A/N: Many thanks to Canafinwe for the suggestion of this chapter! This one is for you, and for a certain Dúnadan who happens to have birthday today....

5. Of birthdays and surprises

March 1st, 3019 T. A.

"When at last they halted, even Aragorn was stiff and weary. Legolas and Gimli slept, and Aragorn lay flat, stretched upon his back; but Gandalf stood, leaning upon his staff, gazing into the darkness, east and west."
J. R. R. Tolkien: The Two Towers: The King of the Golden Hall

Swift are the feet of the steeds of Rohan, swallowing the miles of grassy plains like a ship sailing with favourable wind in her sails. Light are the hearts that walked long in the darkness of grief and doubt, when they find a beam of light again white light... white wizard. A friend thought lost that returned from death.... Light is the heart, although the body is weary.

Sleep, Aragorn. Rest.... You have run for long days like a hunter after the prey, determined and untiring. It was a strenuous pursuit, but you didn t waver. No, you do not use to give up... Today, you rode deep into the night. You are weary. And tomorrow, you must ride again: to Meduseld, to war. Rest while you can, my son...

No, your eyes do not close. You lie on your back and follow the nightly dance of stars, not truly seeing them. Too much is on your mind to sleep. The horses graze on the first blades of fresh grass peaking through the withered carpet of passed years, kissing the earth that nourishes them with every bite. The wind rustles in the grass and strokes it gently, as if soothing the hurts that the heavy feet of Orcs left in the plains. Even the Elf and Dwarf rest peacefully, their quiet breath and a whisper of the wind the only sounds of the night. He stands and keeps watch. Ol rin, Gandalf. Your eyes follow him when he doesn t look in your direction, and your expression is thoughtful, and a bit uncertain.

He changed. He returned from behind the gate of Death. He forgot many things that he knew before, and learned other, hidden ones. He is not the same. White, not grey. Much more power, almost scary in its full splendour a secret fire burning behind the mask. Where has he been? What did he learn? Why was he allowed to return? And... what were the things that he forgot?

Suddenly he turns, and looks at you. His eyes, looking worriedly to the east and west, soften for a moment, and he smiles. No, a friendship cannot be forgotten. A friendship lasts beyond death.... Your eyes meet without a sound. You understand each other without words, just like before. Much changed, and much will change yet. The end of the Age is coming, and change is in the very air. But something stays the same. Relief is in your eyes, as if a great weigh lifted from your shoulders. It is hard, very hard to lead and make decisions without somebody to lean on. And when those decisions seem to go wrong, many would break under their weight. You are strong, but the sorrows weigh heavily upon you.... Gandalf s eyes smile slightly. No, your decisions were not wrong. They led you here, where you could meet. They led you here, where you are needed.

Too much is on your mind to sleep. It is your body that needs rest, but even more your mind needs this night to sort your thoughts. When Gandalf turns again, you look to the stars. Their dance is regular, the same patterns night after night. It is soothing... I am the only one to bring inaccuracy into that dance, because I am a man, not a cold star. See my light, Aragorn. There may be darkness waiting ahead on your path. There may be malice and despair. Remember my light! Remember it, when the night is darkest. Remember me, and all those who love you....

In Rivendell, the wind blows from the south. The lights of the Last Homely House shine into the night. A dark silhouette against the warm lights, Elrond stands on the balcony. A glass of wine is in his hand, reflecting the golden rays of fire in crimson glimmers. Arwen stands at his side, and the wind caresses her face and toys with the loose strands of her hair like the hands of a lover. Elrond raises his glass, looking somewhere behind the horizon.

"Happy birthday, Estel, wherever you are..." he says to the southern wind.

I follow his sight - south from Rivendell, along the shadow of the mighty Hithaeglir. Near Glanduin, I see thirty riders in grey cloaks, resting after a whole day s ride. Just two of them are keeping watch. They are leaner than the rest of the riders, and their raven locks blow in the wind. My grandsons.... Do you ride to help your brother in his trials and battles? Oh, he will be glad to see you again....

For a moment, they watchful eyes turn to the south, and grow distant and wistful. "Happy birthday, Estel..." they whisper.

The wind turns for a moment, and carries their words to the grassy plains of Rohan, where it toys with the long green blades like with the waves of the sea, and sings tunes learned from the mournful whistles of shepherds greeting the dawn. It caresses your face, and soothes the tired eyes turned to the sky.

Friendship is a gift, most valuable in the dark times.

Happy birthday, Estel...