CHAPTER 10: CONVERGENCE

The quiet grey chill of dawn in Pelargir was broken with the first gentle greeting of finches to the new day. From their perches on the oak outside the bedchamber of the King, they watched as the golden rays of Anor crept over the hills and drew once more the lines between sky and hill and plain, to peep through the leaves of the oak and play upon the faces of the company gathered within the room. Lack of sleep, anxiety, and even fright, had lined those faces in the dark before dawn, but the distress had now drained from all of them – save one.

A hoarse bellow of disbelief and rage from a dwarf shattered the calm of the morning, startling and scattering the birds and alarming yet again the innkeeper and his staff, who were beginning to wonder if the King’s company from Minas Tirith led strange lives. Having woken from his faint – to the immense relief of his friends – Gimli had just been told of the previous night’s events and was incensed to know that someone had actually broken through the defenses of what he considered the most hardy race on Middle-earth, and had had the audacity to take over his revered body.

“How dare they!” he raged, sitting upright on the bed where they had placed him. “Graaah! No one touches me without my leave!”  

So relieved were his friends that the dwarf was behaving like his usual self that they let him rant on for a while.

“I am sorely grieved that they insulted you in that manner, my friend,” Aragorn said at last. “My guess is that they needed to speak with me desperately. I do not recall that they were capable of speaking in their wraith forms when we walked the Paths… did they, Legolas?”

The elf shook his head. “No, we only heard many whispers, and even I could not discern what they were saying,” he replied. “It should not surprise us, for these beings exist in a different world… a different realm.”

Aragorn nodded. “If the voices that entered my dreams are to be believed, some called to me while we were on the Paths, but I could not have heard them, and as a result, some were left behind,” he said. “But why they were left in the first place, I still have no answer. I can only assume that for the past decade, they would have tried every means they could to reach me since then – as they did in my dreams.” He shook his head again. “And, unfortunately, you were one of those means, Gimli.”

Gimli looked incensed and grunted again.

Faramir cleared his throat. “As I said last night, perhaps those of you who walked the Paths would have been more sensitive to their presence, for these are not ordinary beings,” he said. “Were you aware of anything, Gimli, when – when you were – er…”

“The last thing I remember is going to bed with a stomach full of ale!” the dwarf answered grumpily. “Of course I did feel a little strange even before I came up, but I thought it was too much ale – and all that talk we had.”

“Do you understand or recall anything that you said in here last night, Gimli?” Aragorn asked.

“Not one blasted bit,” came the disgruntled reply.

“You spoke of an Old one… do you have any knowledge of who he or she might be?” Faramir queried. “Did you see –”

“Old – young – Forgotten – Remembered… they all mean nothing to me! And if I saw anything, it’s all been washed from my memory now,” the dwarf declared. “I can’t believe they made me utter all those things you said I did. I can’t believe they did that to me!” 

Still looking greatly peeved, Gimli swung his legs over the edge of the bed and began pacing the floor. He muttered under his breath, his face turning red from the effort of holding back something he was trying to suppress. His companions tensed a little, wondering if something strange was happening to him again, but he startled them when he narrowed dark eyes beneath bushy eyebrows and turned them towards Legolas.

“Why not him?” he demanded suddenly, pointing a finger at the elf prince, who was seated on the window sill, resting his hands on either side of his thighs and looking entirely too unperturbed for the irate dwarf’s liking.

“Look, I would not wish the experience upon anyone who wasn’t the son of an orc,” the dwarf grumbled, “but Aragorn and I went through it – so why was he spared?”

Hamille, standing next to his prince, stiffened and pursed his lips, but Legolas merely raised his brows in surprise, trying to stop himself from smiling.

“Come now, Gimli, didn’t you tell us last night that elves don’t get touched by the Dead?” Sam pointed out amidst the chuckles from Merry and Pippin, who did not bother to hide their amusement.

“I said they don’t fear them, but if those Shadow fellows were going to use someone, why couldn’t they be fair and drag everyone through it? Ah what an insult to the Dwarves! If they weren’t already dead, I’d chop off their twisted heads!”

“Is that what you were trying to do when your fist knocked the wind out of me, Master Dwarf?” Legolas teased, cocking his head to one side and drawing more sniggers from Pippin. 

