Chapter 2

"Stealth will be our strongest ally." Aragorn was saying to the assembled men. Candles lit their meeting chamber, providing a steady yellow light for them as they discussed their strategy, Aragorn's vision, in more detail.

Elrohir found himself nodding in agreement with his brother's opinion. He was still looking at the map spread out on the large table before him. It depicted in fine skill the entire Gondorian coast, to the west and the north, almost up to Lindon and down to the far south, all the way to Umbar and the desert country of the Haradrim. Small wooden boats were loosely placed on the map around Pelargir, markers of their fleet that the Lord of the City had made ready for Aragorn and his men.

They only had eight ships. Eight, against an unknown number of enemy vessels. The caravels of Pelargir would be fast and easy to maneuver but hopelessly outmatched in combat against the corsairs' bigger ships. And that was not even taking into account the seafire weapons that the pirates were rumoured to have.

Nevertheless, Aragorn's plan was as sound as the circumstances allowed. Eight small ships could make great speed and stay undetected far easier than a larger armada. Aragorn meant to avoid open combat with the Corsairs, attacking instead their harbor at night, unlooked for and with the fury and speed of a dragon. And with its weapon.

Fire had served Aragorn and Elladan well in their defense of Pelargir, and fire would aid them now in decimating the enemy fleet. Absently Elrohir listened as Captain Callon was confirming as much, convinced that the strategy might work. The Corsairs were known to tie their boats together, he was saying, to maximize their strength both in combat and in harbor. They preferred to show brute force, to break their enemies in one attack or to weather storms as one, forsaking maneuverability in a quest for strength. It was a fearful attack strategy but it could be a devastating weakness, one that Aragorn was planning to exploit.

"The entrance to the harbour will be the most critical, I think." Elrohir said, pointing with a finger at the point on the map that he had been studying for some time now. "It is bound to be fortified and if the alarm is raised there, we will be hard-pressed to take the havens by surprise."

Aragorn stepped up next to him, to look at the place he indicated. The entrance to the bay of Umbar was much slimmer than the vast bay itself, the land almost touching on either side as the waters cleaved their way far inland. Two dots on the map indicated villages or, as Elrohir suspected, armed watchtowers.

His brother nodded. "Yes, but the reports indicate that the fortifications are mostly deserted. It has been long since Gondor has ventured that far south, the Corsairs do not expect us."

"How old are these reports? With their recent raids into Gondor the corsairs might be prepared for retaliation. They might have increased their lookouts", Elladan cautioned.

While Elrohir had a penchant for studying maps, for seeing the advantages of terrain and the likelihood of troop movements, Elladan was usually more concerned with the finer details of battle. The motivation of soldiers, the intellect of their superiors, and the best choice of weapons for any particular skirmish. They complemented each other in this as in most other things and Elrohir was grateful for his brother's steady, reassuring presence. Just as he was grateful for the chance for both of them to join Aragorn's council. Like his twin, he preferred to play an active role in deciding their path, and while it was with no small measure of pride that he acknowledged that Aragorn had grown to become a skilled warrior and leader, they would still always regard him as their 'little' brother.

He turned to his left where Aragorn stooped over the map, still looking at the point Elrohir had indicated and weighing his brothers' words. Lord Cundamir spoke in the background, defending Aragorn's strategy against his and Elladan's perceived criticism, though the lord of the city himself had no information about the Haven of Umbar and clearly no training in strategy. Aragorn, for the most part, seemed to ignore him.

"We will consider that possibility," his brother eventually said earnestly, looking up and meeting Elrohir's gaze. "An attack on the watchtowers, fast and precise, could take them by surprise and cripple their warning system."

Elrohir nodded, words suddenly failing him. As his brother turned to Captain Callon and Lord Cundamir, asking whether they could dye sailcloth the same black as the corsairs', Elrohir's breath hitched. For a moment he had been able to focus only on what lay ahead, had allowed himself the misguided luxury of forgetting what had happened.

But the look in his brother's eyes … Aragorn still looked at him with the same open, trusting gaze he had had since he had been a toddler who believed that his older brothers could do anything. That they would protect him from the monsters under his bed and the stern lectures of Erestor, that they would defeat all the orcs in the Misty Mountains and halt the very darkness that swept over Middle Earth.

Elrohir had faced that darkness – and he had failed. He had broken the trust that his baby brother had in him.

Elrohir was dimly aware of the continuing discussion about their plan for Umbar, but most everything had already been discussed and the conversation now focused on minor issues, provisions and travel times. Captain Callon was doing much of the talking. He would have the most information about forays by boat and was the best person to oversee the final preparations of the ships. The Captain of the Pelargir Havens would join them on their incursion to Umbar and had already asked leave to steer their flagship. But all of that was merely muted chatter, an inconsequential buzz lost amid the swirling chaos that was his guilt.

