CHAPTER 19: REVELATIONS

In the quiet of the night across the Anduin river from the vicinity of Minas Tirith, the King of Gondor lay in slumber upon his blanket, weary from the long ride of the previous day. He was perhaps the only one in the camp who truly slept that night, for the three hobbits who lay not far away tossed a little restlessly, two of his guards were on an alert watch, and the rest were rendered too nervous by the presence of the vague Shadow Host nearby, which never slept.

The three other members of the King’s company who were not asleep sat where they were quite at home: in the branches of a tree, watching over the whole camp as was their habit. Aragorn’s guards noted with awe the soft radiance surrounding them that came not from the sliver of new moon, and were strangely comforted by the sight of such beauty in the darkness of a land they frequented little. The men welcomed, too, the sound of fair elvish voices in the musical speech of the Firstborn, even if they knew nothing of what was being said.

“So how would you read his dream and vision, hir nin?” Hamille asked of Elrohir after Legolas had, at his urging, reluctantly recounted his nightmare to the Imladris elf.

Elrohir shook his head slowly and thought for a moment before he answered. “I am tempted to view it as little more than a disturbing dream brought on by the turbulence of recent events,” he said seriously. “But you have a closer bond with Estel than most, gwador, and I feel it unwise to dismiss the possible significance of what you saw – even in dream,” he said quietly to Legolas, knowing how the memory of the horrifying image still pained the elf prince. “Yet, I cannot venture a confident guess as to what that meaning may be. I will tell you, however, that such denial of others, even of oneself, is not new in the world of the Edain, for I have seen it before.”

Legolas and Hamille were instantly alert. “When? Where?” the elf prince asked.

“Throughout the years, the Men whom Adar trusted enough would bring to him their grievously ill, or those with strange maladies beyond their skill to counter,” Elrohir explained. “On more than one occasion, I encountered Men who could not remember their own names, let alone those of others, after severe damage to their heads.”

Legolas and Hamille listened in awe, for the loss of memory was not an affliction known among the Firstborn.

“Some of them had received violent blows in a fight,” Elrohir continued. “Others merely fell from a high place, or slipped in carelessness and hit their heads against an unforgiving hardness. Some of them would end up recalling only part of their past and who they were and where they had lived, while others remembered nothing. It was – as you said, Legolas – as if they had lost all knowledge of themselves and those they knew, even those who loved them most. They became frightened, felt misplaced, and fell into sad depression. It always took Adar and those who loved them time and great patience to aid them so that they could return to a life without fear, without confusion.”

The elves of Ithilien pondered this information in silence. “It must be a frightening place to be: where one sees all, but sees nothing,” Hamille said quietly, attempting to imagine how such victims would feel. “To have known all, yet come to understand nothing… and to have had a life you remember nothing of.”

Legolas felt a chill go through him at the picture Hamille had drawn. “Did they – did they ever recover from the affliction, and remember again?” Legolas asked, his fear for Aragorn renewed.

“Some did… but not all were successfully healed,” Elrohir said honestly.

“And it was caused by grievous hurt to the head?”

“Aye,” said Elrohir. “But hold, Legolas! I do not claim that this is what threatens to befall Estel. Your dream may be just that: a dream, portending nothing.”

“Still, caution on this journey would not be amiss, and less likely to begat regret than negligence,” Legolas countered.

Elrohir nodded, sighing. “I cannot argue against caution,” he said. “We should watch Estel when he is climbing those treacherous steps to Shelob’s lair that Sam described.”

“If that threat has not troubled me before, it does now,” Legolas said. “For if any place on this journey should be of such danger to him, it would be those Stairs, if Sam’s accounts are anything to go by. Elsewhere, I do not doubt the sure-footedness of a Ranger.” 

“Even one whose feet have, for the past decade, measured the length of lush rugs rather than rough tree roots,” Elrohir remarked with a smile. “Still, I did not say that a hard fall was the only cause of one’s failure to remember.”

“Do you know another?” asked Legolas.

Elrohir shook his head. “No,” he said. “But that does not mean there is none.”

“Should you not warn him about it nonetheless, Bridhon nin?” Hamille suggested carefully, knowing how his prince had resisted making his troubling dream known to Aragorn.   

