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B2MeM: Aragorn in the Last Battle  by Mirach

Week 2: the adventure on Weathertop, and Aragorn's new companion (written in the frame of the game)

Challenge (Weathertop): Show a scene in which a character or characters acquire a meal.

Summary: It is short before Dagor Dagorath, and the heroes of the past returned to accomplish their part in the defeat of Morgoth. Aragorn travels with Esmeralda Brandybuck to search the ancient ruins on Weathertop for the palantír of Amon Sûl.

A/N: co-authored with Lirulin


Unexpected Allies

Daenar waited. It had been two days already and he was slowly becoming impatient. In addition to that-and to awful weather-he was getting hungry. At first he had tried to forget about it and then he tried to hunt rodents, scurrying around the place, but quickly rejected this idea as humiliating and not satiating at all. So he tried to forget again, or at least to distract his mind from the thoughts about blood, concentrating on the mission, the sense of which so far was not very comprehensible.

He remembered how it began…

…the bright light, filling Eru's Halls... a throne on a high dais… and the Creator; the intent gaze of his grey eyes… and dry, reserved voice:

"You will go to Arda, Daenar."

"What for?" he deliberately omitted the usual "my lord".

"Your task will be to accompany one human."

"Why me?" Daenar didn't look up, but he felt that the Creator frowned.

"Because that is my word and my will!" Now Eru's voice sounded like a distant thunderstorm. "But if your mind seeks more logical explanation…" he turned to a normal voice again. "…you are powerful enough for that mission."

Powerful… how mocking it sounded now! He winced looking at the dead rat at his feet. Powerful… hunting rodents like some wild animal or a house cat! Powerful…but deprived of three fourths of that power…

"That is necessary," Eru said then.

"You still don't trust me…" Daenar stated assuredly.

"Not quite… you are still too untamed, and the creatures of Arda are too fragile for you." The Creator turned away and continued. "In the last battle you'll regain everything."

"Thank you for your kindness, my Lord!" the vampire bowed, making a long pause. "You haven't told me yet, why I should accompany some human? Why can't I act on my own?"

"He has a role in it, like the others that gathered from all edges of the world and time will. But I think you might get along with this one best. They will need a wizard's assistance."

"Do I look like a wizard? Send Olorin again…"

"He will be needed in another place." Eru replied elusively. "Don't argue, you may look wherever you want, it's your magical powers that count."

"What is the name of the human?" Daenar asked quietly.

"Aragorn."

"Ah, I think I remember… the end of the III Age, right? The War of the Ring… Isildur's heir."

"Right. And I am glad that you know something about him already, so you won't underestimate the importance of the mission. Just try to conceal your awful habits, please!" the Creator shuddered.

"Yes, my Lord…"

He glanced at the darkening sky and the first stars, glittering above. In the West there was one, shining much brighter then the others, and it had the same name as the human he waited for once had. The human who was late.

Maybe he was attacked on the way and didn't survive? Or he survived, but was wounded and was now lying somewhere, losing more and more blood with every minute…

…blood…

…that one word and the image of the dark-red liquid, glistening in the starlight, dampening the ranger's clothes and the ground beyond him, brought the vampire to the edge of sanity. He hissed quietly… as the wind brought the smell of a living being approaching.

"Sorry, whoever you are… wrong place, wrong time, you know… nothing personal…" he whispered before flying up in the air to attack the victim from above…

***

Aragorn looked around. Yesterday the weather was nice yet, and the company of the elderly hobbit made the journey quite pleasant. But now, it rained slightly from grey clouds, and there was no track of Esmeralda. Literally. No, it was not that they would be washed by the rain. He was a Ranger, and could find track that were days old. But now, it seemed as if they would never be there, although he remembered the places where they walked together just a few hours ago... He looked for her for several hours, but found no trace of her. But something told him to return, to climb Weathertop again. Maybe from its top he will be able to see more...

Aragorn pulled his hood deeper into his face. The light drizzle fell steadily, and made everything wet in an almost unobtrusive way, until it got through the clothes and began to plaster them wetly to the skin, followed by the sharp gusts of wind, blowing suddenly and then calming again, as if to trying to surprise an unsuspecting traveller. Weathertop, indeed.

Against the low hanging clouds, he could see the ruins of the ancient tower of Amon Sûl. It looked grey and gloomy, blending with the dull country, colourless in the moment right before sunset, when the sun is hidden behind the clouds.

He had an unpleasant feeling when he ascended the old crumbling road, winding its way to the top of the hill; as if he would hear echoes from long ago. High, blood-chilling screams... He stopped and listened, but only the wind wailed among the cold stones. Maybe it was just his memory that played with his nerves. However he couldn't get the images of riders and evil knights in the darkness from his mind.

