Chapter 3 - Plans
Arwen looked around despondently at the ever-gathering gloom that had seeped out like a grey tide from under the trees. As she could see now, they had been riding for a fair amount of time, but in that period Arwen had still not managed to come up with any consoling thought. Of course it had been wonderful to set eyes on Estel again… but the pain of losing him when she had only just had him within inches of her grasp was unbearable. She even thought it may have been better to have never caught sight of him at all, or any of the Dúnedain for that matter. Such vivid reminders of the one she could not yet be with, despite her heart being bound to his, hurt so terribly that forgetting would be easier, if it was possible.
But any chance of that was out of the question. No amount of time, not even the seven years since they had last held each other gently in each other's arms, had ever for a day let Arwen forget. When she rose each morning, she turned to look for Aragorn by her side. Wherever she went, whatever she was doing, she imagined how different it would be if Aragorn was with her in Lórien too, what he would be doing if he was there. She could remember every moment they had spent together as if she was right there in them still, and reliving those glorious emotions in her veins and seeing how beautiful Aragorn was once more in her dreams… the longing was so desperate and so full of need.
But to actually have Aragorn before her; to actually see him; to have his presence there – even if it was for a mere few seconds that she knew…
No, Arwen confirmed to herself resolutely, now forgetting what had passed that afternoon was an absolute impossibility. Before she had seen the Rangers, she had been missing Aragorn as if she was without a vital organ; as if her heart had been taken away with Aragorn's departure, and she was slowly bleeding, tortured, struggling to live without her life force and source of happiness. Nothing would be right without him, not even the most realistic dreams could fulfil her when Aragorn was gone.
But if he was with her… heal her she knew he could. Every fibre of her body ached for Aragorn's comforting presence and to be brought into his arms so soothingly. She wished to hear him whisper so reassuringly in Elvish that she did not hope in vain. She wanted so much to set eyes on him and know he still loved her.
Ai, how the Valar were verily being cruel to tease her like so! Images from earlier were flaunting themselves before Arwen's eyes. Aragorn's quiet, understated countenance as he knelt down where her feet had passed… The tumbling of his dark hair over his face… The caress of his gentle fingers over the leaves… And then those wise, grey eyes lifting up, searching for hers… But she had torn herself away before he had seen. That briefest moment was all she had… and she supposed Aragorn had not even seen her.
Oh, how she would do anything to be with him again… Arwen bowed her head in despair.
But then a quiet, sceptical voice, sounding very like her Ada, murmured from the back of her mind. Would you do anything?
Arwen held her breath, searching inside herself to see if she would. Did she have the courage? Did she have the ability to find him again? Did she really love Aragorn enough to do so? The horse rocked Arwen and her thoughts about. Her heart pounded in her mind.
Love was not a question. Doubtless she could work out where Aragorn would be going, with a little effort and perception – she knew the Dúnedain well. As to courage, well, she was not afraid to use a sword, having been well taught under the careful instruction of Glorfindel and her brothers, and with Aragorn in the forefront of her mind… she would not be afraid.
Arwen nodded to herself. She knew she could not go on like this. She needed that reassurance from Aragorn. She could not help it; she would have to go after Aragorn.
But where is Aragorn going? she wondered. The Dúnedain were travelling west through the woods of Lothlórien, so that meant they would be crossing the Misty Mountains. Arwen tried to think like Aragorn… He probably did not want the Rangers to be away from the Shire for too long, like Mithrandir he cared immensely for the hobbits and Arwen knew he would never forgive himself if something bad happened to them while most of the Dúnedain were off elsewhere, leaving the pleasant little land unguarded. Yes, Aragorn would be leading the Dúnedain back to Eriador.
So she could guess what Aragorn's plan, but what plan could she make? What reason did she, Arwen Undómiel, have to pass over the Misty Mountains too?
At this point Arwen's train of thought came to a halt. A bolt of fear flashed across her heart. What if there was no excuse she could give for following Aragorn? …But there had to be a reason… she needed one! Arwen bit her lip and forced herself to think hard.
