Chapter 26

The Flame of Arnor

Author's Note: Good day! Long time no see! Sorry for the two month hiatus! My husband and I moved into a new house and between unpacking and working on some of my other writing projects this story was pushed into the back burner. I still work a full-time job for now, so I have to divide my time between fun writing (i.e. writing fanfiction) and outlining the novel my character, Brianna Davis, actually appears in. I've also been playing around with cover art and have been using this story as a way to practice, so expect a new cover to appear shortly.

Anyway, please enjoy the chapter. Most of the dialogue follows the book's with some noticeable differences.

January 9th - Hollin, night

The cold steel of his sword nearly tumbled from numb fingers as he gaped at the vision before him. Brianna stood beside a towering boulder. A serene smile that caused a faint blush to dance across his cheeks graced her lips. Teal eyes roamed over him before she met his gaze. Her dark-clad chest rose and fell - doing an extraordinarily good job of showing off the top mounds of her breasts - and shapely hips swayed as she stepped forward to meet the point of his blade.

Aragorn swallowed, attempting to generate some saliva for a suddenly dry mouth, and forced his eyes to focus on her face. The act didn't hold his growing need at bay. The way she looked at him suggested she wanted him to keep looking in the most inappropriate of places.

"You are very quick to draw your sword, my lord," she said playfully and tilted her head to one side to show off her bare neck.

Aragorn blinked rapidly to regain some semblance of composure. For a moment, he wondered if this was a dream. It had happened before in a waking vision, or a memory of her laugh during a short night of light slumber. Possibly, a lesser man would have made the assumption that this apparition was a trick of the mind. Aragorn was no such man. This wasn't a dream and this apparition seemed a little too good to be true.

"You're here, how?" He asked, tone measured.

Brianna smiled and took a few confident steps forward. Aragorn didn't lower his sword and continued to keep it trained in front of him at the center between her breasts. He swallowed again as his eyes fell on the blatantly revealed part of her body. It would be a lie if he didn't admit to thinking on her breasts occasionally. The uniform she'd worn when they'd first met had covered them, yes, but little was left to the imagination.

"I needed to see you," she whispered.

For that one moment, Aragorn wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe she would abandon all duty, all of the world, all sense of morality to leave her quest and seek him out. The Brianna he knew, the Brianna he loved, wouldn't. There was too much of a sense of right in her conscience for her to act in such a thoughtless, passionate way.

I would think less of her, he realized. I know this.

How he knew this, Aragorn couldn't say. The strength of his conviction surprised even him and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

"Must we always meet like this?" She asked lightly.

His eyes bore into hers. Looking at them closely, he noticed that they were missing the royal blue flecks that helped them color as teal. He'd missed it before, but now Aragorn knew to suspect something was amiss. This apparition was too wrong to be real. His grip on his sword ceased its uncertain tremor and his gaze hardened and he continued to look into the false Brianna's wrong eyes.

The sensual smile became amused and the false Brianna asked in a tone harsher than any the true Brianna could ever produce, "I suppose I should always concede defeat when it happens."

The illusion was shattered by her change in tone thus making it easier for Aragorn to respond dryly, "Your attempt at taking on her likeness is admirable, but you mistook her nature."

The false Brianna cackled and replied, "It's not easy to mimic the mind. Still, many don't notice. I'm impressed. You keep her well-hidden. The elves of Arda are not completely hopeless as I once thought."

The false Brianna backed away from Aragorn's sword and began circling him like a carrion. His sword followed her movements warily. It would be too much to hope that the person before him was there for any altruistic purpose.

"Such devotion!" The false one continued to lament, "I'd give anything for such a generous gift as a faithful love, but alas! My husband is far more like his late brother than he wishes to admit!"

