It was full night when they finally emerged from
the ravine onto the upper slopes of a steep yet well
farmed vale. Early stars twinkled in the grey sky,
echoed by the warm yellow lights shining out of the
windows of the houses below.

   "Where in Middle Earth are we?" Gimli asked, his
voice a subdued rumble.

   "Morthond Vale in the uplands of Gondor." Elladan
answered him. Nodded at the river springing down a
series of falls like steps. "That is the Morthond, the
river Black Root," smiled grimly, "and now you know
how it came by its name."

   Gimli shuddered. Turning his head to speak some
comfort to his companion Legolas instead caught his
breath. "The Dead are following," he said, with
nothing but wonder in his voice, "I see shapes of Men
and of horses, and pale banners like shreds of cloud.
The Dead are following."

   "I wish you hadn't said that." Gimli muttered.

   "Me too." Arwen agreed, hunching her shoulders.
Careful not to look behind she looked instead at the
faces of the Rangers around her, grey and drawn with
the exhaustion of their fearsome journey. She herself
was trembling, though whether from the aftermath of
fear or simple weariness she could not say.

   "Four days." she turned to her husband. Aragorn
looked as tired as any of them as he sat his horse
next to hers, but his pale, intent gaze was fixed
eastward. "Four days at least to Minas Tirith, Father
grant we come in time." He raised his voice to be
heard by all. "Already I have asked much of you, my
friends, now I ask still more. Forget weariness and
ride, ride hard for the Stone of Erech!"

   Brego sprang forward, galloping down the mountain
track like an eager yearling. The Grey Company spurred
after him, careful not to look behind, yet all too
aware of what came in their wake. 

   They thundered across a bridge and onto a good
paved road running southeast. Cries of alarm, the
ringing of bells and the sounding of horns came dimly
to Arwen's ears through the wind of their speed. She
saw lights vanish as window shutters slammed closed in
farmhouse and hamlet as they raced past. And pitied
the simple country folk faced suddenly and unawares
with a nightmare out of their darkest legends. 

   It was black midnight without moon or star, dark as
the evernight under the mountains, when they reached
the hill of Erech. Aragorn led them up to the great
globe of polished black stone, half buried in the
earth at its crest. Here, long ago Isildur had
mustered the Men of the mountains and upland vales for
the War of the Last Alliance. And here his heir would
muster another army for another war.

   Looking down from the top of the hill Arwen saw
they were completely surounded by the Dead, standing
in their greenly glowing ranks; foot soldiers,
horsemen, and archers. Yet in open air under the sky
she was not as afraid as she had been in their
caverns. Even the horses seemed less perturbed - or
perhaps were simply wearied beyond caring. 

   The King of the Dead slowly climbed the hill to
face Aragorn across the great stone. "We come to
fulfill our oath and have peace."

   "Serve me well and you shall have what you desire."
the living King answered. "Corsairs of Umbar are
raiding our coast. We will drive them back into the
sea, and take their ships to sail up the Anduin to
Minas Tirith and there meet the armies of Mordor."

   The prospect didn't seem to bother the Dead. And
why should it, what further injury could be done them?
Aragorn reached out to take her hand. "This lady is my
wife and Queen. These Men my kin and liegmen, you will
obey them as you do me."(1) The Dead King bowed his
assent." Aragorn smiled a little, wryly. "We living
must rest now. At dawn we ride for Calembel." The Dead
King bowed once more, then he and his legions vanished
- though their presence could still be felt though at
a distance.

   Arwen was too tired to care, more tired than she'd
ever been in all her long life. She slid off Asfaloth
into her husband's arms and clung to him for a long,
shuddering moment. Then realized he was shaking just
as hard and pushed herself away, reaching up to cup
his drawn face. "My poor Estel," she whispered,
"Isildur left you a terrible legacy."

  "But a useful one." there were unshed tears in his
eyes. "I didn't expect to pity them so."

