ALL ALONE CHAPTER 5
By Rose G
Disclaimer - These are Tolkien's characters, not mine, and all I get for writing about them is sore hands, late nights, and loads of people complaining about my plots. Not money.
Note - This is the second last chapter, I think... And anyone who doesn't like Aragorn bashing, I hope you can use a back button, and get out of here.
The ranger was aware of the late dawn only as the slight lightening of the dark that surrounded him. His dreams had been unpleasant, memories of the final battle in Gondor, the dreaded sound of the walls of Minas Tirith falling, and visions of Gandalf's fall at the bridge of Khazad-dum, so he was glad when the sun rose, even though he could not see it.
'Aragorn?' Gandalf's hand touched his, bringing him stumbling to the shores of wakefulness, yet the man could not rise his head, or even open his eyes. Aware now of his raging fever, Aragorn could feel his sweat turning cold on him, and a fire burning inside his mind. For a minute, the girl saw them silhouetted by the rising sun, dimmed as it was by the shadows issuing from Minas Tirith and Mordor.
The ranger was sprawled on the ground, his cloak under his head. The wizard no longer appeared as a strong leader of men, rather a defeated old man with no hope for the future. And behind them, Shadowfax's coat gleamed like molten silver as he dipped his dished face to touch Aragorn. His perfection showed up plainly the wreckage of the world about him.
Anyone seeing the stallion then would have backed up the Rohirriam's claim that the sire of their horses had been brought west over sea many years ago. In that fleeting moment, Shadowfax appeared not a horse, but a spirit from the West, a gift from the Valar to Middle Earth. Aragorn smiled weakly, almost a grimace, as some of the mist cleared from his eyes, and he saw for the first time in years, Galadriel, Lady of Lorien. Her golden hair flowed to her waist, her blue eyes shining like the Silmarills must once have shone, and one hand rested on Shadowfax's silky neck.
Aragorn coughed weakly, blood splattering onto Shadowfax's foreleg. He'd never known pain like this; his chest burning, eyes streaming with tears of pain, and his own blood making the ground underneath him slippery. He allowed his eyes to drift shut even as Galadriel stooped over him, and Gandalf lit his pipe.
'King Elessar, awake!'
Suddenly, in the midst of his torment, Aragorn was aware of a feeling of peace that had rarely come to him who had been long fated never to sit at ease. Only at Lorien had he felt such before, and yet the pain was all around him, beyond bearing. He cried out, and the words to one of Bilbo's poems run through his mind like a fox on a trail.
I sit beside the fire
And think of all that I have seen.
And then I think of people I shall never met.
People who will see a world I will never know,
Who will see again each winter's snow
And every autumns wind, that will tug their hair.
And look at every wood in every spring,
When there is a different green.
And then I listen for old friends at the door.
It was muddled; he knew that, but he was desperately confused and in pain. He heard Gandalf taking something from the Lady, then felt it pressed to his lips. He swallowed with difficultly; the liquid was tasteless, yet as sweet as honey, as sharp as the taste of blood in battle. His head cleared slightly, and Galadriel spoke.
'Aragorn son of Arathorn listen. As the one chosen by Arwen, the Evenstar of our people, you are important to us, and even if you was not, one who has laboured so long against Sauron would be worthy of our aid, such as we can give. Also, Gandalf the White has spoken to Elrond on this matter, and when one of the Wise speak thus, it is as well to listen.'
'Gandalf says that you aided him greatly in his war against Sauron, and I believe him. He feels that the doom of man should not be laid upon you, for you had no choice in the matter, and that you have done more in your life than anyone ever had a right to expect. You have suffered much, and gained nothing save pain, grief and loneliness. The Eldar are willing for you to come to the Havens and in after days, Valinor itself. It has been ordained that you should have the choice between the doom of men and treading strange circles beyond this world or sailing over sea, to be reunited with Arwen and see what no man has seen - the splendour of the Havens.'
'I will not go and leave my friends to fight unaided.'
Gandalf answered softly, his voice unlevel and halting. 'My friend, you cannot hope to ride again into battle, and the Fellowship must survive for themselves. Our work is done - the war against Boromir belongs to others. All you can do is to follow your heart.'
Aragorn talked to the wizard, rather than Galadriel, not wishing to show his confusion to any other than his old comrade. 'How can I make a choice like that, Gandalf?' He spoke calmly, yet Gandalf had known him long enough to be aware of the note of panic in his friend's voice. Aragorn forced his eyes open and he looked up at the White Rider. And Gandalf realised with pain that his friend's eyes no longer blazed with determination and the wisdom of the Kings from Over Sea. His spirit was broken and it was that, the taste of defeat, the knowledge of fear, rather than his wounds alone that ailed him.
