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Chapter 4: Loyal Unto Death

Aragorn woke from uneasy sleep when a hand shook his shoulder. He made no sound as he opened his eyes, focusing on the face above him. Legolas. Behind the elf he could see his brothers already standing, leaning on their bows and peering into the darkness.

He jumped to his feet, reaching for the sword at his hip. "Wolves?"

Legolas shook his head. "Not wolves, but a hunting pack surely. We are already surrounded."

"I see no eyes and hear no howls."

"These wolves are silent and hide their eyes behind hoods."

Understanding dawned, and Aragorn shook off the last vestiges of sleep. "Rangers?"

Legolas nodded. "So we think. Make no rash movements until it is certain."

The four stood silently then, backs to the fire in an outward-facing circle. The men who surrounded them were indeed stealthy, but now that he was fully awake Aragorn could sense slight movements in the grass and make out gray forms almost invisible in the darkness.

"Strangers in this land, speak!" A voice, clear and hard, came out of the night. "If you are elves, as you seem to be, declare yourselves and leave us no doubt."

"Greetings, Cirbarad," Elrohir called out in Elvish.

"Is that Master Elrohir? Or Master Elladan," the man answered in the same language. His words were clear enough, though accented, and his voice held profound relief.

"Elrohir, although my brother is with me, as well as Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood."

"Who is the fourth in your party?"

"Come closer and you will see," Elrohir said.

The passage of the men was like a night breeze sweeping through the grass. Soon twelve figures stepped into the firelight, each heavily cloaked. One came forward, casting back his hood to reveal unruly dark hair, streaked with gray, above a hawkish face.

"Well met, Cirbarad," Elrohir said.

"Well met, indeed," the Ranger said. "We had no word of your coming." He clasped Elrohir's hand. "Master Elladan," he inclined his head. "Your Highness." He bowed more deeply to Legolas and turned to face Aragorn. "Master…?" He waited for a name, searching the young man's face, and as they gazed into each other's eyes slow recognition came. "I do not think you are an elf," he breathed.

"No," Elladan said, "he is not, although we love him as one of our own."

"Well met, Cirbarad," Aragorn said softly.

"Arathorn's son? Can it be? And yet I know of no other lad who would travel with the sons of Elrond Half-Elven and be clad in the raiment of the Firstborn." The Ranger dropped to his knees at the young man's feet, and an exclamation swept through the circle of men, who instantly knelt as well.

"You may rise," Aragorn said awkwardly, touched and confused in equal measure by the spontaneous show of devotion. "Rise, please." When this second request failed, he dropped to his own knees and gently touched Cirbarad's shoulder. The Ranger gasped, but Aragorn spoke before he could object. "Thank you for this welcome. And to you all," he addressed the group, "many thanks as well. I am glad to be among you."

At that, the Rangers rose and surged forward, each in turn grasping Aragorn's hand. The three elves stepped back, momentarily forgotten. Elladan watched as joyful humans surrounded his youngest brother. He smiled. Tonight, at least, all was well.

#

"You return to us in a difficult hour, Aragorn," Cirbarad said. He rode beside the small party of elves with a handful of his men. Three he had already sent ahead with the good tidings and two he had left behind to guard their passage. "Winter comes early in this land, and I think it will be a hard one."

"We heard wolves several nights ago," Legolas said.

"Yes, they are strangely bold and sniff around our camps, hoping to find us unwary." He grinned, teeth showing, looking very like a wolf himself. "So far they have been disappointed. Cowardly curs! They are not the strongest hunters in these hills. In fact," he added, "we were tracking a group when we came upon you last night." He turned a keen eye on Aragorn. "Have you ever hunted wolves?"

"No, I'm afraid so far I've only run from them."

To his relief Cirbarad laughed. "Well, you obviously got away, so that's something, eh?" The other Rangers chuckled. "In any case, we'll be safe enough when we reach Fornost. They do not dare approach us there."

"Fornost?"

"Our home, lad, or as much of one as we've got. It's not what you're used to," he added, "but what comfort we have is yours."

"I'm sure it will be more than we need, and far more than we've had on the road these last days." His words were sincere; he was looking forward to anything that could be labeled a proper bed.

