Elladan’s words were true, he knew, yet words alone were not enough. His brother would shield him from blame no matter what he did, no matter how guilty he was. The eldest of Elrond’s sons was fiercely protective of his human foster brother. But what he could not see was what Elladan had tried to tell him, that there was no blame, not for him. Each one of them had to make their own choices and he could not be responsible for any but his own. Yet exhausted beyond his limits by months of campaigning and burdened by the sudden responsibility to a people in a role he had yet to settle into, he could not accept such simple truths. And weariness and despair made poor bedfellows in a battle.

Aragorn felt his arm tire, his movements grow sluggish, and his eyes flickered over the heaving knots of conflict that surrounded him. The Easterlings were disorganised, no longer a great army under formidable captains and bolstered by the support of Mordor, but small rabbles cut off from the main force yet refusing to surrender. Many such bands he had faced in the past months with the army of Gondor at his back, or what remained of it. Each time they had been victorious, and each time the survivors had fled only to join up with others and come back at them. This was the last, his scouts had confirmed. Defeat this last band and he would be free to return to Minas Tirith and to Arwen. He was so close, but at the end it seemed one step too far.

He heard Legolas shout out a desperate warning as an arrow whistled past his head. He spun around, stepping aside and out of the path of a savage sword slash, just as another arrow shot towards him, this time tearing his mail coat and slicing through his side. He staggered, his arm pressed to the wound, but the arrow had merely ploughed a furrow in his flesh and he knew the hurt was not serious.

A second later he felt a steadying hand on his arm, and looked up into Elrohir’s face. ‘I am fine,’ he insisted, shaking himself free of his brother’s grasp. Elladan and Legolas arrived a moment later, taking up positions around him, protecting him from the enemy who sought him out as the King of Gondor.

The sudden presence of the elves seemed to attract still more, a confirmation of his rank to the desperate men who opposed them.  For many minutes there was no pause to speak, as the four companions of old fought a desperate battle for their survival until the King’s guards could get to them. Bows abandoned, the elves wielded their deadly knives at lightening speed, white steel flashing in the sunlight as they took down their foes. Anduril swung in great arcs, slicing through the ranks of the enemy soldiers, but the blood was flowing from Aragorn’s right side, hampering his movement, and it was not long before he began to falter. Sensing this his brothers tried to force him between them, but Aragorn would not be coddled when such an action would endanger his friends. 

A blade nicked his shoulder; a shield slammed into his ribs, almost taking him to his knees. Left breathless and stunned he could only stare at his attacker as an elven blade suddenly appeared in his throat, and his triumphant expression changed to fear and pain. Aragorn staggered again and a strong arm slipped round his waist, taking the weight from his trembling legs. He tried to shake it off but the arm was insistent, pressing him gently to the ground.  He looked back at the Easterlings and saw their armour had changed, and the white tree of Gondor adorned the mail of the soldiers surrounding them. His guards had arrived.

Elladan squatted before him, fear in his eyes. ‘Estel? How badly are you hurt?’

He shook his head. ‘Not badly. Just tired.’

Elrohir appeared beside his twin, their expressions mirror images of concern. ‘So that is not your blood soaking your tunic?’ he asked lightly.

Aragorn looked down, saw the dark spreading stain and blinked in confusion. He put his hand to his side and it came away sticky with blood. ‘But it is just a scratch.’

His brother shook his head, gently removing his sword from his grasp and lifting up his mail shirt and tunic to expose the injury. ‘That is not a scratch,’ he observed. ‘And it is bleeding far too much.’ He glanced at Elladan and Aragorn saw the look that passed between them. The twins were frightened.

A wad of leather was pressed to his side and Aragorn bit off a gasp. The pain flooded back, held off until this moment by the adrenaline of battle, and for a moment everything went black. Stars danced in his vision as he strove to keep hold of consciousness.

A cool hand touched his cheek. ‘Estel? Stay with us, brother.’

He nodded, holding his eyes open with an effort. ‘I’m fine,’ he murmured. ‘Just tired. Very tired.’

‘I know, Estel, but you must not sleep yet.’ He thought that was Elladan. ‘You are bleeding too much.’

‘It was a crossbow bolt,’ a new voice entered the discussion. ‘From close range.’ He saw Legolas leaning over him and tried to smile at his friend but even his face hurt. Still the blond elf seemed to understand the look in his eyes. ‘Yes, my friend, here we are again,’ he whispered fondly, brushing a strand of hair from the ranger’s face. ‘You are fortunate the man had such a bad aim. If he had been an elf you would not have been so lucky.’