Her Ada! Of course, to visit him in Imladris would be a perfect reason! She had not been there since… since she first met Aragorn. A wistful sight left her lips.
But who would accompany her? Arwen really wished to be alone but she knew her grandmother Galadriel would never allow it; the Wild was far too dangerous now.
Ai! How would she manage it?
Arwen chanced to look up just as Haldir's horse was proudly crossing the elegant bridge into the golden heart of Lothlórien. They eased down to a gentle trot up the white stone lanes that wound under the magnificent mallorns, the greatest trees in Middle-Earth, sown by Galadriel's hand itself. Galadriel's radiance gleamed out in the silver and white lamps poised on the tips of the long branches. Their light outlined hidden flets camouflaged by the leaves and nightfall. From up within the trees diffused music sung by the clear voices of the elves, delightful melodies sounding like soft rain falling on all the leaves of the wood, and the plucking of harp-strings could easily have been accomplished by the agile fingers of the wind. Arwen could not help but be soothed by this heavenly place in which she had dwelt with Galadriel for most of her life, and with her mother Celebrían, for a time.
They rode up to a wide lawn where a fountain, shining as if it had moonlight trapped within the water, played happily and smoothed out into a silky pearly stream. As the horse stopped and whinnied, Haldir climbed down and politely held out a hand for Arwen, once more beginning to apologise after a long journey of tentative silence; but Arwen was still consumed by thought, searching for a way to reach Aragorn. Absent-mindedly she slid down, not hearing Haldir's deep regrets, and she walked past him wordlessly across the carpet of grass to the base of the mightiest of all the trees. There amid a cosy recess in the huge curving roots three Elf-guards stood and bowed before her. At their joyful greetings Arwen inclined her head and gave them a smile, but it quickly waned from her face. She ascended the white ladder among the welcoming arms of the mallorn tree with the silent haste of one who longs to be left alone.
Haldir watched little specks of silver glint on her dress, like jewel drops of water lit with stars, rippling in and out of sight as she ran up the steps. He wondered at her change from sobbing heartbreak into pensive neutrality and thought perhaps that the long journey allowing Arwen to think had done her some good. Perhaps she really had accepted to leave Aragorn behind… forever.
He saw Arwen, far up now, turn and look down at him. She held his gaze and gave him a weak, tired smile. Then she disappeared among the intricate flets.
Haldir made assumptions wrongly.
…
The sun dipped behind the snowy mountains and Aragorn shivered. He pulled his warm (albeit weather-beaten) Elven-cloak closer around his shoulders and brought the hood over his head. He turned to check on how his men were faring.
The Dúnedain were in high spirits and coping well with the journey. The spirit of the beautiful Elves had given them strength of body and peace of mind, and they had come far today. His two friends Halbarad and Calosin had gone on ahead to scout once they had quitted the safety of Lórien's trees. Calosin had seemed concerned about him earlier, after he had sensed someone's presence on their path… someone had just been there before they arrived. Aragorn confided this in Calosin, and he would certainly not betray who he had believed the scent to be - it was silly to let his mind conjure her out of nothing. The brief thrill it gave him was not worth the risk that it could come with if it occurred again in a more critical situation. But it was not just the scent; it was a prickling feeling… that sensation had just seemed so similar –
No! Aragorn! he berated himself, stop thinking like this, it will not bring Arwen here.
Aragorn gave a long sigh, but he came back to reality and felt pleased with it. This was a good, even place to make camp for tonight. Halbarad and Calosin would soon retrace their tracks and inform him of their group's safety. Tomorrow they would reach Dimrill Dale about two hours after sunrise, and enter it cautiously. Then they would climb a secret stair adjacent but hidden from the Dimrill Stair, and continue with their ascent until they reached the peak of Fanduidhol the Grey, where Galadriel had informed him of a great and rapidly multiplying horde of evil Orcs. It was Aragorn's hope and mission to take them by surprise and destroy every last one of them. That battle was to be two or three days from now.
