Chapter I: The Board is Set

'For all those who come to know him [Aragorn] come to love him after their own fashion'

-The Return of the King, J.R.R. Tolkien.

A falling star streaked across the sky, branding the night with silver fire. Its arc of descent grew steeper and steeper, and at the end, the desert rushed up to meet it. The earth shuddered on impact, the subsonic thunder of the collision rattling its old, rocky bones. The black hunk of metal nestled in the forgiving sands, half-buried.

The night went on.

A mound appeared in the flat landscape. The moon was a thoughtful eye, gazing down on the restless red sands.

...

The Third Age, Year 3020, June

The food had been good, the table weighted with roast pheasant, fresh fruit, and old cheese, as well as the choicest wine a King's cellar could offer. There was a loaf of white bread, accompanied by bowls of clotted cream and golden honey, while sweet and savory pastries brought the meal to a close. But the silent question hovered over the company, and the meal was quieter than it should have been. Although Arwen's skills as a conversationalist were faultless, there was no real laughter, no comradely slaps on the shoulders, no shared jests or friendly japes, no pleasant reminiscing over past times.

Éomer finished his comfit, taking surreptitious stock of the room as he wiped crystallized sugar onto his napkin. Legolas had long since finished eating, his green eyes pleasant but remote. Gimli was chewing thoughtfully on a pastry made of pine nuts and herbs. His gaze flickered briefly in Éomer's direction, and then returned to his plate.

Arwen and Aragorn sat at either end of the table, and as he glanced at them, they looked away from each other, as if they had been engaged in private conversation.

The silence enveloped the five with a blanket of thick discomfort. Gimli cleared his throat, and Éomer breathed softly, hoping the Dwarf would come out and say it.

But he said nothing.

"How fare your folk in Aglarond?" Arwen inquired, smiling at Gimli. To say she broke the silence was too coarse. Rather, she dissolved the quiet with the liquid sweetness of her voice.

Gimli tugged on his plaited beard. "Quite well, Lady Evenstar," he answered, his voice gruff with the awareness that all eyes were on him. "Her magnificence has grown under our tending, and recently we uncovered a large vein of gold ore."

Éomer eyed the Dwarf carefully. Under normal circumstances, he knew Gimli would wax poetic as a bard, pontificating freely on the wonders of his works. But Gimli seemed to have run out of words.

"Come, we are all friends here," Legolas said, spreading his arms like a weary father admonishing his children. "Let us speak our minds and have done with it. Why did you summon us here, my friend?" His green gaze, the color of newborn leaves in spring, was aimed at Aragorn.

"Do not mistake me," Aragorn returned. He reached for his pipe, but his hand fell away as he realized his breast-pocket was empty—the Evenstar's long labor come to fruition, Éomer did not doubt. "Right glad I am to see you all, but I made no summons."

The three shifted in their seats, glancing warily at each other. Éomer searched for his reason for coming to Minas Tirith, and his mind was filled with pale, jostling images that seemed unconnected and random. His mouth formed several shapes before any sound emerged. "You called for us," he managed to say. He looked to Legolas and Gimli for support, and they nodded mutely, faces clouded with thought.

"When did these summonses come?" Arwen asked suddenly. She had risen from her seat and now stood behind Aragorn's chair, her hands on his shoulders. He reached up and took them gratefully.

Legolas leaped to his feet, peering out the window to see the moon. It was fat and full in the plum-black sky. "A fortnight ago."

Éomer muttered acquiescence, but Gimli contented himself with a nod. The King of Riddermark watched in fascination as the King and Queen looked at each other, sharing an eloquent conversation without speaking a word.

Finally, Aragorn looked at them, his grey eyes holding both shame and confusion. "My friends, I think I have something to confess to you."

"Then speak," Legolas urged, his fair face concerned.

"A fortnight ago, I felt a great force," Aragorn said slowly, and he seemed to be groping in the dark for his words. "A creature who had a strong will, stronger, perhaps, than my own, demanded my attention. We wrestled in thought for many hours, and neither of us could gain the upper hand."

"And was this through the Wizard-Stone?" Éomer asked, his voice an outrage in the silence that followed Aragorn's words.

The King of Gondor smiled a little. "Through the Orthanc-Stone? No. Neither did I use the Palantír of Anor. Those remain locked away in the crypts. The Stones have great magic in them, and magic is too volatile to be left unguarded."

Legolas stood up and stretched like a giant cat. Then he went to the window and perched himself in the sill. "So whatever demanded your attention did not do so through the Stones? That sets my mind at ease. I would not say the Stones have magic, for that conjures images of sorcerers and tricksters, but they do have great power, and power is easily corrupted."

Gimli grunted. "Now that is out of the way, we can move on to what actually occurred. You say you wrestled with someone in thought, but what brought us here?"

"A man calls out for help when he is ambushed in the woods," Arwen said. "A man who is ambushed in his own mind will call twice as loudly if he is able. I felt the struggle, and I was there for the latter half, in body and in spirit." The moon's blasé buttermilk glow gilded her face, enriching her spellbinding beauty with a kind of feyness.

A new silence fell on them, this one even more uncomfortable than the last. Éomer felt it was his duty to break this one.

"So what now?"

