ALL ALONE CHAPTER 4
By Rose G
Disclaimer - Not mine, no money being made etc. Who else thinks there ought to be a key on a computer that writes disclaimers for you?
Note- you finally find out who the Dark Lord is in this chapter.
Aragorn lay slumped over Shadowfax's withers; one strong arm slipped around the stallion's muscular crest that rose high into a small head. His long raven dark hair, which fell forward over his forehead, mingled like water with Shadowfax's mane, and he prayed that the grey would not so much as shift his weight or rise his head.
Gandalf, moving at a speed which belied his appearance, hurried over to his horse, leaving the Fellowship for the last time without a word of farewell. Even in his haste, he took care to stand heavily on the felled Orc that lay there, with an arrow protruding from its back.
'Aragorn? That was a mighty shot, my friend, even if it was with Legolas's bow - and I am sure he is looking for it as we speak.'
Startled, the ranger looked around, and his vision blurred with the sudden movement. He clutched hopelessly at Shadowfax's mane, yet smiled slightly as he beheld the girl in the far reaches of his vision. Aragorn regonised her as an Elf, one who even to his eyes was fairer than Arwen had ever been.
'Gandalf, are there any more Orcs around?' His voice, that had once rung as clear as any Elven Lord, was but a harsh whisper, telling of his pain clearer than any words.
'No. And even if there were, Aragorn, I would not let you ride towards them. You should have spoken long ago, for only now do I realise that the journey from Gondor to the Shire and then from the Shire to here has pained you greatly. I did not realise how badly you were injured, and you have not told me of the extent of your wounds, or indeed, how you got them.'
'What is the point, Gandalf? I know my fate - it is to die alone while others fight, and I do nothing save watch, and there is nothing in Middle Earth to hold me here now. Arwen is gone, and with her my heart dwells, yet she has gone over sea, and therefore, I cannot hope to see her again. Gondor has fallen under the shadow, and if Minas Tirith falls, there is nothing at all for me here.'
Gandalf spoke gently to Shadowfax, and the horse walked on with regal strides. Aragorn closed his grey eyes as one in great pain, and a convulsive shudder run through his lean body. Stubbornly, he clenched his jaw, and refused to look at Gandalf. Then, as he dimly heard what sounded like a war cry of the Orcs, he swooned, and slipped silently from the stallion's back onto the wet grass. Gandalf saw the bloodstains on Shadowfax's coat, and crouched by the prone figure on the grass.
He had planned to spend the night in the Prancing Pony, but he now realised that it was unlikely Aragorn would ever again move from here. Silently, he removed the ranger's cloak, gently touching the wounds that it was beyond his skill to heal. His sword arm was a mass of chipped bone and blood, his chest almost destroyed, so that the wizard could see the laboured movement of the great heart. Softly, he laid one hand on Aragorn's pale forehead, and listened to the harsh breathing.
Gandalf was no healer, but he done what he could, and then stoked the fire and kept silent watch over Aragorn, whose face showed his pain even as he slept. He clasped the ranger's hand in his, and bowed his head in grief as a soft shower of rain fell, silently as snow.
Some miles away now, for despite having no clear idea of where they were going, they were making good time, the six remaining members of the Fellowship were arguing. Only Frodo kept out of it, too tired to worry about anything. Sam, his face concerned, sat beside his master.
'Go to Rohan.' Merry stated, his voice unusually decisive. 'We could ride with them, and Eowyn would want to help friends of Aragorn.'
'Minas Tirith,' Pippin said. 'It is the safest place, and although Aragorn claimed Gondor had been nearly destroyed, I feel that it is still stronger than anywhere else. And I believe that Aragorn is heading there with Gandalf.' His voice was hopeful.
'Fool of a Took, you are, Peregrine. Did you not listen to Gandalf? Aragorn cannot come to Minas Tirith. He will not recover from his wounds. He has gone away, to die in the wild country that he loves, and Gandalf has gone with him, for he will not leave a friend alone to face such a fate. We shall not see Aragorn again, and all we can hope is that his end is swift.'
'Also, Gandalf said that the fall of Minas Tirith was inevitable, and I do not believe that we should make our decisions tonight. If the war cannot be won and you do not know who the Dark Lord is, what use is talk?' Legolas spoke quietly, his fair voice troubled, for upon him already lay the mantle of a leader.
Frodo nodded assent, and the half-hearted talk ceased as they prepared to sleep. Only Legolas remained alert, pacing as others slept, soft starlight gleaming in his hair, his blue eyes saddened. Tears, reflected by the moonlight, rolled down his cheeks, and he did not care when Gimli walked up to him.
The pair stood together, while Legolas spoke almost to himself. 'I first knew him long ago, Gimli. He dwelt in Rivendell for many years and I often met him. I have seen how heavily the years have lain upon him, yet only now do I understand how cruel mortality is to one who is not ready for death. I am proud to have called him friend.'
