Both Aragorn and Faramir were thankful for the presence of Elladan and Elrohir, it afforded them the ability to sleep nearly as comfortably as they had for two months in Imladris. In this way the journey from Imladris back to Edoras progressed a lot quicker than they'd expected, or at least it felt as though it was going quicker. As the saying was, "a rested Ranger is a happy Ranger." For many a year that phrase was considered a double-oxymoron.

Of course, the twins wouldn't want their little brother to get too complacent while traveling. Every so often, after Aragorn and Faramir had bedded down for the night with twins flanking them, Elrohir or Elladan would wait until Aragorn had just gotten into a peaceful sleep and then quietly, patiently one would begin hissing, growing steadily louder until Aragorn jumped to wakefulness in terror of that sound. That was usually when the hissing began to sound a lot more like poorly stifled laughter, and Aragorn would speak to neither twin the next day. Faramir had to wonder if they orchestrated their little practical joke with the knowledge that his father would not speak to them because of it; if they wanted peace and quiet on the road the next day, it was the perfect way to achieve it.

As it turned out, they had only been on the road for three weeks when they arrived in Rohan and so at Edoras. They were all greeted by Éomer and Lothíriel and sat down to supper together in the Golden Hall. Lothíriel was looking very pregnant and Faramir was surprised to even see her out of bed, let alone dining with them. She assured them, though, that she felt fine and still had another two months to go.

Though they had planned to spend two nights getting some proper rest and food in Edoras, seeing Lothíriel in her condition made Aragorn extremely anxious to get home to his own pregnant wife, and so they planned to take a good night's sleep and breakfast in Edoras before setting off again the next day.

Aragorn and Faramir were mercifully afforded a room separate from the twins, and so spared from any of their foolishness. It was one of those rare times that Faramir was thankful for the Mortal need of sleep, it must grow awfully boring for young Elves who sit awake all night with nothing to do but pull practical jokes on their sleeping companions. Aragorn lay down and fell into a blissful sleep, the thought of soon holding Arwen in his arms again giving him all the peace he needed to sleep deeply.

The next thing Aragorn knew, he was standing in the middle of some mass hysteria. Looking around, all he saw was men, warriors, in a state of total terror. He tried to find the source of this madness, but within a moment it made itself inescapably obvious. There before him stood the Dark Lord himself, just exactly as he had been depicted in all that Aragorn had seen and read from the Last Alliance - One Ring and all. Aragorn froze, horrified. It was over, then. Everyone had known that this was the most likely outcome, but... he'd convinced himself to think on hope so much that he was not prepared for this.

Thoughts flew through his mind: there was no point in trying, if Sauron had that Ring, it was over already - but surely he had to do something, fight to the bitter end; why had his father allowed a vulnerable Hobbit to take the task, it should have been cast into the Sea, or taken into the West - surely the Valar could have unmade it - and why had he himself allowed Frodo and Sam to go wandering off alone?

Questions of why then turned to thoughts of what would surely happen now. This army he stood with, all of his friends, would be killed effortlessly. The Shadow would then have free reign. What would it do first? Collect the three remaining rings? Narya was already here at hand, Nenya would be taken next and only Eru knew how Lorien would suffer for it. Aragorn thought that Vilya would be the hardest for Sauron to wrest, Elrond would put up an almighty fight, that was sure. But it would be taken, his father broken, and Arwen... Valar! Why had she not fled this accursed Middle-earth when she had the chance? Aragorn trembled to think that it was his fault, once again. Isildur might have been weak to not relinquish the Ring to the fires of Mt. Doom, but surely his false hope for the future had been weaker.

Anduril, nee Narsil, was swinging furiously, though Aragorn was not really aware that he was fighting, killing anything vile in his path. What path? Was he fleeing? If so, to what purpose? He had no knowledge, tears were openly streaming down his face as an orc's blade caught Legolas deep in the chest as he was rushing to aid Gimli, who fared no better than his Elven friend. Glancing up ahead his eyes were meet with the sight of his brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, struck down by a massive troll. The bright light that was Gandalf off to the right of his peripheral vision began to fade, actually, everything around him began to fade. He fell to his knees, no longer able to support the weight of his armor. There was a sharp pain in the back of his neck and he thought that he must have caught an arrow.

His last thought was meant to comfort him, this was the end, no more suffering, and soon it would be the same for everyone in Middle-earth. Death would find all before long. But then, his thought turned to the son who he'd only just called away from death a few days ago. What good had it done for him to be healed only to have to try vainly to defend his city again? Why hadn't he told him the truth when he had the chance?

Darkness covered everything and Aragorn felt himself shaking and with his last breath he called out to his son.

"Father!" he heard suddenly, his eyes snapping open in response.

"Estel! Wake up, you are dreaming!" said another familiar voice nearby.

Aragorn looked up to see Faramir and the twins, all alive and well, but looking concerned. Looking around him, even in the dim light, he could see that this was certainly not a battlefield. As his focus returned, Elladan handed him a flask but stopped him from drinking too deeply. Rapidly he was feeling much better, if not rather foolish.

"Are you still having those dreams, Estel?" Elrohir asked.

Aragorn just shrugged. "If i am it is still your fault."

Faramir just looked worried, considering the type of dreams he himself usually had it was no surprise. "Father... do you dream the way i do? Prophetically?" he asked hesitantly. Whatever reply he'd expected, it had not been the twins nearly injuring themselves with laughter.

"Not exactly, Fara'," Aragorn said tersely, his tone, along with an annoyed warning glare, directed wholly at his brothers. Naturally, they did not heed him.

"Remember the time," Elrohir said between gales of laughter, "that he dreamed - the pet orc in the wine cellar!"

"I was seven!" Aragorn said in his defense.

"Oh, quite right... they got much better the older you got!" Elladan said. "Like when you were 16 and you kept having that dream about -"

"If you dare say it...," Aragorn warned, now sounding extremely serious and turning a shade of red that Faramir doubted he'd ever seen before.

The twins glanced at each other with that glance that said they definitely did dare. "Daernaneth!" they said in unison before bolting out of the room, Aragorn chasing after them.

Faramir just shook his head and went back to sleep wondering what it was going to be like when they got back home.

ooo

AM: Motion passed, though it's going to be hard for me to stick to it, updating alternately. Still, this story is almost done. I think.

linda: Oh yes, Aragorn was definitely brave to fight off a snake. Braver still to allow the twins to come home with him and Fara'.

Elenhin: For as afraid of snakes as i am, the snake chapters were not as difficult to write as this one. This was utter hell to write and i thought it would never get done. For a few days last week i just gave up writing because i had nothing to say about the trip home, and everytime i got an idea, it seemed to go nowhere. Then there was Thursday night, i was in bed by 9 after drinking too much green beer after work (ale that's pale will not make you unstable, drink ale that's red and your caution you shed, a brew that is brown will knock you down, but a beer that's green will finish you clean!).

Redone: Though the word allergy is pretty modern itself, the concept isn't, and for Elves who have had thousands of years to observe and study these things, i would think it would not been so advanced. As for the twins... just wait, i've got a few ideas up my sleeves.