Disclaimer: See Prologue.

Chapter 1: Lieutenant Thorongil

Aragorn yawned widely, stretching his limbs as he rose from his bed. He rubbed the remains of sleep from his eyes and stepped in front of the window across the small room. The shutters were already wide open because of the warm weather. Aragorn leaned on the windowsill with his elbows, taking deep breaths of the spring air. In front of him spread a small slice of southern Gondor in the afternoon sunlight. Nearest to the window he could see the westernmost houses of Thôngobel and beyond them rolling hills on which grew the numerous pines that had given the town its name. A slight wind blew from the northwest, carrying the scents of windflower, sea lavender and of various other flowers. For a moment Aragorn felt like he had awakened only to another dream, only this one being brighter and more vivid than the previous.

There was no sound except for the constant sigh of the Sea. It felt like even the birds had fallen asleep in the soothing warmth. Suddenly, however, Aragorn raised his head a little. A sound like the faint echo of a braying horn had come to his ears. The sound was repeated, and Aragorn nodded to himself, thinking:

"The attack signal. It seems like captain Baraon is keeping the new lads busy. Oh, well, that does them only good."

He stood by the window a few minutes more, listening. He heard only the distant alarm cries of some birds that had been disturbed by the horn. It was no wonder, though, that nothing more could be heard, since Baraon had led the two companies of fresh recruits some miles away into a flat, open valley among the hills. The place was perfect for unit training, and that was just what the captain had in his mind. In his absence he had left Aragorn and another lieutenant named Faelthîr in charge of the rest of his battalion.

"I hope the men learn fast," Aragorn thought. "Times are bad enough without us having to throw unskilled sword fodder into battle."

His worry went away, however, when he remembered how the recruits had looked like when they had arrived. They had had an eager look on their faces and most had seemed to be strong of limb. And what was most important, the way they spoke and responded to discipline had told of a serious will to learn to defend their homeland. As long as Gondor had men like these it still had hope left. And if the enemy should eventually prevail, it would do so only after grievous losses.

Aragorn was jolted out from these lofty thoughts by the grumbling of his stomach. Heading for a cupboard standing in a corner, he thought:

"I might as well dress and get something to eat before I go."

Then he added, smiling dryly:

"If I tarry, Faelthîr will be late to see his sweetheart. And that would simply not do, now would it?"

Since he had napped half-dressed, he only had to find his uniform tunic, belt and boots to complete his outfit. It took only some moments. After Aragorn was ready he strode out from the room, only slowing down to take his black cap and sword from a coat rack. His mailshirt and the rest of his armour was downstairs in the hall. In the short, narrow corridor beyond the door he turned right and, boots stamping against the wooden stairs, descended to the ground floor.


Soon he was in a small kitchen and instantly headed for the pantry. While he was still looking at its contents, a voice spoke behind him:

"Are you hungry, lieutenant?"

Aragorn wheeled around to see the wife of the craftsman whose house he was boarding at.

"I am sorry to raid your kitchen, mistress Tuiwiel," he said a little sheepishly. "I only wanted to have a bite before going to duty."

Tuiwiel laughed merrily and answered:

"No reason to show such a shamed face, master Thorongil! You could have asked me if you wanted something."

"Oh, I did not want to bother you."

"It's no trouble at all," Tuiwiel replied, making a dismissive gesture with her work-hardened hand. "Please go to the parlour, and I will bring you something. My husband will come home any minute now, so you can eat together if you wish. Would bread and butter with olives and cutlets suffice? With a glass of wine, of course."

"That sounds excellent," Aragorn said with a smile. "I fear, though, that feeding me is rather expensive for you."

"On the contrary," Tuiwiel said. "With the tax cuts and all, we actually save a good coin. My husband always says that he hopes they never finish repairing the fort so that we could keep you here."

"I agree with him," Aragorn said, flashing a small grin. "It will be a sorry day indeed when I have to move out. For one thing, the quality of food I get will drop dramatically. But, I will stop bothering you now and do as you said."

