Aragorn had spent his life either in the smaller, simpler dwellings of Imladris and Edoras, or wandering in the Wild, he felt that he belonged in the great stone walls of Minas Tirith, here amongst the images of his ancestors.

He ate that night with his fellow-Guards, who proved to be a sociable company, and at table there was much song and laughter, though the food was simple. They welcomed Aragorn warmly, and did not ask too many questions, and after the meal he retired to his quarters content.

Aragorn was woken at dawn by a servant of the Steward bidding him to break his fast with the Lord Ecthelion and his son Denethor, and he rose and dressed quickly. He found the Steward and his son in a small chamber near the main throne room. Both looked up as Aragorn entered, Ecthelion with welcome in his eyes; Denethor with doubt and curiosity.

"My lord Steward." Aragorn bowed.

"Greetings," welcomed Ecthelion. "Thorongil, I present to you my son and heir Denethor."

"My lord."

"Sit, sit," Ecthelion said, waving his hand towards the free seat at the table. "I trust you slept well?"

"Perfectly well, thank you," replied Aragorn, taking the bread offered to him.

"My father tells me you have come from Rohan," Denethor said, meeting Aragorn's eyes with a proud and direct gaze. "But you are not a Rohirrim."

"No, my lord."

"Well, then," said Denethor. "From whence do you come?"

"I was born and raised in the North," Aragorn answered. "And in the North I lived until I came to Rohan."

"And are the Rohirrim still as proud as ever?" asked Denethor lightly.

"They are rightfully proud," answered Aragorn, "for they are noble people and generous, and Thengel remembers his oaths and is prepared to fulfil them should need arise. His son Théoden will be a worthy successor and bears the same principles as his father. They may be far, my lords, but the Rohirrim will always be your allies."

"And what do you know of the Shadow in the East?" Ecthelion asked, lifting his goblet for it to be filled with wine. "What tidings of that have come to Rohan?"

Aragorn thought of the smokes he himself had seen over Isengard. "The Rohirrim are more concerned about happenings in Isengard, lord. Saruman was at times a good ally and neighbour, and spoke often with the kings of Rohan, yet lately he has withdrawn into Orthanc and I myself have seen and smelt the fumes of his work. Nobody knows what he is concocting within the walls. For the Rohirrim treachery from that quarter is of more importance than vague rumours from the East."

"But," Ecthelion pressed, "of the Shadow tidings have come to Meduseld?"

"Yes, my lord. For myself I fear the worst."

Ecthelion nodded and they turned to their food.

The rest of the meal was silent for the most part, and Aragorn kept his thoughts to himself. When he chanced to glance up, he noticed that Denethor's eyes were often on him, and he could not help but wonder what the Steward's heir was thinking. The meal ended with another short silence, and Aragorn made his way to his company.

They spent the day drilling, with two hours of sword practice before the noon meal. Aragorn's captain quickly set him to teaching the younger and more inexperienced members of the company, and he was glad of the task. They proved to be an enthusiastic and polite group of young men, keen and quick to learn; Aragorn was reminded of his own days learning to use a sword, in the shady glades of Imladris, under the experienced eyes of his foster-brothers.

At the noon meal some of the company, emboldened perhaps by a few hours' more acquaintance with the newcomer, began to quiz him. Aragorn fielded their questions about his birth and steered the conversation to Rohan, and this proved wise as the men seemed to be fascinated by the customs of their neighbour.

During the afternoon, once he had been given a list of the passwords and had learnt them, he was sent down to the Great Gate to stand guard. There was a steady stream of people passing through, most of whom called out the password cheerfully as they headed into the city with wares to sell, or out again with empty wagons. Aragorn thought that they seemed a cheerful people, happy and content with their lot, and upon the Pelennor he saw a number of farmsteads and grazing animals. He had a spear, but throughout the afternoon it was not needed, and at the end of the day he walked back through the peaceful streets with his fellow-guardsman, admiring the well- kept houses and breathing in the scent of the evening meals being prepared.

Quickly Aragorn's days fell into a routine - drilling, sword practice, guard duty. Unlike Rohan, life in Minas Tirith was strictly routine, and strictly ordered, and save for the guard duties at the Great Gate, Aragorn saw little grass and fewer trees. His first day off came two months into his service, and leaving behind his uniform he dressed in his old, weatherworn clothes and set out. Walking briskly, he skirted the wall of the city and headed up the slopes of Mindolluin behind, breathing in the fresh air. At noon he paused, and ate the bread and cheese he had brought with him, gazing over the city below him. The topmost turret of the White Tower was parallel with where he sat, and the sun glinted off the rooftops and the plain white standard of Ecthelion. Briefly, he allowed himself to dream of a day when that same sun might shine on the silver stars and the White Tree on a banner of sable, but only briefly; and as he began to descend the mountain his thoughts returned to the Steward and his proud, stern son.

At the end of the following week, Aragorn was ordered to accompany Ecthelion on his quarterly tour of the city's main services - the storerooms for the Guard, the archives, the armourers, and the Houses of Healing, set some way away from the Tower. Aragorn followed at a distance as the Steward spoke briefly with those in charge at each new place. He had seen most of the stops before during his service, but the Houses of Healing were new, and he followed with interest as the Warden took Ecthelion on a tour of the building. There were few patients in this time of peace, but those who lay in the clean rooms seemed at ease despite their illnesses. There was a large and well-stocked storeroom and Aragorn smelt the scents of familiar herbs, separated in wooden drawers labelled with their names in the Common Tongue. The storeroom was tended by a plain but evidently efficient young woman introduced as Ioreth, whom the Warden told shortly not to speak. Ecthelion nodded at the Warden's explanations of the herbs and displayed mild interest in the patients, but as they walked away from the Houses he sighed.

"Always the most tedious of my duties, I think," he said, turning to Aragorn. "Tell me, Thorongil, what think you of the Houses?"

"They're maintained well, and evidently the Warden knows his job, lord," Aragorn replied. "He could perhaps keep a few more of the rarer herbs in his storeroom, but what he has is sufficient for most maladies."

"You know something of healing?" the Steward said.

"Somewhat, lord, yes."

Ecthelion raised his eyebrows and said nothing, but walked on in silence for a while. Towards the Tower, he dismissed quickly the few other servants who were with him, and glanced at Aragorn.

"Come, Thorongil. I would have you accompany me to a final destination."

The Steward led the way up steps and through a passage, and they found themselves before a wooden door guarded by a man wearing the helm of the Guard and carrying a set of keys. At a sign from Ecthelion, he unlocked the door and allowed the Steward and Aragorn through.

They entered a dark and silent street, it seemed, lit only by the sun slanting in through high windows.

"This is Rath Dínen," Ecthelion said softly. "The Hallows of this City, where my ancestors and the last Kings sleep forever."

Aragorn said nothing, but followed the Steward along the rows of tombs until they came to the first of those greater than the ones nearest the door.

"Here lies Eärnil," the Steward said, "last King of Gondor to be laid to rest in the White City."

"But Eärnur has no bed," Aragorn said, gazing in awe at the tomb, and at the casket laid on top of it. Ecthelion shot him a look, and flipped open the locks, displaying what looked like a helm of silver, topped by the high wings of the Sea-Kings. Yet this was higher and greater than any helm Aragorn had ever seen.

"The Crown of Gondor," Ecthelion said. "Here waiting for one who will no doubt never come."

Aragorn remained silent, and after a moment the Steward closed the casket again with a small gesture of annoyance.

Neither of them said anything as they made their way back to the Tower, Aragorn walking a few steps behind the Steward as was customary and occupied with his own thoughts. At the doorway to Ecthelion's private apartments, the Steward turned to him.

"You're a hard man to pin down, Thorongil," he said with a slight smile.

"My lord?"

"You think that the Stewards have forgotten their kindred in the North? That we believe the line of Anárion is died out? I am no fool and neither are you. Tell me from whence you came and I will be content."

"My lord Steward," Aragorn replied, "I have told you what little there is to tell."

The Steward grunted, and waved his hand. "So be it. You are dismissed."

Aragorn bowed, and walked away towards his quarters; but Ecthelion watched as he went with a frown on his brow.

From that time on Aragorn was even more careful of what he said about himself in front of the Steward and his son. He knew that secrecy was yet of utmost importance, and that victory against the Enemy would surely never come, if he knew what forces were arrayed against him. Aragorn left off the star of the North-kingdom, putting it away in a drawer rather than wearing it on his cloak.

The routine of duty was not broken again for quite some time, until one day, standing guard at the Gate, Aragorn saw coming across the Pelennor a single galloping horseman, grey robes blowing out around him. As the horseman grew closer, a smile crossed Aragorn's face; and when the horse came to a halt in front of the Gate and Mithrandir took off his tall hat, he could barely suppress his joy.

The wizard gave the password, and then looked again at Aragorn under the tall helm, and a twinkle glittered in his eye. He said nothing, however, but gently kicked his horse and clattered away up the stone street.

Aragorn was in his quarters after supper when Mithrandir came by, his hat gone and his beard perhaps a little longer than when they had last met.

"I cannot stay long," the wizard said by way of greeting, taking a seat and stretching his legs. "I have merely taken a short leave from my lord the Steward, who is anxious to talk to me. All is well?"

"All is well," Aragorn said. "I have grown to love the City and its people."

"Good, good." Mithrandir nodded, approvingly. "Excellent. Thengel gave you leave to go willingly, did he?"

"As willingly as I expected," Aragorn returned.

Mithrandir met his eyes knowingly. "Everyone in the North is in good health, my friend. Elrond, his sons, your mother."

"And the Lady Evenstar?" Aragorn asked, his head bowed. The wizard smiled gently.

"Also in good health. She is staying with her grandmother, in Lórien."

"I thank you," Aragorn said.

Mithrandir stood up, and patted him on the shoulder in a fatherly manner. "Keep your hope, Estel. Now I must be off to talk politics with Ecthelion and that proud son of his. Goodnight!"

"Goodnight," Aragorn said, and he watched the wizard go.

Mithrandir stayed in the City a week, and he managed to come and see Aragorn two or three times during that week. They spent one noon meal together, eating bread and meat on the ramparts, and speaking of affairs in Rohan and the North. Aragorn thought that the wizard seemed weary, older than before, and as they discussed the doings of Saruman in Isengard, and Thengel's struggles in Rohan, he wondered at the burdens on the old man.

At the end of the week it was announced that a tournament would be held on the fields in honour of the visitor and also to celebrate Denethor's imminent birthday. There were to be fencing matches, boxing, and other games; each company of the Guard was to select two men to compete in the fencing and the boxing. Aragorn's company unanimously chose him and their captain to fence, and reluctantly Aragorn agreed.

On the day selected the majority of the townspeople had congregated on the Pelennor. Stalls had been set up selling food and drink, and there was a lively carnival atmosphere. Mithrandir set off a few small fireworks to amuse the children and was received with rapturous applause.

The fencing began late in the afternoon, in a roped-off arena. To begin with there was a series of matches ensuring that every man fought every other, aiming to disarm only. To his surprise, Aragorn discovered that in addition to the Guardsmen, Denethor was also competing, and fighting well. The eight men who had won the most matches went through to another round; Aragorn, his company captain, and Denethor were three and the other five were Guardsmen from different companies. The draw set Aragorn against a tall, slim young man who fought well, quick on his feet but less experienced than himself. By this stage the crowds had gathered to cheer on the men, and as Aragorn sent his opponent's sword spinning out of his hand he caught a glimpse of Mithrandir leaning on his staff and watching. He made his way down to the wizard as Denethor and his company captain took the arena.

"Well fought," the wizard commented. "Still the sword from Imladris?"

"It has served me well," Aragorn agreed, patting the well-worn hilt and watching Denethor parry a blow and attack. "He fights well."

"He's the Steward's son," Mithrandir pointed out. "The bets are being placed between you and him, my friend."

Aragorn frowned. "You know the mind of Ecthelion better than I, Mithrandir. Do I aim to win, or aim to lose?"

"You know your own mind better than any man," the wizard replied. "And your skill. Denethor is a good swordsman and will no doubt know if you hold back."

"No doubt." Aragorn smiled ruefully as his captain picked up his weapon and bowed to the Steward's son, and with a quick look at the wizard went across to speak to him.

As the crowds expected, the final of the tournament proved to be Denethor against Thorongil, and as they took their positions in the arena, there were cheers and calls of both names. Aragorn, weighing his sword in his hand, bowed to the Steward's son, who returned the courtesy with a slight smile. The judge gave the order, and the fight was joined.

Denethor was a tall and heavily built man, and in his armour of dark metal he was an imposing opponent. His thrusts were backed by his weight, but he moved slowly compared to Aragorn and tired more quickly under the armour. It took time, but Aragorn eventually managed to slip under his opponent's defences and an uppercut took Denethor's black and silver hilted sword flying to the ground, followed by its owner as he slipped and fell. The crowd cheered.

Aragorn, his breath coming quickly, bent and helped Denethor up. The Steward's son managed a brief smile as his father stepped into the arena, clapping enthusiastically.

"I hereby announce that the winner of the fencing tournament is Thorongil, of the Third Company of the Citadel." Ecthelion beckoned to a servant, who passed him a large flask of wine. "Accept your reward, Thorongil!"

Aragorn took the flask, bowing. "I thank you, my lord. And I thank also my lord Denethor for a worthy fight." The crowd cheered again, loudest of all the men of Aragorn's company. Ecthelion held his hand up for silence.

"There will now be dancing for as long as any of you can dance for. And I would beg the Lord Mithrandir to amuse us with some of his acclaimed fireworks, if he would be so kind."

The music started up, and the wizard, with only a small grumble, set about lighting a pile of fireworks which sent coloured lights up into the sky, reflecting off the walls of the White Tower. Aragorn took his leave of the Steward and his son and went to share his prize with his fellows, who greeted him enthusiastically and warmly. Before long, however, Aragorn slipped away back to his quarters, where he cleaned his sword and reflected on the strange fortunes of his life which had brought him to this place.

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

"My lord Steward," Aragorn said, crossing the room and bowing his head towards Ecthelion and then towards his son. "My lord Denethor."

Denethor made no reply, merely pursing his lips and turning back to the map. "I feel, father, that in this plan lies folly. We do not know that we can rout the Orcs."

"Battle plans are not made by feelings, my son," Ecthelion responded. "This is our best hope. Thorongil?"

Aragorn came and stood around the map spread out on a table, some of the other advisors standing back to make way for him. Looking at the plan, he saw it was of North Ithilien, the land nearest to the Land of Shadow, still, but barely, under Gondor's control.

"Orcs," Ecthelion said. "Last night, they invaded the woods and have caught my men unawares. I intend to send reinforcements today and engage them in battle till they are gone." He pointed with his fingers. "We can attack from here, and here. Will you go?"

Aragorn gazed at the map. "How many men are there already?" he asked.

"A hundred, perhaps."

"And how many are you proposing to send, my lord?"

"Another fifty, or maybe a hundred. As many as we can horse."

Aragorn frowned, and bent closer to the map. "This is forest?"

"Deciduous," one of the advisors said. "Quite dense."

"Then I would send fewer men," Aragorn said, "and choose those with some experience of warfare in the wild. Your hope, my lord steward, is to catch the Orcs without them being aware of our presence. Archers, but men capable of wielding a sword too. I would come upon them from this direction, and from this one," he pointed out the areas on the map.

"Father, this is ridiculous!" Denethor burst out. "Strength in numbers is our hope. We should crush the Orcs. Even then I doubt we can completely do this, but more chance lies in sending as many men as possible."

Ecthelion eyed Aragorn. "You have experience on horseback, Thorongil, we know that; but what of your knowledge of forested land?"

"My lord, I was raised in the North," Aragorn said. "The Northern people," he continued, choosing his words carefully, "are skilled in hunting in woodland, and I have some of that skill. And I know Orcs do not. They delight in crushing all life, but we must work with the forest and not against it."

