Elrond's Pledge
Earnur, still seated in his chair, woke after dawn to the sound of soldiers bustling about the tent at their morning chores. As Gandalf had promised, his wounds no longer caused him any pain, and the scars had begun to heal. Breathing deeply, he sat up and looked about.
"It seems you're the worse for wear too," said a soft voice to his right. He turned around and saw Aranarth, lying on his camp bed, his back propped up on several pillows.
"You're alive, by the Valar!" grinned Earnur. "Gandalf and the Elves had seemed very worried about you."
"So I've been told; by Gandalf that is," said Earnur. "He left the tent a few minutes ago, before you woke up. I haven't seen the Elves myself since I set out from the army with my company, some days ago."
"They were about, nonetheless," replied Earnur, rising to his feet. He took a deep draught from a flask of water, noting with displeasure that there was no provender about.
"Ah, both patients are on the mend, I see," said Gandalf, poking his head through the tent. "Your Men have caught up with you, Prince Earnur, and a change of clothes and armour is waiting for you. Then you can join us at the campfire outside for breakfast. As for you, Lord Aranarth, I'd prefer you to remain in bed until the noon hour at least, so that we can be sure you're convalescing properly. An orderly will bring you some gruel to test your appetite."
"I might have just lost it," smiled Aranarth wanly.
Gandalf then departed, and Earnur strode just outside the door of the tent, where a number of Rangers and of his own Gondorian cavalry were encamped amid the ruins. He hailed a cavalry officer, who at once rushed to his side, saluting him crisply.
"Fetch my clothes and armour," said Earnur. "And some hot water for washing. But first, tell me this; where are the Men who were in my vanguard yesterday? The ones who fled from the Witch King?"
"They turned themselves in to a Warrant Officer, Your Highness," replied the man. "They are currently in a makeshift brig near the Citadel."
"Good," nodded Earnur. "I'll deal with them after I've breakfasted." He returned to the tent, and found Aranarth staring at him.
"I hope you're not too hard on them," said Aranarth. "It was no ordinary foe from whom they fled."
"I know it," nodded Earnur. "That fiend used some foul sorcery to kill General Wealtheow, as far as I can tell, and several score of his Northmen. And also some of your Rangers and Hobbit friends, I'm afraid."
"What?" cried Aranarth. "I've heard nothing of that. What happened to them?" Earnur recounted what he had seen, and Aranarth frowned grimly.
"I'll be up and on my way to the Citadel as soon as I've eaten, regardless of what Gandalf has to say," said the Lord of the Dunedain. "If my loyal Men and those brave Hobbits died on account of following my orders, it is on my head. I must see for myself what has happened to them."
"It is on the Witch King's head," replied Earnur. "And there was nothing you could have done. I'd have been slain myself if I had entered the Citadel, rather than hanging back by the bridge. The Witch King planned his trap well. As for those of my Men who fled; justice demands they receive the headsman's axe, but the prerogative of mercy is still a possibility. We shall see."
With those cool words, he turned to two Gondorian orderlies who had entered the tent, and proceeded to change into a fresh pair of clothes, and stand impatiently as they clad him in a spare suit of armour. A third brought a bowl of gruel to Aranarth, who quickly downed it in proof that his appetite was unharmed. They both washed their faces and hands in a camp basin, and then strode out of the tent and toward the campfire.
"What on earth are you doing up?" snapped Gandalf, who was sitting by the fire and enjoying a mug of herbal tea. "I told you to remain in bed 'till at least noon, Aranarth!"
"No orders today, old friend," replied Aranarth. "Earnur told me what happened at the Citadel, and I must see it for myself. Also, I wish to enter the vaults of the keep, as soon as possible, for reasons you might guess."
"Humph!" muttered Gandalf, returning to his tea. "Have it your way, then. If you have a relapse and faint or get sick, don't say I didn't warn you."
"Don't worry," replied Aranarth, seating himself before the fire – the morning air was chill, even though the Sun was warm. "I've a bit of hardiness in me yet."
"So it seems," smiled Earnur, clapping Aranarth on the back, and almost knocking him over. He likewise sat before the fire, as an orderly brought him a tray containing a mug of tea, a loaf of bread, and a bowl of stew. He devoured them meal quickly and silently, in the manner of an experienced campaigner, and then turned to Gandalf.
"Where are the Elf-lords?" he asked. "I see no sign of them."
"They've pitched their own tents, well outside the walls," replied Gandalf. "They refused to spend a night in a city that has lain under the Witch King's dominion. Also, they are in mourning for those of their number who fell in the battle."
"It will be up to us Men to clean up any messes by ourselves, then," replied Earnur briskly. "We've our own dead to bury. And then, unless we're required for any other business, we'll be off to our home in the Southlands. My blood is not accustomed to the chill air here in the North – in Gondor, the grass would already be green and the fruit-trees already blossoming by mid-March."
"And doubtless your father King Earnil will be keen to see you return safe and sound," nodded Gandalf. "And to see your armies return to his fold, before the Southrons stir up any new trouble as they did over the past several years."
"Last year we gave them a thrashing they won't soon forget," grunted Earnur, rising to his feet. "They'll want some time to lick their wounds before they try any new tricks."
"That's just the trouble," muttered Gandalf, taking hold of his staff and likewise standing up. "They will forget, soon enough."
"If I might enquire of you, Gandalf," asked Aranarth, who declined Earnur's helping hand as he stood to his feet. "Where are Falco and the Hobbits who are with him? Did they…"
"They are alive and well," nodded Gandalf. "And they've been joined by the Rangers and the main body of the Hobbits that you left outside the walls to guard the tunnel entrance. They took the news of the loss of five of their number very hard, for they are only simple and tender-hearted creatures after all."
