Another tricky chapter to write, so would appreciate your thoughts on this one :) If there are any characters you'd particularly like to see interactions between in the final chapters, would love to hear from you soon as I'm finishing writing them up now.

Chapter 52 – Only silence

Aragorn's eyes were red with long nights and days without rest. The hilt of Anduril rested steadily across his knees as he sat upon the bottom step of the dais, legs outstretched and eyes closed.

He wished not for the first time that Gandalf might have been here with them. But he knew their small representative number had been wise. How else would Saruman believe that all their strength and hope was already spent?

Aragorn had suggested Legolas follow Gimli to the walls and lend his strength to the defences, but had had little hope that his friend would do so. Now there were just the four of them: The new king of Rohan, the son of the steward, Legolas and himself.

"It will not be long." Legolas spoke softly from where he leant against the tall marble figure of an ancient king.

"By now the cavalry will have been driven aside from the gates and Imrahil will be giving the order to retreat." Aragorn heard Faramir turn away and opened his eyes to see the young man's white knuckled fingers clenched together behind him as he paced.

There was a long silence in which the steps echoed around the large hall before Legolas spoke out, "Your infernal pacing could drive Sauron himself to distraction!"

Aragorn looked up at the unexpected remark, thinking the pressure was finally taking its toll. To his surprise Legolas' severity was marred by the upturned corner of his mouth - and Faramir's eyebrows were raised in return. He realised that some old jest had been shared.

Faramir stopped walking and slumped down on the step next to Aragorn. "Open your own city to the enemy and tell me then whether nerves are understandable." "The gate would have fallen however many brave men had given their lives to defend it," Aragorn assured him. "Better that those lives have been spared, though they may question the sanity of their captains. I believe, however, that they will follow Mithrandir a while yet. Remember that Saruman is cunning and does not need to rely on brute force to have his way."

"How could I forget?" Faramir unconsciously rubbed the place where Saruman had burnt into his arm.

Eomer took to his feet, having sat disconcertingly still for a time as though preparing his thoughts for battle. "And where now lies the stone which inspired this madness?"

Aragorn heard in the rider's voice something of the same suspicion he had encountered amid the Rohirrim.

"It is once more in the hands of the Steward," Aragorn said, but did not look up to meet Faramir's gaze. He felt sure the other would have given much to see that stone as far from the citadel as possible. "Let us hope that Sauron too has enough mistrust of his servant to believe he could be betrayed."

Saruman brought with him some type of devilish fire," Eomer said, his brows drawn together. Aragorn recalled the sound as the explosive was unleashed. "And with it at the last they took the great gate."

"The swan knights hold the third and forth," Faramir said, his brow furrowed also. "They will fight only long enough for appearances to hold."

Eomer and Faramir shared a look, and Aragorn knew they both thought of those dear to them in the fifth circle of the city. What had been done was done, and they could only see this through now and see what remained if they survived.

"Saruman is no fool. He will suspect that we are allowing him access to the citadel for a purpose." Legolas was watching his companions carefully, willing to trust their judgement but fearful all the same. "He will become suspicious and realise that it is a trap."

"He is arrogant, and thinks us weak and leaderless. Blinded by his desire for the ring, and believing it to be guarded at the city's strongest point, I do not believe he will realise his danger before it is too late."

"Until Sauron too has emptied his lands upon us."

Legolas stood suddenly and seemed to be listening. Almost at once the sound of drums echoed through the hall. The enemy had broken through to the citadel.

Horns called Boromir forth from his long slumber. Strange to the ear and carried on the wind they broke into his dreams and after long weeks he awoke, confused.

The small darkened room where he lay under clean sheets held no other person he could question has to where he was or how he had come there. The muffled sounds outside disorientated him further.

Surely he was in the Houses! The glint of green shining through the corner of the window, perhaps the gardens, made him surer of it. It was very early morning, and as he listened could not mistake it... the sounds of battle were clearer now to his ears.

Swinging his long disused legs out of bed he lent heavily, peering through the crack in the shutters to indeed reveal the gardens of the Houses, and smoke plumbing up from the streets. The sounds of men and horses and hundreds of metal shod feet.

Beside the bedside table greeting his searching gaze was his own sword and shield, and twisting he found a pile of extra clothing, not his own armour, but functional enough.

Even if he could not quite remember how he had come to be here it was clear that some enemy had breached the walls and that he was needed!

Wrenching the leather jerkin over his thin white bed-shirt sent a spike of agony running up his side and into his chest like a fire had burned along his flesh. Gasping for breath as the pain eased he felt gingerly around his left side, clean bandages bound tight about his chest giving some indication that his stay here in the houses had been longer than a few mere days.