He walked out of the kitchen and opened a door directly across, entering the parlour. It was a spacious room with a floor built of pine planks varnished light brown and walls panelled with darker wood. Two high windows provided the parlour with ample sunlight and fresh air. The furniture of the room was simple, but well made and durable. A few woodcuts and tapestries adorned the walls, completing the picture of modest affluence the room was.

Aragorn sat onto a chair with a green cloth cover and pulled a stack of thin wax tablets that were bound together into a notebook of sorts from his tunic pocket. Then, with stylus in hand, he put the book on a small table in front of him and went over the things he should pay attention to during his shift. The list was rather short, mainly consisting of briefing his company about the new patrol schedule.

"It will be a boring night yet again," Aragorn sighed as he slapped the notebook shut. He was not greatly annoyed, though, knowing full well that for a soldier excitement was the same as trouble.

The door opened just when he was putting the book away, and a man tidily clad in a dark-green doublet and breeches entered.

"Ah, Rosmir!" Aragorn said. "How has your day been?"

"Very busy, lieutenant," was the reply. "But I see you, too, have dressed for duty."

"Yes, I shall leave soon. By the way, your wife promised to bring us a little repast shortly."

"Perfect timing from her, since I have to go back as soon as I have eaten," Rosmir said as he sat down across the table from Aragorn.

At that moment Tuiwiel entered, carrying a tray full of various foods in her hands. She lowered it on the table and addressed her husband with a worried tone:

"I heard what you said. Is there still so much work left? I fear you will soon tire yourself out if you go on like this."

Rosmir took her hand into his own and caressed it, saying:

"I am still behind the schedule, my love. The navy changed its order at the worst possible moment, you know, and I'm rather pressed to fulfil it. But don't worry, just a few days more and we're done."

"But can't your journeymen do it by themselves? They are good workers, after all."

Rosmir smiled ruefully.

"I fear they can't. I have to be there to see that everything is done correctly. If the navy finds faults with the parts I deliver them, it is me who is blamed."

"I know that," Tuiwiel said with a rueful nod. "But all this work can't be good for you."

While speaking, she ran her fingers through Rosmir's brown hair. Suddenly, she stopped and added:

"In fact, you seem to have a few grey hairs already."

Rosmir sat up and raised his eyebrows.

"What? There weren't any when I looked in the mirror this morning."

Tuiwiel's brow furrowed and she leaned closer, saying:

"But now there are, here and here."

Then, however, a thoughtful look crossed her face. She drew her hand back and turned it over to look at her palm. There were grey stains on it and on her fingertips.

"It seems your hands are greying, too. Maybe out of sympathy for my poor hair," Rosmir remarked calmly.

Tuiwiel just looked at him blandly for a few moments. But then she let out a hearty laugh to which Rosmir and even Aragorn joined.

"Dust! Oh, you old slob!" Tuiwiel said, wiping her hands on her apron and trying to restrain her mirth. "When do you learn to brush your hair, too, before leaving work?"

"I usually do, I swear," Rosmir said, still laughing. "It just somehow eluded me today."

"Oh, I'm sure of that," Tuiwiel replied, shaking her head. "Not that I care much about that. But I do care about spending more time with you, dusty or not."

Rosmir took her hand again, smiling resignedly.

"I like this as little as you do. But once this fuss is done with, what would you say about me taking a week off? We can afford it, since I have my stock full of parts the navy didn't want. I can sell them to nearby shipbuilders."

"I would love that," Tuiwiel said, giving Rosmir's hand a gentle squeeze. Then she wagged her finger at him. "But only if you promise not to talk about business for the whole week."

"No fear of that! I have had so much of that during the last months that I'm heartily sick of ledgers and letters," Rosmir replied.

Tuiwiel smiled at him tenderly, but checked herself and turned to face Aragorn.

"I am sorry, lieutenant. It must be awfully boring for you to watch us two playing lovebirds."

"Do not mind me," Aragorn replied in a polite tone. "I am but your guest."

"And a friend also, if I may say so," Rosmir chimed in, to which Aragorn responded with a nod of assent.

