Walking Into Darkness

He was alone.  He would risk no other in this, allow none he cared for to be in his company for this greatest of challenges. But for all his protestations Halbarad waited beyond the heavy door, a sturdy, silent presence, utterly reliable and strangely comforting. For even his foster-brothers had no knowledge of what he planned.  And did they know they would never permit this, for no more would the Elves of Middle Earth enter into any such congress with the Great Enemy, be it in defiance or otherwise. They had been hurt too long, too deeply, to understand the need he had to do this thing, nor accept the necessity as it existed at this moment. And the love and care they held for him would constrain them to turn him from his course no matter what they believed. No, he was glad to be alone; but so afraid, now the hour was upon him.

It lay before him, one of the Palantíri of the kings of old, of his kin.  He, of all Men living, had no need to fear this thing, only what it had become; a tool of Sauron and an Istar turned from the light into darkness.  The strongest had fallen to its temptation. Who was he to stand against it? The only heir to a lost line of kings, great and powerful and yet victims of the same peril that threatened to consume this world anew. 

Only with great effort did Aragorn force himself to cast off his doubts and approach the pedestal where he had placed the Seeing Stone, legacy of an age long departed. Darkly it waited, cloaked in an aura of mysterious promise. It was his birthright, his ultimate trial, and so easily it could become the means of his downfall.  This thing, possessed wholly by his enemy, was his to wrest back, and too, his chance to unbalance that same enemy and win an opportunity of respite for the beleaguered Free Peoples who yet fought against the Great Darkness.

Fingers whose shaking was stilled only through a concerted effort of will reached out to touch the smooth surface. It seemed so cold, so dead, so innocent, but he was not fooled. Between his outstretched hands lay a deadly weapon of the Dark Lord, and already he could sense its evil questing outwards, searching for him with fell purpose. He snatched his hand away, trembling with sudden fear, and felt a cold sweat envelope him, the moisture beading on his brow.  So easy it would be to turn now and back away from this test, to deny the urgings of his heart that had brought him here this night. But Aragorn was not such a coward as that, and he understood too well how much depended on him at this moment. The ringbearer was lost somewhere in the wilderness with no more strength than that which his faithful servant could offer him, alone in truth when it came to the burden he carried, and the Eye was seeking him. And it would find him before long unless it could be given another target, and one that had the weight to turn its gaze from the true threat. Only he could fill that role. Only he had the presence to distract that dreadful concentration, for he also was a threat and that which he carried would be enough to cause the Enemy dismay such as he had not known in many an age. Narsil re-forged in the hands of Isildur’s Heir would strike fear into the very heart of Mordor. If he could keep hold of his soul through what was to come.

Shadows swirled in his mind, dark images dredged up from the deep places of his nightmares.  Beneath his fingers the stone remained chill, but in the depths a fire was burning, and it was hunting him.  Dark mists coalesced into ghostly forms, tendrils of shadow snaked out towards him, and behind them at last he saw the Eye. Tiny it was, at first, growing steadily larger and brighter until it filled the whole of his vision with its awful glare. Behind it he sensed a presence, black and fiery as the Balrog, tall and slender as a man, yet lacking physical form still, as shadowy as the night with eyes of flame. He felt that terrible gaze settle upon him, was confronted with the full force of the hatred Sauron held for his race and all things living, but greater by far than this was the contempt. No words did he hear but an echo of dark laughter, as if his enemy perceived only another mortal ripe for his dominion, another poor slave to be turned to his will. For he had not yet revealed himself as he was and the presence that assailed him did not yet realise its peril.  And Aragorn knew that at last the choice was before him; to unveil his identity and claim his title or fall into the darkness waiting to devour him.

A horror fell upon him then that paralysed his will and froze his mind.  Silently he fought it, though no movement did he make, but the enemy was strong and he was rocked by a great storm.  Even as he strove to resist he felt himself slipping, succumbing to a will greater than his own; that had taken Saruman before him and was even now marching across Middle Earth bringing war to fair places and turning hope into dust. In an instant he was caught, tossed before the tempest, and the shrieking of a great wind seemed to fill his ears until he was aware of almost nothing else. Night fell upon his sight, a heavy curtain shrouding his eyes, and in his blindness he felt the first stirrings of panic.  Bereft of his own senses to guide him he was adrift in a place of another’s choosing, and he knew not which way to turn. Only the touch of the stone beneath his hand told him he had not left the tower room, nor lost himself entirely in this deception.

A strange calm descended. Soft whispers licked against the edges of his mind, sweet promises of rest, of freedom, of a life unfettered by the needs of others. All this as a gift if he would but surrender his autonomy, betray his friends, his family, and march with the army of Mordor as it took the war to the farthest reaches of the land. And so seductive were the whispers that for a moment this seemed only a small thing to ask of him in exchange for offering up his dreams. Yet for no more than a moment did he consider Sauron’s lies.  It was not for nothing had he been named, and his strength was great among Men and Elves. In him, through a line unbroken from father to son, was the blood of ancient kings, the same who had broken the might of Barad-dùr in the Second Age and laid waste to the Black Land, and he would not give up so easily.

The laughter swelled, a breaking tide of evil washing over him, but it did not pull him under. As an icy cold invaded his limbs, creeping ever closer to his heart, he took one shuddering step forward. Instead of falling back he advanced, challenging his enemy to confront the very core of his being, to see into the secret places of his soul.  Thrusting caution aside he stripped himself of the mask he had worn for so many years, laying bare the man beneath, the man he had feared since the day he had discovered him.  He was the Heir of Isildur, of Elendil, and this he embraced, shielding himself with his birthright, an armour bright enough to repulse even this darkness. And in the moment he finally accepted all that he was he was free. Free to exert the power at his disposal, the power that was his heritage.  The trappings of the world-weary ranger vanished and in their place was the raiment of kings, a silver circlet on a noble brow and royal robes falling from proud shoulders.

His hand closed around the hilt of his sword, the sword that had cut the ring from the hand of the Dark Lord so long ago. Andùril it was called now, Flame of the West, and the might of the ancient West wielded it again. Silver it shone, the Elven runes inscribed along its bright length glowing with the grace of their makers, and he lifted it high before him in sight of the Eye. The presence that opposed him wavered in sudden fear and he felt a flash of triumph. Sauron was not yet beyond fear, not yet strong enough that the sight of this blade, whole once more, could not strike him with dread. Here revealed before him was the weapon that had maimed him, that had stolen his body and cast him into the half-life of the spirit. And Aragorn knew he had won.

Such a struggle it had been; a battle that had wearied him almost past endurance.  And still his enemy was not beaten. The threat he felt as a backlash ripping through his limbs. Now forewarned Sauron would marshal his forces against this new foe. A demand battered against his defences, a demand for the Ruling Ring, and he forced himself to suppress the hope that flared in him that even now he did not know the identity of the one who bore it lest that knowledge be drawn from him and doom the ringbearer.  Fury he felt at his defiance, fury so great that even in his victory he quailed before it, and suddenly his mind was swamped with images. A host he saw bearing down on Gondor from the South, an army beyond the might of that city to counter.  For Sauron knew not where he was and believed him already in the seat of his ancestors and prepared to come for him. In torment and blood he saw his end, taken to the Dark Tower and stripped of his humanity, screaming and begging for mercy that would never be granted. So real was the vision he could hear his own voice, rising in agony and calling out for the kindness of death that was withheld from him.

Shaking and sickened Aragorn pulled back, fighting to end the contact before it destroyed him. He needed to see no more to understand that great though his triumph had been, the war was only just beginning, and he was needed now as never before. Gondor stood on the brink of collapse, and if not him, then no one could save it.  But already the darkness was receding from the stone it could no longer claim as its own. With a final effort he snatched his hand away, snapping the connection that had bound him into communion with his enemy, and the shadows that had obscured his sight melted away. Swaying now, deprived of his strength, he stumbled backwards even as the pedestal rocked and the Palantir clattered to the stone floor. It did not break, but rolled a short distance and came to rest, dark and sightless once more. Then at last his legs gave out and he slumped to his knees, head bowed in weary sorrow. He had done what he had to do but no euphoria gave vigour to his body and he remained as he was, seeing nothing, hearing nothing but the echo of a distant battle, and when the door opened he did not look up.

Halbarad paused in the doorway. Before him was his captain, his kinsman, hunched over on his knees, head bowed to the floor, the Palantir scant inches from his crumpled form. The ranger found he could not move, as if some terror had locked his limbs into immobility. He wanted to cry out, to recall his lord to himself, but honed instinct stilled the impulse and he kept silent. Instead he backed away, seeking both the sanctuary of the dark corridors without and the power of the Elven brethren who had travelled with him. The sons of Elrond would know how to handle this better than he, and instinctively he sought their counsel, reining in his desire to offer comfort to the slumped figure before him.

But before he had even time to reach them they came running towards him, alerted to the disturbance of the peace of the night.  Seeing him they slowed their pace to a swift walk, beckoning him to them, grey eyes seeking answers he did not have.  Worried and careworn he could only shake his head, gesturing them past him to their brother. One - Elladan he thought for he could not see them clearly in the heavy twilight -  caught a hold of his arm, spinning him around.

‘What has he done?’ he demanded fiercely. ‘What ails our brother?’

‘I do not know, lord,’ Halbarad answered honestly. ‘But I fear . . .’ He trailed off unhappily as they reached the open doorway.  Both twins came to an abrupt halt, unwilling to cross the threshold that had so recently played host to such evil. As Elves they could sense the power of Sauron though it had departed, and neither could enter without first steeling their nerves for the contact. Not even the sight of their stricken kin could prompt them to move before they were ready, and more than that they were assailed by the fear that perhaps the struggle that had taken place had not ended in victory.

