Notes
This is a translation of part #7 of one of my longest finished German fanfiction series. I am not a native speaker and apologize for any mistakes. The "Tales Untold"-series focuses much on Aragorn, Legolas and their respective relationships, but there's lots of other important plot lines coming into play, one of the biggest revolving around Glorfindel and Erestor.
The series combines the book verse with some circumstances from the movieverse, it ignores all of three of the Hobbit movies though (I wrote most of this series before those movies even were a thing). It's slightly non-compliant in places but I'm always trying to keep close to canon.
"Walk through the fire" is set in January of T.A. 3020, a few months after the War of the Ring.
Comments are more than welcome. I'm thirsting for them like so many others.
With how endlessly difficult it had been, saying good-bye to his hobbit friends in the previous fall, Aragorn had actually thought, the post-war era couldn't become any worse for him. Letting the halflings go had already torn his heart in two, though, of course, he hadn't failed to notice that they'd been downright ill with homesickness at the end. It was about high time that the little heroes could properly recover from the scares of the War of the Ring in the unspoiled remoteness of the Shire.
In fact, Aragorn should have accompanied them. After everything they had done for this world, it would have been his job to take them home safely. That would have meant another long journey west though, after the first one he'd taken shortly after the war; his duties just hadn't allowed that. He needed no nagging members of his folk or a constantly ill-humored elvish advisor to be aware of that. So all he'd been able to do was relying on his capable soldiers to not leave the hobbits out of their sight for even a second until they were back where they belonged. And hope that he himself would find time for a trip to the Shire in the foreseeable future.
While there were already concrete plans in existence to make the land a protected enclave that soon no man would be allowed to enter anymore, the hobbits had declared more than once that this ban would never include their Ring Companions and their families, and that they would have been highly offended if Aragorn would never visit them in their home.
Given an opportunity for that would actually knock someday – not exactly an encouraging thought.
Every time Aragorn walked the road from the city gate up to the Citadel, he remembered that day, when he had once more sent away four friends, possibly for many long years. He remembered how alone he had felt back then, in spite of Gimli's and Arwen's silent and similarly somber support, how heavily the loneliness had once more weighed down on his shoulders because he'd soon not have any of these very special friends with him in Gondor anymore that he had gone through one of the worst times of his life with. That did even hurt when you had the most wonderful partner by your side. Especially since due to the still pending legality of their relationship, the court etiquette bid him keep his distance from her most of the time.
That another Companion had not been present this morning either had hurt as well, especially since that person wasn't even staying that far away from Minas Tirith … and yet further than ever, it seemed.
Since the terrible events surrounding his coronation and Arwen's kidnapping, Aragorn had hardly heard from Legolas, except for a few very neutrally worded written reports. The Crown Prince of Eryn Lasgalen being one of his best friends among the elves who had been a loyal sidekick in fight and suffering for decades, Aragorn missed him more every day.
Getting lost in dark contemplations like these, Aragorn happened to occasionally miss something else on his usual morning walk. Today, it was said elvish advisor.
He wouldn't even have recognized him if Erestor hadn't shouted something at one of the mannish workers in his smoky, deep voice. Only now, it dawned on Aragorn that this shape by the edge of the moat, wrapped in shabby working clothes and littered in countless mud stains, was an elf.
The corners of his mouth twitched; he could barely keep from breaking into laughter.
The last time he'd enjoyed such a sight had been in Lord Elrond's forge when he had been young. Elves with tied-back hair and dirt in their faces could almost make you forget which folk they descended from – if one failed to notice the uncompromising authority that Erestor radiated even in this condition, that neither any of the men close by nor the few dwarves who'd joined them, dared to rebel against. It made an impression even on critics of certain elvish philosophies if someone was able to tear a pipe from the icy ground with his bare hands to get to the bottom of stubborn blockages with one naked, delicate arm while they were either busy spitting out dirt or bark orders back over their shoulder.
"You don't have to do this, Lord Erestor. I hope you know that."
Aragorn shortly nodded at the citizens who bowed to him in awe and knelt down next to Erestor so no one would hear his quietly uttered words. "You're in Minas Tirith as my helper, not as a worker."
