Chapter 17    Doubts and Decisions

Night lay deep over Minas Tirith, blanketing the city in a veil of darkness pierced here and there by an occasional, guttering street lamp. Dim lights shone from the windows of a few homes, yet for the most part the city lay in deep slumber, nothing moving through the streets except a few stray dogs sniffing at the refuse left in an alley.  The night was quiet and peaceful, the only sound the distant cry of a night bird from somewhere over the city and the soft moaning of the wind as it wound its way through the streets.

Unfortunately, this peacefulness did not spread through all the city.  Deep within the palace, in the Great Hall of Kings, the scene was anything but peaceful.  Tension flowed through the air here like a palpable force, catching all the occupants in the room up in its tight net.  Doubt and anger invaded minds normally held under tight control, and the feelings of frustration and helplessness were almost suffocating in their intensity.  Of all these emotions, anger was the one most easily released, and it rolled through the room like a wave, fierce and hungry, willing to destroy anything that stood in its way.  A heated argument was currently taking place, and harsh words were tossed back and forth like sharp daggers. 

Gimli, arms crossed and fist clenched, stood at the base of the small dais situated at the end of the Great Hall, his angry gaze focused on Faramir standing above him.  He did not seem in the least bit troubled by his lower position or the fact he was forced to crane his neck almost completely back in order to meet Faramir's eyes.  His scowl was fierce enough to bore a hole through iron, and even Legolas, had the elf been present, would have had cause to pause at the dwarf’s obvious fury.

“So what do you suggest, Lord Faramir?” he spat out, his voice not quite at the volume of a shout, but drawing nearer with every word,  “Should we sit here and do nothing while Legolas and Dar suffer at the hands of those who took them!?”

Faramir met Gimli’s angry glare and furious words with surprising calm, looking down at the irate dwarf with a mixture of frustration and tightly held patience.  His hands as well were clenched, the only outward sigh of his simmering anger. This argument had been going on for at least an hour, ever since Aragorn had ordered the small messenger to be taken and cast in one of the palace cells until the King made his decision on what to do next.  Gimli, of course, was of the opinion that they should head out immediately after Legolas and Dar, while Faramir argued against making any hasty decisions.  There were too many unknowns, too many unanswered questions, and the Steward did not like the idea of stumbling blindly into such an obvious trap.  It was this difference in opinion that had led to what had started out as a calm discussion, but was quickly growing into something heated and out of control.  

“Of course that is not what he is saying, Gimli,” Eowyn admonished sharply, moving around from her position behind Gimli as she leapt to her husband’s defense.  “You have not been listening to what he has said!  Faramir is merely urging caution.”

“We do not have time for caution.”  Kenson broke in, speaking up for the first time since the argument began.  “Gimli is right.  We must act quickly if we are to have any hope of rescuing Dar and Legolas!”  Kenson turned to face Faramir.  “We must rescue them, my Lord.  We cannot abandon them.”

“He is not suggesting…” Ewoyn began, but Faramir gently cut her off.

“I can speak for myself, my love,” he said softly, sending Eowyn a look full of meaning. 

Eowyn blushed slightly, but did not lower her gaze as she simply nodded.

Faramir turned his attention back to Gimli and Kenson.  “You must believe me when I say that I am as anxious to rescue Legolas and Dar as either of you.  However, we cannot merely charge forward without thought.  This messenger claims to know where they are, and yet he refuses to tell us.  Instead, he tells us that, without escort, Aragorn must blindly follow him into Khand where Valar knows what awaits him.  He has no proof that this is where Legolas and Dar have been taken!  We could ride to their rescue only to find that we have been deceived!”

Gimli grunted.  “Perhaps we are being deceived,” he snapped, “yet if we are not, and we allow our doubt to keep us complacent, then Dar and Legolas will suffer for it with their lives!  I WILL NOT allow that to happen.