"It is settled then," Ecthelion said. "I will select the men to travel with you, and you will leave as soon as the horses and provisions are ready."

"When you near Ithilien," an advisor said, "send a runner to our forces already there."

Ecthelion grasped Aragorn's hand. "Fare well, and may the luck of the Valar go with you. Return swiftly."

Aragorn assented with a nod, and then bowed. "My lords."

Once in his chambers, he began to pack the small amount of things he would need. Before long the order came to see to the horses, and a short while after that the other twenty men selected by Ecthelion arrived at the stables. Some of them were clad in the green and brown favoured by those who served in Ithilien, but a small number had come in the silver and sable of the Tower, and Aragorn sent them away to change into duller clothing that would blend into the countryside. The others he set to checking the horses, and before long, the company had set out.

The Steward had sent a number of men knowledgeable of Ithilien, and as they rode, Aragorn talked to these and before nightfall he felt that he had a workable battle plan in his mind. That night they slept by Anduin, taking it in turns to watch.

They rose early and were riding before sunrise, and before the sun was high in the sky had reached the beginnings of the forested part of North Ithilien. Aragorn halted the company and bade them tether their steeds in a sheltered, hidden clearing, where he set two men to guard them. The rest he told to leave the heavy items of their packs, keeping only essential food and water, and take their weapons, and briefly he outlined the route they would take and their means of attack.

In the forest, the temperature was cool and moist, and birdsong filled the air. It was a peaceful place, and as Aragorn softly led the way he reflected that the woods of Ithilien resembled more than anything else the green valleys around Imladris. But he pushed the pang of nostalgia away and centred his mind and his senses on the environment around him.

After a short distance, he came upon tracks, and signalled for the company to stop. They did so, immediately and silently, and he bent to the earth to examine the prints. There were several, large, heavy, and the branches around were broken and bent. Some had been slashed at by a blade. Aragorn narrowed his eyes at the evidence; Orcs had been this way. He beckoned to his men and softly they followed him as he tracked the prints onwards through the wood.

They walked for perhaps an hour, not one man speaking a word, until Aragorn thought he heard voices ahead. He halted the group again and crept on, gliding as noiselessly as he could through the trees, using all his skill. Peering through branches, he saw an encampment of Orcs. The trees had been hacked to pieces for fuel, and they were burning the wood and roasting some meat. Aragorn did not pause to wonder what their food was, but counted the number and then turned and made his way back to his company.

The attack was simpler than he had hoped. He and his company formed a circle around the Orcs, keeping downwind of them as long as possible, and then silently, with a gesture, Aragorn ordered the assault and a rain of arrows met the Orcs from above. About half of them fell; the others, startled, jumped up and looked around, speaking in their harsh variation of the Common Tongue. Aragorn ordered another volley of arrows and another ten of the Orcs fell, reducing their group to only a score. Taking a deep breath, Aragorn swept out his sword from the sheath.

"Now!" he cried, and taking no more heed for stealth, he ran down the slight slope into the clearing and set to. Behind him, he felt rather than saw his men follow him, and the battle was now joined. Man and Orc fought, the Orcs with their curved blades and the Gondorian forces with their long broadswords, metal hitting metal. Aragorn ducked a slicing blow and countered it with one of his own, taking off the Orc's head, and now getting into the rhythm of the fight. He heard a scream in the clear voice of a Man, and grimaced, but did not let the sound stop his own fight.

In a short while, though it seemed an Age, the fight was over. Looking around, Aragorn saw that all the Orcs were dead, and that two of his men lay still on the ground. Another four or so appeared to be badly injured. He wiped his sword on his coat and sheathed it, before crossing to the injured men and bending to tend their wounds. His companions who were unscathed moved around the clearing piling the Orc corpses into a heap and collecting weapons and arrows.

He sent two men back to the encampment with the four badly injured men, leaving him a group of a dozen, and after they had eaten and drunk, they continued through the forest.

As the afternoon wore on, Aragorn found more tracks indicating the presence of Orcs, and they shot five of the creatures, unwary and alone, before darkness fell. That night they made camp in a clearing, and took it in turns to watch. Aragorn's hour passed slowly and uneventfully, as he sat with his legs stretched out, gazing into the darkness.

In the morning they pressed onwards, and caught another trail leading to a group of twelve or thirteen Orcs ahead of them. Knowing his company's weaknesses now, Aragorn set five of them to circle ahead of the enemy, and kept the other six with him, tracking noiselessly behind. When he judged they were close enough to the Orcs, who made a racket as they pressed on, he ordered the attack with a whistle.

The five men ahead let loose a volley of arrows and Aragorn's rearguard did the same, and several of the Orcs lay dead. The others turned, snarling, and with a cry of "Elendil!" Aragorn rushed them.

This second battle was briefer and kinder than the first, slaying the Orcs and leaving no men dead. Mixed with the tiredness on his company's faces, Aragorn saw elation, and he used the adrenalin to keep the group going. He had lost one of the men who had served before in Ithilien during the first attack, but now he walked close by another and ascertained their route onwards. They joined a stream running gently and musically down a slope, and after a while came upon a narrow but distinct track.

After an hour's walking, they paused, and the Ithilien veteran hooted twice like an owl. "Wait!" he said, with a grin at Aragorn, and shortly two men clad in green appeared.

"Amrath!" one of them said, softly but with a note of pleasure in his voice, and he came forwards to clasp hands with Amrath. "We received the message you were coming only yesterday, captain," he continued, turning to Aragorn. "How goes it?"

"Good," Aragorn said. "By my count, we've killed about forty Orcs and wind of our arrival should have spread amongst the others. But we are in need of rest and refreshment, if you can provide that."

The other nodded. "Our refuge is not far. You are sure you are not being followed?"

"Absolutely," Aragorn said.

The men in green led Aragorn and his company through a closely grown thicket of trees, and thence down a narrow and barely-discernible path. In the sky the sun was westering, and their guide glanced up at it and hurried them on. And even as the sun began to set, sending rays of golden light over the forest. The company passed down steps, and rounded a corner, and then the men stood still in amazement and wonder.

Aragorn gazed, his eyes filled with beauty such as he had never seen before: a curtain of silver threads, lit by the sun into a rainbow of colours.

"The Window on the West," breathed Amrath. "I have indeed missed this sight."

Aragorn said nothing, watching as the sun sank below the distant horizon, her light dying. Before turning to follow his company into the cave beyond, he murmured a brief thanks to the Lords of the West.

Inside a fire was lit and the table was being laid for the evening meal. The cave bustled with activity, men all going about their individual businesses and clearly at ease in each other's presence. Their guide showed Aragorn's company to a corner and distributed bedding, before turning to Aragorn respectfully.

"Captain, our captain here would like to speak with you."

"Lead the way!" Aragorn said, throwing down his pack and following the guide to a recessed alcove with two chairs and a small table, and pen and ink lying on the table. Behind it sat a middle-aged but fit looking man wearing the green of Ithilien, a frown on his face. He glanced up as Aragorn and his guide approached. "Ah, Bor. Is the party from Minas Tirith settled?"

"Aye, captain. This is their captain."

The other's eyes fell on Aragorn and he smiled. "Welcome to Henneth Annûn. I am Saeros, captain here."

"Thorongil," Aragorn introduced himself with a brief bow. "We are glad to be here. it has been a weary day."

"But successful, I trust?" Saeros said, pouring a goblet of wine for Aragorn.

"My thanks," Aragorn said, taking the drink. "We destroyed three companies of Orcs. But I believe that is not the half of it. Yesterday I lost two men. Some of the others are with our steeds, away south of the forest. We are a dozen, but they are stout men, and one, Amrath, has served here before."

"Three companies of Orcs is a mighty prize," Saeros returned. "Today we broke up one other company, but some of the beasts escaped. How well do you know Ithilien, Thorongil?"

"Not well," Aragorn admitted. "Indeed I would not be here save for the grace of the lord Ecthelion, who had confidence in my woodcraft. But Amrath has counselled me well on our route, and we have been lucky."

Saeros nodded. "Woodcraft can account for much. But in truth I do not remember you from the last time I was in the White City, my friend. Which company do you serve in?"

"I am in the Third Company," Aragorn said. "Though I have been in Minas Tirith only a year or so. Before that I served in Rohan under Thengel King, until he by his grace gave me leave to move on."

"Precious lack of forests in Rohan!" laughed Saeros. "Where did you ."

There was a tinkling of a bell and they were called to table, Aragorn saved from having to explain his origins to the captain. After the Standing Silence, they sat and began to eat. The food was simple but plentiful and Aragorn's company started to relax, discussing the city with those who had been long in Ithilien. Saeros asked no more awkward questions and the two captains commenced planning the forays for the next few days.

With the combined forces of the guard of Ithilien and Aragorn's company, and the renewed optimism that the arrival of the latter had brought to the beleaguered foresters, the Orc invasion was reduced by the day. In under a week Saeros declared himself satisfied that his men would be able to tighten guard on the borders of the land, and that should another invasion happen, he would immediately send to the City for help. Aragorn bade him farewell, and led his dozen men back south.

They found the encampment where the injured men and those guarding the horses were; untouched despite one brief altercation with three marauding Orcs who had been dealt with. One horse had escaped, but the others were in good health. The injured were faring better, and Aragorn looked at their wounds as the rest of the company saddled the horses.

It took them two days of riding to reach the city, and the weary group were greeted with smiles and waves from those going home after a day's work. Leaving the horses at the stables to be tended by the stablehands, the company climbed the remaining streets to the tower, where the men dispersed to their respective lodgings. Aragorn, stretching his limbs and longing for sleep, turned in the direction of Ecthelion's chambers.

The Steward looked weary, bent over papers and heatedly discussing something with an advisor. But he broke off as Aragorn was announced, and managed a smile when he heard the tidings from Ithilien. Much to Aragorn's relief, he was not asked to stay long or give much news, instead sent to his rooms where he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

It faced westward. The level shafts of the setting sun behind beat upon it, and the red light was broken into many flickering beams of ever- changing colour. It was as if they stood at the window of some elven-tower, curtained with threaded jewels of silver and gold, and ruby, sapphire and amethyst, all kindled with an unconsuming fire.

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

When the knock came it took him a moment to respond, and he called out "Come in!" in Sindarin before realising it and switching to Westron. However the door had already begun to open after the first call, and Aragorn put his book down carefully and stood up.

Denethor closed the door behind him and looked around with evident interest at Aragorn's small room with its sparse furnishings. He crossed to the corner and picked up Aragorn's sword in its sheath from where he had laid it on coming in, drawing it.

"Good evening, my lord," Aragorn said, part of him detesting Denethor for touching his weapon. Denethor turned his gaze on him for a moment and then turned his attention back to the sword, swishing it experimentally through the air. Putting it back in the sheath, he spoke.

"This is a good weapon."

"Yes, my lord," Aragorn agreed.

"Elvish?"

"As I told your father, my lord," Aragorn said, "I spent some time in Imladris in my youth, and there my sword was forged for me."

"Imladris?" Denethor said. "Is that not the home of Elrond Half-Elven, brother of Elros Tar-Minyatur?"

"It is, my lord," Aragorn replied, wondering where Denethor's questions were leading. The Steward's son shot him another piercing glance and then sat down in Aragorn's chair, casting a disdainful look at the book. Aragorn perched on the edge of his bed and for a moment there was an awkward silence.

"I came," Denethor said, eventually, "to thank you for your counsels in these difficult times. It is long since we had someone who knew much of the world outside Gondor, and although neither myself nor my father wish to admit it, until you came we were in danger of becoming somewhat isolated. You have cured a little of that."

"I am glad to be of service," said Aragorn. Denethor grunted.

"Yet still I find myself wondering about you, Thorongil. Believe me, I have watched you saying little and noting everything that passes by. What do you wish for?"

"My lord?"

"In life, Thorongil. Women. The other Guards have wives, or sweethearts - or mistresses. Yet you have none. Is there a woman?"

"None that love me," Aragorn said, an image flashing into his mind of Arwen's white skin and luminous Elven-eyes, and he heard for an instant, or thought he heard, the notes of her singing. "None that love me," he repeated.

"Well, then," Denethor said. "What do you wish for?"

"That in difficult times men follow wisdom rather than folly," Aragorn replied. "That if I myself am ever tested, that I pass the test."

"A strange wish," Denethor returned, shrugging. There was another pause. "What know you of Mithrandir, Thorongil?"

Aragorn contemplated his fingernails, short and ingrained with dust. "I do not think that any Man, or any Elf for that matter, can truly know Mithrandir, my lord. It is true I have been acquainted with him for much of my life; yet he remains mostly an enigma to me."

"But is his counsel good? Do you think it right that my father should trust him?"

"Absolutely," Aragorn said with certainty. "Indeed I should say that the lord Steward would do well to heed Mithrandir's counsel above all other."

"Even that of Saruman's?" Denethor asked, his keen eyes meeting Aragorn's.

"Even that, yes, my lord."

Denethor grunted, and appeared to be mulling over Aragorn's words as the bell rang nine times. He rose, and Aragorn stood also. The Steward's son bowed briefly and went to the door, and Aragorn returned the bow and watched as Denethor went out.

The conversation awoke in Aragorn many thoughts and memories that had been lying dormant, and he lay restless in his bed once he had given up with the book, thinking of Elrond and Imladris, of his mother Gilraen, alone and isolated, and of Arwen Undómiel, dancing in the moonlight. Suddenly he found himself missing the North intensely, missing the freedom to be himself amongst people who knew him and knew who he really was, missing the sound of light Elvish voices.

He rose early after little sleep, and before the hour had come for the breaking of the fast, he had walked a brisk circuit of the gardens of the Tower. Refreshed, he joined his company for the morning meal and then set out with three of the men down through the City towards the Third Gate, where he was on duty for the morning. There was a steady stream of people coming through the Gate, both ways, for the weekly market was being held in the fourth level of the City. Aragorn and his fellow guard were greeted with warm voices and women and children tossed them small pieces of food - apples, or cakes - as they passed.

Towards the eleventh hour, however, there was a clatter of hooves and armour from below, and shortly three riders with helms plumed with horsehair appeared, accompanied by a guard from the Great Gate. Aragorn started, and took a step forward.

"Thorongil!" the guard said, gratefully. "Here are three Riders of Rohan, come to speak with the Steward on urgent business. I heard you were on duty here and am ordered to replace you whilst you accompany them to the Tower."

"Gladly, Sirgon," Aragorn said, and the guard, looking relieved, swapped places with him. Aragorn stepped up to the horses, who were fidgeting in the unfamiliar surroundings, and looked up at the lead Rider. "Hail, Léod!" he said in Rohirric. "Glad I am to see you well."

"Thorongil!" Léod returned. "And I may say the same. But this is no time nor place for conversation. Our errand to Ecthelion may not wait. Lead on! and I hope I may speak further with you later."

Aragorn nodded, and walking briskly led the horses and their riders up the stony paths. The group was met with many curious glances and calls from the people to come and see the Riders. Léod's two companions, for their part, looked around at the City with astonishment and wonder, and Aragorn heard them speaking in low tones to each other as they ascended the levels.

At the seventh gate, Aragorn explained to Léod that they must leave their horses, and reluctantly the Riders dismounted. Calling to a guard, Aragorn gave instructions for the horses to be stabled, fed, and groomed, and for the baggage of the travellers to be taken to their quarters, and then he led the Rohirrim into the Citadel of Gondor.

They were announced by the servant at the door to the great hall of the Citadel, where they found Ecthelion alone, looking through papers on a low table by the side of his chair. He glanced up as the four men made their way up the long avenue between the pillars and the statues. Aragorn paused, a few steps away from the dais, and bowed.

"My lord Steward, I bring before you three Riders of the Mark of Thengel King. They say they come on urgent business to you." He beckoned Léod forwards. "Their leader, my lord, is Léod, First Marshal of the Mark."