Aragorn remained motionless.  Not even the sound of their voices raised in inquiry moved him to raise his head, lost as he was in his internal struggle.

At last Elrohir took a step into the room, his twin close on his heels. But the presence of darkness was heavy on them, a cloak of evil that clouded their thoughts, and they could go no further.  For they could not tell whether their brothers was theirs any longer, or had been turned to the cause of the Great Enemy. No cowards were they but a dread was upon them and they felt both anger and fear, though they knew not where it was directed.  At Aragorn for endangering himself, at themselves for their helplessness, or at the one whose evil had haunted their kind for so long. So they waited for a sign that would show them which path to tread.

An age they stood there.  Time seemed to slow as their breath frosted in the cool air and still there was no movement. Then, finally, Aragorn turned towards them, and the agony in his gaze jolted them from their silence.

‘Estel,’ Elladan breathed, rushing to him and gathering his brother in his arms. ‘What has happened here?’ Then his eyes fell upon the stone that he had not yet seen and in that moment he came to full understanding of how the confrontation had taken place. He tensed, suddenly afraid, but loyalty would not allow him to loosen his hold.

‘He is gone,’ Aragorn murmured, understanding the Elf’s concern. ‘I have sent him away and he cannot return here again. You need not fear me.’

Elladan forced himself to relax. ‘I would never fear you,’ he answered gently, drawing back so he could look into his brother’s eyes. ‘But I will always worry for you. Why? Why would you risk this?’

‘For time,’ Aragorn answered bluntly, ‘for Frodo.’

Elrohir shook his head sadly, kneeling beside them. ‘The ringbearer is beyond your aid now, Estel. You can do no more for him.’

‘I must try!’ The words were spoken with such frustrated passion that both Elves drew back. ‘I failed him. When Gandalf fell he needed me, and I could do nothing. At Amon Hen he needed me and I was too far away.’

‘You failed no one,’ Elladan corrected him. ‘And even if you were with him now, there is little you could do. This burden is his alone and so it has always been.’

Aragorn sighed, pulling away, eyes straying to the darkened stone. He felt the Elves shudder as they followed his gaze and sensed again, for an instant, the echo of the evil that so disturbed them. ‘You are right,’ he admitted softly. ‘Frodo made his decision, and he chose well to leave the Fellowship when he did. Maybe that is why I feel I must still try to give him what aid I can; because in the end he left to protect us, because he knew that one by one we would fall to the Ring.’

‘Do not dwell on what might have been,’ Elrohir advised. ‘Only on what is, for that is all that is within your power to affect.’

His foster brother smiled. ‘Yet again you are right.’ He stared at the floor for a long moment, and his face was furrowed in deep concentration. When he spoke again his voice carried renewed determination, and as he looked up the Elves caught its shimmer in his eyes. ‘This risk I took, perhaps foolishly, yet maybe it has not all been in vain. Some small part of his plans he has revealed to me, in his anger and fear. I must go to Gondor and I must go swiftly.’

Elrohir raised his head sharply. ‘What have you seen?’

‘Great darkness, from the south. An army, such an army. They need me.’

‘What will you do?’

He smiled bitterly then, his gaze far away. ‘As your has father bid me. I must take the Paths of the Dead.’

* * *

They pressed him to sleep, and he was so weary that he submitted gratefully to their care, though he feared the darkness his dreams would bring. But he knew they would be there, watching over him, and that they would allow no harm to come to him.  As his eyes slid closed, craving the comfort of sleep, the image that remained engraven in his mind was the sight of his brothers and his kinsman, watching him with deep concern.

Gently Elladan’s fingers traced the lines of glittering embroidery on the banner Arwen had woven that now pillowed their brother’s head.  ‘She reaches out to him,’ he whispered. ‘Arwen will guard his rest this night.’

‘As we will,’ Elrohir answered softly. ‘Though I fear his dreams will be evil, and open always now to the threat we all face.’

Quietly as he spoke, Halbarad heard him, and looked up in concern. ‘Sauron can reach him still? Though he has defeated him?’

‘Defeated him?’ Elladan shook his head. ‘He is not defeated, not yet. The winning of one battle does not end a war, and this war Estel has been fighting since he came into the world.’

The ranger sighed, leaning wearily against the stone wall, regarding the Elves before him with keen eyes as they watched their brother sleep.

‘This way you would have him take, these Paths of the Dead, what surety can you give me that you do not send my lord to his death?’

‘We would send him nowhere,’ Elladan correctly quickly. ‘His choice is his own.’

‘Yet it is the counsel of Lord Elrond, is it not?’

Elrohir nodded. ‘That is so, but more than that it is part of an ancient prophecy from the days before Arnor was lost to your people. And it was Isildur himself who laid the bond upon the folk of the mountains when they had failed in their oath.  Who else but Isildur’s Heir should recall the dead to their forgotten duty? But it will be a dark road, and perilous.’

‘As it has always been,’ Halbarad muttered darkly. ‘The roads of the Dunedain have ever been dark and perilous. It has been too long since we have walked in places of beauty and peace with no need to fear. Will it never end?’ he asked abruptly, an undercurrent of anger in his words. ‘Is there any hope for us?’

‘There is always hope,’ Elrohir insisted fiercely. ‘The strength of your race can no longer be in doubt. Do not despair now, when the end is in sight, be it what it may. You must not give up hope of victory, or it will remain ever outside your grasp.’

‘Victory?’ Halbarad laughed bitterly. ‘I see no sign of this victory you speak of, nor of strength. I see only my lord, wearied by toil and sorrow as I have rarely seen him. Where then is the hope for those who must remain to face the outcome, be it victory or defeat? You at least can leave these shores if the might of Mordor prevails at the last!’

Elladan held his gaze levelly, allowing none of his pain to show at these stinging words. He had known Halbarad many years, and countless of his kin before him, and knew the ranger spoke now from his own frustration, and his accusation was not heart-felt. ‘Do not think,’ he answered at length, ‘that the way to sea would stay open for long if Sauron is triumphant. His hatred for the Elves surpasses even that for the race of Men for long have we opposed him and his memory runs deep. If we lose this war the consequences for my people will be as grievous as for yours, perhaps more so.’

Halbarad lowered his eyes, unable to hold that clear gaze in his shame. ‘Forgive my hasty words, my lord,’ he murmured. ‘I spoke without thinking.’

Elrohir smiled. ‘There is nothing to forgive, my friend. We all feel as you do, my brother and I not least. Middle Earth is the only home we have known and the West is but a distant dream for us and so many of our kindred. Few still dwell here who remember the Elder Days and the light of Valinor. We would not see this land fall into darkness anymore than you.’

‘Yet many leave.’

‘They do,’ Elladan agreed, ‘and that is their choice. It is not ours, not yet.’

‘But one day. . .’ Halbarad broke off, looking at the still figure of his captain. ‘He will miss you greatly. What comfort can any man offer him when that day comes?’

‘No man perhaps,’ Elrohir smiled. ‘But if this war has the outcome we all hope for he will have Arwen. Long ago we gave up hope of Estel noticing anything else when our sister is near. Whatever grief he feels in the wake of our departure she will cure him of in time. And do not forget his love for his people, though as yet they know him not. If Aragorn becomes king, he will have little time for grieving.’

But Elrohir knew his words were false. Nothing would ease the pain their foster brother would feel when his Elven family departed Middle Earth at last, be it in victory or defeat. And that knowledge made his heart ache with a grief he should not have felt at the passing of something so transitory as mortal life, would not have felt but for the appearance in his life of a human child who had grown into this man he loved as fiercely as his own twin. 

The lie was in his eyes and the ranger saw it.

Halbarad opened his mouth to make a bitter retort, then his eyes caught the brief glance that passed between the Elves and he kept his silence. Elrohir’s words were not spoken to deceive him, but rather to comfort the Elf himself. For the first time he caught a glimpse of what it must he like to live on the other side of this peculiar tangle of relationships, and indeed for all the Eldar left in Middle Earth. Never before had he considered that they might look upon leaving with regret, that they might truly love that which was not immortal as they were, and the pain that love could bring. He felt humbled and ashamed, that even he who was so privileged in his association with those of the First Born he had known, had fallen unwittingly into envy of them, unable to see past the differences that set their races apart. He had looked upon their departure as flight, and Valinor its reward; angered that Men, who must now fight to save their world, would be rewarded only by death, while those who abandoned them would live in eternal bliss in a land beyond his comprehension.

Now, in the clear, open faces of the Sons of Elrond he saw plainly their grief, and realised that they shared both his love and his hatred.   Perhaps more strongly that he would ever understand.

Feeling suddenly an intruder Halbarad stirred restlessly, pushing himself from the support of the wall. Elladan turned to look at him, tearing his gaze from his brother’s face with an effort. Sensing the man’s awkwardness he was hard pressed not to smile.  It often happened, in moments of unguarded emotion on their part, that those caught between the brothers found themselves looking in from the outside. And despite their long acquaintance with the ranger, he recognised the signs of someone who was understanding this for the first time, and struggling with a revelation that did not fit neatly within his previous assumptions.

‘Go, rest,’ he urged the man. ‘We will watch over Estel, never fear. Tomorrow we will be on the march again, and who knows when you will next have the chance to sleep through the night in such safety.’