Legolas took a moment to consider Hamille’s question. “I would not wish for him to worry about such a terrible fate lurking about and waiting to pounce on him in a moment of carelessness; he should focus only on his encounter with Shelob,” the prince said. “But under the circumstances, I am compelled to agree with you, Hamille, if only to encourage him towards observing greater care on those steps.”

“There would be no harm in letting him know, Legolas,” Elrohir said, “and telling him would be as much for your sake as it is for his, mellon nin. You may find your anguish eased.” 

And as if the sequence of events had been arranged by some greater hand, or that the talk of the elves had reached his ears, Aragorn stirred at that very moment and came awake. From the cover of the tree, the elves watched him sit up and look around, a little dazed with sleep. Then he pulled on his boots without lacing them, stood slowly and pulled a cloak about himself before walking towards a tree of great girth some distance away, disappearing behind it into the shadows beyond.

Smiling in amusement at Aragorn’s mid-night need for relief, the elves exchanged glances before Legolas stood from his seat on the branch and leapt down gracefully, landing with no sound upon the ground between the tree roots below. Leaving his friends to their rest on the branches high above, he walked silently in the direction Aragorn had gone, and waited for his friend to re-appear.

After a few moments, the man emerged from the shadows, yawning. Squinting at the sight of the elf with the ethereal glow standing in his path, he smiled sleepily and approached his friend, his boots crunching on the grass and twigs beneath. “Have you rested, mellon nin?” he asked quietly in a voice hoarse with sleep.

“Enough for now,” the elf replied. His blue eyes watched Aragorn as the man rubbed his eyes and stifled another yawn, noting that he had bound his hair away from his face as he had done each night since the last mention of the nightmare. “I… er… I wish to speak with you, Aragorn,” the elf said hesitantly, knowing that there would be little privacy for them once the others awoke. “May I do so now – or would you rather wait for the morning?”

Curious, the King blinked a few times and looked at the elf. Even with his wariness dulled, he did not miss the slight tremor in his friend’s voice, a glitter as of starlight in hopeful eyes, and some tension in the elven stance, and he knew that the elf was troubled about something.

“Now will be fine, mellon nin,” Aragorn replied, drawing his cloak closer.

Taking a deep breath, Legolas turned and led the way to a spot slightly away from the camp, away from the quietly crackling fire beside which the hobbits lay sleeping, away from the restless Shadow Host and guards on an edgy watch, and away from the tree where, he knew, two elves were watching them and sending him their strength. Then, sitting side by side with Aragorn against the large bole of a tree, beneath a roof of friendly leaves, Legolas forced himself – much as it pained him – to reveal to the friend most dear to him the horror of the nightmare that had assailed him, the fears and anxiety that had plagued him ever since, and the reason for wishing to keep Aragorn’s hair out of his face when the man slept. Finally, the elf told him about the conversation he had just had with Elrohir, and their concerns about his safety.

“We cannot tell what exactly the dream forebodes, Estel, or if it is even a warning,” the elf finished, “but I beg you, saes, to take care on this journey, and more so on those steps when we get to them.”

Stunned by what he had just been told, Aragorn stared sideways at the elf beside him, all thought of sleep forgotten. Then he leaned his head back against the rough bark and looked up into the dark foliage, his mind running over all he had heard. The strange and seemingly random thought came to him that even at night, with only the pearly glow of a Wood-elf for illumination, he could still see the vague shapes of leaves. Even they still have character…I can still see them…he thought absently. Can anything be so completely void of character?

“No face,” he murmured after a while, without removing his eyes from the leaves overhead. “I had no face?” he asked Legolas. 

Wordlessly, Legolas nodded, disturbed at the reminder.

“And I… didn’t know who you were?” Aragorn asked again, still looking above him.

The elf nodded sadly. “I am not certain you even knew who you were yourself, Estel,” he whispered. “You seemed so lost – and removed from everything.”

Aragorn lowered his head and cast his eyes on the grass beneath his folded legs, sitting still in mute reflection for a while, till Legolas began to wonder with dismay if he had made the right move after all, or if he had now caused Aragorn to be paralyzed with fear.