She waived her hand and her skin began to melt like ice in the heat of the first spring sun. What was revealed caused bile to rise in Aragorn's throat. It wasn't that the elf was old. Wrinkled skin, frail limbs, and white hair were as much a part of human life and some half elves chose mortality and aged. This creature was not merely wizened. Two boils grew on one side of her nose and at the bottom of her chin. Long, yellow fingernails peeked out from under her voluminous sleeves and curled like mangled claws. Rotted, yellow teeth grinned at him from behind a pair of black lips.

Unbidden, he shuddered at the grotesque sight.

The Knight Elf - he observed that her ears were pointed and heavily wrinkled - threw back her head and released a shrieking cackle, "Do I offend you, ranger?"

"Yes," he said darkly and prepared himself for battle.

She sniffed and waived a casual hand. Aragorn felt as if someone shoved him violently in the chest and knocked him off of his feet. His grip on his sword broke as his back hit the frozen earth and Aragorn rolled down the hill and came to rest in a patch of smooth rocks. Disoriented, he blinked up at her as she approached.

"You know where my niece is," she hissed, "I will need to acquire that information. I'm assuming it would be too much to hope that you will give it willingly?"

In answer, Aragorn spat in her face. The hag hissed in response and grabbed the back of his head by his long black hair and forced him to meet her gaze. Aragorn's vision blurred with the pain.

"I don't need to torture you, Ranger, only to rip it from your mind," she hissed.

The smell of her breath made Aragorn gag. She grinned. A pressure descended on his temples as her mind attempted to force its way into his own. He grunted in pain and began to struggle against her. The knight elf cackled and continued her relentless attack against his mind. Aragorn's vision blurred once again, but his fingers touched the charmed bracelet Brianna had given him looped about his belt. Not quite knowing what he was doing, his touched one of the charms and felt the form of a long knife morph into his hand.

Without a second thought, Aragorn thrust the knife into the sorceress' abdomen. The hag shrieked and Aragorn was thrown back against the jagged rocks.

Aragorn groaned as he forced himself to his knees, knife held firmly in his hand. The sorceress bared her teeth at him and crept forward with rage painted across her face. The new wound in her abdomen leaked blood as black as an orc's. She raised a finger and began chanting, fell words resounding in the air around them. Aragorn's temple broke out in sweat from the heat and pressure building around him. Before the hag could finish her incantation, a bright light flared and she was knocked from her feet and into a boulder ten feet away.

The heat and pressure lifted and he looked down the hill to find Gandalf climbing the last remaining feet to where Aragorn knelt. His gnarled staff was pointed at the hag as she staggered to her feet. Another hiss slid passed her teeth. Yellow eyes fixed themselves on Gandalf and glared with such hatred that even Aragorn was taken aback. The wizard, for his part, remained grim.

"You will leave this place, sorceress, and you will not harass us again," Gandalf said, command ringing in his tone.

She cackled and raised her arms. Seven dark-cloaked women emerged from the shadows around them. Aragorn staggered to his feet, knife poised for its next deadly strike.

I doubt it will be any more effective than the injury I inflicted on the hag, he thought.

"Do you truly believe yourself greater than I, wizard?" the hag cackled, "See the might of my sisters!"

A dark chanting echoed in the air about them. Aragorn's breath turned ragged as the air, once again, became dark and dense. Gandalf didn't show any visible reaction to the spell being woven around them. He stood erect, and slowly raised his staff. Aragorn ducked just as another bright pulsing white light erupted from the tip of the wizard's staff in a fury. The force of the eruption caused the hag and her coven to stagger and their voices to falter.

Immediately, Aragorn sprang from the ground, scooped his fallen sword back into his hand, and swung the blade at the nearest stunned woman. In one, swift, stroke the elven-crafted blade severed the sorceress' head from her neck. Another sorceress turned on him, dark fire pooling in the palms of her hands, and attempted to grab his stomach and throat, but he stepped nimbly to one side and made another carefully placed blow that cut off her head. Black fire burst from the hands of another sorceress and Aragorn spun to avoid it. She sent another stream of black fire and Aragorn raised his sword, allowing the blade to take the brunt of the magic. Orange flames began to flicker along the length of the blade. She bared her teeth. Pointed incisors pricked her lips.