Halbarad hesitated. Though he was unwilling to leave his captain, he knew his presence was no longer required. He was not unwelcome, never that, for they were not so ungenerous with their affection, but he was not a part of this close family and he sensed that there was much they needed to work through on their own. Feelings he had not anticipated had been brought to light this night and they needed to be alone.

‘You will wake me, if . . . ?’ He stopped, as an identical smile graced both faces.

‘We will,’ Elladan assured him.

Halbarad nodded, grateful for their understanding. Then, with a final glance at this sleeping friend, he turned and left the twins to the night.

* * *

The door closed and left them alone. Long minutes passed as the Elves regarded their brother in thoughtful silence, both lost in uneasy reflection.

‘He looks so old,’ Elrohir murmured at last, raising his head to catch his brother’s eye. ‘It is as if he has already seen the shadow of his death and it lies heavily upon him now.’

‘Perhaps he has,’ Elladan agreed sadly, ‘but the shadow was always there, we just did not wish to see it.’ He sighed. ‘My heart misgives me that our parting will not long be on us now, but I would not leave before his time here is done.’

‘Nor I.’ Elrohir sighed, grey eyes studying the figure in the bed. ‘I would not leave at all if this world was not fading even before my eyes. And even then I would stay, and endure the long winter, if it were not for the emptiness that will steal the last of my joy when he must leave us at last.’

‘I think I would stay, even for that.’

Elrohir looked up sharply. ‘And when you have witnessed that which you most fear, what then will you do? The hour would be late, my brother, for us to go to the Havens. Perhaps the bliss of Valinor could heal us still, but roots grown so deep take much uprooting.  If we do not sail soon I fear we never will.’

Elladan turned his head to gaze out of the small window at the stars in the night sky. ‘That may be,’ he replied at length. ‘And would it be so wrong? The world grows grey and cold, and even if the Enemy is defeated it will not bring back the spring and summer to this land. Our people will set sail, never to return, fleeing to the Blessed Isle that to us is no more than legend. There waits our mother, and soon our father also, and without them I will never be whole again, but there are those too we would leave behind; our sister, and our brother. Without them . . .’ he shook his head, turning back to his twin. ‘It seems we are doomed to bitter partings however we choose. Better, perhaps, to pass from this world that has been our home, than live forever yearning for what can never be returned.’

Elrohir held his steady gaze with a breaking heart. ‘You would choose mortality?’

‘I would choose Middle Earth,’ his brother replied, smiling sadly. ‘But that choice has already been stolen from me.’ Then, perceiving the turmoil his words had wrought he became suddenly contrite. Reaching out he caught Elrohir’s hand, understanding the panic in his gaze. ‘I will walk no path that you do not choose also, and choose willingly. I could no more endure life or death without you by my side.’

‘You would not have to,’ Elrohir assured him, gripping his brother’s hand tight. ‘For as you choose, so will I, be it mortality or the life of our kind. I am not as strong as our father, and it is losing you that I fear above all things, even death.’

A noise from the bed shattered the moment. They turned as one, forgetting their own fears in concern for another. Aragorn moaned again, twisting on the narrow bed, his face contorted in sudden pain. And they knew that the backlash they feared had come.

On the bed Aragorn moaned, twisting his head from side to side. His hands clenched into fists, the knuckles turning white from the pressure of his grip. Elrohir instinctively reached out to him, and Elladan caught his hand and pulled him back. At his twin’s questioning look he shook his head. ‘We do not know where he is,’ he stated sadly. ‘You cannot risk it.’

‘We cannot do nothing,’ his brother protested, attempting to shake off his restraining arm. ‘He is in pain.’

But Elladan did not release his grip. ‘Have you forgotten whom he faced tonight?’ he demanded harshly. ‘With whom he might yet be battling?’

Elrohir glared back at him. ‘All the more reason we should help him! You cannot expect me to sit by and watch while. . .’ He broke off at the look of sorrowful determination on Elladan’s face. ‘What?’ he asked desperately. ‘What are you going to do?’

But his brother did not speak at once, rising slowly to his feet and gathering Aragorn’s weapons from where they lay beside the cot, propping them against the wall out of his reach. Then he turned back to Elrohir who was watching him with curiosity and alarm. ‘I would not have him injure himself,’ he said by way of explanation as he returned to the bed. ‘Or us.’

Elrohir frowned. ‘He would not do so.’

‘Not intentionally. But he is dreaming. For us to try to reach him in this state. . . .we must be careful. He may not realise who we are.’

‘So you will try?’ Elrohir pressed. ‘I thought. . .’

‘I will try,’ Elladan confirmed grimly. ‘But you will not.’ He offered his brother a crooked smile. ‘I need you to watch over us.’  

* * *

Sleep had come swiftly, and Aragorn had fallen with ease into a dreamless slumber, utterly exhausted by the strains of the days just passed. And as he rested his cares were washed away, and taut muscles unwound and relaxed.

But it did not last.

Suddenly his mind snapped to awareness, tearing him from oblivion to face a living nightmare. For though his mind was awake his body slept on, and he was trapped. His vision tunnelled, all sensation fading as a sheet of blackness rushed up to meet him, hurling him into a void. There was no light, no sound, only darkness; an absence of light so complete he feared he was blinded. All around him was still and silent save for the rapid thumping of his heart. This was a dream, he was asleep, but he also awake and afraid, for there was no escape. Something was coming for him.

Into the silence, into the void, sensation returned. His eyes were still masked by darkness and though he could detect no form before him, somehow Aragorn knew his enemy was there, and seeking revenge for that which was taken from him. Terror rose up from the depths of his soul and his strength fled.  All the skills he had armoured himself with waking were of no use now, not here, in a place he had no control. He wanted to run, to hide, to find some corner far away where no one would ever find him, but he could not move.

Then, in the midst of his terror, he heard a voice calling him, Elladan’s voice, and the soft elvish words soothed his fear. He latched onto the sound, used it to claw his way upwards out of the abyss.  There was a halo of light above, beckoning him on, but before he could reach it he felt a darkness tugging him back. Bright fire exploded into the darkness and the flaming Eye stood before him. Pain came, ripping into his body as it seared his mind, and he lost the voice. He lost his brother. Panic seized him and he felt himself falling, falling, and there was no end to it. Shadow swirled around him, dark and threatening, and he wished only for the fall to end, for he knew then he would be dead and the pain would be gone.

But he did not die.

The voice returned, cutting through the shadow, and though it was his brother still the words were harsh and cruel. They spoke of hatred, of fear, of bitter betrayal, and he hung suspended between them. A horrifying choice confronted him. Turn back to his Enemy who waited silent in the darkness below, or go forwards to his brother who was known and trusted and yet at this moment was neither of those things. He had an instant to make his choice, a tiny window in which to choose one threat over the other, for the fall was ending and only death awaited him there. So he turned his face from the dark and went to Elladan, for how could he not? But in that moment of decision he glimpsed a third way, a hidden way, and as he awoke he knew somehow he had made a mistake.

Hot agony exploded in his chest and he tried to scream but no sound could he make past the constriction of his throat. Yet, awake now, he was free of the dream and Aragorn rolled his head to one side, his breath coming in short gasping heaves of relief. Through the red haze in his mind he heard voices, lilting and soft, and tried to answer them but the effort was beyond him. 

A hand rolled him onto his back, pressing him down onto the hard bed. He coughed, struggling for air, and weakly tried to swat the hand away.

‘Don’t move,’ he was instructed, and he recognised the speaker as Elladan, but his voice was cold and his touch rough.

Forcing his eyes open Aragorn looked up into his brother’s face, and felt a finger of unease brush against his spine. The Elf’s face was hard and grim, and a cold anger burned in the depths of his grey eyes. Behind him Elrohir sat motionless, watching them without seeing, his body rigid.

Elladan sat back, relieving the pressure on his chest. ‘You are awake,’ he stated simply. ‘Are you in pain?’

‘Yes.’ Aragorn raised his hand to his shoulder, to the wound just above his heart, and felt the slick wetness seep through his fingers.

‘It would have been better if you had not woken,’ Elladan told at him sadly, and for the first time Aragorn noticed the dagger hanging by his side, the tip dripping red with blood; human blood, his blood. As he watched a single drop fell from the point of the knife and joined a growing pool on the floor.

He lifted his hand from his chest. It too was covered with his blood. He turned horrified eyes to his brother. ‘Why?’

‘You would have betrayed us, Estel,’ the Elf answered, his tone still flat and cruel. ‘You should not have done as you did. In the end you could not resist him.’

Aragorn shivered, his body growing cold. He groped his hand back to the wound, pressing down hard but the blood would not stop. He tried to push himself backwards, away from this creature that was not his brother, but he was too weak. Already he could feel his heart starting to slow as his blood drained from his veins. His hand went instinctively to his side but he was weaponless. Sword, dagger, bow, all stood propped against the wall outside his reach, but he could no more have drawn his blade on his own kin than he could have turned it on himself, even had he the strength to do so.

His mind grappled for answers. He did not understand. But speaking was too hard now, and he could not order the thoughts that swirled in his mind. In the end all he could ask was, ‘How?’

Elladan cocked his head to one side, watching him curiously. ‘How?’ he repeated, seemingly unmoved by his foster brother’s struggle to live.

Aragorn coughed, choking on the blood that gurgled in his throat. ‘Not I. . . taken . . . you. . .’  The questions he could not voice screamed in his mind. How did he get to you, how did he take your mind?  He could not breathe. He was drowning, sinking, and there was nothing to cling to.  One hand reached out to Elladan, seeking the comfort of his touch even now, even though it was his stroke that had killed him, and for a moment he thought the Elf would respond. But Elladan’s hand brushed his roughly aside and rested for a moment on the wound he had made, his grey eyes devoid of emotion. Then he balled his hand into a fist and raised bloody knuckles to his lips in an Elven salute.