“Aragorn?” he called quietly, placing a hand upon the man’s arm. “Aragorn, forgive me; should I have told you?” His eyes began to fill with doubt. “Have I erred? Was this better kept – ”

“You should not have,” Aragorn said unexpectedly, cutting Legolas off and making the elven heart sink with dismay. Grey eyes were raised to meet blue ones again as the King looked firmly at the elf prince. Slender elven fingers began to fall weakly from the man’s arm, but calloused ones reached out to hold them in place.

“You should not have kept this from me, Legolas, and I am glad for your having told me now,” Aragorn said, and a breath of relief ghosted past Legolas’ lips as he caught the man’s meaning. “In all honesty, I cannot deny that it might have shaken me. I thus understand why you withheld it, and I question not the love or concern behind your decision.” The King paused and closed his eyes. “Indeed, if I were to examine all things, I would have to acknowledge the wisdom of it, and thank you for allowing my burden to be one worry less on many days of this long task,” he continued. “And perhaps there is no better time to reveal it than this moment, now that I am strengthened by the presence of more of our companions and the assurance of Arwen and Eldarion’s well-being, and now that we are close to the end of the task.”

Upon hearing Aragorn’s words, Legolas managed a weak smile, but his friend was not done.

“Nay, you did no wrong in my mind, my friend,” the man went on. “Yet, I would have wished for you to speak of it earlier to me. The horror must have been intense for you to have been so agonized by it, and what I rue is that you carried the weight of it for us both, that it pained you and distressed you while the bliss of ignorance was mine. Whether or no the dream carries some impending doom for me, Legolas, you should not have agonized alone – ”

“Say not another word, Aragorn!” Legolas stopped his friend. “Were the burden a hundredfold greater, I would still have borne it willingly if I could have spared you from it. You say you do not question the love behind my decision – do not, then; and let me be content to hear the thoughts you voiced before: that my secreting it, in wisdom or foolishness, gave you freedom from one less worry for whatever number of hours or days it afforded. I would gladly do it all again if only to hear you say that. I only regret that we have thought it necessary to make it known to you now, for the sake of greater caution on your part; else, my lips would still be sealed.”

Stumped for a rejoinder, Aragorn could only nod in resignation. “Very well, Legolas, no more should we dwell on what should or should not have been,” he said. “And as for this… this doom you saw, it may or may not come to pass, and may be not as you or Elrohir fear. But I see no good in dwelling on that either, so let me go through what I must, and face what I must, for the task is almost at an end.”

Legolas nodded. “It is,” he agreed, hoping to put both of them at ease.

“Things cannot go that ill, can they, when all around me are those who would not let me fall?” the King said hopefully.

Hiding a wince at the word “fall,” Legolas injected conviction into his response. “Hold to that thought, Estel, and never let go,” he reminded his friend firmly.

Aragorn nodded and went quiet again. “I will not speak about this again after tonight, Legolas, not till my task is done,” he said after a while. “But now I have something to ask of you, mellon nin, if you will allow it.”

Fine eyebrows rose in delicate arches as Legolas responded: “Of course, Estel. What is it?”

The King drew a deep breath to steady himself before he spoke in a voice that seemed both brave and small. “If… if I ever become… lost, Legolas…” he said, causing his friend to flinch at the thought.

“Estel, why are you saying this – ?”

“Just hear me, Legolas. If that ever comes to pass, if I am lost… you will find me?”  

Legolas’ heart skipped a beat at Aragorn’s words, for they constituted both a plea, made in calm acknowledgement of what might befall him, and a statement of trust, expressed in the hope that a friend would not desert him to an unimaginably horrible fate. The elf took his friend’s hands in a strong grip and forced his own voice to be steady as he responded.

“Aragorn, if that ever happened, I would go to the ends of the Earth and beyond to find you and bring you back to all who love you,” he said. “Do not ever doubt that.”

“And even if… if I were to unwittingly deny you,” Aragorn went on, twisting further pain into the heart of his friend, “or I forget – ”

“I would remember for us both, and never turn my back on you!” Legolas assured him, almost desperately, as blue eyes bright with unshed tears bore into the grey ones of the King. “Deny me all you will, my friend, but I shall knock at the door of your heart till you hear me and answer, till you can say my name and know me once more – however long it takes.”

