AN: Back after a month of slaving away over papers! Now that summer vacation is upon me, I will certainly do my best to finish this up quickly. Though the plot keeps on taking twist that I don't even expect...

10. Creeping Darkness

The next day Aragorn woke later than he had planned; the small dose of poppy juice Aki insisted on giving him obviously did its work. He rolled up his sleeves and inspected his injury. The sutures looked clean and expertly done, and the pain was not so great; he twisted his arm and gestured tentatively, and to his great surprise the arm had more mobility and strength than expected. Aki claimed to be only a healer in training, but she did better than most healers in Minas Tirith; perhaps the healings arts were indeed quite advanced in her homeland.

Thinking of Aki made Aragorn sigh soundlessly again. Their conversation did not end well last night. She was shaken to the core by his words, her convictions gone, and perhaps she was just a touch resentful for being considered a danger, even if she did not wholly disagree. Aragorn did not want to cause her pain, but it was a necessary evil. She had grown entirely too comfortable with dealing out life and death with a simple snap of her fingers.

Once he finished reapplying the bandages, Aragorn continued to stare at his arm. The bloody red outline of a grasping claw was still there, even visible through the gauze of the bandages, glaring back at him balefully. It was a sign of a terrifying power—he could still remember that night of despair on the Great River, when he covered the Anduin with ice from bank to bank and brought forth a northerly wind with a mere thought. He would have done the same again on the Field of Pelennor had Aki not suddenly appeared before him. Seeing such powers manifested by another shook him back to a position of proper fear and denial. No, he could not possibly accept this; how long could his pride and honour withstand the weight of such force beyond the bounds of mortal kind?

He suddenly dropped his arm and hastily rolled down his sleeves, now focusing on doing up all the buttons properly. Just then Gandalf appeared, looking at him from under the shadow of those bushy eyebrows. "Good to see you up, Aragorn, how are you feeling?" Gandalf said pleasantly, "Care to join me for some breakfast and a pipe? We have much to discuss." The last sentence was delivered was a pointed look, and Aragorn knew well its meaning.

They ate the simple fare in silence, and after the food Aragorn said, "I ought to check on my young charge quickly."

"No need, she is still sleeping in that tent at the far end," Gandalf answered easily, "Your brothers—as well as a few in your company, I would venture to guess—are keeping an eye on her, as often as they can spare one. I think after yesterday's display everyone is indeed wary."

Aragorn nodded but did not speak. He lit his pipe and sat there, seemingly in deep thought. Gandalf watched him for a while, before saying, "As far as our current situation goes, though the battle for Minas Tirith is over, for now, the war is far from ended. Faramir shared with me a few days ago some news of Frodo that may yet prove encouraging. Good old Frodo, he is our greatest hope; but of course we cannot do naught but hope. I have some words of advice that ought to be shared with all the captains, and I say we call a meeting to exchange counsels tonight. What think you?"

Aragorn gave Gandalf a surprised look; he thought the wizard would launch right into questioning of the more fantastic happenings. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, before answering, "I have no objections. My mind is set on the same course you believe in, Gandalf, but it may be a mightier task yet to convince Eomer and Imrahil."

"Aye, we shall see about that; we will send words out to all the captains and lords for a meeting tonight then."

They sat for a while longer in silence, until Aragorn thought perhaps he himself should broach the subject first. So he asked, "Have you spoken to my brothers of our journey here, Gandalf?"

"Indeed I have," The wizard nodded with a curious look on his face, "I only left you for eight days, Aragorn, and in eight days' work you have caused me more worry than in the past eighty years of your life! The Army of the Dead I expected to a degree, but certainly not a recently deceased man returning and dying again, and a young witch coming to our aid, at your command, so it seems."

Aragorn pondered a moment the best way to organize this story, and then he said, "When I found Boromir Aki was there also. Boromir was possessed, he was trying to resurrect an evil spirit, and she was there to stop him. She is from a place faraway, so far that I have never heard the name of any land she knows, and she has never heard of any kingdom here. She believes she was sent here to defeat those ancient evil. At least such is her version of the story."

"And what is Boromir's tale?"

Aragorn replied with a shake of his head, "He knew very little, only that after his fall in Parth Galen he was woken by a strange voice. That voice offered him life renewed and another chance to accomplish his greatest desire, a chance to defend his people and his city. So he accepted the offer. He found himself on a beach, and the voice, a great crocodile-like spirit called Earthbound Immortal Cia Pactillu came to him, taught him dark arts and guiled him into performing some dark ritual. That was when I found him." Aragorn paused a moment, before continuing quietly, "I know not what to think of Boromir even now. At times he seemed lucid and himself, the man of honour and courage I had always known. Yet other times he spoke of dark things, almost as if another spoke through him, and I did not know him."