"To the citizens, I am, Your Majesty." Erestor put his rake aside for a moment and wiped his cheek with the coarse fabric of his sleeve but only achieved increasing the size of the black dot there.
Although the two of them had known each other since Aragorn's childhood in Imladris, he, as well, automatically used the required polite form of address, as he always did in public; just one of the many details regarding keeping formalities that he frequently reminded Aragorn of with the necessary strictness. Much like in more than one history lesson in the past. "How believable is my role as leader of the elvish helpers in the city if I only spend time in the Citadel? Don't worry, Your Majesty. This is not the first time I'm working with tools. It actually does me good. Do you think I've spent all my life organizing Lord Elrond's library? Not to mention …"
His eyes wandered to the workers who pretended to be especially busy with the repair of the wall. "Here's where I learn most about what people think of you."
"And what is that?" Aragorn asked with a weak smile.
The road blockade from when he'd returned from Arwen's rescue had fortunately not happened again, and for now, no new pamphlets had emerged either. But the number of people cheering when he took a stroll on foot or went for a ride was still limited.
Aragorn didn't need admiration or even worship; that wasn't what was bothering him. It rather worried him that peoples' mood which had changed so quickly thanks to the lies of the Stewards, was still colored by so much suspicion against himself. Especially in this difficult first time of reconstruction and the crucial reapproach to Arnor that he hadn't made even a bit of progress with so far, he would have needed people's support more than ever.
At least today, there weren't any really bad news from his advisor. "Prince Faramir moving to Emyn Arnen was the best thing that could have happened to you." Only the way Erestor was tiredly leaning against the slope down to the ditch revealed that he'd apparently been standing here since the break of dawn already.
"People begin to understand, you're not depending on your Steward. They would like to meet you a little more often, but a majority of reasonable voices know, you can control the works best from the Citadel. The country is starting to recover, and the people in it have noticed. They're ready to wait and see how things under your leadership will develop in the next few months and years. A few are skeptical about Arnor but that's due to centuries of ignorance and natural fear of the unknown. If the residents of your other realm will be ready to approach Gondor again one day, Gondor's people will be, too. Most of them keep on trusting your judgment. Except for curious questions about the lady that you're regularly having dinner with, there are only a few critical words on the streets right now."
"As long as they're only being curious and not insolent, I'm alright with that." This time, Aragorn couldn't bite back a grin. "Such conversations are probably more about what said lady is doing in my private chambers at these dinners, or in the afternoon."
Seeing Erestor expression darkening immediately, he held up one hand in reassurance. "Don't worry about possible rumors regarding that. There's always at least one other person present who can testify that nothing but conversations is happening. People are probably more disappointed that they don't get to hear anything scandalous from gossiping handmaidens. Members of the court have become careful about what is being shared with outsiders anyway. No one wants to tell the wrong person anything important. It makes me sleep better, too."
"Better don't think yourself safe yet, Your Majesty." Erestor stared at Aragorn with his piercing dark eyes as if he wanted to look right into his soul. "Right now, it's being calm, but that doesn't mean it will stay that way. Or that the one who brought you these rotten apples back then is no longer at your court. The Stewardaides may have retreated from Minas Tirith after you struck back, but you're dealing with extremely fanatic members of your folk. I can only keep on strongly recommending you not to leave the city recklessly until the voices of unrest have fallen silent."
He didn't wait for a reply but pointed at the greyish, slowly flowing water. "If you're here for that: This area, unfortunately, hasn't fully recovered from the wounds of war yet. Far too much dirt still ends up in the waters, clogging the supply pipes. But since, at least here, reconstruction is as good as finished, hope is justified that we'll be rid of that problem soon. The fields are the problem. The sparse harvest, and the water from North-Ithilien that is still dangerously unclean on some days and that even affects this city. Much of the livestock had already perished before the people of Prince Legolas could clean the first fountains. Supplies are getting short. The season is colder than many previous winters were, and it's far from over."
"I know." Aragorn rubbed his forehead with a sigh. Hearing the same thing almost every day didn't change anything about the problems. "I'm doing what I can. My soldiers are bringing my orders to the surrounding areas as we speak. Any leftovers from anywhere will be given to those who need them. And a message will soon reach Imladris in which I requested new shoots and seeds for next year."
