Chapter 9

Once Familiar Roads

April 16

Northern Harad

Queen Mavranor was in close conversation with one of her generals when the gray hawk reappeared in the aviary. Halda brought the message in himself. The queen's advisor was bone-achingly weary — he had slept but little over the previous week, and admitted to a certain anxiety about what news the message would contain. If the queen's euphoria was burst the consequences would not be pleasant.

"Dispatch that, then," Mavranor was saying, her keen black eyes flicking over the orders she had just written down. "I am pleased, General Ingem. Proceed as you have begun and your rewards shall be great. We attack as soon as may be."

Ingem bowed. He was ancient, but seemingly incapable of succumbing to death, and he was Mavranor's tool of choice in all military matters. He had fought and won many wars on the sands of Harad under her banner. Halda wondered what his skill might be in the green hills and fertile valleys of Gondor.

"Bring me the message, Halda," Mavranor called.

Her advisor bowed and approached, handing her the sealed parchment. "It arrived just a few minutes ago, carried by the gray hawk, my lady."

She nodded and slit the message open, perusing the contents quickly. A slow, cruel smile of delight curled across her lips. "Good," she breathed, as one inhaling perfume might. "He fulfills my trust again. The battle will go forward." A slow laugh seemed to be bubbling up in her veined throat, echoing from her mouth and filling the room with her high, exultant mirth. "Invincible," she shrieked, almost hysterical in her ecstasy, "undefeatable, they called him! A king unrivaled in the world of men! 'Turn back, do not risk!' — what 'risk' is there for Mavranor, mightiest of all rulers?"

Halda waited, squashing impatience. When it seemed the queen had forgotten him, he ventured, "What news, your magnificence?"

Eyes glittering like live coals, Mavranor laid the message aside and gazed at him with burning satisfaction. "They are dead. All of them. Their so-called Numenorean king, his alien wife, and every last one of their brood. To whom now shall the Gondorians turn when my men come marching upon their borders? Around whom shall they rally?" And again she leaned back and shook with the sheer delight of it all.

Halda bowed, understanding fully the triumph of the moment. There had grown in Harad the sense that somehow the Gondorian king was immortal; it had disheartened those who had fought and attributed much to their failure. Now it seemed that safe image had been stripped away.

To whom, indeed, would the Gondorians be able to turn…?

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April 16

North of Minas Tirith, Gondor

"That was the largest mud slide I've ever seen."

The off-handed comment sent the filthy human's elven companion into a stream of laughter that became impossible to stem. Aragorn himself was strangely cheerful considering his less than kingly appearance at that moment.

The rain that had come to this stretch of land a few days ago had left the hillsides in sodden ruins. Unaware of the treacherousness of the land on which they walked, Aragorn and Legolas had both received a shock when a section of the hillside fell away beneath Aragorn's feet. The ranger had been granted no time to react before he had landed abruptly in the swale, coated from head to foot in a thick orange-colored mud. Legolas had been more fortunate. His elven agility, coupled with a firmer ground beneath his feet, caused him to slide only a little ways down while still standing.

Right now Aragorn was walking with the express purpose of catching as much of the sprinkling rain that still fell as he could. He felt very uncomfortable under the layer of clay-like mud, but he could not help but view the ordeal with a certain amount of humor and Legolas' reaction only egged him on.

"Strider," the elf finally managed, "I still hold that this is the look that has always suited you best. Not that you don't look every inch Gondorian royalty when in Minas Tirith, but here, on an open road that paves the path between one civilization and the next, it is good to see you once again the ranger."

Aragorn smiled and plucked at his sodden shirt with distracted irritation. "My father told me once to put aside the ranger; I should have known I couldn't do that for good."

"Not when it runs so thickly in your blood," Legolas laughed, reaching over to pull a soiled leaf from his friend's tousled hair. "And not as long as you are so unwaveringly attracted to dirt."

To that Aragorn laughed and shook his head so that three more fell, and muddied rain water whipped his hair into thick strands around his face. Legolas marveled that Aragorn could still look so young under this Dúnadan guise. It was something of a mystery that surrounded the man, quite elven in a way; Aragorn seemed forever young at times, despite his years. Legolas had never called attention to it in so many words, but he enjoyed his friend's ease without the immediate cares of a country under his rule.

"We can't afford to lose time," Aragorn said at last, some of the levity of a moment ago ebbing away.

"Let's try to find some drier ground," Legolas suggested, not wishing to give Aragorn enough time to feel worry. "Though…I don't suppose a stream would go awry would it?"

Aragorn couldn't help the sardonic smile on his face, hardly visible through the grime. "Thank you Legolas."

It was beside the stream that they decided to stop for a rest. Night had fallen moments before and both were well worn by the journey. Their path had followed the Anduin closely and it was not hard to find it once more, for which Aragorn was grateful.

"The night air and your drenched clothes won't do, though," Legolas commented with a smile as his friend returned to their small camp. Legolas had drawn together some dry grass and pieces of wood which were burning a little patch of warmth against the night.

Aragorn agreed with a nod, his lips pressed tightly together against the cold. He started towards the forest near the river.

"No, you stay here," Legolas ordered firmly, gesturing to the blaze. Aragorn obeyed without parting his trembling mouth to protest. Legolas chuckled and received in return a patient glare. "I am sorry, Strider, but it occurs to me I would win my way far more often if you were this cold all the time." In good spirits Legolas made his way to forest singing softly under his breath and gathering pieces of wood to sustain the fire.