Gimli did not answer, instead looking away into the far distance, until the elf felt that his companion was walking not in the glade but in some place far away, maybe under the lonely mountain, or in the fair clearings of Lorain. In truth, the dwarf was remembering the nightmare journey along the Paths of the Dead, and Aragorn leading the way without a trace of fear. He recollected Aragorn's clear voice lifted up in song chasing away the creeping darkness, and being held to the path only by his love for the heir of kings who dressed as a wanderer of the wild. He muttered a few words in the secret dwarf tongue, and added 'Me to, Legolas.' Then he walked away, head held low.
The Hobbits also slept badly that night, their dreams seeming disturbingly real and the fear of the forthcoming war reached even into their sleep. And the next morning, it was Legolas, with reddened eyes and a chocked voice, that spoke to them.
The Fellowship stood under that same rainfall that touched Aragorn and Gandalf, as Legolas told them of many things they had only half known. 'I know only what Gandalf has said, and he is as close as he ever was, and Aragorn's mutterings, although many of them were but feverish ramblings. The Lord is a man; a mortal who has overcame death in a way that even Gandalf could not. Gandalf said that our Company once trusted him, and he had a problem to make Aragorn believe what he said.'
'Do - do you mean Boromir?' Sam's voice was faltering, and Frodo gasped in amazement. The other hobbits, equally awestruck, looked at Legolas as though he had gone mad.
'Indeed I do, Sam, and why not? He was known as a valiant warrior in Minas Tirith, and a leader of men he certainly was. We saw proof of his strength many times, and he tried to take the Ring by force. He had thought of domination, and I believe he was clever enough to find a way.'
'Legolas, Boromir is dead. I saw Aragorn send his boat over the Falls. How can he be the Dark Lord?'
'He did not die, Merry. Aragorn mentioned a wraith of a man commanding the armies, and he compared it to the Nazgul. He spoke of it as he slept, and that its strength seemed to be it's own, rather than depending on anything. This is what we feared, for it cannot be so different to the Nazgul, and they were terrible. And I saw, if we are to do anything, we should ride for Rivendell, where Elrond may advise us. And put hopes of Aragorn saving Minas Tirith out of your head, for he is dying, and for all I know, his life is already ended.'
As they moved off in silence, Frodo quietly voiced the feelings of them all. 'I wish I could see him once again.' And Sam added 'I wonder who that girl was, the one who Gandalf was talking about?'
Miles away, Aragorn cried out in his sleep and Gandalf sighed heavily as Shadowfax called into the darkness.
I can't quite believe I've written all this, so I don't really care what you say in reviews, but anyone complaining about what I've done to Aragorn will be answered by another fic, in which he gets hurt worse, so I wouldn't bother. Any useful criticism welcome. Next chapter, you meet this girl they keep talking about. BTW, is anyone still reading this?
By Rose G
Disclaimer - Not mine, no money being made etc. Who else thinks there ought to be a key on a computer that writes disclaimers for you?
Note- you finally find out who the Dark Lord is in this chapter.
Aragorn lay slumped over Shadowfax's withers; one strong arm slipped around the stallion's muscular crest that rose high into a small head. His long raven dark hair, which fell forward over his forehead, mingled like water with Shadowfax's mane, and he prayed that the grey would not so much as shift his weight or rise his head.
Gandalf, moving at a speed which belied his appearance, hurried over to his horse, leaving the Fellowship for the last time without a word of farewell. Even in his haste, he took care to stand heavily on the felled Orc that lay there, with an arrow protruding from its back.
'Aragorn? That was a mighty shot, my friend, even if it was with Legolas's bow - and I am sure he is looking for it as we speak.'
Startled, the ranger looked around, and his vision blurred with the sudden movement. He clutched hopelessly at Shadowfax's mane, yet smiled slightly as he beheld the girl in the far reaches of his vision. Aragorn regonised her as an Elf, one who even to his eyes was fairer than Arwen had ever been.
'Gandalf, are there any more Orcs around?' His voice, that had once rung as clear as any Elven Lord, was but a harsh whisper, telling of his pain clearer than any words.
'No. And even if there were, Aragorn, I would not let you ride towards them. You should have spoken long ago, for only now do I realise that the journey from Gondor to the Shire and then from the Shire to here has pained you greatly. I did not realise how badly you were injured, and you have not told me of the extent of your wounds, or indeed, how you got them.'
'What is the point, Gandalf? I know my fate - it is to die alone while others fight, and I do nothing save watch, and there is nothing in Middle Earth to hold me here now. Arwen is gone, and with her my heart dwells, yet she has gone over sea, and therefore, I cannot hope to see her again. Gondor has fallen under the shadow, and if Minas Tirith falls, there is nothing at all for me here.'
Gandalf spoke gently to Shadowfax, and the horse walked on with regal strides. Aragorn closed his grey eyes as one in great pain, and a convulsive shudder run through his lean body. Stubbornly, he clenched his jaw, and refused to look at Gandalf. Then, as he dimly heard what sounded like a war cry of the Orcs, he swooned, and slipped silently from the stallion's back onto the wet grass. Gandalf saw the bloodstains on Shadowfax's coat, and crouched by the prone figure on the grass.