"But you have forgotten about the food! Besides, I have much to do so I'll take my leave now," Tuiwiel said to the men, clapping her hands together. "Have a good appetite!"

The men thanked her and she went out, leaving them to plunder the tray.


Tuiwiel had done more than she had promised; in addition to the fare she had mentioned earlier, she had loaded the tray with preserved eggs spiced with salt and pepper and slices of cold fish pie, as well as with chopped vegetables. Two small rhubarb tarts were reserved for dessert, as well as a decanter of white wine to wash the food down.

The two men set to eat with gusto, and after less than half an hour the tray was already empty. When they were finished, Rosmir rubbed his stomach and let out a deep, contented breath. Then he picked the decanter up and poured wine to two tin goblets, one of which he offered to Aragorn. They sipped the wine for a few moments in silence, but at length Aragorn remarked:

"I think I have said this often before, but Tuiwiel is an excellent cook."

"Yes, and an excellent wife all around. I was lucky to find her, and even more lucky that she thinks likewise of me," Rosmir said.

To this, Aragorn replied:

"Yes, one can see what you mean. But to speak of other matters, I have been curious about something. Forgive me if I seem nosy, but why have you apprenticed both of your sons away? It would look like one or two pairs of hands more would be of help, especially during times like this."

"There's no secret to that," Rosmir said. "As for Culfin, well, I can't split the manufactory in two for them both to inherit. Better that I pay for his education and give him his share in money so that he can make his own fortune. It sounds a little harsh, maybe, but that's no different from the lot of every other younger son in this land. My own father started that way. With Malfin, however, I thought of other things. It is better that he gets his education from a master less prone to pamper him than I and his mother. Besides, this way they both get to see new ways to do things and new places."

Rosmir's expression was a little sad when he went on:

"My own parents, may they rest in peace, wanted to do likewise with me but could not afford it. So it was only them, me and hard work before father finally managed to make his fortune."

He glanced at a coloured woodcut hanging from the wall, and Aragorn followed his gaze with his eyes. In the picture, a middle-aged man with a stern expression and serious eyes looked directly at the viewer. At his side stood a woman, not pretty but with features that spoke of patience and quiet intelligence. The picture was not a work of a great master, but it seemed like the artist had managed to capture the personalities of his models.

After a short silence Rosmir looked away from the picture and stood up, saying:

"Well, it is time for me to get back to work if I want to get home before morning. It will be nigh midnight in any case before I'm done."

Aragorn emptied his goblet and followed Rosmir, as the latter strode out.


Aragorn, now in full armour except for his helm he had tied to hang from his belt, waited at the front gate of the house as Rosmir took his leave of Tuiwiel. As the craftsman kissed her wife, standing on the doorstep, Aragorn could not help thinking about the gossip he had heard about how those two had got married. He had never asked them, but he had heard the other townsfolk speaking of them meeting during a town festival when Rosmir had been only nineteen and Tuiwiel seventeen. Apparently they had instantly fell in love. A series of stormy quarrels with both sets of parents had followed until the pair had finally got the permission to marry. Malfin, now a lad of sixteen, had been born a year after the wedding and Culfin four years later.

Aragorn directed his gaze away out of courtesy, but also to banish a stealthy twinge of melancholy that had crept into his mind when he remembered how far from him his own beloved was. He steeled himself by reminding himself that he had duty awaiting him. There would be plenty of time to dream later. Besides, it was a comforting thought that by fulfilling his duties he would also help the day come nearer when he could ask for Arwen's hand. That day might still be shrouded in the mists of the future, but it would come if it depended on Aragorn at all.

Rosmir interrupted his train of thought by stepping next to him and asking:

"Shall we go?"

Aragorn nodded and they walked down the street. They had the same direction for part of the way so they walked abreast for quite a while. As they went they talked of inconsequential things, like acquaintances or friends usually do in absence of better topics. Rosmir had not been wrong when he had called Aragorn a friend; during the year Aragorn had lived with the couple he had grown very fond of them. There was something so open and warm in how both Rosmir and Tuiwiel treated others that it was hard not to like them.

