Bailey: *grins widely and waves like a maniac* Hi! Giddy is always good. Lol. Didn't you review once before? For False Reality? *gasps* You're not saying my cliffies are worse than C&S's are you? *looks incredulous* Impossible. Though, just between you and me, their cliffies don't bother me anymore either. Hm, Jans. Yes, Jans is very.....interesting. *g* But that comes later. *looks incredibly pleased with self* Just killing him is what C&S would do, or at least what I imagine they would do, so I wonder what happens to him. . . . *stares off vaguely into the distnace* hehe.
Bill the Pony: lol. Doom doom. Lol. More like boom boom, but not just yet. If you don't understand, you will next chapterish. *g*
Grumpy: hehe, yes, gotta protect those hands so you can type. *g* Oh, so cliff-hangers are good now? I'll have to remember that. Hehe. *looks mock indignant* It's always up to me. And this one doesn't get you any closer to finding out what happens with Legolas, so there. *sticks tongue out* lol.
Nell Marie: That's okay, I'm just glad you haven't forgotten me. It's so lonely to be forgotten. *g* Oh, I'd say they could get into a little more trouble, at least. Unless you want to say they're already in it. *raises eyebrow* Deep thoughts.
NaughtNat: Hm, I guess the beginning is a good place to start. *g* You're on time only because I'm late, but that's okay. I got lost at the "that much" part. How much is "that much"? *g* Oh, yes, I remember baby-sitting the relatives. I'm letting my brother baby-sit my nephew, I don't dare. Oh, don't speak of that! I'm still mad at her for that one. I liked him. Lol. Of course. Hm, I think I actually did that on purpose because I forgot how to spell. Oops. Personally, I'd say Aragorn has the better deal: he's not feeling much of anything right now and Legolas actually has to work now. You mean other than LOTR? Oh, Chuck Norris movies, military movies, blood and guts gory movies..... Anything my dad watches on Sunday that I actually take the time to sit down for. Lol. I like watching the fight scenes, now if I could only get really good at writing them. . . . Hehe. Lol. Because.... *shakes head* I have no idea. I need more time to think about something like that and a lot of space to walk. My best ideas come when I'm walking and it ticks me off because I never have paper to write them down. Aw, helping little nephew. LOL. Yeah, there is that. I'm not sure I know any women like that either, and it's certainly not me. As if you couldn't tell that already. *grins impishly*
All right, now, onto the chapter. Oh and, if anyone doesn't feel like they're getting enough cliffies, you're more than welcome to go over and read The Storm; they're still hanging on and it's the ninth chapter, about to become tenth. Hehe.
Now, off to see the wizard. . . . (j/k, there isn't any Gandalf) Read, enjoy, and don't forget to review. *g*
Chapter 15
Out of Darkness
Darkness swirled around Aragorn. Complete and total blankness which held no cares and no worries, no fear and no pain. He was alone and no longer ached, nor felt cold or hunger. Indeed, a pleasant warmth had suffused his body, and his mind floated in a sea of calm the likes of which he had never felt before and never wished to leave.
He was where he was supposed to be, where he had always been meant to be, and nothing could bother him or harm him ever again. The fear and pain that had etched itself into his mind floated away, making him feel lighter than air and as carefree as a child.
The young man smiled dreamily, his eyes closed, as he allowed himself to relax and sink even further into the comforting darkness that held him, soothed him, and washed away his bad memories.
Briefly, he wondered where his family was, what they were doing and if they missed him, if they were as happy as he was now. If they're not, they should be, he thought muzzily, his thoughts hard to cling to in the pleasant darkness. At least I cannot hurt them anymore, though he could not quite remember how he had hurt them in the first place.
His smiled widened as he fleetingly remembered being afraid of the dark, afraid of being alone, but the thoughts did not last long as the darkness gently, subtly pried them away from him, encouraging him to let go and forget, and Aragorn could summon no strength nor desire to resist that advice, nor even a reason for doing so. He felt peaceful.