Aragorn smiled weakly, and Legolas gripped his hands again.

“Even if such a fate came to be, Estel, the darkness could not endure,” the elf added, “for if I and those you love reside in you, you can never utterly lose us. Hold on to that!”

Aragorn nodded again, still unable to speak.

“Yet none of that may come to be, Estel,” Legolas said gently. “The Lady did send her Lamp to light the dark paths before you, so you do not stumble.”

“And you are there to bear it before me,” the King said, feeling a little reassured.

“Or beside you, or in tow,” the elf corrected him. “But I will be there with you; we all will.”

Grasping the elf’s hands firmly in return, Aragorn smiled again. The two friends took a few more moments to exchange silent vows and assurances, needing nothing more than for their spirits and minds to touch as they had so many times before, each giving strength to the other. Then they both stood and in silent accord, prepared to walk back to the camp. But before Aragorn had taken two steps, a grip on his arm stopped him, and he turned to face Legolas again. The elf was looking at him, clearly wishing to say something but not quite able to start.

“Legolas? What – ”

“You know everything now, Aragorn,” the elf said quietly. Then he pointed to the King’s hair. “So that cord… the cord I made to keep your hair from falling… it can come off now.”

Aragorn said and did nothing at first, merely returning the elf’s gaze for some time. Then his hands reached slowly behind his head, and his fingers caught hold of the ends of the thin cord of golden hair. With a small tug, he pulled on them to tighten the cord.

“This was a gift, not a fetter, and not lightly given,” the man said, lowering his arms. “I will not lightly discard it without need. Let it remain, my friend; it sits well.”

As he turned, Aragorn caught the small smile of gladness on Legolas’ face, and thought it worth any discomfort that came from the knot of hair behind his head as he lay down to catch what sleep he could till it was time to rise.

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At dawn of the following day, the King’s company left their camp by the river bank and resumed their journey east.

“I hardly slept a wink last night,” Pippin said sleepily to Sam as they rode side by side behind a couple of Aragorn’s guards. “What with those dead ghosties hovering about somewhere, and that howling wind… it was enough to spook me silly, even if nothing happened!”

“Aye, I’ll be glad when you fellows start climbing up that hill of yours to meet the Spider,” Merry chimed in. “Pip and I will catch some much-needed sleep while waiting for you to finish being heroes!”

“Hush! There’s nothing heroic about all this!” Sam declared in a loud, annoyed whisper. “It’s a right proper fix Strider is in, none too pleasant at all, and he’ll thank you not to think it an adventure, I’m sure!”

“You’re right as usual, Sam,” Merry agreed, sounding a little remorseful. “Having those Dead Ones lingering around our camp for one night was bad enough; I can’t imagine having the joy of their companionship for days on end!”

“Well, there’s only way to keep my mouth from talking – and that’s by stuffing it with more pleasant stuff!” Pip said dolefully. “Now, where were those apples again, Merry?”

At the head of the company, Aragorn and the elves smiled at the conversation they could not help overhearing. The chatter of the Hobbits provided a welcome light-heartedness to the group, relieving their minds of the presence of the Host for short spans of time. Legolas, too, seemed less burdened with anxiety, Hamille noted with relief, and the prince’s face had lost much of the shadow that had haunted it in the nights past. The golden-haired elf even jested with Merry and Pippin at times, and Hamille found himself thanking the little folk for their presence.

Before long, the company found themselves approaching the stretch that would lead them straight to the Crossroads, and from there, further east into the wasteland of Mordor. It was a road that the elves and Gondorians were very familiar with, for this route from Osgiliath was also the thoroughfare to the elven colony where Legolas and his elves had created a home, but the route there would branch off before they reached the Crossroads, and head north along pleasant paths to fair Ithilien.

It was at this point that Legolas and Hamille had an unexpected encounter, for, riding up to them along the road from Ithilien was Lanwil, who looked just as surprised as they did. At the elf’s approach, Aragorn halted the company.

