Well, if Aragorn's plan in this chapter took 'many days' to form, it took me a lot longer than that, I assure you! Going on what little was said about Amon Lhaw in the books I tried to write the location as realistically as I could, but a little creative license was necessary. And I couldn't resist using a clever title, teehee. If anyone is a fan of the Captain Alatriste books (Viggo Mortensen appears in the film), there is a nod to one of my favourite scenes from that series in this chapter.
Anyways, I apologize for the lateness of this – I'm trying to update this fic every two weeks or so, but I was away from home the last two weekends and couldn't get this chapter finished as usual. Add to that a huge case of writer's block and you can imagine my frustration! Ooh yes, and thanks to Ainu for the heads up about some dialogue in the last chapter; I've fixed it now ^_^
All credit goes to Tolkien for any recognizable lines.
XXX
Aragorn chose the better of the three boats hidden in the bushes nearby. He did not take any supplies other than his pack and his weapons; an elven-knife he had also in a sheath at his back, a gift from Celeborn the night before the Company set out from Lothlórien. Its blade shone keenly in the light of the moon as the ranger carefully pushed his boat out onto the pale surface of Nen Hithoel.
Pausing for a moment, Aragorn turned and looked back towards Amon Hen, where the Company was still asleep. He had managed to slip away from their camp unnoticed, although there lurked always in the back of his mind the fear that some evil thing might befall them in his absence. There had been many times since they had lost Gandalf in Moria that Aragorn had doubted his decisions, but the ranger knew that this time he had made the right choice; the hardest part had been to work himself up to the point where he was able to leave the Company. He would have preferred to pay each a proper farewell, especially Frodo, but Aragorn knew that if he had told any of his companions of his plan they would never have allowed him to pursue it alone. It was almost certainly a death sentence.
The elven boat slipped easily into the water, and Aragorn kept a steady hand upon its side as he waded out with it until the tide came up to his knees. The roaring of Rauros could be heard like thunder nearby, although the ranger could not see the falls in the darkling twilight. The frowning cliffs of Tol Brandir were nothing but a dark shape upon the horizon. Carefully Aragorn climbed into the elven boat and took up one of the leaf-shaped paddles lying at his feet; it was hard work for the ranger to drive the boat towards the far shore by himself, but once he had passed the swirling current around Tol Brandir he came swiftly upon the southern slopes of Amon Lhaw. There he hid the boat well behind a great boulder, and shouldered his pack before climbing the sudden rise and disappearing into the thicket of trees.
XXX
Amon Lhaw was awash with green, much like its twin summit upon the opposite bank. The last vestiges of winter still clung to the leaves above him, but spring was beginning to bloom as Aragorn walked purposefully through the woods; leaf litter rustled underfoot as he tightened his sword belt a little. He was not sure where the orcs might have made their camp, but he knew that it must be close. This was the last shore before the river plunged down as Rauros and flowed onwards to the Sea. They had to stop here in order to cross to the western shore, and it was here that Aragorn intended to head them off at the pass.
His going was slow at first, for darkness still lay heavy upon the land and the wood was dense, but soon the trees thinned and grass sprung up where there had once been stones. The land beneath his feet began to gently slope upwards, and Aragorn soon came upon the remnants of an old outpost of Gondor. Here beneath the trees there stood a crumbling archway crawling with lichen, and in the grass the broken pieces of a kingly statue now covered with fallen leaves. Aragorn studied the cloven head with a frown.
"How I wish I had walked here in the days of the kings," he thought, passing under the archway and running a hand over the lichen-covered stonework. "Now this fair place is naught but a shadow of old." His heart was rent by the thought of the lost glory of Gondor, and quickly he continued on.
Aragorn had always had keen sight in the dark, and every now and again he caught a glimpse of the stars shining from above the canopy of the wood. As he walked a wind stirred the trees about him, and nearby a flock of birds flew startled from their nest. The ranger paused for a moment, touching a hand to the hilt of his sword, but everything became still again. Eventually he continued on, a little more slowly this time. The land flattened again and the trees thinned to reveal a slight clearing. By the light of the moon Aragorn could spot the tell-tale signs of orcs here; footprints made by iron-shod boots, and mud which had been churned into a deluge by the march of a great host. There were other strange tracks in the undergrowth, however, which were much too light to have been made by orcs.