"The five Hobbits who gave their lives shall be buried with the Rangers who fell," vowed Aranarth. "All were citizens of Arnor once, and all fell in its last battle."
"The last battle of Arnor," said Gandalf. "But not perhaps of the Dunedain. Now follow me to the Citadel, if you still wish to see it rather than return to your bed."
They strode towards a party of Gondorian cavalary, appropriating three of their horses. Then they rode down the streets of Fornost, passing camps and watches of Gondorians and Northmen here and there, until they drew near a row of Gondorians, stripped of their armour and weapons, and shackled together, sitting on the ground and guarded by their fellows. They bowed their heads where Earnur rode up to them, halting his steed and staring down on them grimly.
"All of you deserted your Prince at the Witch King's approach, and left him to fend for himself," said Earnur solemnly. "Your guilt is obvious. Have you anything to say as to why I should not pass sentence on you?"
The prisoners remained silent, appearing utterly dejected – for the Soldier's Code of Gondor favoured death over dishonour, and in their own eyes they did not deserve to live. Gandalf frowed, and he and Aranarth stared at each other briefly. Then the Grey Wizard turned to Earnur, and said, "I have something to propose on their behalf, if I might act as their advocate."
"Do so," nodded Earnur, "since it seems they have lost their tongues along with their courage."
"You know well that they have never before failed you in war, and would not have failed you now had any other foe approached them," continued Gandalf. "Your Oath bound you to face the Witch King, but they could not endure his horror once his fatal Black Breath descended upon those within the Citadel. Can you be certain you would have faced that dark mage, if you had been in their shoes, and not bound by your terrible Oath to Eru?"
"I cannot," acknowledged Earnur. "It is for that reason only that I have not already consigned them to the headsman's axe."
"Then here is what I propose," said Gandalf. "Release them on probation, and let them prove their courage to you. For the Witch King's tower at Carn Dum yet stands, and it might soon become once again a stronghold from which Orcs and Hill-men and other enemies can harass the lands of the North. Send them to Carn Dum, to tear down that tower stone-by-stone. Make them swear by the Valar not to return to Gondor until they have succeeded, and to live in the wild as outlaws should their courage fail them again."
Earnur was silent for some moments, and then nodded. He turned to the prisoners, who now stared up at him hopefully. "You have heard the Wizard's proposal," he said. "I deem it acceptable. Do you so swear?"
"We swear by the Valar," cried the men, "we shall not set foot again in Gondor, until not a stone at Carn Dum remains intact. Let us live as outlaws should we fail."
"So be it," said Earnur. "Guards, release them, and equip them with horses, tools and provender for their journey northward."
"Two of my Rangers shall accompany you," said Aranarth, "so that you might proceed without straying to Carn Dum; for it is far distant over trackless wastes, and you might easily lose your way without guides. Once they have led you there, they shall depart, and it shall be up to your own efforts to topple the Witch King's tower."
"Thank you Your Highness, my lords," acknowledged some of them, as they were released one by one from their manacles.
"A good morning's work,' smiled Gandalf. "Now, to the Citadel!" They continued their ride east, and soon the moat and the Outer Walls loomed above them. The waters of the moat still hissed and bubbled, sending up shimmering fumes. Several Gondorians stood nearby, staring mournfully at the still, soaking-wet bodies of two of their fellows.
"What happened to them?" asked Earnur. "Did they drown in the moat?"
"Your Highness," replied one of the soldiers, "they sought to dive into the waters, to reclaim some of the Mithril from the Dragon's hide. But no sooner had they immersed themselves in the water than they screamed, and perished anon."
"No wonder," frowned Gandalf. "Had they no sense at all?"
"We knew not that it would be perilous, my lord," replied one of the soldiers ashamedly.
"Well, you know now," replied Gandalf shaking his head. "It is a tragedy, but sometimes Men seem to rival Dwarves in their greed for treasure."
"Spread the word amongst the army, if you have not already," said Earnur. "The moat has been poisoned and is off-limits, by my command." The soldiers saluted in assent, and then Earnur, Aranarth and Gandalf rounded the circle of the moat, at last arriving at the Outer Gate. They saw a score of soliders guarding the bridge, and well over a hundred bodies piled outside, draped in sackcloth. They dismounted, and walked toward the bodies of the fallen, observing a moment of silent prayer. Then Earnur turned to the Sergeant-at-Arms by bridge, and said:
"I am pleased to see you have recovered their bodies. Have arrangements been made for their honourable burial or immolation, according to their custom?"
"They have, Your Highness," ackowleged the Sergeant. "The orderlies will attend to them in due course."
"Very good," nodded Earnur. "Has anyone been inside the Citadel keep?"
"No, Your Highness," replied the Sergeant. "We cleared the bodies out of the courtyard, but no one was willing to enter yon keep, unless on direct orders from an officer. It has an ill-favoured look, and we fear it to be cursed."
"Cursed it may be," replied Gandalf, who noted that even in daylight the walls shimmered eerily, as if the pale corpse-light of the evening was imbued within their walls. "But I shall go in nonetheless, and Aranarth as well."
"I shall accompany you, as shall these Men," replied Earnur. "Who knows what foul beasts yet dwell within?"
"Thank you, brother," replied Aranarth, shaking his head. "But this keep is still my property, and I must ask you not to enter. Only Gandalf and I shall do so."
"That seems a strange request," frowned Earnur.