How could I have ever thought this was bad? he wondered idly, the floating feeling increasing, and it felt he was floating away, leaving everything behind, a feeling which probably would have worried him but which he only found vaguely interesting.
"Because you could see," echoed suddenly through the darkness.
See? he mused, opening his eyes. No, I can't see, what a silly thing to say. Then the thought floated away and he watched it go, uncaring, the darkness whispering that he did not need to worry about a thing.
Bereft of other concerns, his mind turned to his Elrond, with his warm blue eyes and hard face, softened by concern, then to his brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, identical in looks, the elder prone to guilt and the younger to mischief, though they switched from time to time and seemed to agree their adopted brother was the best target for the later and the most likely cause of the former; Legolas, with his golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes a shade or two lighter than his family's, a mischievous smile gracing his face as they plotted together.
Pain started to intrude upon his thoughts, his nightmares beginning to crowd his mind. Then Arwen, too, floated before him, her expression solemn, nearly sad, and the pain became unbearable, twisting his insides and leaving him gasping for air. . . . But the pain did not last, coaxed away by the warm darkness, and he his thoughts stilled with nothing to latch onto.
That voice, however, decided to make a reappearance, and before he could float farther away, spoke again. "And feel."
Feel? he thought, practically recoiling in terror as his mind associated feeling with pain. He remembered what it was like to feel, what he had felt before the darkness took away all the pain and sorrow. He did not want to do that again. No, definitely not. No way he was going to feel again.
But for all his denial, he felt the pain returning, vague pain that wiped the smile from his lips and gradually increased until it consumed his entire body and wrapped around his mind. The voice took no notice. "Much have you suffered, but much also have you gained."
He wanted to ignore the voice, to keep floating and forget all the horrors in his past that sometimes returned to haunt him at night and steal his sleep. He wanted to forget, and the darkness was whispering, encouraging it . . . but another part of him resisted, whispering that had been in the dark, too, drawn instead to the strange voice that sought his attention and seemed vaguely familiar though he had never heard it before, and the more he thought about that voice, the less he felt like floating until he stood, fixed on solid ground, darkness still around him.
Aragorn looked around, curious in spite of everything, but saw nothing, still the same dark void that had surrounded him the first time he opened his eyes. "Who are you?" he asked the darkness.
As if in answer, a light appeared before him, so bright he wanted to squint against it but which did not hurt his eyes, surprising as he knew well what happened when bright lights shone after pitch black, and none of those experiences had been pleasant. The light expanded, until it was at least his size, then began to resolve into a different form. His eyes widened when he could make it out, for it was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, a golden glow seeming to emanate from her lithe form, pushing away the darkness that surrounded her.
Graceful golden hair cascaded down her back in wavy streams, and he could just see the tips of pointed ears. Her skin looked soft and smooth dressed in a sparkling pure white raiment that reflected her own light in dazzling sparkles and moved with her perfectly, never making a sound. Her lips were full and slightly curved in welcome, but her eyes . . . her eyes were the most striking, the purest and brightest green he had ever seen which seemed to suck him in. He thought, for a moment, that he could stare at her forever, drowning in her eyes and never care for anything in the world. Then she laughed.
"Drown not, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, for many would be saddened by your departure, though they know it not."
I wish I could say good-bye to them, the man thought before he even registered the emotion.
He blinked, startled, and asked the first thing that came to mind. "Who are you?"
"You may call me Hope," she answered.
"Hope?" he echoed doubtfully.
"The hope that resides in every man, woman, and child to be a light in the darkest of places and most dangerous situations. All too often, Men let that hope go out and give into despair. Then hope is lost."
"I don't understand," he said. "How can you be hope?"