'I cannot go the Havens, Gandalf. I desire to see my beloved again, and yet beyond this world are my parents, and Halbarad, dearer than friend to me. I could not cleave from them, and leave Middle Earth knowing we shall never met again. I was born under a wandering star, or maybe Elven blood runs stronger in my veins than you know, and all my life I have arrived through peril to safety. Once more, I shall risk starting a journey whose end I cannot know. I am Elendil's heir, Ranger of the Dunedain, and I will abide the doom of man.' His voice was clear, and for a second the valour and courage of his youth was apparent, and the winged crown of Gondor appeared to sit again on his brow, and then the vision passed, even as a great thunder of hooves passed them - the Riders of Rohan flying in retreat.
The horses were foam flecked, many with blood on their flanks, where spurs had touched them for the first time in memory. The Riders urged them on, some laying hunched over the forehands of their animal, too sick to ride. And many a mighty steed raced alone, no valiant rider urging it on, for many had fallen. At the head of the charge rode Eowyn, for Eomer had led the first charge with the banner of Rohan in his hand, and as such had become the first to fall. And maybe Eowyn beheld Aragorn laying under the edge of the wood, for a shadow of grief crossed her pale face.
'Rohan has fallen,' said Gandalf softly when they were out of sight. 'Never has there been a retreat like that.'
Galadriel spoke to Aragorn in the same breath. 'So it shall be, Aragorn. I shall not see you again, for the Eldar are leaving Middle Earth, and our paths will not cross. I shall tell Arwen of your decision. Farewell, my friend.' She smiled and stepped onto the Road. The two watched her out of sight.
Weeping, Aragorn turned towards Gandalf. The agony of his wounds come back to him, and he shivered as life flowed from him. His words sounded like a whisper on the East wind. 'Gandalf, tell them that I thank them for allowing me on their quest, for without them there would have been no king in Gondor, and the evil of this day would have been far greater.' His grey eyes slipped shut, his dark hair blowing over his wan face.
So passed Aragorn son of Arathorn, by the side of the Road on which he had spent so much of his life, and with the White Rider beside him. And maybe, if he had had the choice, such would have been his preference.
And with his passing, a sorrowfulness touched the Company, far away though they were. They halted in their tasks, uneasy and the fell things in the service of Boromir surged forward with joy in their hearts. Defeat was almost upon Gondor.
I've probably upset everyone with this chapter. Sorry about that, but I don't want any flames, unless they're for spelling - the spell checker went on strike. Chapter 6 is about how the rest of the Fellowship manages, and just how Boromir become the Dark Lord.
By Rose G
Disclaimer - These are Tolkien's characters, not mine, and all I get for writing about them is sore hands, late nights, and loads of people complaining about my plots. Not money.
Note - This is the second last chapter, I think... And anyone who doesn't like Aragorn bashing, I hope you can use a back button, and get out of here.
The ranger was aware of the late dawn only as the slight lightening of the dark that surrounded him. His dreams had been unpleasant, memories of the final battle in Gondor, the dreaded sound of the walls of Minas Tirith falling, and visions of Gandalf's fall at the bridge of Khazad-dum, so he was glad when the sun rose, even though he could not see it.
'Aragorn?' Gandalf's hand touched his, bringing him stumbling to the shores of wakefulness, yet the man could not rise his head, or even open his eyes. Aware now of his raging fever, Aragorn could feel his sweat turning cold on him, and a fire burning inside his mind. For a minute, the girl saw them silhouetted by the rising sun, dimmed as it was by the shadows issuing from Minas Tirith and Mordor.
The ranger was sprawled on the ground, his cloak under his head. The wizard no longer appeared as a strong leader of men, rather a defeated old man with no hope for the future. And behind them, Shadowfax's coat gleamed like molten silver as he dipped his dished face to touch Aragorn. His perfection showed up plainly the wreckage of the world about him.
Anyone seeing the stallion then would have backed up the Rohirriam's claim that the sire of their horses had been brought west over sea many years ago. In that fleeting moment, Shadowfax appeared not a horse, but a spirit from the West, a gift from the Valar to Middle Earth. Aragorn smiled weakly, almost a grimace, as some of the mist cleared from his eyes, and he saw for the first time in years, Galadriel, Lady of Lorien. Her golden hair flowed to her waist, her blue eyes shining like the Silmarills must once have shone, and one hand rested on Shadowfax's silky neck.
Aragorn coughed weakly, blood splattering onto Shadowfax's foreleg. He'd never known pain like this; his chest burning, eyes streaming with tears of pain, and his own blood making the ground underneath him slippery. He allowed his eyes to drift shut even as Galadriel stooped over him, and Gandalf lit his pipe.
'King Elessar, awake!'
Suddenly, in the midst of his torment, Aragorn was aware of a feeling of peace that had rarely come to him who had been long fated never to sit at ease. Only at Lorien had he felt such before, and yet the pain was all around him, beyond bearing. He cried out, and the words to one of Bilbo's poems run through his mind like a fox on a trail.