Léod bowed in his turn, and Ecthelion, with a brief incline of his head, acknowledged the obeisance. "Do they speak Westron, Thorongil?"

Aragorn glanced at Léod.

"I do, my lord Steward," Léod said, "though my companions, Wulf and Aldwine, do not."

Ecthelion grunted. "That is well. However, Thorongil, I believe it would be best if you remained here whilst the Marshal gives me whatever news he has brought from Thengel." He gestured to one of the silent servants who stood around the hall, and soon seats were brought for all. The Rohirrim removed their helms and sat, and Ecthelion had wine and some bread brought to them.

Léod, once he had drunk deeply of the wine before him, brought out a thick sheet of parchment folded and sealed with the sign of a running horse, and passed it to Ecthelion. "Thengel King bids me to say that he begs you take heed of this missive, lord."

There was a rustle as Ecthelion opened the letter, and silence in the stone hall as he read it twice through slowly and then dropped it on the table.

"Saruman has never done Gondor wrong," he said. "So a wizard is causing smoke and fire - who are we to meddle in his affairs?"

"Our scouts have seen strange Men entering Isengard, lord," Léod said. Aragorn sensed he was holding his emotions tightly in check. "Saruman was . that is, he used to send regularly to Edoras for news and to offer us counsel in return, but of late he has become reticent and closed. Thengel has had no word from him for a year. The Gap of Rohan is of utmost import to our land."

"But not to mine," Ecthelion said. "It is many miles distant."

"Yet Gondor's borders reach far," Léod returned, "and Thengel wonders whether you have seen or heard aught of Men travelling from the South towards Isengard and the North."

"There is still much traffic from the South," Ecthelion said. "Though we are not friendly with Umbar, with Khand or Harad, still we are not at war outright. Merchants are allowed. Surely Thengel does not expect me to keep an eye on all movement in South Gondor?" The Steward raised an eyebrow. "When Calenardhon was given to Éorl, that was Gondor's gift to your people. The West Road runs through Rohan as well as Gondor." He sighed. "Still, in token of our long alliance, I will send to Pelargir and to Adrahil of Dol Amroth to see if aught has been seen of strange ships, and I will heighten the alerts elsewhere. Still my heart is against this. Saruman is a powerful ally and it would not do well to be seen to be against him."

Aragorn coughed. "My lord Steward, if I may?"

"Go on, Thorongil?"

"If you remember, my lord, Mithrandir also counselled you to be wary of Saruman. I would urge you not to stint in any action that you may take to be certain of his good intentions. I believe Thengel King is right to be a little suspicious, and certainly the cease in communication between Isengard and Edoras concerns me."

"Always Mithrandir," Ecthelion said. "Why trust one old man over another?"

"Because those I have held in high esteem trust Mithrandir also," Aragorn replied, "and although, as I said even to the lord Denethor yesternight, I cannot claim to know him, I have been acquainted with him long enough to have confidence in what he says."

For a moment, Ecthelion's eyes met Aragorn's, and the latter held his gaze steady until the Steward looked away.

"Very well. I do not see that it was worth Thengel sending his First Marshal with this, but I will see what can be found out. Thorongil, take our guests to their quarters. I imagine they will wish to see to their steeds. I will order the parties for Pelargir and Dol Amroth."

He waved dismissal, and they bowed and left the hall.

Outside, Léod relaxed his stiff bearing. "I see you have come to a very different place than Edoras, Thorongil," he said in Rohirric.

"Ecthelion is a good Steward," Aragorn said, gently. "He is stern, it is true, and often unwilling to accept counsel, but he will listen and his people respect him."

"I am not surprised he is stern, living in this dead stone world," one of the Riders, Aldwine, said. "How can you cope, Thorongil?"

"Here in the Tower it is quiet," Aragorn agreed, "but elsewhere the City is alive with people, and there are gardens too. It is not all grey stone, my friend! And here are your lodgings, I believe." He opened a door and showed them into one of the Citadel's guesthouses, furnished simply but comfortably. The Riders' bags were already laid at the foot of their beds. Aragorn waited until they had changed their travel-stained garments and laid aside their helms, and then led them to the stables where they discovered their horses had been well cared for.

They were inspecting the rest of the stables, Léod and his companions having expressed an interest in seeing what provision for mounts Gondor had at her disposal, when the bell rang for the noonday meal. Aragorn took the Rohirrim with him to his company's table, where Léod, as befitted his position, was seated next to the captain, and Aragorn close to Alfwine and Wulf where he could translate for them. The Guards were welcoming and warm towards the strangers, and the meal passed quickly and in a lively fashion. Afterwards Aragorn was forced to take his leave of the Rohirrim, but he directed them to a guide who could show them the City whilst he went back to his duties.

In the evening, after meals had been taken, Léod came to Aragorn's chambers and took a seat with a deep sigh.

"We ate at the table of the Steward this evening," he said, stretching out his legs. "Scarce a word was spoken throughout the meal in any language. Quite unlike the board at Meduseld."

"But this is not Meduseld!" Aragorn said. "You are comparing two very different places, Léod."

"And glad I am to live in Rohan and not Gondor," Léod returned. "I grant that the White City is fair, and masterfully built, but it is cold and enclosed. Instead of the warm golden sun on the roof of Thengel's house, there is only the glint of silver like steel on the Steward's banner. I say again, Thorongil, how can you cope?"

Aragorn shrugged. "I am not a Rohirrim, Léod, mayhap you forget that because I rode with you for so long and speak your tongue? I am a wanderer. I can make my home anyway, should I have to. And though a portion of my heart rests in the North, another part yet lies here and always will." He smiled at his guest. "But let us not talk of me. Tell me how Rohan fares. How is the King?"

"Old," said Léod. "He leans more and more on Théoden and Éomund. It is fortunate indeed that Théoden, though young still, will be a good and wise king. I fear though that Thengel King will not live many more years. Yet he is sound in his wits. I and some of the other Marshals do what we can."

"That is good," Aragorn agreed. "And abroad in the Mark? The people prosper? The land is fertile?"

"Yes. We are stockpiling some of it at the Hornburg," Léod said, "in preparation, in case. Every day the threat of war comes closer, and with these foul fumes rising from Isengard, and the stories of Southerners coming, I fear for the Riddermark. Would that Ecthelion took us more seriously!"

Aragorn smiled ruefully. "He will send out his scouts and if he finds news, he will send to Thengel. I fear that the attitude of Gondor towards Rohan will not change soon, my friend. For Ecthelion, and I think perhaps even more for Denethor his son, Gondor's lineage and power are still counted greater than that of Rohan's, though Rohan has a king and Gondor . does not, not at the moment."

"You think the king will come again?" Léod asked with lively interest. "You think this is possible?"

Aragorn was silent for a moment before answering, and when he did speak, it was slowly and thoughtfully. "Understand, Léod, I have the greatest respect for Ecthelion and for his line. They have kept Gondor great through many years of strife, and have governed well and wisely. But they are not of the line of the Kings. If the king should come again, at some point in the future, I believe the time will be appointed not by him and not by the Stewards, but by fate, and an intermingling of many threads. I dare not hope that day will ever come."

Léod smiled reassuringly. "He may yet, Thorongil, he may. Till that day, I remain happy that I am a Rohirrim. We speak with the Steward again on the morrow before departure; Thengel bade us return as swiftly as we may. Shall I see you again?"

"I doubt it," Aragorn replied. "Ride safely, and send my humble service to Thengel King."

"I will do that. And return soon yourself, for there will always be a warm welcome in Edoras for you, or a bed at the end of a long ride. Farewell, Thorongil."

They clasped hands, and Léod went out of the door. Aragorn watched as he crossed the courtyard out of sight, and closed the door softly behind his friend.

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

Ecthelion had, after a few days' thought and consideration, agreed to send out parties in answer to Thengel's request. It had taken another week before the parties were fixed, and the mounts and supplies ready. The Steward had decided to send the same group of men to both Dol Amroth and Pelargir, with horses to bear them from Minas Tirith to Dol Amroth and thence to Pelargir, returning to the White City upon the Anduin by ship. As ambassador to the cities, Denethor was in command of the party, accompanied by men from several companies of the Guard. Aragorn was amongst them; the Steward having evidently decided to treat him as a connection to Rohan. In truth he had hoped to go, wishing to travel away from the City for a while. Now, with several days' journey behind them, the group was nearing Dol Amroth, with Denethor on a black horse at the head.

As they grew closer to the coast they began to make out signs of dwellings: small villages growing larger the nearer to the city they came. Soon they were riding through pleasant streets, the buildings low and built with a light grey stone, the doors and window-frames stained bright blue or terracotta.

"I am sure Adrahil will have little to tell us," Denethor said, as Aragorn rode up beside him. "Yet I am glad to arrive. Dol Amroth is yet a fair city."

Aragorn, glancing around him, agreed. The taller buildings, evidently those used for public affairs, were carven with patterns and scenes that reminded Aragorn in some way of Imladris, far to the North. He recalled the tales that said there lingered yet some Elven-blood in the veins of the city's people, and wondered if there was, in fact, some truth in those stories.

They came through a set of gates above which hung a wooden shield bearing the insignia of a silver swan and a ship sailing on a blue background, and dismounted in a large and spacious courtyard planted with trees. Grooms came to them and took the reins of the horses, and Aragorn patted his on the nose as it was led away. Turning, he followed Denethor through another gate and inside into a great hall, panelled in light silvery wood and hung with blue and silver banners. Someone blew a trumpet, and the people in the room - there were several - turned, as a servant announced in a loud clear voice, "the Lord Denethor, son of Ecthelion Steward of Gondor."

From a chair at the end of the room, a man stood and came towards them, his arms open wide in greeting and his face wreathed in smiles. Aragorn stood with the rest of the party and watched as Denethor exchanged bows with him.

"My lord Denethor, this is a welcome visit!" the man said.

"Your Highness," Denethor said stiffly. "I am come on business from my father by request of Thengel of Rohan. I trust we do not disturb you?"

"Disturb us? No, not at all. I was merely discussing fishing rights. You and your men are more than welcome."

"Adrahil," Aragorn's neighbour said with a grin. "Prince of Dol Amroth. They say he's well-liked by his subjects."

"I can believe that," Aragorn said.

Denethor passed Adrahil a rolled scroll, presumably from Ecthelion, and Adrahil, laughing at something, took it and passed it to an advisor who laid it on the table. Now the Prince came to Aragorn and the rest of the company from Minas Tirith.

"Welcome to Dol Amroth!" he said. "Now I'm sure you're all weary and hungry. I will order a room to be made ready for you and some food - I trust none of you will refuse a more sustaining meal this evening - a banquet, perhaps?"

"Your Highness, we are come on business, not pleasure," Denethor said. "We have little time for carousing."

"But you and your men must eat," Adrahil said. "I will not be refused this, my lord. Tomorrow we shall discuss this business, but you have ridden far."

They were led away to a roomy chamber with beds laid out in rows, and as he settled down with a sigh, Aragorn reflected that there was indeed a little of the Elf in Adrahil of Dol Amroth - in the fair features and the grey eyes. But Adrahil was showing signs of age, and that was not Elvish but very much mortal. Aragorn closed his eyes and thought of Arwen as he drifted off into sleep.

By the evening, the great hall was laid out for a feast, with candles lit and the table set with silver. Adrahil was waiting for Denethor and his company as they arrived, standing by the door with a young man who clearly resembled him, and a young woman with dark hair and sea-grey eyes. "My son Imrahil, and my daughter Finduilas," Adrahil introduced them, pride clear in his voice. Aragorn, waiting at a distance, noticed Denethor's eyes suddenly linger on Finduilas as he straightened from his bow, and for the first time he wondered if it were not time indeed that the Steward's son be looking for a wife.

Denethor joined Adrahil and his children and introduced his men as they in turn filed past, and then once the formalities were over, they sat down to eat. Adrahil had provided a lavish meal - meat, soups, vegetables, as well as plentiful amounts of fresh fish baked, roasted, grilled and boiled. Following the savouries there was fruit and five different sorts of cake. The party from Minas Tirith, used to the simple diet of bread and meat on which the Guards lived, ate with relish, and there was wine aplenty also. The talk grew loud and cheerful, as Adrahil's own men exchanged stories of seafaring for stories from the city. Only Denethor was silent, watching Finduilas' animated face across the table.

Following the meal Adrahil ordered the tables to be pushed back and musicians were brought in for dancing; and when all grew tired, there were calls for tales and songs. One of Adrahil's minstrels stood up and sang the old tale of Amroth and Nimrodel, and was received with applause. Denethor was still watching Finduilas as she listened intently. Now the men of Dol Amroth called for a tale from Denethor's company, and for a moment they were silent.

"Thorongil, you should do it," someone said, giving Aragorn a push.

"I agree!" someone else added. "Give us something romantic, eh - might be that we can help something along here."

Aragorn protested, but the rest of the men were adamant, and reluctantly he agreed. But he remained in his seat, and as the hall again fell silent, said, "I will sing you the tale of Beren and Lúthien, or part of it." He paused for a moment, and then softly began to sing. He closed his eyes, and tried to forget his audience - he had seldom performed in the Hall of Fire in Imladris, but had heard this and other tales on many an occasion, and the words came back to him easily. He sang in Quenya, and let his mind drift back to the day he turned twenty and left 'Estel' behind; the day he wandered in the woods of the North and fell in love.

When the song ended there was an echoing silence in the hall as the last phrase rang for a second in the air and then died. And then there was a riot of applause. Someone clapped Aragorn on the back.

"I'm not going to pretend I understood all that," his neighbour said, "but by the Valar! it was good."

Aragorn nodded his thanks absently, and equally absently accepted the goblet of wine a servant brought him. As the dancing started up again, he noticed Denethor and Finduilas moving on to the floor together, and picking up the goblet he moved around the edge of the room, seeking silence and quiet.

Outside it was a beautiful evening. From the terrace of Adrahil's house there was a view over the sea, rippling silver and black in the moonlight. In the distance, lights blinked; coming from the direction of Edhellond to the northeast, and on the water itself, from ships at sail. Aragorn leant on the stone balustrade and slowly sipped his wine, letting his mind wander.

"'Tis a fair evening," a voice said by his side, a while later. Turning, Aragorn saw Denethor gripping the balustrade and gazing out even as he did.

"Indeed, my lord," he replied.

"Where do you look, Thorongil?" Denethor asked.

"Westwards," Aragorn said.

"To Númenor?" the Steward's son said.

"Beyond," Aragorn returned. "To the Uttermost West."

"I had forgot you lived in the house of Elrond," Denethor said. "Is there then much talk of the West amongst the Elves?"

"Not talk, but memories long-held and memories handed down from their fathers," said Aragorn, watching the flickering red light of a ship as it beat its way up the coast. "Of a land surpassing fair where they might find rest."

"Yet tonight I would be nowhere else than here," Denethor said, turning and facing the house, "even were I one of the Eldar."

"Finduilas?" asked Aragorn, curious despite himself, and knowing the answer.

"Even so. I have never yet seen a lady so beautiful," his companion murmured. "And not only fair, Thorongil, but sweet-natured and generous." He paused, and then laughed shortly. "Hark at me! You will be wondering if the lady has taken away my natural sobriety."

"Indeed no, my lord," Aragorn said.

Denethor raised his eyebrows. "Hmm. Well, it is late, and I have business on the morrow. Good night, Thorongil."

"Good night, my lord," Aragorn said, and watched as Denethor walked away, slowly, and deep in thought. Soon he went to his own bed, but lay awake a long while thinking.

In the morning Aragorn was called early to council with Adrahil, Denethor, and others of both Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith. The two lords spoke most, and Aragorn listened silently as they debated Thengel's doubts and the possibility of spies. It turned out that Dol Amroth had seen a few strangers arrive by ship from the South, but they had caused no trouble. By the end of the day it was resolved to question closely all strangers, and to turn back those without a valid reason for travelling North.

