Thanks for the reviews, my faithful Hobbits! Fear not. We are not at the end quite yet, although the it draws very near. There were initially seven chapters, but it really is turning into six chapters and a brief finale. A dear friend over at HBB made the statement that my fan fictions are like silver frames, surrounding and complimenting the original work. I blushed. But truthfully, isn't that what good fanfiction is? A pretty frame that extends and enhances the beauty of the works we already know and love?

I Sigil Dagnir
The Slayer Blade
Chapter Six

It would be many long years before Aragorn, son of Arathorn, passed again into Minas Tirith, with the strain of tremendous battle upon him. The Steward Ecthelion II, and his successor and son, the Steward Denethor would be gone, lost to time and tragedy, before at last Aragorn would pass through the gates of the White City of Minas Tirith, accept the crown that was his birthright, and become Elessar, King of Gondor.

Now, he sat upon his throne, passing judgment on those men who had fallen under the evil influence of Sauron.

Aragorn passed a hand over his eyes in weariness. His throne was all that he could have hoped, and he at last had the power within his grasp to undo much of the wrong that had been done within the kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor. He had his friends with him for a little while longer, and he was pleased with that. Still, Fifthdays were days he was coming to hate, for they were the Judgment Days. Fortunately, fewer and fewer of those who had served Sauron and Sarumen were being brought to the halls. More and more often they were petty criminals, those starving who had stolen a loaf of bread or those merchants who had cheated business partners. He was becoming very weary of it.

Sometimes, he wondered what would happen if he called them all before him without hearing the charges and simply banished them all to the Far Northern wastelands, there to steal and bicker amongst themselves for the rest of their lives. He was amusing himself with that thought even as he passed judgment against two men who had started a fight in an Inn.

"Go repair the damages to the Inn, to be paid for at your own expense." As an afterthought, he added, "In addition you shall each do one fortnight's work on the new roadway wall. Report to Lord Gimli in the morning for assignment."

Gimli had been complaining about the lack of stout men. That seemed an equitable solution. He caught Gimli's nod of approval as the herald announced the next charge.

"Amali, daughter of Amsess, surrenders herself to the Throne of Gondor for Crimes of Evil and Serving under the Dark Lord."

Aragorn's head shot up, memory harkening back to his days as a Ranger of Gondor under Ecthelion. But Amali was dead by now, surely? He had taken her to her death cell himself a full lifetime of man gone past! He shook his head slightly, and narrowed his eyes, studying the figure that advanced into the hall.

The woman walking across the chamber was old. Her face was wizened and white, and her long white hair frissoned about her head. But her gowns were rich in colour and lovely with fine embroidery, and she held herself erect as she moved slowly but steadily forward. She limped slightly, favoring her right knee as she stepped before the dais and knelt in respect.

A few of the Advisors snickered. How could this old woman have served Sauron? She must be a grandmother! Perhaps she was mad. Amidst the murmurs, only the Elf, Legolas, looked keenly, his Elven eyes delving deep before he glanced in alarm and warning to Aragorn.

Aragorn held up a hand to still the whispers, and said softly, "You may rise."

She did so, lifting her face to the King, and gasped aloud. Her green eyes flared in recognition, for the years had not dimmed their sight. She knew the face of the man who was king. And the King knew her. Aragorn needed not Legolas' warning. Swiftly, he stood and turned to his Advisors. "You are dismissed for the afternoon. Thank you, gentle lords."

As they stood to go amidst murmurs and mutters, Aragorn turned to Legolas. "Please stay."

"I had no intention of leaving." The Elf replied in a hard, quiet voice.

When the room had quite emptied, Aragorn went down to her, standing before her.

"Can it be?" She whispered, her amazement plain, "Thorongil, Captain, sir?"

He smiled then, a warm smile, and the years fell away from his face. As always, it pleased him when those he had known were surprised by who he had become. But very few men yet walked the earth that had known Thorongil of Gondor, except in vague legend.

He reached both hands to hold her weak and fragile ones. "Yes, you knew me as Thorongil. But how can this be?"

She smiled then, a bright smile that showed the flash of white teeth that had stayed in his memory through the long years.

Legolas stepped closer. "Aragorn. This creature is not what it appears."

"I know." Aragorn said then, "For we are not strangers. We met many full moons ago."

Tears filled her eyes then and she looked away from him in shame. "I have failed you, Captain, Sir. My King."

As she spoke the word 'king' her voice was a lowered tone, reverent and severe. Aragorn found himself suddenly wishing for the years to be reversed, for the voice of the young woman calling him simply 'Captain, Sir' beneath the leaves of the forest. "How have you failed me?" He asked gently, drawing her to a seat at the table against the wall, pushing aside the work of the Royal Scribe carelessly. Legolas came to stand close to him in a protective stance, his hand on his knife.

Amali smiled softly at him, yet her voice roiled with a feral undercurrent as she said, "Your blade may do no more than wound me, Lord Elf, unless your aim be very true, indeed. And I fear you would not live to regret such an action" Then she looked away for a moment. "However, within the walls of this city is the blade that was meant to take my life, and hence here within these hated walls I have returned for the ending of my doom."

"Ecthelion let you live." Aragorn said in wonder, his mind filling with questions, even as he worked out pieces of the puzzle.

Amali sighed. "Go in peace, you said, so long ago. Do you remember?"

"Yes. I had thought then that you were to die."

"As did I." She said softly. "Instead, I was apprenticed to my sire. I learned to control the gift, to change at will. Oh yes." She said, seeing his look of surprise. "It became a gift, a wonderful gift."