"There are no beasts nor any living thing within that keep, that I can sense," replied Gandalf. "But Aranarth has business within that he must attend to alone. I shall accompany him only to protect him from any other sorcerous traps the Witch King might have lying in wait."
"I care not to remain out here, while you face danger within," said Earnur. "But it is not my place to gainsay Aranarth's wishes with regard to this own hereditary lands. There is much other work for me to attend to outside the walls, if you do not need me here."
"Attend to your work," nodded Aranarth. "And don't worry. Under Gandalf's care, I'll be quite safe."
"One hopes so," replied Earnur, glancing briefly at the Wizard. "Fare you well!" He then turned to the Sargeant, discussing orders of the day with him.
Gandalf and Aranarth nodded at Earnur, and then strode across the bridge to the threshold of the Inner Gate, Gandalf's staff clacking loudly on the dry stones. They took a deep breath, and then entered the muddy courtyard. The air still had a bitter tang, and Gandalf's long nose sniffed it suspiciously.
"A trace of the Black Breath's stench, but nothing more," observed Gandalf. "It is indeed safe to proceed." He turned toward the steps of the Citadel keep, whose doors still lay open, like the grinning maw of a hungry beast.
"What is this Black Breath you refer to?" asked Aranarth, following Gandalf up the steps.
"A deadly spell – and a very ancient one," replied the Grey Wizard. "Had I known it was within the Witch King's repertoire, I would have gainsaid your plan to leave any Men within the Citadel at all. I read of the Black Breath in a mouldering scroll within the archives of Minas Anor in Gondor, alongside many other scross that I read when I visited that land many years before you were born. During one of Saruman's long sojourns in the East." He smiled mischievously. "When the cat's away, the mice are at play, you see."
"I don't see, actually," admitted Aranarth.
"Well. There's no reason for you to take an interest in Wizardly politics, I suppose," acknowledged Gandalf. "Suffice to say I read of the spell of the Black Breath in connection with a sorcerer long believed to have vanished from the face of the earth. That the Witch King is familiar with it confirms in my mind his true identity. It was always obvious he served the Enemy, but now it is clear that his name is not a concidence or namesake as some amongst the Wise have thought – myself included, I'm afraid."
"Meaning?"
"I shall say no more," replied Gandalf with a frown. "Not in this place, anyway. We might discuss such matters some other day."
"You always were close with your lore, my friend," sighed Aranarth.
"With good reason," asserted Gandalf. "Now, hold on a minute!" They stood at the threshold of the Citadel keep, peering at the shadowy antechamber within. A noxious stench poured forth from the keep on a current of sepulchural air.
"What we see within might turn your stomach, my boy," said Gandalf. "Are you sure you're up to this? It barely half a day since you lay near death, after all."
"I'm well enough," insisted Aranarth. "And I shall not leave this place until I have been to the vault."
"Very well," sighed Gandalf. "But there could be hexes and geases within the keep. You must promise me to stay nearby, and not to go anywhere other than the vault. And to leave, once you have found what you seek."
"I promise," replied Aranarth. "I would love to stroll the halls of this place again, but I know that it has been defiled, and is no longer my home. I shall take what is mine, and then depart."
"Very good," nodded Gandalf. "Let us proceed then."
They stepped through the doors and into the antechamber. Gandalf whispered under his breath, passing his hand over his staff, and the crystal embedded in the tip suddenly glowed with a clear, cold light. The rays from the staff revealed that the inside of the keep was an even worse shambles than the outside; broken furniature and piles of filth were scattered everywhere, and the walls were scrawled with obscentities.
"Disgusting creatures," muttered Gandalf, stepping beween the piles and towards the broad, winding staircase at the end of the antechamber. The stairs were set into a depression in the wall, and led both up and down.
"Aha!" cried Gandalf, pointing at the stairs.
"What is it?" frowned Aranarth, reaching for his sword.
"Nothing a sword can mend," replied Gandalf. "But the Witch King did leave at least one hex; this one over the stairway. One moment, if you please." He gestured with his staff, speaking a strange Word in a loud voice. There was a flash of bright light, and then a pillar of fame shot up the stairs, winding its way toward the roof. Aranarth stepped back in astonishment.
"You would have been warmer than you'd like, if you'd just stepped heedlessly in there," sniffed Gandalf. "This entire keep is undoubtedly a deathtrap, riddled with such tricks and snares. Now, follow me, and do be careful."
They proceeded down the stairs, the evil stench increasing as they followed their course to three levels below the surface; the location of the dungeons of Fornost, and the hidden vault. The keep was utterly silent, but for the clacking of Gandalf's staff on the stones, and the scuffing of their booted feet. At length, they reached the base of the stairs, and found themselves in a broad, pillared chamber – the dungeons.
Gandalf exclaimed aloud, and Aranarth narrowed his eyes in disgust and pity at the scene before them. For to the walls and pillars were chained and nailed the skeletons and dessicated bodies of countless victims, all of whom appeard to have suffered indescribable torments.
"The last resting place of many citizens of Fornost, I fear," whispered Gandalf. "Truly, death is preferable to capture by the Witch King and those of his kind."
"This place is both a solemn tomb, and a chamber of horrors," replied Aranarth, saying another prayer for the victims of the Witch King's evil. "Let us do what must be done, and leave quickly."
Gandalf nodded wordlessly, and strode quickly across the stony floor. After some moments, they reached the far wall, and Aranarth began to reach along the walls with his hands, careful to avoid touching the skeletons still chained to them. Then, reaching high above his head, he said, "I've found it! The stone seems not to have been tripped, thank the Valar."