“Oh, that,” Gimli muttered, a little abashed at the reminder. “Well… you shouldn’t have been standing there!” While the others stifled laughter, he fidgeted a little, looking contrite. “I… I didn’t cause too much harm, did I, elfling?”

The elf prince smiled as the blue eyes looked fondly at the dwarf. “No, my friend, you did not,” he said. “Consider that my punishment for not being… ‘taken’… along with you.”

The dwarf rubbed his nose and muttered something inadudible.

“What was that, Gimli?” Merry asked curiously. “Did you say something?”

“Nothin’,” came the gruff reply, though his expression said otherwise. “It’s just that…” he added hesitantly, “well…”

Everyone waited as the dwarf clenched and unclenched his fists – a sign that he most definitely had something on his mind.

“Just… what, Gimli?” Aragorn prompted. “Have you remembered something?”

“Come on, Gimli!” Pippin urged the dwarf as the stocky figure murmured discontentedly. “If something’s bothering you – spit it out!”  

Gimli grunted and glared so hard at Pippin that the hobbit took a step back. “Spit it out?  Very well, spit it out I shall then!” the dwarf sputtered. “How come when there’s a message for Legolas from … from beyond… Sam gets a good dream, beautiful vision – a visit from the Lady, no less! But when there’s a message for Aragorn – all I get is some foul thing taking over my body, and I don’t even get to remember it!”

Sam’s eyes widened and he went red in the face, dumbfounded for an answer. But the other hobbits guffawed, and everyone else was clearly tempted to join them, which irritated Gimli even further.

“Pah!” he grunted and threw up his hands. Getting up abruptly from the chair, he marched towards the door. “Enough! I need a bath to wash this foul feeling off. And nothing had better disturb me while I am doing that! If those fellows have the impudence to try and return – they’ll have to answer to my axe and all the curses of the dwarven realm, and then if they ever…”

Thus grumbling, he stomped out of the room, apparently without a thought as to whether he might be taken again.

“I doubt anything will happen in the light of day, but I will post a guard outside his door all the same,” Faramir proposed after the dwarf had left, and Aragorn nodded in approval.

“There is no need, I will keep an eye on him,” Hamille volunteered in response to a signal from Legolas, and left the room in pursuit of the angry dwarf.   

Aragorn stood and stretched his arms to lose the stiffness from his body. “It might be wise to follow Gimli’s lead,” he said. “A hot bath would be a most welcome respite at this time – after the rigors of last night. And it will give me time to consider what next to do.”

“A hot bath for you then – and then breakfast for all! One can’t think on an empty stomach,” Merry declared, jumping up and heading for the door. “Come, Pip, Sam, let’s pay the innkeeper and cook a visit and take care of all that.”

Faramir exchanged a look of silent accord with Legolas as the Steward followed the exit of the hobbits from the room, a gesture that did not escape the keen eyes of the King. The King knew, even without asking, that his friends were making arrangements for someone to be with him as far as possible, even now that the sun had risen, for that is what he would have done were he in their position.

Left alone with Aragorn in the room, Legolas turned to the window and trained his eyes on the sunrise and waking town outside. “You should not have been on your own last night,” he said before the man could make a single remark. “No more, mellon nin, not till this is settled.”

Aragorn nodded, knowing it would be futile – and perhaps – unwise – to argue. Treading gingerly on his bandaged feet, he walked to the window to stand beside the elf and cast his eyes upon the same scene.

“In that case, mellon nin, will you be watching me bathe?” he asked calmly, hiding his mirth.

A silvery laugh – warm as the rays of the rising sun – was all he received in reply.

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Breakfast for the King’s company had been served in the privacy of a room set aside for them, and the presence of the womenfolk and children dispelled the unpleasant aftertaste of the previous night’s events.  Aragorn was immensely glad to see his son safe and cheerful, and said little of all that had taken place lest it frighten the young prince. As such, Eldarion spoke enthusiastically of seeing his mother again and recounting his experiences to his friends in the City who were awaiting his return.

But after Eldarion and the other children and their mothers had left the room, the lightened atmosphere went with them, and much as Merry and Pippin tried to re-inject cheer into the company, it was clear that Aragorn, Legolas and Faramir were worried more than they would say. And despite the satisfying meal of eggs and bacon and fresh bread, even Gimli was still a little irritable as they returned to the business at hand.