Gandalf chewed on his pipe thoughtfully and asked, "And how did he pass the second time?"

"Aki defeated him," Aragorn murmured, "Some kind of ceremonial battle; I do not know enough to tell you a full account. She had fought these Earthbound Immortals in her own world."

Gandalf raised a bushy eyebrow, "And the price of defeat is death?" After seeing Aragorn nod silently he asked again, "You seem to have chosen a side in this strange struggle—why, Aragorn, and how? I know you do not make such judgment lightly."

Aragorn was silent for a long time, before replying in a low voice, "When Boromir unleashed Cia Pactillu, that sense of overwhelming darkness and evil, it drove me to actions, perhaps with less consideration than what I should have had."

"But the young lady's monsters did not feel dark and evil, I see." Gandalf's voice was level and perfectly serious, but Aragorn still gave him a troubled look. Gandalf only continued with yet another question, "Now tell me, Aragorn, what exactly is your part in the story?"

Aragorn stayed silent for a long time, and finally he replied with a sigh, "I have thought of this often in those past few days, Gandalf, and the more I think of it, the more it seemed that my lot is not so unlike Boromir's."

"Oh?" Gandalf's brow wrinkled. This confession was a little different from what he had expected.

"When I was young, before I was even made aware of my own identity," Aragorn continued quietly, "I became separated from my brothers on one of our journeys along the coast of Lindon. I was lost in a blizzard and freezing to death, and when I thought perhaps I had truly died, a voice spoke to me, offered his protection and loyalty. Suddenly I was awake and well, and something shielded me from the storm."

Gandalf nodded, "Aye, your brothers spoke of the tale to me. It was your three-headed dragon who saved you?"

"Yes, and Trishula had saved me thrice since, and vowed he shall answer always when I call on him. I trusted him, to a degree, but never enough to actually call on his aid, for I too feared him. But in the end I brought him forth, thinking the situation dire enough to warrant it." There was a long pause, before Aragorn said in a very quiet voice, "I fear in my rush to Minas Tirith I had made a grave mistake, one from which there is no returning."

Gandalf eyed his companion critically, and then the wizard said with a shake of his aged head, "No harm done yet, and you seem like you still have a sound mind; whatever pitfalls you fear can be avoided, Aragorn. Now, what does your dragon say for himself? What is his purpose? Does he too promise to fulfill all your desires?"

"Not exactly." With that Aragorn retold the tale of the ancient battle between the Earthbound Immortals and the servants of the Crimson Dragon and the revival of these supernatural forces as succinctly as possible.

The White Wizard looked thoughtful. "A fascinating tale," Gandalf said, pocketing his pipe and standing up, "Why don't you introduce me to your dragon, Aragorn? I see that he is here now."

Aragorn stared. Even now, so many years after their first meeting, the wizard can still shock him into this stunned silence. Sometime during the conversation Trishula had indeed appeared in his spirit form, a massive cloud of silver circling around Aragorn protectively, and Aragorn was doing his very best to ignore the creature. He certainly did not expect Gandalf to see the spirit too.

"I am happy to make your acquaintance, magician," Trishula said to Gandalf.

"The pleasure is all mine," Gandalf nodded in understanding, his expression could even be called pleasant, "Aragorn told me a little of you and your purpose, but I am more interested to hear from you what is his part in your purpose."

"He is my master. The great Crimson Dragon sent us to help mankind, to fight alongside those brave and true-hearted warriors he himself marked. We are to serve them most faithfully and become their truest companions until the end of their days." The dragonic wraith paused, moved all three of its heads closer to the White Wizard, and whispered in a quieter voice tinged with sadness, "But I think Aragorn does not love me; he rides into battles without me and often he pretends he does not see me. Do you know why, magician?"

Oh for the love of Elbereth! For a moment Aragorn could not help but wonder why he tormented himself over this creature. While he was trying to resist the temptation of Trishula's immense power, the creature huffed about not being loved like some household pet! Did the dragon not realize he was a three-headed monstrosity, not some woodsman's hound? Or was this simply temptation's fairer face? Aragorn glanced towards Gandalf and saw the White Wizard looked amused yet thoughtful.

"An untamed power is indeed hard to love," Gandalf commented softly. He asked a few more question, and then he seemed relaxed enough to simply shoo the monstrous wraith away. But after Trishula's form disappeared, Gandalf did not speak, only pulled out his pipe and began smoking once more, silent and still like stone.

"What think you, Gandalf?" Eventually Aragorn asked.

"Ah, I apologize for the silence, but I was pondering how difficult it would be to slay a creature such as your Trishula."