The last sight Aragorn saw before his vision spiralled into blackness was his brother’s face, watching him, lips red with his blood.

* * *

Elladan shook himself, throwing off the revulsion that crawled across his skin. He placed Aragorn’s hand gently by his side, his fingers curling around the slack wrist, measuring the slowing of the pulse that beat there.

‘It is over,’ Elrohir murmured. ‘He is at peace now.’

But Elladan did not answer him, his eyes locked on the still form of his foster brother.  His shoulders hunched in pain, and he felt a knot of misery rise in his chest. He still felt the horror of what he had just witnessed, of what he had been a party to, however unwilling. He heard his twin call his name and the worry in his voice brought him back to himself.

‘I fear I have done more harm than good,’ he confessed at last. ‘I wish such a role had not been forced upon us. Rarely has there been a sight so hard for me to witness, and I have seen many things.’

Elrohir reached out, grasping his shoulder in support. ‘It was troubling for me also, yet we expected this, we knew it had to come. For such a foolhardy act there will always be consequences. Estel must have known this. But look, he is at peace now, and we should be glad of that. If we had not stopped this now who knows what greater damage might have been done, to all of us.’

But Elladan shook his head, not trusting him to reply to his brother’s hopeful words.

‘You did reach him?’ Elrohir asked in concern, seeing the troubled look in his eyes.

Elladan raised his head. ‘Someone did,’ he answered slowly. ‘But I do not think it was I.’ He shivered, turning away from the dawning horror on his brother’s face. ‘I could not see clearly, I do not understand what happened. I could feel him reaching out to me, then nothing. I lost him. And then, then I. . .’ He stumbled over the words, as they recalled that awful vision to his mind. He could not go on, lowering his head into his shaking hands.

‘What?’ Elrohir demanded, taking his brother by the shoulder and frantic now with worry. ‘What did you do?’

Elladan looked up, tears glistening in his grey eyes. ‘I killed him, Elrohir. I killed my own brother.’

* * *

Cold darkness took him, soothing the pain, the fear, the bitterness of betrayal. His mind wandered, adrift from his body, free of care. If this was the end then he reached out to embrace it for he could not bear to live now. But something tugged at his consciousness, some urgency that would not let go, and though he longed to surrender to the sweet release of death he found he could not.

Sensation returned slowly. Torn once again from the darkness he was aware of pain spreading in waves from his shoulder. He heard soft, whispered voices above him, and though he could make out no words he felt the distress in them. He was confused, lost, unsure of where he was, or what had happened, and then he heard a voice speak Elladan’s name and memory came flooding back.

Terrified, hurting, he lashed out with his good arm and rolled sideways onto the floor. Opening his eyes as the jolt sent agony running up his arm, he saw his brothers watching him warily, surprised and concerned. But as Elrohir reached out to help him to his feet sudden panic sent him sprawling backwards, and the breath was knocked out of him as he collided heavily with the wall. Bracing his back against the stone, he levered himself to his feet, one hand still tightly pressed to the wound in his shoulder.

Again Elrohir tried to approach but Aragorn held his arm out before him, forcing him to stay back, and all the while his eyes were fixed on Elladan who had neither moved nor spoken.

‘Why?’ he demanded hoarsely. ‘Why would you seek to kill me?’

Elrohir gasped, his eyes flickering between the two, but his twin gave no outward reaction. ‘I would never hurt you,’ Elladan replied evenly, though his heart clenched with fear and guilt. ‘And I have not.’ He held out both hands, palms up, and they were empty of weapons. Aragorn’s eyes slid to the sheath at his belt where the Elven blade nestled, then to the floor where the blood had been, but it was gone. He looked again at his brother’s face, the image of his lips flecked with red still fresh in his mind, but no stains marred the Elf’s fair countenance. Yet the wound in his shoulder ached still, and his fingers were sticky and wet.

‘You lie,’ he whispered, removing his hand and holding it out to his brothers so they could see the blood. ‘You did this.’

Elladan’s eyes narrowed. ‘It was not I, Estel,’ he answered, and for the first time Aragorn could hear the worry in his voice. ‘I do not know how you came by this hurt. You were sleeping. . .’

‘. . .and I awoke,’ Aragorn finished, his head starting to ache from confusion. ‘I spoke with you. You said I would betray you.’

‘Nay, little brother,’ Elrohir soothed, realising his twin was struggling with his own guilt and would be unable to respond. ‘You have only this moment awoken. You were distressed. You cried out to us and struggled, but it was only a dream.’

‘No, not a dream. I could touch, hear, feel. I. . .’ He stopped, closing his eyes as a wave of dizziness hit and the floor lurched under his feet. Memories assaulted him. Flames in the night, rain pounding against rock, trickling between the chinks in his armour and fouling the hilt of his sword; huge black-clad Uruks, brandishing their weapons, jeering his words; confusion, fighting, pain, a blow glancing across his chest, rocking him on his feet.  Catching himself before he fell, he opened his eyes to see Elladan jump to his feet and take a step towards him, anger and concern flashing across his face. Instinctively he tried to retreat, but his back was against the wall and he had nowhere to go. At his movement the anger in his brother’s gaze shattered, and the hurt that replaced it seared straight through his heart and washed away the last cobwebs of the dream.

Elladan was there to steady him as he staggered, and lowered him gently to the floor. ‘I could not hurt you,’ he whispered fiercely, laying his hand against his brother’s face. ‘Never.’ And yet somehow he had, and they both knew it.

Aragorn forced himself to meet his eyes, though inside he burned with shame. It had only been a dream, and he had believed great evil of one he loved. ‘I know,’ he admitted. ‘I know. Forgive me, I did not. . .’

Elladan shook his head. ‘There is nothing to forgive. The wiles of the Enemy are subtle, even to the wise. I wanted only to help you, but I did not hurt you. I could not. That was not me.’ He took a deep breath, steadying himself against the wild beating of his heart as he too remembered the bloodied knife, and the stroke that had taken stolen his brother from him in the dream. 

‘Elladan, I know,’ Aragorn whispered, pulling his brother towards him. ‘I know you would not hurt me. I should never have doubted you, but I did not understand. It was so real.’

‘Too real. I thought. . . for a moment I believed. . .’

‘No!’ Aragorn silenced him. ‘You did not! Do not even think it.’ He gripped his brother tight, his fingers digging into his forearm as he strove to shake him free of his black mood. ‘It was only a dream.’

Elladan smiled weakly. ‘And you must learn to guard your dreams, Estel, for he knows you now and he can reach you if he wishes.’ His hand strayed to the stain on his brother’s tunic and his eyes grew shadowed. ‘But I did not think he could do you physical harm and for that I am sorry. I thought we could protect you.’

But Aragorn caught his hand and pushed it away. With shaking fingers he peeled back the torn fabric to expose the damaged flesh beneath. ‘He did not harm me,’ he answered softly. ‘This wound I took at Helm’s Deep but in the events that followed I forgot, for it did not pain me much and it is not deep. See,’ he insisted, laying his brother’s fingers on his chest. ‘No knife made this bite. An orc scimitar found a tear in my armour and the blow drove the metal links through my skin. I had no time to care for it then, and it must have started to bleed again as I woke. It is but a scratch.’

‘Yet it is hot and angry now,’ Elrohir observed, as he knelt by their side, skilled fingers probing the injury. ‘Why must you always take so little care of yourself, Estel? Orc blades are never clean and often poisoned.’

‘There is no poison,’ Aragorn assured him, ‘and the blade barely touched me. My own armour did this damage.’

A wry smile graced the Elf’s taut face then. ‘That is good to hear,’ he answered. ‘You are lucky, Estel, and so are we. Come, let me see to this now, for it is nearly noon and we must soon decide on our road.’

‘That decision is already made,’ Aragorn reminded him bleakly. ‘The Paths of the Dead can wait no longer.’

Chapter Four

Merry scuffed his toes in the dirt disconsolately.  Legolas and Gimli were doing their best to keep him cheerful and take his mind off Pippin and Gandalf, but not even the most inventive of their insults to one another could raise more than a weak smile this day. Something had changed between them, he realised, in the few days they had been apart. What had begun so tentatively in Lorien had been completed by Helm’s Deep and deep had grown the friendship they still tried to hide behind their incessant bantering.

But they no longer mean it, Merry observed. Maybe that is why it does not divert me as it used to. I know they are not truly about to hurl themselves at each other.

‘I wonder where Aragorn is?’ he asked aloud, rather hoping the Ranger’s presence would put an end to the bickering.

Legolas looked down, seeming almost surprised to see him there. ‘He retired to take counsel with the sons of Elrond on our arrival.’ 

Gimli snorted. ‘And mark me, young hobbit, those Elves have no doubt not stopped talking at him since then, delaying us all with their long-winded speechmaking . . .’

‘Long-winded?’ Legolas interjected, one eyebrow delicately curved.

‘We dwarves say what we mean.  We see no need for fancy words and riddles when plain speech will suffice.’

‘No indeed,’ Legolas murmured. ‘You prefer bluntness to courtesy in even the most delicate of situations. It is no wonder to me that your people are always on such bad terms with your neighbours.’

‘When our neighbours are stiff-necked Elves  . . .’