When he returned he found Aragorn was not shivering so much anymore; the human's attention seemed to be distracted by the sky above. Legolas followed his gaze and inhaled sharply. The rain clouds had dissipated and the stars were startlingly visible against the black night, shimmering and blinking brightly through the crisp air.

For a moment the elf marveled at their beauty, caught as only one of the First Born could be, but only for a moment. His attention was drawn again to Aragorn who had dropped his face suddenly into his hands, his shoulders shaking with broken sobs.

Legolas dropped the wood limply to the ground and hastened to his friend's side, gently pulling his friend against him, ignoring the water that seeped bitingly through his own tunic as he did so.

They stayed a long time thus, Aragorn unable to speak between his tears and Legolas at a loss to find true words of comfort to give. He knew the man had been holding up these emotions for a long time. Through the long night that he sat by Arwen's bedside, but she had needed him then, and his men had needed him. Through the days that he prepared for them to leave, but his children had needed him and there were things that must be done. In all the chaos of what had happened there had simply been no time for Aragorn's own grief — though he had felt it more deeply than any other.

Now beneath the evening stars, alone with only his thoughts and painful memories, he had broken inside at last.

After a time Aragorn pulled slightly away from Legolas who released him but still rested his hand on the other's shoulder, searching the his friend's eyes compassionately.

Aragorn let out a long trembling sigh and smiled weakly. "I am sorry Legolas."

"Nay, you have naught for which you should apologize," Legolas countered immediately. The elf waited to see if his friend wanted to speak and at last Aragorn dropped his gaze and shut his eyes tightly.

"She did nothing to deserve this, Legolas. I should have done far more to protect that which I hold most dear. It was my own folly and lack of care that allowed such evil to enter."

"That is not so." Legolas shook his head firmly. "You have done all that can been done to protect your family, Strider. You were betrayed, and nothing known to us could have shown us such a danger ahead of time; this is not your blame to take."

"It never would have happened…" Aragorn trailed, the words seeming to pain him deeply. "If she…were not mortal. I am to blame if she should die because of that alone."

Legolas touched his friend's chin, redirecting the man's gaze back to his eyes, and smiled sadly. "Elessar, do you believe that anything could have truly kept the Lady Undomiel from your side? It was a choice she willingly made, and one that you could not have made for her. Considering that you tried and she would not allow it, you should know this to be the truth." Aragorn smiled slightly at the memory but his eyes held pain and Legolas wished with all his heart that he could drive it away for good. "She chose to stay with you, and you love one another with a bond stronger than any other. We will find the thing that will cure her, she will be saved and the rest of your years will be lived out in happiness."

There was something so true, so real in Legolas' words as his blue eyes reflected the starlight that Aragorn nodded, then smiled and nodded more firmly.

Legolas smiled in return and rose to his feet, moving to where the wood had fallen. "Then we will begin again tomorrow after we have properly rested, and in your case, properly dried."

Aragorn chuckled a little at that and, wanting something to take his mind off his troubled thoughts, he got up to help.

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April 16

Somewhere in Northern Gondor

Talas closed the smithy in the late evening as usual. Again he had spent the day shoeing Gondorian horses, patching Gondorian farm implements, and speaking the foul Gondorian tongue. Someday soon, he thought harshly, the tongue of the Corsairs and the Southrons will be spoken in these streets.

Still, these thoughts did not occupy him as heavily as usual. His leader, 'the Shadow', Vardnauth, was due to return from his journey to the spies in the river town at any moment, and Talas did not have good news to give him.

When the sound of hooves came distantly through the trees, Talas left the cottage doorway and stood in the small yard, his weathered face impassive. Only four horses entered the clearing, Vardnauth and three others of the disguised Corsairs who had gone with him. He dismounted without a sound, adding impetus to his reputation for not being a flesh-and-blood human, but rather a sort of strange ghost. Talas could feel his leader's dark blue eyes raking him, guessing or smelling the air of trepidation about him.

"What news, Talas?" Vardnauth rasped.

"The worst sort, my captain. I have certain people in Minas Tirith with whom I communicate — some of them well-placed, and better spies than ever the traitor was. It was only after you had already long since left that I received news from them."

"And?"

Talas braced himself. "The Hablak lied to us. The king was not slain; the queen was bitten, but lives as well; and their offspring too still survive. I cannot make out that the second course of attack was ever attempted by the traitor. For whatever reason, he chose to lie and depart."

Vardnauth stood straight as a pillar and did not lift his gloved hand, but his eyes flashed and Talas felt the blow anyway. He knew he was fortunate that it had not been worse for bringing such news.

"So the queen is still in Minas Tirith," he growled. "And her half-breed spawn as well."

"Aye, sir, but not the king. The rumor goes that he has departed several days ago in search of some cure."

"Do your informants say where?"

"Not directly. But the elf realms have been suggested, particularly Lorien because it is closest. It has been said that the king departed with an elf guide."

"Then he is temporarily no threat to us. If he departed several days ago, then he will have no news of any attacks in the south and will not return until this cure is found. Your fellow corsairs in Rohan will make such a journey difficult for them. I have arranged to return and check their progress by the eighth of the coming month. While there, we may search for the wandering corpse that bears the name 'Elessar'.

"In the meanwhile, we have other work to do. I do not intend to have my message to Queen Mavranor proven false. We shall leave for Minas Tirith tonight."