Appendix A: Grace Unlooked-For

When word came that the Elven-King's son sought folk of the Greenwood to join him in the White City of Minas Anor, the first to step forward was Losfaron, Captain of the Guard. He had done so in eagerness, for it was a unique and exciting opportunity to behold a city of Men. More still, he wished to look upon King Elessar in his triumph, for he had known him in his long labours before. No monarch could have done more to earn his throne, nor to warrant the love and admiration of his people.

Sitting astride Moroch with the great walls of the city before him, Losfaron repented of his hastiness. The journey had passed in pleasurable days and peaceable nights, the convoy of fair folk making steady progress through lands left empty by the retreat of the Enemy's thralls in the wake of his defeat. There had been nothing to regret then, save perhaps that his duty to secure the home front had kept him from the great battle that King Thranduil had waged against the monstrous inhabitants of Dol Guldur. Now, however, as he drew near the great gates where scaffolding had been erected that dwarven stonemasons might ply their arts, Losfaron felt a cold knot in the pit of his stomach.

He had parted from Aragorn son of Arathorn on the best of terms, speaking as one soldier to another about the care of a most unpleasant captive. On that occasion Losfaron had given the Ranger who now was King the use of Moroch's steadfast legs on his journey to Imladris. He had been most graciously and earnestly thanked, and the two Captains had taken their leave in camaraderie and shared respect. When Moroch had returned to him in the company of the servants of Elrond Half-Elven, she had borne with her a letter from Lord Aragorn. It gave a warm account of the mare's deportment on the trail and her essential contributions to his safe crossing of the mountains. All this had left Losfaron in perfect amity with he who ruled this great stone city, and it should have been a joyous thing to see Elessar in his splendour.

Yet all that was now in doubt in Losfaron's mind. However gracious the King, and whatever the regard that had been between them before, there was something more to consider now. For Losfaron had betrayed his word and the charge laid upon him on their parting. He had vowed to safeguard the prisoner entrusted to him, to treat him kindly but with ceaseless vigilance, and in the end he had failed. Despite his care and his noblest intentions, the creature called Gollum had escaped.

It had taken many months for the stern security practices of the Guard to lapse. Losfaron had done his utmost to uphold each condition of the pact made long before the pitiful thing's capture. He had kept two guards upon the cell at all times, and enforced the measure of ensuring neither the cell door nor that of the guard room was open at the same time as the other. And he had repeatedly reminded himself and those beneath his command that the tiny, withered captive was far more sly and far more dangerous than his appearance would suggest. Yet he and all the others, including Legolas the King's son himself, had also wished to obey the decree Mithrandir had given: to hope for Gollum's healing and to treat him gently.

It had been at the end of the winter – milder than the one that had gone before, but still dreary enough – that they had ventured at last to take Gollum from his cell. Left in the gloom it seemed there would never be a chance of any cure, for it was too easy for the creature to lapse into his black mutterings and evil thoughts. So on one fair spring evening, Losfaron and the King's son, and a trusted guard had brought him forth from the Elvenking's gates. They had let him walk among them, untethered but at every moment surrounded, and he had seemed to enjoy the diversion. For days afterwards he was more genial with his guards and seemed to take more pleasure in his meals. The result had been both surprising and encouraging.

So when the weather was fair, an escort would go out with Gollum into the forest. He was obedient and well-behaved, going where he was told and coming when he was commanded. He took to a particular tree, tall and broad-boughed, that stood apart in a clearing of its own. They would allow him to climb it, and always he would come down again when he was told to do so. Again and again such outings went without incident, and all of them – Legolas and Losfaron as much as any beneath their command – grew to believe that Gandalf's words were true: that Gollum was indeed beginning to be rid of the malice and wickedness he had harboured so long.