“Well, the next step can be put off no longer,” Aragorn stated softly, seeming to speak more to himself than to the company. “But should I first return to the City, before I leave for the Paths?”

“You mean we, of course, Aragorn,” Legolas said wryly, making the man look up and give him a lop-sided grin in reply.

“Of course,” Aragorn answered.

“Are you certain about returning there, Elessar?” Faramair asked. “Is it safe?”

“I do not think I have a choice any longer, my friend,” Aragorn replied. “I am not certain what it is I have to do there… but there is no other way to find out.”

Faramir had barely nodded – somewhat reluctantly – before a knock was heard on the door, and it opened to reveal the innkeeper himself, looking a little flustered but not entirely displeased with all the excitement and business the King’s company and their strange experiences had generated.   

“My lord, there’s a group of men requesting to see you urgently – they claim they’ve been riding for days, and they look weary enough,” the portly man announced, a little incredulous that there seemed no end as yet to the unexpected incidents surrounding the King. “May I show them in?”

“From where have they come?” Aragorn asked.

“I enquired, but that business is theirs and yours alone, was what I was told,” the innkeeper replied, looking somewhat miffed. “Dark and dour-looking they be – and a mite suspicious, if you ask me, Sire, but what would I know?”

“Then there’s no point asking you, is there?” Gimli remarked impatiently, making the moustache on the pink, rotund face of the Pelargir man bristle a little.

The innkeeper chose to ignore the dwarf’s snide tone. “Well, do you desire to meet them, my lord?” he asked the King.

Aragorn exchanged a quick look with Legolas – clearly curious as to who might have come to see him here – before he signaled for the visitors to be brought in.

Three men soon appeared in the room, their tired and drawn faces evidence of the distance they had traversed over several days. They looked around at the company gathered there, their expressions registering barely concealed surprise at the sight of elves, hobbits and a dwarf alongside two humans – one of whom was clearly the King, for he stood tall and straight before them, eyeing them unflinchingly. One of the three newcomers, the most confident in appearance, but also the one with the most troubled look, dusted off his clothes hastily and bowed awkwardly, unused to this audience with the ruler of their realm. The others quickly followed his lead.

“King Elessar?” the first man asked, straightening when Aragorn signaled for him to do so. “My lord, we – these fellows and I – have come from Grimwythë to seek you on a matter of urgency. I am Mathgor.”

“Grimwythë?” Aragorn queried, frowning. “I am not familiar with that place. Where is it?”

“It is the name of our village, Sire,” the man replied to the first question. “It is a quiet place for the most part, with shy folk and few strangers, and one would not wonder why, for it lies in the Vale of Morthond, in the shadow of the Dwimorberg – which you rode through some eleven years ago.”

Loud gasps could be heard from the hobbits at his words.

“It’s the village the Grey Company passed after they left the Paths of the Dead!” Sam whispered to Merry and Pippin, whose eyes grew round. “They were on their way to the Stone of Erech, remember?”

Gimli had recounted the incident to Frodo and Sam after Aragorn’s coronation, describing how the villagers had shut their windows in fear as Aragorn and his company rode past with the Dead behind them, crying: “The King of the Dead is here!” Gimli had always believed that those frightened villagers had been referring not to the king of the Shadow People, but to Aragorn whose summons the Dead obeyed – yet now here were three of them standing before that very king, and the dwarf wondered with some amusement if they were silently quaking in their soiled boots.

“Yes, I know the place you speak of, though it has indeed been a decade since I last saw it,” Aragorn said, sounding and looking nothing like the terrible grim-faced rider who had led a host of grey specters through the valley. “But I am not entirely uninformed of what is happening in that county, for Baron Balrith assures me that there have not been any threats or calamities in that area.”

“He speaks truly, Sire, and that is not why we have come,” Mathgor affirmed, his voice reflecting no fear but hinting at some need for aid, yet he seemed hesitant to begin.

“Come, tell me of your purpose,” Aragorn prompted, “and how you came to know of my presence here in Pelargir.”