"I may have played a role in that," winked Gandalf. "I long ago put a spell on the vault. No one can find the lever-stone, unless they are of Isildur's line. Anyone else's hands will pass right over it."
"You always have another trick up your grey slieve, it seems," replied Aranarth. "There!"
He stepped back, as a section of the wall slowly swung outwards. Within was a narrow passageway, which Gandalf and Aranarth both followed. At length, they came to a small, vaulted room, in the middle of which stood a broad stone table.
"So the heirlooms of my House are still safe," sighed Aranarth thankfully. "A small mercy amid all the calamities we have suffered."
"And yet an important one," said Gandalf. They stared for a time at the artifacts on the table; a broken sword, an ivory scepter, a circlet of silver inset with a clear gem, and a small silver ring in the shape of intertwined skakes, filigreed with gold crowns, and bearing emerald gems for eyes.
"The sword Narsil, the Sceptre and Crown of Arnor, and the Ring of Barahir," whispered Aranarth. He hesitated for a moment, and then put the ring on the first finger of his right hand. "It is my right, as Lord of the Dunedain," he said to himself. Then he removed a satchel from within a fold of his robes, and placed the Crown and Sceptre within. He paused briefly, running his hands over the shards of Narsil, which glittered keenly in the light from Gandalf's staff.
"To think that this is the blade which felled Sauron himself!" exclaimed Aranarth. "My father never let me lay hands on it."
"Repeat not the name of the Enemy in here!" whispered Gandalf urgently. "Come, I feel a growing chill in my veins. Take your treasures, and let us depart at once."
Aranarth nodded, and placed the shards and broken hilt inside the satchel, being careful not to cut himself on their still-sharp edges. Then he swung the satchel over his back, securing it with a leathern strap, and concealed it within the folds of his long green cape.
"Let's be off," he said, and he followed Gandalf out the passage and back into the dungeons. A slight tremor shook the chamber, and then an ominous rumbling sounded from above.
"To the stairs and out the door!" cried Gandalf. "Run for your life!"
The Wizard dashed forward, with incredible speed for a seemingly old Man, and Aranarth followed in his wake. As they shot up the stairs, the whole Citadel began shaking violently, and they stumbled several times before reaching the antechamber.
"Fly!" shouted Gandalf, as they dashed between the piles of rubbish and through the open doors. They had just made it down the steps, and stood again under daylight in the mud of the courtyard, when with a deafening roar the entire keep crashed into ruins behind them! They both fell to the ground, covering their faces to avoid breathing in the cloud of dust that accompanied the crashing stones.
The noise soon subsided, and the dust began to diminish. As Gandalf and Aranarth, lay on the ground coughing, they looked back at the keep, which now lay in ruins.
"It seems there were two hexes," gasped Gandalf. "Mayhap the location of the vault and its treasures was in fact no secret at all to the Witch King; he used them a final lure, if all else failed to slay Isildur's Heir."
"I'm glad you figured that out in time," replied Aranarth wryly, before coughing again, and beginning to brush the dust off of his clothes.
"Impudent pup!" sniffed Gandalf. "Now, on your feet!" They cross through the Inner Gate to the bridge, just as Earnur and the Gondorian soldiers came rushing up to them.
"What on earth were you two doing in there?" gasped Earnur, staring hard at Gandalf. "I had thought it a bitter irony that you had recalled Aranarth to the land of the living, only for both of you to be entombed in his ancestral home!"
"That's enough criticism for one day," replied Gandalf stubbornly. "Now, let's leave this place forthwith. And we should speak with the Elves, before we head south to Bree."
Outside the walls of Fornost, at the encampment of the Elves, Gandalf, Aranarth and Earnur stood in front of the Elf-lords and Falco. Glorfindel, Gildor, and Elrohir and Elladan had all survived the battle, though nearly a hundred of their two-thousand Elven-warriors had been slain, most by Carakel the Silver.
They had gathered their fallen under a mound, which already was beginning to spring to life with delicate flowers of gold and silver. Gandalf, Aranarth and Earnur paid their respects to the valour of the fallen Elves. Than Aranarth said, "Words cannot repay the debt I owe you, my friends. I am grievously sorry for the losses you have suffered for the sake of Men."
"Not only for the sake of Men, but for the sake of Middle Earth itself did we fight," replied Gildor. "Though for my part, I feel that this is my last battle. And so do the other Elves of Mithlond, it seems. We have fought so many battles and lost so many friends over the long and weary years, our hearts despair of it. Ever more now we shall dwell in the twilight. It may fall to the younger amongst our kindred, such as Glorfindel and the sons of Elrond, to continue to aid Men in the struggle agains the dark powers - though the counsel and wisdom of the Elves of the Havens will always be at the disposal of Men of good will."
"I shall certainly do my part," affirmed Glorfindel. "I am barely more than a child in years when compared to Lord Gildor, and my spirit burns to continue the struggle against the Enemy."
"And we shall do our part as well," said Elrohir and Elladan..
"I am glad that the Elven people will continue to fight the good fight," said Gandalf. "At least, those who are not yet weary under the Sun."
"Yet all things under the Sun must fail in time," replied Gildor.
"If I might interject," said Earnur, "my Men will soon have finished burying our own dead – full four-thousand, most slain by the accursed Dragon. By your leave, Gildor, we shall march to the Havens at once to board our ships and sail for Gondor."
"We shall also leave Fornost this very day," said Gildor. "We shall accompany you, and bid you farewell at the shore. Come with me, and we can discuss the preparations for your return to your homes, provender and such that you might need for the voyage." Earnur, somewhat reluctantly, followed Gildor to his tent.