“Mae govannen, bridhon nin, Hamille!” the elf called out to his prince and friend, his fresh face and clothes arousing a little envy within them. When he had come nearer, he greeted Aragorn and Elrohir as well.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Legolas said. “How did you know we would be here?” Then he frowned as a thought crossed his mind. “Is something amiss? Are the others – ?”

“Baw, hir nin,” Lanwil replied quickly, shaking his head. “All is well, my lord. I bring a piece of happy news – for you, Hamille. Your adar and his brother are here!”

“My adar?” Hamille echoed, his face brightening, as did Legolas’. “When did he arrive?”

“Late eve two days ago,” Lanwil replied. Then a twinkle appeared in his eyes as he added: “I believe they have come on a matter involving… ahem… Faelwen.”

At those words, sunshine seemed to radiate from the smile of genuine delight that appeared on the elf prince’s fair face. But on Hamille’s countenance, there was only a slight blush, and the brown-haired elf lowered his head to hide it. Seeing this, Aragorn smiled knowingly as well, for Legolas had once told him about a certain elleth named Faelwen who had spoken fondly of Hamille since they were all elflings.

“Perhaps there will be a betrothal ceremony to attend before long,” Aragorn whispered to a curious Elrohir.

“This is joyful news indeed, Lanwil,” Legolas said. “And a much needed lift for sagging spirits on this journey!”

“We did not know when you would be home,” Lanwil continued, “and we thought it best to inform the White City so that you would be told the news as soon as you returned. I was on my way there, but it is by a stroke of fortune that I find you both here. Your adar will be most pleased, Hamille!”

Hamille’s smile faded quickly as he realized what this turn of events meant. He had meant to remain with his prince till the end of Aragorn’s task, but with his father visiting...

“Well, my friend,” Legolas said quietly, knowing what the elf must be feeling. “Ithilien calls, and you should listen – particularly when there may be an important affair to discuss.” He smiled at the anticipated dark look of refusal he received.

“Bridhon nin – ” Hamille began.

“It is your adar’s first visit, so do not disappoint or worry him,” Legolas said gently. “I should not be long in following, but you must return now. Do not make him wait longer.”

Lanwil looked from one elf to the other, not understanding why the prince would not be returning with Hamille, and why Hamille looked less than happy. The Ithilien elves had learnt about what had happened at Pelargir from those who returned earlier to the City, but they had expected whatever business their prince was involved in to have been concluded. That did not appear to be so now. The curious elf was about to ask for clarification when he noticed what he had initially missed: the vague shapes at the rear of the company of riders and the strange shimmer that came not from the heat of the sun. The elven eyes widened, but despite his suspicions, Lanwil held his tongue, knowing he would learn the full tale in due time; he was willing for the moment to listen to the exchange between his friend and his prince.

“You put me in a hard place, bridhon nin,” Hamille said glumly to Legolas. “I will not deny that I would dearly love to see my adar, and that I welcome the reprieve from… from…”

Legolas nodded, knowing it was the sea-longing to which Hamille referred.

“Those who await your return would also be anxious to receive news, for they would no doubt have learnt of what has been taking place,” Hamille added, and Lanwil nodded affirmation. “But you go to the Black Land – ”

“Which is already free of the Dark Lord,” Legolas reminded him.

“– and to battle the spawn of Ungoliant!” Hamille continued, causing Lanwil’ eyes to widen. “That vile –”

“Spider, mellon nin,” Legolas supplied. “She is nothing more than a spider,” he insisted, laughing lightly to put Hamille and Lanwil at ease. “And we have faced plenty of those in Mirkwood. She is but another – only bigger!”

Even in their consternation, the other two elves could not keep their lips from twitching, and neither could Elrohir and Aragorn.

“Still, I do not wish to leave you,” the brown-haired elf stated in a last attempt to stay. 

“Then consider it a command,” said his prince. “Gently given – but one you can heed with ease. Look around you, my friend: Frodo and Sam could face the creature on their own. I am more fortunate, for I am with the Lord Elessar, the son of Lord Elrond, these strong guards, Sam himself, and a host of Dead Men. That is good company, if a little strange, and we have the Lady’s Glass to light our way. In addition, we may hardly need to do any fighting, for the Dead will finish half the task for us.”

“Your dream does not still trouble you?” Hamille whispered.