   She blinked at that. Fear had left her no room for
pity - but then she was not bound to these wraiths as
Aragorn was. "Let us sleep while we may. It has been a
long, dark day."
***

   She woke first in a cold grey predawn with Earendil
sinking slowly towards the western horizon. But to the
east there was only darkness as the rising sun
struggled and failed to pierce the glooms over Mordor.

   Arwen levered herself up on an elbow to look down
at her husband's sleeping face. She loved to look at
him, and had never yet had the chance to gaze her fill
upon that broad square brow above deep, widely spaced
eye sockets. the long lashes resting gently on finely
modelled cheeks, and the tender mouth and firm chin
almost lost beneath a scrub of untidy beard.

   His hair was in a state too, as usual, hanging in
untidy strings. And there were all those fine lines,
carved by hardship and care, flaws that somehow seemed
to increase rather than lessen his beauty.

   The long lashes fluttered, then lifted revealing
wide grey eyes, shading slowly to blue as they saw and
recognized her.

   "You are so beautiful." she told him.

   He shook his head fractionally. "No. But you are."
raised a strong, square hand grained with the earth of
yesterday's dark caverns to touch her cheek. Then he
sat up, looked around, the cares of kingship and war
settling again on his shoulders. "What time is it?"

   "The sun is just rising I think, somewhere behind
Sauron's shadows."

   "We must make ready to ride."

   The Rangers were already stirring, needing no
rousing, but Gimli required considerable shaking. "So
much for the vaunted endurance of the Dwarves!"
Legolas teased, but his eyes were worried. Of all
their company only he, the full Elf, had been
untouched by the horror of the Paths beneath the
mountains. But he had seen all to well the effect they
had had on his companions, and on Gimli especially.

   Arwen was worried about the Dwarf too. She selected
a cordial from her saddlebag of herbs and medicines,
poured it into a leather cup and gave it to Gimli with
a wafer of waybread.

   "I'm all right." he said. "It's just I haven't had
a proper night's sleep - or meal - since I took up
with this Elf and your husband, m'lady."

   "I believe you." she answered. "I've travelled with
them myself and they showed me no more consideration."

   Legolas was opening his mouth to rebut when Aragorn
appeared beside her. "You said you had a banner?"

   She went to Asfaloth and pulled it, tightly rolled,
from her other saddlebag. Aragorn cut the thongs that
bound it and unrolled it gently. It was of strong but
soft sable silk embroidered with the winged helm and
seven stars above the star of the North and the white
tree of Gondor, flanked by the moon of Isildur and the
Sun of Anarion. Aragorn held it spread across his
hands for a long moment before looking up at her.

   "It's beautiful. Thank you."

   "You can do good embroidery in fifty years." she
answered, a little drily.

   He grimaced. "You're going to be throwing those
years up to me for the rest of our lives - aren't
you?"

   "I am!" She answered.

   "And why not?" Halbarad asked, taking the banner
carefully from Aragorn and tying it to his spear.
"Ladies don't like to be kept waiting, nephew.
Especially for so long."

   "No indeed. We begin to feel unwanted."

   "You are wanted." was all he said, but with a look
that made her heart flutter like a netted bird. Then
he was turning away calling for them to mount and
ride.

   And ride they did, all day without a stop as
Rangers do when need presses, and the phantom host
followed. At sunset they galloped into the town
Aragorn had called Calembel, and found it empty -
every living soul fled into the hills for fear of
their shadowy retinue.  

   Aragorn looked around the abandoned square,
grimacing a little, intercepted his wife's concerned
gaze. "I am sorry to put such fear on my people," he
sighed, "but I can see no help for it."

   "They will return once we are gone and find all
just as they left it." she said as comfortingly as she
could.

   He nodded, dismounted and led them to a large
market hall. The vast, aisled space was quite empty
but Arwen saw with pleasure that there was a long
hearth down the middle that could be used to cook a
proper meal. Something they all needed, not just the
Dwarf. They ate, and then slept for a few hours until
Aragorn roused them to continue the long ride.