He bent to pull on boots. He was ready. It did not matter what he was to find upon leaving the houses now, he would face it prepared.

A sheet of a parchment on the side table caught his eye as he took up his sword and shield. His initials were scrawled upon it, and he hesitated a moment, but then thought better of it and moved quickly to the door. There would be time for reading later.

"He said you would not take the time to read it."

Boromir looked down to where the voice originated and saw to his great surprise a halfling, dressed as he was in small statured armour and armed with a short sword. The halfling had one hand on his hip and seemed to be waiting.

Memories suddenly sprang bright and clear into his mind. The pain of spear and blood, the Haradrim and his fallen comrades.

"Merry," he said, the name sounding right despite all the delirium between the time he had first heard the name and their current meeting.

In the dark passageway the Hobbit nodded, passed by him into the room and took up the letter, holding it out expectantly.

Boromir frowned, wondering why it seemed to him that to follow this halfling's advice was the wisest course of action .

"Very well," he said, resigned, resting shield against the wall, "A moment longer will make no difference." His body itched to flee the houses and find out what was happening to the city, but it seemed the Hobbit was not going to move out of his way. He unfolded the paper, fingers finding the fiddly task difficult after so long inactive.

Dearest brother,

If you have taken the time to read this know first that it is no simple siege that breaks upon the gates of the city.

There is no time for explanations here, ask Merry to understand more, but above all else, come not to the citadel. Plans are in motion and one false step may shake the smallest of chances upon which all our hopes are now pinned.

If you have woken to find the city under siege, and I know well that you would not lie idle, turn instead to the lower gates and seek out our Uncle or Mithrandir.
A sorry awakening with no friendly face to greet you save one brave Hobbit who has risked much for your sake.

Pray for once heed my judgement and may we both come through this night/day unscathed for a reunion long awaited!

Faramir

Boromir wrinkled his nose at the request to heed his brother's judgement but felt a calm settle over his strained nerves. Faramir was well and had returned to the city!

"Do not tell me Merry," he said, tucking the letter away in his breast and retrieving his shield, "that I lie injured for one week and they decide to open the gates to the enemy?"

Merry's mouth twisted, "It was far longer than a week, my lord, but yes... we are letting them in."

The last arrow sprang from Aragorn's bow even as the white wizard followed his creatures into the hall. Sparing no time for the now useless weapon he cast it aside, drawing instead the Rohirric steel blade he had chosen in place of Anduril.

Avoiding being skewered by the Uruks' scimitars now that they had closed in for close combat was more difficult than he had anticipated. He lost sight of the wizard in the fray.

To Saruman perhaps it made little difference whether they were taken alive. Corpses could be more easily searched. But their small number had been chosen to reflect no more than those he would not slay immediately without some pause. Aragorn spared a thought for Gandalf's encouraging words at their parting, and again wished his old friend could be here with them at this last.

Aragorn fought viciously at first, slicing through the orcs until corpses ringed his feet and a choking stench filled the hall of the kings that had hours before housed Theoden's reverent laying out.

After a time he feigned a mistake of the kind a battle-wearied soldier might make, allowing the orcs to throw him off balance and recovering himself with difficulty. As he did so he threw a glance to his companions to see how they fared.

Legolas fought nearest and showed no sign of tiring, long knives slicing through orc flesh with seemingly little effort. His jaw was clenched, however, and his eyes dark. Aragorn thought perhaps it had been too hard a request to ask his friend to lay down pride and feign weakness, allowing Saruman to once again close a cage around them.

He could not see Eomer or Faramir amid the orc bodies crowding the hall, but he could hear the sounds of combat so hoped they were holding their own.

Drawn back to the battle at hand, Aragorn allowed another orc to gain the upper hand, merely knocking away its heavy iron halberd where he might have easily skewered the beast.

Saruman's sharp features came into view again. The wizard was taking no role in the fighting, and Aragorn was disturbed to see eyes locked upon himself.

Aragorn faltered in reality then, the calculating malice behind the gaze shaking his confidence. In his moment of distraction, the orc's halberd drove hard into the back of his neck, forcing him to his knees. He gritted his teeth at the impact to his legs, but regained enough sense to let his fingers loosen so that his blade might be struck from his grasp.

He then found himself crushed to the white floor stones with the iron pressing down on his neck and a metal shot foot in his back. As he gestured his surrender he heard the sounds of steel and battle around him slowly diminish, trusting all now to chance and their faith in Frodo.

Saruman's voice emerged out of the new quiet. "Not for the lives of thousands, you claimed, would the gates of your city open to my army, yet it is as though I have been invited..."