Hope did not answer immediately, but merely watched him with piercing eyes that seemed to view everything. She said, "Every person seeks happiness and love, whether they are aware of it or not, instinctively doing what they think will win it for them. We all seek our own happiness and comfort, our own safety. It is a rare Man who forsakes his own care and well-being for the happiness and health of another, especially when they are different. You are a rare man, Aragorn."
She did not answer my question, he thought, but it was distant, barely registered by his mind.
He stared at her. The darkness that had gone silent started whispering again, working against her words. She was wrong. There was nothing special about him. His friends and family protected him, helped him, stayed with him because he was too weak and helpless to do it himself.
~*~
The sun was up, shining in the clear blue sky, and had been that way for five hours. Five really long hours in which Estel had not been running through the house, had not been sprinting through the trees, had not been playing with the horses, bothering the cook, or getting into mischief, and he had certainly not been laughing.
He had turned five years old the day before, March first, and had decided that, since he was a big boy now, he would get dressed all by himself. The servants had all been chased off by the very irate and insistent young boy and the door locked. The small group of people had simply shrugged and left; if their young charge did not want their help, they were certainly not going to make him. He was difficult enough to get dressed when he was not fighting them tooth and nail. Besides, he would call for them when he was ready to give up and ask for help.
They underestimated the case terribly.
After five hours of attempting to do alone what was normally accomplished in an hour, little Estel had managed to complete his bath--burning himself on the arm as he tried to heat the water, then dropping the bucket full of water on his toe and spilling it so he had to start all over, and slipping not once but twice so that his hands and bottom ached from his meeting with the floor. He had even gotten soap in his eyes and ruined his favorite picture book which had been in the bathroom and been soaked when he slipped and dumped a whole bucket of hot water onto it. He never wanted to take a bath again.
He had, also, finally managed to find all the things he was supposed to put on. This was, of course, after much climbing and hunting through drawers he had never even really knew he had. Then, having found them, he was quite lost as to what to do next aside from that he was supposed to put them on. He tried to remember what the others had put on first and where, but he had never paid a whole lot of attention and there had been more than one pair of arms.
He frowned, then picked up a likely enough looking piece and began trying to put it on. It would not fit over his head, and when he pit it on his arm, it would not go any further, then slipped off. He tried his leg this time, but had just as little success, and decided to try something else. He went on in this way for a long time, picking up and discarding piece after piece until he had managed to attach every single one in some way.
With that finished, Estel went to look in his mirror, pleased with his accomplishment. Pleased, that was, until he caught sight of his reflection. He scowled darkly at the image, which looked nothing like it did when the servants had finished dressing him and jumped down from the foot of his bed. He could never do anything right.
At that moment, he heard a jiggling in the lock on the door and turned just in time to see Elladan and Elrohir enter, curious expressions of their identical faces. "Estel, what--" began Elladan, but cut off abruptly when he caught sight of the young human, whose clothes were all put on wrong. A smile pulled at his lips, an identical one mirroring it on Elrohir's face. Estel stopped smiling, though, when they started laughing.
He was the most pathetic thing they had ever seen, could not even dress himself. Estel scowled and looked down, desperate not to cry and show them he was an even bigger baby than they already thought. He began irritably pulling at his clothes, which decided to annoy him by not coming off.
"Oh, Estel!" Elrohir exclaimed, picking him up and placing him on the bed. "Why couldn't you just let them help?"
Elladan added, "Little boys can't do this all by themselves. It takes years to learn to do properly." They began to easily strip him of his ill-assembled clothing. Estel never said a word, merely shrugged as a garment was pulled off over his head.
He tried to move his arm away from their sight so they could not see the burn, but Elladan was too fast. "Ai, Estel! What happened to your arm?"
"Burned it," he mumbled softly, but not too softly for elven ears.
The twins's eyes widened. "You tried to heat the water, too?" Elrohir demanded.
He nodded, still looking down at his feet.
"That was a foolish thing to do," Elladan scolded harshly. "You're too young to do any such thing, and too small. Those buckets are heavy, Estel! Ai! What were you thinking?"