‘Look!’ Merry broke in, tugging at Legolas’s sleeve. ‘The King is making ready to depart. Should we not fetch Aragorn now?’

Legolas smiled down at him, stoically ignoring Gimli’s muttered threats to relieve the ache of his own neck with a swift swing of his axe. ‘He will come when he is ready, Merry. By his own orders we must depart shortly.’

The hobbit nodded miserably, turning to watch the great doors once more, and his vigil was soon rewarded for Aragorn was indeed aware of the need for haste. He appeared, flanked by his brothers, but Merry found that the sight of his friend did not raise his spirits. The uncertainty and loneliness he felt to be parted from Pippin paled at the sight of the Ranger, so tired and grey, who made his weary way to them.  If he had slept little and fitfully, it was clear that Aragorn had found no rest at all, and he wondered at the cares that had kept the man wakeful though he must surely have been exhausted.

Legolas and Gimli paused to watch their companion’s approach.  The Elf’s gaze flickered over his friend, taking in the strain on his face, and he glanced inquiringly at the twins but their expressions were taut and unreadable. He felt Gimli stir beside him, about to speak, but as he looked down the dwarf turned away and did not voice the thoughts that troubled him.

Merry did not notice the Dwarf’s uncharacteristic restraint as he watched the Ranger.  Tired he might be but there was determination in his step and he walked purposefully to Theoden, conferring quietly with the King as he stood by his horse. Merry barely registered the words he heard spoken, so intent was his gaze on the Ranger’s weathered face. Something in the stiff set of his shoulders and the shadowed pain in his eyes reminded him forcibly of his absent young cousin though he could not have said why. There was none of the hysterical fear he had seen in Pippin’s eyes when they had found him with the Palantir, none of the terrified disorientation, but the similarities were there all the same.  The memory of some dark place lurked in the depths of Aragorn’s gaze that had not been there before. Helm’s Deep had been bloody, a waking nightmare to all who fought in it and the evidence of it lay all about them still, but somehow Merry knew that it was not the battle he saw reflected in the Ranger’s eyes.

Now I am being as foolish as a Took, he berated himself sternly. Aragorn would not do such a thing. But he wondered, and worried.

He felt a hand gently nudge him forward and realised Aragorn had called to them. Feet like lumps of lead he stumbled the short distance to the horses, Legolas and Gimli by his side. Snatches of conversation drifted through his consciousness and he realised with a jolt that they were leaving him. First Pippin, now them. He would be alone.

‘Strider,’ he called urgently, and suddenly all eyes were on him. Atop his horse Theoden watched him with a kindly expression, as though he understood the hobbit’s distress, as Aragorn looked down at last.

‘Forgive me, Merry,’ he murmured. ‘I have not forgotten you.’

He crouched down so he was at eye level with the hobbit and Merry saw him wince as a flicker of pain crossed his face.

‘Are you hurt, Strider?’ he asked softly, resting his small hand on the Ranger’s shoulder.

‘I am well,’ Aragorn answered with a smile, touched by his concern. ‘A little tired maybe. It has been a long night.’

Merry bit his lip, uncertain and afraid. He looked away, his wandering gaze finally settling on his feet once more. It was not often a hobbit found themselves lost for words, but the past months had changed him and he was no longer the hobbit he had been. When he spoke again his voice was little more than a whisper. ‘Then he did not harm you?’

Aragorn’s gaze sharpened at Merry’s obvious distress. His throat went suddenly dry. ‘He . . .?’

‘I saw Pippin, remember?’ Merry interrupted in a desperate rush. ‘He looked . . .well, like you do I suppose . . . only worse, more afraid . . . I’m sorry, Aragorn,’ he continued, seeing the alarm on the Ranger’s face. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘No, Merry. I am sorry. I should not have sought to keep it from you,’ Aragorn replied seriously, then he smiled and some of his weariness seemed to fall from him. ‘I should have learnt by now that the inquisitiveness of hobbits is matched only by their powers of perception. You are right. I looked into the stone, but it did not master me for I am its master now. You need not fear for me.’

‘No, I see that. But I fear for myself now,’ the hobbit admitted, looking glum once more. ‘With Pippin gone, and now you leaving too, and Legolas and Gimli with you, I confess I am feeling rather lonely and unwanted. Like a piece of baggage that’s always underfoot. Are you sure I can’t come with you?’ he asked wistfully, forgetting for a moment the oath he had sworn. ‘I might not be a brave warrior, in fact I don’t think I could feel less like a warrior, but I promise not to get in the way, and perhaps you might need a hobbit before the end.’

Aragorn laughed then. ‘Not brave? Why my dear Master Brandybuck you are one of the bravest hobbits I have had the privilege of meeting. But I would not take you on this dark road, even so,’ he said gently, taking Merry’s hand in his. ‘I would not have you look upon such terrors as we will encounter on our path, and your own road lies with King Theoden now, for you are sworn to him and he will have sure need of a hobbit, I fear, before all is done. But do not despair of our Fellowship. I will see you again in Gondor.’

And Merry looked into his eyes and was comforted, for he saw not the weary Ranger who faced him, but a king riding to his kingdom. For a moment he could not speak, then Aragorn smiled and he saw his friend once more.  ‘Good old Strider,’ he murmured thickly.  ‘Of course you will. And Gandalf will be there, and dear old Pip. I wonder whether cousin Frodo and Sam will make it as well. Then we would have all the Fellowship together again.’ Almost all, he reminded himself. Boromir will never be returning to Minas Tirith.

‘I hope so, Merry,’ Aragorn answered, the same sadness in his eyes. ‘I really do. But we all have a long way to go before we can look to that end, or any other.’

Merry nodded, turning to look up at the king perched atop his war-horse. ‘So, I am to come with you, my lord, if you will still have me.’

‘I have not released you from you vow, Master Meriadoc,’ Theoden replied with mock sternness. ‘Nor from your promise of tales of your Shire by the firelight in my halls. Now you must say your farewells, if Aragorn is still set upon his course.’

‘I am, my lord,’ the Ranger replied, rising to his feet. ‘For there is no other that remains open to me now.’

The King gave a heavy sigh. ‘Then I bid you good speed and fair fortune, for I fear you shall need both.’ And he wheeled his horse aside to return to his men and leave the companions alone to say their last words to one another.

* * *

They sat at the table in uneasy silence, all eyes on Aragorn. At last he stirred, shifting restlessly in his seat as though he desired to be away, and Legolas found his patience waning under the weight of his concern. 

‘Come, my friend,’ he urged, leaning forward in his seat. ‘Tell us what troubles you. What news has come from the north that disturbed your rest?’

Aragorn looked up, as though surprised to find he was not alone. ‘No news,’ he replied slowly, bringing his mind into focus with an effort. ‘But unease and uncertainty have plagued me since . . .’ He broke off, unable to meet the Elf’s gaze.  He found he was reluctant to speak of what he had done, for the terror was still fresh in his mind, but this was no time to keep silent and spare his friends. ‘I looked into the Stone,’ he continued at length, ‘and I showed myself to him.’

‘You did what?’ Gimli roared, rising half out of his seat before Legolas laid a hand on his shoulder and forced him back down. ‘If even Gandalf feared to do so, what madness took you down that road? You could have been killed!’

At the dwarf’s words Elladan jerked in his seat, a look of shock frozen on his face as his brother’s hand flew to his left shoulder. Seeing the grimace of pain that flashed through Aragorn’s eyes Legolas’ grip tightened on Gimli’s arm, and a sudden warning sense prompted him to silence his friend.

‘Hush, Gimli,’ he scolded. ‘Do not say such things. The Enemy does not have that power.’

But the dwarf squirmed under his restraining hand, and continued to glare at the Ranger. For a moment no one spoke, then Aragorn appeared to shake himself from his dark recollection and returned Gimli’s look with a stony stare of his own.

‘No madness,’ he assured him, his voice stronger now. ‘Only by right of birth did I dare to take back what is mine. And I did so, though it cost me dearly. But I do not think I have harmed our cause.’

‘But yourself, perhaps,’ Legolas guessed shrewdly, as he saw the twins shift awkwardly, refusing to look at their brother.  Something more had occurred that they would not speak of yet, if ever. ‘He knew you?’

‘Only in that moment, and only as I showed myself to him.  Sauron now knows that an heir of Isildur still walks this earth, and that revelation has made him doubt as he has not has cause to doubt before this. I have shown him his peril and it was not as he perceived, and he will come forth to meet this new threat.’

‘Then we are lost!’ Gimli cried in despair, but Aragorn silenced him with a look.

‘Not lost,’ he stated firmly. ‘Say rather we have reached a turning point, and have now the chance to change our fortunes for the better. While his eye is turned to us and the threat of Gondor he will watch the passes into Mordor with less diligence. If the ring is to be destroyed, Frodo and Sam will need just such a respite for it is with them that our hope rests. But my road is no less dark.’

‘So you will heed the words of the Seer,’ Legolas murmured. ‘The words you spoke to Theoden were true. You will walk the Paths of the Dead.’

Aragorn nodded. ‘I will, I must. For Gondor has need of allies and there is no other road so swift.’

‘Nor so deadly,’ Gimli muttered, his hostility unabated. ‘How will it help our cause if we walk blindly to our deaths? It is the living who must fight this war.’

‘And so they will,’ Elrohir answered. ‘The Paths of the Dead may be walked by the living, Master Dwarf, if the one who commands their allegiance walks with them. Yet no one asks that you take this road. Elladan and I will accompany Aragorn, as will the Rangers. None who do not chose to will pass the Dark Door.’