"The answer won't take long. Lord Elrond always talks about you with much affection and pride. As he should, I may add. You have always been a very quick learner; nothing changed about that." That had been the shadow of a smile, Aragorn was almost certain.
"I'm sure you will weather these difficult first few years. Imladris will do its best to help you with that, just like your resourceful assistance in North-Ithilien does." A hint of irony regarding this subject accompanied the last words that Aragorn didn't notice for the first time. Not every elf was happy about Legolas' plans for his settlement. Too many of them were yearning to make their journey to the west and were partly being held back by the few of their kin who weren't ready for that yet.
Though this dividedness hurt Aragorn … That matter was none of his business, and meddling with it was not for him.
Sensing that, Erestor quickly changed the subject. "Since Prince Faramir and his wife just arrived in the city for a visit: Maybe it's time for a meeting with all your advisors."
"I'll schedule one at noon," Aragorn agreed. Though he was more a man of action and not of endless discussions: That had indeed been overdue for a while now.
Erestor nodded, satisfied, a gesture already interrupted in its early stages by a bright signal sounding from the fortress walls. Long-drawn-out and not too pompous but all the more memorable if one knew what it meant. The fanfare of the very elves who had chosen Cair Andros as their base in Ithilien not too long ago. "Even more noble visitors, apparently."
Aragorn's cautious anticipation of a possible reunion immediately turned to worry at his arrival in the Citadel when the guards told him that the visitor had been taken to the Houses of Healing. With his heart beating wildly, he ran to the sixth city level.
For a moment he didn't know whether to feel relief or shock when he entered the room that the healers pointed out to him and, contrary to what he'd more or less feared, he didn't find Legolas in the bed there.
While it was indeed Tarisilya sitting by some elf's side, it wasn't her husband that she just started to take care of with her skilled healer hands, her face a shade paler than usual.
Thondrar.
"You have to send someone, Your Majesty, immediately." Tarisilya's voice trembled more than Aragorn had ever heard it when she was treating a patient, even back then when it had been that little boy from the fire attack who had become the first casualty in the Stewardaides Crisis in the end. A defeat that the comparatively still so young she-elf hadn't even started to recover from. And now it was these rebels again who were making life hard for her; Aragorn already knew before he'd heard anything more.
The she-elf fidgeted around with a sharp medical knife and Thondrar's right leg, her hands and her clothes red-stained, to get the tip of a broken arrow out of his flesh. Her patient's occasional moans didn't draw more than an impatient huff from her. "You didn't want numbing herbs. Keep still! Are you trying to lose even more blood? It's a mystery to me how you even made it here."
"I had to," Thondrar answered through clenched teeth.
"There was no one else left, you know. Your enemies, Estel." He turned to Aragorn, visibly plagued by a bad conscience.
"It seems they used the last months to improve their fighting skills. They kept their heads down as long as Prince Faramir and his royal household were busy getting settled in Emyn Arnen. But now that the majority of Faramir's soldiers are staying in South-Ithilien, far from Cair Andros, and the Rangers aren't around anymore either, I guess they didn't want to wait anymore. The moment Prince Faramir left for Minas Tirith, these insane people chased a pack of wargs to the first foundations of our settlement. They attacked when we were still busy killing the last animals and threatened the weaker members of the group too quickly to take all of these bastards out before they started taking them away." Anger on himself shone in his bright eyes. "We should have been prepared …"
He stopped with a quiet scream when Tarisilya grabbed his hip a little too roughly – on purpose, as Aragorn had to suspect –, to put an end to these useless self-reproaches.
"Why don't you ask yourself later what the weaknesses of your defense are? It's more important that we help your people. Where's Legolas? He surely must have led the counterattack, didn't he?"
Aragorn started to pace between the few pieces of furniture of the small room, restlessly stroking his beard. In his head, he was already busy visiting the lands of Ithilien and possible hideouts for a big group and planning the search for the missing people and his enemies. For the first time since the end of the war, he deeply regretted most of his Dúnedain not being available right now as they were busy in Arnor. These people would have been suited best for jobs like this.
"If I knew that, I wouldn't be here." Thondrar's forehead was covered in sweat from the effort of suppressing the pain that was visibly growing worse by the second.