“We set out five days ago, meaning to ride to Minas Tirith to beg an audience with you, my lord,” Mathgor continued meekly, “but news at Ethring was that you had sailed here, so we duly changed our course and rode south. We left Lindir yesterday morn and camped a league from here last night. You’ll have to excuse how we look, Sire, we’ve not had time to wash or change out of –”

“I take no offence,” Aragorn assured him, “and that has to be the least of your worries, for surely you would not have ridden so far and hard to seek me over some small matter of governance.”

“Indeed not, my lord,” Mathgor affirmed. “Our purpose is of… a stranger nature.”

Aragorn glanced briefly at Legolas before he responded. “Then I guess we shall soon find that your coming here is more than mere chance, Mathgor, and that your concerns and mine spring from the same source.” As Mathgor and his friends exchanged puzzled looks, the King added: “We shall talk, but first – perhaps we could call for refreshments, Lord Faramir?”

Mathgor and his weary companions appeared most grateful over the King’s thoughtfulness and nodded politely to the Steward as he left the room to speak with the guards. And when Aragorn seated himself and motioned for them to do likewise, they readily acquiesced.

As soon as the men had done so, they gave in to their curiosity and looked in astonishment upon the King’s companions, for none of them had ever set eyes upon dwarves or Halflings, whom they thought existed only in tales of fantasy told at the fireside. Even more did they marvel that their King seemed most comfortable around this strange group of beings as he introduced them briefly to the villagers. 

The men’s longest scrutiny, however, was reserved for the two elves, the golden-haired one who stood beside the King, and the other who stood a little behind the first. Although no words escaped the lips of the travelers regarding the Firstborns, their initial awe at the unearthly beauty of the fair beings was replaced by suspicion and more than a little displeasure, both of which were clearly written on their faces except for Mathgor's. Aragorn wondered at this reaction – and knew that Legolas would have noticed it as well – but held his tongue, trusting that they would eventually learn the cause. When Faramir returned to the room, the King turned his attention to Mathgor and bade him tell of their purpose in seeking him.

“I trust you know, Sire, about the history of our land,” Mathgor began. “For long years, since beyond my memory and the memory of my father’s fathers, we had lived in the Shadow of the Mountain and surrounded by the presence of the Dead. The people of Grimwythë had lived in constant knowledge and terror of them, but they learned that as long as they remained behind closed doors in the night and took care not to venture out in the dark, they were for the most part, left untouched. And so the villagers remained, from one generation to the next, for their love for the land is strong.”

When Aragorn nodded, the villager continued. “Eleven years ago, we learned of your journey through the dreaded Paths, my lord, and we learned that you had set the Dead free, with the command that they never trouble the valleys again. That was a glad day, my lord, for we were finally free from the terrifying sounds and chilling specters that had haunted our darkness for years beyond count, and it has indeed been peaceful since you led them to the Black Stone.”

Aragorn smiled grimly, glad in the knowledge that his dealings with the Shadow Host had achieved more than the capture of the Black Fleet, but poised to hear less pleasant news that he knew would come. It came all too soon.

“To our dismay, the peace has been broken, my lord,” Mathgor said. “Of late, the Dead have been heard again, and seen walking the valley.”

There was no sign of surprise on the face of the King, but the smile disappeared at once, and everyone else tensed.

“As rampantly as before?” Faramir asked.

“Thankfully, no, my lord,” Mathgor replied. “Where our valley was once filled with the wanderings of many, there seem to be only a few now who may be seen haunting it, though we still hear the wails of a small host if one ventures close enough to the Mountain… as if there were… others… trapped within.”

Mathgor saw the King and all his companions stiffen again at those words, and assumed that they were merely made uneasy by his tale.

“We did wonder why those few have remained even after you released them, Sire, yet… we could have lived with them, for they had long been a common presence in our land,” Mathgor continued. “We expected the few to be no more of a disturbance than pests in our fields – and certainly no greater a threat than the hosts that once blackened our valley – but we were wrong… and the hold these last few have on us… it… it’s far worse…”

Mathgor’s voice failed, and he pursed his lips, choking on whatever words he had meant to say.

“What is it, Mathgor?” Aragorn pressed, frowning. “How is it worse?”