The prince hesitated only a moment before he shook his head. “My heart is already much lightened for having revealed it to Aragorn; it is further lightened by the news Lanwil brings, and my step will no doubt be likewise,” he assured Hamille. ”It will not be long now. Go with ease, gwador… let the fair woods and your adar’s presence soothe you.”

Hamille knitted his brows but noted that his prince’s countenance had indeed brightened visibly since their meeting with the Hobbits.

“It is enough that the demands of the Shadow Host already disrupt the lives of the King and people of Gondor,” Legolas added in a low tone. “Do not let them disrupt ours as well.”

Hamille sighed. “Very well then, my prince,” he relented. “I will go as you ask, but let Lanwil –”

“Return with you,” Legolas finished evenly, but in a tone that invited no argument. “That is my wish – and I repeat – my command.”

The two elves exchanged glances that clearly spelled disagreement, but they knew they could not raise further objections.

“I – we – will do as you say,” Hamille said reluctantly. “But, saes, do not make me regret it. Remember the words of Gimli, and what he has threatened to do if you should come back half-dead; do not tempt me to aid him in completing it… my prince.”

Legolas laughed again and clasped Hamille’s hand in parting. “Farewell for now, dear friend, and send fair greetings to our guests and the others,” he said. “I will return as soon as the business is concluded.” 

And so they parted. With a twinge of envy they could not help, Aragorn’s company watched Hamille and Lanwil ride off to the fairest woods in the realm of Gondor, whilst they turned their faces back to the eastward road that would take them through the Crossroads to dreary Cirith Ungol and the Black Land beyond. Deep in their hearts, they looked forward to a speedy end to Aragorn’s task, and hoped that Lord Celeborn’s errand would prove nothing more than a precautionary measure.   

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Hundreds of leagues away, sunshine spilled with reckless abandon over the fair gardens of Treegarth, warming the birds and bees that basked in the colors of an almost perfect Spring day. Winging their joyful way between the trees and around the gleaming dark tower in the middle of the lake, the happy denizens of the sunlit gardens were blissfully unaware of the glum atmosphere within the walls of the tall structure.

One bee, more curious than the others, followed the path of sunshine that penetrated a window in the black tower; and upon entering the building, it saw beneath it the figure of a fair being, seated before a flat wooden structure and bent over a pile of some yellowing material, while another such being stood beside a wall, moving his fingers over something light that rustled. Yet a third figure, much shorter and broader, with masses of hair on his head and face, stood watching them quietly.

For a few moments, the bee buzzed above and around them, till the stout figure swatted at it in irritation. Deciding that it would find greater pleasure out in the sunshine instead of in the midst of dusty objects and annoyed beings, the bee zigzagged its way out of room, happily leaving the standing figures to the tedium of their task.

“How is he faring?” Gimli enquired quietly of Elladan in the musty library of Saruman in Orthanc, for he was loath to disrupt the concentration of the elf lord who was still poring over the fallen wizard’s notes and books. Elladan shook his head slightly and returned to the pages he had in his own hands.

Gimli sighed, glad that his two younger kinsmen were occupied somewhere else in the Tower, giving the elves the silence they needed. Still, a day and a half of searching, intensive study and little sleep had yielded less than Celeborn had hoped, their most useful find being some very old, almost faded notes likely to have been made by Saruman in the early years of his study of the Black Language. The notes helped him make sense of part of the lines he had read on the Paths, yet what he had learnt was not startling, for they spoke of what they had already learnt from Mathuil: that Men had been imprisoned behind a Gate of stone in the Mountains, and that the heir of Isildur was the only one who could free them.

“Krimpatulûk… burzum-ishi…” the elf lord mumbled to himself, “and again here… holding them all… in the darkness… an opening… the Door, most likely… and darkness again in the last line…” For a few more moments, he stared at the runes he had written from memory, then shook his head, straightened his hunched shoulders and took a deep breath. Looking up, he became aware of Gimli watching him. “Nothing new that is of significance, Master Gimli,” he sighed.

Gimli gave a slight cough. “Do you still think, my lord, that there is more to the runes than the spell that held them behind the Door?” he asked.