‘I will go also,’ Legolas said quickly. ‘For I do not fear the Dead.’

But Gimli growled, turning his glare on Elrohir. ‘Tis a fine thing for Elves to say they do not fear the dead, for they will never have to join them! And you insult me, Elf, if you imply that I lack the courage to accompany my friends. I too will walk the Paths of the Dead, though I will not pretend to understand the necessity.’

‘My thanks, Gimli,’ Aragorn replied hastily, seeing the corners of Elrohir’s lips twitch in amusement. ‘It comforts me that you would follow me even on such a terrible journey. Your courage is not doubted.’

‘Indeed not,’ Elrohir added, the ghost of a smile on his face. ‘I meant no insult, I assure you. If my words offended I ask your forgiveness.’

Gimli grunted. ‘Prettily said, Elf. But I have grown used to the silver tongues of your race, and you will not confound me with your Elven courtesy. A Dwarf’s ears do not mislead him, as his eyes do not deceive him.’

By now even Elladan was smiling, much to the Dwarf’s disgust. ‘You do my brother an injustice,’ he insisted. ‘Elrohir intended only to reassure you that you are not compelled to walk this dark path.’

‘No oath forced me to come this far and yet I did,’ Gimli reminded him hotly. ‘By your father’s own words we are all free to turn aside at any time.’

‘Well I remember it,’ Elrohir said gently, sudden grief subduing his mirth as he recalled the departure of the Fellowship. Never had he felt so helpless, watching his younger brother set out on his perilous journey, unable to accompany him.  ‘For the part you have played you have our thanks, and for your choice to continue our greatest respect. Let it never be said that the courtesy of Elves is all fair speech and empty words, son of Gloin, nor that the strength of Dwarves is only in their hammers.  If we go on from here together, let us go as friends.’

Gimli felt a flush of guilt creep up his face as he forced himself to hold the Elf’s solemn gaze. Rarely had simple words made him feel so humble, nor so foolish. If they had mocked him they had meant no offence, but he also realised that he had been skilfully out-manoeuvred in this game of words. And though he might now retreat he was not yet defeated.

‘If you are friends of Aragorn,’ he answered grudgingly. ‘Then you are friends of mine. But it doesn’t mean I have to like you.’

A peal of delighted laughter broke the silence as Legolas clapped the Dwarf on the back. ‘Well said, Gimli,’ he told him, still chuckling at the confusion on Elrohir’s face. ‘No more shall I say that Dwarves are entirely without wit.’

Only slowly did Gimli’s expression of smug triumph begin to fade as the meaning of Legolas’s last words sunk in. Balling his hands into fists, his face an angry red, he turned on the Prince of Mirkwood with violence in his eyes.

* * *

The sun was high in the sky, and the horizon shrouded by the dust of the departing Rohirrim when the Grey Company made ready to leave. Aragorn walked swiftly to their horses, head bowed to the ground as though deep in thought, and he spoke to no one.  He had left the others to their talk once their path was decided, declining to participate in the developing argument, and in the heat of the verbal battle they had not marked his simmering unease.  But in the flurry of preparations his discomfort had not gone completely unnoticed.

 Elrohir quickened his pace and fell into step beside his foster brother, measuring his stride to match his companion’s.  Aragorn turned, acknowledging his presence with a brief nod before refocusing his attention on his destination.

Elrohir sighed. ‘You are avoiding me, Estel.’

Aragorn shook his head, maintaining a stubborn silence. He was anxious to be away and no less anxious to avoid this conversation.

‘Ah, so then you are avoiding Elladan,’ his brother persisted, attempting to elicit a reaction. Aragorn withdrawn into himself since the terrible events of the morning and it worried him. ‘Perhaps you no longer feel safe near him?’

Aragorn stopped dead. ‘How can you say that?’ he demanded. ‘How could I ever fear Elladan? He is my brother . . .’ But the words trailed away as the lie died on his lips. ‘I . . .It was not him. It was just a dream.’

‘So you both protest,’ Elrohir observed quietly, feeling vaguely unsettled. ‘Yet neither of you can look the other in the eye without wincing. If it was merely a dream as you say, then put it aside for it is over and done and cannot hurt you now.’

The Ranger sighed, moving ahead once more. ‘I have tried,’ he admitted without looking back. ‘And I do not blame Elladan, for it was not of his doing. He only sought to help me, I know that and I have told him so.’

‘Then tell him again,’ his brother urged. ‘For I have tried many times and he does not believe me, nor will he ever believe me while you cannot even approach him.’

Elrohir spoke calmly but Aragorn heard the plea beneath his words and knew his actions were hurting both twins. It was rare for either to ask anything of him in such a way and his insides twisted with bitter guilt. How could he reassure Elrohir when he feared his brother was right? In the hours that had passed since he woke an uneasiness had been growing in him when he looked at Elladan, snatches of memory flashing in his mind of his much loved face disfigured by hate. And though he knew them for what they were, and knew moreover that they were wholly false, still he could not deny their effect upon his mood.

‘I’m sorry, Elrohir,’ he said at last as they reached the horses. ‘I cannot, not yet.’ He swung himself up into his saddle, smiling his thanks at the Ranger who held Roheryn’s bridle.

His brother caught the reins as he would have ridden away. ‘Please, Estel. Promise me that you will speak to him when you are ready. Don’t let this come between you.’

Aragorn looked down and saw the veiled desperation on the younger twin’s face and felt the Elf’s misery clench his heart. He reached out and squeezed his shoulder, needing to offer some comfort. ‘I promise I will never let anything come between us, brother. No matter what happens I promise you that.’

Elrohir smiled, his eyes suspiciously bright. ‘Glad I am indeed to hear that. For this is not a time to turn away from the support of those who love you.’

‘No, it is not,’ Aragorn agreed sadly, as he kicked Roheryn forward. I will need you, my brothers. I am afraid.

* * *

They rode to Dunharrow at speed, pausing for neither food nor rest along the way. Aragorn had need of haste so his Rangers pushed their wearied horses on when most men would have dragged their feet, and Legolas and Gimli found themselves swept along in the rush.  The Dunedain were silent and stern, and when his companion remarked their willingness to follow their captain on his dark path Gimli gave a bitter laugh.

‘They are not men,’ he avowed. ‘No sane man would rush to his doom as they do.’

‘Yet you go with them,’ Legolas replied with a smile and the Dwarf snorted.

‘I make no claim to sanity any longer. Clearly I was taken by madness the moment I agreed to go on this quest. And as for Aragorn, I still say his wits have been addled by that cursed stone. You saw what it did to Pippin.’

‘But Aragorn is not Pippin,’ Legolas admonished quietly. ‘And he may dare what the rest of us cannot.’

‘So you would tell me all is well with him then?’

The Elf sighed. ‘I did not say that, but his judgement in this I will not question.’ Still, he could not deny that Gimli was right and a strange tension hung about the company on their journey.  Aragorn rode at the head of the group as befitted his rank but for once his brothers were not beside him. The sons of Elrond were several places behind, riding close together, and their faces were as grave as the Rangers’.  Barely a word had they exchanged with anyone since their departure and Legolas wondered it was that had disturbed them so.

 But the only other who knew the answer to that was as silent as they were.

Night was falling swiftly now.  Heavy clouds obscured moon and stars and the darkness was deep and ominous. Aragorn suppressed a shudder. The night was his friend; he had no fear of it. As a Ranger he had often had cause to travel through the night and sleep away the day, often in fear of pursuit or slowed by injuries. Even then he had not feared the darkness. It was familiar and comforting, and he was as much at home in its shadows as he was under the bright sun of the day. But now . . . now he found no comfort in the night, only fear and uncertainty. The banks of cloud that stood out against the darkening sky reminded him of the shadows in the Palantir, and the chill that crept into his skin of its icy touch.

His mind played tricks on him. Small sounds were magnified into looming threats and the muted conversation of his companions became more sinister still, the whisperings of treachery . . . No! Had they been free Aragorn would have clapped his hands over his ears, but they held tight to his reins and only the whitening of his knuckles betrayed the depths of his discomfort.  The feel of evil still crawled across his skin so that he longed to shake it off but pride would not allow him to show even that small weakness. Weakness. He had found enough of that in himself since the quest began. He had failed Gandalf in Moria; at Amon Hen he had been unable to save Boromir, and Frodo was now without his protection. He had succumbed to the Enemy’s ploy and believed evil of his own brother.

His eyes strayed to Elladan riding silently beside his twin. The Elf sat determinedly straight in the saddle as though a great weight bore down on his shoulders that he strove to resist.  That his brother had felt the touch of the same evil he did not doubt and he worried for him, almost as much as he worried for himself.  The ease with which his dreams had been twisted, dragging Elladan in as he attempted to help him, opened up so many terrifying possibilities that he could not bring himself to confront them.  He felt exposed, vulnerable, in a way that was alien to him.  His mind had danced to another’s tune and he had been helpless to prevent it. 

A deep anger welled up inside him at the memory that brushed aside his despair for a moment. He would not give in to this evil. He would fight it, as he had always done, no matter that it came now in a form he did not understand. The Palantir he had won from the Enemy and struck fear into his very heart. No small victory was that, and he would not waste it. The Paths of the Dead lay ahead and if he succeeded in his purpose he would be one step closer to Gondor, one step closer to a dreaded confrontation. He could not turn aside from his people in the hour of their greatest need, and it was the thought of his duty to them that drove him now. 

He would not be defeated, nor would he fear. For he was going home.