As they left the council chamber, Denethor turned to Aragorn.

"Do you think Thengel will be content?"

"Reassured, rather," Aragorn said.

Denethor frowned. "Well, he will have to be happy with what we have done." They walked on in silence for a minute, and then Denethor stopped again. "Thorongil, I . will you take this to the lady Finduilas?" He produced a letter sealed with a D-rune. "I trust you to be discreet."

Aragorn took the letter, surprised. "Why, yes, my lord."

"I thank you." Denethor nodded at Aragorn and hurried off.

Looking down at the letter, Aragorn smiled to himself, and turned back towards the part of the house where Adrahil and his family lived.

He had enquired of a servant where Finduilas was, and was walking slowly down a long corridor admiring the wall decorations when he met Adrahil's son Imrahil coming the other way. Imrahil, Aragorn had discovered the previous night, was yet a young man of only twenty summers or so, but already it was clear he would take after his father in looks and in nobility. As he approached Imrahil, Aragorn paused and bowed his head.

"Good evening!" Imrahil said in return. "Thorongil, is it not, who sang the tale of Beren Camlost yestereve?"

"Yes, my lord," Aragorn replied.

Imrahil smiled. "Then I am glad to have met you now. I wanted to thank you for such a beautiful tale. Few of our minstrels and musicians have the skill to sing in Quenya, and though I myself am but a student, I would ever hear more."

"It is good that some Men still wish to learn the speech of the Eldar," Aragorn said, "for one day they will pass away and it is for us to remember them. Continue your studies, my lord, and I doubt not that in a short time you too will be able to give a rendition of that tale and many others."

"I hope so!" Imrahil said. He gestured, a little timidly, at the letter in Aragorn's hand. "Are you, perhaps, seeking my sister? She is with her ladies, sewing, I believe."

"I am seeking the lady Finduilas," Aragorn admitted. "Though not on my own business."

"That of the lord Denethor, perhaps?" asked Imrahil, his grey eyes lighting up. "Is he .?"

"I believe," Aragorn said, returning the young prince's smile, "that he intends indeed to court your sister."

Imrahil looked pleased. "Go, then, Thorongil. I will hurry to spread rumours!"

Aragorn bowed, and Imrahil did the same before hurrying on his way.

Finduilas was seated with three or four other women in a room catching the late sun, a huge tapestry spread out around them. She stood as Aragorn was announced, blushing to match her rose-pink dress as he bowed formally and handed her Denethor's letter. Her ladies bent together and Aragorn caught excited whispers as he went to stand by a window, listening as Finduilas opened the letter but watching a ship sailing out of the harbour, its sails set for a southbound voyage and the golden light playing off the white canvas. Behind him there was a gasp, and then a chorus of giggles from the ladies, and a cough from Finduilas. Aragorn turned.

"My lady?"

"Sir, I beg you to tell the lord Denethor that I would be delighted to speak with him later this evening, and that he should come here after we have eaten. Tell him ." here Finduilas glanced at her companions, before looking back at Aragorn, "tell him he may indeed hope." She paused, and then met Aragorn's eyes with the direct and intelligent glance of her family. "How well do you know the lord Denethor, sir?"

"As well as any who serve under his command, my lady," Aragorn said. "He is a great captain and respected by his men."

"But is he kind? Generous?"

Aragorn paused, trying to think of how he could describe Denethor. "I have only seen him on political and military business, my lady. I can say he is wise beyond his years, and just; more I cannot say. But I do think that he is much taken with you and that his suit is genuine. If you speak with him you will no doubt, my lady, learn more."

Finduilas smiled, lighting up her face. "I thank you, sir. Pray, then, give him my message."

"Certainly, my lady," Aragorn replied, bowing again and turning to leave the room. As he closed the door there was another ripple of talk and whispers, and he was only halfway along the corridor when a rustle of skirts and the tapping of shoes on the floor made him stop and turn.

One of Finduilas's companions had caught him up. "Sir, I have a message from the lady Rían, who, like me, is in the lady Finduilas's service. She begs to ask that she might dance with you this evening?"

Aragorn shook his head. "I am deeply sorry, but I do not dance. Give the lady Rían my apologies, madam."

The lady curtsied and ran off again, and Aragorn continued on his way, feeling a wave of isolation come over him.

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

As they left Dol Amroth behind, Denethor rode up beside Aragorn, their horses falling into step with each other.

"Thank you for delivering my message yester eve."

"It was my pleasure, lord," Aragorn returned. "I trust the interview went well?"

Denethor smiled. "Yes. I believe it did. It is strange, is it not, how the sight of a fair lady may change an otherwise dull day for the better? Enliven a tedious misson?"

"Or fix an already memorable moment in your heart forever," said Aragorn. "Aye, it is strange. And if the lady can love you in return, you are twice- blessed."

"And if your father agrees to a match," Denethor added, "then you are thrice-blessed."

"I am sure the lord Steward will find no fault with the lady Finduilas," Aragorn said, "for indeed what fault could be found with such a jewel? The blood of Dol Amroth runs true and fair even in these twilight days."

"That is true," Denethor said, nodding. "Nay, my father will be pleased of the chance of an heir to follow me." He glanced at Aragorn. "As the King will never return, we must continue the Steward's line."

"I believe," Aragorn said slowly, "that the Stewards will always have a part to play in Gondor's future, whether the King returns or no. Surely no man would reject such faithful servants?"

Their eyes met. After a moment Denethor shrugged.

"I would trust not."

They rode on in silence. Soon the talk fell to their business in Dol Amroth and in Pelargir to come, and other members of the company joined the conversation.

Their road took them around the bulk of the Hills of Tarnost, and they slept that night in the open, taking turns to be on watch. In the late afternoon of the fourth day of their journey, they saw at last the buildings of Pelargir; tall masts of ships and the glint of the waters of Anduin beyond.

There was an outpost of the White Tower here by the river, manned by a company of Guards, and Denethor was welcomed warmly by the commander. A meal was hastily laid out for the party from the City, and they ate before being shown to a long communal chamber with beds and simple furnishings. Someone suggested a game, and quickly most of the party had settled down to it. Aragorn watched for a moment, and then slipped out.

He made his way down to the docks and walked along, watching the ships which had arrived that day unloading their goods. Here there were elegant vessels of Pelargir, and small fishing-boats, and Aragorn noticed also one or two great black ships: the Corsairs from Umbar. There was little conversation between the dark-eyed sailors on these ships and the men from Pelargir who were carrying away the crates from them. Aragorn made a mental note to tell Denethor of the presence of the Corsairs, and continued along the quay.

His attention was caught at the end of the dock by a ship smaller perhaps than some of the others, but built of a pale grey wood with creamy white canvas sails, now neatly furled. The prow was curved upwards, and there was an air of simplicity and grace about the vessel. Aragorn, half-concealed by shadows, watched as several large cases of the same pale grey wood were unloaded. A tall hooded figure was directing the operation, and Aragorn's eyes narrowed as he felt a tug of recognition watching the figure's movements. Then, it turned, and gazed directly at Aragorn, and he caught a direct glance from shining eyes and saw a lock of dark hair escaping from under the concealing hood. He smiled, wryly, and received a brief nod in return.

Now the cases were being hurried away into a warehouse, and Aragorn turned to retrace his steps back to their lodgings. Halfway there, someone pulled at his cloak, and he turned, hand going automatically to his sword-hilt. A small boy clutching a piece of paper stood there; he grinned and thrust the paper into Aragorn's hand before running off again.

Aragorn unfolded the note and read, written in Westron in a flowing hand clearly more used to Tengwar, "Swan and Star, half an hour." It was unsigned. Aragorn tucked the note into a pocket, and walked on.

Twenty minutes later he was seated with a tankard of ale in a dark corner in the 'Swan and Star', which had proved to be a sailor's tavern and busy at this hour. Nobody took much notice of him, and he stretched out his legs and wished he had a pipe and some tobacco. Shortly, the tall figure from the quayside appeared, weaving through the crowds, and joined him without a word. Aragorn put down his tankard, and waited.

"I had plans to come to Minas Tirith to visit you, Estel," his companion said after a moment. "You have quite spoilt my hopes of seeing the White City."

"If I had known you were to come," Aragorn returned, "I would have made certain to be absent. It's been a long time, Elladan."

"A mere eighteen years," the Elf said, smiling. "Yet you look much older."

"I am older," Aragorn said, "as well you know. But this is not the time for jokes. Why are you in Pelargir?"

Elrond's son dropped his smile. "Running errands for my father, and for Círdan," he explained. "Círdan wanted some goods delivering in exchange for certain items he needs at the Havens - some Men still are willing to trade with the Eldar. My father wanted news from the South, and news of you. And of Mithrandir, if you have seen him lately?"

"Not for a twelvemonth," Aragorn said. "He did not say where he was headed."

"He comes and goes as he pleases," Elladan nodded. "And you? How goes it in Minas Tirith?"

Aragorn gave him the news and explained why he was in Pelargir. "And I believe Denethor has found a wife, if Ecthelion approves, which he surely will. I am glad of it. The line of the Stewards must continue."

"Even if ." said Elladan, raising an eyebrow.

"Even if," Aragorn agreed. "But this is neither the time nor the place, brother. Tell me of the North."

"The same, or nearly," Elladan said. "My father is well, though concerned about any rumour he hears from the South. Elrohir has remained with Círdan for the time being; we rode to the Havens together. Our sister is in Lórien, no doubt learning suitable arts and wisdom from the Lady. We see her if we pass by."

Aragorn gazed into his ale. "And my mother?" he asked in a low voice.

"Is well," the Elf replied, smiling gently at his friend. "Elrohir and I halted briefly on our way to Mithlond. She sends her love and her support to her son, and bade me tell you that the Dúnedain have noted some Southerners in Breeland, but that the Shire remains a haven. Be sure to tell Mithrandir, should you see him."

"The news about the Southerners is concerning," Aragorn said. "I wish I could warn Ecthelion. But it is not safe ." He paused. "If you pass that way again, Elladan, send her my greetings."

"I will."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each occupied with their own thoughts. Elladan broke it, softly.

"It is a lonely life, I see. I fear you are not happy, Estel."

"Happy?" Aragorn let out a short laugh. "That is not my lot. I am content. Thengel is a great lord and the Rohirrim are generous people, I liked riding for them. In the same way, Ecthelion is a strong leader. The White City is a beautiful place. He who was ill at ease there would be a fool indeed. But you must surely know my heart's desire, and no doubt like your father are unhappy for it; yet will I never be truly happy until that desire is fulfilled."

"I hold both you and her amongst those dearest to me," Elladan said. "I wish you both joy, even if that joy is not found together. Make of that what you will."

Aragorn nodded, and drained his tankard. "I must go. Be sure to pass on to your father the news, and keep a watch out yourself. We must be wary in these times."

"Be safe, brother," Elladan said.

Aragorn nodded, and left the inn without a backward glance at the Elf. On the way back to their lodgings, he kept alert for signs of anyone following him, and was reassured that this seemed not to be the case.

In the morning, he found Denethor sitting alone reading a sheaf of reports from the Pelargir guards.

"My lord?"

"What is it, Thorongil?" Denethor put down the papers, and glanced up at Aragorn. "I hear you went out walking last night."

"To stretch my legs and see the city a little," Aragorn said. "I went to the docks. There were three Corsairs, my lord Denethor, all with full crews. Is it not possible that these are used by those coming north to act as spies? The Corsairs are not averse to working against Gondor, particularly if it is to their own benefit."

The Steward's son frowned. "It is true we are not friendly with Umbar," he said, "but neither are we currently at outright war with them. They trade with us."

"They are a naval power to be reckoned with," Aragorn said firmly. "They hate Gondor and will do aught to bring her down. They should not be permitted into Pelargir or any other Gondorian harbour, my lord."

"So as well as being our expert on the Rohirrim, Thorongil," said Denethor, "you are also an expert on the Corsairs? I did not know."

"Thengel once granted me leave to travel," Aragorn explained briefly. "I went South, and learned much about Umbar and Harad. You may see them as in Gondor's control, but they do not. If Saruman has taken a path deviating from that of Gondor and her allies, my lord, Umbar will be with him. I beg you, trust me."

Denethor shrugged. "I will consult the Steward, Thorongil. It may be that he sees fit to heed your counsel. Now, I wish to finish these reports. You and some of the men, go and ask those guards stationed here what unusual activity they have seen, and report to me before the evening meal."

"My lord." Aragorn bowed, and walked away to carry out Denethor's orders.

He and five others of the company from Minas Tirith spent the day interviewing the Pelargir guards, who proved sociable and happy to talk. It became clear that they viewed their posts as easy ones, and their duties consisted mainly of patrolling the docks and quays and inspecting the occasional cargo. They had had few problems with the sailors from Umbar. "They don't drink liquor, not like our folk," one grizzled old guard said, with a laugh. "If there's any who choose to fight, it's those who take in too much on arriving safely at home. The Corsairs keep themselves to themselves."

Aragorn noted this. The guard watched him write, and added, "I know we don't get many, but it's the Elvish ships that cause the greatest trouble."

"In what way?" Aragorn asked, pausing in his notes. The old man shrugged.

"Well, they're different, aren't they? Folk feel that the Elves feel themselves superior to us Men. They don't provide any trade in the hostels, and their goods are of no use to ordinary people."

Aragorn glanced down at his page, and after a moment nodded. "I understand this," he said, "but what happens?"

"Nothing happens, as such," the guard said. "We don't talk to them and they don't talk to us. But it creates an uneasy atmosphere, you understand?"

"Try and make it clear to the people that the Elves are our allies," Aragorn said. "We need them, and not only for trade. Their wisdom and knowledge could be Gondor's greatest prop in times to come. Antagonism can only lead to ill."

"We can try," the guard said, frowning.

"Thank you," Aragorn returned. "Have you aught else that may be of use to the lord Denethor?"

"I think not," said the guard. "But it's good to see him here, to know that the City still cares for her land. He'll be a good Steward, when the time comes."

"He will."

As they were walking through the corridors to the next guard's post, one of Aragorn's companions remarked casually, "I did not know you were such a supporter of the Elves, Thorongil."

"I meant what I said," Aragorn replied. "They are our allies. And though it may now be greatly diminished, there is still some of the blood of Elros flowing in the veins of Gondor."

"I'd wager they take little interest in us these days," someone else remarked.

Aragorn said nothing.

By the end of the day, they had gathered enough information to satisfy even Denethor's rigorous standards. It seemed there had been a slight increase in traffic from the South, but until the arrival of the party from Minas Tirith, little attention had been paid to it. Now the commander of the garrison promised to keep a close eye on any newcomers to Pelargir, and to report their presence to the City. Aragorn agreed with Denethor that Thengel would be grateful for and satisfied with the news.

He went out to the docks again before retiring to bed, and arrived just as the grey Elven-ship was setting her sails and casting off, lanterns hung to port and to starboard. Gracefully she moved out into the wide estuary, and slipped away westwards towards the sea. Aragorn watched from the quayside until her white sails had faded into the twilight, and then turned away.

Disclaimer etc.: see chapter 1

"My lord," Aragorn replied, "they have been working against Gondor constantly, and will continue to do so. They are your sworn enemy."

"Well?" Ecthelion said to Denethor.

"I saw nothing to show that the Corsairs should be banned from our harbours, father," said Denethor, shrugging. "There clearly have been southerners seen travelling north, and I suppose we should send a message to Thengel; but I doubt that the Corsairs are involved."

Aragorn bit his lip and kept silent. Ecthelion nodded.

"Good. So be it. I shall write to Thengel this afternoon and send a rider out tomorrow morning. Do you think he will be satisfied, Thorongil?"

"I believe so, lord," Aragorn said.