Aragorn danced across the rocky terrain as another sorceress - this time an elf wearing red leather and brandishing a sword - attacked with a vengeance. As the surprise of his and Gandalf's initial attack faded, the ferocity and coordination of their attacks increased. The sorceresses moved like shadow and smoke. They were faster than him and could perform feats of sorcery known to a small few in Arda. He ducked as a burst of burning darkness burst forth from the sorceress with the elongated incisors. The knight elf followed her coven-sister's attack with her dark blade which Aragorn blocked with his own.

They entered a dance. The human sorceress cast her fell darkness, Aragorn dodged only to exchange a few blows between himself and the warrior elf. A little ways away, Gandalf wielded Glamring and his staff against the foe with the hag standing several feet away with her eyes closed and hands raised. Aragorn pivoted from another burst of darkness and dropped to a low crouch to avoid the swing of the knight elf. The elf glanced at him and nimbly moved away from him as he thrust his sword toward her abdomen.

The knife from Brianna's bracelet was still in his hand. Aragorn's eyes flickered to the sorceress the moment he flicked his wrist. The knife flashed in the bright light of Gandalf's magic as it soared through the air and buried itself in the chest of the human sorceress where her heart should be.

She sputtered. The elf shrieked and bore down on Aragorn with a vengeance. He barely moved his sword in front of him to deflect her blow when her black boot shot up from the ground and connected with his jaw. His head connected with the sharp rocks and the world blurred. When it focused again the elf stood over him with her sword raised for the kill when an arrow made its home in her temple.

For a moment, the elf teetered in place before listing sideways and crumbling to the very rocks Aragorn lay. He struggled to prop himself up on one shaking arm as Legolas crested the hill with an arrow trained on the hag. The wrinkled elf's eyes had shot open and gaped at his friend as if faced with her worst nightmare.

"F… father…" she breathed.

What? Aragorn wondered and looked to the elf prince once more.

Legolas looked just as bewildered as he felt. Then, uncertainty gave way to shock and faded into a wrath Aragorn had never seen expressed by the typically cheerful elf.

"No, though I was told to have a resemblance," Legolas replied airily though there was a note of steel underneath. "I do regret to say that this is the first and last time you will meet me, Aunt Persephone."

Silence descended. Even Gandalf peered at Legolas uncertainly for a moment before giving a gruff shrug and muttering something unintelligible under his breath. The remaining sorceresses looked from Legolas to the named Persephone as if unsure of what to make of the situation.

"No…" the hag breathed, "no… there was only one son. She brought back a single heir. She said there was no other family. She said… she said…"

"She lied," Legolas replied. "My mother lied. There was always another. I am Legolas Thrandulion, Prince of Mirkwood and the elves, son of Athena ven Aldura, High Queen of the Elven race."

He released his arrow. Persephone moved out of the way, but not soon enough to avoid being pieced in the shoulder by her nephew's arrow. The remaining acolytes jumped into action by shielding their leader and creating a black ball of magic that obscured the group from sight. When it dissipated, they were gone and Aragorn, Gandalf, and Legolas were left to stare at the empty night they left behind.

January 10th - 11th - Caradhras

They returned to camp to find the rest of the company ready for departure. No words were spoken as they watched their three companions gather the rest of their things and set out towards the high pass over Caradhras. No protest was given, though Boromir and Gimli were seen exchanging doubtful looks. Aragorn didn't comment their distrust. It wasn't unfounded. The pass would be difficult if not perilous, but they didn't have a choice in the matter. The enemy was about and they were looking for Frodo and Brianna. Frodo was their easiest target should the enemy descend on them, but all of them had knowledge of where Brianna was. Aragorn knew it wasn't protected, not in the way it needed to be. If any of them were caught, Lorien would be in danger. With that in mind, Aragorn led them with a grim determination. Legolas matched his step, hand gripping his sword as if afraid the hag who was apparently his aunt would attack them at any moment.

