Disclaimer: I own none of the characters within.

Author's Notes: Yes, I know it's been a long time since I updated. I feel incredibly awful that it's taken me so long to get a new chapter up! I won't burden you with tiresome excuses, but I will thank you for you patience.

Chapter Twenty-Two

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            A sharp and red dawn broke over the muted silence of the snow. Wind whispered gently along, silently picking its' way among the sprawled wolf bodies that lounged about in various states of sleep and relaxation.

            All save one.

            The electricity of the game of tag had not yet left Aragorn in peace. A deep path was carved in the snow, a perfect circle fashioned by long and tireless pacing and restlessness. And it was not the tag that drove him to be full of such unquenchable energy. No, it was something else… something he couldn't decipher…

            Still pacing, the King strained his eyes to the East. His movement slowed and he stood like a statue, his steady gaze leveled in the direction of Mordor and his ears flattened back against his head.

            Phantom smoke twisted on the horizon. As though he was suddenly right in front of the gate, Aragorn saw Mordor unfolding before him and a sudden and vicious display of horror. Darkness, fire, smoke, ash, guns… death.

            And then he was back in the hills of the Gondor pack, the wind giving him a curious nudge and a nasty prod. The snow had stopped long ago. Snow would not fall again for a long time. This was the rhythm in his heart; deep wolf instinct told him that it could be weeks before the sky opened up with anything. Wind would persist and the sun would rise, wiping away the innocent white blanket that covered up the destruction of battle.

            But snow would not come.

            Heaving a sigh of disappointment, he shook his ruff out with very little majesty, stretching and yawning in all the dignity of a puppy. He was tired. The royal façade could rest. Besides, no one was watching. Encouraged by this thought, his tail wagged, a sparkle of movement in the corner of his eye.

            Twitching… tensing…

            Exploding in burst of movement, he whipped around and clamped his jaws together. The tail evaded him. Spurred on by tension and a need for a stress reliever, he promptly continued the chase, whirling in dizzying and useless circles in pursuit of the ever-nimble tail. Faster and faster he went, whirling around and kicking up snow with reckless abandon.

            At last, he flopped to the ground, panting happily.

            A dry wolf chuckle reached his ears, the throbbing rumble of amusement that he knew all too well. Wincing, Aragorn turned and saw Elrond sitting on the hill behind him, a wolf smile on his face. He tossed him a woof of acknowledgement, choosing to royally ignore the fact that the older wolf had obviously witnessed the whole thing.

            Soft footfalls told him that Elrond was coming up behind him, and soon the black wolf was seated at his side, both of their gazes turned mutely to the East, scanning the sky for signs of trouble and tasting the wind for signs of hope.

            The scene was eerily silent, and Aragorn was almost sure he could see something on the horizon, when he became conscious that Elrond was staring fixedly at him. He turned an inquisitive eye.  

            -You were born to be a King, Aragorn.-

            Startled by the words, the Numenor wolf pressed his ears back against his head and glanced away, partially out of confusion and partly out of a need to shy away from what was sounding dangerously like flattery. But Elrond nudged his side encouragingly, causing him to turn his head around again.

            -I knew it from the moment I met you. When we traveled together. I could see it in your heart and in your spirit.-

            Aragorn nodded uncertainly, filled with wistful reminiscing about those times. In his years of wandering beyond the boundaries, he had run through the no-wolf territories. And though these years of journeys knocked him from beta position, he gained far more. During his aimless times, he had run into Elrond, back when he was the Loner, and the two had run side by side for many seasons.

            What a time that had been! For both of them. Two black wolves darting through the empty land between territories, with no one but each other for company and Elrond's wise words filling his young mind. None in the Gondor pack had known of his travels with the Loner; it would have only pushed him farther down the ladder.

            And here they sat, united again; this time in far unhappier circumstances, but running alongside each other once more. A bittersweet joy, indeed.

            -You were a King even then, Aragorn. Only now is it that everyone chooses to acknowledge the right that was yours since birth.-

            A heavy silence fell once more as the two old friends simply locked eyes and shared strength, heartening and assuring, a pair of black statues of power frozen forever as a suspended moment of courage. At last, Aragorn rose to his feet again and stretched. Shrugging his shoulders, he looked to the East again, and sent a meaningful glance back at Elrond. The older wolf nodded.

            -It is time to wake the others. The march must begin.-

            Aragorn did not hesitate. He trotted over to the sleeping mound of Legolas, the loyal beta who had run by his side through fire and death and who even now slept full of trust for the King. The Elven wolf was curled into a loose ball, and nestled in the curve of his body was the little fox Gimli.

