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