The episode in Hollin wasn't mentioned to the rest of the company. This was a decision the three of them had made shortly before returning to camp. It was best the hobbits be spared of the possible threat lurking in the distance. Gandalf had also ventured to suspect that the three of them had dealt the hag a crippling blow by killing half of her coven and wounding her twice in the process.

"We must focus on getting over the mountains," Gandalf had said gravely, "we will deal with this Persephone as she chooses to reveal herself."

While Aragorn hadn't completely agreed with that plan, the urgency of the matter left no room for argument. None of them knew where the coven had gone to recuperate and the company was in too vulnerable of a position to stay in Hollin as Gandalf, Legolas, and Aragorn hunted them. Caradhras was the best path in that their enemies would likely not follow, so it was over Caradhras they went.

Snow met them farther down than he'd anticipated and after a good while Gandalf called a halt to their progress. The snow was up to their boots and threatened to spill into their feet. Aragorn flexed his cold figures in an effort to keep them from going numb.

"I feared this," Gandalf muttered. "What say you, Aragorn?"

"I feared it as well, though not so far south and not this far down the mountain," he replied.

Despite himself, Aragorn felt a shiver wrack threw this body as it reacted to the snow at the cold. His clothes were close to being completely soaked through as each barrage of ice latched onto him and melted from the waning heat of his body. Vaguely, he noted that the snow was beginning to coalesce on his sleeves and wrists.

"I wonder if this is brought about by the enemy?" Boromir asked. "They say in my land that he can govern the storms in the Mountains of Shadow."

"His arm has grown long," Gandalf confirmed grimly.

It seemed as though everyone took the wizard's remark as confirmation that the snow storm was of the enemy. Aragorn hadn't wanted to give voice to the conclusion. In all his years in the wild one hard lesson he'd learned early on was the unpredictability of the weather. Just because it didn't typically snow this far south or this far down the mountain didn't mean it would never happen. Such deviations were rare; however, and the particular nature of the storm made him less certain.

The wind died and the snow diminished into flurries. Gandalf signaled for them to go on. Aragorn dropped behind to help the hobbits through particularly dense patches of snow. All of them were soaked to the bone. Pippin shook so much that he'd almost slipped from Aragorn's grip. It wouldn't have taken much for such an instance to occur. His hands were numb. Moving them began to hurt and Aragorn couldn't feel his brow and nose anymore. After an hour he started to worry that the company would find themselves turning back before they could make it halfway up the mountain.

Aragorn found himself meeting Legolas' grey eyes, then Boromir's green and Gandalf's blue. Hope had gone out of them and was replaced with misery and a sense of failure. Wordlessly, the four of them came to a stop. As they did so, Aragorn finally made out the fell voices and howls of insane laughter hiding in the wind. Suddenly, he heard a great crack and looked up. A great boulder tumbled down from the snow-obscured mountain side above and missed the company by several feet.

"We can't go any further tonight," said Boromir over the howl of the wind. "There are fell voices in that wind and that stone was aimed at us!"

"That very well may be," Aragorn said while looking around for a place to shelter them, at least a little from the storm. "I suspect this is not the work of the enemy. There are many things in the world that are evil and unfriendly who have little to do with Sauron and have little love for things on two legs. A few have been in this world longer than he."

By this time, the hobbits and Gimli had gathered around the company shivering violently in the angry cold. Frodo looked worse off than the rest of them. His skin was completely white and there was a blue tint to his lips.

If I could conjure fire I could keep them warm, he thought then looked to Legolas.

His friend had never shown signs of knowing much magic. If he had any, the small shake of his head was enough to tell Aragorn that fire was not a magic he had access to. Elven magic would not save them this day.

"This will be the death of the halflings, Gandalf," Boromir said as he helped Merry out of the snow. "We can't sit up here and wait for the storm to pass. We must turn back."