With a frown Aragorn stooped and brushed aside a drift of leaves; he knew these markings. He knew them very well indeed. He had spent more than a dozen years searching for them deep in the wilderness, often in vain, and they had proved nothing but a frustration and a curse to him. Now it seemed that they had returned to haunt him once again.
Suddenly a dark shadow moved in the corner of his sight. Aragorn slowly reached back and drew an arrow from the quiver at his back, taking care not to turn around or else reveal that he had heard anything untoward. Soon there was the sound of heavy breathing and the rustle of leaves to his left. Still in a crouching position, Aragorn took his bow down from his shoulders and notched the arrow to its string, pulling it taut in anticipation. Then he swiftly turned and loosed an arrow in the direction of the noise.
There was a sharp twang, and the arrow stuck quivering into a nearby tree. The shadow had moved again. Aragorn lowered his bow and listened intently. The sound of heavy breathing could be heard in the darkness, and soon the ranger sensed something approaching him from behind. He turned upon hearing a sharp hiss; something sprang towards him with a feral cry, and he quickly stepped aside and notched another arrow to his bow. The shadow disappeared into the trees. Aragorn lifted his bow, unheeding.
"I have neither the time nor the patience for your tricks, Gollum," he cried. "Reveal yourself!"
Nothing stirred the silence for a long time. Then there came suddenly the sound of muttering and angered hissing from behind him. Wearily, Aragorn lowered his bow and turned to meet his visitor.
It had been over a year since the ranger had caught the creature Gollum on the outskirts of the Dead Marshes, and the bite upon Aragorn's hand was now but a pale scar to remind him of the long and difficult task that Gandalf had set him so long ago. He had hoped never to look upon Gollum again; such had been his words at the Council, but now the wretched creature crept on all fours towards him. Gollum was nothing but a black shape in the darkness, with two pale gleaming lights for eyes. He sat back upon his scrawny haunches and let out a long low hiss.
"Where does he go to, precious?" muttered Gollum. "Where does he go sneaking off to in the darkness? Nassty, nassty shivery light." Gollum lifted his head upon its long neck and blinked at the moon, which was just visible above the trees. Then he cast his head down and fixed his gaze upon Aragorn again; his pale eyes were nothing more than two low slits of grey. "Yess. Yess. He must be in a hurry, precious. An awful hurry. There are orcs very near. They are looking for him. We have heard them talking, yess, always talking amongst themselves. They are looking for the precious."
Aragorn stood tall and studied the creature before him. His bow he slung back across his shoulders, returning the arrow to its quiver, and he placed a ready hand upon his sword. The sight of Gollum had always filled the ranger with a mixture of revulsion and pity, but at the moment he felt only alarm. Had Gollum been following him this entire time? Had he alerted the Enemy to his presence? Aragorn did not know the answers to any of these questions, so he measured his next words carefully.
"Do you remember our time together, Gollum?" Aragorn smiled as he spoke. "Yes, I am sure you do. But this time I have no orders to keep you alive. On the contrary, you are a danger to my companions and to me. I would advise you to leave this place, lest you wish to be slain. It has been many months since I last did battle, and my sword arm grows restless."
Gollum quailed and gave back a little at Aragorn's words. The ranger did not unsheathe his sword, but there was a fierce look in his eyes that told the creature he would deliver everything that he promised if challenged. Gollum fell sullen and crouched down very low.
"It mustn't speak to us like that," Gollum said. "All by my poor self I have been. Walked a very long way, through bad lands, gollum. Very long way. The precious is calling to me." He licked his lips then. "Nasty hobbitses stole the precious from me. Yess, they stole it from me, my precious. We wants it back."
Aragorn looked down on Gollum with impassive eyes. The creature was still wet from his journey down the river, and dirt and dead leaves clung to his skin; his lank hair fell disheveled across his face. Aragorn felt a stir of pity at the sight. Here before him was proof of what might happen to Frodo, or indeed to anyone who bore the Ring. He thought of Isildur, and the way in which the Ring had betrayed him to his death. He did not wish that fate upon friend or foe.