At length the men came to a corner where Aragorn had to turn onto a street leading towards the garrison. He exchanged goodbyes with Rosmir and went his way, admiring his surroundings as he went. Thôngobel was a small town and consequently was not as tightly built as bigger cities. Thus, most of the houses were surrounded by small gardens and stonewalls. The town was very colourful with all the flowers and vines that grew amidst the blossoming trees in the gardens. Many of the houses were built of wood and were painted in a variety of colours, with dark green and red being the most popular ones. In contrast, the buildings that were made of stone were whitewashed, looking bright and cheerful in the afternoon light.

At last Aragorn passed the outermost houses and was nearing the garrison. It consisted of ten wooden barracks standing near the foot of a steep hill a little way east of the town. On the hill stood the fortress Tuiwiel had mentioned. Built during the aftermath of the Kin-strife to ward off attacks of Castamir the Usurper's sons, and later abandoned, the fort was now in a sorry state. The baron who ruled over the region had undertaken to repair it after Sauron had returned to Mordor, but was too strapped of money to finish the project. His immediate liege being also unable to help, a contract had been made with Ecthelion. In return of a portion of Thôngobel's tax revenue the Steward had sent a battalion of his own troops to guard the town, as well as paid for a crew of masons and carpenters to finish the repairs. Ecthelion might otherwise have left this remote area on its own, being rather short on resources himself, but Thôngobel had a few important manufactories that had contracts with the navy and the army, as well as a boatbuilder who supplied yawls for coastal patrol units.

That had happened two years earlier, but the fort was still uninhabitable. Consequently, the men had to be housed in the temporary barracks. As for the officers and NCOs, the burgher council of the town had scented a chance to profit. It had sent Ecthelion a proposal that the higher ranks should be allowed to board at the houses of the residents, in return of tax benefits and bigger orders from the navy, of course. Ecthelion had replied that he approved of the arrangement. No one had anything to complain, since the officers themselves welcomed the contract.

This kind of housing led to closer contacts with the civilians, of course. In the case of some officers maybe even too close. At least that was what Aragorn suspected when he finally entered one of the barracks, only to almost bump against lieutenant Faelthîr who was pacing restlessly to and fro. When the latter saw Aragorn, he said in an acerbic tone:

"Finally, Thorongil! I thought you would never come."

"You are in quite a hurry, I see. As far as I know, I am a quarter of an hour before my time," Aragorn said, biting back the dry smile that was creeping on his lips.

"Is that so? I could have sworn you were late," was the reply. "In any case, I have something to do and have to run now, if it suits you."

Aragorn kept his face neutral, but Faelthîr continued:

"Oh, do not give me that kind of look! Listen now–"

"I am not your keeper," Aragorn said calmly. "Go if you have to. I only expect you will relieve me from duty in time."

"That I will do," Faelthîr said, mollified by the other's response. "But listen. I would not want to quarrel with you. I know you are an older man than me, but you surely can understand why I am a little jittery."

"Maybe I can, maybe I cannot," Aragorn said, in a manner that was still calm but also firm. "As I said, I have nothing to complain as long as you do your duty."

Then he gave Faelthîr a faint smile.

"Oh, well, have a good evening then. Can I find you in your quarters if you are needed?"

"I think not, at least not before the midnight or so. Try the public garden on the north side," Faelthîr said slowly, obviously loath to tell. "I do hope, however, that no disaster strikes tonight."

"Who does?" Aragorn asked, giving a careless salute to the younger man as a goodbye.

Faelthîr answered the gesture and sprang out of the door, not bothering to even close it behind himself. Aragorn looked after him as he quickly walked towards the town. Faelthîr had many qualities that made a fine officer, but he was only twenty-one and had a fiery nature that could lead him to all kinds of trouble.

Aragorn shook his head slightly and walked out. Deciding not to waste time, he went to the barrack where his company slept. When he entered, the corporal on duty leaped up from the bench he had sat on, saluting Aragorn. The latter returned the salute, saying:

"Wake the men up and tell them to gather in front of the barrack. Tell them to dress for patrol duty."