"Then so be it. You may go to your lodgings, Thorongil, and rejoin your company once you are refreshed. I may require your captain elsewhere in a few days. Be prepared to take command, should I wish it."

"My lord." Aragorn bowed and left the hall. As he reached the far end, he heard Denethor say, "I need your permission, father, to court a lady," and he closed the double doors with a little more force than was perhaps needed.

As promised, within a week Ecthelion called the captain of Aragorn's company to become one of his advisors, and Aragorn found himself in charge, with new, bigger chambers and forty men under his command. The task kept him occupied, body and mind, and his days were spent training and ordering the company. He found it rewarding, and in return his men worked harder and better, and the Third Company became respected in the City. But Aragorn had less time to himself now, and the chance to escape to the slopes of Mindolluin came even more rarely.

Months passed. It was known in the City that Ecthelion had granted Denethor permission to court Finduilas of Dol Amroth, and the Steward's son rode often to the port to visit her. There was little more news from the South, and though Aragorn requested that tidings of the Corsairs be brought, none ever came. In mid-June, after a cold winter and a quick, flourishing spring, the news came to the City that Denethor son of Ecthelion, Heir to the Steward of Gondor, was to wed Finduilas of Dol Amroth, daughter of Adrahil, and that the wedding would take place within the month. Instantly Minas Tirith became a hotbed of activity. Tents and temporary shelters were erected on the Pelennor for the expected visitors, and within the Citadel, rooms were prepared for the new couple. Seamstresses were kept busy sewing, and the cooks and bakers were all ordered to start preparing food for the feast. Even the Guards did not escape the bustle, and frequently Aragorn found his men diverted from their regular duties to perform some task.

Finally, the wedding party arrived, and the day of marriage dawned. Aragorn, as a captain, attended the ceremony in the great hall of the Citadel, and the feast afterwards. Following the meal, there was dancing, and servants cleared away the tables and the empty plates to allow musicians to take up their places. Denethor and Finduilas led off the first dance, a slow, stately affair, and Aragorn sat and watched thoughtfully. At the end of the second dance, he was approached by a lady in blue who he vaguely recognised as being one of Finduilas's companions, and he accepted her request for a dance and led her on to the floor.

"I am glad to have this dance with you, Captain Thorongil," the lady said, blushing a little. "You might not remember ."

"Lady Rían, perhaps?" Aragorn hazarded, remembering the plea for a dance in Dol Amroth. "I must beg your forgiveness for my refusal on the last occasion. I am afraid my mind was rather occupied with business then."

The lady blushed. "You guess correctly, sir."

"Are you remaining with the Lady Finduilas in the White City?" Aragorn asked, letting the music guide his steps.

"Nay. I am to return to Dol Amroth within the week. In truth I will miss her, but we cannot all remain with her ladyship now she is wed. Some of us are staying here."

Aragorn asked Rían small questions about small matters whilst the dance lasted, and at the end took her across to those of his men who had been invited to the wedding, and saw her take the floor again in a moment. He found himself a seat again by the side of the floor and watched the dancing, whilst the music washed over him, and his thoughts wandered far.

"I hope I am not disturbing you, Captain?" a voice said, and he looked up with a start to see Finduilas beside him. She was wearing her wedding gown with flowers in her long hair, and her cheeks were prettily flushed.

"My lady," he said, and stood to bow. She laughed, and waved a hand towards his seat.

"Sit down. My lord Denethor is being polite and dancing with some of my ladies, so I decided to come and thank you for delivering his first message to me. I am truly very grateful."

"It was a pleasure, my lady," Aragorn said, taking his seat again. "I and all my company wish you and the lord Denethor the utmost happiness."

"And hope that soon Minas Tirith will have an heir to the heir?" said Finduilas. Aragorn acknowledged this with a smile.

"Indeed, my lady, but your happiness is more important."

"I will miss the Sea," Finduilas said, softly. "My rooms in Dol Amroth looked out over the waves, westwards. Here there is naught but grassland."

"There is the mountain, behind," Aragorn said, his heart moved to pity for the girl beside him. "And you will see that every day the grass seems different. At least here you have people coming in and out of the City; I remember in Rohan going days seeing none but the rest of the éored. This is a beautiful city, my lady, with generous and warm people. I am sure you will come to love them, in time."

Finduilas nodded. "I am sure too. It is all so strange, so new, that is all."

"New places are difficult," Aragorn agreed, "but in time you will call the City home. I promise you that, my lady."

"Then I will hold you to it!" she said, her eyes sparkling again. "And now there is another dance. I hope we can speak often, Captain Thorongil. I feel we could be friends."

She stood to cross the floor to her husband again, and Aragorn bent to kiss her hand. "I am at your service, my lady."

Finduilas nodded, and disappeared into the crowds.

The celebrations of the marriage lasted a week, with dancing and games on the fields for the people of Minas Tirith, and ceremonies and feasts in the Citadel. Aragorn watched with a sense of resigned relief as Ecthelion formally declared Denethor his heir, and blessed his son and new daughter. It seemed to him that the Steward was growing old, all of a sudden, the cares of his post weighing down on his shoulders, and talk in the City agreed. Finduilas was quickly taken into their hearts, and people flocked to speak to her as she walked around the streets and began to get to know her new home. If Aragorn happened to pass her, he made sure to greet her kindly and to ask after her, but this occurred only rarely.

Messages came from Pelargir and from Adrahil in Dol Amroth that the Corsairs had increased their traffic to the ports, and news arrived from the southernmost lands of Gondor that there had been small raids on crops and holdings. Aragorn was concerned, and made his concerns clear to Ecthelion, but the Steward seemed little bothered by the news. It was a fair autumn, and the farmers arriving from the Pelennor, the Lebennin, and Emyn Arnen had much to sell. For the moment, the attacks on Ithilien were less. The City was a joyful place in which to live.

Winter came, and Mindolluin was soon covered in snow, the white standard of the Stewards barely visible against the grey skies. The Guards now covered their uniforms in thick capes and stamped their feet as they patrolled the battlements of the Citadel, and the streets were quieter as people kept warm indoors. Yet the Gates still had to be manned, and it was on a frosty, fresh morning when Aragorn walked down to the Great Gate to inspect the guardroom there and ensure that the Guards on duty were provided for. The men seemed pleased to see him, and the inspection was satisfactory. Climbing the levels of the City back up to the Citadel, Aragorn was reflecting on the remaining tasks of the day, and so when he heard the clatter of a horse's hooves, he stepped aside without looking around to see who was coming.

The horse trotted past him, and he glanced up, and let out a cry.

"Mithrandir!"

The horse halted, and its rider peered around from under a pair of bushy eyebrows. "Thorongil. Just who I was hoping to see."

Aragorn hurried to the horse and held its reins as the wizard dismounted. "It has been too long, my friend."

"Too long perhaps, but I have had other tasks to attend to than visiting friends north, south and west," Mithrandir replied gruffly. "The world is shifting. There are dark times ahead."

"I hope you can convince Ecthelion of that," Aragorn said, encouraging the horse to start moving again. "Messengers report trouble in the south, yet he pays little attention to it. And we have heard little from Thengel recently."

"Thengel is old," Mithrandir said, his staff tapping on the cobblestones. "Not a dotard, but he is passing more duties to Théoden every month, I gather. Isengard concerns them, and me. Saruman is not being communicative at the moment."

They reached the stables, and Aragorn instructed a stable boy to tend to the horse, which seemed pleased to be somewhere warm and dry with plenty of hay. Mithrandir patted it on the nose and unbuckled the single saddlebag.

"A room?" asked Aragorn.

"Yes. I intend to stay a week, perhaps. We shall see."

Aragorn hailed a servant crossing the courtyard, and ordered that a room be made ready for Mithrandir. "In the meantime, come and take a cup of wine, unless you are desperate to see the Steward at once," he said.

Mithrandir shook his head. "Not at once. I am too weary to argue today."

In Aragorn's chambers, he poured them both a cup of red wine and passed one to the wizard, who took it gratefully. "New rooms for the new rank?" he asked.

Aragorn sat down opposite, and nodded. "Aye. Though at times I wish I did not have the rank."

Raising his eyebrows at Aragorn, Mithrandir pulled out a pipe, filled it and lit it. "It is a great honour, is it not?"

"It confines me to the City," Aragorn said. "But I must not complain, for there are essential tasks here as elsewhere." He drank. "Come now, my friend, you can find out the news of the City tomorrow. Tell me of the North."

"The North?" the wizard said. "What of it? Well, I returned whilst Elladan was away, and stayed awhile with Elrond. The news that came of you was welcome, though Elladan said nothing of captains."

"I was promoted on my return," Aragorn said.

"I guessed as much. Elrond shares my concern about Saruman, and this business with spies from the South is extremely worrying. I cannot understand why Ecthelion refuses to cooperate."

"He sees Rohan as insignificant, that is all," returned Aragorn. "As yet Gondor is not threatened."

Mithrandir made a noise that was half a grunt and half irritation, and drained his cup of wine. "Well. I suppose my room will be ready now? I should go and see Ecthelion and remind him what good counsel is. And I must not detain you from your duties." He stood up, leaning on his staff. "I shall bid you farewell for now, then, Estel, and no doubt we shall see one another later."

Aragorn went to open the door. "I suppose we shall." He watched the wizard cross the courtyard, and then turned to don his cloak again and return to his tasks.

During the afternoon Aragorn received a message from the Steward to attend dinner. He frowned, and accepted, but not without wishing he could have eaten with his men as he had planned; and those he spoke to throughout the rest of the day expressed their disappointment also. Aragorn tried to make dining with his company a regular occurrence, to maintain the camaraderie of the men and thus the better functioning of the group.

After dark, his duties ended, he dressed in his newest uniform and headed to the rooms used by the Steward and his family to live and dine in. Ecthelion, seated alone by a fire, greeted him warmly. "I am glad you came, Thorongil."

"My lord Steward," Aragorn said, bowing.

"I have been speaking with Mithrandir. He tells me he thinks your warnings and worryings with regard to the South and Saruman are not without reason: that, in fact, you have been counselling me wisely all along." A servant proffered a cup of wine, and Aragorn took it. "Naturally I have always valued your counsel, Thorongil, but hearing it supported by the lord Mithrandir is indeed a worthy recommendation. What is the latest news from Pelargir?"

Aragorn told him, and Ecthelion listened and nodded and asked questions. They had only a short while to talk, however, as midway through the conversation Denethor and his lady arrived, Finduilas in a deep blue velvet gown. They exchanged formal greetings and Denethor made polite comments about the weather, before Ecthelion drew his son aside and fell into conversation.

"I trust the snow does not depress you, my lady?" Aragorn asked Finduilas. She smiled and shook her head.

"Nay, captain. I think it is beautiful, particularly viewed from inside a window with a fire burning. I pity those who must work in it, such as your Guards."

"They are well-trained and have warm clothes," replied Aragorn, touched by her thoughtfulness, "but I shall be sure to tell them of your concern, my lady. It will raise you even further in their esteem."

Finduilas blushed. "I am glad to have their esteem."

"If you have it," Aragorn said, "it is only because you have earned it."

She smiled. "You flatter me, captain. But tell me," she added, changing the subject deftly, "I hear we have a guest in the Citadel this evening."

"Aye, the lord Mithrandir arrived this morning," Aragorn said. "Indeed, if I am not mistaken, he will be dining with us tonight."

"They say you know him well?" Finduilas questioned.

"Not well," Aragorn said.

"But better than some," a voice cut in, and they both turned to see the wizard behind them. He had left off his hat and cloak, but carried still his staff, and his eyes were now twinkling. "The captain is too modest, my lady."

"Mithrandir, this is the lord Denethor's wife," Aragorn said, "Lady Finduilas of Dol Amroth. My lady, the lord Mithrandir."

Mithrandir bowed, and Finduilas swept a courtesy. "I am delighted to make your acquaintance, my lord," she said. "I have heard much about you."

The wizard's eyebrows went up. "And none of it flattering, I'd warrant," he said. "I, on the other hand, have heard little about you, my lady, having been absent from Gondor these last months. But I am happy to see that the lord Denethor has chosen a beautiful wife. May the blessing of the Valar be upon you both."

Denethor, coming over for the last words, smiled an unaccustomed smile and slipped his wife's arm through his. "I thank you, my lord. My father says we should go to table, for dinner is served."

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

"It was both a pleasure and an honour," Finduilas replied. "Ride safely, until you come to your next safe haven."

Mithrandir bowed his head, and turned to Aragorn, standing beside Finduilas at the Gate, and for a moment their eyes met. Aragorn took the wizard's hand for a moment. "Farewell," he said.

"I'll remember you to old friends," Mithrandir returned. He set his tall hat on his head, and swung himself up into the saddle of his horse. "We've a long road ahead," he said to it. "Get along with you." The horse whinnied reproachfully, but started up a brisk walk. Soon the wizard was a diminutive figure on the road to the outer edge of the Rammas.

Aragorn turned to glance at Finduilas, whose cheeks were flushed pink in the cold wind above her blue mantle. "Shall I accompany you back to the Citadel, my lady?" he asked.

"I would be delighted if you would," she said. "In truth, I was hoping you would walk with me." They set off, through the Gate and slightly upwards on the first of the levels of the City, Aragorn walking slowly to keep pace with his companion. "I liked him," Finduilas said, after a moment.

"Mithrandir?" Aragorn asked. "He is a wise and generous person. Indeed I find it difficult to understand how one could not like him and trust him."

"My husband does not," Finduilas said quietly. Aragorn said nothing. "He feels that the wizard meddles, that he should not concern himself with Gondor." There was a pause. "I disagree, I think. Why should we reject wisdom and honesty?"

"We should not," Aragorn replied. "That course can be dangerous."

Finduilas put her hands inside her mantle. "Are we not beset by dangers?"

"We are," said Aragorn, "and it is for that reason I believe in doing all we can to follow a safer course."

They walked on in silence until they had come through the next gate. Aragorn looked up at the sky and was about to make a comment about the changing seasons, but Finduilas broke in before he could speak.

"Tell me about the North, captain."

"My lady?"

"I have never seen any other country save Dol Amroth and this City and the road between. They say you have travelled. What is the North like?"

Aragorn thought, picturing the lands he knew best in his mind before speaking. "It is very beautiful, but of a different beauty to the South. Some parts wilder, more dangerous, some less so. Here," he gestured, "we have fair Mindolluin, protecting us, but in the North lie a whole range of mountains, the Hithaeglir, the Misty Mountains. For much of the year they are crowned with snow, and they are well nigh impassable. Few folk live nearby, yet there are fertile valleys, and waterfalls. The Northern wilderness is mostly forested, and uninhabited. There is one small land, inhabited, of rolling green hills and gentle streams. A fair place."

"It sounds a strange country," Finduilas said. "No grassland?"

"Not until one comes to Rohan, no, lady."

"And do Elves still live there?" asked Finduilas.

"Here I must leave you, my lady," Aragorn said in return, glancing up and seeing they had come to the gate of the Citadel. "My duties call me, unpleasant as they seem after such a walk with such a fair lady." He bowed to her.

"I hate that duty binds you all like this!" Finduilas burst out. "You, my husband, my lord the Steward, my father and my brother . none of you are free!"

Aragorn paused in turning to depart. "It is our duty, though, and we must obey. Farewell, my lady."

He turned, and hurried off, leaving Finduilas a lonely figure in her rich mantle, silhouetted against the white stone of the Citadel.

His company was at their noon meal, and Aragorn slid into his seat at the head of the table amid calls for an explanation of his tardiness. He took a bite of bread and a mouthful of ale, grateful for the food, before responding. "I was accompanying a lady back to her home."

There was a burst of laughter, and one of his senior officers, a twinkle in his eye, said, "the fair Finduilas, perchance?"

Aragorn nodded. "She asked me to. Therefore, I did. Satisfied?"

"Don't be too chivalrous, captain," someone said. "Denethor is already far too jealous of you."

