Epilogue

Aragorn sat down by the fire with a heavy sigh. They had ridden for a few hours beyond the limits of the city and out of the foothills of the Ered Nimrais. He had called a halt then, while night still cloaked the land and his men might yet find the comfort of sleep easily. The ride to the crossings of Erui would have taken too long, especially for those soldiers that had already ridden with him from Pelargir, Captain Callon and Elladan included.

"Here, have some stew." Elladan said and handed him a bowl of the rich broth he and Elrohir had prepared. Somehow they had managed to smuggle Elrohir off the wagon and then had him 'catch up to them' on his own horse, ostensibly 'looking for his brother'. His men had not questioned the new arrival of Lord Elladan's twin at least not outwardly – some had looked concerned others downright spooked. Already he had heard whispers of the magic of elves, of the influence they might spin upon the weary, of dark spirits, but for the most part his men seemed to quietly accept his lead and act as if nothing was amiss.

They were probably too fond of him. Just like Anwion, who had had a hand in making the plot succeed. It was a welcome reminder that despite Denethor's words, despite his actions, there were still good, honorable men in Gondor, men who would forget their own prejudice in deference to their loyalty to their captain. It was a welcome realization.

He sat in companionable silence with his brothers while eating his stew, letting the warm food warm his cold and weary body. It was still a long way to Pelargir, but now that Gondor was actually taking the initiative instead of being forced to react at a moment's notice, they could allow themselves to tarry. The wagons slowed their speed in any event and in Pelargir they would need to wait for the ships to be made ready.

The rest would do his brothers good, he thought. Elrohir was on his third bowl of stew already, making up for the time he had spent in captivity without sustenance. He was still pale, but the improvement was visible, even if a shadow still seemed to linger around him, darkening his thoughts. Aragorn had yet to see him smile, or to engage in any meaningful conversation. Too often, the younger twin would avoid his eyes, obviously still struggling to accept that he was not to blame for what Denethor now knew. He would need time to understand that truth. And Elladan, despite not being injured himself, had spent hard days with little sleep, worrying for both of his brothers. The rest would be good for him as well.

As it would be for him, himself, Aragorn thought. He still had to reflect on the sudden change in his circumstance, on Denethor's discovery of his heritage. Despite Elrohir's concern he did not believe that Denethor would reveal his knowledge to Sauron, not willingly. But, he had to admit, he knew little of the way the ancient seeing stones worked and he had been wrong in thinking too highly of Denethor before. What would the future hold if all of Mordor knew his face, his names?

He sighed and reached up to brush against the letter still in his pocket, drawing on the strength of having her words with him. He thought of her again, of the way the starlight glinted off her raven hair, how it twinkled in her eyes. The way her smile would erase all the doubts in his heart, all the fears and uncertainties of the future. The way her voice would rise in song to greet the coming morning or mingle with the trilling of the birds in the gardens of Imladris. There could never be, in all of Middle Earth, a maiden as beautiful, as perfect, as his Arwen.

"You know," Elladan's voice interrupted his musings, "perhaps you should read it."

Aragorn startled, his eyes snapping to his eldest brother. He realized dimly that Elrohir was looking at his twin from across the light of their fire, equally surprised . But Elladan ignored them both.

"Please," he intoned smugly, "you are, both of you, so very bad at keeping secrets."

Aragorn merely shook his head, bemused, even as Elrohir finally rose enough from his own dark musings to defend himself, starting an argument about secrets kept and lost that seemed to span the entire third age.

Leaving them to their bickering, he lifted his tunic to retrieve Arwen's letter and began to read.

-o0o-

The End

A/N: I almost cannot believe it but it is done - part 1 that is. Because there will be a part 2, after all I always intended to write a story about Aragorn's attack on the Havens of Umbar (imagine my surprise when I plotted this story and Umbar wasn't even in it...) I am aiming at starting to post part 2 somewhere around Christmas, but until then - another big thank you to everyone who faved and followed and especially to everyone who was kind enough to leave a review. Your encouragement and excitement really kept me going. Thank you!

And of course I still love hearing what you think, especially now that we're done.