Aragorn looked at the wizard, trying to ascertain if that was said in jest. The talk of slaying Trishula struck his heart with more force than expected. He tried to keep his expression even, but his face must have betrayed him still, for Gandalf laughed.

"You love the creature better than he knows, and better than you are willing to admit, I deem," Gandalf said, and his expression became serious once more, "I sensed no ill intentions from your dragon, Aragorn. But that is not quite the issue, I am sure you know it too. You fears are not misplaced, and you are right to keep what distance you may. At least he would not hinder you, so let us forget him for a while. The final battle awaits, and we can only fight one front at a time."

Aragorn nodded, feeling a measure of peace at Gandalf's words. He nodded and stood up, and was ready to begin making arrangements for tonight's council, when suddenly he spun around to face the White City.

Minas Tirith gleamed with a faint pearly light under the morning sun. The blue swan-ship banner flew from the Citadel, proud and unconquered. How fair and strong the city looked, blazing still in the sun after the greatest siege in the Third Age. Yet Aragorn sensed something else, a sudden sweep of shadows invisible to the eye but heavy on his heart like the most oppressive of storm clouds. Something was stirring within the walls of the White City, something sinister and dark, an evil both foreign and familiar—since when could he simply sense these things?

"Is there anything wrong?" Gandalf asked.

Aragorn shook his head, momentarily pushing away those dark thoughts. He returned to his conversation with Gandalf, debating future battle plans and making arrangement for the council. Once the conversation ended he sought out Aki immediately. The young woman was eating her breakfast quietly in a corner, unnoticed by most and seemingly at ease.

Aragorn nodded curtly in greeting, and then went directly to the problem at hand. "Did you sense something from within the city, Aki?"

"Sense… something?" She blinked at him, confused, the waybread in her hand forgotten momentarily, "What do you mean? Is there something wrong?"

Aragorn looked back at her, even more surprised. "You mean you did not feel anything?" He paused a moment before asking, "Those Earthbound Immortals, can you feel their presence? Would you know if they are near?"

Aki stood up slowly. She seemed to be thinking hard, and eventually she answered with a shrug, "I feel an Earthbound Immortal no more than anyone else would. Dark signers can look like perfectly ordinary people, so long as they hide their eyes a little; you can walk right past them and you wouldn't notice anything wrong. Of course when the Earthbound Immortals are summoned, everyone will see them clear as day, but before that it is nearly impossible to locate a dark signer, even for us. So…Did you sense something, Strider?"

Aragorn shook his head and murmured, "It is probably nothing."

Aragorn was determined to forget his misgivings, for a while at least, for Gandalf was right, he could only fight one war at a time. So he was indeed shocked when he returned to his own tent late after the council, only to find a blue-cloaked old man sitting there, accompanied by a dog-like creature of sort. His sword was half lifted when he finally realized that they were no strangers.

The blue-cloaked figure bowed and said, "Greetings, champion of Trishula."

Aragorn nodded in greeting as well. "Trishula called you Prior, is that your name?" He asked.

"Prior is a title, but you may call me as such, and I shall answer," Replied the figure in blue, "I have come with a warning, o great champion."

Aragorn's brow furrowed, but he only nodded, motioning for the blue mage to go on. So Prior continued, "A faint shadow creeps within the white walls yonder. It is concealed, weak still, yet it is there. I believe an Earthbound Immortal now walks in the city."

"Are you certain of this? And how did you discover it?"

"I walked in the city and sensed its presence. I saw a shifting shape of black hover above a tall structure of white stone, and then vanishing. Something haunts the city."

"You walked within the city?" Aragorn's sword raised a few inches; the thought of these wraith-like creatures wandering in the White City, unseen and unknown, sent a chill up his spine, "Why were you inside the walls of Minas Tirith?"

"I was there to visit the young man named Faramir," So answered Prior, "I sensed that he was in distress, near his death perhaps, and for old time's sake I thought I should go see him. If I could help him I would, but he seemed well cared for and was resting peacefully."

"For old time's sake?"

Aragorn straightened, staring at the half-translucent form of the old man in blue cloak intently. Boromir's words came back to him unbidden, and suddenly he realized perhaps this strange fantasy had a reach far wider than him alone. "You knew Faramir," He spoke slowly, "Boromir did mention that his brother saw you and the dog as a child."

Prior nodded, "Yes, Faramir has the power to see what is hidden to most, the same power you have, great champion."

"But why were you there to be seen in the first place? Surely it was not by chance alone. Did you seek him out with a purpose? Speak truthfully!"

Prior did not seem to notice the sudden note of agitation in Aragorn's voice, he only continued, "I was searching for Trishula and his champion. I knew that Trishula had awoken, but his presence was so weak, impossible to locate, I thought it must be that his champion is weak and unlearned, perhaps a young child. Faramir seemed like the chosen one at first. After I determined that he was not the one, I lingered here, for I sensed a connection between him and the true vassal of the Crimson Dragon—his elder brother too, though the brother lacked the power. They too are marked for this battle of the gods."