How Losfaron now wished that he had heeded more closely the words of Aragorn as well as those of the wizard! For on one moonless night, when he was himself not on active duty, Gollum had clambered up his tree and refused to come down again. Upon that night Losfaron had been resting in his chamber when the alarm was raised: unlooked-for a band of orcs had come upon the King's lands. He had mustered his soldiers to arms and led the charge of swordsmen while the King's son had command of the archers. The Elves were outnumbered and taken unawares, but the orcs were poorly disciplined and unaccustomed to the terrain. They had at last been driven back, after a long and bloody night. Then it had come time for the folk of Thranduil to take stock of their losses.

A few had been slain and many wounded in repelling the onslaught. Losfaron himself had been nicked by the blade of a falling foe, though he took no grievous hurt. But the worst loss of all was found at the foot of the lonely pine. All Gollum's guard had been cut down or captured, and the wretch himself was gone. The efforts of the woodland hunters had availed but little: they found his tracks among those of the retreating orcs, but these swiftly led south towards the dread fortress of Dol Guldur and the trail was lost.

Before the fall of the Enemy, those lands had been impassible and far too deadly to hazard even for the sake of honouring a promise. Losfaron and his search party had ventured further than any other, but in the end they too had been forced to turn back. Further loss of life would have weighed upon the Captain's conscience still more than his failure. There had been no choice.

To Legolas had fallen the grim duty of travelling to Rivendell with news of Gollum's escape. When Noldorin riders had come instead of the returning emissary, there had been whispers that the tidings had not been received with grace – of old the Noldor had thought little of the Silvan peoples, and old bitterness lingered yet in some hearts. Losfaron had yet been in the King's confidence, for his valour and strategy in the battle had been beyond reproach and the nature of the escape was such that it could not well have been foreseen. So he had swiftly learned that Thranduil's son had departed Rivendell on some errand of great import and secrecy, in the company of Mithrandir and Lord Aragorn and a number of others unnamed by the messengers.

No more had the folk of Mirkwood learned of the fate of the King's son for many months. Even at the height of the assaults upon their borders and the battles around Dol Guldur they had known nothing of his errand or what might have befallen him. Some despaired of his return, but Thranduil never did. He believed to the last that his son would come through the darkness unscathed.

And so it had proved. News had come first out of Lórien from the Lady Galadriel herself, and then from the South: the Enemy was cast down and his power utterly unmade. The world was free of the Shadow, and Elendil's Heir had returned to take the throne of Gondor and the kingship of the fractured North. With all the rest Losfaron had rejoiced in the downfall of Sauron, but he more than most had cherished word of Aragorn's ascension.

Now, riding through the winding streets that made their way through many gates to the Citadel of Minas Anor, Losfaron was sick with dread. At the head of the procession rode Legolas, who had come out to greet his people. He was bringing them now before the King, and Losfaron would have to face at last the noble and courageous man whom he had so grievously failed.

Just below the Seventh Gate the travellers halted. Here grooms and stable-boys waited to take the horses. Losfaron dismounted, but did not yield Moroch's reins nor permit anyone to untie the tether affixed to her saddle. Beside her mother stood a gawky yearling, dark and delicate of bone and yet unnamed. There had been no question of separating Moroch from her filly, and only the greatest need would have led Losfaron to leave his beloved steed behind while he embarked upon a mission that was like to last for years. The pace of the journey had not been too much for the youngling, and she nuzzled now against her mother's flank. Moroch nickered lovingly and turned so that their noses might meet.

Legolas had come back from the head of the column, a puzzled frown upon his fair face. 'Why do you hesitate, Captain?' he asked. 'The horse-wardens of Gondor are skilled, and there are those among their number who have come to us from Rohan where reigns Éomer King, with whom I stood in battle. There are no better guardians for your fair one and her foal: you need not fear.'

'All the same, I shall see them stabled myself,' said Losfaron. The hope he had held in his heart when first he decided to come, yearling and all, now seemed impossible. He did not know how he might look King Elessar in the eyes, much less speak to him of matters that should be between friends. 'Moroch trusts me as she trusts no other: it is best that I tend to her little one.'