Aragorn shook his head, and continued his ascent with a hand on the hilt of his sword. He could see the top of the hill already, crowned with the ancient rumbles. Suddenly, in a split of second, he sensed something was wrong, and drew the sword immediately. Maybe it was the rain... He could see the small drops falling into the grass around him, but for a moment, he didn't feel them on his face. Something was coming – from above. There, he directed the point of his sword as he jumped to the side.

A dark shape descended on the place where he stood just moment before, quick like thought, and a strange chill was in the air around the figure. Violet eyes flashed beneath the veil of raven hair, and the look in them sent chills down Aragorn's spine. Hunger... It was the look of a predator, and he was the prey.

He kept the point of the sword directed at the attacker, waiting for his move, while around them, the soft rain fell steadily.

"Hmm… you are quite quick… for a human," long sharp fangs glistened slightly as the vampire smiled. "But it will not help you…" he paused. "I am sorry, but I am really hungry."

A vampire... Aragorn realized with horror. He has heard about such creatures, but has never seen one, nor did he think that they still walk the lands of Arda after Thuringwethil was defeated. He took a deep breath, watching the vampire carefully. Daenar watched too... and hesitated to attack. There was something about this mortal, something... familiar? The sword perhaps…

"Who are you?" he asked finally.

"And who are you?" Aragorn asked warily, watching his every move. Was it a trick? But what trick? If he just wanted to feed, why would he ask about his name? "My name is Aragorn," he said finally, studying the vampire's reaction.

"Oh..." the vampire smiled."Then... I am lucky that I haven't killed you."

"Why?" Aragorn frowned, not relaxing his battle stance. "Who are you?"

"I was sent here to meet you..." Daenar winced. "And accompany. To somewhere for some reason.... I am Daenar."

The cryptic answer didn't satisfy Aragorn. "Why did you want to kill me then? Who sent you?"

"The second question is easier..." the vampire admitted."I was sent by Eru... and why I wanted to kill you... hmm.. I am just hungry. That's all..."

Aragorn blinked. „By Eru? But why..." he stopped suddenly, and listened. No, it was no sound. It was a feeling... Chilling like the touch of a nightmare. He knew that feeling. A Ringwraith was near... His eyes scanned the surrounding quickly, keeping the vampire in the corner of his vision. How could they be here? Were they not scattered when the rigs binding them lost their power? But... what time was this? It was Weathertop as he remembered it. Surely it would not look the same if a few ages passed. Then... did he return into the time of his memories? A high, chilling scream that made the hairs on his neck stand up answered him. Yes, it was Weathertop from the time that he remembered. From the night that he remembered best...

"What's up with you?" Daenar frowned. "Why have you turned so pale?"

Aragorn didn't have time to reply. Suddenly it stood there, real, or an apparition from his memory? It did not matter. The chill coming from under the black hood felt real, as real as anything in the last days. Aragorn and Daenar looked at each other. And suddenly they knew that they are allies... Here was the enemy.

From that short look, Daenar could tell exactly what Aragorn intends to do. But I think you might get along with this one best... Eru's words came back to him, and he thought he understood them now...

As if on a signal, Daenar leapt forward, aiming at the darkness under the wraith's cloak. Aragorn leaped immediately after him, aiming lower, so that it would be very difficult to avoid both blows at once. But the wraith didn't even try to duck. Instead in breathed out black, ghastly flames... Daenar hissed angrily and turned away from the fire, still trying to hit the wraith with his claws. Aragorn nearly dropped his sword as the flames touched his hands freezing them, but from the corner of the eye he saw Daenar continue the attack, and so he barely adjusted the path of his sword to complement him better.

The sword cut the wraith's cloak… if it was a normal living being, it would be wounded badly... and for a moment it seemed it was. But anyway one blow could not cut it into two parts that fell on the ground, being but pieces of burning cloth that turned into ash then.

Aragorn frowned. "What is it doing?" he whispered.

"It can't be that easy to defeat it..." Daenar murmured. "We'd better step aside a bit... who knows what it will do."

A heap of rags on the ground didn't move. Aragorn retreated a few steps, and watched the ash warily. Slowly it began to rise again, this time covered with pale bluish light and with a crown on the head.

"No..." Daenar breathed out. "It can't be..." he stepped aside again and hissed, addressing to the wraith. "Come on... or are you too afraid to attack?"

The Witch-King's answer was a quick movement to the side... and a lightning, aiming at Daenar. The vampire managed to duck from it, but not low enough to avoid completely...

Aragorn stood like frozen still, looking at the Nazgûl, but before he was able to move, the wraith attacked - almost lazily, as if he would show some sword exercise, the movements so very familiar and deadly. Aragorn ducked under the thrust in the last moment, feeling like trying to move in freezing water that steals the breath from his lungs.