"I also thank you for your sacrifices, Falco," said Aranarth. "I am sorry that five of your number met their end. They shall lie amongst our fallen Rangers, if you wish."
"We much appreciate that honour," replied Falco, whose eyes will still red-rimmed from mourning his friends. "At least no one can say that the Shire-folk did not do their part."
"Come, Falco," said Gandalf, placing a hand on the Hobbit's shoulder. "Take me to your company, so that I can tend to any wounds, and begin to learn more of the Shire-folk. I have kept an eye on your people – for longer than you know – but it is ever more apparent to me that there is more to Hobbits than meets the eye."
"Meaning that what meets the eye isn't that impressive," replied Falco mischievously. "Well, in any case, you're welcome to join us at our camp. My folk are shy of the Big People, but some at least might be curious to speak to a real Wizard. Do you know any conjuring tricks, I wonder?"
"One or two, perhaps," laughed Gandalf, as he followed Falco towards the Hobbits' encampment. Aranarth was now left alone, with Glorfindel and the sons of Elrond.
"What now for you, Lord Aranarth?" asked Glorfindel. "Where shall your people dwell, now that their lands have been reclaimed?"
"There are hardly any of my people left," lamented Aranarth. "I received word from one of my Men that full four-score of my Rangers fell in the battle, when those slain in the field are added to those slain by the Witch King's sorcery. That means there are barely more than three-hundred of my people left now, and more of them are women than men."
He sighed. "These lands roundabout shall soon lie waste," he continued, "for they shall not fall under the plough again in my lifetime. Not only are there too few of us to cultivate them, but I deem that Fornost is accursed, by the taint of the Witch King's evil. Where we shall dwell, I know not. We cannot subsist forever off the charity of the Elves – meaning no offense to you. It seems we are fated to spend our lives wandering in the wilds, men and women both; a faded and forgotten people."
"That might seem your fate," replied Elrohir, his grey eyes narrowing in concern. "And without our help it might be so. But I implore you not to think of the aid of the Elves as charity. We are not helping you as a wealthy Man who gives alms to a mendicant, but as old friends, indeed blood-relations, who stand by their kinfolk through thick and thin."
"We have a proposition for you, if you are willing to entertain it," said Elladan. "One that we offer on behalf of our father, Lord Elrond."
"A proposition?" asked Aranarth. "Well, I am certainly curious. What does Lord Elrond propose?"
"First that you and your Rangers return not to Mithlond, but rather accompany us to Rivendell."
"With respect, my Men will be reluctant to accept such an offer," replied Aranarth apologetically. "Many of them are married, and keen to return to their wives at the Havens."
"There is more to our proposition," smiled Elrohir. "We know your menfolk miss their wives, but their separation from them need not continue for long. Lord Elrond is willing to allow the remnant of your people, the Dunedain of the North – who are his cousins, by descent from his brother Elros – to dwell at Rivendell. When your Men have settled there, they may send for their womenfolk at Mithlond, and we shall send n company of Elves to escort them on the long, lonley road from Mithlond to their new home. Then your people shall all be reunited under Lord Elrond's roof. Rivendell shall be the refuge of your folk, a place where you can find safety amid the perils of the wild."
"I am honoured, my friends," replied Aranarth solemnly. He was silent for some minutes, and then said, "I am willing to entertain your offer, though uncertain as to the mood of my Men. I could use my authority as Lord to compel them to accept this course, but it would be preferable for them to follow it of their own free will."
"Then invite them to accompany us homeward, and judge for themselves when they arrive at Rivendell if they wish to settle there along with their womenfolk."
"I shall do so," nodded Aranarth, turning towards the distant encampment of his Rangers. "And I am hopeful that they shall accede to your wishes and mine."
Before that evening had fallen, the armies had finished burying their dead, and had decamped and begun their march to their homelands. The Road had been abandoned by the outlying garrisons ofOrcs and Hill-men, but it was still blocked by pickets, and torn-up in many places, so the Elves, Men and Hobbits strode by the side of the road through the fields. Their march lasted full three days, during which time the weather again turned to blustery winds and light rains. The Gondor-men grumbled that they sooner they returned to their own balmy homeland, the better.
On the afternoon of March the 19th, they arrived at the outskirts of the Bree-land, and then turned back onto the South Road. They passed the villages of Archet, Coombe and Staddle and arriving in the evening in the fields outside the Bree-town. There they bade their farewells; for the Men of Gondor, Elves of Mithlond, and Hobbits of the Shire would follow the West Road to their homelands or their ships, while the Elves of Rivendell and the Dunedain Rangers – who had assented to their Lord's proposals – would follow the East Road to the House of Elrond, accompanied by Gandalf.
Gandalf, for his own part, had marched south with the Hobbits, and had enjoyed their company. Turning to Falco, he said "Farewell, by dear friends! You have all given Hobbits a good name amongst Men and Elves."
"Farewell to you, Gandalf the Grey," bowed Falco. "I am glad to hear that you think highly of the Shire-folk. Should we find ourselves in trouble again, I hope you will do
what you can to succor us."
"I shall do more than that," replied Gandalf, who still regretted his failure to protect the Shire from the ravages of the Dragon. "Though I must now turn east to Rivendell, yet I shall set out for the Shire when the leaves begin to turn ruddy and gold in the autumn of the year. I wish to learn more about your people and your lore than is possible for an outsider, and also to counsel you on how to govern your lands now that there is no longer a King on the throne at Fornost, and no longer a sizeable army of the Arnor-men to preserve order in the North. And you have my word that I will always keep an eye on your folk and your lands in the future. You can depend on the Grey Wizard as your friend."