Celeborn rubbed his tired eyes and shook his head. “Even ancient elves make mistakes,” he answered. “I cannot say for certain. There are still gaps in the meaning of the latter lines –”  

“Well, whatever they mean… I am beginning to believe that Saruman did have a hand in it,” Elladan remarked unexpectedly from where he was seated, his eyes sweeping over the pages he held in his hands.

“Have you found something?” Gimli asked as he and Lord Celeborn walked over to the tall figure.

“The wizard’s thoughts and experiences through the years… read this, Daerada,” Elladan said, handing the pages to his grandsire. “It is written in Quenya, Gimli, High Elvish – and it says – ”

“ ‘Foolish are they to spurn in blindness the might of the Dark Lord,’ ” Lord Celeborn said, reading from the pages. “ ‘Can they not see what they gain from embracing it… as a gift dropped into one’s lap… to harness that power for… worthy purposes… for by understanding the Dark One, can we hope to stand with him when he writes his name across the lands, and declares his realm. There is wisdom in aiding him, and… Hathël sees this…’ ”

“Aye, there it is: the testimonial that he knew the Stone-hearted king, and that he sympathized with him,” Elladan said.

“Ohhhh,” Gimli said in awe. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, but – whew, there was much more to the old villain than we thought then!”

“Do not doubt that, Gimli,” said Lord Celeborn, still running his eyes over the pages. “Saruman was indeed steeped in the knowledge of Sauron and his Dark Arts. Who knows the true depths of his knowledge and cunning – even Gandalf could not fathom them till he had mastered much… too much.”

”Did he fashion the spell for the king of the Mountain then?” Gimli asked.

There was no immediate answer from the elf lord, who continued to read on, skimming over the contents grimly before giving Gimli his response. “If I doubted it before, I no longer do,” he said. “He says here – rather proudly – that his knowledge helped Hathël keep the traitors from further treachery… traitors who could not see beyond the consequences of the day, who did not appreciate the full power of the Dark One...” The elf lord paused, then looked up at his companions. “This seems to me a clear indication of his involvement.” 

“I concur,” Elladan said. “Whether it was Hathël who first approached him, or he who interfered and planted seeds of treachery in the mind of the Mountain King – much as he did with Theoden – it seems highly likely that the old Wizard helped put the ‘traitors’ behind that prison of rock.”

“Ppffft, what irony!” Gimli declared in annoyed disbelief. “Traitors, he considers them, when Hathël himself was the biggest traitor – going back on his vow to Isildur!”

“He did not appear to think very highly of Isildur, or his bloodline,” Celeborn noted, reading again from the pages. “He could not revoke Isildur’s curse on Hathël and those who followed him, although that must have undoubtedly been their hope, but neither did he set much store by the likelihood that one of Isildur’s heirs would free those they imprisoned. ‘What harm is there?’ he writes. ‘I have no fear that a brigand heir to a broken line will turn up to unlock the Door.’ ”

“Huh! So the old coot did not think Aragorn’s kin would ever come into their own again,” Gimli said, snorting. “I’m glad we ran into him after the Coronation then – the sight of the newly crowned King of Gondor must have burnt his guts hotter than roasting coals!”

“He obviously wrote this after the downfall of Isildur, with full knowledge of his curse and while the People of the Mountain still inhabited flesh and blood, but long before Aragorn was ever born,” Elladan remarked. “I wonder how he felt after Malbeth voiced his prophesy.”

“Malbeth,” Gimli mumbled, recalling the name. “Ah, the seer!” 

“Aye,” said Elladan. “Do you recall Estel speaking about him: the seer during the reign of Arvedui, who foretold the return of Aragorn to the Mountain? Saruman must have known of it.” 

“And perhaps feared Aragorn and what he might become, as Sauron did,” Gimli said, nodding. “I hope that made him quake!”

“It worried him, at least,” Celeborn confirmed, having read swiftly through more pages. “Much further on here, he says: “ ‘So a remnant of the broken line lives’… then he writes more about Elessar; it appears that he had kept a closer eye on the son of Arathorn’s  comings and goings than we thought.” More pages rustled under the long fingers of the elf lord before he continued. “Here is more: ‘He may fulfill what has been foretold… but he cannot overcome what has been forged by the union of two great powers.’ ”

“The union of two powers?” Gimli mused. “Was he referring to the War of the Ring to come?”