"The precious is in a safe place," said the ranger, after a moment. "It does not belong to you, Gollum, or to any but the Dark Lord himself. It is treacherous and shall lead you to your doom. I would advise you to forget about it."
Gollum suddenly opened his eyes very wide at these words. He paused and then said in a low voice: "What has it got in its pocketses?"
Aragorn's grip upon his sword hilt tightened a little. A strange light had come into Gollum's eyes, and it unsettled him greatly. The creature no longer crouched low upon the ground, but crept forwards a few paces, as if testing the ranger's resolve. Aragorn stood his ground and planted a foot. Gollum paused, a little too slowly for his liking, and settled down again. His eyes retained their strange light.
"What has it got?" Gollum said again. "What has it got in its pocketses?" His voice was now laced with anger.
Suddenly an alarming thought came into Aragorn's mind: "Gollum thinks I have the Ring! Well, perhaps I should have expected as much. It is all that he thinks about in his waking moments, and doubtless in his dreams as well. But there may be a way I can use this to my advantage. I must be very careful."
Aragorn released his grip upon the hilt of his sword. Gollum watched him carefully as the ranger carefully unsheathed his knife from its trappings at his back. He saw the hatred flash across Gollum's face as the creature recognized the elven markings along its blade. Aragorn then drew out the flint from the pouch at his belt; the next moment a series of sparks were dancing before his eyes, as he struck its edge against the blade of his elven-knife over and over again. The ranger gave a queer smile as he met Gollum's eyes.
"I seem to recall that you and Gandalf spoke together during your time in Mirkwood," he said, speaking slowly and deliberately. "Do you remember the nature of that talk?" The ranger scraped the flint against his knife again, and another spark flamed into being and then quickly died. Gollum sat transfixed before him, trembling slightly.
Once Aragorn knew that he had a captive audience, the ranger slowly rolled up the shirtsleeve on his left arm. Then he returned the knife to his belt and took out a match from the pouch at his belt. It was one of his last ones; he had been rationing them carefully, although he had been finding himself in need of a pipe and a think more and more often over the last few days. He had foregone his usual smoke that evening. Carefully Aragorn struck the match against the flint in his hand; it sparked to life and then burnt with a strong orange flame. Aragorn smiled again and held it up for Gollum to see. The dancing flame flickered hungrily before the ranger's icy gaze.
"Watch," said Aragorn. His voice was almost a whisper. Gollum's eyes were now fixed upon the flickering match. It stirred in him evil memories of threatening questions and old torture. His splayed hands twitched a little as Aragorn regarded him for a moment, motionless and quiet. Then the ranger spoke very softly: "Gollum…"
Suddenly Aragorn held the match against his own arm. He set his jaw as his grip upon the flint in his hand stiffened; yet his eyes were upon the trembling Gollum before him as the flames began to lick greedily at his flesh. A horrible sizzling noise filled the night air.
"Just imagine," said the ranger in a low voice, full of menace. "If I am prepared to do this to myself, then what do you expect I will do to you?"
Gollum was now shaking uncontrollably with terror; the light of his grey eyes was quenched. Aragorn did not betray any emotion as he held the creature's gaze for a very long moment. The match continued to burn strongly, and the veins in the ranger's arm stood out rigid in pain as the flesh there slowly burnt.
Gollum flustered for a moment, and then he stumbled back several steps; the next moment he turned and blindly fled into the trees with a piteous cry. The sound was quickly swallowed up as Gollum disappeared into the thicket of the wood. Aragorn did not stir as he watched him go. Soon the clearing fell silent.
When Aragorn was convinced that Gollum had gone, he pinched the burning end of the match between his fingers and put out its flame. Then he cast away the spent match and studied his arm with a grimace. An angry red mark, about the size of a gold coin, had appeared along the scorched skin of his forearm, just above the crook of his elbow. Aragorn had not dared thrust the match any lower or it would have affected his grip upon his sword, but this wound would still bring him much pain if aggravated.
He returned the flint to his belt. Then carefully Aragorn pushed his shirtsleeve a little higher past his elbow, and reached down to tear a strip of black cloth from the underside of his shirt. He still had a canteen of water at his belt, and was able to rinse the wound a little with its contents. It was hard work cleaning the wound thus and dressing it with only one hand, and Aragorn was soon forced to lean back against a nearby tree as he tied the last few knots with his teeth.