"We'll reach there by nightfall if we keep this pace," Elladan said, "and if I know the hospitality of the Dunedain, we'll be greeted with a feast. Diranarth is generous and does all things well."

"Diranarth?" Aragorn looked from his brother to the Ranger.

"Your uncle. Have these elves taught you nothing," Cirbarad exclaimed. "Who do you think has led us since your father's death?" He leaned over and grasped Aragorn's arm, holding the young man's eyes. "We are not only your people, lad. We are your family. Did you not know this?"

#

Elladan's prediction proved correct: they were greeted with a feast when they arrived at the small, heavily fortified settlement. By the time they rode through the gate, Aragorn was weaving in his saddle. The hard day's ride and the strain of so many revelations had exhausted him. In the course of the afternoon he had learned that he was related to all the Rangers in the small party in one way or another. Cirbarad he thought was a second cousin, although perhaps he was really a third. Aragorn rubbed a hand over his eyes. It was impossible to keep track of so many interwoven Dunedain genealogies.

One thing he did remember: Diranarth was his uncle, his mother's older brother. From the way the twins and Cirbarad spoke of him, he was obviously a good man, yet no one had ever mentioned his name before.

"Why didn't you tell me I have an uncle?" Aragorn hissed to Elrohir at one point during the ride.

Elrohir shrugged. "If your mother didn't tell you it certainly wasn't my place to."

Now, riding toward the small group that stood expectantly outside the largest house, anticipation revived Aragorn's flagging strength. If he had worried that it would be difficult to tell which hard, gray man was his uncle, his fears proved unfounded. The moment Diranarth's gaze fell upon him, Aragorn recognized him. They were bound together through Gilraen, and blood always knows blood.

"Greetings, Aragorn!" Diranarth stepped forward and held the young man's stirrup so that he could swing down. The elves sprang lightly off their own mounts as the leader of the Rangers pulled his nephew into a tight embrace. A moment later he released him and held him at arm's length. "Arathorn's boy, after all these years! You have Gilraen's look about you!"

"So do you, Uncle," Aragorn said.

"We have much to talk about, but you are tired and hungry. Come and eat at my table! Our food is plain but good, and our beer is better than good."

"Beer?"

Diranarth shook his head, laughing. "You've been among elves and their wine too long, lad, and are sorely behind in your education." He winked at Elladan and Elrohir. "Now that you are here," he put his arm around Aragorn's shoulder and steered him inside the house, "trust that your uncle will enlighten you!"

To Aragorn's relief, the feast was a small one and he did not have to suffer through too many introductions. It was only a small reprieve, however, Diranarth assured him. In the morning he would have to be officially presented to the Dunedain, and that would involve a ceremony of many hours' duration.

He determined not to drink too much in order to be as fresh as possible for whatever awaited him in the morning, and he found it was easy to be moderate at his uncle's table. While the food and beer were both surprisingly good, the Rangers partook of them sparingly. Even at their ease they seemed alert and taut, like drawn bows.

Finally, Aragorn made his excuses and was shown to a room above the hall. Legolas came with him, eager for solitude if not for sleep. He felt no great need of rest, but his human friend was reeling on his feet. Legolas steered him toward the bed and Aragorn flopped down on the feather mattress with a contented sigh. After a moment he sat up and pulled his boots off, then fell back once again. The sounds of the feast drifted up to them through chinks in the wooden floor. Legolas crossed to a small window and opened it. The stars above were very cold and bright.

"Estel, come see the stars. They shine here as brightly as in Rivendell."

The only answer from the bed was a soft snore. Smiling, Legolas leaned against the window ledge and looked out on the human settlement which was sleeping, but still watchful.

#

It was perhaps another hour or two before the feast ended. From his place at the window, Legolas saw the twins emerge into the night, headed for the guard station on the dike. Sensing the Prince's eyes on him, Elladan turned and waved. Legolas smiled and returned the salute.

It was quiet in the house. Legolas heard a chair scraping softly over the floor in the hall below, and a slight creak as someone settled into it. Another person was pacing in front of the great fireplace. Legolas cocked his head, curious. There seemed to be others in the house for whom sleep was elusive as well.

"What do you think of the lad?" Legolas recognized Cirbarad's voice.