"During the battle with the wargs, he was suddenly gone. I thought he'd ridden here to get reinforcements," he added apologetically when he saw a growing worry fill Tarisilya's green brown eyes. "But he's probably let himself be taken prisoner to protect the rest of us, just like the other warriors."
"I can't feel anything," Tarisilya explained anxiously before Aragorn had done more than look her way. "We never had a chance to properly train our mental connection to each other, as you know."
"Don't fret, milady. If these men had it in them to kill themselves, they wouldn't have used the wargs. They probably want the same as last time: Information that they won't get from us, and that the King gets himself into danger. Predictable, but we just were overwhelmed. Too many untrained elves and she-elves have arrived in the settlement in the last weeks to help us heal nature. We couldn't protect all of them at once. We should have known it was too early." This time, Thondrar interrupted himself. That didn't change anything now.
"I have to get back. They can't have made it far."
"You're not going anywhere," Tarisilya snarled at him. "You could have died, in case you haven't noticed. You've got more luck than sanity; the arrow missed the arty by less than an inch. With all that muscle- and tissue damage, you're not getting on any horse for the next two months."
"Nonsense." A sneer on his lips, Thondrar straightened up before the bandage was even finished. "Patch me up and give me a functioning bow. Do you think I will let that slide? Losing sight of my leader alone forbids me to take any breaks. If His Majesty is friendly enough to provide us with a couple of men, I will be leading them."
"You will stay!" It was usually not Aragorn's place to talk like that to someone like Thondrar who had earned his reputation as a fighter of mithril far beyond Imladris … by moves just as courageous as insane, like skewering a troll from below or living in an orc-camp unrecognized for two weeks to free a handful of comrades – those scars were still visible to the naked eye when he was wearing as he was little as right now. And Aragorn had been deeply appreciating this extremely ambitioned elf, so tortured in numerous ways, since his own time in Lord Elrond's house.
But the hurt pride of a Firstborn really was the most unimportant thing right now. "I won't let you go to any battle like that. You will collapse and your companions will have to protect you then. If you leave, you won't do it under the banner of Gondor or as a leader of its soldiers."
He paused for a moment but then raised his head in determination, meeting the patient's furious eyes. There were certain elves, you couldn't deal with any other way. "When this is over, I don't want to have to give your body to your father. My friendship to him and to you, as well, is too big for that."
The answer was silence, as usual when someone tried to address Thondrar's ancestry that only very few outside Elrond's family knew about. That he yielded for the moment also didn't mean, he would lay around here forever.
Well, hopefully at least long enough to end this crisis without him, too, no matter how little he might love that. "Besides you might have known the woods of Ithilien well in the long-lost past, but no one can say more about what it's like there today than men who spent half their lives there. When the Steward's people have last intervened in such a crisis, they might not have succeeded, but today, their leader will come along." Actually, Aragorn was reluctant to make such a decision without asking Faramir first, but he didn't have a choice. This time, this was about more than a single person in danger. The Stewardaides had begun this battle once more, and Gondor would fight back with all it had.
Aragorn yearned to personally go help Legolas and his inferiors; but just like at Arwen's kidnapping back then, he wouldn't be able to right away.
This conflict was taking place in the area that Aragorn had put Faramir in charge of after his coronation. This matter was the duty of the Steward, though Aragorn and he would both probably have loved to trade spots.
Maybe Aragorn should indeed have waited a little longer to order Faramir to send his Rangers to Rohan, so they could help Éomer wipe out the last groups of enemies there. Their knowledge about even the most remote corners of Ithilien would have been of great use right now.
But that, too, couldn't be changed now. They would have to make it alone.
He yearned to give Tarisilya a little more comfort, but one of his advisors was already standing at the door, clearing his throat. There was not a second to lose.
So he only put a heavy hand on the she-elf's shoulder, eying her enquiringly until she nodded at him in agitation; then he hurried outside towards the White Tower of Ecthelion.
"You're not going to do anything rash either, Your Highness. Are we clear on that?" As soon as they were alone, Thondrar tilted Tarisilya's lowered head up admonishingly by her chin, like he so often did when giving her necessary advice. "Waving around a dagger in the King's garden a little doesn't get you ready for a fight in the least. Give me a few hours of rest, then I'll bring your husband safely back to you. Didn't I promise you that at our last good-bye?"