"I am honoured, Gandalf," replied Falco, bowing again. "And you need not put up at an inn during your stay in our lands. I am sure my father Bredegar would be more than happy to receive you as a guest in our Great Smialls at Tuckborough. You would be a welcome guest at our Yuletide and New Year's feasts."
"I shall be delighted," laughed Gandalf. "Though you should be warned that I've been accused of eating my hosts out of house and home on more than one occasion."
"You'll be hard-pressed to outdo us," grinned Falco. "We Shire-folk are renowned for our gourmandry. Why, at the Yuletide feast alone, there will be roast geese, hams, sausages, stuffings and dressings, pies, dumplings, relishes, pickled vegetables, mince tarts…"
"Stop, stop!" cried Gandalf. "I don't need a menu, and you're making me hungry already. I shall witness the wonders of your feasts myself, before the year is out!" And with that, he waved farewell, and spurred his mount towards Aranarth and the Elf-lords of Rivendell, while Falco rejoined his Hobbit company.
Meanwhile, Earnur and Aranarth stood apart from their own Men, each giving the other his best wishes, and Aranarth again giving Earnur his heartfelt thanks for Gondor's aid. Then Earnur said:
"I have heard from my lads a rumour among yours that you're planning to settle your people at Rivendell. Is that so?"
"It is," replied Aranarth. "Fornost is accursed and forsaken, and at least at Rivendell we shall be amongst kinfolk, however distant. It is better to dwell under a solid roof and within stout walls than in the open, or in rude cabins, especially in the dark winters of these northern lands."
"That is true," frowned Earnur. "But we Men of Gondor are also your kinfolk, and far closer to you in blood than Elrond and his offspring. If you will no longer attempt to rule these lands as King – and that seems a prudent course, if an unfortunate one, given how few of your people are left – then perhaps you should consider settling with your people amongst we Dunedain of the South. It shall seem less strange to you to dwell among Men than among Elves, and we could use your stealth and warcraft against our ever-present foes, the Southrons and Easterlings."
"I appreciate your offer, brother," smiled Aranarth. "But I must decline, for two reasons. First, while I can no longer rule over the lands of Arnor as a King should, I am loath to depart from them entirely. The history of Isildur's House is bound up intimately with the soil of these lands."
"I suppose I can appreciate that," replied Earnur. "Gondor is likewise dear to my own heart. But what is the second reason?"
"A more practical one," said Aranarth delicately. "For while I no longer claim the title of King, I would still be seen as such by your father Earnil. And two Kings cannot dwell under the same roof. My regal status, by your laws and ours, is no less than that of your father's, and my people could not swear an oath of loyalty to the King of Gondor alone. For them to dwell in your land would only lead to trouble in time."
"That hadn't occurred to me," shrugged Earnur. "But aren't you living under Lord Elrond's roof? Who then shall have the mastery of your people?"
"I shall have the mastery over my folk," affirmed Aranarth. "But the case is different; for Elrond and his people are of Elven-kind, and his land is an Elven-land which has never lain under the sovereignty of the Heirs of Elendil. There cannot be any claim on the part of Lord Elrond and his sons against my own heirs for the leadership of the Dunedain of the North; nor could I or my heirs ever stake any claim to the lordship of Rivendell. Whereas there could be rival calims between my heirs and yours for the the alliegance of my folk, and even for the Kingship of Gondor. At Rivendell we shall be Elrond's guests in his own sovereign land; nothing more or less."
"Humph," grunted Earnur. "Well, I don't know about all that. But then I've never been much for politics. Give me a sword in my hand and an enemy to slay, and I know what I'm about; but set me at a council table with cunning greybeards and their smooth words, and sometimes I feel like a ship adrift at sea."
"Perhaps that's all for the best," laughed Aranarth. "Gondor has more need of your sword-arm than of another councilor at the King's table."
"So I keep telling my father," smiled Earnur. "Farewell then, Aranarth. May the Valar protect you and yours."
"And may you also find their grace," replied Aranarth. They clasped each other's hands, and then parted and turned towards their own tents.
The next morning, March the Twentieth, found the armies of Gondor, Mithlond and the Shire already departed along the West Road before dawn, while the army of Rivendell and the Dunedain Rangers camped in the fields outside Bree. Gandalf was absent for nearly an hour, before returning with a small barrel of the finest ale from the Prancing Pony – "It's a long and thirsty road to Rivendell", he had explained. But by the second hour past dawn they were on their way, riding along the East Road past the fields and ochards of the Bree-land on a warm, sunny day, as the spring flowers began to peep their heads above the soil in earnest, and the song of birds began to return to the treetops.
They marched for a day in that land, until they passed the Forsaken Inn, a haunt of many peddlers and Dwarves who ever plied the Road through the lands of the North in pursuit of coin and barter. Then they left the Bree-land, and entered into the wild lands that stretched for many long leagues eastward to the foothills of the Misty Mountains, wherein lay the Last Homely House of Elrond.
The journey became slower now, for east of the Forsaken Inn the Road had long ceased to be maintained. Moreover once the marshes of Midgewater were passed and they reached the ruined tower of Amon Sul, the land began to slope uphill – first gently, but then more steeply and steadily. Thus it was not until the fifth of April that they reached the Last Bridge, which vaulted over the broad, swift waters of the river Hoarwell.