Daenar dared to do a dangerous thing - he bit his own hand till blood was streaming out of the small wounds. The smell assaulted his feelings... but it also spurred him for a new violent attack that left some scratches on his opponent's hood and shoulder.

The black figure withdrew with a growl and threw another lightning at the vampire, and this time Daenar could not evade it... He uttered a short cry of pain and turned back closing his face with his hands.

The Witch-King attacked the man again, and Aragorn finally seemed to shake off the numbness of the wraith's presence. He raised his sword, and blocked the blow, going into an attack immediately. But the wraith raised his sword to a defensive position, and then rotated it so that its point reached over Aragorn's crosspiece and embedded into his forearm. The man jumped back immediately before he could do more damage. Everything happened in a few heartbeats.

Daenar glanced at him through his fingers and sighed. The smell of blood was mixing now with the smell of smoke, and it was so very familiar. The vampire hissed and leapt onto the dark figure, his claws protruding to the extreme and his fangs glistening in the starlight. And again Daenar's claws left only some scratches on the cloak of the wraith. They exchanged several more attempts of attack, each without much success... until the dark figure lowered the sword, unsheathed a dagger... and with an almost imperceptible movement stuck it into Daenar's chest.

As the vampire staggered back, Aragorn attacked the wraith with a new determination, but the Witch-King's defense seemed impenetrable. He even managed to turn the block into attack again, and leave a long gash on Aragorn's shoulder - if he wouldn't manage to turn to the side with the blow, it would severe his arm... He retreated a few steps, and in that moment he saw that Daenar was injured. He hesitated for a moment, trying to find a way how to help him without uncovering himself to the wraith, and his opponent took advantage of this short moment and attacked. In the last moment Aragorn managed to parry his blow, although only barely.

After recovering somehow, the vampire made some steps back with an angry hiss... and some astonishment in his eyes. He could not even count on his regeneration now, it was too slow to help with such deep wounds. The wraith turned his attention away from Aragorn whowas trying to catched his breath. He laughed coldly - and attacked Daenar again, aiming at his neck. The vampire tried to parry the blow, but his previous wound made it so painful to raise his arm, that instead of parrying, he just helplessly waved his hand, like a drowning person trying to reach for anything that would save him. Another cry of pain was muffled and followed with a sound of gurgling blood...

"No!" Aragorn didn't think anymore, but acted reflexively. He reached for his knife in one fluid movement, hurled it at their opponent quickly, and raised his sword just in time to parry the blow. But he didn't have time to bring his left hand to the hilt to block the blow from above, and its strength broke through his cover and hit him to the head with his own sword. He staggered slightly, but soon his vision cleared, and although his forehead throbbed with pain, he knew that the blow was not serious, as he managed to cover the worst of it.

Daenar used his chance to make one more attempt to reach for the opponent - and his claws hit the dark figure twice, each time leaving scratches, though not serious. Enraged by these scratches, the wraith hit Daenar again, but it left only a small cut on his cheek, because trying to withdraw, the vampire stumbled and fell down on the ground...

Aragorn didn't have time to look how Daenar is faring anymore. The duel was lightning fast, and the swords clashed into each other in a deadly song. They seemed equal for some time, without scoring any hit, but finally Aragorn managed to get through his opponent's defense and leave a flaming gash on his chest, although only shallow. But he paid for it - he didn't see the blade coming, he felt only fiery pain that dulled all other senses, and the rush of warm blood from his shoulder. He staggered back, gritting his teeth. His left hand was useless now, and he gripped the sword with his right only.

His mind was dulled with pain. The wraith neared to him. He was almost in the reach of his sword now, and the Witch-King covered the last steps with one jump, and made a quick low thrust. Aragorn saw his chance. He didn't avoid the thrust. Instead, he stepped into it, and thrust his sword through the wraith's chest, uncovered in the moment.

The Witch-King stumbled... and was suddenly covered in bright flames... and again, like before, fell on the ground like pieces of burning cloth. As the ashes reached the ground, all fire was gone. Was it real? It did not matter anymore. The pain was...

Aragorn's vision grew blurry, but he could see the dark shape burning... disappearing. Then there was no more enemy. The sword fell from his hand. He made a few staggering steps to Daenar, not even noticing the blood that was pouring from the new wound, but then his legs betrayed him, and he fell to his knees. His vision was darkening, but he still saw Daenar, lying in the pool of his own blood. He did not try to rise anymore. He lay still and unmoving...

Aragorn moaned, and sank to the ground. Was this the end? He did not fear dying... Once he died already, and he departed in free will. He knew the feeling. But this time, it hurt so much... He gritted his teeth. The pain will pass. It will pass soon... From the last bits of his strength he reached his hand, and grasped Daenar's hand firmly, although it was slick with blood. It was a strange companionship. At the beginning, Daenar attacked him like a hunter its prey. And yet they fought side by side now, as if they would know each other for yeas. Now they were dying together... Aragorn closed his eyes. The darkness from the corners of his vision crept closer, and swallowed him.