"What now is this. This, and a young Southron, arrived early yesterday morning," Aragorn answered, rising to his feet, and drawing from his belt a slim roll of parchment. The seal, red wax stamped with a lion's head, had been broken. He unrolled it, and read aloud:

"Khutulun, the First High Queen of Haradwaith, Uniter of the East, Queen of Kings, to the esteemed Elessar Elfstone, High King of the Reunited Kingdom, greetings. I have been made aware of your great labors to rebuild and maintain relations in the lands surrounding your kingdom. Seeing that, we in the East would like to establish a concrete and lasting peace-treaty between our realms. I am well aware that the East and the West have long been bitter rivals, but now that we have entered a golden age, I hope we can lay aside our old rivalry, throwing it away like an old and threadbare tunic. With that desire in mind, I, Khutulun High-Queen, invite you and any representatives of the Western lands that you deem fit to bring, to Nispet, the new capital city of Harad, where we may hold congress. I understand your trip will be long and will gladly pay for any costs such a journey may entail. Moreover, to show the great respect I hold for you, I have sent somewhat from our treasures. That is, a cloak of gold cloth, desert glass carved in the shape of a lion, as well as a silver goblet set with balas rubies.

May the right hand of the gods be always upon you and favor you in all that you do. Signed by the hand of Khutulun, First High Queen of Haradwaith, Uniter of the East, Queen of Kings.'"

Legolas' quicksilver grin seemed to light the room. The Greenwood Elf had been raised a Prince, surrounded by court intrigue and diplomatic stratagems since birth, and he understood politics better than anyone else in the room. "So what is your next move?"

Aragorn shrugged, returning the missile back to his belt. "Such an opportunity is too good to miss. But as far as I knew, the East was ruled, at least nominally, by a King."

"The Haradrim army was in Mordor, not in their homeland. An ambitious Princess could have thrown a coup and succeeded," Legolas suggested.

Aragorn whistled softly through his teeth. "'I have been to the East, although it was in my youth, and that was long ago. But the tribes were scattered to the four winds, and the people proud and willful. Not one clan could agree with their neighbor."

"Facing a great evil can unite even the most contentious," Éomer suggested. He felt young and simple in this company, and his words sounded pretentious to his own ears, a youth who dares to offer advice to his elders and betters.

Aragorn only nodded agreement. "Perhaps. But to unify such a divided people requires an iron will."

"So you think it was this Khutulun who demanded your attention?" Gimli grunted. He had been filling his pipe, and now he looked plaintively at Arwen, who smiled weakly in return. "If you must, Master Dwarf."

Legolas coughed theatrically as the blue smoke-rings drifted to him, but Gimli puffed away, looking stonily at Aragorn.

Aragorn's brows were drawn together in thought. It was not that he had not had this idea, but he struggled to find reasons to refute it. He knew it was not Khutulun in an intensely visceral way, but that was hardly the basis for a sound argument. "No," he said at last. "No, it was not the Queen Khutulun. It was a man, or so I thought originally."

"What do you think now?" Legolas asked, forgoing his histrionics to focus on the King.

Aragorn shrugged a shoulder. "To be quite frank, I do not have the faintest clue. There seemed something serpentine about it. But I do know that this is no coincidence. The gods do not weave so carelessly. And I also know that a good rider on a good horse can make the journey from Harad to Gondor in little less than a fortnight. I believe that something has happened in the East, and Khutulun finds herself in sudden need of allies."

"Then what will we do?" Éomer inquired, trying to subdue his enthusiasm, but it capered and caracoled like a horse fresh from the stables. His heart pounded with wanderlust, to see new lands and new peoples, anxiety and anticipation knotting together in his gut.

Aragorn smiled. "I intend to go East and confer with Khutulun. Peace in Harad would signify the end of the strife darkness sowed among us, and Arwen will rule as Queen Regent in my stead. But you all have responsibilities to your own people, and I am afraid none of you have been as lucky as I in finding a mate," he ended with a gentle quip.

Legolas cleared his throat, and for the first time, Éomer saw that the nonchalant Elf Prince looked uncomfortable. "I suppose now would be the time to say that I have not established a colony in Ithilien. In truth, I have not even broached the subject to my father."

Aragorn frowned, tilting his head in an invitation for Legolas to continue.

"My father has adopted a strict policy of neutrality ever since the White Council chose to exclude the Greenwood," the Elf explained. "We leave our borders rarely, and I was sent to seek Elrond's council only as a last resort. To Thranduil, leaving the Greenwood would be akin to sacrilege. Yet since I am already a heretic, I am free as a bird and glad to travel with you, Aragorn," he ended brightly.

"And I," Gimli rumbled. "My people rule themselves, and they are as happy in the Glittering Caves as children when the sweets are brought out. It will be good to stretch my legs with the other Walkers."

Legolas and Aragorn smiled at the shared memory, and then Éomer felt all eyes turn to him.

"Do not feel pressed," Aragorn assured him.

"I would like to come," Éomer exclaimed, unable to curb himself any longer. "The cloth I am cut out of was never meant for a King. I would have been content to serve as a Marshal of the Mark for the rest of my years."

Their eyes turned compassionate, and he shifted uncomfortably, feeling the blood rush to his face.

"Never mind," Gimli said, clapping him on the back in a fatherly manner. "Who did you leave as Regent?"

"Elfhelm."

"I think," Aragorn said, sharing a glance with the Dwarf, "that Master Elfhelm will do admirably, should you wish to come, Éomer."

"It would be my honor," Éomer said, and he felt more callow than ever, green as a leaf or as Legolas' eyes.