* * *

Elrohir’s gaze drifted back to his foster brother. Worried by his obvious weariness and preoccupation prior to their departure from Helm’s Deep he had kept a close eye on him during the night. But Aragorn had barely stirred in his saddle though they had been riding many hours, and his expression of fixed determination had not once changed. No one looking at him could have guessed the trauma so recently endured, for both the experience itself and his reaction were carefully hidden from view. Only his brothers, through their long association, could read the minute tensions in his posture that spoke of his deeper conflict. To all others he was as he had always been. Assured, capable, certain of his steps. And Elrohir was glad, for it was Aragorn alone who could lead them where they were going, and it would only be through his courage that his companions could pass the Dark Door, and if he were to falter so too would they.

And whatever else he suffered, Aragorn would never suffer that.

TBC

Chapter Five

They arrived at Dunharrow as the sun began to fall below the horizon, wearied from a ride that had been long and hard. The people of Edoras welcomed them gladly, eager for news of their king and their kin. Aragorn gave them what comfort he could, assuring them that Theoden lived and would come to them soon. And though he spared them the horrors of Helm's Deep his face spoke only too eloquently of the devastation he had left behind him.

Eowyn met them as they neared the lodge, standing straight and tall before her people as they rode to her. She greeted them with calm and measured words, but Aragorn could read her desperate need beneath the courtly phrases. What must she have feared, he wondered sadly, when they had come here alone? Where was her king, her brother, and the menfolk of her home? Though by now she must have heard his news, that they had prevailed, it had not been without tragedy for her people. And those she loved with the fervour of a true queen.

Whatever Eowyn’s doubts she concealed them well, calling on the women to prepare a meal, and ushering them inside and be seated. Throughout the evening she maintained her poise as she questioned them of the events at Helm's Deep and Isengard. Aragorn answered her truthfully, for she would have it no other way, and did not shirk from unpleasant details.

When at last he had finished, there was still one question he had not answered, that he did not wish to answer now, in this company, and that lay unspoken in the minds of everyone who listened. When Eowyn saw that he would not say, her next question forced an answer from him.

'Where will you go now? If you head for Gondor you must know you have strayed far from that path. In bringing word of my king you have delayed your own journey and I will not forget the kindness.'

Aragorn felt a moment of guilt for he had no wish to deceive her. 'Lady, though I am glad to do so we did not come here to bring you tidings, but because our road begins in these hills.'

She looked from him to his companions in confusion and he spoke quickly. 'The Paths of the Dead is the way we seek.'

Eowyn froze, her face a bloodless mask. The hall faded from her mind. She forgot who and where she was, and all those who listened. 'Why?' she demanded in a brittle voice. 'Why do you seek death?'

'Eowyn, I do not,' he answered. 'I could not.'

She shook her head in anger. How could he lie so to her? How could he abandon them? Words rose and fell in her mind but she could not utter them. She wanted to rail at him, to throw herself at his knees and beg him not to go; to stay, to fight, with her and for her. But she did not, she only stared, her eyes devouring the lines of his face as though she gazed on a man who was already dead.

Aragorn quailed under her silent regard, lost in the emptiness of her eyes. 'Believe me, lady,' he implored. 'Fearful I may be but hopeless I am not. This road alone will not harm me though it is dark and dreadful. What lies beyond is a far greater challenge, and a danger more deadly than the shades of the fallen. Do not grieve for me yet.'

'Not for you,' she answered, 'for myself. I thought you would ride to war, in glory and splendour, and I would ride with you. I thought my time had come and I would at last be free to seek valour on the field of battle, valour that has been denied me all the years of my life.'

She stood, straight-backed and regal. 'Always I have stayed behind, bound to the hearth when I wished to be bound to a sword. I am a shield-maiden, a warrior among warriors, but I am not allowed to fight! Do you know what I have suffered, day after day, watching my brother ride out and unable to go with him? Can you imagine the burden it is to be left behind to worry and wait, not knowing whether this time his horse might carry back only a body for me to weep over? No, you cannot, for you have never had to do so, you will never have to do so.'

'Eowyn . . .'

'No! Do not tell me I am a woman and it is my place. I will not hear those words from you, I do not wish to see myself through your eyes, as you would have me be! I am not that woman!'

Gathering her skirts she swept past him, out of the lodge and into the calming coolness of falling night. Aragorn watched her go, unable to speak the words that would bring her back. Her censure burned him, for she was all that she had said and more, and his admiration went with her. But it was not his place to grant her what she wished, even if he had been inclined to. Such bravery as she possessed was never meant for the savagery of the battlefield, for war was not the glorious pursuit she believed it to be. Yet no matter how hard he wished to spare Eowyn, this was a war that none of them could escape.

 * * *

Aragorn’s tent was in darkness when he entered, the candle no more than a melted stump in its holder. Yet the pale light of the moon filtered through the rough canvas, enough for him to see the figure that waited, half turned from him and gazing at the floor. For an instant he felt a child again, fooled by the shifting shadows and unable to recognise which of his brothers it was that stood before him, then the Elf raised his head, the tiniest of movements, and he knew it was Elladan.

His throat closed. The words of greeting he should have offered would not come.

Elladan turned to face him. 'Estel . . .'  He held out a hand but Aragorn made no move to take it.

'The day grows old, brother,' he said at last, his voice hoarse with the effort. 'We must take what rest we can before morning.'

'Estel, please! We must talk.'

Elladan look stricken. His voice cracked with the weight of his grief but Aragorn turned deaf ears to the plea. 'What is there to say that has not been said? It is time that will bring us healing, not speech.'

'For you perhaps,' his brother answered. 'But time I have in abundance and it has not the same meaning for me. Words are more precious. Your forgiveness is more precious.'

Aragorn twisted away from him, dark memories shattering his composure. 'My forgiveness you have, though none was ever needed.  You may have what words you wish from me, Elladan, but please, do not make me relive that!'

His brother's face paled but he did not retreat. It was another voice that intruded on the shocked silence. 'But you are living it, Estel. You are still mired in the darkness and you must awaken.' Elrohir stood framed against the night sky at the entrance to the tent. 'The longer you allow this dream to maintain its hold on you, the closer you bring it to truth.  The Enemy wishes you uncertain and fearful and divided from your kin. Would you give him what he desires?'

The pain in his shoulder flared, clouding his vision for a moment. 'You do not know what you ask of me!'

Elrohir gazed at him sadly. 'Is it so hard, Estel?  Are you so blinded that you no longer know us?  I ask nothing of you that you have not already given, more times than I can count. You have never closed your heart to us, do not do so now.'

Aragorn watched him with growing desperation. 'Then allow me the grace you have given me in the past, to work through my troubles for myself.'

Elrohir looked at his twin, seeing the defeated slump of his shoulders and the misery in his eyes, and shook his head. 'If this concerned only you I would not be here now. But your insistence in giving credence to this trick of the Enemy hurts more than just you.  You cannot conceive of what it means for an Elf to be touched by the Shadow of Mordor. Elladan also suffers, and you compound that suffering when you make him the instrument of your own undoing.'

Aragorn froze, as the meaning of his brother's words sank in. 'What would you have me do?' he asked at last.

'Speak of it. Bring this thing out of the shadows that birthed it and into the light of day. For on the morrow we must forsake that light to walk a dark path, and it would be dangerous to do so with this evil festering in your heart.' Understanding the sudden fear that seized the man, Elrohir grasped his shoulder. 'You will not relive the horror, Estel. You will lay it to rest. Trust me.'

Aragorn laid his hand over his brother's, thankful for the touch. 'You will stay?'

'No, I cannot. I may wear my brother's face, but I do not speak with his voice and it is Elladan you need to hear.' And with those words he left them alone.

* * *

It was Elladan who moved first, taking one hesitant step towards his foster brother. Hearing the movement Aragorn turned, but unable to help his body's instinctive reaction he flinched away from the touch.

The Elf withdrew his hand, terrible hurt on his face. 'Do you truly fear me so much?'

'No more than I fear myself.' Aragorn answered honestly. 'What was done once can be done again. That is what I fear most.'

'I saw you die by my own hand,' Elladan told him, his face lined by grief no Elf should bear. 'Your blood was on my hands, on my face . . . I saw the knowledge of death in your eyes. I saw the thing I fear the most.'

'I am mortal, Elladan,' Aragorn said softly. 'Someday I will die and there is nothing you can do to prevent it. Just as there was nothing you could do then. You sought only to help me, I know that. What happened was not of your making. It was mine.' 

'No!' Elladan protested, understanding at last the root of his brother's turmoil. And knowing him as he did he could only wonder that he had not seen it before. 'Do not try to take this upon yourself, Estel. Sauron twisted our minds. It is not your fault.'

'Did he?' Aragorn asked sharply. 'Can you tell me that with certainty? Is it not possible this nightmare sprung from my own mind, that I made it happen?

'Why would. . . How, why would such evil visions come to you?' But even as Elladan spoke a bleak thought came to him and he took a step back. 'You think I . . .?'

'No!' Aragorn broke in quickly. 'That is not what I meant. I ask only because . . .' He faltered, unable to continue, but Elladan's wounded expression made him realise his brother did not believe his hasty denial. He had never before voiced such thoughts to his family, to anyone, and the words, when they came, were slow and hesitant. 'It has always been my greatest fear that one day I might lose the family I have grown to love. That I would truly be alone. And sometimes, in the Wilds, I would dream it was so, when I was cold and life was harsh and all I loved was far away; that there was no sanctuary, no home to return to when I was weary and in need. I thought perhaps it had all been a dream, Rivendell, you, my father, even Arwen. Such thoughts tormented me, and I would come close to despairing, then I would see a single tree, or pass a crystal stream, and remember the valleys of my home and know it had not been taken from me.'

