They had had this debate before - many times.

"The Corsairs of Umbar are a threat to Dol Amroth and Pelagir, and if those should fall to Minas Tirith herself." Aragorn argued as he always did. "If they were to ally themselves with the Enemy in the East we would be undone."

And Denethor replied - as always. "And if your attack should fail? We would lose ships and men we can ill afford - and Umbar would be free to raid our shores at will."

"The attack will not fail." Aragorn said quietly.

"Can you command success, Thorongil?" Denethor sneered. "The greatest captain may be foiled by a small mischance."

Aragorn said nothing. There was nothing safe to say. Every man sitting at the council table knew Thorongil, Captain of the Citadel Guard, had never lost a battle. Nor Denethor the Steward's Heir won one. Aragron looked at the man sitting at the Steward's right hand, enough like him to be the brother he'd never had, and regretted yet again his failure to make a friend of Denethor.

"Thorongil." he looked at the Steward, the Lord Ecthelion, in the great chair at the head of the table, the white staff of his office lying before him. "I agree Umbar is a danger to us," the old man said, "but my son's arguments are well founded. And even if your attack succeeds it might well cost us more than we can afford. Would not the Haradrim revenge any such blow against their ally?"

"It is Belfalas who would feel the brunt of any such revenge," said Adrahil, the Prince, stoutly from Ecthelion's left hand. "Yet we are willing to adventure it."

Aragorn gave him a quick smile of gratitude before replying to the Steward. "The Haradrim are allies to Umbar but not friends. They will not seek to avenge them."

"Who can read the mind of a Southron?" Denethor argued. "They are the enemies of Gondor and will seize eagerly on any excuse to do us hurt."

Aragorn shook his head. "They fear Gondor more than that, my Lord."

Especially since the Harnen Fords." said Hirluin, from his place behind his Captain's chair.

Aragorn resisted an urge to put a hand over his eyes as Denethor reddened. Harnen Fords had been his first great victory on behalf of Gondor. It was that battle that had moved the Steward to take him into service - to Denethor's abiding regret.

"Enough!" Ecthelion commanded, "there will be no attack."

Aragorn bowed his head, "As my Lord, wishes."

"This Council is ended. Stay you a moment, Thorongil." Aragorn resumed his seat, averting his eyes from the look of anger and hurt, on Denethor's face as he filed out with the others. Hirluin alone remained, silent behind his captain, and the young page at the Steward's elbow.

Ecthelion sighed and fixed a stern eye on Aragorn. "It is not like you to defy me, Thorongil."

"My Lord -!"

The Steward silenced his protest with an upraised hand. "Three times now have you proposed this attack on Umbar and three times have I refused it my sanction. Yet I doubt not you will raise the matter again as soon as you may. Is this not defiance?"

Aragorn looked down at his hands folded on the table, Arwen's ring on the left, the seal of the Citadel on the right, then up at the Steward. "My Lord, I am your councilor and as such owe you my judgment as well as my obedience. I fear for Gondor is Umbar is left unhumbled."

Ecthelion looked at him long and hard then nodded. "I see that you do. and you are not a man given to fear."

Aragorn restrained an ironic smile. Little did Ecthelion know!

"You are young, Thorongil, and young men are inclined to be reckless. But I am old and the safety of Gondor is my charge. I must be prudent."

"Sometimes, my Lord, risking a lesser danger to avert a greater is prudence." Aragorn braced for anger but the old Steward laughed.

"Your wit is as sharp as your sword, my friend. I will not debate you. There will be no attack on Umbar and I forbid you to raise the matter again,"

Aragorn bowed his head in submission, but it took an effort. "I am your servant, my Lord." he said, reminding himself as much as Ecthelion.

"I know not who or what you may truly be, Thorongil," the Steward said, levering himself out of his chair with the help of a short, blackwood staff and his page. "But of this much I am certain, you are no man's servant."

Aragorn had risen with him. "I swore you an oath, my Lord, and I will keep it."

"That I doubt not." the old Man replied gently as his page opened the door for him.

Aragorn let out a sigh as the door closed behind his master. "What do we do now?" Hirluin asked.

"We have been given our orders, we obey them."

"But the Steward is wrong!" "Is he?"

Aragorn swung around to face his lieutenant. "Perhaps I am the one who is wrong."

"You are never wrong." Hirluin said simply. How do you answer a statement like that? especially when spoken with the innocent fervor of youthful hero worship.

"Oh but I have been, Hirluin, many times about many things." He answered ruefully, but not this. He couldn't possibly leave Gondor with the threat of Umbar still hanging over it, but he wouldn't be able to stay much longer. Gondor was only a part of his responsibilities, his people in the North needed him as well. His mind worried at the problem as he made his way through the passages of the White Tower to his quarters. Hirluin faithful at his heels.

There was a way. He, Aragorn, was what he was; Heir of Isildur and rightwise born King of Gondor. The power of the Kings of Old to bind and unbind, to heal or destroy was his for the taking. Ecthelion's fathers of old had sworn oaths to the Kings of the Kings of Men. Those bonds were still there, ready to his hand. Aragorn could, if he chose, bend the old Steward to his will. But he would not. He thrust the temptation from him, as he had many times before.

'I will not force an allegiance that is not given freely, I will not break men's minds to my will. To do so would make me no different from Sauron!'

He wished Hirluin a good night at the threshold and entered his room alone going directly to the window to look eastward at the red glow of Mount Doom above the jagged teeth of the Mountains of Shadow. Leaning on the sill he remembered Ecthelion's words 'You are not a man given to fear.' and this time let himself smile at the irony. He was afraid of a great many things, most of all of his own power - and his own weakness.