Legolas shook his head, bewildered. 'Surely you can see that she understands,' he said. 'I have never known Moroch to refuse you anything. Tales are still told of how you coaxed her to carry the wretch Gollum when first he was brought to our halls.'

There was commotion all around them. Folk of the Sixth Level had drawn near to look upon the visitors, still curious about Elvenkind despite the hosts that had come in the company of the daughter of Elrond, now their Queen. The grooms were leading the horses, while many of the Wood-Elves laughed and chattered amongst themselves. Further ahead, by the gate itself, the sable-clad Guards were conferring hurriedly. Losfaron scarcely comprehended any of this, for his own discomfort was too great.

'What is it?' asked Legolas, drawing nearer and lowering his voice as one might when speaking to a friend in great pain. 'What ails you, Losfaron? You blench as if with fear.'

Losfaron swallowed, berating himself. A thousand years he had walked the earth, and still he could not speak the truths that weighed upon his heart. He shook his head, wordless, and now Moroch was turning to him instead of the filly. She whinnied a low question, wondering what was amiss with her master. Losfaron stroked her nose and bowed his head to it as he hushed her. The foal, overwhelmed by the noise and disorder, tucked her head into the shelter of her mother's forelegs, and Losfaron reached to comfort her as well.

Someone had drawn Legolas's attention, and he strode off distractedly. Losfaron began to look about for some approachable-looking Man who might show him where his horses might lodge. Before he could hail one, however, the gates to the Seventh Level swung inward and the street fell silent.

There were two Guards upon the other side, clad in black mail and broidered surcotes and with lofty helms upon their heads. It was they who had opened the doors, and between them stood the one for whom they had done so. Very tall was he, clad in cloth of richest blue with a diadem upon his brow bright as the Morning Star. His was a visage of dignity and majesty that cast those who beheld him into quiet awe, but for all the fine clothes and the kingly stance Losfaron knew him. He had seen that same dignity in an emaciated body clad in filthy tatters and limping upon a twisted ankle, the soles of his boots held to his feet with soiled rags. It was Aragorn son of Arathorn, whose trust he had betrayed.

The King came forward, a welcoming smile upon his face. The grim lines at mouth and brow were erased by mirth, and about him was no shadow of the careworn and exhausted Man Losfaron had seen upon their last meeting. The starveling hollows that had been gouged at cheeks and temples even after many days' rest in Thranduil's caverns were long forgotten. This was a man of strength unrivalled, his nobility and lineage unmasked before all the world. At the sight of him, Losfaron's last shreds of courage failed him. How could he present himself before this stern and joyous Númenorean King, whose reforged blade had carved out victory against the Shadow that had gone undefeated for thousands of years, when both of them knew how he had failed?

'Welcome!' the King said, and though he spoke with ease and measured joy all heard him. He spoke in the Elven tongue, with the grace of one born to it – as indeed he had been. His smile was warm and he held out his hands in greeting. 'Welcome, folk of the Greenwood! You have travelled far to adorn this city with your presence, and on behalf of her people I thank you. Lodgings have been prepared for you, but first I would implore you to dine at my table as my most honoured guests. The Queen of Arnor and Gondor, the Reunited Kingdom, awaits you within. Please, come!'

Legolas stepped forward first, clasping hands with Elessar that they might exchange quiet words. Then he beckoned to his folk, and they passed in twos and threes. Each made his or her courtesy to the King, murmuring quiet words of thanks and praise. To each the King spoke in turn, all the while radiant with regal merriment. The stable-hands continued about their work, though none tried to draw near Losfaron again. All at once he was left alone, with only the Guards in their black raiment, Legolas his lord, and the King himself.