'I never knew.'

The hint of a weary smile touched Aragorn's face for an instant, the first Elladan had seen in days. Then it was gone, and the bleakness crowded in once more. 'I never wished you to. How could I? To speak of such things seemed almost to give them life, to admit that it was possible. I have always known that our separation is inevitable, for even if the sea did not claim you death would one day take me and that I have accepted, but these nightmares I never could.'

Aragorn sighed, running a hand fretfully through his tangled hair. Memories were rushing back, of a time not so long past, but once started, he found that the words could not be stopped.  'My life was dark for many years,' he murmured, and Elladan heard the note of despair in his voice. 'I walked alone through distant lands and the shadows were ever at my heels.  I saw wonders and horrors, and some haunt me still. Friends I made, and enemies.' He gave a dry laugh. 'The oppressed are not always eager to be freed, Elladan, that I learnt well. Some I helped repaid me with false words and cruel deeds, and ever did I fear betrayal. There are few I can trust in this world, even now, and none were with me then. I was alone and I did not wish to die by the hand of an enemy. But I dreaded even more to fall at the hands of one I believed a friend.

'A friend,' Elladan asked carefully. 'Or a brother?'

Aragorn shook his head. 'That I never dreamed, for I knew it to be impossible. But those fears have become a part of me, and perhaps it shall always be so. And yet I grow so weary of suspicion. Life is cold and grey where there is no trust, no love. Nights are long and the days are cast into shadow.  It has been a long time since I saw the sun, Elladan,' he said, his voice cracking with fatigue, 'and longer still since I basked in the warmth of its light. And sometimes it seems to me that even if we win this battle, and the next, we will never win this war. The end has already begun in Middle-earth. The land will change beyond recognition when the last of your kindred leave these shores and the world that is left for us to fight for will be but a pale imitation of the beauty and glory of ages past. Sometimes I even wonder if I wish to fight for it.'

Elladan looked up sharply and studied his brother through narrowed eyes. He knew that finally they had reached the heart of the matter. 'And do you?'

Aragorn returned the stare with a half-smile. In the end there was only one answer to that, the same as there had always been. 'Yes. Because it is my world. For better or for worse it is the world of Men now, and I would have your people see that we are worthy of this Middle-earth you bequeath to us.' He paused uncertainly, meeting his brother's gaze for the first time. 'But I am not sure if I am worthy of it.'

Elladan forced his expression to remain neutral as he crossed the short distance between them at last. Laying a hand on his brother's shoulder he was relieved that Aragorn no longer flinched away from his touch, though a flicker of disquiet rippled across his face. 'That is something you should never doubt,' he said earnestly. 'Look no further than your friends who follow you through these darkest of times to see your worth. They would not do so for a lesser man. You cannot allow the Enemy's trick to threaten the loyalty you owe to them, and they to you, by shouldering all the burdens of this world.  Trust us,' he urged, but there was a plea also in his words. 'You will find a rock to lean on when you need it most. We will not fail you. Do not fail us.'

Aragorn laughed, but slipped from his brother's grasp with a neat twist of his shoulder. 'You sound like your father.'

'Our father,' Elladan corrected him, affecting to be unmoved by the distance Aragorn once more placed between them. 'Our father. He has not forsaken you and he never will, though at times I know it seems to you that the love of years past has dimmed. But it is not Arwen alone that clouds his thoughts. Do not forget, little brother, that our father is tied to Middle Earth more tightly even than you, for he has lived here far longer than any of us. The Shadow that falls on us all falls most heavily on him. His heart is weary, but his love for you remains.'

'That I know,' Aragorn sighed. 'Though sometimes it seems easier to believe that his regard for me has diminished, for it makes the sorrow I will bring him easier to bear.' His face twisted into a grimace. 'But let us not uncover old sorrows now, when we have enough already to face. There is a long road still before me before I can look to claim Arwen as my wife. When all this is done both she and I will face that bitter choice, and when that time comes, dear brother, I fear not even you will be able to help us, though no doubt you will try.'

Elladan grinned. 'Is that your tactful way of asking me to leave well alone?'

'When has that ever swayed you?' Aragorn answered with a smile of his own. 'No, it is but simple truth, as you well know.'

He paused, suddenly unsure how to go on. Elladan was watching him closely and he was only too aware of the fragility of the peace between them. He did not wish to damage that now, but he would not lie to him. Finally he gathered himself and met his brother's eyes.

'I understand your need to reconcile this rift between us. I feel it too. But this goes beyond us, if what you say is true, and Sauron himself somehow forced the vision upon us. There is no need for you to seek my forgiveness, and I never meant to make you feel that there was. If I keep my distance from you now it is because I sense that his touch still lies heavily on us both, and I fear what that might mean. I beg you to believe me when I say that I ask this now out of love for you, and regard for your safety. Do not accompany me tomorrow. Do not walk the Paths of the Dead. For in that darkness might not a greater darkness find easy purchase, and snare us again as it did before? Please, Elladan,' he implored. 'Do not risk yourself.'

Elladan looked stunned. 'Estel . . .'

'Theoden King will be here before long,' Aragorn hurried on. 'If you ride with him to Gondor we will see each other there.'

'Estel!'

Aragorn fell silent. Elladan's eyes were wide with emotion, but there was no anger in them. 'Do you never tire of bring so honourable?' he teased gently. 'Your concern for me is touching, but as ever misplaced. Not everything that is dark is made so through the Enemy's touch, and the restless hordes beneath the mountain will answer to you, not to him.'

When Aragorn made to protest Elladan cut him off. 'You have made your request, Estel' he told him, 'and I understand your reasons for doing so. Yet I am not one of your rangers to order as you see fit, and I will make my own choice in this matter and so relieve you of the burden of responsibility.'

If not for his smug smile Aragorn would have thought his brother was scolding him. As it was he felt the familiar frustration of being outmanoeuvred by his Eldar kin. For a moment he thought to argue, then realised it was hopeless. He recognised the look in Elladan’s eyes. He had seen it many times before, and it told him that this was not a fight he could win. So instead he held out his arm and his brother clasped it, his fingers gripping tight.

'Then we will go together,’ he conceded with a weary smile. ‘And if there is darkness under the mountain, I will glad of the brightness of Elves to light my way.’

 * * *

It was late when she came to him, and he was tired. They both knew why she came, though neither would speak of it willingly. As she entered he turned to face her, marvelling at her beauty as she stood illumed by the warmth of the flickering candle, and he was grieved anew that he should be the cause of her pain.  The silence stretched onwards until he felt he might drown in it, but it was not his place to speak first.

'Will you say nothing?' Eowyn demanded, finding her voice at last.

'There is nothing to say,' Aragorn replied, 'that would not seem hollow and empty to your ears.'

'But I long to hear it nonetheless.'

Aragorn studied her face a long moment, surprised. 'You wish for platitudes, even knowing them for what they are? I would not have thought you one who would shy from the truth.'

'What am I then, my lord? To you I am only a woman and women need comfort.'

Aragorn shook his head. 'No, not you, my lady. You are courageous and strong. You have no need of false comfort.'

'Yet I am still a woman,' Eowyn said bitterly, her fierce pride of only hours before scattered under the weight of her sorrow for the parting that must come. 'And I may wish for what I do not need. Can you offer me no hope?'

Aragorn smiled sadly, caught by the sudden need to reach out and soothe her pain. It was only with an effort that he kept his voice and words neutral as he replied, 'There is always hope, though it may not come in the form we expect.'

Eowyn stood stiffly, accepting the words for what they were, for what she had asked for. 'So you will go?'

'I will,' he agreed. 'Though to what end the road will take me I cannot tell. I know only that I must take it.'

She took an impulsive step forward, her hands gripping the velvet folds of her skirt. 'Then take me with you,' she implored, and her words surprised them both. 'I am not afraid.'

Aragorn's heart twisted painfully in his chest but his face turned grave. 'That I cannot do, lady, even if I wished to, nor may you forsake your people and the charge laid upon you by your king.'

'Even if you wished . . ?' She hesitated, hope flickering for an instant then dying away to dust and ashes.

'Eowyn . . .' Aragorn started towards her, wrung by the grief on her face. 'How could I wish to take such beauty into a shadow land, a land where the dead walk and the sun does not reach? You are meant for bright places and a heart that is free to love you as you deserve. Neither of these things can I give you.'

Her pale face was now a mask of ice and she scarcely seemed to breathe. She had guessed that such would be the answer if ever she posed the question, so she had shied away from it, never wanting to hear those words from his lips. But now it was too late, and in her fear and grief she had done what she had promised herself she would not do. She had bared her heart and it had been given gently back, but Aragorn's gentle rebuff cut more deeply than the cruellest dismissal.

Gathering her poise she offered him a brief curtsy, and as her face was hidden from him for a moment she schooled the rigid muscles to relax. When she rose and looked at him again there was only cool courtesy in her eyes as she murmured, 'Then I shall detain you no longer, my lord. For I can see you are weary and in need of rest.'

As Eowyn slipped between the flaps of his tent Aragorn resisted the urge to call her back. He closed his eyes, fighting to hold back the tears that exhaustion and too many hurts, inflicted and received, brought stinging to his eyes. First Elladan, now Eowyn. He wished only to protect them, and yet in attempting to do so he had caused them pain, and he could only hope that one day they might understand.

TBC