            Bowing his regal head, Aragorn nudged his dear friend gently. Instantly, Legolas was awake and smacking his lips, shaking sleep from his eyes. He glanced up at his alpha, and right away he knew it was time. Rising to his feet, a slight wince was the only giveaway that his wound still bothered him. But he put on a game face, even giving Aragorn a quick wolf smile before he marched down and stood in the clearing between the hills.

            Elrond nudged Galadriel and Celeborn into wakefulness, and the alpha pair sprang to their feet on instinct before spotting the Half-breed and releasing a sigh of relief. Galadriel gave him a quick nuzzle with her head before trotting with her mate down to stand with Legolas.

            Eomer woke himself, flopping around helplessly for a moment in the snowdrift that had grown around him as he slept. But then he was on his feet, shooting a sheepish grin at the smirking Eowyn nearby, shaking the snow from his ruff and joining his sister with the Elven wolves.

            Glorfindel sprang into consciousness and knocked Elrohir and Elladan clear out of the sleeping mound, where they jumped to their feet with twin barks of annoyance. The seriousness on the face of Elrond quieted all three of them, and they slid over to be with the others.

            Elrond's gaze lingered on the twins, his pups. As if feeling his eyes on them, they turned to look at him in confusion. He sighed and strove to put a smile on his face to replace the expression of longing. The two exchanged looks. Suddenly and unexpectedly, Elrohir broke away from his brother and trotted over to the older wolf. Elrond flattened his ears uncertainly, his eyes full of sadness and a thousand unspoken words of love.

            And then Elrohir pressed his head up under Elrond's in a wolf embrace, an intense demonstration of affection usually reserved for… pups and their parents. The significance did not go unnoticed by Elrond, who dropped his head down on his pups back, a shuddering breath releasing from his lungs and their bodies pressed together.

            And then a second body nestled against him as Elladan joined the embrace, and then a third as Arwen squashed herself in. The long-separated family rubbed bodies and whimpered softly, their eyes closed and simply enjoying the touch of each other.

            On the hilltop, Pippin spontaneously threw himself on Merry with a yip and licked his face thoroughly and utterly. Merry wriggled uncertainly.

            Moment of happiness over, Elrond sighed again and looked to the sky, silently thanking an invisible presence for this reunion. The three siblings nipped affectionately at each other, the brothers promptly falling into a tussle.

            Everyone else had awoken at this time, and milled about nudging and nuzzling each other. Haldir threw himself proudly to his feet and promptly stumbled to his rear at the pain in his side. His alphas shot him scolding looks, and he remained seated in a huff of dignity.

            Faramir, meantime, had staggered to a standing position, and he made it three steps before he crumpled under the wound in his hind leg. He was surprised when a concerned Eowyn leapt to his side and nuzzled him comfortingly. He was even more surprised when she planted a gentle lick on his face.

            The wind was moving, the world was changing. The time to march East was upon them. Elrond and Aragorn galloped to the top of the highest hilltop and held poses of intense listening. Galadriel appeared between them, and the three exchanged a hushed discussion.

            Suddenly, Elrond threw back his head and howled a clear note of fire. Aragorn mimicked the sound, only twice as loud. Galadriel harmonized. And then all of the wolves sat back on their haunches and sang in a symphony of trumpets. Fifteen voices lifted to the sky and thundered long and clear.

            Haldir struggled over and sat down next to Faramir. Aragorn picked up Merry by the scruff and set him down with the other two wounded ones. He then shot a look at Legolas, but the Elven wolf simply held his head up proudly and walked in a stiff circle. Shaking his head, Aragorn could only admire his friend's stubbornness.

            The three that remained would recover in the newly christened Hills of Healing.

            But for the rest of the pack, a long journey lay ahead. Once across Gondor, they must cross Moria, and then they came to the Gate of Mordor. How they would breach the wall, they didn't know. It was a long walk. They would have time to think on it.

            It was Aragorn who set off at an easy lope towards the East, with Elrond falling into step behind him, and then the remainder of the wolves picking up the rhythm. Then the yelps of protest reached their ears.

            The Naugrim were running full tilt to keep up with the long-legged wolves. They wouldn't be able to keep up that pace all the way to Mordor. A moment of indecision lingered on the air. Limping with all the dignity he could muster, Legolas volunteered to travel at a slower tempo with the Naugrim and guide them into the Dark Land. Aragorn shot him a wink, and Legolas smirked back.

            So it was decided. Pippin also elected to run with Naugrim, knowing he could never stay in line with the bigger wolves. Away the ten wolves went, the pace acceptable and easy in their eyes, their mighty stamina kicking into a level gear to carry them the many miles.

            The March on Mordor had begun.

~ To Be Continued