Aragorn's sweat-dampened hair obscured his vision as the cold pressure on his neck eased slightly. He could not yet see whether Saruman's derision meant he had discovered their ploy.

Aragorn recognised Faramir's reply, low and bitter, "Much has changed since I last walked the halls of my fathers."

"So it would seem. And where now lurks the Steward of the city?"

Saruman's attention turned to Aragorn as the ranger gingerly raised himself up, seeing his three friends now disarmed and restrained by many orcs. He was reassured they had all survived, but the back of his own head ached and his ears rung as he sought to focus on Saruman's continuing mockery.

"The Steward comes and goes at his own will," he said through gritted teeth.

"Does he indeed? That is well, for I would not have interrupted your bid for the throne."

"Gondor has long awaited her true king," Legolas said with blazing eyes, unable to hold his silence.

"Aragorn entered the citadel by the grace of the Stewards," Faramir fervently added.

Aragorn burned inside to see the ardour of his friends' faith, but was afraid.

Saruman's eyes narrowed, but he made to move to check their words, seemingly still cautious of Aragorn's potential.

"I allowed time enough to present a challenge," he continued quietly, "yet even Mithrandir failed to muster any kind of defence; the gates torn down, his commands ignored as men and boys fled the walls like rats."

All had gone well, Aragorn rejoiced to hear it. He knew the pride of his people - and knew that no Gondorian would turn from battle with only orcs to withstand them if his the city were under siege, unless ordered to do so.

"You have proved less of a King than even I thought you to be," Saruman sneered at Aragorn who said nothing in reply. No orcs had moved to restrain him and he felt the insult in that also. "Hiding away as your city is burning. But perhaps you seek to preserve something more precious than your own worthless skin?"

Aragorn schooled his features. "You were foolish to enter the city." Into the short words he poured all the menace and warning he could muster.

Saruman did not seem perturbed by the tone, and in fact seemed almost more sure of his own cause. "It is little wonder the halfling turned over this burden to one who seemed kingly and high, a mercy that I was here to proffer the hand of friendship before the dark lord himself came to take back what was his. It is pity that moved my incursion, pity for one inexperienced in wielding a power so great as that which has been thrust upon you."

Argorn felt the full onslaught of the wizard's ascendant words and struggled to hold onto his fleeing resolve.

"A guiding hand," the wizard continued, "words of wisdom if you will accept them."

Even Aragorn, who had gazed into the seeing stone and grappled with the will of Sauron himself, felt the pull of these words.

He moved his hand to his chest, as he had seen Frodo do on occasion, as though silently seeking reassurance from a hidden source of power.

The wizard's smile widened, and Aragorn's heart began to beat faster, but he maintained his deadly silence, making no sign that he would either bring forth the weapon of the enemy, or consider Saruman's offer.

At some silent command an orc slammed the hilt of its weapon into the side of Legolas' head, the force of the blow sending the Elf almost the ground before the orcs pulled him up again.

Aragorn could not help but flinch, the suddenness of the violence and the swinging shifts in the wizard's countenance rapidly undoing his resolve.

"Repayment for an old debt," Saruman explained, watching Aragorn carefully and sparing no look for the Elf. "Consider it a small mercy I do not light a fire in his flesh to better repay the inconvenience wrought upon me."

Ai what madness had come over him to allow his friends to place themselves once again in the power of the wizard? Had he faced this alone it may have been an easier trial. He had known it would come to this and had thought he could ensure it, for the sake of keeping all eyes removed from Frodo's task, but in the face of the wizard's apathetic cruelty it seemed a hard and thankless end.

"Very little patience I have for those without the wisdom to take what little help I offer," Saruman was saying, watching him carefully.

Out of the corner of his eye Aragorn could see the orcs that held Legolas twisting his arms against a back still raw from Saruman's previous cruelty. The Elf made no sound, which in Aragorn's mind wounded him further for his friend was not one to hold his tongue against provocation unless in the greatest of need. Your companions have suffered enough to know that I do not do aught without a purpose,"

Without moving his eyes from Aragorn, the Istar addressed his words to Faramir. "I believe you began to understand me, son of Denethor, by the end of our journey. Tell your King that the life of one Elf, of a thousand men means nothing to me."

Though he seemed to tremble, with anger or fatigue, the young man kept his silence also. He was beaten down as Legolas before him and seemed no longer to be able bear his own weight, for he sagged in the arms that held him.

"I can have you watch as each one of your people is torn to pieces. Not all will bear your betrayal as stoically as these. They will scream for their false King's mercy. Spare them that, for in the end I shall have what I came for."