“Agreed,” Faramir answered shortly.  “We must indeed act, but we cannot do it blindly.  There are questions…”

“One week!” Gimli interrupted sharply.  “That is how long the messenger said we have to reach our destination!  And yet you wish us to waste precious time searching for answers to riddles that have no answers.  We do not have time for this!  It is obvious that that rat of a messenger has told us all he will!  He knows we will have no use for him if he reveals his secrets, and so he holds them tighter to himself the more we push.  There are some questions that will just have to remain unanswered!  I do not care about the dangers, for I am willing to face them to get Legolas back.  If you are too much a coward…”

“Enough!”

The single word was spoken quietly, but with enough power and authority to immediately silence Gimli’s tirade.  All eyes turned to the side of the room where Aragorn stood calmly, his back turned to his companions, his hands loosely clasped behind him.  The King of Gondor had said very little since ordering the messenger away, too caught up in the raging turmoil of his own thoughts to pay much attention to the argument going on around him. 

He turned slowly now, meeting the gaze of each of his companions until one by one they dropped their eyes from his.  Gimli took the longest, but at last he too dropped his head, a long and weary sigh escaping from the depths of his stocky frame.

“This is getting us nowhere,” Aragorn at last spoke, his voice soft and quiet.  “Already we have been here for well over an hour, and yet we are no closer to a decision than before.  I suggest that we each return to our rooms for the evening to find what rest we may…”

“Rest!?” Gimli spluttered, his voice incredulous, as if Aragorn had just suggested they open the gates of Minas Tirith and let all the orcs of Arda into the White City.

“I do not know about you, Son of Gloin,” Aragorn said shortly, “But I am extremely weary!  We will find no answers tonight, and so I suggest we meet again tomorrow morning.  Perhaps then I will have come to a decision and we can then decide our next course of action.”

No one in the room missed Aragorn’s stress on the fact that the decision was, in all aspects, his and his alone to make.  Gimli and Faramir could argue until they turned blue, yet the true weight rested fully upon Aragorn’s shoulders.

Gimli let out yet another long sigh.  “Tomorrow morning, then,” he said at last.

Aragorn nodded his head shortly, glanced around the room a final time, then turned and strode from the Hall, leaving a very quiet, very subdued group behind him.

******

After leaving the Great Hall, Aragorn started out with the true intention of returning to his room--though he doubted greatly he would find much in the way of sleep this night.  However, instead he found his steps wandering aimlessly through the silent palace, at last leading him through a tall arch and out into the quiet confines of a high walled garden.  Wandering without direction he at last found a cold stone bench nestled under the protective boughs of a tall elm and sank down wearily.  Slowly his eyes slid shut, blocking out all sight of the world around him.  He wished he could so easily block out the raging turmoil of his mind.  Doubts plagued him unceasingly, and his tired mind was finding it hard to sort through them.

He knew Faramir was right.  There were too many unanswered questions.  Who had taken Legolas and Dar, and perhaps even more importantly, why?  If they were truly after him as everything suggested—both the earlier anonymous note and now the message from the small man—then why hadn’t they merely taken him when they had had the chance?  Why had he been instructed to follow the messenger into Khand, and what awaited him when he reached there?  Were Legolas and Dar truly there, or was it all a part of an elaborate trap set by an unknown adversary?  The list of questions seemed unending.  Yet Gimli was right as well.  He did not have time to find the answers.  If he allowed doubt and indecision to win, then it was likely he would never see Legolas or Dar again.  There was already a chance that he might not, and yet if he did nothing to help his friends, he knew he would never be able to live with himself.  Their deaths would hang over his head for the rest of his life, and he would never be able to be rid of his grief and guilt.

There was also the matter of Gondor.  Where did his duty to his people end and his loyalty to Legolas begin?  This was not an easy question, and it ate away at him.  How would the people look at a King who was willing to ride away from his responsibilities whenever he so chose.  But then, wasn’t Legolas also one of his responsibilities?  How would the people view him if he abandoned his friend?  It seemed there was no way to win this particular inner debate.

Aragorn opened his eyes, his gaze sweeping across the heavens, his eyes automatically searching out the comforting light of the familiar star Earendil.  It shone brightly this night, and Aragorn could not hold back a soft sigh of relief. 

‘The night is beautiful.  You would have enjoyed it, Legolas.’