“His father, my lord,” a second villager replied a little timidly, lowering his head and clasping his hands when Aragorn looked at him. “His father… he has been speaking and acting strangely – he is not himself, and they think… we think…”

“We think the Dead have him,” a third man piped up more boldly, “Took him, more like it, took him, making him say things, like it’s his body but not his voice, not his thoughts...”

A loud, coarse remark from Gimli interrupted the man’s speech. “What did he say?” he demanded. “What did they make him say?”

“He… they… asked that you return to the Valley and the Paths, Sire,” Mathgor spoke again, his tone grave. “There is ‘a wrong that needs to be righted’, those were the words, and ‘some who were not redeemed… it is not finished.”

“They have been forgotten twice, is what the thing in him said,” the third villager added. “Return to the Paths, it demanded, and you will see and learn all you need to know.”

“Another one!” Gimli grunted. “It wasn’t enough for them to send their repulsive message through me?”

Noticing the villagers’ stares and murmurs of confusion over what Gimli meant by “another one”, Faramir – at Aragorn’s nod – gave them a brief account of the events that had affected the King and his company in Pelargir.

“It’s plain – they wanted to make sure Strider heard and paid attention,” Merry said after the Steward had finished, making the villagers wonder anew at who ‘Strider’ was. “They sound desperate enough.”

“How long did he… or it… have hold of your father, Mathgor?” Aragorn asked the man.

Mathgor turned ashen as he replied softly: “It has not left, my lord.”

Another gasp came from the hobbits, and a shudder went through Gimli, at those words. Several looks of sympathy were sent in Mathgor’s direction.

“My father continues to be in a… a kind of daze,” the man added, “speaking every now and then to remind us of the same matter: to bring the heir of Isildur back.”

“Why did you not bring him here?” Faramir queried. “To meet with the King – ”    

“He is an old man, he would not survive the journey,” the bolder of Mathgor’s companions spoke up, with a slight edge to his voice. “Surely an aged man cannot be expected to ride – ”

“Hush, Fierthwain, they would not know of Father’s delicate health,” Mathgor told his companion in gentle reproach. “Forgive my cousin, my lords, he sometimes speaks brashly, but my father is indeed too old to make such a journey.”

Disregarding Fierthwain’s impudence, Aragorn sent Legolas and Faramir an unvoiced question as he recalled Gimli’s words: Listen to the Old One. Could they have been referring to Mathgor’s father?

The King turned his attention back to the villagers. “I wish we could learn more about who these Twice Forgotten are, and why they are locked away,” he said. “There may be no written records, but your people have lived in the Shadow of the Mountain since their race dwelt there in hiding, have they not? Perhaps there are those among you who have heard of some incident that might explain what is happening?”

“Aye, my lord, our forefathers were witness to the flight of that race into the darkness of the Mountains, and there are even some among us who are believed to have shared their blood in the distant past,” Mathgor said. “The history of the curse is known to all, and from it have sprung many tales. Some we think hold truth, and some stories we have come to consider old wives’ tales, told for no other purpose than to frighten children at night. But since my father began voicing these strange claims about some who were forgotten twice… well, one of those tales no longer seems so far-fetched or silly. If you desire to hear it, my lord, Spinner here could tell it better than any of us.”

“Spinner?” Sam asked.

“Well, that’s what we call him, on account of his love of old tales,” Mathgor explained, twitching his lips at his timid-looking companion, whose face had turned a shade of red. “He’s the most regular of us with books, and he writes down old tales and spins new ones.”

“It just seems such a shame, all those stories going to waste if no one remembers them, my lord,” Spinner said suddenly, “so I write them down.”

“A Bilbo in the making,” Sam remarked quietly to Merry and Pippin, who grinned and nodded.

“Come, Spinner, tell this company here what the whole village has been talking about for the past two weeks,” Mathgor urged. “It doesn’t seem so much like spun yarn now.”

For a moment, Spinner was too embarrassed to say anything, but at the urging of his friends, he cleared his throat and began.

“This is the tale told by my departed grandsire, my lord, and who knows how many others,” he said. “It tells of the King of the Mountain; by the name of Häthel the Stone-hearted was he known, because of his cold heart, so the story goes, though we know not his real name any longer. It was in the days when he first invoked the anger of Isildur and thus brought the curse upon his people, that there were those who laughed at the words of Isildur and took them to be folly – empty curses that would be blown away with the wind, never to be fulfilled. They held to the might of the Dark Lord Sauron and believed it would prevail.”