"He's the son of your liege lord," Aragorn said sharply. "I wish that nobody in my company speaks of him in that manner."

"Come now, captain," his second-in-command put in, "you know as well as I and as well as the rest of the men that it's perfectly true. You also know this company gets more applications from the new recruits than any other. There's a simple explanation, and, sir, you're it."

"And we get more attention from the lovely ladies of this City than any other company," a Guard called from lower down the table.

"You beat him in single combat," the second-in-command continued, ticking points off on his fingers, "you speak more languages than him, you're a favourite of Thengel and our own Steward and that wizard . the lord Denethor (Valar preserve him) has many reasons to be perfectly jealous of you." He put a hunk of cheese in his mouth, chewed it, and concluded, "And the worst part, for him, is that most people would agree with him." He raised his mug and called to the company, "A toast, to the captain!"

There was a chorus of approval from the men, which Aragorn responded to with a lift of his own mug. "Still," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear him, "any sign of disloyalty to the City, to Gondor, or to the Steward, will be punished. To Gondor, gentlemen, and then back to your posts. There is still a long afternoon ahead of you all."

The company drank the toast, and then began to disperse. As they filed past Aragorn, many paused to speak with him on various issues, and it was only when the room was empty that he was able to complete his own meal and then go to his desk where a pile of papers awaited him. He hung his cloak up, pushed open a window and breathed in the cold air before sitting and turning his mind to work.

Later on, his tasks done and the evening meal finished, Aragorn went walking on the battlements of the City, looking out over the twinkling lights of the distant homesteads on the Pelennor. The words of his company were running through his mind, and it crossed his thoughts that perhaps it was time to leave Minas Tirith.

He leaned against the wall and gazed through an arrow-slit, looking northwest, and wondered how his kin were faring in their ceaseless work against the foes of the North. Though Mithrandir had mentioned Elrond, and his sons, and briefly, Arwen, he had said little about the Dúnedain, and Aragorn wished he had pressed the wizard further on the subject. It was beginning to seem as if he had been in the White City for too long.

Yet no occasion arose to put the question to Ecthelion and ask for permission to leave. The weather grew warmer again, and it was announced in the City that Denethor and Finduilas were expecting a child. Gifts from the people flooded into the Citadel, and as Aragorn went about his business the talk was all about the prospective heir. Public opinion seemed to be that Finduilas would undoubtedly bear a male child. Finduilas herself stayed mostly indoors during the months that followed, and Denethor began to spend less time looking after business for his father. Ecthelion declared to Aragorn that he cared little, and Aragorn reflected that the Steward seemed to be rejuvenated by the prospect of a grandchild.

As the first snows began to fall on Mindolluin, Finduilas gave birth, and the baby was indeed a boy. The child was blessed by Ecthelion at a ceremony a week later, and named Boromir. Aragorn, filing past Finduilas with the rest of the Steward's counsellors and officers, reflected that the new mother looked tired. Servant gossip soon reported that little Boromir was a fractious child, but that his father doted upon the baby. He had inherited the dark hair of his father's line, and grew strongly and quickly.

Aragorn was at work on the duty-roster for his company one morning when there was a tap on his door, and Finduilas entered accompanied by two ladies, one of whom was carrying the baby.

"My lady," Aragorn said, rising and finding her and the ladies seats. "This is an unexpected pleasure."

"I trust you will excuse the intrusion," Finduilas said. "But I was bored inside, and the baby would not stop crying. Morwenna suggested that he might feel better for a walk, and indeed it was a success."

"He's a beautiful child," Aragorn said, squatting to the level of the baby in the nursemaid's arms.

"He's his father and grandfather's pride and joy," Finduilas said wearily. "When he's a little older I shall take him to Dol Amroth and see if my father and my brother agree with them."

"And is he not your pride and joy?" asked Aragorn, putting a finger out, which Boromir grasped, looking up at him with big grey eyes. "One thing is sure, he has the grip for a swordsman."

Finduilas looked down at her clasped hands. "My lord Denethor said that. Poor child, he is destined for such trials. I wish only he could grow up in peace, and know wisdom and happiness before he has to go and fight for his City."

Aragorn disentangled his finger from the baby's hand and brushed the soft downy hair on his head gently. "He has the best possible start, my lady; parents who love him and a City that adores him. I am sure he is destined for greatness."

"If that means happiness also, then I will be content," Finduilas said. "But we have intruded upon your time too long, captain." She rose, and her attendants stood also, and with polite goodbyes and a gurgle from Boromir, they left.

Aragorn had a strange dream that night, waking suddenly from it whilst it was still early, and remembering vaguely a feeling of grief and loss, and of uncertainty, as well as a sense that he had been beside a river bidding farewell to someone. He could not recall who that someone had been, though he sat for a moment trying to bring the face and the name to his mind.

In the morning, his slight sense of discomfort was broken by the arrival of two messages: one from Rohan, and one from Pelargir. He opened the one from Rohan first, breaking the seal of dark green wax and spreading the scroll out on his table. The message was brief and to the point. Thengel was ill, and for the time being, he had given his son Théoden the powers of King. There had been unrest near the Gap of Rohan, and three Riders had been injured in a skirmish with the Dunlendings. The message concluded by reassuring Aragorn that a similar missive had been sent to Ecthelion, and was signed by Léod. Aragorn let go of the scroll, allowing it to spring shut, and he sat for a while thinking before turning to the next message. This was simply folded and sealed with a plain seal, and marked, "For the Attention of Captain Thorongil, 3rd Company of the Citadel." It was from one of the contacts which Aragorn, with Ecthelion's blessing, had managed to set up in Pelargir under the control of the garrison of Guards, and said that ships from Umbar were becoming more and more common and more and more aggressive.

He turned to his other business - a complaint that one of his men had been caught drunk in a tavern, the allocation of supplies, the armoury budget for the quarter, and succeeded in dealing with most of it before the servant came with the order that he was to report immediately to the Steward.

Ecthelion was in a bad mood. "Have you heard from Rohan also?" he demanded.

"I did receive a letter from Marshal Léod, aye, my lord."

"Well?"

"Théoden is ripe for kingship, my lord Steward. Thengel is not yet a dotard, but he is aging. I do not think you need worry about the governance of Rohan whilst this illness lasts, nor afterwards. As for the Dunlendings - there have been cross-border fights for years, but seldom serious injuries. It strikes me as one more example of our turbulent times."

"Thengel is younger than I am," Ecthelion said, fixing Aragorn with his gaze.

"Thengel is not of Gondorian blood, my lord," Aragorn pointed out diplomatically.

"Hmm. Well, then, I shall trust in his son. Did you meet the lad?"

"I did, my lord. He is an able Rider and the people loved him already, and he was but a boy when I left Rohan."

Ecthelion marked something on a sheaf of papers in front of him, and rubbed a hand across his forehead. "Not yet noon, and already I am fatigued with this endless business. Have you news from Pelargir? I was told a rider arrived."

"There has been more traffic from Umbar, my lord. I do believe that soon we will have to be more direct."

"Attack them?"

Aragorn nodded. "Perhaps, yes. Myth of Gondor's might will not suffice for these pirates. I am told one ship hoisted warning signals against one of our merchants, just this last week."

"It has never been easy to be a Steward," Ecthelion said wearily. "But I do believe now is harder than ever before." He glanced up. "Would that the King would return and relieve me of my duties!"

"But on the bright side," Aragorn said quickly, "you have a worthy heir, a graceful daughter, and a delightful grandson, my lord."

"Little Boromir," Ecthelion smiled. "Yes, Thorongil, I am blessed, for I also have good counsellors and loyal citizens. I will consider the points in favour of launching some assault against Umbar. Now, I suppose you have business as usual regarding your company."

"My lord Steward." Aragorn bowed, and went out, thinking to himself that once again Ecthelion was proving to be more perspicacious than he himself would wish.

No assault was ordered for the time being, and reports from Pelargir remained similar for many months. Two Gondorian vessels, and one from Dol Amroth, were attacked and raided for goods, but no lives were lost, and although Adrahil wrote angrily to Ecthelion complaining and asking that something be done, Ecthelion seemed more concerned with the welfare of his grandson who was growing swiftly. Aragorn saw him out and about in the Citadel regularly, tottering along holding on to the hand of his mother or a nursemaid. The Guards seemed to appreciate a visit from the future Heir, and would more than cheerfully break off from a tedious task to play with Boromir for a few minutes. Finduilas, over time, recovered a little from her lassitude following her son's birth, and as spring came once more she seemed to bloom again, and some colour returned to her cheeks.

Still the mood in the City began to turn to that of disquiet. In the distance, the small speck of flame that came from Mordor grew stronger, and on windy days there was a plume of smoke or dust from the East. Rangers in Ithilien reported more and more Orc raids, and then in May news came from Pelargir, in the form of an urgent message. A Gondorian ship, carrying wool from Belfalas to the southern fief-lands, was attacked, raided and burnt, with only three survivors, who, clinging to a spar, managed to float ashore. They reported that the pirate ship was a black-sailed Corsair from Umbar.

"It is time to act, my lord!" Aragorn said, taking Ecthelion the report. "Umbar cannot be allowed to think that she has mastery of the Sea. Were your ancestors not sea-faring, rulers of the waves for an Age, with the grace of the Lord Ulmo?"

"That is true, Thorongil," Ecthelion said, bent over the letter. He looked up, and there was a spark in his eyes that had been absent for many a month. "Aye, that is true. You shall have your wish, and you yourself shall lead the attack on Umbar. What do you need?"

Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief, and began to outline the plan that had been forming in his mind for many a week. Over the course of that day, Ecthelion had runners hastening to and fro to prepare the supplies, and had sent a rider to the Harlond to have three ships made ready.

"I will promote your second-in-command, whilst you are gone," he said to Aragorn at the end of the day. "He can command your company?"

"He will make an excellent captain, lord," Aragorn said. "And, with your lord's permission, I would ask that the position be a permanent one."

"Thorongil?"

Aragorn met Ecthelion's eyes. "My lord, I would ask that you release me from your service, and that once this attack is completed, should I live, you will permit me to leave."

"Leave Minas Tirith? Leave Gondor?"

"Yes, my lord Steward. I have been here eight years gone. But I have other tasks to do, and cannot remain here - though in truth I love the White City dearly."

"I will consider the request, Thorongil," Ecthelion said after a pause. "You have much to do if you are to set out within the week. Go, and report developments to me on the morrow."

The company that was to travel from the City with Aragorn was chosen and ready in four days, young, strong men eager for battle. In addition each ship had a crew of experienced sailors. On the last evening, Aragorn packed up his possessions, what he could easily carry, leaving the rest behind, and went to bid Ecthelion farewell. The Steward, a cup of wine by his elbow, was writing on a parchment, which he signed and sealed as Aragorn came in.

"There. Your orders."

"Thank you, my lord Steward." Aragorn took the parchment. "I trust I and my men will meet with success and bring you victory."

Ecthelion nodded, absently, and stood up to pace the width of the chamber once. He paused at the foot of the dais. "You may have your wish, Thorongil. I give you leave to depart Minas Tirith, though I do not release you from your service to Gondor."

"I would not wish to be released from that oath," Aragorn said sincerely. "I would put Gondor before my own life, and will do until the day I die."

The Steward acknowledged this with a grunt, and sat down behind his desk once more, fiddling with a carved stone paperweight. Abruptly he looked up. "Who are you, really, Thorongil?"

"My lord?" Aragorn said, playing for time.

"Have you ever noticed how the people talk amongst themselves, noting your resemblance to my son? They say you must surely be of Gondorian descent. Your complexion, your hair . those eyes . I say again, Thorongil, who are you?"

"A servant of Gondor, my lord, as I have said" returned Aragorn. Ecthelion slammed his hand down on the table with a thump that echoed through the chamber.

"I said to you once, Thorongil, that I am no fool. I know, though most of my people do not, that somewhere in the North the remnants of the Northern line settled. I do not believe that line died out, not completely. You know your history. You speak Quenya, and Sindarin, Westron and Rohirric with equal ease. You came to us from Rohan, but you are not a Rohirrim. You have woodcraft, and you use a sword better than any man in Gondor. And I remember one thing you told me when first we met: that in your youth you lived in Imladris." The Steward stood, and crossed the few yards to his stone chair at the bottom of the dais, but he did not sit. Instead, he gestured at the empty throne raised above him. "Would you ever claim that, Thorongil?"

"My lord, I ." began Aragorn, but Ecthelion interrupted him.

"If I am right, surely you have no need to use that title for me?"

"If I use the title, my lord Steward, it is because you merit it," Aragorn said. "It is long now since the crown lies in Eärnil's lap, and it is not now the time for any man to take it up. We are a secret people in the North, my lord, out of necessity. The majesty of Elendil remains only in this City and her power."

Ecthelion sat down, heavily. "Have I guessed aright, Thorongil?"

"I am of your Northern kindred, my lord," Aragorn replied, treading carefully. "More than that I will not say."

"Then what of Imladris? Was it not once tradition for the heirs of the chieftain of that line to be brought up there?"

"My father died when I was barely more than a babe," said Aragorn, "and my mother, fearful for my welfare, appealed to the Lord Elrond for protection. That is all."

"You are skilled, I know, in avoiding answering questions if you wish," Ecthelion said. "I see I will get nothing more from you."

"My lord, my oath remains true," Aragorn said. "If Gondor is in need, I will return to the City and your service. I thank you for releasing me now."

"May the Valar go with you," said Ecthelion, "and I thank you for your faithful service, Thorongil."

For a moment there was silence, and then Aragorn bowed, and turned his back on the Steward of Gondor.

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

"I will not keep you long," he said, "for I know you all wish to get back to your own ships. Yet I delayed my briefing until now for specific reasons, and I would ask you all to keep our course and our aim a secret until we are in open ocean, past Pelargir.

"As I think you know, we have recently come under attack from the Corsairs issuing from Umbar. They are growing ever stronger, and the lord Ecthelion has decided that this must be halted soon, else the pirates gain supremacy over us. You and your men were selected as being the best Gondor has, and I trust you will repay the Steward's faith in you."

The five men glanced at each other, and nodded.

"We are to make our way down river to the Sea, and thence set our course southwards towards Umbar. We drop anchor close by, and only set sail for Umbar itself once night has fallen on the evening of our arrival. Then, we land, and attack."

Aragorn's listeners exchanged further glances, and one of them let out a short laugh.

"Forgive me asking, Captain, but what exactly do you intend to do once we have landed? Attack is a broad term."

"We are a force of one hundred, if we leave each of our ships manned with enough sailors to retreat swiftly," Aragorn said. "Thirty of the men under my command will attack any Umbarians on the quays - with sword and bow. The rest, in two groups, will set about destroying any ships in harbour. Set them alight, or hole them. They must not be allowed to set sail again. The group under Captain Barahir will target those ships at the east of the harbour, and the group under Captain Pharon the west."

"And we'll remain on board, for the retreat?" one of the three sea captains confirmed. Aragorn nodded.

"Correct. This is to remain secret from the men, for now. Keep them fit and keep them happy. Morale is of the utmost importance. I trust the supplies will be sufficient?"

The oldest of the mariners nodded. "We took on board enough for two months at sea, as we were ordered."

"Good. Then I will not keep you any longer, gentlemen. Return to your vessels, and may Ulmo protect us all until we come to Umbar."

"When it'll be out of his hands," Barahir, a man of some fifty years muttered. "We'll send a boat if we have problems, Captain Thorongil, yes?"

"Do."

The other captains acknowledged this with nods. Aragorn and Minastir, the captain of his ship, watched them as they clambered down the rope ladder hung over the side of the vessel to regain the small rowing boat bobbing alongside. Shortly they saw the boat pause beside the other two ships, and the passengers climb aboard.

"It's quite a mission we have been set," Minastir said, turning to Aragorn.

"But not an impossible one," Aragorn returned.