Suddenly, Elladan's hand landed on his shoulder and Elrohir startled. He had not even noticed his twin's approach.

"Thank you for the invitation, Lord Cundamir, but I will need to see to my brother's injury." Elladan was saying and Elrohir realized with mortification that he had missed the lord's invitation to join them for dinner. And with a sinking feeling in his gut Elrohir realized that despite Elladan's smooth cover, Aragorn was regarding him with suspicion, something in the gaze of his silver eyes suggesting that he would hear about this later.

Elrohir sighed inaudibly. He was well aware of his brothers' exasperation. He had noticed their furtive glances, hushed conversations and had heard their not so subtle remarks. They expected him to act as if nothing had happened, as if he had not, willingly or not, given up Aragorn's identity to the very forces of Mordor. And still, despite his protests, his explanations, they refused to acknowledge the severity of the consequences of his failure.

Their father had hidden Aragorn's existence for a lifetime, and though Estel now knew of his true heritage, it was still a well-kept secret, known only in Rivendell and among the Dunedain Rangers of the North that were his kin. With his secret known in the south, this close to the very borders of Mordor, Aragorn would be in constant danger, would forever be hunted by the foul beasts of the enemy that now knew who and where he was. Or would know very soon.

He felt sure of it. For the oppressive darkness that had pervaded Minas Tirith seemed to follow them, to stalk their very steps, just waiting to strike.

Elladan's hand on his shoulder guided him gently but insistently to a side door of the council chamber and Elrohir allowed his twin to lead him to their room, still embroiled in his own dark thoughts. He sat down on the edge of a bed, as Elladan worked in silence, heating water and preparing his healing supplies, intent on doing what he had told Lord Cundamir he would.

Last he cleaned a sharp knife that would cut the thread still holding his flesh together. It would be good to have the stitches removed, already they were straining against his healing skin and every movement made him uncomfortably aware of them.

As Elladan filled a bowl with hot water and broke some dried athelas leaves into it, Elrohir looked up. The scent of freshness that sprang up from the leaves, a reminder of spring waters falling from the peaks of cold mountains was welcome, but hardly necessary. The dark shadow that weighed on his soul was not caused by the lingering effects of the Black Breath, of that he was certain.

No, the darkness he suffered was mostly of his own making, though there was … something else. He still could not put a name to the sensation, could not explain what it was that was happening to him, but a shadow of the palantir's presence lingered, its dark tentacles trailing him, aiming to ensnare him once more. His nightmares were not caused by mere memories - but neither were they a consequence of the Black Breath.

He squeezed Elladan's hand briefly, trying to reassure his twin, ""The athelas is pleasant, but unnecessary. The Dark Breath has lifted."

Surprisingly, Elladan snatched his hand away. "Then why are you..," he started, his voice sharp, before he cut himself off abruptly, looking to the side. He took a deep breath, then shook his head. Eventually he continued, his voice softer now, "It does not matter."

His twin was still not meeting his eyes but Elrohir caught the uncharacteristic, unguarded pain that marred his features. And with glaring, painful suddenness Elrohir saw what he had failed to consider before.

How could he have been so blind?

So far he had spent little time contemplating his escape from Minas Tirith's dungeons busy as he was contemplating what had happened while he was caught. But even his rescue had been a torturous ordeal of dark thoughts, of endless despair and the Dark Breath upon him. He had felt himself sinking into darkness, had felt the world itself withdraw, his bond with Elladan fading, slipping from his desperate grasp.

Through it all his twin had lent him strength, had been his anchor - and had likely been terrified. If their roles had been reserved ….

He reached out his hand again to lie gently on Elladan's. This time Elladan did not draw back. Maybe it was the sweet smelling herb's effect, but finally Elrohir realized what he should have seen days ago. He was hurting his twin. By his withdrawal, his stubborn determination to deal with his own demons, he bereaved Elladan of the reassurances he would need after what had happened in Minas Tirith. The instinctive, preternatural knowledge that Elrohir was fine - would be fine, if given time.

He remembered with stark clarity the battle they had fought against the witch king in Fornost long ago and the dread that had befallen him then when it was Elladan who had suffered under the Black Shadow. How could he have ignored his brother's plight now?

His link with Elladan, usually so bright and intuitive was barely a trickle – in his effort to shield his twin from pain he had almost cut their bond entirely. The realization was a shock.

"Forgive me," he said with earnest regret. Elladan finally looked up to meet his eyes and, hesitatingly, Elrohir opened himself up to their bond once more. He focused on the barriers he had unwittingly erected, dismantling them one by one until their fëar were once again intertwined, connected as Illuvatar had intended.

He had not even realized how much he had missed his brother's reassuring, stable presence in the corners of his own mind. Calm flooded him, and a deep sense of gratitude. Elladan rushed up from where he had been kneeling on the floor in front of him to tend to his injury and wrapped him in a tight embrace.

