Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings.
Warnings: Angst, torture
Mindless Babble:
As soon as he was in the hall outside the room and had closed the door, Elrond was assaulted by the protest of the three younger elves. He had expected this and sighed as he put up his hand to silence them. Their tongues were stopped but not their eyes.
"Estel is sleeping peacefully now," Elrond said quietly. "We have other matters to attend to now."
"What could be so important that not one of us can stay with him?" Elladan asked.
Elrond moved them away from his youngest son's bedroom before answering. "On the night you brought Estel home, I sent for help. I believe that help has arrived."
The three elves followed the elder elf into the library. They were greeted by the sight of an old man dressed in gray, looking at the books on the shelf. He turned to look at the four a smile on his bearded face.
"Mithrandir!" The three younger elves sprang past Elrond and gathered around the wizard, each taking a turn to hug their friend.
Gandalf laughed as he returned each embrace. "Elladan, Elrohir! And even Legolas!" He glanced at Elrond, who had remained in the doorway. "And where is young Estel?"
The four elves quieted and bowed their heads. Elrond spoke, "Let us go sit by the fire. It is a bit drafty in here."
Soon they were all seated around the same hearth that Legolas had sat at less then a week ago. The same cook from that night brought to them steaming mugs of tea. All the while, Gandalf waited patiently for the story that he already knew part of.
"Some months past, Aragorn and I had an argument. In the end, I told him to leave and not bother to come back," Elrond confessed. He heard the gasp from his twin sons and knew that this revelation had hurt them too. "When he sent word to his brothers that he wanted to see them, I had hoped to reconcile with him then."
"So that is why you stressed us to bring him home!" Elladan said, making the statement sound like an accusation.
"Yes. But then he did not come." Elrond stared into the fire, seeing only the past.
"He was a captive of Minas Morgul." Four sets of elven eyes fell on the Istari. "I know this because I tried to rescue him. But the Nazgûl thwarted all of my attempts. For a while there, I even considered using Bilbo Baggins."
Elrond smiled, in spite of the situation, imagining the little Hobbit wandering up to the massive gates of Minas Morgul waving his small sword, Sting. "I doubt even he would take that mission."
"Which is why I was glad to hear of Aragorn's escape. Tell me how he did it."
Elrond told the story with frequent interruptions from his sons and Legolas. By the time they were done, the moon was high in the dark sky. Gandalf sat back in his chair, thinking of what had to be done. He stayed like that for many minutes before standing up.
"I need to speak to Aragorn alone. The four of you will stay down here until I return." He started to make is way to the stairs.
"Mithrandir? May I speak with you a moment before you see Strider?"
There was something in the young elf's voice that stopped Gandalf. "Of course, Legolas. What is it?"
Legolas moved them out of the range of elven hearing before speaking. "I could not find the heart to tell Elrond and his sons but I feel I must tell you." The blond elf hesitated, knowing what he wanted to say but not quite knowing how to put it. "Aragorn planned to say farewell to his brothers and never return."
"Never is an awfully long time."
"Not when you plan on departing from this life soon." Legolas bowed his head, not wishing the wizard to see the tear that fell.
Gandalf raised his eyebrows in shock. "He was dying in Minas Morgul. Why did he fight his way back?"
"He truly wanted to see his brothers one last time." The elf glanced over his shoulder at the three gathered around the fireplace. "I also think he wished to see his father."
Gandalf nodded, his mind trying to grasp this new bit of information. How could one so full of life and love feel the need to end it? "Thank you, young prince. Go back to the others and speak not of this."
Legolas nodded and returned to the circle of warmth. Gandalf watched the elf, wishing he could go with him. With a sigh he began to slowly climb the flight of steps.
As soon as he entered the room, the sweet aroma of lavender and rosemary hit Gandalf. He smiled as he felt some of the tension that had been building since he had first laid eyes on the four saddened, elven faces drain away. He breathed deeply, letting the clean scent work its magic. It did its job until his eyes set upon the figure that lay on the bed.
The body seemed too small for the large bed and Gandalf realized to his dismay it was because the man had lost too much weight. The blankets had been pushed down to Aragorn's waist, revealing white bandages that did not standout as much as they should have against the pale skin. Although Elladan had spoken of the tortures that his human brother had gone through when Elrond could not, Gandalf had not realized the true extent of the injuries that had been inflicted on the man. Now as he took in the carefully wrapped wrist, throat and chest, he wondered if the once strong spirit could have survived. Gandalf walked over to where the man lay on his side and gently brushed a stray lock of hair away from the sweat-drenched forehead, tucking it behind his ear, waking Aragorn.