“Sounds like some of Saruman’s Wildmen,” Pippin whispered to Merry, who hushed him.

“Well, some of the Mountain folk did not take it lightly like the others did, and they believed that the curse of the rightful King of Gondor would come to pass if it were uttered in earnest,” Spinner continued. “Neither love nor hate had they for Isildur, for he was only a distant figure on a throne, but they did dread an alliance with the Dark Lord, whom they knew would be both treacherous and cruel. So this small number rose against Häthel in anger and fear, meaning to change his mind and the fate of their people by riding to war with Isildur.”

At these words, Aragorn looked around at his own companions, for this part of the history of the Mountain people had not been known to any of them before this: that not all of those folk had supported their king’s treachery. They turned back to Spinner when he resumed the story:

“My grandsire said that the wrath of Häthel was terrible, and he cast a dark spell on the usurpers. With the help of his most powerful mage, he imprisoned them all in a part of the mountain, behind a door of rock no one could open, not even with the mightiest of weapons. He allowed it to be opened only to supply those within with the barest of necessities, or to add to their number as more resisted him. But finally… no others dared oppose him any longer, and those within remained in misery… wailing and calling to ears that would not heed them… rotting in flesh and spirit… with only darkness for company… till they perished long years later.”

A silence fell over the group as they pondered on the tale Spinner had told, mutely horrified that Häthel could have condemned his own people to such a fate.

“The tale says that Häthel’s mage alone would not have been able to invoke so powerful a spell if he had not been aided by the Dark Lord himself, and no prison door could have been as strong or unbreakable,” Spinner added quietly. “But hold fast it did – and none could escape it.”

Aragorn shared a look with Legolas, each thinking the same thing: the Holding Gate that Gimli had chanted about, though the dwarf remembered nothing of it. Ironically, it was Gimli who asked the next question:

“So these prisoners – when they perished – their spirits also remained in the Mountains like the others, except they were trapped behind the Door the whole time?”

Spinner shrugged his shoulders. “No one knows for certain, but that is how the tale goes.”

“And that is what these imprisoned ones were trying to tell me,” said Aragorn, shaking his head in amazement. “When I summoned the Dead ten years ago, these… prisoners… apparently also called to me for release, but as they said: I heard them not. The others answered my summons, but they could not, and so they were left behind.” His voice grew softer as he pondered the meaning of what he had just realized. “They were never called to the Stone of Erech. They never fulfilled their oath to fight against Sauron – their souls were not pardoned, and their spirits still remain here.”

“Incomplete redemption,” Legolas said softly. “That is what they meant. Among the Forgotten People of the Mountain, there were indeed some who were forgotten again…”

The company fell mute once more, sitting still with disbelief and an emerging measure of pity for the Twice Forgotten. In the pleasant ambience of the inn, they could have been like another group of people sitting by a fireside after dinner, listening to tales of the past told by a lore-master – if not for the chill in their hearts and the stark reality of the situation.

“So they want you to return and set them free, Strider,” Sam asked, breaking the cold silence. “Well, why don’t they just say so then? Couldn’t you just say ‘I forgive you’ or some other such pardon and tell them to be on their way, just like those other fellows?”

“Perhaps that is all it would take, Sam,” said Aragorn, “But if it were so simple, they would have said so. I won’t know more till I get there.”

“Wait a moment… something is not clear to me,” Faramir said, rubbing a finger against his temple. “If the spirits of the Twice Forgotten are not free, Mathgor… if they are held by the Door as you say, then how are they still able to haunt the village, and take hold of your father?”

“Yes!” Pippin chimed in, nodding vigorously in agreement. “Yes, and how did they come here? And take possession of poor Gimli as well?”

The villagers looked at each other and shrugged. “We cannot explain that,” Mathgor replied. “There are no tales foretelling these matters.”

“Could it be… that some did escape?” Faramir suggested.

“Not likely, I don’t think, if the spell were powerful enough,” Merry said. “But perhaps… well, it sounds a bit of a stretch, I know… but perhaps there were some outside the prison who did not leave.”  