"He seems a thoughtful boy. Well-mannered. I like him quite well." Diranarth chuckled. "I call tell by the look on your face that you're troubled. Out with it!"

The pacing stopped. Legolas leaned forward, ashamed to be listening and yet unable to ignore the conversation he was overhearing.

"I don't know what I expected. He is everything you say and yet…"

"Yes?"

"He's soft, Diranarth."

"Of course he is," the other answered mildly, "and so would you be if you lived in the most wonderful home west of the Misty Mountains. I have heard marvelous tales of Master Elrond's house. I'm sure Aragorn has grown up with all the comforts one can know and if he wanted anything at all he had but to ask. You say he is soft and I agree, at least by our standards. But ask yourself this: does he seem spoiled or self-centered, as a child raised so carefully could easily be?"

"No," Cirbarad said.

"You must admit you like him, too."

"I do, but that's not the point. He isn't just one of the lads. It is not sufficient to like him."

"What are you trying to say?" A hard edge entered Diranarth's voice.

"Tomorrow we will pledge our lives to him, to be loyal unto death. All of us, every man, will place ourselves in his hands. Can you tell me honestly that you have unwavering faith in Arathorn's blood?"

"Aragorn is our Chieftain by right. I will pledge myself to serve him as I am bound by honor to do."

"That was not my question."

"It is my answer and it will have to satisfy you." The chair scraped the floor again as Diranarth rose. Legolas drew back slightly, leaning once more against the window ledge. His gaze, clear and thoughtful, sought the stars in the night sky. Aragorn's soft breathing seemed suddenly heavy in the silence as the young man slept on, oblivious.

#

"I, Cirbarad, pledge to serve you with honor. My blood is your blood. My life is your life. I will be loyal unto death, and even in my final hour will not forget my duty and the oath I have sworn today."

The Ranger's hands were callused and cool. Cirbarad knelt before the assembled Dunedain, his hands between Aragorn's as he swore fealty to the new Chieftain. When he finished and after Aragorn had said the words of acceptance, he kissed the ring of Barahir and rose. Another man swiftly took his place.

It was a ritual that had been going on all morning. All the men and boys of fighting age filed past, introducing themselves and swearing fealty. Now it was almost noon and only the only ones left were a few scouts who had only arrived after the ceremony had started and Diranarth.

A hush fell over the crowd as Diranarth stepped forward. The man who had led the Rangers well for eighteen years made his way to where Aragorn stood, quietly waiting. Uncle and nephew were of a height, and Diranarth met the young man's eyes briefly before dropping his gaze and sinking slowly to his knees.

"Uncle…"

"Shh." Diranarth slid his hands between Aragorn's. He looked up, his face open, allowing Aragorn to see deeply within him. "I, Diranarth, pledge to serve you with honor. My blood is your blood. My life is your life. I will be loyal unto death, and even in my final hour will not forget my duty and the oath I have sworn today."

"I, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, accept your service gladly, knowing the worth of your fealty and the weight of your honor." He gently squeezed his uncle's hands as he said the ritual words, touched by the acceptance he saw in the other's eyes.

Diranarth kissed the ring of Barahir and rose in a fluid movement that belied his age. "Behold! Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Chieftain of the Dunedain!" His voice, strong and clear, rang over the assembly.

The crowd took up the cry. To Aragorn it seemed like a strange dream, to suddenly be the leader of a group of people he scarcely knew, and yet who had unhesitatingly pledged to die for him. The upturned faces gazing at him held such hope and trust. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders, quashing any joy he might have felt. Then a voice shouted loudly over the cheering of the crowd.

"Wolves!"

A boy, breathing heavily, skidded to a stop in the center of the group. The Rangers fell silent immediately, and Cirbarad rushed to the child's side. "Where? What's happened? Are you hurt?"

The boy shook his head once, emphatically. "They fell upon us just before dawn. We were scattered. I don't know what happened to the others. I've been running...," he stopped and braced his hands against his thighs, trying to catch his breath. "I've been running for hours."

"Diranarth?" Cirbarad looked at his old friend questioningly.

Diranarth slowly turned to Aragorn and all eyes followed him. "It is not my decision," he said calmly. "It is up to you now, Aragorn. You are Chieftain of the Dunedain. You must tell us what to do."