CHAPTER 1 – faces of old
His crown rested atop his head and his armour fitting him as well as it had the first time he had sworn his oath to it, Aragorn stood at the port, his eyes looking out towards the Elven vessel that approached. It was carved with beautiful shapes and wave-like lines all the way up its sides and the water looked almost as if it were shaping to them ever time the ship moved closer to the King himself.
Before long it had arrived. A large plank had been let down to allow for the elves to make their way onto the pier, led by Lord Elrond.
'King Elessar,' the elf Lord greeted, his arms parted wide as he welcomed the man for an embrace as he knew the Man would wish for. It was the way of the race of Man and so, Elrond had always made exception for Aragorn in the regard of elf-kind tradition.
'My Lord Elrond. It is most good to see you.'
'As it is you.'
The meeting of the Lord and the King came to a close far quicker than perhaps anticipated. Legolas Greenleaf had made his way off of the ship and his eyes had immediately taken to his old friend.
'Aragorn, you look most well.' Legolas spoke with his delicate words.
'You also, my old friend. I only hope the evil of this foul enemy has not made your ascension absent of purpose.' Aragorn uttered words sincere.
'While many of our race may doubt the race of Men, I am not among them. For the peoples of Middle-Earth, I am most willing to pledge my bow to your cause, Aragorn.'
'And I am grateful for it.' The King spoke, nodding his head, his favoured hand resting upon the hilt of his kingly blade.
And in the greetings of elf and man, all seemed well for just a moment longer. The sky was clear and the birds sung tuneful songs. The waters were calm and not eerie as they once had been. It had appeared as though Man had truly not fallen from the gracefulness that they had found upon Sauron's initial defeat.
The calmness, as it was, could not last. With the warm words and kind-giving's of elf and man business of the past. The sky clouded over once more. The birds flew away and their songs were no more. The waves of the sea rushed up and became violent against the elf Círdan's ship.
The elves that had come from aboard it all looked upon the change with heavy eyes, their feelings of disbelief clear to Aragorn.
'It is worse than we had feared.' Elrond broke the silence of voices, his brows arching as he looked up into the dim skies. There was no cool wind or the smell of rain to come from those clouds, for they were more like smoke from burning pyres or the burning of the lost that came from battles past.
Indeed the elves were elemental beings, but it did not require one to come from such a race to see the birthplace of the darkness atop of them. That was how distinct and foul it was.
But then it came, a break in the smoke-like skies and a beam of light shone down towards the ship that had come from the sea. And upon the vessel stood a white robed figure, hair long and beard waving freely in the wind. A bright white staff was clasped in his left hand and in his right hand he bore a scroll.
Even having not seen the wizard in a great many years, Aragorn could not forget the face of his eldest friend. The face of Gandalf.
'I have had faith in the strength of Men in times as hard as these. I dare say, I can do so again.' The old man spoke, walking the plank onto the stone-cobbled pier. His robes followed behind him, just inches from the floor and he stopped beside his Elven company, leaning onto his staff – his blue eyes focused on the King of Gondor.
'Men may have been at war with one another for a time – but – if we can defeat Sauron as we have done before now, they will not do so again. Men have learned. I can feel the change in the world, even amidst this darkness. They call for a final chance to show their worth. They call for a final chance to be aided through these times. And we, maybe the fools, shall supply such a chance.'
'You are no fools. The race of Men shall not fail you. Not again, Mithrandir.' The King bowed his head humbly. While he had promised more than he could dare assure, Aragorn needed the faith of the Elves and the faith of the Wizard and it was something he dared not lose. Not in these times. Not when he needed them so sincerely to stand by his side and purge this evil from the lands. An evil that had returned with such conviction that it frightened him.
Gandalf had smiled back to Aragorn. Confirmation that his words had been enough to sway the wizard to his side completely.
But the silence that was shared for a brief moment was halted by the final figure to depart the ship. A longhaired, fair elf that was a powerful warrior on horseback; Glorfindel.
'So, King of Gondor, where is it that we ride this day?'
'To the Dwarven lands. To seek the aid of the miners in these times. To reform the most powerful line of defence that Middle-Earth ever had. Elf, dwarf and man, together!'