He turned his keen eyes upon Losfaron, his smile unwavering. In those eyes Losfaron saw the same piercing intelligence, the insight and the wisdom that had won his respect for the wayworn Chieftain of the Dúnedain. He had first been rather taken aback by the Ranger's insistence upon measuring the fastness of the cell set aside for his quarry. Lord Aragorn's systematic efforts had impressed a skeptical Captain, and his manner had won Losfaron's friendship. This should have been a joyous moment, but it was not.

King Elessar spoke softly to Legolas, gesturing him in through the gates. Legolas nodded and went, and at a quiet word from their liege-lord the guards drew closed the great portal. To Losfaron's surprise and dismay, the King stepped not back but forward, through the gates and into the street to be shut out with the reticent guest.

Forward he came, moving with purpose and grace. Having torn from his gaze when he spoke to Legolas, Losfaron dared not meet his eyes again. He fixed them instead upon the hem of the King's raiment, couched thick with threads of silver and gold. Such skill was wrought in that embroidery that it could only be the work of Elven hands, and Losfaron remembered with a wistful flash of amusement the ornate tunic Thranduil's tailor had made to replace the Ranger's desperately worn rags. The memory only drove home his dismal position.

'Captain Losfaron, of the Elven-King's guard,' said Elessar, confidence and welcome in his voice.

Losfaron heard only accusation. He dropped to one knee on the cobbles, letting Moroch's lines run through his fingers. She had recognized the Man, and for once in her life of perfect obedience disobeyed her master's will. She stepped forward, foreleg brushing the edge of Losfaron's cloak, and rubbed her nose against the King's shoulder.

'Well met, fair one,' said Elessar, and there was a jingle of bridle bells as he scratched the crest of Moroch's brow. 'But what is amiss with your good Captain?'

'Lord King…' Losfaron began. His voice was hoarse and not at all the melodious tone that befitted one of the Firstborn. 'Sire…'

Firm hands took his shoulders and raised him up. 'You are neither subject nor supplicant, my friend,' the King said. 'It is not fit that you should kneel before me.'

Losfaron raised his eyes at last, and saw both kindness and understanding upon the noble face. 'King Elessar…' he mumbled.

'Once you called me by my right name, Captain,' said the King, eyes sparkling in play. 'Have I lost that honour in your eyes?'

'No, my Lord!' cried Losfaron, dismayed to be thus mistaken. 'No! It is I who am dishonoured, having failed in the charge I swore to undertake. After all that was done, and all that you suffered in the finding of the wretch, I permitted Gollum to escape my custody. I am foresworn, and I am unworthy of the trust you placed in me.'

Elessar had listened serenely to all this. Now he nodded his head slowly. 'I see,' he murmured, his eyes clouding briefly as if in grave thought. 'That is what weighs upon your heart.' Then he smiled again, and reached to gather Moroch's loosed lines. 'Walk with me, Losfaron, and speak my name. We shall find some place fitting for these two to abide. I did not know Moroch was delivered of a foal.'

This mention of his dear one stirred in Losfaron a small burst of pride that was most welcome in his moment of great shame. It permitted him to find the courage to do as he had been told. 'She has, Aragorn: a year since. So glad and careful a mother I have never seen.'

'I well believe it,' said Aragorn, guiding the mare down a cobbled side street that curled parallel to the wall of the Seventh Level. 'She tried herself at mothering me from time to time.'

Losfaron laughed, and the spell of rank and triumph was broken. They were again what they once had been: two soldiers striding side by side. Instead of a rope tether bund to his wrist, the Dúnadan held Moroch's lines; and he was hale and unharmed. Those were the most significant of the differences between present and past.

'I have received the same treatment, I confess,' Losfaron said. 'She is glad now to have a more fitting recipient for her care.'

Aragorn nodded and spoke to Moroch. 'Your daughter is beautiful, even as her dam.' To Losfaron he said; 'I dared to hope that you might be among the folk to answer the summons. I did not know if you have any love of planting or of tending young trees, but even so peaceable an expedition needs warriors in its number with the remnants of Mordor at large.'