Aragorn moaned, realizing with a start that he was already beginning to think of his friend as if he were gone forever.

Feeling suddenly restless, he rose from the bench, leaving the gardens to return to the palace.  Striding through the empty halls quickly, he made his way to his quarters.  When he reached the large doors leading into his rooms, he slowed his steps, opening the door as quietly as possible in the hopes that he would not waken Arwen. 

To his surprise, he found her already awake and waiting for him, seated carefully on the large divan positioned in front of the balcony window.  She lay casually on her side, already dressed in her nightclothes, her hair spilling down around her in dark waves of disarray.  One hand lay casually across her abdomen, a gesture she had taken up recently, as if she were stroking the spot where her child no longer lay.  Her eyes, when she lifted them to his, were glassy with weariness, worry, and the barest hint of pain dimmed, but not forgotten.

Aragorn quickly crossed the room and dropped down next to her, taking her carefully into his arms.  “You should not have waited up for me,” he admonished gently, rocking her softly, his hands smoothing up and down her back.

“I was worried,” she answered quietly.  “I tried to sleep but…”  She trailed off, and Aragorn did not try to push her.  Instead he rose with her in his arms and moved over to the bed, gently laying her down on the soft mattress.  Arwen relaxed back with a soft sigh, and Aragorn quickly stripped off his tunic and climbed into the large bed beside her, reaching to pull her close.

“What has happened, Aragorn?” she asked hesitantly, reaching out to brush his cheek with her fingertips.  “You are troubled, my love.”

Aragorn shrugged, somehow not surprised that Arwen had so easily seen through his attempt to hide his raging turmoil.  “A messenger came to the palace today,” he began, and soon found himself telling her everything, including his own doubts and fears.

Arwen listened quietly, as he had known she would, her expression one of gentle compassion.

“I do not know what to do, Arwen,” Aragorn at last admitted, hating the hint of defeat he detected in his voice.  “I feel as if I am being torn in a thousand different directions.”

Arwen cocked her head to one side, regarding him silently for several long minutes.  At last she reached up and brushed her hand across his lips in a gentle caress.  “Oh, Aragorn,” she whispered softly, her eyes pooling with unshed tears.

Aragorn cursed himself, ashamed that he had burdened her with his troubles when she had so much of her own pain to deal with.  Reaching out he pulled her more tightly against his chest.  “Shhh,” he murmured.  “We will talk of this later.  Sleep now, beloved.”

Arwen shook her head, pulling back from his embrace.  “Your troubles are my own, Aragorn,” she said firmly, as if reading his earlier thoughts.  “I am glad you chose to share them with me, and though I cannot make this decision for you, know that I will support you no matter what you may decide.”

“Arwen,” he began, but she once more cut him off with a soft finger to his lips.

“If you were still a ranger, and did not have the duty of King resting upon you, would you then go to Legolas’ aid?”

Aragorn barely hesitated before answering.  “Yes.”

“Even despite your doubts?  Despite all the unanswered questions?”

Aragorn thought about it for a moment before nodding firmly.  “Yes.”

Arwen smiled softly.  “Understand, Aragorn, that you are still the same man you were before.  Your title my have changed, but this…” she laid a gentle hand on his chest, directly over the strong beat of his heart, “this, has never changed.”

Aragorn regarded her quietly, his own hand coming up to cover hers where it still rested against his chest, his thumb gently smoothing along the pulse in her wrist.  “Are you telling me I should go after Legolas then?” he asked quietly.

“Nay, Aragorn, for only you can make that decision.  I am merely reminding you to trust in yourself, in the instincts that have guided you all your life.  Those instincts are not gone now merely because you are King.  All you truly have to decide is what that title means to you.  Not what it means to me, or to Faramir, or to anyone else, but only what it means to you.  Once you have decided that, you will know what to do.”

Aragorn continued to regard her quietly, lost within the depths of her eyes, her words ringing out continuously within his mind.  At last he reached out and gently closed her eyes with the pads of his fingers.  “Sleep,” he commanded softly, moving so she could rest her head against his shoulder. 