'They will not take to this.' Elrond stated plainly.
'I dare say, my Lord Elrond, that they will.' Aragorn was so certain – even more so than he believed he was before uttering the words.
'How do you propose this task to be done, Aragorn?' Legolas spoke up, his hands clasped in front of him – a look of intrigue gracing his elegant features and making him look only slightly older than he usually had.
'With the proposition of reason.'
It was a long ride to the Grey Mountains but all of those who were accompanying Aragorn and his personal guard of one-thousand were full equipped and ready for the journey.
Word had come that Gimli had arrived only days ago at the mighty land of the dwarves and Aragorn was quietly hopeful that such a blessing would make the task of persuading dwarf-kind of an easier nature.
The king by no mere chance was not left to his thoughts for long however; Faramir, perhaps his most trusted Captain of Gondor had ridden forward, away from the ranks to meet with the lead of his King.
Even now, with years passed – Faramir was fair skinned, not aged a day since the past, his hair still lengthy and coloured as it once was. In truth, the years had been kinder to him than they had been to the King of the mighty realm of Gondor.
'My King, you look troubled.' The Captain spoke, his horse falling in step with Aragorn's own.
'Do I?' Aragorn tried his hand at being a convincing leader – uncertain of what his loyal follower was perceiving.
'Does it trouble you, this journey to the Grey Mountains to meet with the dwarves. To ask for an alliance in which we can not full-heartedly assure?'
'It would be a lie if I said it did not, Faramir. I have made an oath to our Elven allies and Gandalf. To not fulfil my word will strain the faith of them.'
'I think not, my King.'
'Oh?' Aragorn looked sincerely uncertain of Faramir's words. His eyes had moved off the path ahead of him now and were rested with curiosity on the fair Captain.
Faramir leaned inwards toward his King, his lips only a brief distance from Aragorn's ear.
'The Elves are by no means convinced that the dwarves shall join in this fight. In fact, they are silently hoping that they do not. If you secure this alliance, my King, you will only strengthen their faith in man – but to fail in the task – nothing shall be lost, only the Elves suspicions of dwarven-kind assured.'
However, their words were brought to an end when the sound of a dwarven horn being blown brought the company to a sudden halt. It echoed across the mountain top like a wolf howl or a Warg snarl and all of those from elf to man were uncertain of its purpose.
'What does the horn call mean?' Legolas's voice called from the rear of Aragorn.
Gandalf moved forward, his staff drawn forward.
'We must turn back, for that is no horn of welcome!' the white wizard had now moved to the very front of the company and had turned to face them.
'That is a horn of warning, most likely only given to us by the grace of Gimli. The dwarves wish for no involvement in the battles of Men.' Gandalf's eyes warily tracked back to the mountain that stood high behind him.
But Aragorn led his horse forward, passed the great wizard and upward towards the mountains entry.
Gandalf turned his horse quickly and spurred after the King, concern drawing him on.
'Aragorn you must turn back!' the wizard's voice was full of urgency.
Aragorn turned to face Gandalf, his horse stopping as he pulled it back into a halt. The King's eyes were full of passion and a need for aid and so his words would only ring of a truer nature when he uttered them.
'I shall not return to Minas Tirith without that which I promised. The dwarves do not wish to go to war, that is certain. For the very same reason, they will not lay waste to the King of Gondor.'
Indeed, this was Aragorn Elessar, King of Gondor and saviour of Middle-Earth. It had taken all up until this moment for Gandalf to be reminded of that.
And so, he nodded to the man and blessed his passage up the mountain with a brief word of utterance and a touch to the King's forehead.
'Go now, Aragorn Elessar, King of the race of Men and bring back this land from the shadow once more.' And then the wizard turned Shadowfax, his trusted steed backward and moved back to meet with the company.
Legolas's eyes were filled with concern and Elrond appeared uncertain of what was to come now, but no one uttered a word there. Instead, they watched as King Aragorn made his way up the mountain path and entered the sanctum and forges of the dwarves.
'I feel he shall return with more than we think possible, my friends. I feel that the King of Gondor has more to offer than we ever truly anticipated.' Gandalf spoke, a confident smile dawning on his face.
