Alone again, Thengel turned keen eyes on his son. ‘You are surprised that I make a marshal of a foreigner in our land?’

The young man hesitated. His father often toyed with questions that invited the unwary into his traps. ‘Why, father,’ he answered slowly, ‘he has shown courage and skill, and all speak highly of him.’

‘The Westfold éoreds may take the news ill, but I doubt it. Indeed, had I to choose between them, I might have suffered more discontent from the house not favoured. This way none shall accuse me of favouritism. And in any case, the posting is a poison chalice in these days. But we shall see.’

The king stood up and leaned on his staff. ‘I want you to remain at Edoras for the summer. You shall have a horse to train, and I would see what Eorulf has made of you while you have been away. When Thorongil returns you and Ælfhere shall join him in Westfold. It will do you well to be tested, for even the finest steel must first be tempered.’

Then he took from a coffer a belt with a silver buckle worked in the shape of a horse’s head and overlaid with many winding traceries of gold. ‘This clasp was my father’s and his before him. It came from the hoard of Scatha the Worm, and was worn by Eorl when he came down from the north. I shall no longer ride to battle, save in my heart. Therefore receive it, my son, and wear it when you go to war, in honour of your fathers.’

Théoden knelt, suddenly overwhelmed by the moment, and bowing his head, took the belt. Then he recalled Ælric and the face of the injured rider and realised at last how the rules had changed in the months that he had been away. The days of mock fights and easy victories had passed. He fingered the tracery on the buckle, but could find no words to speak.

‘Herugrim you shall receive when you are worthy to bear it,’ said Thengel and, taking his son by the shoulder, he raised him up and smiled. ‘I see your mother’s wisdom in your eyes. Use it well my son and you shall not dishonour your line.’

It was barely light and still cold. Aragorn stood by the river, looking into her eddying grey waters and tried to put from his mind the scenes at the Fords of Isen. He could not. They had stalked him all night as he lay, half sleeping half waking, and stole into his dreams to taunt him.

You waited too long before you raised the alarm. What were you thinking of? Did you suppose you could despatch the orcs without waking your fellows? He saw again the fear in his young companion’s eyes and his own indecision, whether to try to save him or alert the camp. You knew what your head was saying, but your heart betrayed you. Had you gone back sooner the others might have been better prepared. The loss of one might have saved many. If you really think you can hold the Gap of Rohan, come winter you will need to sharpen up. That Thengel had promoted him to marshal, after near disaster on his part, had wrong-footed Aragorn, when he had been expecting reprimand. But he had no harsher judge than himself.

He looked towards the Hithaeglir and beyond, to the north-west. That way lay home. He could be there in two weeks on a swift horse, maybe a little less with fair weather and no delays. How long had it been? More than four years, he realised as he counted back. You have been avoiding it, he told himself, and found that he was smiling at his self-deception. What are you afraid of? That it will have changed? Or rather that it won’t? That she will be there? Abruptly he snatched a flat stone from the bank above the path and cast it into the river. It skimmed the surface two or three times and sank. And what will you do if she is? He put the question from his mind, but the memory lingered, that and the heartache. And what of Elrond? Finding no answer, he began to walk slowly along the riverbank towards the rising sun.

I shall need another horse. The chestnut mare that had born him for the last three years had fallen victim to an orcish spear. He could still hear her dying scream and it affected him more than he was prepared to admit. She had been his most constant companion, gentle and courageous. You never thought to call yourself sentimental. Maybe that is half the problem. He heard Gandalf’s voice then. Do not harden your heart over much, son of Arathorn. It does not become you. His friend’s words recalled five months of winter hardship and sickness at Fornost, when wolves had dared to attack and slew many of the dying. So, will that be the day for me to lie down before my enemy? The day I can leave a young man to his death and think nothing of it? If truth be told, Aragorn had long before learned the hardest lessons of leadership, but the dead faces of Ælric and the others still haunted him as he watched the red dawn in the east. They joined the line of friends that were lost to him and which lengthened with every season. He turned back towards the town and entered as the dawn bell was ringing. The gatekeepers let him pass for they knew his early walks of old, and he stopped to break his fast with them, as he often did when not on duty.