"I hope not." Minastir shaded his blue eyes with a tanned hand and looked up at the sails. "Tsk, look at the set of the foresail! I must go and get that remedied. You need for nothing?"

"Not at all, my friend. Do not let me keep you from the running of your ship."

Minastir grinned, and hurried off to bellow orders at his crew. Aragorn, picking his way round ropes and barrels, went to stand at the stern, and catch his last glimpse of Minas Tirith. The Sun was beginning to lower, and on this early summer's day, the last remaining snows on Mindolluin, the small clouds floating in the sky, and the White Tower glistening made Aragorn's eyes smart with the brightness. He leant on the rail, the wind whipping his hair backwards, and watched as gradually the Tower grew smaller and the Sun set, sending rays of golden-red across the City. For a moment, he thought he could hear the sound of the trumpets calling people to their evening meal. He kept on looking backwards until someone came up behind him and coughed. "Captain, we are called to table."

Aragorn turned to see one of his men. "Good. I'm hungry. Will you show me the way?"

After they had eaten, the soldiers went to the section of the hold assigned as their cabin, hung with hammocks, and the sailors not on watch did likewise. For a little while, Aragorn sat reading in the cabin which he had been given, the lantern hanging from the ceiling casting strange shadows in the corner. But he quickly gave up, and shutting off the lantern, he pulled the blanket off the narrow bunk and went up on deck.

Above the sails the stars were bright, and Aragorn settled himself on a coil of rope, the blanket wrapped around him, and lay back to gaze upwards. The constellations rocked gently backwards and forwards with the movement of the ship upon the estuary, and he spent some time naming them in his mind and relearning the ones he had forgotten - the strange stars of the South. At last, his mind growing weary, Aragorn fixed his eyes on the brightest star in the heavens, and murmured a brief prayer to his ancestor, before drifting off to sleep.

He was woken early by Minastir, who stood over him grinning widely.

"You slept on deck, Captain?"

"I did." Aragorn sat up, and pushed his hair away from his face. "The cabin was too stuffy."

Minastir acknowledged this with a knowing look. "You're not one born to be cooped up inside, I can see that. Though should the weather turn, you'll be glad of that warm, dry space."

"I have slept outside in many weathers," Aragorn laughed, standing up and stretching, "and I would still choose that over that box, any day. How are we progressing?"

"Not bad," Minastir said, leading the way forwards. "As you see, we are still sailing as a fleet," he gestured to where the two other ships were visible, to port side and slightly astern of the flagship, "and we expect to arrive at Pelargir tomorrow morning. The wind is strong and to our favour." He paused, and spoke a few words to the man at the helm, and then turned again to Aragorn. "Thorongil - if I may call you Thorongil?"

"Of course."

"Do you think we will succeed in this venture?"

"I do." Aragorn leaned against the rail and faced the sailor. "This might be the first campaign I have led from the sea, Minastir, but it is by no means the first campaign I have ever led."

"I did not mean ." Minastir began.

"I know you did not. And I know it sounds a foolhardy and possibly suicidal venture, and that we risk losing many men. But I know the Umbarians, and I know the way they fight. They are a brave and proud people, but they are disorganised compared to Gondor, and their men do not have the unity ours do."

"No leader to follow?" Minastir asked.

"Not as such. They have captains, certainly, but no Steward to guide them and be their figurehead. Our men know that they are fighting for Gondor, and I hope that will give them the extra courage and strength they will need." Aragorn shrugged. "I hope also that they are better trained and that I have chosen them well."

Minastir turned, and called an order to the helmsman, and then faced Aragorn again. "So do I. I hope we can return to Gondor in triumph, Thorongil, and not with bad news for the City."

Aragorn nodded in agreement, and smiled, and the captain returned the smile and then hurried away to order a change in the setting of the sails. Turning, Aragorn looked out at the wide river and the banks slipping by, and wondered when he would return to Minas Tirith - and how.

The waters foamed under the keels of the ships that day, and the night - which Aragorn again spent on deck - and by the time the Sun was high overhead, they had passed Pelargir. Some of the soldiers expressed irritation that they were not allowed to go ashore, but Aragorn promised explanations, and they fell silent and turned back to their card games.

By late afternoon, the ships had turned south out of the mouth of the Anduin, and were rocking a little on a gentle swell. Aragorn called his men on deck, and asked Minastir to gather the sailors not currently needed to keep the ship on course.

"I apologise for not allowing you to leave the ship for a time at Pelargir," Aragorn began, looking down at the men from his perch against the foremast. "I trust you will forgive me when I explain our mission, for which you were all especially chosen. Some of you I know well, the rest of you were recommended to me by your captains, and your participation in this operation was ultimately approved by the lord Steward himself. I trust the significance of that is not lost on anyone." He glanced at the men and saw he had their attention. "In a few days' time we will cross from the waters controlled by Gondor into those ruled by Umbar. You all know that our two countries have for a long time maintained an uneasy peace; recently that peace has been broken and our Steward will no longer countenance the violence which the Umbarian fleets have been practising in Gondor's seas.

"We are therefore going to attack Umbar, at her heart, and destroy her capacity for piracy."

There was silence, broken only by the murmur of the helmsman as he adjusted the ship's course, and the breath of wind in the sails.

"You will be with me for the attack, and will be in close combat with any of the Umbarians on the quayside. You have all fought like this before, but remember that in Umbar they use curved blades rather than our straight ones. I'm not going to pretend this will be easy, gentlemen. The companies from the other two ships will be targeting the Corsairs, and destroying them. Mariners will remain on board our ships, ready for instant retreat should that be a necessity; and your captain will remain with you. This will be a night attack, and therefore I would ask that you remove or dull any bright parts of your armour. Are there any questions?"

"What happens if it all goes wrong, captain?" someone asked, frankly.

Aragorn smiled and hoped it was reassuring. "It will not go wrong. But you all swore, when you joined the Guards, or your company of Rangers, that you would give your life for Gondor. If it goes wrong, that may be an oath brought to fulfilment. If any of you have doubts, you may remain on board ship and aid the sailors."

"Is this your plan or the Steward's, sir?" another man called.

"The details are mine, Daeron," Aragorn returned. "The blessing is the lord Steward's. I hope that suffices?"

"Aye, captain!" Daeron said, cheerfully. Indeed, Aragorn noticed that the men seemed to be happier with the idea of attacking Umbar now they knew Ecthelion had not formulated the plan. He stored this fact away to reflect on later.

"I believe we will arrive off the coast of Umbar in a few days - Captain Minastir?"

Minastir nodded. "Maybe four days, five if we're unlucky with the wind. We anchor and go in at night."

"We will spend the days until then in readying ourselves for the attack," Aragorn added. "As the water is calm now, I thought we could begin with some sword practice. Go and fetch your weapons, unless there are any other queries?"

The men glanced at each other, and shook their heads, and then several of them stood up and disappeared below decks to fetch their swords. The sailors cleared a space on the afterdeck, making sure ropes were looped up out of reach and that barrels were not blocking the movement. Several of them found places to watch, and even Minastir stood a little further astern than he strictly needed to.

As the ship beat her way southwards, and evening lengthened, Aragorn took his men through their paces in pairs, six men at a time, rotating through until all of them had sparred with at least one other. They ended the practice as the bell rang for the evening meal, and Aragorn noted with pleasure that the mood of the company seemed to have risen.

Morale stayed high as they hurried southwards, the sailors working throughout the day to ensure that the ship was moving as fast as possible. The other two ships in the fleet were just within sight during the day. The men kept busy with more weapons practice, games, and songs and stories, exchanging battle-songs with the sea-shanties of the mariners. For the most part, Aragorn stayed silent and watched, but he oversaw the practices and offered a few songs in Elvish, which always received loud applause.

At noon on the fourth day after passing Pelargir, Minastir guided the ship into a sheltered, lonely cove and dropped anchor, and they waited for the rest of the fleet to join them. The sails were lowered, and the men were ordered to keep quiet below decks until nightfall. Aragorn sat in his cabin, recalling the quays at Umbar as he had once seen them.

By evening, the companies and the ships were ready, and silently they hoisted sail and slipped out again to sea, prepared for battle. The men waited tense and silent on deck as the sailors hurried about their business, Minastir giving brief orders in a gruff whisper. The coast slid by, dark against the night sky, and Aragorn at the rail heard little but the rush of water under the keel.

As the ships altered course to turn into the harbour, Minastir came to Aragorn and tapped him on the arm. "Good luck," he murmured. "We'll be ready to leave as soon as maybe."

Aragorn nodded, and the captain turned back to his ship. Up ahead, there were a few lights on the quayside, and the bulk of several Corsairs moored. Aragorn glanced round at the shadowy mass of his own company, and raised a hand. As one, they stood up. The ship was close to the quayside now, and a voice hailed them in Umbarian from the shore. Stepping up on the rail, hanging on to a shroud, Aragorn drew his sword and leapt, calling, "Gondor!" as he did so. Behind him there was a roar from the men as they followed, but Aragorn had little time to think about this as he came upon the first of the Umbarians. The man was taken by surprise, but had his sword half-drawn, and Aragorn swiftly ran him through with a twist of his hand.

The houses by the quayside were awake now, and men were beginning to emerge, clad in loose robes and wielding their curved swords. Aragorn let himself slip into the rhythm of fighting, the noise around him swelling as the battle was truly joined. Away to the left, a crackle and a yell alerted him to the fact that the first of the Corsairs was alight.

He fought on, suffering a blow to his left arm, a cut to his leg, a slash on his temple. Despite the cool night air, sweat was rolling down his face and moistening his hands as he turned and twisted his sword in the air, in flesh. He dodged an uppercut blow from an opponent, barely heeding the cries around him, people shouting "Fire!" in Umbarian, other people shouting, "Gondor!" He slashed at the man he was fighting, and left a bloody gash across his stomach. The Umbarian fell.

For a moment, Aragorn stood still, nobody by to aid or to fight. Then there was a roar, and looking up he saw a huge Umbarian warrior, fully dressed in red and black armour ornamented with gold, braids tied back behind his head. He carried a long curved blade shining with care in the light of the burning ships.

"Scum of Gondor," the man growled. "For this night's work you will surely die."

Aragorn adjusted his grip on his sword and summoned his rusty Umbarian. "For the piracy on our ships, you will pay."

The Umbarian attacked, quicker than Aragorn would have expected for a man of his size, and he only just had time to dodge the assault and spin to bring his sword up through the air. It missed, and he followed the move through sideways, connecting with his opponent's left arm. Now their blades clashed, steel ringing on steel, and Aragorn changed to a double-handed grip and gritted his teeth. The Umbarian moved gracefully, and brought his blows down with crushing force, but his weight was evidently a burden to carry.

They fought on, each man breathing hard, blade clashing on blade, sharp edges sinking into flesh. Aragorn had stopped registering the other noises around him, the light from the flames, and was wholly concentrated on the duel. This was no combat for a prize, this was a real, deadly battle - to the death.

He ducked a slashing sideways blow and returned it with an upwards one that somehow connected. There was the ring as the other man's sword hit the ground, and a cry from the Umbarian. Suddenly Aragorn realised that this was his moment, and he swept his arm back and around.

The body collapsed to the quayside, and Aragorn followed it into blissful darkness.

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

"He's waking up!" the voice said, and Aragorn opened his eyes. There was a cluster of men around him, and a basin of water by his bed. There was no hammock, and instead of the leafy rooftops of Rivendell and the comforting sight of Elrond by his side, he saw the wooden walls of his cabin.

"Captain?" someone else said, and now it all came back - the fight, and had he fainted? A wet cloth was pressed to his forehead, but he lifted his hand and pushed it away.

"I'm awake," he said. "Are we at sea?"

"Safe away, aye," the comforting voice of Minastir cut in. "We'd only been waiting for you to finish off that last pirate, the big one with the braids. Then we hoisted you on board and cast off."

Aragorn sat up, slowly, feeling a dull ache in his arm and his stomach, and something wrapped around his head. "Ai." He pushed away the wet cloth again. "Was it a success?"

Minastir laughed a deep roaring laugh. "You might say that, yes! We destroyed all their ships - such a bonfire you've never seen - and most of the pirates on the quays were slain. And that duel you had with the leader - a great fight, captain."

"Thank you," said Aragorn. He paused. "Tell me true, Minastir, how great were our losses?"

"Not grave," one of the soldiers in the cabin put in. "We lost four from our company, and there are five who lie abed suffering with their injuries. From the other two ships, we lost three men, and two are burnt badly. We were waiting to see if you would rise before we laid our dead to rest."

"Go and prepare them," Aragorn said, turning down the sheet he was lying under. "We shall send them to Ulmo in a short while. Will you take me to those who are injured?"

"Captain, you shouldn't be out of bed!" the third man in the room said, shocked. Aragorn recognised him as being Minastir's ship's healer. "You suffered a head injury, and I was forced to bandage your stomach also."

"And I thank you for it," Aragorn said, "but I must go and see to my men, who are no doubt in worse state than I. I have slept off the worst of my hurts. Will you take me to them?"

The healer sighed, but after receiving a glare from Minastir's eyebrows, he nodded. Aragorn stood up gingerly, and was relieved to find that his head did not spin. He found his pack and dug out the leather pouch in which he kept some small invaluable items of healing, slipped on a long shirt over the trousers which he found he was wearing, and followed the healer down the wooden corridor to the soldier's sleeping place. Most of the blankets were folded away, but in corner five men lay next to each other, watched over by a sailor.

Aragorn bent down next to the first one, grimacing at the pain from his stomach. "How goes it?" he asked, gently.

Daeron turned his head and managed a smile. "It hurts, captain."

"Where?" Aragorn asked, and Daeron uncovered his arm, gashed from elbow to wrist. Gently, Aragorn probed it with his fingers, and Daeron flinched. "I need light, and hot water," Aragorn said, looking up at the healer. He felt in his pouch, and pulled out a leaf of athelas and a bunch of dried sage. The healer was still hesitating. "Now!" Aragorn repeated.

Muttering to himself, the healer hurried away, and Aragorn turned back to Daeron. "This may hurt, my friend. Have you something to bite - a leather strap, perhaps?"

"In my pack," Daeron said. "There's a belt."

Aragorn felt inside the soldier's pack next to the bed and found the stout leather belt. Daeron took it with his good arm.

They waited a short while before the healer returned with a basin of steaming water and a sailor bearing a lantern. Aragorn told them to stand close by, and he dropped the athelas and the sage into the water, letting them steep for a moment. The scent rose in the air and mixed with the salty tang of the ship. Daeron met his captain's eye, and bit down on the belt.

Aragorn took the herbs out of the water and drained them on a piece of linen before crushing them in the material, and then he worked some of the resulting paste into the wound. Daeron flinched at first, and then relaxed, and as Aragorn bound the linen around the cut, he took the belt out of his mouth. "Thank you, captain."

"Rest awhile, and do not try to move it," Aragorn said. "There will be a scar, but at least you will be able to tell others where you got it."

Daeron smiled more broadly now, and Aragorn moved to the next man.

He spent an hour tending to their wounds, and finally ended by taking the healer aside and giving explicit instructions as to the continuation of their care. The healer had gone from being grumpy and irritated at having his position taken away from him, and his own care disregarded, but he cheered up as Aragorn gave him his instructions.

The movement of the ship indicated that they were now well into open sea, and beating along at a good pace. Aragorn ascended the ladder on to the deck slowly, his head beginning to ache with the hour in the gloom of the hold.

He was met with silence. The soldiers were grouped on deck in a solemn circle, standing around the bodies of their companions, which had been wound in sheets. As they saw Aragorn the company moved aside, making way for him to join Minastir next to the rail.

"We are ready now, captain," someone said softly, and Aragorn nodded, holding on to the rail next to him. He paused, to gather his thoughts, and spoke.

