At dawn in Rohan, Aragorn and Peter were sitting on the steps of a spare house that they and their companions were using. Aragorn was smoking his pipe, and Peter was staring out at the mountains languidly. He was vaguely wondering what Edmund and Lucy might've been doing at that time when he noticed something.

"Aragorn,"

"Mm?"

"What's that? On the mountain, right there?" Peter pointed to a small, red and orange dot that seemed to be flickering somewhere on the mountain. Aragorn went rigid, slowly removing his pipe from his mouth. "It looks like fire."

"It's- Come on!" Aragorn jumped up suddenly, turning and dashing towards Meduseld. Surprised, all Peter could do was run after him (He was ashamed- He was fifteen going on sixteen, Aragorn was in his eighties, and Aragorn was the faster sprinter). He just about tripped while going up the stairs, but caught his footing and arrived just in time for Aragorn to throw open the doors.

"The beacons are lit! The beacons of Minas Tirith are lit!" He reminded Peter distinctly of a small child screaming that he'd just seen a plane fly overhead. Susan, playing chess with Éowyn in the corner, looked up in surprise, as did King Théoden, who'd been looking over some documents with his advisors. Everyone present stared at the Ranger. "Gondor calls for aid!"

Théoden was silent for a moment. All eyes turned to the king. Then-

"And Rohan will answer. Muster the Rohirrim!"

Eomer, next to Éowyn and Susan (Who'd both stood up when Théoden had answered), nodded and gave a slight bow, giving his sister's shoulder a squeeze before turning and exiting the hall. "We're going to war, then?" Susan asked. Peter nodded, breathless.

"Seems like it." Susan heaved a quick, exhilarated sigh.

"Looks like we're going to see Edmund, then. Let's get packing."


"So where exactly are we off to?"

Aragorn was saddling Brego as Peter spoke. Not much of his earlier excitement had died, and Peter could practically hear him thinking 'Yes! Yes! Now we're getting somewhere! Now we can do something!'

"To Dunharrow, where we'll set camp before moving on to Minas Tirith. Peter nodded, mind ablaze with a dozen different ideas and scenarios at once.

"What sort of battle are we looking at from Mordor? Worse than Helms Deep?" Aragorn paused, his hands freezing in place as he was securing the strap on the saddle. He could hear no nervousness in Peter's voice, but there was a somewhat forced tone of casualty there that seemed to be masking whatever anxiousness the teen was feeling.

When he turned to look Peter in the eye, the blonde had already turned his focus to his belt, where he was trying to adjust a loop for a dagger.

"That depends on what your strengths are in battle." Aragorn said quietly. "I suspect much of this battle will be fought upon the Pelennor Fields outside the city. There will be more room to maneuver." He paused again, studying the boy carefully. As he might have guessed, Peter's adjustment of the belt was more of a distraction than anything else. He had his entire focus on it, and not Aragorn, probably because he didn't want the Ranger to see his eyes and know his fear.

"But in return, there will be more enemies. Much like Saruman, Sauron has had time to amass his forces. Hundreds of thousands await in Mordor to face us."

This time, Peter looked up. He was shaking slightly, and his eyes screamed of fear and worry. "And until they face us," The oldest Pevensie said, "Those same hundreds of thousands are standing between my baby sister and a volcano. Right?"

Aragorn cast his eyes away.

"You said I was a son to you, didn't you Aragorn? Then tell me the truth; the real truth. What are the odds of Lucy, Frodo and Sam surviving this venture?" The Ranger drew in a slow, deep breath.

"It is a slim chance… That Frodo will survive." His eyes flickered up to meet Peter's. "Samwise and Lucy are his friends. He will place their safety before his own. Send them away if he has to."

"They won't go. Sam made a promise and Lucy's too stubborn." Peter felt his breath catch in his throat. "Right before my dad left, I promised him I'd look after mum, Susan, Edmund and Lucy. And when we left home, I promised mum I'd look after Susan, Edmund and Lucy. And I've promised Susan we'd all be all right. I'm making promises left and right that I can't keep."

His voice cracked and, frustrated, he turned back to the table he'd been standing near and started to examine and pick at the different types of daggers laid out, to see which he could handle best.

Aragorn was not an older brother. While he had been placed as protection for people before, he knew that this wasn't quite the equivalent to what it would be like to be responsible for a younger brother and two younger sisters.

It meant always being looked to for protection. For reassurance. For courage, and for comfort. No matter how old he or they got.

When the Wraith had attacked Susan and Edmund in the woods, who had they cried for?

Who'd held Susan when they'd thought that Edmund had been killed?

When Edmund went charging back into their house to get their father's photograph, who'd charged headlong after him, and then shielded him from the shattered window glass?

Who'd taken Lucy's hand in the train station and assured her that everything would be all right as they walked away from their mother?

Oh, sometimes it felt amazing to be the one that was relied upon to care for them. But other times, it was a burden. One he couldn't handle. And the strain was starting to show. What could be said to comfort him?

"You've come a long way, Peter." Aragorn said. "A long way indeed. From the confused boy at Elrond's council, you've become a warrior. You and your brother. And your sisters: If you had told them before all of this started that they would be fighting in battles like Helm's Deep, would they have believed you?"

Peter let out a little huff of a laugh. "No."

"You see, now?" Aragorn stood before Peter and put his hands on the boy's shoulders. "All of you have grown. Lucy has as well. I knew it from the moment I met her, Peter: She has spirit. She has the will that has made many a valiant warrior over the years. And she will be determined to return to you, Susan and Edmund alive." He smiled.

"And I would hate to be the force that stands in her way."


Before noon, almost every villager in Edoras was packed and ready to go. It was tradition for the families of the soldiers to see them off at the camp at Dunharrow. An ecstatic Merry had been accepted by King Théoden as an esquire of Rohan; Susan took this to mean that Merry would be fighting alongside them.

"An esquire- Can you believe it?" Merry paused a moment to nudge at his pony, trying to get it to move. Susan kept her horse still, patiently waiting for Merry. When the pony simply refused to budge, however, she lent him her aid.

"Here- Give me the reins. I'll pull him a little, and then he shouldn't have a problem moving."

"Now is the hour! Riders of Rohan, oaths you have taken. Now, fulfill them all. To lord and land!" Eomer bellowed to the soldiers around him. It was with this enthusiastic cry that they departed from Edoras.


You see this chapter here?

I hate this chapter. I'm sick of this chapter.

And do you know why?

Because this was the chapter I was stuck on for so long.

I think I started it around the time I posted the first few chapters of the Two Towers section.

THAT IS HOW LONG I'VE BEEN STUCK ON THIS CHAPTER. SINCE MARCH (Of 2009. As I write this note/finish writing this chapter, I've just posted the beginning of the Return of the King section).