A short chapter 10, but I hope it's enjoyable ^_^

10 – Lycon, Son of Cyron, beloved of Arwen

What had taken a good six days to get to where they had met Gimli, with Aragorn pushing them as though the hounds of the underworld were snapping at their heels they were almost back after just two days. But they had not slept since leaving early the day before and the frantic pace was beginning to tire them all, so that night of the third day Gandalf called them to a halt. They would sleep tonight even if it were on the ground.
Aragorn was beside himself, not wishing to stop, insisting that he would ride on, that they could sleep. It was easy to see that Aragorn feared for his son and wife more with every passing moment. Yet Gandalf stood firm and would not hear of such foolishness, his horse Shadowfax ensuring that Aragorn could not move onwards.
In the end it was the impassioned pleas of four small yet brave Hobbits that pulled him from his place in the saddle. They too feared for the young prince, but they feared more for the child's father. Aragorn would do his son more harm then good to arrive in such a state. They pleaded with him to stay with them, what good would he be without them by his side and Aragorn was hard pressed to find fault in the hobbit's logical reasoning. That and the four sets of eyes that stared sadly up at him.
When he got down from the horse they tugged him beneath the shelter of a large tree, his bedroll already laid out for him and the hobbits pulled him to the ground. Their small warm bodies cuddled close to him and the soft noises they made lulled him. Aragorn relaxed with their murmured whispers and soft kisses to his exposed flesh. But none of them fell into any form of sleep, no matter how tired they were, till Legolas joined them. The elf finished tending to the horses that had been pushed far beyond their limits and slipped his boots from his feet and crawled beneath the blanket. The Hobbits moved around him, Sam pressed up to his back as he put his arms around Aragorn and rocking him until he finally slept.

*~*

The Dreams came as they did every night. They assaulted their sensors with burning flames rising above them, lighting the darkness around them with its demonic scarlet colours. And they burnt, ate at flesh and skin, scarred and blistered them. They could not scream with all the pain and yet they did not wake. Clinging to each other, feeding on one another's strength, and yet their world was still wreathed in fire. Could they do nothing to free themselves from this fiery prison?
/No/
The icy voice was simple and husky, shifting in and out of the flames. On no other night had they heard a voice, an answer to their questions. The voice was at odds with the flames, cold and bitter, at least the flames retained a natural feel, the voice sounded anything but natural. The answer was not what they wished to hear, and as the flames closed in they could finally scream the pain as the laughter of the voice fed on the sounds…

*~*

They woke together, even Legolas could not refrain the shout that passed from his lips. Gandalf and Gimli woke with a start, staring in surprise at the yelling bundle. Aragorn and Legolas were quick to be rid of the initial fear and set about seeing to the Hobbits, taking the shaking bundles into their arms.
Lupin lifted her muzzle from Gandalf's lap, violet eyes watching them.
"They awoke such last time they slept," Gimli confessed, "I have not had the chance to ask what scares them so much."
Gandalf's hand began to move through Lupin's fur, "they share nightmares Gimli, not uncommon, but with such a mismatched group I believe there is more to this then meets the eye."
Aragorn looked up for a moment, his eyes distant from sleep. They cleared quickly, his mouth opening as he looked to the horizon. He stood, surprising them as Frodo remained in his arms. Frodo followed his gaze and the blue eyed gasped.
"Gandalf! The sky above Minas Tirith is in flames…"

*~*

Minas Tirith, white city of men lay fallen. Aragorn rode through broken gates of what was his kingdom and felt fear. Fire's rose and men and women rushed through the streets carrying as much water as they could bear, attempting to rid the flames from their homes. The guards, knights and protectors of the city lay scattered, dead, by arrow, sword or axe. It didn't take much to recognise the work of Orcs, and many lay dead among his men, but Aragorn had not seen such numbers since the war of the ring.
He felt a sense of pride as he watched his people go about saving their homes, though there was panic, it lay beneath the surface and they did not let it get in the way as they worked. Still it was a sad thing to see these people move like ghosts through their streets.
Legolas reached out, a hand reaching out and touching Aragorn's hand softly, apologetically. The Hobbits sat quietly, watching everything with wide frightened eyes. Shadowfax seemed to tolerate Lupin as the wolf walked along beside the wizard and his horse. Gimli sat on his pony, uncomfortable on riding and at the scene playing out around them. The Orcs, with the exception of those who were dead, were long gone, leaving the destruction in their wake.
The closer they got to the castle the more activity they saw. In a small courtyard soldiers were piling Orcs onto a bonfire, riding the streets of their bodies as quickly as possible to prevent disease from setting in. Aragorn was glad to see that not all his soldiers were dead.
At the castle they were met by one of the sergeants, his arm in a sling. He smiled, more then a little relieved to see his King. As they swung quickly from their horses he told them that they would find Aragorn's Commanders and the Steward in his study. A breath of relief fell through the group to hear that Faramir, the son of Denethor and brother of Boromir, was well.
They made their way quickly to the study, Aragorn leading and if it weren't for Legolas's hand on his arm he would have forgotten they were there and hurried on without them. The door to the study was open and they could hear the raised voice Lycon.
"Well if you won't send anyone after her then I'll go by myself-"
By now they were in the doorway and silence descended on the room and it's five occupants.
"Aragorn, thank the Maker you're here." Eowyn, Faramir's wife stood. The beautiful woman looked tired and in pain from the open gash down her cheek. Her young son slept in her arms, tussled red hair mattered around his head. Eowyn looked relieved to see her king and his companions that surrounded him. Her husband Faramir looked a little worse for wear though there weren't any obvious wounds on him. Cyron and his son Lycon also looked remarkably unscratched, until Aragorn noticed the blood dripping from Lycon's arm. Aragorn was grateful he was not dead.
"Aragorn," Lycon did look a little pale, but they realised it was not from the blood loss. "They've taken Arwen and Jaylen…"

tbc