Aragorn called for the Rangers to stop and make camp. He walked among them as they busied making their inner and outer circle of tents, and building their welcoming fires. Aragorn was always happy when his people were, and they were still talking of their calming journey through the Golden Wood. Many were discussing their choice of Elven food for their supper, which was most welcome seeing as they often had to survive on stale bread and withered plants for meals.
Suddenly there was a yell, and Aragorn spun round, wondering what had happened, and hurried through the tents to the north-west side of the camp, where there were more shouts erupting.
"My lord; Aragorn!" Both Halbarad and Calosin rushed up to him, back from their scouting and appearing to have done rather a lot of running. Calosin looked as if he had a stitch, so Halbarad did the talking to Aragorn.
"My - lord," he panted, taking huge breaths in between words, "Dimrill - Dale, – overrun." The words tumbled out quickly now. "Orcs – everywhere – had to - get-out-of-sight."
He coughed heavily and Aragorn faced this news wide-eyed, but still calmly.
"Thank you, both of you," he said, "go and sit by the fire and get warm. Emathar has put up tents for you already. I will decide how to alter our plans."
His two friends wearily hobbled over to where the food was being prepared before collapsing onto the ground, while Aragorn set a doubled guard around their camp. The Orc bands would not yet see them here, but he would not risk an attack. Watchmen were placed around the double circle of tents, each man in sight of those on either side, and dinner was taken to them. Aragorn was hungry, but thought it prudent to decide on their new plan before food occupied his mind.
He took a small lantern from his pack and struck a light. From the flickering flame he could see his way through the tents, down the path between both circles. It was quieter here, rather than sitting round the roaring burning logs with all his friends; and it was easier to think. He settled himself down on a small cold stone and stared into the mystical shimmering above the candle flame.
To avoid Dimrill Dale he would have to lead his friends up the mountain on ancient snow-coated roads, which would be far more visible than the other route he would have preferred to take. That would mean they must journey at night, and scouts would be of no use. Well, in a way that was good. He liked the reassurance of having Calosin and Halbarad. His other good friend, Emathar, liked to travel in the midst of the party, checking that everyone was alright and nobody was falling behind.
But which was the right path to take? Aragorn knew he had a choice four. A landslide fell onto one three winters ago - that was the one going around the northern edge - and now it was impassable. That eliminated one route.
Also on the north side was another way, but it was prone to avalanches and he was sure his Rangers, hardy as they were, would not appreciate swimming through snow. Aragorn lips twitched and he looked up at the black shape of Fanduidhol set against the deep blue sky. Anyway, that path was sure to be watched by Orcs now.
So that left two. Both of these wound up the mountain on the south-east side, but one was much quicker and safer than the other. It was cut into the rock in such a fashion that you would not find it unless you knew where, and even then it would be hard to discover it, unless of course you had the eyes of an Elf, or maybe a Dúnedain Ranger. The Elves used this hidden road to travel between Rivendell and Lórien; but there was a problem.
It was often very narrow, and getting a huge number through would be near impossible, even for Men of the West. They would have to walk along in single file, and he could not check that everyone was alright and not hurt, unless by word of mouth, and that would be slow. As would giving commands. Say if the company was split in two. He, being at the front, would not know, until too late. And camping would be impossible too. There were caves for about two dozen people, but no way for their sort of numbers. No, he could not go that way. It was just impassable for their size group.
So that left the other path. It was quite open, and wide, with steep cliff faces, except for a few stretches where some overhung part of the road. For a while it travelled underneath the Elven path, but then that soon disappeared, going up the mountain much quicker.
Aragorn supposed that this way would be fine, if a bit long, but it would only add one more day to their journey, and his men were tough. Well, we are descended from the Númenoreans, he reminded himself.
Aragorn smiled and stood up, blowing out the lantern and smudging the glowing wick with damp fingers. Yes, he thought, they were the highest of Men left in Middle-Earth. And if he, of all Men, could not win the Evenstar's heart, no Man could.
He sighed gently, not for the first time regretting his mortality, and then his fingers strayed to his breast pocket, searching for something. They found it. Aragorn smiled.
He got up from the small stone, a little warmer now, and walked towards the merry-making round the campfire, ready to have some nourishment.