***

After some time Daenar coughed and opened his eyes, looking wildly around... then blinked several times and sighed. The blood gurgled in his throat still. The regeneration of his body tried to cope with the wounds, but it was too slow...

"Is it… gone?" he whispered with his lips only and then noticed the wounded man. "No…don't even think of dying..." he closed his eyes again and remained still for some time. But his strength was not restoring yet, and he knew why. He was still hungry, and the hunger that spurred him in the fight, now weakened him more and more. He needed blood. And the blood was so near, all over the place. The human blood…

"Sorry…" he murmured. "Though I doubt you need it any more," he dipped his fingers into the pool of blood and pulled the hand to the lips then, licking the blood off. But it was still not enough... He turned to the side, and with the last effort began drinking blood right from Aragorn's wounds.

"Thank you..." he whispered, though half of the blood was spilled down his chin. "Thank you... soon I will be better and will help you..."

When he really felt better, he sat up near Aragorn and placed his hand over he man's wound, healing it slowly…

***

Aragorn opened his eyes and saw Daenar kneeling near him... but his clothes were soaked with blood, and it was smeared on his cheeks and chin also. "Dae...?" he tried to voice the question that came to his mind first, but then he looked into the vampire's eyes, and felt almost ashamed for it. No, he did not try to feed on him. He... healed him? With surprise Aragorn found out that he is feeling much better. He tried to sit up, but sank back, panting from the effort.

"Please, don't get up! You are too weak still..." the vampire tried to make him lie down again. When Aragorn made no further attempt to rise, but fixed his gaze on him, Daenar smiled sadly, answering the unvoiced question. "Yes, I drank your blood. I am a vampire, you know... And I healed you, too... I needed the strength from your blood to do it. It would come in vain otherwise..." he murmured apologetically, and looked away, already thinking about the way how he will explain Eru that he didn't fulfill his request.

But Aragorn did not avert his sight, and waited until the vampire looks at him again. When Daenar did, sensing his intent gaze, Aragorn smiled weakly. "Thank you..." he said.

Daenar blinked a few times, and then smiled uncertainly, too.

Aragorn hold his sight for a while, and then scanned him quickly. "Are you... injured?" he asked, certain that he remembered how the wraith injured Daenar, but seeing no wounds under he torn clothes.

"Have some rest and don't worry about me," the vampire smiled. "I am too bad to be killed so easily!"

Aragorn raised his eyebrow at that, but didn't say anything. After he assured himself that Daenar is indeed well, he relaxed, feeling suddenly very weary... and very cold, after a while. The rain was falling still, but this coldness reached deeper, to the very marrow of his bones. Aragorn shivered. He propped himself on his elbows, and looked at Daenar. "We must... get away from here..." he said urgently.

Daenar bit his lip, and watched Aragorn worriedly. "You've lost a lot of blood..." he remarked, aware of the double meaning of this phrase. Yes... what Aragorn lost, he gained... for Aragorn's profit though. He sighed finally, and helped Aragorn to get up.

Leaning on Daenar, Aragorn managed to get to his feet. They should return to the tavern... The thought about the steaming mugs and fire in the hearth made Aragorn shiver even more. He wanted to turn to the way down the hill, but suddenly he spotted something from the corner of his eye.

On the place where they defeated the Witch-king, or his apparition, whatever it was, something glistened in the rain. With Daenar's help, he walked to that place, and knelt. A smooth round stone... Immediately he recognized it. The palantír...

He has seen one of these before. Once upon a time, in an age—a life-long lost, he gazed into a Seeing Stone and met with fire.

Once again, he took the stone into both hands and gazed deep into its swirling depths. And, as before, fire leaped forth and he saw the wasteland of Mordor, clasped by mountains once jagged as teeth but now worn smooth by wind and rain and time. Amid them, Aragorn sensed *him.*

But, surely, that must be a mistake, for Sauron was destroyed utterly at the end of the Third Age. Surely he could not--

Yet the thought tormented him that many have returned who should not have to fight in this Final Battle. Perhaps the forces of Light are not the only ones with the power to bring back those who live now beyond even memory?

Aragorn shook his head, and torn his sight away from the Seeing Stone. "He returned..." he whispered, shivering now from more then just cold. With a new urgency he struggled to his feet. "We must tell the others..."


A/N: Written as a roleplay with Mirach as Aragorn, Lirulin as Daenar, and the dice as a Ringwraith. The dice almost defeated us, but at the end we had some luck... =) The description of the vision we got from the mods. Daenar is Lirulin's original character, and more stories about him can be found in his profile (www.fanfiction.net/u/1875614/Lirulin-yirth-kaio)





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