   They crossed the Ringlo, passing through another
empty town in the dark hour before dawn. Then on
through the lowlands of Dor-en-Ernil, following the
road southeast to the sea. They halted only twice and
briefly to breath the horses. The Men neither ate nor
slept, nor wanted too. A mood of urgency had taken
them all, even Legolas and Gimli.

   War was ahead and at Linhir, a port at the mouth of
two rivers, they found it; a bitter battle by night
between a small force of Dunedain and a large one made
up of Corsairs and Men of Near Harad, lit by the
burning waterfront outside the town wall.

   Aragorn drew Anduril, pointed its sunbright flame
towards the enemy. "Elendil!"

   Thirty and four other swords, including Arwen's
flashed out. And thirty-four voices echoed "Elendil!"
as they followed his heir in a blind charge into the
battle. The Dead came behind and seeing them friend
and enemy alike broke and ran. The Haradrim and
Umbarmen to their ships, the defenders behind the
walls of their town. All but one Man, a tall Dunedain,
tattered, soot blackened and wavering slightly on his
feet but still determinedly holding his ground.

   Aragorn reined in before him, saluted with Anduril.
"Well met, Angbor." 

   The Man's jaw dropped, grim determination giving
way to disbelief and then incredulous joy. "Thorongil!
Thorongil is it truly you?"

   "It is. Did I not say I would return if Gondor ever
had need of me?"

   "Oh do we have need of you, Captain! With the Lord
Boromir gone we have no one to rally to and no one to
lead us."

   Arwen saw Aragorn's face tighten. "It was Boromir
who sent me to you." he said quietly. "I was by him as
he died and he laid it upon me to save the White City
and our people."

   "Dead." Angbor whispered. Then grimly: "I feared it
was so - nothing else could have kept him away so long
at such a time."

   Arwen saw a wounded Man lying practically at
Angbor's feet, clutching his side and staring at her
as if at a vision. She got off Asfaloth and knelt
beside him. A Ranger, young Adanedhel, dismounted too
and brought her her bag of medicines.

   "This is Arwen, my wife." Aragorn explained to the
staring Men. The other Rangers were also dismounting,
moving among the bodies searching out those who could
still be helped. The Army of the Dead had vanished,
though Arwen could feel their lurking presence.

   Perhaps Angbor could too. "What sorcery was that?"
he asked Aragorn. "I have never felt such terror
before - not even in the thick of battle."

   "No sorcery." Aragorn answered. By now he too was
afoot, he steered his old friend gently to a wooden
barricade, made him sit. "I have summoned the
Oathbreakers from the mountain above Morthond Vale."

   Angbor stared at him. "But only Isildur's heir -"
he broke off. Looked, really looked at the banner
Halbarad held, its devices glimmering in the
firelight, and his face went blank with shock and then
kindled as if a torch had been lit inside. He turned
with shining eyes to Aragorn. "What is the King's
command?"

   Aragorn rubbed his forehead. "Gather whatever force
you can and march for Minas Tirith. I go to Pelargir
and then upriver to the White City."

   "I would go with you, my King, but with such an
army at your command you have small need for Mortal
Men."

   "I will need you when we both come to Minas
Tirith." Aragorn assured him. "For I will not hold the
Accursed beyond that battle. They'll have earned their
rest."

   Arwen finished bandaging her patient, saw Men were
venturing cautiously out the town gates and being set
to carrying the wounded by the Rangers. Went to touch
Aragorn gently on the arm. He glanced at her, and
accurately read her look.

   "My lady wife reminds me we also have need of
lodging. My company has not slept since midnight
last."

   Angbor stood up and bowed to them both. "Linhir
will be honored, my Lord and Lady."
***************

1. Gimli and Legolas, not being Dunedain, are left out
of the line of command. They are present purely as
Aragorn's friends and companions, not his subjects.