Arwen let out a contented sigh, snuggling closer to him, her body relaxed and comfortable against him.  Within a few minutes, her deep breaths informed him that she had heeded his order and slipped into the world of dreams.

Aragorn continued to hold her tightly, his mind no longer wild with doubts and despair.  He knew he still needed to make a decision, just as he knew that decision would not come easily.  However, Arwen’s words had provided him with a focal point, and he clung to it desperately.

The truth was, if his life were his own, he would have gone after Legolas and Dar without hesitation.  However, he had given his life to the people of Gondor the moment he had become King.  Arwen was right.  All his doubts and worries did not matter.  The only thing that mattered, the only decision he truly had to make, was whether or not the title King outweighed the title of friend.

With a soft sigh, Aragorn settled more firmly into the soft mattress, knowing that this night might very well turn out to be one of the longest in his entire life.

*****

Gimli was in a foul mood.

After Aragorn had left the Great Hall, Gimli had also chosen to depart, hoping to find a place where he could calm his raging emotions.  He had had no intention of returning to his room and attempting to sleep as Aragorn had suggested, thinking the idea ridiculous at best, and absolutely ludicrous at worst.  There was no way he would be able to sleep, nor did he particularly want to.

However, almost without thinking, his traitorous legs had led him directly to his room.  Once there, habit had taken over, causing him to strip from his tunic and slide beneath the heavy covers of his bed.  Before he fully realized it, sleep had overcome him, his still-healing body seizing control despite his desperate attempts to remain awake.

Now, it was almost mid-morning, and Gimli was furious at himself for allowing himself to sleep at all, let alone so late.  He had jumped from bed, quickly dressed, then went in search of his companions, fearful that Aragorn had already met with Faramir and had made his decision without Gimli present.  If this had happened, Gimli swore he would skin Aragorn alive, King of Gondor or no.

He at last found a servant who informed him that Faramir, Eowyn, and Kenson were all currently awake and eating breakfast within the private dining room.  The servant also informed him that no sign of the King had yet been seen this morning.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Gimli set off for the dining room, his rumbling stomach reminding him that he had not eaten since noon the previous day.   Reaching the breakfast hall, he found that the servant had not been lying; Faramir, Eowyn, and Kenson where all seated around the small table, holding a hushed conversation.  They looked up when he came in, and Gimli paused, suddenly and quite unexplainably feeling hesitant.

“Good morning Gimli,” Eowyn called out in welcome, her smile genuine.

Gimli nodded his head in response, mumbling a good morning.  His gaze swept to Faramir, and he felt himself stiffen slightly, memories of the previous evening’s argument flooding his mind. 

Faramir regarded him silently for several long moments, his expression unreadable.  At last he dropped his gaze, but not fast enough for Gimli to miss the sudden look of sad weariness in the man’s blue eyes.  “Good morning Gimli,” he mumbled softly, his tone that of quiet resignation.

Gimli suddenly felt all the anger and resentment drain from him as he watched the weary stoop in Faramir’s normally proudly set shoulders.  It was obvious that Faramir was suffering greatly, and Gimli suddenly felt foolish and petty for his anger.  “Good morning Faramir,” he responded quietly.  He winced slightly when he remembered his harsh words to the Steward the night before, and he tried desperately to find some way to apologize.

“The flat cakes are quite good, Gimli.  You should try one.”

Gimli blinked.  Faramir had lifted his gaze once more, and a small smile twisted his lips, though it did not quite reach his eyes.  “Try one,” he repeated, motioning toward the table heavily laden with food situated off to one side.

Gimli realized with a start that Faramir knew he was going to try and apologize, and the Steward, in his own way, was telling the dwarf that it was not necessary.

A small, return smile came to Gimli’s face, and with a nod he turned to the table of food.

‘Perhaps it is a good thing that Aragorn separated us last night,” he thought grimly, piling three of the flat cakes onto his plate.  ‘If he had not, who knows what words would have been spoken.  I value Faramir’s friendship too much to allow a few words in anger to tear us asunder!’

Returning to the table with a heavily laden plate he chose a seat next to Kenson, pausing to lay a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder.  Unlike himself, Kenson looked as if he had found very little rest the night before.