"Who…?" he mumbled, not quite awake.
The older man sat on the edge of the bed. "Gandalf. Lord Elrond sent for me a few nights ago."
"Gandalf!" It was weak but nonetheless full of happiness. He tried to sit up, but his strength failed him. The wizard laid a hand on the man's shoulder stilling him.
"May I see the wound?" He did not need to specify which one as Aragorn rolled onto his chest. Gandalf took a small knife from his belt and gently cut the bandages. He could feel the man tense as the blade slid along his back. "I am sorry, Aragorn. I know this must hurt, but…"
"You need to see it. I understand," Aragorn replied through clenched teeth.
The strips of cloths fell away, revealing the depth of the brutality that had been inflicted upon the Dúnedan. The mark of the Morgul blade was still easy to find. The edges of it were still red and inflamed, through the lines of poison had diminished considerably.
"You know that you shall carry this mark the rest of your days," said Gandalf, softly.
Aragorn nodded miserably. "For however long that may be."
"And what do you mean by that?"
"I can feel them." The man turned his head so that the wizard could see his clouded eyes. "They are searching for me."
"I know, my young friend. I saw the dark riders from the back of Gwaihir." Gandalf gently pulled the blankets over the man's back. "They will keep hunting you until you are either theirs or dead."
Again, Aragorn nodded. "I cannot bring them here. The power of the elves will not protect me for much longer. "
A lump formed in the older man's throat. Though he knew the answer he asked, "What do you plan on doing?"
"I plan on falling back on my original plan; to leave Rivendell forever." He closed his eyes. "One way or another."
Gandalf closed his own eyes and bowed his head. "Legolas told me of your plan."
"Then will you help me? I have no one else to turn to." Aragorn reached out blindly trying to find the wizard's hand. Gandalf grabbed the flailing hand and held it tight. "Please?"
The heart of the Maiar wrenched at the whispered plea. "There is a glass bottle in my bag that is on the chest of drawers. It is wrapped in a silk cloth. It is used for cleaning badly infected wounds."
Aragorn squeezed Gandalf's hand in understanding. "Look after the others. Especially Legolas. He will not understand." Though he could not see it, Aragorn felt the older man stiffly nod. "Thank you, my friend."
Gandalf stood then, releasing the younger man's hand. "My mind knows this is what you must do but my heart rallies against it. Farwell, Aragorn. Until we meet again."
Elrond looked up as Mithrandir once again joined them at the fireside. He did not like the haunted look in the wizard's eye. Something was very wrong to disturb him so. He waited for a few moments before he lost his patience.
"What is it, Gandalf?"
"The poison no longer springs from the wound, but from the shadows of his heart."
The elf lord reacted as if he had been slapped. "He was alone for too long with my angry words as company. I deeply desire to have my son back, but how do I cast a light to banish those shadow?"
"I fear it may be too late for that."
"What do you mean, Mithrandir?" asked Legolas, eyes full of worry.
A sound from Aragorn's room prevented Gandalf's reply. The four elves stood at once.
"Strider is probably trying to get a 'breath of fresh air' as he puts it," said Legolas, with a shaky smile.
"Then I shall go up and get him back into bed, the stubborn human." Elrond replied. He hopped the young elf was correct but a fog of dread surrounded his heart.
None of the elves noticed the tear making its way towards Gandalf's gray beard.
Elrond rapidly ascended the stairs and entered his adopted son's room. At first, the horror of what lay before him was too much for his mind to comprehend. Aragorn, wearing only a pair of loose sleeping pants lay sprawled on the floor. A bottle wrapped in black silk lay half empty in his limp hand. His hair created a dark halo around features that were becoming paler and cooler. Even now, his lips were fading to a shade of blue. His bare chest of scars and half healed wounds did not rise.
"No." The single word came out as a whispered plea as Elrond dropped to the floor next to his son and tried to find a pulse. He could find no throbbing beneath his long fingers.
"NOOOO!" This time, the word was shouted in denial.
Moments later, the others had gathered behind the stricken father. Gandalf bowed his head.
"Aragorn, the last in the line of kings, is dead."