"Which is why I'm surprised, you arrived here alone." It slipped from Tarisilya's mouth before she could restrain herself. She realized that she was being damn unfair right now. From how Thondrar had described the situation, he couldn't have done anything more than he'd reluctantly brought himself to already, making the necessary escape here.
But with his words, her old friend from Imladris had both hit the mark exactly and touched a sore spot. The conflict of not being allowed to prove herself as a warrior, since that was somewhat unusual for she-elves – especially for healers –, had defined her life ever since Tarisilya's childhood. On days when she wished more than anything to be able to help out beings that she loved, it was downright tearing her apart.
She had to get out of here before she would say something even unkinder. In spite of the pain in her heart, she still had that much rationality at least. She had to do some thinking now.
Drawing herself away with a jerk, she strode outside with long steps. "Do what you think is right. So will I."
What little time passed until the departure of the first soldiers wasn't enough to calm Tarisilya down. When she approached the handful of riders in dark grey armor who were getting ready by the stables on the sixth level, her thoughts were anywhere but with her duties in the Houses of Healing that she usually took so seriously.
"Please don't fret too much, milady." Faramir waved her aside for a moment. "I sent word to Emyn Arnen already. More members of the White Company will spur their horses to a fast gallop and join us before we even reach Cair Andros. Together, we will easily destroy these rebels."
"Is it that easy for you to take people out who are worshipping your name so much, Steward?"
The provocative question caused an unexpectedly harsh reaction. Within split seconds, the kind aura of a Prince living in remoteness on a chain of hills vanished, replaced by the one of Gondor's military leader in war, who had tried to reconquer Osgiliath with far too few men. "I don't want this worship! I never did! Do you think a man to be that easily susceptible? That only elves have the will to resist temptation?" Faramir only seemed to realize that he'd almost screamed his last words when the other riders looked up from their preparations in astonishment.
He forced himself to relax his fists, to brush a strawberry blond strand of hair from his eyes that had been perfectly in place, to begin with. "That I'm not always sharing His Majesty's opinions doesn't change anything about my loyalty and my friendship to him. If certain people refuse to understand that and rather solve their problems with their sword, I will not hesitate to raise mine either."
"Just determination won't help you in this case." Tarisilya wasn't ready to let that conversation end so quickly. "We have no idea what's going on out there. Thondrar can't even tell if all of them have been taken prisoner. A few of the elves might have fled to a shelter. And I don't know what happened to my husband. But our mental marriage bond might work once I'm getting close enough to him. Do you even have a plan about where to begin your search? I might."
"If you're hoping for me taking you along, I'll have to disappoint you." Faramir got up on his horse. "Though your husband has sadly neglected it so far to officially introduce himself and his whole group to me in Emyn Arnen, I have a pretty good idea what he would think about me leading you into battle. I can handle a bow myself, but not even I can dodge the arrows of the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen. Besides, you're wrong."
Faramir nodded at another rider joining the soldiers. "We know where we have to begin. We have a guide coming with us."
Tarisilya gasped when she recognized the tall, grey Mearh-stallion that Éomer had entrusted her with, in Rohan back then when she had left her mare with him so it could be covered. With two steps, she was beside Tercelborne, grabbing his reins. Anyone else trying to take her horse without asking would have made her just as angry, but this special sight was too much for her nerves.
"What are you doing?" She was two seconds from propelling Erestor from the saddle by force, though admittedly, her chances to actually achieve that were low.
Then again, who knew, with Tercelborne keeping on bracing up against the bit like so unwillingly, throwing his head up, again and again, trying to bolt aside ... It was probably only Tarisilya's proximity that stopped him from trying to unseat his unloved rider anyway. One would assume that someone like Erestor who'd appropriated so much knowledge over several Ages, should be aware that Mearas usually carried only families of Kings and elves of high nobility. Exceptions like Tarisilya's own mare and its twin brother were rare.
"There was no time for a written inquiry in triplicate to you," Erestor answered unblinkingly. "He's the fastest horse here right now, so get him to do as he's told, will you? Do you want the others to get help as quickly as possible or not?"