'We were unharried, and I am thankful,' said Losfaron. 'Has there been trouble, then?'

'Some,' agreed the King. 'Chiefly in Ithilien on Anduin's far bank, for there are those among the warlords of Rhûn who dispute my claim upon those lands and all that rests within the bounds of what was once Sauron's dominion. For now there is naught to be done but to repel their advances and offer clemency to all who cast down their arms. I have fared far better with Mordor's southerly tributaries.'

Losfaron knew little of the nations of Men, and still less about Mordor and its tributaries, but he had a commander's keen interest in securing unstable borders. 'Why is that?' he asked.

They had reached a long building of stone, lower than those around it and fitted with broad stable doors. One of these Aragorn opened, that he might lead Moroch and the filly into a well-kept stable with wide stalls and sweet-smelling straw. Other horses were housed here, Losfaron saw. All were splendid beasts, though of different lineages. There was a grey palfrey with the blood of Lórien in her slender bones and lofty brow. Beside her was stabled a war-horse, taller than any Losfaron had seen before. The stallion's hair was coarse and thick, and its withers broad with enduring strength. There was a white horse of some stock he did not recognize: compact and fleet-looking. And there were others, each one carefully tended.

'The peoples of Harad, which lies to the South, were for the most part enslaved by the Enemy,' said Aragorn. He raised the bar of the largest stall and reached to unbuckle Moroch's bridle. Because of the need to secure the yearling, Losfaron had not ridden her in the fashion of his people but with full tack. For long journeys it had its advantages. He now moved to loosen her girth while the King went on. 'Their kings and chieftains Sauron's servants murdered; their rites and rituals of faith he suppressed; and their old ways he tried to obliterate. Harad groaned beneath the yoke of Mordor, and was calloused but not broken by it. When I offered their autonomy in exchange for peace, it was readily accepted.'

'Not so with the Easterlings?' asked Losfaron.

Aragorn shook his head, and there was regret in his eyes but no doubt. 'Rhûn has been longer under Sauron's sway. There the mighty were collaborators in their bondage, and they did not wish to hear my terms. It is my hope that by pardoning those common folk who have shown earnest intent I may slowly change hardened hearts. I do not know if it can succeed in this generation or the next, but I am hopeful that yet in my lifetime I will see peace between Rhûn and the West.'

Losfaron had no need to clarify this. The Heirs of Elendil had within them the blood of Westernesse, and so a measure of longevity unknown to common mortals. The King's words heartened him. If there could be forgiveness even for those who had conspired with the Enemy, surely he could ask for pardon for his own failings.

'My Lord…' he began.

Aragorn looked at him sharply, then passed him a currycomb and set to work on Moroch's mane with a soft brush. She trilled happily in the back of her throat, bobbing her head once before positioning it perfectly for grooming. When he found his pattern of smooth strokes, the King spoke.

'You wish to speak of Gollum,' he said.

'Aye, my Lord,' said Losfaron humbly. He fixed his eyes upon his work, making long, steady passes of Moroch's withers and flank. 'I gave my word to guard him ceaselessly, and I failed in that charge. What devilment the wretch has done or yet may do I know not, but for all of it I am most surely to blame!'

'Gollum shall do no more devilment upon this earth,' said Aragorn softly. 'He is dead.'

'Dead?' Losfaron exclaimed, torn between astonishment, pity and craven relief. 'How? Was he found? Did you capture him yet again?'

'Nay, not I,' sighed Aragorn. 'I said I would not have the fortune or the fortitude to hunt him with success a second time. I tried to trap him, but he eluded me.'

'What evils did he do before he was slain?' Losfaron asked. He dreaded the answer, and yet could not but ask.

'He was not slain,' the King said. 'And he did less evil than I feared, though what he did manage was hurtful enough. Yet there can be no regret for our part in his tale, Losfaron: neither in mine nor in yours. In the end it was all to the good.'