"There is nothing to forgive, little brother," he said fiercely, "and you will realize that. Eventually."

He was talking about more than Elrohir's recent withdrawal, the younger twin knew, but while he was willing to make this concession to spare Elladan further suffering he was not yet willing to let go of the guilt he felt over his betrayal of Estel.

That was a failure that weighed too heavily. He would shoulder the weight of his guilt and bear the consequences for his actions. If nothing else, his drifting thoughts had allowed him to come to this conclusion. His brothers might refuse to see the danger his actions had brought in their attempt to offer him an absolution he did not deserve, but he would make sure that they remained safe.

Still, with the warmth of their rekindled bond giving him strength, with the reminder that he would never be alone, Elrohir decided that perhaps he needed to reconsider his plans. He owed it to Elladan to share more than his pain and guilt. He owed him the chance to prepare for what might be coming.

"It is not the Black Breath that shadows me, but something is. Elladan, the darkness is stirring, something draws near. I fear that Sauron still has his sight on me – and on Estel."

In response, his twin tightened his grip, a silent testament of his unfailing protectiveness towards his siblings, and while it usually annoyed Elrohir to be treated as the younger brother, he did not protest when Elladan replied: "Let the dark forces of Mordor try to take him. We will be prepared."

-o0o-

The stars were bright in the dark sky and Ëarendil himself was sailing the heavens to the south, a bright marker for their upcoming journey. The cold air, rich with the heavy tang of salt from the distant sea wafted over the balcony of Aragorn's room and he inhaled deeply, letting it carry the stuffiness and tension of the last few hours away.

Their meeting had been necessary and productive, but it had also been long. He absentmindedly stuffed his pipe and set the longbottom leaf aflame, inhaling deeply and savouring the taste. He had to be careful with his stock, which was rapidly dwindling, but tonight he would indulge in the old habit. If only to keep the chill of the cold spring evening out – or maybe because his brothers were not around to complain.

The thought brought a smile to his lips as he remembered years of joyful teasing and playful grumbling, ever since his first real foray with the rangers had introduced him to the leaf of the halflings.

He took another pull of his pipe and let his thoughts move on. While not quite the eve of battle, they would set sail tomorrow, leaving the shores of Gondor behind to face the dangers of the open sea, heading towards battle with a powerful enemy. The uncertainty of what the future might hold needed to be balanced with the beauty that Middle Earth had to offer, and with a reminder of what he was fighting for.

He looked again at the stars, and let himself be soothed by the sounds of the rushing Anduin and the busy activities at the nearby harbor. The Gondorians were by and large an honest, hardworking people and the last real bulwark between the lands of the West and the encroaching shadow from the East.

If the forces of good were to prevail, to overcome Mordor and bring a lasting peace to the lands of Middle Earth, he would need to aid Gondor first.

Peace …

His gaze drifted again to Ëarendil, the star of High Hope, the mariner who ferried a silmaril across the heavens. All who fared to sea relied on his guidance and trusted in his light.

Tonight he shone in the south. It had to be a sign that he would now guide their path on this journey. Hope was lighting their way – hope for a brighter future, for a time when all that is good would no longer be tainted by shadow. Hope for a time of peace - when Arwen could safely be by his side.

As he took another drag of his pipe, he reached into his pocket to retrieve her letter once more. It was soft in his hands, the parchment already showing signs of heavy use, lending further personality and feeling to the words written upon it.

He would have to answer her, he knew. And secretly he had been starting to compose a letter in his head many times over the last few days.

My dearest Arwen,

He sighed inwardly for that was as far as he had previously come. What to tell her? How to express his feelings on paper when he had trouble capturing their vastness even within his mind. He could not describe his love the way she so eloquently managed to. It simply was. He was hers, completely, uncompromisingly, eternally.

He let the stars sooth his spirit, wondering distantly if she was also looking up at the heavens, if she was gazing at the same stars, ensconced in the tranquility of the Hidden Valley.

Softly, under his breath, he started to sing the hymn to Elbereth that would surely be played in the Hall of Fire this night, praising the beauty of the stars. He could imagine Arwen dancing over the meadows, the pale light of Elbereth's creation lighting her hair and the soft grass at her feet.

He leant back contentedly.

My dearest Arwen,

the stars shine bright upon us this night. And yet their light is but a candle to the radiance of your smile.

-o0o-

At last he [Thorongil] got leave of the Steward and gathered a small fleet... - Appendix A, Annals of the Kings and Rulers: Gondor and the Heirs of Anárion

A/N: I'm on time this week (throws confetti and lembas crumbs). Aragorn talks strategy, gathers a small fleet (tiny?) and Elrohir takes a step towards healing - though he and his brothers still seem to disagree about certain things ... ah well, life's a journey!