I sit beside the fire
And think of all that I have seen.
And then I think of people I shall never met.
People who will see a world I will never know,
Who will see again each winter's snow
And every autumns wind, that will tug their hair.
And look at every wood in every spring,
When there is a different green.
And then I listen for old friends at the door.
It was muddled; he knew that, but he was desperately confused and in pain. He heard Gandalf taking something from the Lady, then felt it pressed to his lips. He swallowed with difficultly; the liquid was tasteless, yet as sweet as honey, as sharp as the taste of blood in battle. His head cleared slightly, and Galadriel spoke.
'Aragorn son of Arathorn listen. As the one chosen by Arwen, the Evenstar of our people, you are important to us, and even if you was not, one who has laboured so long against Sauron would be worthy of our aid, such as we can give. Also, Gandalf the White has spoken to Elrond on this matter, and when one of the Wise speak thus, it is as well to listen.'
'Gandalf says that you aided him greatly in his war against Sauron, and I believe him. He feels that the doom of man should not be laid upon you, for you had no choice in the matter, and that you have done more in your life than anyone ever had a right to expect. You have suffered much, and gained nothing save pain, grief and loneliness. The Eldar are willing for you to come to the Havens and in after days, Valinor itself. It has been ordained that you should have the choice between the doom of men and treading strange circles beyond this world or sailing over sea, to be reunited with Arwen and see what no man has seen - the splendour of the Havens.'
'I will not go and leave my friends to fight unaided.'
Gandalf answered softly, his voice unlevel and halting. 'My friend, you cannot hope to ride again into battle, and the Fellowship must survive for themselves. Our work is done - the war against Boromir belongs to others. All you can do is to follow your heart.'
Aragorn talked to the wizard, rather than Galadriel, not wishing to show his confusion to any other than his old comrade. 'How can I make a choice like that, Gandalf?' He spoke calmly, yet Gandalf had known him long enough to be aware of the note of panic in his friend's voice. Aragorn forced his eyes open and he looked up at the White Rider. And Gandalf realised with pain that his friend's eyes no longer blazed with determination and the wisdom of the Kings from Over Sea. His spirit was broken and it was that, the taste of defeat, the knowledge of fear, rather than his wounds alone that ailed him.
'I cannot go the Havens, Gandalf. I desire to see my beloved again, and yet beyond this world are my parents, and Halbarad, dearer than friend to me. I could not cleave from them, and leave Middle Earth knowing we shall never met again. I was born under a wandering star, or maybe Elven blood runs stronger in my veins than you know, and all my life I have arrived through peril to safety. Once more, I shall risk starting a journey whose end I cannot know. I am Elendil's heir, Ranger of the Dunedain, and I will abide the doom of man.' His voice was clear, and for a second the valour and courage of his youth was apparent, and the winged crown of Gondor appeared to sit again on his brow, and then the vision passed, even as a great thunder of hooves passed them - the Riders of Rohan flying in retreat.
The horses were foam flecked, many with blood on their flanks, where spurs had touched them for the first time in memory. The Riders urged them on, some laying hunched over the forehands of their animal, too sick to ride. And many a mighty steed raced alone, no valiant rider urging it on, for many had fallen. At the head of the charge rode Eowyn, for Eomer had led the first charge with the banner of Rohan in his hand, and as such had become the first to fall. And maybe Eowyn beheld Aragorn laying under the edge of the wood, for a shadow of grief crossed her pale face.
'Rohan has fallen,' said Gandalf softly when they were out of sight. 'Never has there been a retreat like that.'
Galadriel spoke to Aragorn in the same breath. 'So it shall be, Aragorn. I shall not see you again, for the Eldar are leaving Middle Earth, and our paths will not cross. I shall tell Arwen of your decision. Farewell, my friend.' She smiled and stepped onto the Road. The two watched her out of sight.
Weeping, Aragorn turned towards Gandalf. The agony of his wounds come back to him, and he shivered as life flowed from him. His words sounded like a whisper on the East wind. 'Gandalf, tell them that I thank them for allowing me on their quest, for without them there would have been no king in Gondor, and the evil of this day would have been far greater.' His grey eyes slipped shut, his dark hair blowing over his wan face.
So passed Aragorn son of Arathorn, by the side of the Road on which he had spent so much of his life, and with the White Rider beside him. And maybe, if he had had the choice, such would have been his preference.
And with his passing, a sorrowfulness touched the Company, far away though they were. They halted in their tasks, uneasy and the fell things in the service of Boromir surged forward with joy in their hearts. Defeat was almost upon Gondor.
I've probably upset everyone with this chapter. Sorry about that, but I don't want any flames, unless they're for spelling - the spell checker went on strike. Chapter 6 is about how the rest of the Fellowship manages, and just how Boromir become the Dark Lord.