Losfaron frowned, utterly bewildered. 'But I failed in my trust, and he was allowed to escape. Were you not wroth to learn of it, after all you endured in his catching?'

'When I heard the tidings, I was indeed wroth,' said Aragorn soberly. 'I was livid with rage and frustration, in sooth: far more so than I let Legolas see at the time. I felt that all my warnings had been made in vain, laid aside for fine feelings and an improbable dream of curing the incurable. For that I must ask your forgiveness.'

'I? No, never that!' said Losfaron. 'I did heed your warnings, but not well enough. For that folly some of my most loyal soldiers paid with their lives, and the wretch went free to rejoin his foul compatriots.'

'So I too thought at the time,' Aragorn agreed; 'but it was not so. He travelled alone for a time, and secreted himself in the mines of Moria. On Anduin's banks I first caught wind of him again. That memory shall linger long. I thought I walked in a nightmare when I scented him.' Then to Losfaron's amazement he smiled. 'My own failure to snag him a second time was also to the good, my friend: even as your kindliness has proved.'

'I do not understand,' Losfaron said wretchedly. He was around Moroch's other side now, and the King was brushing her tail.

Aragorn regarded him thoughtfully for a long moment. 'Losfaron, how much do you know of the Enemy's defeat?'

For a startled moment the Elf knew not how to answer. He knew what everyone else knew: that the One Ring of the old songs had been found at last, and taken by the Wise. That two halflings had borne it into Mordor alone, while the Lords of the West drew the Eye from its own borders. That the Ring had been destroyed and with it Sauron's power.

'I see you do not know,' said Aragorn softly. He closed his eyes. 'You have heard of Frodo Baggins, Nine-Fingered, who carried the One Ring to its destruction.'

'Yes,' Losfaron breathed. He could not think what more to say.

'It was with he, and with Samwise the Brave, that Gollum fell in,' Aragorn said. 'He wanted only to be near his Precious, of course, and to watch for an opportunity to take it for himself. Yet Frodo tamed him as I could not, and coaxed him in ways beyond the power of Gandalf, and brought out in him a twisted memory of goodness that even your gentle handling could not awaken. And though he did try to do the Ring-Bearers great evil, he did not succeed until the very last.'

'What do you mean?' asked Losfaron, his throat taut with dismay. The murderous wretch, the treacherous creature, the cradle-robbing sneak of night and shadow, had not only escaped, but had found and harried the halflings in whose hands the world's fate had rested. 'What did he do?'

Again the King was briefly silent, his gaze contemplative. 'At the last, the Ring-Bearer was tempted,' he said softly. 'Frodo placed the One Ring upon his finger, drawn by its alluring command made greater than ever by its nearness to its master. In that moment Frodo made himself known to Sauron, and the malice we had drawn so successfully to the Black Gate was turned instead where least we wished it to look: upon the very slope of Orodruin above the Cracks of Doom.'

Losfaron's mouth was too dry for speech, even if he could have thought of words to say. This indeed he had not heard, and the idea was almost unbearable. All that kept him from despair at these tidings was the knowledge that somehow the Enemy had not seized the Ring-bearer or captured the Ring. Somehow, though he could not imagine the means, the halflings had succeeded in their desperate Quest.

'It was a moment of peril such as the world has not known since the destruction of the Two Trees,' said Aragorn. His face was white in the dappled sun that came from high arced windows above. His fingers still moved idly through Moroch's silken tail, but they had no purpose to them. 'Sauron in his wrath dispatched the Nazgûl, those that remained to face our armies at the Morannon. Wheeling they turned and forsook the battle, their fell beasts flying for Mount Doom. Swiftly they would have descended upon the hobbits and taken the One Ring, and all would have been lost. But on that dread day Frodo and Sam were not alone before the fire. They had been followed by one they believed they had left behind.'

Losfaron's eyes grew wide as he understood. 'Not Gollum?'