There, halfway across the span, which was build from solid blocks of granite, they came upon a company of two-score Dwarves traveling westward. The sons of Elrond hailed them, and they halted from their march, staring warily up at the tall Elves and Men who blocked the Road before them.
"We are Elrohir and Elladan, the sons of Lord Elrond Half-Elven of Rivendell, and we are journeying homeward," said the two brothers. "How fares it with you folk of Durin?"
"We are not of Durin's folk," replied a thick-set, brown-eyed Dwarf with a heavy black beard, garbed in dun-coloured traveling clothes and wearing a robe of rich blue cloth – evidently their leader. "My name is Grombor son of Nombor," continued the Dwarf, "and these are by kinfolk. We are not from Khazad-dum to the south, but from the Iron Hills, far to the east of Mirkwood, and we are traveling a long and weary way to the mines of our cousins in the Blue Mountains far to the west."
"Is there any news from the Road?" asked Glorfindel.
"We are miners, not messengers," scowled Grombor. Glorfindel frowned, as if taken aback by the Dwarf's brusque tone.
"For what cause would you undertake such a long and perilous journey through the haunted eves of Mirkwood, and over the Orc-infested passes of the Misty Mountains?" asked Aranarth.
"Must Dwarves make an account of themselves to Elves and Men?" asked Grombor, folding his arms across his chest. "Our business is our own, stranger."
"Peace," replied Aranarth, holding up his hand. "Though you should know that you speak to the rightful lord and heir of these lands. I am Aranarth son of Arvedui Last-King of Arnor."
The Dwarves stood back, mumbling amongst themselves. Then Grombor turned to Aranarth, bowing deeply.
"My apologies, Your Majesty, if any offense was caused," replied Grombor - though his eyes remained hard and suspicious. "You are dressed in the fashion of a ranger or hunter, and not in a kingly manner - hence my confusion. But why do you refer to your father as Last-King? If you are the rightful lord of these lands, then your father must have perished – the blessings of Aule be upon him. Are you not King yourself now?"
"I am by right," replied Aranarth. "But I claim the title no longer. Arnor has fallen into ruin, and the Rangers you see with me are all that are left of the menfolk of my people."
Grombor raised his dark eyebrows in astonishment, and the Dwarves fell into another conference, whispering to each other in the Secret Tongue that they teach to no one apart from their own kind. Then Grombor turned back to Aranarth again, and said, "That is grievous news, Aranarth Arvedui's son. We have heard nothing of this in the wilds of the East. How could the North Kingdom of Men have fallen?"
Aranarth briefly recounted the tale to them, while the Dwarves stroked their beards, and shook their heads grimly. Then Grombor said "I am pleased that the vile Witch King has been ruined, as he deserves. We heard legends of his villany even in the Iron Hills. But you have told an evil tale, and it adds to our own troubles. We have fled the East, for the shadow of darkness grows ever stronger there. We were traveling to the mines of our cousins, because we hoped to find peace in the West. But now you tell me that your kingdom of Arnor has fallen. Who shall preserve the westlands from chaos, if a King no longer sits on the throne?"
Aranarth frowned, and the sons of Elrond stared grimly at him. Gandalf watched the proceedings keenly, but said nothing, apparently willing to let events take their own course. Then Elrohir said, "You have your business, Grombor son of Nombor, and we have ours. Suffice to say that how to preserve from harm the mortal folk who still dwell in the lands between the Misty and the Blue Mountains is one of our foremost concerns. Lord Elrond shall do all that is in his power to defend these lands against evil."
"I've never known an Elf to care overmuch for the welfare of others," scoffed Grombor.
"And I've never known a Dwarf to care for the welfare of others at all; though such has always been the way of your folk," replied Elrohir haughtily. The Dwarves muttered angrily, and began to reach for their axes, but Aranarth intervened.
"Peace once again!" he cried. "Let us not come to blows here, over the old hatreds and rivalries of Elves and Dwarves. Your kindreds and mine have more in common than we have apart; for all of us are hated by the forces of darkness, and our divisions only further the cause of evil."
"Fine words," replied Grombor. "Though we Dwarves prefer to settle quarrels with our axes rather than with fancy talk."
"I'm sure no quarrel is intended," replied Aranarth. "You may pass freely on your way, Master Dwarf, as we shall pass on ours."
"And you needn't linger near the lands of Elrond, Dwarf" offered Elladan cooly. "Make your way to the Blue Mountains as you wish, and have a care to show better manners to Lord Cirdan than you have to us."
The Dwarves scowled again, and Aranarth exclamed, "Both the haughtiness of Elves and the stubbornness of Dwarves are proverbial, and it seems today has provided new fodder for the tales told of both your peoples by Men. Let us end this bantering here and now, and continue on our way!"
Both Elladan and Grombor stared at Aranarth for a moment, for he seemed suddenly to exhibit a majesty and innate authority out of keeping with his rough appearance. Then they nodded and, without further word to each other, the companies of Elves and Dwarves resumed their marches across the Last Bridge, giving each other a wide berth as they passed in their opposite directions, while the Men followed in the wake of their Elvish friends.
"A curse on the pride and stubbornness of both Elves and Dwarves," whispered Gandalf, riding up beside Aranarth. "But the day is coming when they will have to align with each other against the Enemy, or else fall into ruin altogether." Then he spurred his horse forward, leaving Aranarth in the rear of the company.
Aranarth fell into an ill humour as he contemplated the divisions between the Free Peoples of the world, but kept his thoughts to himself.