Soon enough it was done, however, and Aragorn gently pulled his shirtsleeve down again, making sure that this makeshift bandage stayed in place. Then he checked that his bow was secure across his shoulders before setting off again in the direction of the tracks upon the ground, keeping his senses alert to the gaze of any more unfriendly eyes.
XXX
Turning southeast, Aragorn came swiftly through the rowan-trees along an old path now overthrown with thickets. It had been some time since his encounter with Gollum, and although he had not again encountered any sign of the creature Aragorn remained cautious, with one hand upon his sword. He would need to remain hidden a little while longer in order to execute his plan.
There was a great rushing sound as the wind stirred the trees about him. Even without his tracking skills it would have been easy for Aragorn to stumble upon the orcs' trail. They were not discreet in their passing, and he guessed their host to be very large; much larger than he had expected. The ground was covered with fresh tracks left by their heavy footfalls, and many of the branches which hung over the ruined path were broken or had been hacked away with swords in order to clear a route. Soon the hill began to slope upwards, and Aragorn came upon steep stairs cracked by tree roots which led him up towards the summit of Amon Lhaw. As he pressed on the skies above were beginning to lighten with the first tinges of dawn; Legolas would awake to relieve him very soon. Aragorn hurried on.
It was not long before he was within sight and sound of the orcs' camp. The trees had thickened again, and then thinned out before a sudden break; beyond was a clearing which opened out upon the dark vault of the sky. The ground here sloped upwards before it fell away before thick wood again. Aragorn paused and crouched low in the underbrush, studying the scene carefully.
The trees swept around before him in a shape resembling a horseshoe. Within this space was a set of weathered stone ruins and a large company of orcs; scores of the foul creatures sat or stood about the camp, quarreling amongst themselves in their foul tongue or else casting themselves upon the ground to seek rest after their long march. A crumbling battlement was set at the summit of this rise, paved with many flags, and Aragorn saw the remnants of steps and of a stone seat set upon four carven pillars. This was the Seat of Hearing, on Amon Lhaw, and had of old been a watch post of the northern borderlands of Gondor. It was said that he who sat in the Seat of Seeing upon Amon Hen could see clearly for many miles around; Aragorn knew not the exact powers that the Seat of Hearing possessed.
Quietly Aragorn crept forwards and peered out from behind a tree, with one hand upon its trunk. He had hunted these creatures for many years, in the company of the Northern Rangers or with his brothers during their quests of errantry in the Wild, but amongst this camp were orcs that he had never encountered before. They were tall, much taller than he knew that orcs could be, and they did not seem phased by the encroaching light of day. They laughed at their fellow orcs, who cursed the dawn and took shelter amongst the crumbling ruins; the huge black creatures threw pieces of stale bread in their direction as the others attempted to bow their heads and catch some fleeting moments of sleep.
With inscrutable eyes Aragorn gauged their numbers. He knew without needing to count them that this company of orcs totaled at least a hundred; perhaps double that figure. The ranger turned and leant back against the tree trunk. His wound was paining him greatly. He closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer to the Valar.
His plan was this, as far as he could make it: he would create the illusion that the orcs were being attacked by an army of foes whilst he remained hidden in the wood. Then he would send them into panic by setting fire to the trees around them, and slay as many as possible in the resulting confusion; if possible, he would draw them away from this place and lead them far from the western shore. After that, Aragorn had no idea what he might do. He did not wish to think too far ahead.
For many days this desperate plan had formed in Aragorn's mind, until he had thought about it long and hard enough to entertain the idea that he might actually accomplish it, with a small amount of luck at least. But now that he looked upon the immense host before him, his faith in his plan was greatly shaken.
Gently Aragorn touched a hand to the Evenstar at his neck. It was a clear sign of his desperation that he was prepared to put himself in such danger, but Aragorn had to keep the attention of these orcs on him and away from the western shore at all costs. He also had to convince the orcs of the same thing he had just convinced Gollum: that he was in possession of the One Ring. Aragorn was not sure how much these orcs knew about the nature of the weapon they had been sent in hunt of, so he would have to be very careful what he revealed to the Enemy.
The safety of the Quest depended upon it.