Aragorn relaxed a little, but upon hearing the last sentence he started, and the sword nearly dropped out of his hand. "What do you mean, they are marked for this battle?" He asked with a tight voice.

"There is a connection between you and Faramir, is there not?" Asked the blue-cloaked mage, "If you did not know him before now, then it must be kinship and blood tie. And Faramir has the power to perceive our kind. Since he was not the chosen vassal of the Crimson Dragon, he would be the perfect vassal for the opposing side. I believed I should watch him. Now an Earthbound Immortal has indeed risen, but Faramir did not die, so it was not him whom the unknown Earthbound Immortal chose."

"You feared an Earthbound Immortal would claim him…because he is tied to me?!"

"Of course," Prior answered readily, "The Earthbound Immortals revive those passing souls with fervent dying wishes to do their bidding, but there are thousands upon thousands of humans passing every day, many of whom do not die in peace, and they are hardly all fit to become the vassals of the gods. The Earthbound Immortals choose those who are connected to the chosen of the Crimson Dragon, or vice versa, those who are bound by love or by hate, by desire or by blood. The gods do not choose perfect strangers to be their champions at the opposing ends of their game board."

The sword slipped from Aragorn's hand, and he felt as if his very blood had turned to ice. Boromir, Boromir! He cried soundlessly. Even in death the noble son of Gondor could find no peace, only to be dragged back into the world of living, to suffer once more the guilt and shame of a mistake not his own. For what, all for what?! Because the blood of Numenor runs in his veins, so he was a fitting pawn in some twisted game against another heir of Numenor?!

A rumbling voice suddenly cut through Aragorn's tormented thoughts, saying, "A game board is a terrible analogy, and this is no mere game."

It was Trishula, but only the three enormous triangular heads, for his full form would not fit inside the tent and the translucent serpentine necks ended at the canvas wall, looking even more sinister than his usual terrifying self. One of the three heads snapped its jaw at Prior, growling. Aragorn dove for his dropped sword and gripped it tightly, staring at the dragon heads. Now Trishula turned all three heads to him, six glowing red eyes fixed on him intently.

"We are playing no game here; this is war," Said Trishula, "The Earthbound Immortals seek to dominate—do you simply refuse to believe it? The Crimson Dragon did not and does not choose the vassals of the Earthbound Immortals; he only chooses his own champions. You cannot choose your enemies either, but you can choose whether or not to fight. If this seems to you some cruel game of malevolent powers, then turn your back, by all means. What is it to you that an Earthbound Immortal now walks this earth and haunts the very city behind you?"

The dragon had never looked and sounded so utterly serious, red eyes glowing with true wrath and indignation. But Aragorn gritted his teeth and said in a dangerous voice, "You and your master will hold my city hostage, so that I will play your game?"

"No," Trishula's reply came swift with a rumble like a peel of thunder, "The Crimson Dragon does not force anyone to fight for him. If you would not there are others. Another signer stands upon this field at the very moment, and the Crimson Dragon can always choose another."

"Aki is a little more than a child, one who is barely staying afloat here, much less think about every decision she is making!" Aragorn growled, "Is it not enough that she is ripped away from her home and thrust into a world at war? And who else would you drag into this game?"

"Fight or no, it is your choice, and I told you, this is no game!" Trishula roared, jaws snapping at him angrily.

Aragorn gripped his sword, "I do not fear you."

There was a long, drawn out silence as man and dragon stared at each other, until at last Trishula grumbled, "Have you never trusted me at all? What am I in your eyes, that some simple words—from one of our kind no less—and you are ready to believe I have used you abominably?"

Aragorn started. He finally realized that the ground for his suspicion and anger was indeed thin, a sentence or two and his deep-seated fear, no more. He remained quiet for some time, before saying, "I do not know your purpose."

"I told you my purpose many times, but you would not believe," Trishula said unhappily, "You have known me since you were a young man, and though you would not have me at your side always there were more than a few encounters between us. Have I done anything to warrant your distrust, master? What do you fear?"

Aragorn sighed and put his sword down. He felt tired beyond words, the weariness seeping deep into his bones. "I apologize, Trishula; you are right, you have done nothing to warrant such distrust, for you have only aided me most generously and fulfilled my every request," He said, "It is not you whom I fear, only the unknown, and myself."

He stood in silence for a moment longer, collecting his thoughts, and then he took a deep breath and said quietly, "Come with me, if you will. I must go see with my own eyes. Whatever doubt I may have, I will not leave the White City defenseless against a potential threat."