“Where is Aragorn?” he asked, seating himself and digging into his food with a relish.  The last several day he had had his meals delivered to his room, and it felt good to once again be eating at a table with the firmness of a chair beneath him instead of a bed.

“I have not seen him yet today,” Faramir answered distractedly, picking at his own food.

Gimli grunted, then turned his full attention to his plate.  He was more than halfway finished with it, and just beginning to slow down when Aragorn entered.  Gimli felt his appetite leave him within the blink of an eye, and with a slight grimace he pushed his plate away.  He watched as Aragorn strode over to the table with not so much as a glance at the food off to one side, his expression grim.  It looked as if he had had even less rest then Kenson, and yet there was an air about him that immediately caught and held the attention of everyone in the room.

A tense silence filled the air as Aragorn slowly sat in the seat directly across from Faramir, his eyes sweeping around to meet the gaze of everyone in the room.  “I have made my decision,” he announced quietly, his words eliciting a soft sigh of relief from Eowyn, but only silence from everyone else.

Several long minutes of silence followed, in which Gimli thought for sure that his stomach was tying itself in a knot and that he was about to loose everything he had just eaten.  “Well?” he finally prompted, unable to stand the weighted silence any longer.

Aragorn’s gaze flickered to his, then turned to lock on Faramir.  The silence continued on, and Gimli was seriously considering screaming in frustration.  Not even the fabled Ents could take so long to say something.  He was about to open his mouth to prompt Aragorn again, when the King spoke.

“I have decided to go after Legolas and Dar.”

The simple statement had an immediate effect on Gimli.  The knot in his stomach unfurled, and an overwhelming sense of relief and triumph washed over him, the sensation enough to make him feel almost giddy.

Aragorn continued to watch Faramir, his expression never changing.  For his part, Faramir returned his stare with one of his own, not an ounce of expression on his face.  The silence returned.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it ended.  A look of relief swept across Faramir’s face and was gone.  He bowed his head slightly to Aragorn.  “I respect your decision, my Lord,” he said softly, “And will do anything in my power to aid you in your chosen path.”

Gimli felt like jumping to his feet and clapping in his excitement.  Instead, he merely grunted.

“When do you wish us to depart, my Lord?” Faramir asked, beginning to rise from his seat.  “I can have supplies prepared within the hour, and…”

“Faramir,” Aragorn cut him off softly.  “Sit down my friend.”

Faramir blinked in surprise, then sank back down in his chair, suddenly looking uneasy, though Gimli could not explain why.

“I will need your help in preparing for the journey,” Aragorn said softly, never removing his gaze from the Steward.  “However, I am afraid you will not be accompanying me.”

Faramir stiffened at this and opened his mouth to protest, but Aragorn did not give him the opportunity.

“Many will consider my decision as an act of forsaking my people.  I cannot explain to them all the reasons why I have chosen this path, yet at the same time I must let them know that I have not abandoned them.  I still hold my responsibility to the people of Gondor very highly, and one of these responsibilities is to see that they are not left without leadership.  I may be forced to leave, but you, Faramir, must remain here and take my place.”

“My Lord, there are others who can…” Faramir began, but Aragorn once again cut him off. 

“None other that I trust as you, Faramir,” he said softly, his face full of sympathy, but also firm resolve.  “You are a son of the Stewards.  If I had not returned, you would be King now in my place.  The people recognize your position, and if need arrives I have no doubt that they will follow you as they would me.”

Faramir shook his head but did not speak, obviously overwhelmed by Aragorn’s words.

“I know that I go into a trap,” Aragorn continued.  “You yourself pointed this out many times.  I will do my best to be as careful as possible, and yet I know I cannot promise that I will return.  My heart will feel much lighter knowing that Gondor is in safe hands should aught happen to me.”

Faramir opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it once more, obviously struggling for words.  “What of Arwen?” he finally whispered.

“Arwen and I have already talked long this morning.  She agrees with my decision.”

Faramir closed his eyes, breathing heavily, and Gimli suddenly felt a great wave of pity for the man.  He knew that Faramir desired to ride with Aragorn, to protect his King with his own life if necessary.  It was something that went beyond friendship.