“That could be so,” Aragorn said, surprising Merry with his agreement. “It may be that not all left the Paths when I called. Is it conceivable… that they remained for the sake of those left behind?”

Gimli almost responded with a dismissive laugh, but seeing that everyone else had remained quiet and was weighing the possibility voiced by Aragorn and Merry, he suppressed his reaction and wondered if his friends might be right. No other possibility came to mind.

“Honor amongst the dishonorable,” the dwarf muttered finally. “It would actually be funny if it weren’t all so weird.”

“Perhaps if you spoke with my father – or whoever is in him – we would find out.” Mathgor remarked.

No one answered, for they knew not what to say, and it was then that an opportune interruption came in the form of a knock on the door. It opened, and some of the inn’s serving staff brought in a tray of drink and food. All conversation pertaining to the call of the Dead halted, and only after the staff had left did Mathgor continue to speak.

“We truly have no knowledge of what the Dead mean, my lord, if it is the Dead who have him,” he said. “All we know is that they ask for you, and I hoped – as my mother does – that you might heed the words… and come to our village. We have no desire to trouble you, my lord, but if you do not come… I… there is no telling when and if they will release my father.”

“And if they will continue to haunt our lands,” Fierthwain added sullenly.

“Would you come, Sire?” Mathgor asked quickly before his cousin could say more, and the hint of desperation in his voice was clear.   

“Of course I will,” Aragorn replied immediately. “You may be surprised to learn that I had decided – just this previous night – to ride there, though the need has just become more urgent. Though I know not much more than you do, we will ride to your home and set right whatever needs to be righted. We will leave as soon as you have been refreshed and feel able to make another long journey.” He gave the men a wry smile. “Perhaps then this King of Gondor – unlike my forefather Isildur – will be less of a distant ruler sitting on some distant throne.”

“I thank you, my lord,” Mathgor said gratefully, his relief visible, as was his companions’. They stood quickly when the King rose from his seat and turned to speak with Legolas and Hamille.

“Help yourselves to the food and drink, Mathgor,” Faramir said, indicating the items in a corner of the room. When the travelers had moved aside, he joined Aragorn and Legolas, who were now surrounded by Gimli and the hobbits. “Well, Elessar, it looks like the decision has been made for you to ride to the Paths from here,” said the Steward.

“I will make the journey with a small company, for there is no need for everyone to take that road,” Aragorn said. “The Star can bring the children and their mothers back to the City.”

Faramir nodded. “We are almost ready to leave. I will make the final arrangements.”

Legolas turned to Hamille. “My friend, might I ask you to aid Faramir –”

“Not this time, my prince,” Hamille said evenly. “I made no vow regarding any other journey but that to the Bay, and I will certainly not let you ride back to the Paths without me. Faramir is not likely to require my aid, and there will be others with him –”

“Quite right. Don’t forget, I am no wallflower, and I am perfectly capable of lending my husband whatever assistance he needs,” came a firm voice from the door, and they turned to see Éowyn, standing tall and proud with her chin held high. She had obviously heard the discussion from a discreet distance.

Surprised, the menfolk exchanged glances and smiled as the lady walked towards them.

“You are most certainly not a wallflower,” Aragorn said sincerely, “and the safety of my son and the other children will be in your hands as well.”

Sufficiently appeased, the lady of Rohan smiled. “With your leave, my lord, I will alert the guards to prepare your horses, and get the children ready.”

Aragorn inclined his head in respect and gratitude, and Éowyn exited the room after throwing her husband a satisfied smile.

“And we will be around, too,” said Sam to Faramir after his wife had left. “Much as I’m curious about the Paths, I think you will need speed, Strider, and you will go faster with fewer and swifter riders, without having to wait for us and our somewhat… smaller horses.”

“Besides, I know you wouldn’t want Rosie and Diamond to be worried about you,” Merry added, guessing that Sam did have that concern but had chosen not to voice it. “The Paths and the – er – the Dead – are little known to us, and after learning about what those… things… did to Aragorn and Gimli, your wives would have sleepless nights at the thought of you actually going to meet them!”