With an agreeing grunt, Gandalf reached into his pocket and fished out a leather flask. He handed it to Aragorn who immediately uncorked the top and took a small draft.

"Its miruvor a cordial of Imladris. Pass it around, but don't take much more than a drop," Gandalf warned as Gandalf handed the flask to Boromir who had been about to tip it back and take a long draft.

"Do we continue?" Pippin asked through chattering teeth as he accepted the flask and took his own sip.

As one, all eyes turn to Frodo who was being held in place by Sam and Gimli. The young hobbit, if possible, looked even whiter than before. He opened his mouth to respond, but only the harsh chattering of teeth could be heard. Before Aragorn could move, Boromir bent down to clasp Frodo's shoulder and inspect him.

"We can't make any decisions now," Boromir said stoutly, "let us start a fire and make an attempt to warm ourselves before we proceed."

Legolas and Gimli rushed to the pony, Bill, to unload the firewood they'd packed before ascending the mountain. Aragorn and Boromir moved to begin packing snow into tall white walls in the hope that they would stay the wind. It took Gandalf's magic to spark a flame to light the firewood. Aragorn and Boromir shepherded the hobbits around their meager fire and waited until they ceased their shivering before moving before the fire themselves.

"What is our next course of action?" Legolas asked. "We can't return to Hollin and make our way south to the Gap of Rohan. It's there I suspect Persephone to attempt to head us off again. She won't attempt to trick Aragorn again and she won't fight me in the open."

"Who is this Persephone you speak of?" Boromir asked.

"That night in Hollin, before we attempted to climb the mountain, I had felt an evil presence in the air and went to go investigate. The sorceress, Persephone, attempted to trick me, but I was able to see past the illusion. Her coven descended upon myself and Gandalf and Legolas, but we were able to fend her off for a time. We suspect that, should we meet her in battle as we are now, we will not fare as well," Aragorn explained.

"Why was this not mentioned before?" Boromir asked, alarmed. "We have waisted time in traversing Caradhras when it's clear to me that we should have taken another route!"

"And time was lost because of it!" Legolas snapped. "We are aware of this folly, lord, and nothing else is to be done other than deciding on our next course of action."

"If not the Gap," Frodo began, "where then will we go?"

"Moria," said Gandalf who spared a brief glance at Aragorn.

Aragorn, for his part, grimaced at the idea. He wasn't the only one. Boromir frowned, Legolas shuddered, and the hobbits exchanged worried glances. The only one of their company who's interest was piqued was Gimli's.

"Is Moria our only choice?" Boromir asked.

"Yes," grunted Gandalf.

Once again, all looked to Frodo who seemed to shrink away from their stares and the flames that illuminated him in the waning afternoon. Aragorn's heart went out to the little hobbit. A burden greater than any of them carried weighed heavily on his shoulders. In a small way, Aragorn understood his fear at leading them wrong. After all, Aragorn had suggested the path of Caradhras and had, consequently, led them ill. Now Frodo must choose between going through the ill-fated mines or return to Rivendell in disgrace.

"Let us go through the mines," Frodo said. "It is better to perish there and let the ring be lost than to give it over to the enemy."

What was most important were the words that Frodo didn't say. It was better for Sauron to never get the Ring and for Brianna to deal with him significantly weakened should they all die in their efforts to reach the other side of Moria. It was a morbid edge, but an edge all the same. Aragorn took in a shaking breath and slowly released it. Moria was a terrible place to die, but it seemed like there was no choice in the matter.

"Agreed," replied Gandalf gravely. "We had better begin our descent."

Boromir moved away from the fire dusting the beads of melting snow off of his tunic and hair, "Well then, Aragorn, best we begin our work."

"Indeed," Aragorn said and joined the man in pushing and molding the snow into a wide enough path for the company to move through.

To the Mines of Moria it would be, then, despite Aragorn's misgivings on the matter.