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And thanks to Cairistiona for the beta.

Chapter 12:  The Spy

   Thus the hour of his victory, Aragorn passed out of the knowledge of Men of the West, and went alone far into the East and deep into the South, exploring the hearts of Men, both good and evil, and uncovering the plots and devices of the servants of Sauron.

Appendix A                                                                                        The Return of the King

   Heat, unbelievable heat; unrelenting, scorching, strength-sapping heat.

   Every movement became a torment. Leaden feet dragged his exhausted body through endless burning sand and over rocks that felt as if they had risen from the very centre of the earth. And thirst; his raw and agonized throat was screaming for water. But there was none; there was nothing but league upon league of empty formless, boiling land.

   He halted for a moment and glanced behind him, keen eyes piercing the distant hazy horizon. He must have lost his pursuers by now. No one surely would follow him into this furnace by choice.  They had chased him for miles; their raised sabres, glinting in the overhead sun, had told him as much. There were too many of them to stand against. And he had no doubts as to what they would do if they caught him.

   His searching gaze revealed nothing. He turned and slowly continued on his way.

~oo0oo~

   He had been foolish. He had asked too many questions, brought too much attention to himself. He should have known better. Desperate though he might be to finish his business here and leave these lands for good, he was more aware than most the dangers of unguarded talk. A tall, pale-skinned man in these parts was a rarity in itself. Few had seen his like before, and if such men were remembered at all it was only from legend.

    And not all those legends spoke kindly of the grey-eyed Men from over the Sea. His halting grasp of the language had further exposed his vulnerability. He was all too clearly a stranger here. There would be no one would mourn if he was slain for the few coins he carried. There were men aplenty who would kill him for less. But the threat of his bright sword had stayed them long enough for him to make his escape. Few would risk death on its lethal edge. But one had ventured so and paid the ultimate price for his folly.

   Now the dead man’s companions were bent on revenge.

   He had fled with nothing but his sword and the clothes he stood in.   His skin was raw and peeling beneath the thin cotton that covered him completely from head to toe. His pale eyes, hurting from the constant blinding sun, peered out through a narrow opening in the cloth that covered most of his face; the exposed skin blistered and weeping. He gazed around him into the endless yellow landscape where land and sky merged into one unending emptiness.

   And he despaired.

    He knew he could endure no more. He had run to the very end of his strength. He had not eaten for days and not a drop of water had passed his lips since the day before yesterday. He could not last long in this heat without more. And there was no hope of that. Death must soon find him. And it would come as a relief now; a relief to leave this arid wasteland for ever and never again have to struggle on under this burning, torturing sun. He had no fight left. The sand and the heat would soon conquer him.

      As the last of his strength drained away, he sank to his knees and bowed his head. He would never get up again. Not now. This was where his life would end. And then he would find rest. He sank further into the sand. It burnt him, but he no longer cared. He would not have to endure it for long. His blistered eyelids slowly drooped shut as his body toppled into the scorching sand, a low wince escaping from him as the heat seeped through his thin clothing. If he lingered a few more hours, it would be dusk and the searing heat would be replaced by the bitter cold of a cloudless night. He would shiver then in his meagre clothes and be unable to sleep in spite of his exhaustion. And the strange stars would bring him no comfort.

~oo0oo~

   As he lay there, his mind slowly abandoned its memories of endless days trudging the desert. The cruel sun receded to be replaced by a gentle, welcome one. The barren sand turned to a sea of grass and the deceitful images of trees on the horizon, always just beyond his reach, became firm, sturdy trunks with soft green leaves that shaded and protected him. Nearby there was a stream where flowed the coolest, sweetest water he had ever tasted. He could find rest here in this place. His cares he would abandon and he could at last be himself again. No longer would he need to maintain this pretence of being someone he was not. He would remain here and sleep and drink the cool water and nothing else would matter.

~oo0oo~

   The sound of goats bleating drifted into his unconsciousness. Bells rang and there were voices; quiet and whispering, yet nearby. Something cool touched his face and water dripped onto his lips. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were fused shut. Disjoined memories slowly came into his mind as he sought to make sense of where he was. But as his last coherent thoughts returned to him, he felt a strange disappointment. He had hoped that death would bring him peace and freedom from pain.

   But it was not so. He had neither.

   He tried to move his sore body, but as it slowly responded, unknown hands gently gripped his arms and restrained him. Slowly, little by little, his blistered eyelids parted and he found himself staring at white walls. A face suddenly appeared above him. It was dark and haggard, the skin as tough as aged leather. Two jet black eyes regarded him curiously as a gnarled hand brought an earthenware cup to his mouth. The water stung his cracked lips, but it tasted good; as good as water had ever tasted in all his life. It was only a sip; he wanted more and looked longingly at the cup, but the old man smiled at him and shook his head. Then nausea washed over him and the old man and his cup faded into darkness.

   How many days he lay in that room, he did not know. The old man tended him with kindness such as he had not known in all his time in that land. He applied balm to his sore skin and coaxed broth and water down his parched and swollen throat. Slowly he felt strength return to his tired limbs. Soon he was able to stand, and one cool evening, he staggered outside to glimpse the world he thought never to see again. To his surprise, he found a settlement of many small white houses. Children played games of chase between them while women washed clothes at the well, humming softly as they did so. Camels and goats wandered at will among them.

   Someone placed a chair under the shade of a palm tree for him to rest upon. There he sat and watched the simple lives, everyday lives going on around him. And he was suddenly smote with a deep longing for every place he had ever dwelt where carefree children played and women sang contentedly as they worked.

~oo0oo~

  He was welcome to stay until he was healed, he was told. He was grateful and he thanked them. But he knew he must leave as soon as he felt able. He had no desire to remain and when his strength returned he would be on his way. He yearned now for living lands and colours of blue and green and for fresh winds and clouds and rain. But most of all, he yearned for the people he loved whom he had not seen in so very many long years.

   It was time to go home.

   ‘I have crossed many mountains and many rivers, and trodden many plains, even into the far countries of Rhun and Harad where the stars are strange.’

 The Council of Elrond                                                              The Fellowship of the Ring