Estel sniffed back tears as Elrohir began putting his clothes on right, pulling a shirt on over his head, and he did not answer. Neither elf seemed to care, merely pulling on his undergarment then his pants and pulled him down to put on his shoes.
"Now Ada will have to treat your arm. You should be more careful, Estel."
Silently, the youth followed them out of the room, feeling terrible. Not only had he failed, but he was too weak to succeed. And worse, his brothers knew it, and they were going to tell Ada.
~*~
Sometime as the nearly forgotten memory passed through his mind, he had dropped his gaze to study his hands which he had been playing with idly. Now, though, he looked back up.
"Unusual for a child of five to focus on a single task for so long. Six hours is a long time."
"A long time to fail," he responded disconsolately. "Most would have realized they couldn't do it and admitted defeat." He wondered why that memory hurt so much when it was so long ago.
"It's a mark of your character," she countered calmly, "that you do not quit no matter how difficult the task may seem. Not many could overcome more than a dozen Men in the face of exhaustion, yet you have done so. Most would have faltered."
He snorted, some distant part of his mind wondering why he answered, why he found fault with that statement, why she was speaking to him at all. "I did. My brothers had to come and save me."
"Most would have been dead before they arrived." She regarded him closely for a long moment. "Perhaps some messages are best received when shown rather than heard."
He blinked, then blinked again as a multitude of shining white dots began to coalesce around him, lightening his surroundings until he was surrounded by white which flared into a single presence before melting once more into his bedroom, though this time it was not a memory, or at least not his memory.
The toys which had been scattered around the room had been removed, replaced with odd trinkets picked up here and there or simply left empty until some other object was chosen to fill the space. It looked remarkably like it would have if he had simply stood up and gone home, but if he had to guess, he would say this had occured--whatever this was--several years ago.
Three beings clustered in chairs around a bed where a fourth lay. With a kind of distant jolt, he realized it was him, and curiously moved closer, trying to place the incident in his mind. The Aragorn on the bed was pale, emphasizing the dark circles under eyes, and multiple bandages wrapped around his torso, legs, arms, and head. Looking at it, it was a surprise to him that he still lived.
Apparently, it was a surprise shared by the elves who watched him, as well, for they looked shaken and relieved. Legolas sat nearest the head of the bed, one of his hands clutching one of Aragorn's, his posture revealing a bandage wrapped around his arm and there were probably others he could not see, his expression pensive. His bearing almost suggested he feared that if he let go, Aragorn would not be there when he returned.
Elladan and Elrohir sat further down, looking worriedly between the two friends, dark circles tracing their own eyes. "Ada said he should be all right, now," Elladan said as if trying to convince himself of that as much as Legolas, sounding as tired as he looked.
Elrohir nodded. "He says he's out of the woods, finally. It's only a matter of time before he's fully recovered and ready to drive us crazy again." Interestingly to Aragorn, he looked happy about this little announcement.
"Things are too quiet around here without our little brother," Elladan agreed, his blue eyes never leaving the still form before him, unless it was to glance quickly at the equally still form of Legolas right next to him.
"It's never quiet around here," Legolas denied, though he still had not moved.
"But it's not the same."
Legolas finally looked back at them. "You love him, don't you."
"As do you," Elladan observed, and Aragorn realized it was an incident that had happened near the beginning of his friendship with Legolas, during a patrol that took them near the Misty Mountains. He remembered waking up sore and not just a little woozy. He had been told he lost a lot of blood.
Legolas smiled as he looked back down at the human before him, his thumb tracing idle patterns on the back of Aragorn's hand, still clutched in his own. "I never expected to," he admitted. "Especially to a silly little Adan who can't stay out of trouble, but I wouldn't have it any other way." Aragorn got the feeling that Legolas was remembering a fond adventure, as his expression went distant and his smile softer, dreamier. "He grows on you," the light haired elf admitted after several moments. "It's impossible not to love him."