‘Don’t feel very lucky,’ Aragorn replied, finding the energy to grin from somewhere. His eyes searched the men around them. ‘The Easterlings?’

‘Defeated,’ Legolas assured him as the elf suddenly disappeared from his line of sight. Soldiers were replaced by blue sky as he found himself on his back. The movement made his head spin and he closed his eyes, only to have them prised open a moment later by a worried brother.

‘Elladan?’ he whispered, unable to identify the blurred face.

‘Yes, it is I,’ a distant voice soothed. ‘Please try to stay awake, Estel.’

He nodded, or thought he did. The face swam into focus for a second, hovering over him with thinly veiled fright, then everything blurred and the lights winked out. And one thought only floated on the edges of his mind as he spiralled into darkness, that if he died now, she still had a chance to go to the sea.

* * *

Elrohir sat back on his knees. ‘He is unconscious,’ he told his twin. ‘And he could not recognise me.’

Elladan spared him a brief glance, working frantically to stop the bleeding from the arrow wound.  His hands were covered in his brother’s blood and his eyes were wild with fear. ‘I cannot stop the bleeding. I don’t understand. The injury is not that deep.’

Elrohir’s face paled and he turned away from his twin, staring into his human brother’s pale face. ‘Hold on, Estel,’ he pleaded. ‘You cannot leave us now.’

‘He is not going to die!’ his twin shouted at him, pressing down hard on the wound, eliciting a pained groan from his patient. ‘Estel, you will not die,’ he commanded the unconscious man. ‘It is not that bad. You have survived much worse. Ada will heal you, just hold on.’

‘It is as if he does not wish to live,’ Elrohir murmured, watching the blood seep through his brother’s fingers. ‘Why would that be?’

‘Because he feels he has stolen the happiness of your family,’ Legolas answered as he knelt down beside his friend, thrusting a fistful of bandages into Elladan’s hands. He laid light fingertips on Aragorn’s temples, feeling the chill creeping into his skin. ‘As much as he loves her he cannot bring himself to believe that Arwen has made the right choice.’

‘But I told him that was not so,’ Elladan protested in despair. ‘I told him we love him no matter what, that Ada loves him. I thought he understood!’

‘Valar!’ Elrohir breathed, smoothing his brother’s hair from his face. ‘He thinks that? Oh, Estel, after all these years you still doubt us?’

Legolas shook his head, reaching out to the grieving twin. ‘He does not doubt you. He doubts himself. He does not believe that he is worthy of the love you have given him; that Arwen has given him.’ He leant down so his lips brushed against Aragorn’s ear. ‘Do not leave us Estel, for we cannot go on without you. And Arwen will not be freed by your passing, unless death itself is the freedom you seek for her.’ And I know that is the last thing you wish for you lady, he added silently.

‘The bleeding is slowing,’ Elladan’s voice, faint with relief, cut through his thoughts. ‘We must move him out of here, back to the camp. He is too cold.’

Legolas looked up, then turned his gaze back to his stricken friend. ‘Can you hear me?’ he wondered aloud. ‘Do you know how much you mean to us?’

‘He knows.’

The elf spun around. ‘Gimli! You startled me.’

‘I? Startled you, master elf?’ The dwarf hitched up his belt, huffing to hide his delight. ‘Surely you heard a leaf rustle, a twig break, but did not wish to hurt my pride?’

‘Nay, Gimli,’ Legolas replied with a grin, as his eyes slid back to his friend. ‘You did surprise me. Though I admit my attention was elsewhere.’

‘Hmmph, how is he?’

‘Not good,’ the elf admitted, watching the twins as they lifted their brother in their arms and prepared to bear him back to the tents. ‘But he will live, I hope.’

‘He is strong Legolas,’ Gimli spoke to reassure his friend. ‘He has much to live for.’

‘Ah, but it seems Estel is the only one who does not see that,’ the elf mourned, his blue eyes full of tears. ‘Mere months ago one life ended and another began and not one of us stopped to see how difficult that might be for him.  He was a ranger, and now he must be a king. He was alone and now he has a wife. Much as Aragorn loves Arwen and Gondor he can never again lead the simple life that was his for so many years. Where once his sole responsibility was to himself, he now has a whole people who depend on him for guidance and protection.  It cannot be easy, even for one who was born to be a king.’

‘No, it will not be easy,’ the dwarf agreed. ‘But he has many friends to help him through it. And he has his family.’

‘For a dwarf,’ Legolas conceded with every appearance of sincerity. ‘You are quite perceptive.’