'The very same,' Aragorn said. He closed his eyes and drew a shuddering breath, like a man yanked back from the abyss in the very moment of his fall. When he opened them again, they were bright with a fever of wonder and inexpressible awe that had about it a faint tang of fear as well as its rich taste of joy.

'At the moment Frodo donned the Ring, Gollum sprang from the shadows. He had seen his moment at last to take what he most wanted in all of Arda, and take it he did. There upon the black stone they grappled, and Gollum bit Frodo's finger from his hand, and with it the One Ring. Yet it was too late for him: he lost his footing and was flung into the fire, the Ring held triumphantly aloft. So it was he, in the end, who brought about its destruction and the salvation of Middle-earth.'

For a time Losfaron could not speak. He stood stricken dumb and struggling to grasp what he had been told. Aragorn waited. His own reverie was past him, and he stepped to Moroch's head, holding his hand before her nostrils and moving it slowly down so that she could follow and give her consent to his touching of her foal. He need not have done so, for Moroch loved him well and trusted him, but the gesture was a dear one. Then the King crouched to a comfortable height, careless of his fine garb, and began to brush the yearling's neck and withers. She did not startle at his touch, though Losfaron alone had ever laid hands upon her until now, and she gave a pleasurable little nicker as he ran the soft bristles over an itching place. Moroch, approving, turned her eyes back upon her master.

'Then it was Gollum who maimed the Ring-bearer,' Losfaron said at last, pained and weary. He had not foreseen such far-reaching consequences, however great his blunder. It was horrifying.

But Aragorn looked up at him with gentle eyes and a sad little half-smile upon his lips. 'Do you not see?' he asked softly. 'Had Gollum not been there upon Orodruin that day, Sauron would have taken the Ring. All the world would have fallen to the Shadow, and there would be war where now there is peace; darkness where now there is light. It would have been like the days when Morgoth overtook all of Beleriand and the Free Peoples were driven to utmost desperation. It would have been the end of all that we treasure, Losfaron.'

He was glad he had not known ere this how grave the stakes had been, and how small the hope. Losfaron had never imagined that Legolas his lord and friend might have been entangled in such a mad and desperate venture. Even now, with the truth laid before him and the hallmarks of victory everywhere about him, he could not quite believe that goodness had conquered: not in the face of such vast peril. He had not known before how desperate the efforts against the Enemy had been, nor paused to consider the true cost of failure.

'It is unthinkable,' he breathed.

'Yes. But still you do not see,' Aragorn said, patient as if speaking to a beloved child grappling with a difficult exercise in logic. 'Losfaron, had you kept Gollum as I bade you, secure beneath stone and behind oak and iron, he could never have escaped. He would be locked in Thranduil's dungeons even now, whilst the halls above were besieged by Ringwraiths and armies of Sauron's thralls. He would never have come to Moria, never have picked up the trail of the Ring, never fallen in with Frodo and Sam. He would not have been present when at last he was needed to fulfill his final part in the great deeds of his age. Had you not shown him pity beyond his deserving and beyond my bidding, Losfaron, all would have been lost.'

His throat was tight now, and his eyes stung. Losfaron understood what the King was saying to him, but he could not quite make sense of it. Somehow his negligence had been turned to the good through a labyrinth of evil happenings. It did not make sense.

'Your kindness, and Legolas's, and that of all your good-hearted guards did not sow misfortune,' said Aragorn. He rose, leaving the brush upon the floor but keeping one palm consolingly on the yearling's head. His other he placed on Losfaron's shoulder so that they stood eye to eye. 'In ways not even the Wise could have foreseen, that small act of generosity that led to Gollum's escape became a stone in the path of destiny that led us to this.'

He gestured broadly as if to encompass the stables, but Losfaron knew it extended far beyond that. Aragorn, Elessar Envinyatar whose own role in the downfall of the Enemy had been as great as any save perhaps that of the Ring-bearers themselves, was speaking of the vast world about them, now free from the Shadow.