"Aye," Elrohir chuckled slightly. "Now if only we could convince the Orcs of that, you two wouldn't get into so much trouble." The other two smiled.
"Somehow, I don't think they would be willing to see it our way," Legolas answered wryly.
"They're not smart enough," Elladan agreed.
"Besides," Elrohir interjected with a nearly wicked expression, apparently seeing the folly of his suggestion. "If the Orcs stopped harassing this duo, someone else would start, and then they'd really be in a fix."
The twins laughed and Legolas glared at them, obviously wishing they were closer so he could shove them or hit them. Then Elladan stood, stretching slightly. "I'm going to go see how Ada is. Make sure he eats something." Legolas nodded.
Elrohir stood as well. "I'll go with him, then we'll be able to bring something up for you to eat. Valar knows it would be worse than useless for us to try and convince you to leave Aragorn's side until he wakes up and begins, once again, insisting that he's 'fine'."
"Even though we know he's not," Elladan added, over Legolas' soft chuckle.
"And you're as bad as he is, you know," Elrohir concluded as they reached the door. "A perfect pair. No wonder all of Arda trembles when you two go out together."
"Oh, hush," Legolas grumbled when the twins burst out in laughter, not looking the least bit put out despite his scowl.
Still grinning, the twins trooped out. Then Elrohir poked his head back in. "Oh, Legolas? Try to get some sleep yourself while you're at it. That's a good dear." Legolas laughed slightly, unable to help himself.
Aragorn watched Elrohir disappear before Legolas could offer a retort, chuckling softly. Then the elf prince leaned forward, all signs of amusement gone, his attention back on the sleeping man before him, and pushed back some of Aragorn's dark tresses which had fallen in his face. With that done, he placed his right hand over the man's heart, feeling the steady beat beneath his fingers. His eyes slowly drifted closed before opening again.
"I thought I'd lost you," he murmured. "When you darted in front of me, and I saw that Orc blade descending, I thought it was over, that you were gone before I really got the chance to know you. You were so still and pale. . . . I thought you were dead, Aragorn. I thought you were dead and that I had lost my best friend, that I would never see you again and that it was too soon. Reckless human."
Tears slipped down the elf's cheeks and he wiped at them with his free hand. "Why did you have to go and do that? Put yourself before me? What if you had died? I could never have lived with myself, knowing you were dead because of me, had died too soon because of me; your already short life cut even shorter because you had to save me. And I was left alive, but you were gone," the elf whispered, his voice rasping slightly as he studied the still form before him, "and I could never see you again. I care for you too much to let my life be the cost of your own, so don't you dare do that again. You hear me? Don't do it again. I couldn't stand it." He closed his eyes again and took an unsteady breath, letting out slowly.
Aragorn stood, shocked, not sure what to do or say, only belatedly realizing this had, in fact, already happened and that there was nothing he could do or say. He wondered why his friend had never spoken those words aloud, never voiced them once he had woken up. Over-bright eyes turned to the still glowing figure beside him, speechless, hoping (though he knew not why) that she could provide the answers he sought.
"Your friends care deeply for you, Aragorn," she told him, her voice as musical as ever. "They have never thought you a burden, no more so than you have ever considered them so, though they hate appearing weak just as much as you do, if not more. Elves have their pride, you know. It is the nature of love to view the strong and the weak, good and bad, through the same lens, and make neither less for the difference of the experience."
She smiled softly. "Love is blind, Aragorn. It sees not weakness, only strength."
Then the room faded away, and the last thing he saw was Legolas, asleep near the sleeping Aragorn, hand still resting over the still figure's heart, a position he himself had sat in multiple times over the years, and felt a longing to be back in that time when he was not troubled by dark dreams. Then the formless black replaced his room, and Hope's glow drew his gaze. The darkness began whispering again, almost as soon as the image faded.