Pippin cleared his throat. “I suppose you’re right, Merry,” he agreed. “I don’t mind hearing about the Paths, but – I’m not certain I want to be on them, or meet any of those dreadful fellows.”

“Well, I would be most grateful for your company on the journey home,” said Faramir. “But what about you, Master Gimli? You’d said that you would not return to those Paths for anything or anyone.”

Everyone turned his eyes on Gimli, and he suddenly looked sick.

“I most certainly have no wish to enter those Paths again, and after what happened last night, I have no dying wish to meet with those who defiled the body of a Dwarf with their foul presence!” he declared passionately. “But… this elf is going…” he pointed to Legolas, “and I will not be left behind. I will ride with you to the village and stay there till you conclude your business.”   

“I do not urge you to go, Gimli,” Aragorn said kindly. “It is your choice and you are welcome to stop or turn back whenever you wish.”

“I sorely miss the presence of Gandalf now,” Pippin announced, sighing. “With all these strange goings-on, he would know what to do, and if he didn’t, he could find out the cause of it, do something with somebody’s mind – like he did for me when he saved me from the – er – my encounter with the Palantir.”

“Mmm, it’s times like these that we need a wizard around – grey, brown or white, it doesn’t matter – so long as he can deal with those who aren’t human,” Merry agreed.

“What about you, Legolas?” Pippin asked suddenly. “Can you not work some magic or elvish stuff?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Aragorn noticed Mathgor and his companions stiffen at Pippin’s question and turn to look at Legolas. And on their faces was written doubt – no, not doubt – it was suspicion. The King frowned but said nothing for the moment.

“Nay, Pippin, I am one of the youngest elves of this Age,” Legolas said in response to the hobbit’s query, apparently unaware of the villagers’ reaction. “I may have some heightened sensitivity than Men and other folk, but I have not the extent of ‘sight’ or touch that Gandalf or Galadriel or Lord Elrond possessed. My father is one of the oldest elves left here, but his heart and soul lie in the land and in our bond with the trees of the forests and waters of the ground, not with the spirits of Dead Men – or with beings in some Shadow Realm.”

Then the elf prince looked at Aragorn and said: “Yet, there is one we could still seek for some aid, and Hamille could ride there if it should become necessary.”

The others were about to ask Legolas to whom he was referring, when the door – which had been a little ajar – opened wide, and in walked a tall figure, his dark, windswept hair not detracting from the fairness of his features.

“And where might our good Hamille be riding off to?” asked a smiling Elladan, striding towards Aragorn and Legolas and clasping hands with them.

“What brings you back here, gwador?” Aragorn asked in pleasant surprise, before a worried look erased his smile. “Arwen! Is anything – ?”

“Nay, all is fine with her, Estel, and nothing has befallen the City,” the elf assured him. “She is merely a little distraught at the news. Elrohir has remained with her, while we rode here. Are you well yourself?”

“Wait – ‘we’? Who else came with you? And what news do you speak of?”

“That you need aid,” Elladan replied. “Though of what nature, we do not yet know. He arrived at the City two days ago, and we came immediately – ”

“He? Whom do you mean? How – ?”

Before Elladan could answer his brother, another figure appeared at the door, surprising them all: men, elves and hobbits. Even barely past the door, he cast a brightness into the room with his very presence, his height and luminescence commanding an awed silence even from the villagers who had never seen him before.

Aragorn, Legolas and Hamille immediately placed their hands on their chests in the elvish greeting and said: “Mae govannen, hir nin.”

“Mae govannen, Elessar, and Legolas Thranduilion; it is good to see you again,” came the reply in a sonorous voice.

And into the room stepped the impressive figure of Lord Celeborn of Lothlórien.

Note: I apologise profusely for the long delay, but my ‘other’ life has not been very kind to my Real Life of LOTR :–)   –   keeping me immersed in (much less pleasant) work. I have spent late nights getting this chapter ready (so please forgive any mistakes you see) as a Christmas / New Year gift for those who have been reading and reviewing this story faithfully and patiently awaiting each new chapter. I hope I have not lost too many readers with this delay, but wherever you are:  Peace be upon you, my friends, and may the New Year bring you the joy you desire. May we all find – as Aragorn and Legolas and their friends have – true love that transcends all. Merry Christmas and a Blessed New Year!