Disclaimer - Not my universe, I just play in it. Tolkien was the master and I bow at his feet. My pathetic attempts are merely the scribblings of Halfling children in the sand of the lakeside, and are in no way comparable to the flowers that bloom in the Master's garden.

Hannon Le, Avatar101 and Greywind! Your feedback was invaluable!

This little story begins around 2960 of the Third Age. Aragorn, under the name of Thorongil, serves under Ecthelion, Steward of Gondor.

Dagnir Sigil
(The Slayer Blade)
by Ertia

The sands of the plains were turning hot, although it was early in the day yet. The prisoners were mostly young men, boys really. Aragorn sighed as he made his way down the line. He had performed this task several times since coming to serve Ecthelion, Steward of Gondor, and he found it not to his taste at all. Still, there were worse duties to be done. He supposed he should be grateful. This time, he was doubly regretful. Typically, those arrested under warrant of the Steward merited the arrest. But they were starving on the Southern borders. That these boys took to raiding in retaliation for the raids perpetrated upon them by the Haradrim was to be expected.

Still, he mused to himself, the Steward understood the situation in Poros. He would undoubtedly conscript the young men into the military, where they could earn a decent wage and send money south to their families. Eleven men, three women, and a boy, barely ten years of age stood in the line. Some were raiders; others had been unable to pay their tithes to Gondor and were arrested on that basis. Their homes were forfeit and they were displaced. The boy, Aragorn regretted, was arrested in his fathers name. Ecthelion felt that if the boy were known to be in custody of the City of Minas Tirith that his father, a petty highwayman, would give himself up. Still, there was hope for a displaced orphan in Minas Tirith. On the besieged borders of Harad, there was scarce hope.

Aragorn stood back, and surveyed the line. They were all fit and in good health, and so should make good time.

His second lieutenant, Timpson, stepped to his side. A burly man, he was a no-nonsense campaign soldier. "We must go, Thorongil. The Harad are gathering on the hillsides. If we do not hurry they will be upon us before nightfall."

Aragorn turned to the people before him, lifting his hand for attention. "Hear me, people of Poros! You are hereby prisoners of the Steward of Gondor and we go to Minas Tirith to the Hall of Justice. Unfortunately, the Harad are at our backs and we are in need of haste! Therefore, you shall go unbound. Any attempt to escape..." Aragorn held up his hand to signal the mounted escort and there was a whisper as ten bows were simultaneously drawn..."Do I make myself clear?"

There was a murmur of assent.

Aragorn gestured Timpson to ride ahead and lead the way before yelling to the assembled, "All right then. March!"

And march they did. The young men marched in double rows. Behind him, the two women who been unable to pay the tithes on their land walked side by side, carrying a bag of their belongings between them, and the boy walked directly behind them, his tunic pulled up to protect his head from the relentless sun. The other woman walked behind them, carrying a knapsack on her back. They made surprisingly good time. Aragorn kept his horse to a brisk walk at their side, letting his men ride a periodic circle around them as a guard.

At midday the heat of the sun grew fierce, and the journey had become grueling, but Aragorn dared not stop. He ordered a water skin passed down the lines, and rode through ensuring that each of his charges got a drink. When it reached the end of the line the skin hung sagging. The two older women drank and passed it back. The younger woman sloshed it hopefully but narrowed her green eyes and handed it to the young boy.

"Drink, Amed." She said softly, gazing about at the dry brown plains.

Aragorn watched the boy finish the water and trot the water skin back to the baggage horse. It was the girl's business if she didn't feel the need to drink, he thought to himself and he knew that in her place, he would have done the same.

The sun at last began to dip, and a strong breeze started. Aragorn called a halt, and again sent water through the line. Again there were only drops left at the end, and the young woman again held the skin out to the boy without even sampling it. Aragorn gestured to one of his men and was about to request more water for the prisoners when the distant blast of a rallying horn drifted across the plains. The water forgotten, he sprang back into the saddle and spun about. "If you love life, people, march!"

His cry echoed down the line and they began again, nearly at a jog this time. He drove them through the dusk and into the blackness of night, until the women were stumbling and weeping and even the horses sagged with fatigue. Timpson rode to his side and pointed out a slim escarpment of boulders where they might find some shelter as well as a blind from the spies of the Harad. When they reached it, the prisoners collapsed, exhausted. The older women huddled together, and Aragorn drifted past, catching bits of their conversation, trying to assess the mood of his charges. The younger woman sat apart, seemingly ignored by the others, but she'd bunched her knapsack into a pillow for the boy lay his head on.

"You! Girl!" Timpson yelled at her as he strode up, and she dragged herself wearily to her feet.

Aragorn watched silently. Timpson was a good lieutenant, and Aragorn rarely interfered with his decisions. However, he was a hardened man, weary from battle and not tolerant of those weaker than he. The woman stood before him, her head down, the wind whipping her braids back from her face, gaunt and shadowed in the darkness.

Timpson thrust a bag at her. "Take this food and distribute it among your people. And mind everyone gets a fair share!"

The girl took the bag from him, and Aragorn suddenly realized how short she was. Her head barely came to Timpson's chest. He heard her mutter something under her breath, and watched Timpson step closer to her. "What did you say, girl?"

Green eyes flashed in the darkness like those of some wild animal caught in a sudden flare of a fire. " I'm no girl. And these are not 'my people'." she spat, then she whirled away and was gone, moving down the line, passing out the dried fruit and hard biscuit that was the only ration that would survive the summer heat of the plains.

Aragorn found himself watching her as he munched his own dry dinner, wishing heartily for some of the Elven Lembas bread he had known in the North. She passed out the food until it was gone, giving an extra ration to the women and boy and taking only a biscuit for herself. But she took an extra ration of water, drinking deeply before passing it on.

She picked crumbs of the biscuit, chewing slowly as though she couldn't abide the taste. At last, she curled onto her side, like a pup in a basket and slept.

Aragorn rose and went to Timpson. "The girl who back-talked you... what is her crime? Is she a displaced?"

Timpson pulled out the scroll of warrants and leafed through them, tilting them towards the waning moon. "Huh," He leant closer until his crooked nose brushed the parchment. "Don't say. Just says, "Amali, daughter of Amsess, to be summoned for Judgement."

"How unusual." Aragorn mused. "Well, mind her tomorrow and see that she drinks. She stinted herself today for the sake of the boy. We can't afford to have anyone fall ill."

Timpson nodded before turning away to set the watch leaving Aragorn to puzzle to himself. Ecthelion had not stated a crime? Aragorn looked to where she was sleeping. Could it be a terrible crime? Something unnameable? Surely not. She couldn't be more than twenty five. Aragorn could think of no other time when Ecthelion had failed to name the crime of the accused. Thievery, whoring, murder... all of these charges he had seen clearly stated on warrants. It was unusual, but no doubt there were reasons beyond his knowing. Aragorn settled down to rest, keeping his ears open to the night sounds of the camp.