'It was a little thing: to take a pitiful prisoner from his cell that he might feel the night wind,' said Aragorn. 'Yet it is upon such small kindnesses that Light and Goodness must thrive. None could have faulted you for your good heart even had the consequences been dire. But now you have a share in our victory, and a stake in the peace your mercy helped to bring. Rejoice in that, and realize there is no need for pardon or apology.'

Losfaron swallowed painfully, trying to maintain his composure despite the joy that now sang in his heart. It was not joy for himself alone, but for all of Middle-earth. In that moment, the triumph over evil felt more real to him than at any time since the fall of Barad-dûr six months ago. Until now it seemed as if he had been walking in a beautiful dream, only to awaken to find it had all been true and more besides.

'Aragorn,' he said, his voice coarse with the potency of his epiphany. 'I must thank you. Even had I known all this, I do not think I would have seen my folly to have any part in the goodness that has come to the world. It has been said that you are Elven-wise, but to that I must cry false. You are wiser than this Elf, at least.'

Then the King laughed, so clear and so joyous a laugh that Moroch whinnied her agreement and the tall war-horse stamped his approval. Even the little unnamed yearling danced her slender hooves in infectious delight. Aragorn clapped Losfaron on the shoulder.

'Even the wisest cannot always see their own virtues, or they may dwell overlong upon their perceived misjudgments,' he said. 'Let us talk no more of matters of doom. Tell me of your adventures since last we met. I have heard you maintained the borders of Thranduil's realm while he marched to war? As I have said to others, such labours are noble and too oft unsung.'

For a time they talked, while they finished grooming the two horses and settled them in the stall together. At last they stood leaning their forearms on the rail and looking as the filly savoured some sweet oats and Moroch caressed her firstborn with the underside of her jaw.

'What is her name?' asked Aragorn, nodding to the yearling.

'I have not yet given her a name,' said Losfaron, a little dreamily. 'At first it seemed there was much time to find one fitting, and then…' He shrugged his shoulders. 'With the fall of the Enemy and news of the coming of the King to Gondor, I began to think perhaps her master would prefer to name her. I call her my pretty one, for her mother has already laid claim to 'lovely' and to 'fair'."

'That seems thoroughly fitting to me,' Aragorn said. 'But who is her master, if not you?'

Losfaron straightened his back and squared his shoulders. The King did likewise, a half-smile of mingled puzzlement and comprehension upon his face. There was a question in his eyes, too, and a protest. Before he could give voice to any of this, Losfaron held out his hands in a gesture of offering.

'Doubtless Your Majesty has many mighty steeds at his command, and doubtless he has received far more splendid gifts,' he said; 'but I beg you to accept this nimble-footed little maid as a present from two old friends who wish to give of their best.'

Now it was the King who shook his head in reverent disbelief. 'She is a princely gift, Losfaron, but she is too young to be taken from her mother.'

'What need is there of that?' the Elf asked, smiling. 'We have been called here to bring trees to gardens of stone. It is a labour that will last two years at least, and likely many more. While I dwell in your fair city, may they not be stabled together? And when at last we depart, I know that Moroch will be proud and contented to cede her offspring to your care.'

At this Moroch whinnied her sanction, tossing her proud head and turning from her babe to lean over the rail. Aragorn reached to scratch her ears, and she closed her eyes in bliss. 'So be it,' he said. 'Netyamair shall she be called, the pretty one, and she will be the jewel of my stables. Thank you, Losfaron of the Greenwood. I am fortunate indeed to have such friends, and it is my joy to have you as guests in my realm.'

'The joy is ours, good King,' said Losfaron, joining in the stroking of Moroch's neck. The peace was not only Arda's but his own, he saw now. The days of the Renewer were upon the land, and he would rejoice.

From his well-appointed stall, the great warhorse snorted indignantly; one might more accurately say jealously. Again Aragorn laughed.

metta