"Why do you care? When did you start giving a damn about how our people are faring out there?" Tarisilya had reached a point where every emotional calmness taught over centuries had been obliterated. Her voice was trembling with anger, with worry, with everything that had happened in the last few months and that Erestor's sudden arrival in Minas Tirith had only made worse. "When my husband last needed help, you had more important things on your mind too, didn't you?"
"That's enough!" Erestor ungently grabbed Tarisilya's shoulders so that she couldn't just hurry off like in the last conversations of this sort. The murmurs of the soldiers about that treatment, he ignored completely. "Yes, I have made a premature, emotional judgment back then. That was a mistake that I never tried to cover up. Not even Prince Legolas bears a grudge against me for that. The only one who always wanted to interpret jealousy into a long-closed matter is you. Go ahead, hate me for all eternity. You really give me no reason to beat myself up over that. But I will not sit around here and wait for news when innocent, helpless elves are in the hands of such criminals."
Only now, he finally let go of her and put on the helmet laying on the saddle, slightly clumsily, completing the armor that Erestor must have borrowed in a hurry, judging by the much too broad chest plate. "This isn't even about your husband who apparently hasn't learned how to take care of himself in all of his three thousand years. In fact, what I actually think is that he's not being with the group because he learned from the mistakes that he's made after the war and doesn't want to be responsible for another baby's death. Especially not when one of his closest friends is its mother."
Tarisilya tumbled back as if the words had hit her like arrows to her chest. That was exactly how it felt. "What did you say?" Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. Her face color was probably competing with the city walls right now.
Erestor eyed her with the same deep sadness that he had regarded her with before the hobbits' departure when he had thrown in her face that she let only Legolas' wishes still keep her on Middle-earth.
"You're even more alone than I thought. He didn't even help you with that. He really is his father's son. Many centuries ago, you opened your heart to me, Tarisilya Vandriniel. That you changed your mind later doesn't mean I've forgotten everything. If one knows how to listen to what you're not saying, it's no secret what happened to you on your journey west. Something like that will not happen again. Not because some elves insist on keeping on ignoring the Valar's call and throw themselves into a hazardous endeavor in North Ithilien. Even when they're carrying a child in their belly that's exposed to such strains defenselessly. They arrived a few days ago," he added upon Tarisilya's expression growing more shocked by the word, audibly angry about such carelessness. "Camhanar actually wanted his wife to stay in Imladris at least until she'd give birth, but she insisted on coming along. Must be the Mirkwood impulsivity in her blood, I guess, even after all this time."
"Tauriel …" Even Erestor's hurtful words paled upon learning that a heavily pregnant she-elf was affected by this attack. A she-elf that Tarisilya had talked to very little at her wedding in Imladris, but of whom Legolas had been speaking all the more often since then.
The two might not be as close as they'd used to be since Tauriel had packed her things and moved into Lord Elrond's valley, after an argument with Legolas' father. But he was often missing her hand had been very delighted that she'd wanted to help him out in Ithilien. It was probably understandable that Legolas – just like Thondrar who knew about Tarisilya's miscarriage as well – hadn't wanted to tell Tarisilya about these sensitive new arrivals in passing.
But that Erestor hadn't shared this knowledge with her was just another point on the list of reasons why she usually steered clear of him.
Unfortunately, she'd just looked at him for a few seconds too long and noticed that his rough features were colored even a shade more whitish than usual. No matter how much she hated this elf: This was the first time in centuries that they were agreeing on something.
Without even thinking about it for another second, Tarisilya took Tercelborne's head between her hands and whispered a few soothing words in Sindarin to him, explaining to him that this was a serious crisis, that beings important to her were in danger.
Only when the animal – still visibly reluctantly – started to cede to Erestor's slightly harsh hand, trying to find the bit, she looked up again. "You have to help her … Tauriel hasn't been wielding a weapon in decades, hasn't she? Legolas could never forgive himself this …"
"As I said … There won't be another tragedy as in Rohan, Ilya." Erestor seemed to know for a change that he hadn't been exactly tactful and spared Tarisilya more comments and even a farewell.
He followed Faramir's troops without looking back.