"When Ecthelion died, we left the city; Osmilian and I. The young Steward Denethor knew not our secret and did not pursue us. For long we dwelt on the edges of Fangorn Forest, living as wolves when it pleased and men when it suited our purpose. I learned to be the body of the wolf and the mind of the man at once!" She said with a wicked gleam in her eyes that illuminated her face. "I could change here and now should it suit me."

"It does not!" She added quickly and pointedly, as Legolas tightened his fingers on his blade.

"Captain, Sir." Amali's voice grew sad with the weight of long years, and the sorrow of her confession. "We joined the Dark Lord."

Aragorn had guessed it, but the sorrow and regret caught him by surprise. He asked aloud, "How could that be? You were good once."

"Power. Safety. Safety to those who had never been safe." She said, and the sorrow was gone, replaced with an urgent need, a plea to Aragorn to understand her. "Osmilian and I, living on the edges of the forest, were always afraid. Afraid the Steward would learn our nature and come for us. Afraid, My King, that we would be hunted by men or killed as wolves as we defended our territory from wargs. Afraid always. Do you know what it is to live in constant fear?"

Aragorn was silent.

"Can you imagine? Can you understand?" The terrible glint grew in her pale gaze and she leaned forward. "Ecthelion gave me my first hint at freedom and Sauron made it complete. Suddenly I had a life free of shame and free of fear. Oh, my Lord, can you understand the power? Terrible, violent power!" She spread her thin arms suddenly in a rush of embroidered satin, "I had entire armies under my command! I was free to be the wolf I had been all along."

Aragorn was forced to look away from her, as he witnessed in her face all of the joy she had taken in such power, such strength.

"I killed, my Lord." And the confession was bitterly gleeful. "When my enemies faced me I tore their throats open and tasted their blood. I was the darkness that good men fear."

"The day the Dark Lord fell, Osmilian fell with him. As a wolf, I ran all the way to Fangorn and hid there, nursing my wounds. For while the wolf is strong still, the woman is old and weak." She sighed and sat back, suddenly weary, an ancient old woman weathered by the care of time.

"I knew not, My Lord King, who you were when I came here. I heard only that a just and mighty king sat upon the throne in Minas Tirith. I knew that king must know where Ecthelion hid the Slayers Blades."

She nodded at the understanding in Aragorn's eyes. "Yes. The late Steward desired that he alone should wield those blades, that he should have such power over Osmilian and myself. It was how he controlled us, always under the fear of a swift death."

"The five blades wrought of mithral at the hands of Celebrimbor for the Wolf Slayers." Legolas spoke softly. "Spells were laid on them to slay a werewolf before it could change back to man and beguile its way to safety." He smiled slightly and tilted his head. "They are said to glow when a Were is near."

"They do." Aragorn replied, his eyes focused on a distant past. "Like water in moonlight."

"Ecthelion had three of the five and was always hunting for the other three." She said and Legolas nodded. "He thought that in possessing them he could control us."

"He failed?" Aragorn asked, although he could read the answer in her eyes.

"Nay. He succeeded. His failing was too jealously guarding his secret. When Denethor came to the Stewardship, he treasured the blades but as artifacts, not as a guard against the real danger in his own house. Osmilian and I were free to go, and we did."

Her gaze warmed and although her voice was still sad, she spoke thus, "Now that I am here and look upon your face, as the face of one whom I have loved and who showed faith in me, I would beg forgiveness and ask to put right the wrong that I have done, to prove myself worthy of such faith."

Aragorn moved to speak but she silenced him with a movement of her hand. "It is too late, Captain, Sir. I have done great evil in my long life and although I am aged now, the wolf in me is not. I could do great evil yet, with the power I still bear.

"There must be a way." Aragorn said softly, glancing at Legolas, who shrugged.

Legolas had seen the wolf and not the woman from the first moment she entered the chamber. His senses were on guard against her, knowing that the darkness within her was unpredictable and dangerous and weakened her will. He shook his head slightly.

'Nay, it is too late." She said in a bitter voice. "I will not return to collars and chains to bind me. I will not live as a caged beast, and cage me you must, for I am happy now to live as the beast and not the frail woman that I am."

Then her voice changed, and the years fell away as she said, "Still, my heart speaks that I am not ready to die."

Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment, hearing the words as he had first heard them on a clear summer night beneath flowering trees. She raised her hand, palm outward.

"Nay, my lord. It is time at last to face my doom."

"You once thought that it would be welcome." He replied in a gentle voice, heavy with sympathy.

"And still it will be." She replied. "I am at war in my soul. The wolf and the woman no longer are at peace with each other and the woman lives in regret. I have neither the will nor strength to take my own life, and so I have come here to find peace."

"Where, my Lord King, are the Slayer Blades?"

Aragorn turned to Legolas. "Call for Faramir. If any within these walls knows where they are hidden, then it will be him."

Legolas nodded curtly, but hesitated, obviously not happy at leaving the two of them alone.

"Go, Lord Elf." She smiled reassuringly, apparently unaware of the glint of her canine teeth in the beams of the westering sun that streamed through the high window. "Of all men upon this earth, I have given care and thought to none save this one."

Something in her voice convinced him, and Legolas turned and left the chamber.

She turned to Aragorn then, and as naturally as if they were sitting at tea, asked, "Please, my lord, do tell me the tale of how a Captain of the Steward's Rangers comes to be a king?"