He had planned to spend the night in the Prancing Pony, but he now realised that it was unlikely Aragorn would ever again move from here. Silently, he removed the ranger's cloak, gently touching the wounds that it was beyond his skill to heal. His sword arm was a mass of chipped bone and blood, his chest almost destroyed, so that the wizard could see the laboured movement of the great heart. Softly, he laid one hand on Aragorn's pale forehead, and listened to the harsh breathing.
Gandalf was no healer, but he done what he could, and then stoked the fire and kept silent watch over Aragorn, whose face showed his pain even as he slept. He clasped the ranger's hand in his, and bowed his head in grief as a soft shower of rain fell, silently as snow.
Some miles away now, for despite having no clear idea of where they were going, they were making good time, the six remaining members of the Fellowship were arguing. Only Frodo kept out of it, too tired to worry about anything. Sam, his face concerned, sat beside his master.
'Go to Rohan.' Merry stated, his voice unusually decisive. 'We could ride with them, and Eowyn would want to help friends of Aragorn.'
'Minas Tirith,' Pippin said. 'It is the safest place, and although Aragorn claimed Gondor had been nearly destroyed, I feel that it is still stronger than anywhere else. And I believe that Aragorn is heading there with Gandalf.' His voice was hopeful.
'Fool of a Took, you are, Peregrine. Did you not listen to Gandalf? Aragorn cannot come to Minas Tirith. He will not recover from his wounds. He has gone away, to die in the wild country that he loves, and Gandalf has gone with him, for he will not leave a friend alone to face such a fate. We shall not see Aragorn again, and all we can hope is that his end is swift.'
'Also, Gandalf said that the fall of Minas Tirith was inevitable, and I do not believe that we should make our decisions tonight. If the war cannot be won and you do not know who the Dark Lord is, what use is talk?' Legolas spoke quietly, his fair voice troubled, for upon him already lay the mantle of a leader.
Frodo nodded assent, and the half-hearted talk ceased as they prepared to sleep. Only Legolas remained alert, pacing as others slept, soft starlight gleaming in his hair, his blue eyes saddened. Tears, reflected by the moonlight, rolled down his cheeks, and he did not care when Gimli walked up to him.
The pair stood together, while Legolas spoke almost to himself. 'I first knew him long ago, Gimli. He dwelt in Rivendell for many years and I often met him. I have seen how heavily the years have lain upon him, yet only now do I understand how cruel mortality is to one who is not ready for death. I am proud to have called him friend.'
Gimli did not answer, instead looking away into the far distance, until the elf felt that his companion was walking not in the glade but in some place far away, maybe under the lonely mountain, or in the fair clearings of Lorain. In truth, the dwarf was remembering the nightmare journey along the Paths of the Dead, and Aragorn leading the way without a trace of fear. He recollected Aragorn's clear voice lifted up in song chasing away the creeping darkness, and being held to the path only by his love for the heir of kings who dressed as a wanderer of the wild. He muttered a few words in the secret dwarf tongue, and added 'Me to, Legolas.' Then he walked away, head held low.
The Hobbits also slept badly that night, their dreams seeming disturbingly real and the fear of the forthcoming war reached even into their sleep. And the next morning, it was Legolas, with reddened eyes and a chocked voice, that spoke to them.
The Fellowship stood under that same rainfall that touched Aragorn and Gandalf, as Legolas told them of many things they had only half known. 'I know only what Gandalf has said, and he is as close as he ever was, and Aragorn's mutterings, although many of them were but feverish ramblings. The Lord is a man; a mortal who has overcame death in a way that even Gandalf could not. Gandalf said that our Company once trusted him, and he had a problem to make Aragorn believe what he said.'
'Do - do you mean Boromir?' Sam's voice was faltering, and Frodo gasped in amazement. The other hobbits, equally awestruck, looked at Legolas as though he had gone mad.
'Indeed I do, Sam, and why not? He was known as a valiant warrior in Minas Tirith, and a leader of men he certainly was. We saw proof of his strength many times, and he tried to take the Ring by force. He had thought of domination, and I believe he was clever enough to find a way.'
'Legolas, Boromir is dead. I saw Aragorn send his boat over the Falls. How can he be the Dark Lord?'
'He did not die, Merry. Aragorn mentioned a wraith of a man commanding the armies, and he compared it to the Nazgul. He spoke of it as he slept, and that its strength seemed to be it's own, rather than depending on anything. This is what we feared, for it cannot be so different to the Nazgul, and they were terrible. And I saw, if we are to do anything, we should ride for Rivendell, where Elrond may advise us. And put hopes of Aragorn saving Minas Tirith out of your head, for he is dying, and for all I know, his life is already ended.'
As they moved off in silence, Frodo quietly voiced the feelings of them all. 'I wish I could see him once again.' And Sam added 'I wonder who that girl was, the one who Gandalf was talking about?'
Miles away, Aragorn cried out in his sleep and Gandalf sighed heavily as Shadowfax called into the darkness.
I can't quite believe I've written all this, so I don't really care what you say in reviews, but anyone complaining about what I've done to Aragorn will be answered by another fic, in which he gets hurt worse, so I wouldn't bother. Any useful criticism welcome. Next chapter, you meet this girl they keep talking about. BTW, is anyone still reading this?