“You said that you would do whatever you could to aid me in my chosen path?” Aragorn reminded the Steward softly.  “This is what I ask of you.”

Faramir opened his eyes, a defeated look marring his handsome face.  “There are still so many unanswered questions,” he whispered softly, obviously giving one last attempt at swaying the King’s decision.

Aragorn nodded.  “I cannot tell you I do not have my doubts.  I am merely determined in my chosen course despite those doubts.  Legolas and Dar need me.  I do not know what kind of King I could be if I allowed them to perish when I might do something to help them.”

“They might already be dead,” Faramir pointed out softly, his voice so low Gimli almost didn’t hear him.”

“They might,” Aragorn agreed.  “But I must find out for myself before I give in.”

Faramir took in a deep, shaking breath before slowly nodding.  “It shall be as you say, my Lord.  I will remain behind, though my heart goes with you!”

“Thank you,” Aragorn said softly, his voice carrying true relief.

He then turned to face Gimli.  “Gimli, I am afraid…”

“Do not even say it Aragorn!” Gimli cut him off firmly.  “I am accompanying you, and that’s final.  King or no, Legolas is my friend and there is no way I am going to stay here while you ride off to find him!  You will have to lock me in the dungeons to keep me from going, and even then I will find some way out and follow you!”

“Gimli, listen to me.”  Aragorn had taken on a tone that Gimli’s father had often used on him when he was still a very young dwarf who didn’t know backwards from frontwards.  “Even if you were not still recovering from a bad injury, I would still ask you to stay.  I will have to ride swiftly in order to reach Khand in the allotted amount of time, and my horse simply cannot go as fast carrying two!”

“I will ride my own horse!” Gimli stated, straightening up in his chair and taking on a look that told everyone in the room that he was not about to back down.

Aragorn shook his head.  “Even if you were to ride your own pony, the beast cannot possibly keep up with my mount.”

“I said I will ride my own horse, not pony.  I will ride Shandarell!

Aragorn’s eyes widened, his look incredulous as he stared at Gimli.  “Shandarell?” he at last gasped, obviously trying to picture Gimli atop the fiery war-horse.

“Yes, Shandarell!” Gimli answered smugly.  “I am sure he can keep up with any mount you choose to ride.  In fact, you may have problems keeping up with me!

Aragorn was shaking his head.  “Gimli, you can barely remain upright atop the smallest of my ponies and yet you think you can ride Shandarell.”

Gimli nodded.  “The elf has been teaching me,” he admitted reluctantly, “Yet if you doubt my ability, let us make a bargain.  If I cannot keep up, I will agree to return to the castle and await your return.  However, if I keep pace, you must allow me to accompany you without trying to leave me behind!”

Aragorn stared at him for a couple of long moments before finally nodding.  “Agreed,” he said softly, his eyes obviously showing his doubt.

“I too wish to accompany you, my Lord,” Kenson suddenly spoke up from across the room.  “You will need someone to watch your back, and I swear my life to you now!”

Aragorn snorted.  “Trust me, Kenson, I am well capable of watching my own back.  I was wandering the wild, hunting creatures of darkness while you were still a beardless boy.”

“All the same, Aragorn,” Faramir broke in, “I think it would be wise for him to go.  You are not allowed an escort, but should a fight arise, even a single companion can come in handy.  With both Gimli and Kenson at you back, it will be harder for them to catch you unaware!”

“I agree,” Gimli huffed.  “It will be good to have another sword along should trouble arise.  Besides, it is his son they have taken.  Surely, Aragorn, you would wish to go if it were your child missing.”

Aragorn winced, and Gimli immediately regretted his words.  However, before he could speak and try to make things right, Aragorn nodded.

“Very well, Kenson. You may accompany us.”  Aragorn rose from the table, and everyone else rose with him.  The ex-ranger’s eyes swept across the room, meeting the gaze of each person.  A slow, grim smile twisted his lips, and his hands swept back to grip the hilt of his sword.

 “Prepare yourselves, my friends,” he whispered softly. “Today we ride to Khand.”

TBC