Chapter 12
Aragorn glanced around at the faces — both familiar and not — in his tent. Gandalf, Elladan, Elrohir, Imrahil of Dol Amroth, and Éomer. Legolas and Gimli were not there, but visiting with the Hobbits and, much as Aragorn would have liked them to, he did not want his friends to have to answer his every beck and call.
"The darkness is deepening," said Gandalf, "but…our Enemy has suffered a defeat. His Eye will strain toward us — blind to all else in his lands. For indeed," the wizard continued, "it is within his very land that his Doom lies."
"And so we must keep it." Aragorn interjected. "We draw out Sauron's armies, empty his lands…and march on the Black Gate."
"Make ourselves the bait," Imrahil said.
Gandalf nodded. "And walk open-eyed into the trap."
~o~o~
Later Aragorn was sitting outside his tent — sharpening his sword. Legolas and Gimli sat nearby, having just returned from visiting Merry and Pippin. After a few minutes of silence Legolas asked what they had decided.
Aragorn told him briefly what had been planned. As he spoke, understanding downed on the Elf's face. "A diversion," he said, nodding with a small grin on his face.
"Certainty of death," Gimli commented around his pipe. "Small chance of success. What are we waiting for?"
Aragorn had to smile despite the tenseness he felt. It was good to have friends, and — wherever they were — he hoped Sam and Frodo still held onto their hope and friendship.