October 1st, 2986 T. A.

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Another day has passed. Today, the clouds are torn on the sharp stones, and connect again, drawn by the wind in a whirling dance. It howls between the peaks, and sweeps the valleys, and rain falls, steady and cold. It stings, and freezes. It weeps for the lost summer. It cries in anger, and whips the faces of the mountains. Here, between the stars, the weather is still the same, but its hostility falls fully upon you, my poor child… but they will find you soon. They will! I do not know how long you can endure this cold…

They should have already reached the place, shouldn’t have they? They have strong horses; surely it can’t take them too long… Maybe the clouds part for long enough for me to see how they find you, how they bring you to warmth and safety. Do I ask for too much? Or… do I hope for too much? They will find you; my heart does not admit any other possibility. After the whole ordeal, after you have endured so much, there is no other way! So tells my heart, and tries to silence the voice of my mind, that whispers about the many paths in the mountains, about the slim chance that they will find you in the valley where no paths lead…

Oh no… I saw you for a short while. You still lay in the chasm between the boulders. You didn’t have the strength to get out of your hiding place anymore. No, no, please… You must get out! They will not see you when they come here! Vainly I look for them; I cannot find them under the clouds. I do not know if they are even near, or if they rode in the right direction at all, but they will come. I believe that they will. You must get out!

The clouds veil you again, but I hold the picture before my eyes, and I look at you in my mind, and study the detail that I didn’t have time to realize. As I do, my heart sinks. You are ill, Aragorn… The paleness of your face, the cold sweat on your brow, and feverish glint in your eyes… Maybe your wounds became infected… Oh hurry! Hurry Elladan and Elrohir! There is not much time…

You must get out... One last effort, Aragorn, please… Then you can rest, I promise. I know that you have no strength left… but please, try! Maybe you can gather its rests, and find enough to get to a place where they will see you… Just a few steps… A few steps, and then you can rest. You can close your eyes, and when you open them, you will be in Rivendell, and warm fire will crackle in the hearth, and rain will tap on the windows, and a steaming mug of tea will await you. Or would you like broth better? You are so thin; I can almost count your bones… Yes, a steaming broth, and soft bed… I promise, Aragorn. I promise… Just please, make those few steps…