“Not in these pages; he was writing about the prophesy,” Elladan countered. “He believed that while Aragorn could release Hathël and his followers, it would not be as plain a task to overcome the curse he created in the Black Speech with the knowledge of Sauron’s Dark Arts.” 

“ ‘No ragged left-over shall challenge me and freely undo what I have branded into Stone … I shall see to it,’ ” Celeborn cited, confirming what Elladan had said.

“ ‘A ragged left-over’ – that was what Aragorn was to him?” Gimli growled. “The blind fool! Serves him well that he was left in rags himself at the end.”

“And devoid of color, thanks to Mithrandir,” Elladan added. “But not entirely powerless, even after his demise; he left Estel a repulsive task.”

“One that we hope will come to a quick conclusion,” Gimli said firmly. “What comes now, my lord? Is there more written there that we should be concerned about?”

Celeborn took a moment to respond as he continued to mull over what he had read. “ ‘What I have branded into Stone’ ” he murmured. “I would not discount the possibility that Saruman went to the Paths himself to etch the runes above the Door. It was not done by any ordinary hand.” 

“That may well be,” Elladan agreed. “His own comings and goings were very secretive.”

“Aye – he went about in the guise of an old man, hooded and cloaked,” Gimli recalled. “We saw him with our own eyes in Rohan, and yet knew not it was he. If he hadn't been such a crook, he could have made a fine living as a stage performer!” 

Elladan could not stop a smile, but Celeborn did not share the mirth of his companions. “What concerns me is this latter remark,” he said. “ ‘No ragged left-over shall challenge me and freely undo what I have branded into Stone … I shall see to it.’ What did he mean?”

“Well, Aragorn is obviously not having an easy time undoing Saruman’s curse, is he?” Gimli suggested, stroking his beard. “Look at what he’s going through now: dragging himself and that elf through Gondor and into that accursed Land, with those newly freed Dead folks on their tails! Then to confront an ugly, monstrous eight-legged bag of poison... no small task for a man, even one as great as Aragorn!”

Celeborn did not respond, but Elladan stood and stretched his arms as he spoke. “If there is any good to be gained from these dark discoveries, it is this: if Saruman did indeed compose the spell, he may have recorded it in the Common Tongue, and it may be here… somewhere between the pages of these dusty volumes.” His elven eyes ran up and down the shelves as if they could locate it in that manner. 

“Why, yes!” Gimli agreed. “Mathuil knew what the spell said, so it must have been made known to them in the Common Tongue at some point, if not to chant, at least to understand it.”

Celeborn nodded. “If it is written somewhere, let us hope we can find it quickly, so that we may understand the full potency of the spell – and catch any dark meaning… I do not wish to miss anything.”  

With that hope, the three companions resumed their search through the older books and manuscripts, discovering to their disappointment nothing more than historical accounts of events surrounding the Eldar and Edain, and groups of Men in the wilderness that the readers did not know existed. And while these accounts were of great interest, they did not shed more light on what they truly needed to find.

After two hours, Gimli sighed and laid down some manuscripts he had been reading, raising a puff of dust as the papers hit the table. He decided to go in search of something else instead: two dwarf brothers of whom he was fonder than he would let on, and – much as he hated to admit it – a pipeful of fragrant Longbottom leaf in their possession. Keeping the clump-clump of his boots as unobtrusive as possible as he descended the stairs, he turned his thoughts away from Orthanc, and towards his friends riding in the South.

A little later, as the dwarf blew out a chain of smoke rings, reveling in the smell of pipeweed he found invigorating, he wondered if he would not rather be in the company of Aragorn and the dratted elf, and whether they were yet close to the Black Land. He could not have known that they were already at its fringes, about to set foot across its borders.

Note:  And across those borders is exactly where the Company will be in the next chapter.  If your interest in the story has not waned, hope to see you there.

Thank you to those who kindly posted the most recent reviews.

The inclusion of 'Faelwen' is dedicated to Red Squirrel, who asked about the elleth whose remarks meant so much to Hamille when he was an elfling (from Once Upon a Strongbow).