"These our companions in arms are gone now to rest in peace beyond the edges of the world," he said, raising his voice so that all could hear. "They fought bravely and died in the knowledge that what they did was right, and that Gondor would be safer for their sacrifice. We mourn their passing, but know that one day we shall meet again in the hereafter that will come. We ask that the Lords and Lady of the Sea will take them into their arms, and bear them safe to the keeping of Eru, and we shall remember them always."

"We shall remember them always," came the reply.

Aragorn gestured to the men closest to him, and two of them stood forwards and lifted the first body, casting it into the waves. It sank, slowly but surely, and three followed it.

"Let us turn to the West and bid our companions farewell," said Aragorn, turning to grip the rail with both his hands and staring out into the blue that was the Sea. There was utter silence on the ship. Across the horizon a white seabird flew, heading West, and Aragorn watched it go, and then turned away.

He went back to bed, and fell into a dreamless sleep, waking early the next day. The injured men were faring a little better, and Aragorn went up on deck to get some fresh air. Sitting down on a coil of thick rope, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

"Feeling better?"

Minastir came and sat down next to him, and Aragorn opened his eyes.

"A little, thank you."

"You did well, Thorongil. It was as sweet an operation as I've ever seen. There'll be some big promotion for you when you get back to the City, I'll be bound." The captain grinned heartily. "And you've earned it."

"I'm not going back," Aragorn said.

Minastir paused with his mouth open. "I beg your pardon?"

"I am not returning to Minas Tirith," Aragorn repeated. "I would be grateful if you could put me ashore at Pelargir."

"But . but why?" Minastir asked, evidently genuinely bewildered. "What will the lord Ecthelion say? How about your men?"

"They are well trained and I leave behind a good captain," Aragorn said, resting his elbows on his knees. "The Steward has given his permission. I have other places to be, my friend. You must know the feeling of being trapped, of needing to move?"

"Every time I'm ashore, aye," Minastir agreed.

"I feel it too," Aragorn said, gazing into the distance. "I love the White City, more than I can say - she is a part of me. But I have been there too long. Other tasks call me away. My loyalties will never change."

"Nobody would doubt that, for sure," said Minastir, nodding. "I'll put you ashore, Thorongil. Quietly, if you prefer it that way."

"It will not be possible to do it quietly," Aragorn returned. "They will want to know what happened, and I will have to write a missive to the Steward and send it post-haste on horseback. And I cannot leave until these injuries are at least a little healed."

"Then we'll dock with pomp and triumph at Pelargir," Minastir said, grinning, "and let the men have a day or two of glory before returning to Harlond. What say you?"

"I say yes," Aragorn said. The two men exchanged smiles, and fell again to watching the sea roll by below them.

They arrived at Pelargir three days later, on a brilliant morning, all three ships sailing into the docks together. On the quayside, workers hurried to moor the boats fast, and called up wanting to know where they had been and why. Minastir, proud on his vessel, called back the news of the successful operation.

The word spread like wildfire. Aragorn, sitting writing to Ecthelion in his cabin, heard the noise of the people on shore and the laughter of the soldiers and sailors on board. At noon Minastir let the men off the ship, satisfied that the vessel was tidy and clean, and soon it sounded as if a festival had begun by the docks, with music and singing and more laughter.

Aragorn finally finished his letter, and sealed it, and throwing a dark cloak on went out to pass it to the Guards at the garrison. But he did not succeed in getting there quickly, for once off the ship his men caught sight of him, and made him drink amid more cheers. Eventually he managed to slip away, and made his way to the garrison through side streets.

The commander welcomed him, remembering the earlier visit which Aragorn had made in Denethor's company, and sent for a fast horse and a rider to bear the letter to Minas Tirith without questioning why Aragorn would not wait until the ships returned themselves to the Harlond. Soon, the letter was on its way, and Aragorn thanked the commander and went back to the ships.

The buoyant good mood of the men, and the welcome in the town, lasted three days. On the third day the injured men who had been slowly recuperating seemed well enough to go and join their fellows, and Aragorn watched as they were feted and cheered along with everyone else. For his part, he spent time seeing to his weapons; cleaning and polishing his sword and tidying up the hilt and grip, checking the string of his bow and the fletching of his arrows. He bought simple food - dried meat and fruit, hard biscuits that would last many days - and stowed them in his newly mended pack. Everything was prepared. His own injuries had healed quickly, though Aragorn thought it might be a few more days before his arm was completely better.

On the fourth day the rider returned from Minas Tirith on a fresh horse, bearing a message from Ecthelion. He brought it to Aragorn on board ship, where he was talking to Minastir.

"The lord Steward thanks you for your services, captain," the messenger said.

Aragorn glanced at Minastir and then broke the seal of the parchment and read it, frowning.

"What is it, Thorongil?" Minastir asked.

Aragorn passed him the parchment and crossed to the opposite side of the ship, where he could see the Sea. Minastir read the document, slowly.

"He wants you to go back."

"He knows I do not wish to," Aragorn said. "Yet ."

"A part of you does wish to," Minastir nodded.

Aragorn sighed, and then passed a coin to the messenger. "I thank you. I will send a reply by ship. Go and ask my men for a drink." The messenger bowed and hurried away. Aragorn read Ecthelion's letter through again. "Can you take the lord Steward my message, Minastir?"

The captain's face showed compassion, and he smiled. "Of course I can, and will, gladly. What is it you wish to say?"

Aragorn thought for a moment. "Tell him this: that other tasks now call me, and much time and many perils must pass, ere I come again to Gondor, if that be my fate.*"

His friend repeated the words, fixing them in his memory. "I will tell him. So are you now ready to leave?"

"Yes."

"Then stay for the noon meal, Thorongil. Then, if you need it, I can take you across the Anduin to the opposite shore - or along this one to a quieter spot. As you wish."

"I think I will go by the far shore," Aragorn said, grateful for the friendship of the mariner.

"So be it," said Minastir. "So be it."

Two hours later, following a quiet meal in the captain's cabin, Minastir shipped the oars of the small dinghy and let it run on to the sandy bank of the south side of the Great River. Aragorn lifted his pack and made sure it was comfortable across his back, that he could reach his weapons and his waterskin, and then turned to face the other man. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me, Thorongil," Minastir said. "But come to the Harlond, should you ever pass by again. I will be glad to see you."

Their eyes met, and Aragorn reached out and clasped Minastir's arm before turning from the boat and making his way up on to the windblown grassy shore. He heard the splash of the oars as the dinghy began its way back across to Pelargir, but kept his face turned eastwards. After a short time, the splash faded, and he was left alone.

It felt strange to be alone and unfettered by orders from others, and for the rest of that first day, Aragorn walked steadily, getting used to the solitude again. He broke the march fairly early on, gathered some wood and built a small fire, and settled for the night.

During the second day he quickened his pace, settling into the old rhythm of walking, and considered his route in his mind. During his last visit to Minas Tirith, Mithrandir had expressed concern and interest about what lay East of Mordor, around the inland Sea of Núrnen, and now Aragorn resolved to journey in that direction and find out. It would mean crossing the Ephel Duath, and the terrain would be treacherous and dry.

After an hour's walking, he joined the Harad Road which led to the crossings of the River Poros, a tributary of Anduin. The road was deserted and he made good progress, and had crossed the smaller river by the time the sun was high in the sky. Ahead, the Ephel Duath loomed, menacing and dark. That evening he camped under a lonely tree on the lower slopes of the mountains, and baked some fish from the river on his fire. He knew that this would be his last fresh meal before Mordor.

Of his journey through that desolate land, Aragorn later said little. He spoke to Mithrandir on the subject and once, briefly, to his foster father and brothers, but never to any other. The desert was dry and parched, the Sea of Núrnen greatly reduced from the size that legend had it as. In these southern parts of Mordor there was little life and only a few marauding parties of Orcs, which he avoided, hiding in crevasses and behind rocks. Past the eastern tip of the Sea he turned northwards, looking ever west in fear at the flames of Orodruin, the Mountain of Fire, far in the distance, which showed on dark nights. In Rhûn, the land bordering Mordor, there were animals again, and a few birds, and Aragorn was able to eat better once more. In the desert he had carefully rationed his food, and knew that had it not been for the comfortable days in the White City he would have been even leaner than he was.

He skirted the Ered Lithui on the northern borders of Mordor three months after leaving Pelargir, and turned westwards, gladly leaving the desolation behind. However the Brown Lands that now greeted him were little better. Still there were no other Men - even the Orcs had left these lands, and the animals were feral and wild. Aragorn began to think with longing of the places he had learnt to call home - of Imladris, fair and sheltered, of Edoras, warm and friendly, of Minas Tirith, ancient and grand. He thought of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir; of his mother, lonely in the North; and he thought most of all of Arwen. Her ethereal face and bright eyes seemed to shine like stars in the darkness. At nights he dreamed of her, reliving again and again the moment he had first seen her dancing in the woods of the North.

Two months after leaving Mordor, Aragorn came to the Anduin, flowing steadily south towards the Sea. He camped on the bank for two days, gathering his strength and searching for a log large enough to bear his weight. On the third morning, he strapped his pack to the trunk he had found lying on the bank, and carefully sat astride it, pushing off from the bank with a long, straight branch. The current was sluggish at this point in the River, but it still took all Aragorn's skill to manoever himself across. Arriving at the western shore, he rolled off the log and waded ashore, collapsing on the ground and falling asleep.

He awoke, his clothes dry and stiff, before evening, and picked up his pack to start walking again. It had become almost automatic, an endless trek, and even though he knew now he was coming closer to lands he knew, Aragorn felt he could not see an end to the journey.

Two days after leaving the river, he saw woodland ahead - deep woodland, the trees green and golden and the floor carpeted in late blooms. Under the branches, it was quiet, and Aragorn felt a sensation of peace fall upon him. He walked as if in a dream, listening to the birdsong around him, and aware of nothing else.

The arrow brought him up short, thudding into a tree just ahead of him. Instantly he was on alert, stringing his own bow and fitting an arrow to the string as quickly as he could. There was nothing to be seen as he turned in a circle, searching for the source of the attack. He took another step forwards, and another arrow neatly slit the first one. From the trees, a voice said, "Halt and drop your weapon!"

Aragorn hesitated, and a third arrow cut the air next to his ear. He dropped his bow and waited.

From the trees around him, five tall Elves in green dropped to the ground and surrounded him. Each carried a long, elegant bow in pale wood, the arrows aimed at Aragorn. The one who seemed to be the leader, blond-haired and proud of glance, came close to Aragorn and examined him from head to toe before speaking again.

"No mortal is permitted to wander in these woods, stranger. Who are you and what is your business?" He spoke in Sindarin, or a dialect of Sindarin, and it took Aragorn a moment to process the words.

"My name is Th -" he began, and paused. His voice sounded strange to him, and he swallowed and started again, meeting the Elf's eyes and speaking with more confidence. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor," he said. "Which woods are these, and by whom are they ruled?"

The Elves exchanged glances, and the leader spoke again. "It says something for you that you speak our tongue, mortal. These are the woods of Lothlórien, and our lord is Celeborn of the Galadhrim."

"Then I am safe," Aragorn said, the name awakening in him memories of Elladan and Elrohir speaking of the Golden Wood and their grandparents Celeborn and Galadriel. "I beg you, take me to the Lord and Lady."

"That indeed is what we are commanded to do with all strangers who wander here," the Elf said. "You must be blindfolded, son of Arathorn, and we will lead you to their dwelling."

Aragorn nodded, and stowed his bow away in his pack before allowing his eyes to be bound about with a silken cloth.

They led him on smooth, unbroken paths, and across a river or a stream. Now and again one Elf said something, but mostly they were silent. After many hours' walk, the blindfold was taken off, and Aragorn stood blinking at the base of a great tree. All about him there were lights, and music, and the noise of gentle voices speaking and singing. His guide smiled at his amazement, and gestured upwards. "We are arrived. Here you will meet your judgement, mortal, and here I bid you farewell."

Aragorn thanked him, and turned to the tree. About it there was a strong ladder, and another Elf now beckoned for him to climb it. He did so, slowly and cautiously, passing through many wooden platforms, and watched curiously by many Elves occupied in various tasks. At the top of the ladder, but still only halfway up the tree, and supported by the great wide branches, there was a dwelling. Aragorn climbed into an airy chamber with the trunk of the tree growing through the centre. At this hour it was lit by lanterns giving a soft, diffuse glow. For a moment he gazed at the room, but his attention was quickly caught by the two Elves seated in chairs next to the tree trunk. The light shone on their hair and their robes and in their bright, wise eyes. Aragorn sank to his knees in front of them, but kept gazing.

For a moment he felt nothing, and then suddenly it was as if someone else was with him inside his head, scanning his thoughts and his memories. He tried to fight the invasion, but a voice - or a feeling? - murmured to him, soothing words that afterwards he could never quite remember. He relaxed, and in another moment the other presence was gone.

"A mortal?" the Lord said, standing with a rustle of robes. Aragorn looked up at him, at the halo behind his head caused by the lantern light on his silver hair.

"No mere mortal," the Lady said, and Aragorn knew then it was she who had been examining his mind. "Nay, my lord, we are honoured to welcome him to Lothlórien." She smiled at Aragorn. "Long it is since we spoke with one of your line, Heir of Isildur, too long."

"My lady," Aragorn said, the words still coming slow, "you do me too much honour."

"It has been a long journey," the Lady said, with compassion in her voice. "I will order a chamber to be prepared for you, Aragorn, and water, clean clothes, and refreshment. There you may rest. In the Golden Wood, under the protection of Celeborn and Galadriel, you have naught to fear."

She nodded at an Elf standing nearby, who disappeared silently.

"I am deeply grateful, my lady," Aragorn said, bowing his head. Galadriel rose from her chair, her golden locks moving as she did, and took his hand.

"Rise now, son of Arathorn, and take some rest."

Aragorn bowed again, and was led out of the chamber by a silent Elf. In a new room close by, with windows left open, there was a deep bed and a bath filled with steaming, fragrant water. On a table next to the bed a platter had been laid, covered with a cloth. The Elf turned and left.

That night, Aragorn slept deeply in the clean, sweet-smelling sheets, and woke as the sun rose and the birds outside the windows began to sing. He found that more food had been placed by his bed by some silent attendant, and he ate and drank heartily. As he was finishing, an Elf entered bearing clothes - a tunic and trousers of delicate white material trimmed with silver, and a long grey cloak that hung in smooth folds. On top of the pile there was a silver circlet with a single white gem.

"The Lady Galadriel bids you wear this raiment, my lord," the Elf said, "and she adds that you might wish to walk towards Cerin Amroth, from which there are good views of the city. Bear due North."

"I thank you," Aragorn said, and the Elf bowed and went away. Slowly, Aragorn dressed in the new clothes, and dragged a comb through his hair until it was smooth, and then placed the circlet on his head, adjusting it until the gem hung central on his forehead. There was no mirror in the room, but had he known it, he looked more Elvish than mortal.

He went outside, climbing down the ladder, and wandered through the city of Lothlórien, and out of the northern gates. The sun was high in the sky above the trees, filtering down to create intricate patterns in golden light on the forest floor. Deciding to follow Galadriel's instructions, Aragorn took the path northwards, walking slowly and at peace.

At length the path began to climb, and eventually it came out in a clearing. Ahead of Aragorn lay a green hill crowned with trees, and on the grass grew golden and white flowers. He paused, breathing in their scent, and then began to climb the hill.

As he came to the summit of the mound, he saw a figure in white before him. She was seated on the ground underneath a tree, the golden blossoms falling in her dark hair, and singing softly to herself. Aragorn caught his breath, and paused; and she looked up and met his eyes. Time stood still, and then Arwen Undómiel stood up and smiled at Aragorn, and held out her hand. He crossed the lawn to her, and took it, and they sat down together underneath the mallorn trees, and his journeying was at last over.

* JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, Appendix A, 'The Stewards'.