You don't know that. You were asleep. They could have said anything or not even been there at all. But Aragorn distinctly remembered waking up, a slight weight on his chest, to find Legolas fast asleep beside him, a tray of mostly untouched food placed nearby, and the twins--also asleep--sprawled across the two armchairs that made rounds of the house whenever one of them was injured and brought to Rivendell.
The voices changed tactics. That was years ago. So much has happened since then. Things change. Love fades. They don't love you like they used to. Too much has happened since then. Stay here, relax. No worries. You could never have been king. They would just be disappointed by you, like they were when you decided against their wishes. . . .
~*~
He left.
He had had to leave. He could not bare the silent pain and condemnation any longer, the disappointment that showed in his father's eyes every time he saw the young human. He could not stand to be confined to an area that brought him nothing but discomfort and his family nothing but shame.
He rode quickly through the trees down the road, sitting straight in his saddle as his cloak billowed behind him, and ignoring the pain in his shoulder, an ache that was harsh enough that he could not forget it, but weak enough that it did not hinder his riding. He had to get as far away from Rivendell as he could before the sunset. The closer he was to his home, the more likely it was that his brothers would find him.
It had started as a simple hunting trip, an excursion among brothers to pass the time and relieve boredom before he left to attend to other duties, and had ended in disaster. They had met more trouble than they had expected (which was not much as they had expected none) and he had bungled it, creating a mess that nearly got them killed. Thinking to make it up to his brothers, he had gone after them, the orcs. That had been a mistake, a mistake that had nearly cost his brothers their lives.
He could still hear their angry words, echoing through his mind like the ringing of a smith's hammer on unyielding anvil. He had been foolish, stupid, why could not he listen to them, they were older and wiser and had more experience. He needed to listen. He had not.
Now he rode, anxious to escape the condemnation of their words, though the twins had spoken naught to him since they had returned, and the silence pressed heavier against him than their words could have.
He rode until the sun faded from the sky and night fell over the lands, then made camp. Long into the night he stared down the road that led back home, listening intently for footsteps or the clip-clop of horse hooves down the packed path, and heard nothing. He told himself that he listened only for the approach of his brothers so he could leave if they tried to approach.
Pain of a different sort engulfed his heart when morning arrived and he had heard naught. No one had come after him.
~*~
He looked at Hope, and saw that her eyes were half-lidded, almost as if she was viewing the memory with him. "They didn't come after me," he murmured, sounding quite young. "They didn't tell me everything was alright, that I was wrong and I didn't have to. . . ."
She looked up. "The folly of all is to jump to conclusions with only half the information available to one. What you did not see, in your haste, was that Elrond had passed to you the rights of manhood: the ability to make your own decisions and live with the consequences. It was a great gift for one so young."
"It did not feel like a gift," he mumbled, remembering that he had stayed away for nearly two years and only returned when Legolas dragged him back home, unconscious and gravely wounded. He not been injured, he likely would not have returned home at all, merely wandering the wilds and learning more of his responsibilities among his kin.
She smiled softly. "No, I imagine not. But they love you and want what is best for you and for all of Middle-earth."
"So they make me feel unloved." The words came out bitter, and he could not remember speaking them, was not entirely sure he meant them, but knew he could not take them back. Somewhere deep inside, he did mean them, felt them.
Again, she simply stared at him, taking his measure. Her gaze reminded him of the Lady Galadriel, standing before her as she viewed his thoughts or feelings, spoke directly to his mind. It was unnerving, and yet comforting at the same time. Bemused, he wondered what that made him: crazy or psychotic?
"Do you know where you are going?" she asked suddenly.
He refocused on her face, her eyes, returning from his inner musings. "Where I'm going?" he repeated stupidly.
