Chapter 10

The seven stars and the crown glowed, even in the dim light. Aragorn could see the crown was woven with gold and silver thread, and small gems were caught in the white thread that formed the stars.

Hannon le, Arwen vanimelda. Words were not enough to express Aragorn's gratitude and thankfulness for the hours his beloved spent waving this banner for him.

The horses snorted and shuffled about as they drew closer. Ere the ship bumped against the dock everyone aboard followed Aragorn off the ship. He cleaved his way through the orcs with ease. The Elendilmir blazed with a brilliant, white light…casting fear into the hearts of all the foe.

Three orcs — bolder than the rest — charged Aragorn all at once. He parried the strike of the first, spun away, and beat back the second. The third swung at him, but the Ranger managed to block the sword. Aragorn quickly killed those three and ran at another. Stabbing it through the middle he then approached yet another.

Gimli followed behind and finished that orc off–after Aragorn severed the left arm from its body.

The ground shook as a huge mumak stomped toward them but passed by in a blind rage as Aragorn and several other men chased after the fleeing enemy.

At some point during the fight–he could not say exactly when–Aragorn had been separated from Halbarad. Now, as the chaos lessened, he began searching for his kinsman. Unable to ride—for Hasufel had received a gash to his flank–Aragorn first searched among the Dúnedain. None of them, however, had seen Halbarad.

With mounting fear Aragorn began walking around the field. After nearly an hour of searching he found his kinsman…dead. The man's face was pale and streaked with blood. Yet — held firmly in his death-grip and planted in the ground — was the sable banner.

Silent tears coursed down Aragorn's face as he cradled Halbarad's head in his hands.

~o~o~

Aragorn sat in his tent, once again clad in the plain green and brown of a Ranger of the North. The banner and the Star of the North had been put away while he waited. He was waiting for a word of welcome from Lord Denethor, the Steward of Gondor.

Apparently I shall not have to wait long, the Dúnedain thought as he heard footsteps approach his tent.

With a quick, staccato beat, followed by a rush of wind as the tent flap opened, Gandalf stood there.

"Aragorn," the wizard said. "I need you to come with me to the city."

As he grabbed his grey cloak Aragorn asked: "What word has the Steward sent?"

Gandalf pursed his lips and–for a moment–did not answer. Then he briefly told what had happened.

Aragorn pulled the hood of his cloak over his head as they passed by the gates and into the city. He looked up at the spur of mountain that stuck out like the keel of a ship through the middle of the city. The Ranger shuddered as he imagined what it would be like to fall from such a great height.

~o~o~

In the Houses of Healing Aragorn studied Faramir's face. It had a peaceful expression, but was dead-white. His forehead glistened with sweat, but his hands — when Aragorn touched them — were cold.

Still, though he had no athelas near at hand Aragorn determined to do what he could. Laying a hand on Faramir's brow he closed his eyes.

Just a reminder: let me know how much you like my stories! The next chapter will be really interesting...with more creative license included.