"As you order, sir!" the corporal said, turning towards an inner door.

Aragorn returned outside as the corporal threw the door open and began to yell orders. He walked to a low, level stone that jutted up from the grass and stepped up onto it. Turning to face the barrack and listening to the hurried noise inside, he then started to wait.

In less than ten minutes the men stood in front of Aragorn, fully armed and covered by armour from head to toe. Before speaking, Aragorn let his eyes briefly run over the company to see if anyone had forgotten anything. There were sixty-four men in the company not counting non-commissioned officers, divided in four troops each of which was led by a sergeant. These were further divided in halves that were headed by corporals.

Seeing that everything was in order, Aragorn proceeded to address his men. First, he outlined in a brief and precise manner which area of the town and the beaches near it each half-troop should attend to. Then he briefed the men about new orders as how to deal with soldiers who were on evening leave and who might be unruly or drunk, and other such mundane matters. Finally, he said:

"And, if you happen to hear the alarm bell, drop everything else and head directly for the marketplace in front of the town hall. When there, wait for me to arrive if the situation permits. Otherwise, the one with the highest rank shall take the command and take appropriate action. Is that clear? Good. Corporals, take your men and go."

He was instantly obeyed and in a minute the company had marched off, except for a half-troop Aragorn intended to lead himself. Instead of remaining at the garrison as he could have done, he often accompanied his men on patrol, especially when on night duty. After giving the corporal on duty some directions, Aragorn was ready to leave and gave the men a signal to follow him.


The sun was already setting when Aragorn reached the small harbour of Thôngobel with his squad. There had been some reports of corsair attacks from elsewhere, and consequently all coastal battalions had been ordered to be especially alert. Granted, the raids had been mainly directed against towns and villages much further to the east, but Aragorn knew it was better to be safe than sorry. Thus, he had taken the patrolling of the harbour and a few nearby streets on himself again.

During the first hours of the night, however, it seemed to Aragorn like he was wasting his energy. The harbour was dark and still. Only a slight wind played in the tack of the fishing boats that were fastened to the wharves. At this time of the month the moon would rise late, so only the stars faintly illuminated the docks and reflected from the polished armour of the soldiers as they trod to and fro.

At length, Aragorn ordered the patrol to pause and rest their legs. The men gladly sat down on coils of rope and stacks of planks. Speaking quietly with each other, they unfastened their canteens from their belts and refreshed themselves with cool water.

Meanwhile Aragorn stood a little away from the men, facing the sea. He saw the waves coming towards the harbour as an endless series, as well as the glitter of the stars on their foamy heads. Further off the coast small islands loomed against the horizon, resembling wisps of cloud in the darkness. It was a peaceful sight, and on a night like this it was easy to forget that far beyond the sleeping islands and the dim horizon was the land of the enemy.

After a moment Aragorn yawned widely and stretched his arms. He was about to order his men to stand up and resume circling the harbour, when something caught his eye. It looked like three black dots had been split from the shadow of the nearest island. Squinting his eyes a little, Aragorn straightened his back and looked more carefully. He had not seen incorrectly – if anything, the dots seemed to come nearer the harbour by the minute.

The corporal of the half-troop looked at Aragorn and asked:

"Is there something wrong, lieutenant?"

"Look! Are those not ships?" Aragorn said, pointing towards the dark shapes.

The corporal looked hard for a moment, before he said:

"It's rather hard to say from this far, but what else they could be?"

He added after a moment of thought:

"Maybe they are naval guard ships?"

"I do not think so," Aragorn said. "They passed through only a few days ago. The only reason I could think of them returning this soon is that they have suffered some kind of damage and are seeking for a safe anchorage."

"There has not been a storm for two months, though, and we would have got a report about a battle," the corporal replied. "How about merchantmen?"

"Unlikely but possible," Aragorn replied and was about to add something, but the words stuck to his throat. The approaching things could now be definitely identified as ships, and to his shock Aragorn could distinguish the distinctive shape of lateen sails.

"Corsairs!"