Hope smiled. "The path you now tread leads to death, though it is hidden from your sight." But even as she said the words, the darkness parted and a barren trail seemed to appear beneath his feet, passing beneath her own and continuing into the distance past him. "The Darkness calls, ever eager to lure people into its depths, to their ruin, and the ruin of all."
Now she really sounded like Lady Galadriel, and he was so confused. The last thing he wanted was to hurt his friends and family, but he also could not stand to be responsible for their deaths. "I don't know what to do," he admitted.
"You must do what you think is right."
Silver eyes searched her own, nearly pleading in their intensity. "Can't you tell me?"
He waited, but she did not answer immediately, her gaze distant. When she did speak, it was with the air of someone trying to describe a picture only they could see, lacking the true words to express what hovered before their eyes. "At this moment, your path is here, your choices are to continue on as you have to death or go back the way you came and find a different path, let your journey continue. What the right choice is, only you know."
That, horribly, made a lot of sense. Too bad it was not what he wanted to hear. His choice, that meant if people died, it was his fault. "What of my destiny?" he decided to ask instead.
"That is for you to decide. I can show you the path, but only you can choose which to walk."
This conversation was beginning to sound familiar, much to the ranger's annoyance. Aragorn thought he remembered hearing similar words from his father when they had discussed his heritage, and from Lady Galadriel when he told her he did not think he was good enough to be king. And had not even Kalya mentioned something of similar vein, about it being his own choice?
He hesitated a moment, then decided to speak of what most heavily weighed on his mind, hoping that speaking of it to someone who was outside the situation would be able to shed more light on the matter. "I had a dream where I watched a dark opponent fight my friend, ultimately slaying him. He took terrible joy in ending the life, and in the end I found out it was me." He paused to see her reaction, but her expression did not change. He pressed on. "If I go back, will that happen?"
Again, he got the feeling he was being measured, and it was starting to frustrate him. Could she not just speak? "Sight was gifted to the chosen of your people, and a measure of that gift has been passed to you. What you saw is but one path of the future, a path wherein you failed and power consumed you." Her eyes closed briefly. "You may never walk that path."
"And if I do? How could I live with myself?" he demanded, fear driving him to approach her, though he veered away and turned back before assuming a position very similar to the one he had held before. "How?"
"You would choose, then, to end your life?" she questioned.
He frowned, determined. "Better than ending his life as a servant to Darkness," he declared.
For some reason, that response pleased her, as she smiled. "Your loyalty to your friends does you credit, but beware seeking death to avoid Darkness, for death is the favorite path of that which you seek to avoid. Where there is life, there is hope, and only where there is life, for fortune is ever changing and the seeds of time alter many things. Only death erases hope and Darkness claims another victory, especially if the one who died was one who would resist."
"But if the one who died would aid Darkness . . . ?"
"Free choice is a gift, the ability to choose for good or ill. Careful ere you decide what warrants death lest you learn too late the alternative is worse."
Exactly what that meant, he did not care to ponder, but he had a feeling she would not explain it more clearly if he asked. That sounded to him like a question his father would respond with "Time will reveal all things. When you are ready, you will understand," and would need to be pondered by himself alone, which he did not feel like doing. He did not really wish to hear that from her, as well. He studied her a moment, then decided to take one last gamble. "You cannot tell me what to choose. Could you counsel me on a path?"
She smiled. "I already have." For a beat, there was silence. He frowned as he tried to remember when she had done as she said, then she continued before he could decide. "Darkness ever seeks to control, light leaves the choice to you. Each must decide to hope, or despair."
He looked at her keenly, but she faded away, much as she had appeared. Once more, he was left alone. But now, he was out of the darkness, could see what lay around him, the path he must choose before him, or behind him. Silver eyes looked both ways, searching for a hint of what was to come on each, a clue which might help him decide. More images flashed before his eyes.
"Do not leave, my friend. Do not let go."
In the end, it was the memories that played in his mind, the truth he found within that helped him decide. With a last glance around, he choose his path and started walking.