In Which Aragorn Gets A New Perspective On Life

"Prisoners!" Aragorn reached for his sword and tried to sit up. The world tilted, and he fell back heavily. Gandalf was by his side in an instant.

"Do not exert yourself overmuch," he said softly. "You must give your body time to adjust to these new surroundings."

"I wish to know what he meant by prisoners. Where are the others? Who are these strange folk that bear our names?"

Gandalf sighed. "I do not yet know," he said. "But my colleague and I were discussing that very question before you woke. I will find your answers, but you must be patient." Aragorn was not reassured.

He was soon distracted as a shining figure scurried over to them. Squinting into the glow, Aragorn saw a spindly-looking being, all huge dark eyes and blond hair, dressed most impractically in blinding, billowing white. The being threw its hands in the air and began to complain in a high, quavering voice. "Oh dear, oh dear, Master L–"

"Legolas!" the second Aragorn barked sharply. The shining figure froze. "What have I told you? You are an Elf. You must keep yourself under control. This is not the time for hysterics."

The Elf creature dropped its hands suddenly. "Oh, no," it said. "Was I doing it again?"

"Yes."

"I am terribly sorry. He comes to me so suddenly sometimes."

The second Aragorn gave the Elf creature a reassuring smile. "I know. Try to hold on to yourself a little longer. Our plan is underway, and if all goes well, you will be yourself all the time without even having to try." He patted the dispirited Elf creature on the shoulder. "Go see to your counterpart. He'll want to try standing up soon, I don't doubt, and he'll need your help." The shining Elf creature nodded and walked away.

Aragorn stared after the departing figure. "Was that --?" he started to ask.

"An Elf, in a way," Gandalf sighed. "Something dreadful has happened. That poor soul is as much an Elf as your friend of the broken nose is a Man. I will say no more, for here I must leave certainty for speculation. I would suggest that you work on standing as soon as possible, for we will have need of your strength shortly." With that, he rose and walked away.

Aragorn looked to his left and saw that the sad Elf creature had pulled Legolas to his feet. The two Elves were staring at each other with naked amazement. They exchanged no words, but examined each other closely, Legolas using the other Elf as a sort of crutch as he struggled to regain control of his knees. He seemed to find something objectionable about this touch, and concentrated visibly on walking unassisted. The other Elf, for his part, gazed at Legolas with unashamed envy, occasionally daring to reach out and stroke the soft green tunic or eye the inlaid wooden bow. Legolas followed the other Elf's gaze. He locked his knees, reached behind his back, unhooked the bow, and handed it to the other Elf. The Elf took the bow reverently. He stroked the shining wood, marveled at the inlay, and drew the string back experimentally. He returned the bow with a small sigh, then bent down and offered his own for inspection.

Legolas stared at the thing. It was the same blinding white as the rest of the strange Elf's clothing, and rather heavy for its size. Most of the excess weight appeared to come from the large, coiled tips. It seemed to be a most impractical weapon. Legolas returned it with a look of sympathy. The other Elf shrugged apologetically. Aragorn had the distinct impression that a silent friendship of sorts had been forged.

"What'll we do about them, then?" A gruff voice barged into his reverie. Aragorn turned his head to the right. He had a brief glimpse of Gimli hauling himself upright before a pair of brown trousers planted themselves in his line of sight. Aragorn looked up. . . and up. . . and up. The tallest Dwarf he had ever seen gazed down at him. Well over five feet, unless Aragorn missed his guess, and somewhat delicately boned for a Dwarf, this figure struck him as the potential result of mating a Dwarf with a Man or an Elf. The tall Dwarf was looking worriedly at the other Aragorn and gesturing off behind a rock.

"Have they not sorted things out well enough yet?" the second Aragorn asked.

"No," answered the tall Dwarf. He pointed down at Aragorn. "Perhaps this one could be of some assistance."

"Perhaps," said the second Aragorn. He looked down. "Can you stand?" Aragorn nodded. Without a word, the other reached down and hauled him to his feet.

Aragorn immediately understood Legolas's need for a crutch. Standing was difficult in this place. He could not perceive depth, and he wobbled as he tried to adjust to this new lack of perspective. His double gently steered him over to a pile of Hobbits.

There were eight of them, in various states of consciousness. Sam was leaning heavily on a short, squat figure who couldn't resist the impulse to fidget and fuss over his charge. The attention seemed to be irritating Sam, but as he was still working out how to stand unassisted, he put up with it. Frodo was still blessedly unconscious, and his childlike double lay quietly near him, snoring gently under a startling mop of chestnut hair and holding his hand. Merry and Pippin were awake, and had risen to their knees. Their two doubles ignored them, choosing instead to argue with each other.

"That one's mine!" said one with fair hair.

"Is not! You've got the other one!" the dark one replied.

"Gentlemen!" Aragorn said as firmly as he could. "What seems to be the problem?"

The two flat little Hobbits stared at him. He took a step back in surprise. Save that one was darker than the other, they were identical. The dark Hobbit took a step forward.

"Begging your pardon, sir, we couldn't agree which of them belonged to which of us," he explained.

"That is simple enough," said Aragorn. "This one is Meriadoc Brandybuck, and the one with the wool scarf is Peregrin Took."

"Oh, we figured that out well enough," the dark Hobbit said. "Our problem is that we've forgotten which one of us we are." He sighed, and a tear trickled down his companion's face. "They're lucky. They look different from each other, and they even have separate personalities. You can tell them apart instantly. I can't remember from one minute to the next whether I'm Merry or Pippin. It's a terrible way to live." He choked back a sob, and Aragorn felt his gut twist in sympathy. Bad as it was to see his own double standing before him, at least he knew who he was.

"Perhaps I can be of assistance." Boromir joined them, guided by a heavily bearded Man wearing a fur doublet and a horned helmet. "Identity problems are not new. . . to either of us," he said, nodding at his companion. They conferred briefly, then the Man in the horned helmet supported Boromir as he knelt in front of the two identical, confused Hobbits.

"I think you should have new names," he said. "All four of you can stay together, but you two must have something new, something of your own. You," he pointed at the dark Hobbit, "will be Perry. And you," he indicated the fair one, "shall be Mippin."

Aragorn was about to object to this wanton re-naming of strangers, but a squeal from Perry stopped him. Perry and Mippin stared at each other, shy, delighted smiles spreading across both broad Hobbit faces. Aragorn realized that this was the first time any of their strange, sad captors had smiled, and he quickly pinched the bridge of his nose to keep his own tears from coming.