A futher ten days passed as the followers of the Elf-lords and of Aranarth traveled eastward along the Road under the eves of the Trollshaws. The buds on the Oak and Beech trees of those woods were opening into green leaves, and the springflowers graced the land with their bright colours and delicate scents. Still, the Rangers and Elves were wary; meandering Trolls from the Ettenmoors often lurked in those parts, seeking to prey at night on unwary travelers along the Road.
Yet no Trolls were encountered, and the company passed without incident to the Ford of Bruinen. They crossed the waters of the Ford, and thereby passed over the ancient border that separated the realm of Arnor from Elrond's realm of Imladris, or Rivendell as it was known in the Common Tongue of Men.
They spent the night encamped along the eastern shore of the river, and then on the next morning, April the sixteenth, they began the long climb over the rocky moorlands that led to the House of Elrond. The Misty Mountains now loomed above them to the east, their snowy peaks soaring full two miles into the sky, and a cool wind ever blew down from them and scoured the moors to their west. But the Elves at least were in a high humour, for they had almost reach their fair home in its sheltered valley. Effortlessly finding their way over the moorlands, where the road had lapsed into a narrow track that was barely more than a sheepath, they began to sing in the tongues of Elves, as the Rangers as not heard them do throughout their long journey together. Glorfindel and his High Elves sang epic ballads in the Quenyan tongue of great heros and marvels of old, while the Grey and Green Elves who made up the greater part of Elrond's subjects sang in their Sindarin tongue light-hearted compositions of more recent vintage, concerning the beauty of trees and flowers, and the adventures of butterflies and birds.
At length, they descended from the high moorlands into a steep-sided valley, and wound their way along a narrow path through stands of ancient Pine and Spruce trees and over a chilly, shallow stream that bubbled merrily over its boulders and pebbles. Then, as the Sun sank into the West, and the Stars shone bright and clear in the twilight sky, the company again crossed a winding stream over a narrow stone bridge. There they came upon a broad, flowery meadow nestled at the bottom of a deep, forested gorge. Above the meadow sat the House of Elrond, known far and wide as the Last Homely House west of the Misty Mountains.
The windows in the long, half-timbered, many-gabled House shone cheerily with candles and torchlight, and a large party of Elves strode out of the broad gates to await the company in the meadows, singing cheerily as they greeted their kinfolk in welcome. Gandalf and the Elf-lords hailed them, and then dismounted, beckoning Aranarth to follow. He did so, and soon stood before a tall, slim Elf, blue-eyed and wise, his long dark hair bound with a circlet of gold. Aranarth bowed deeply, for he knew it could be none other than Lord Elrond himself.
"Welcome to Rivendell, Aranarth son of Arvedui," said Elrond, pointing toward the gates of his house in a sweeping gesture. "We have long awaited your arrival, and I am pleased to see that your Dunedain menfolk have accompanied you. Enter! A feast awaits to assuage your hunger, as do warm baths and soft beds to comfort you after much hardship and toil. We will take our council when the time is right; for now, relax and enjoy yourselves in your new home!"
Some four days had passed before Aranarth again sought out Lord Elrond. He found Elrond and Gandalf sitting on a wooden bench in the Gardens, amid laughing silver fountains and strange and wondrous trees and flowers, the likes of which Aranarth had never seen before. Strangely, Aranarth found Rivendell to be both stranger and more familiar to him than the Elven land of Mithlond – it retained an element of hidden magic and enchantment that no longer seemed to be present in the lands of Lindon, yet somehow it was also more familiar and welcoming to the sons of Men.
As Elrond and Gandalf were talking, amid the song of birds and a gentle rain of flower petals from the blossoms of the trees, they looked up and took notice of Aranarth, who had doffed his Ranger's gear for a grey robe and tunic of the Elven fashion. Elrond gestured to Aranarth to be seated, and he sat down next to the Elven lord on the bench.
"How fares it with you this morning, Lord Aranarth?" asked Elrond, who was garbed in a flowing robe of deep blue wool embroidered with cloth of gold.
"I feel like a new Man, my Lord Elrond," replied Aranarth, breathing deeply the flower-scented air. "There is a deep peace and calm in this place, such as I have never felt before, and the stars shine more brightly in the evening than in any other land I have seen. You are blessed to call Rivendell your home."
"I trust you also call it your home, now," smiled Elrond.
"I believe I will come to think of it as such," acknowleged Aranarth. "Though I can never forget Fornost, nor erase from my heart my grief at its destruction."
"There is no reason why you should," replied Gandalf. "But a Man can learn much wisdom from weaving the thread of sorrow into the fabric of his life, as long as he does not cease to weave in happiness and joy as well. All those who dwell under the Sun must face both the good and the bad that this world has to offer."
"And we Elves know that better than most," nodded Elrond. Turning to Aranarth again, he asked, "Shall you send for your womenfolk, if your men are resolved to live here?"
"I was going to discuss with you precisely that," said Aranarth. "Your sons offered that our could be sent here under Elven-escort, though I do not wish to impose such a burden on you. Now that my Men have seen Rivendell, and have fallen in love with it, it will not be difficult to persuade them to take the long road west to the Havens, and then return with their wives and cousins and sisters."
"So bet it," nodded Elrond. "Though they should depart by the May Day if they are to reach Mithlond and return here with all your people by autumn."
"I shall talk with them, and we will sort out the matter," replied Aranarth. "I must thank you again, Lord Elrond for your hospitality. Our people do not wish to be a burden on yours; we will do our part in any way we can to strive for the common good."
"I am pleased to here it," replied Elrond gravely. "Evil days lie before us, more so than you have seen thus far. The perils faced by your sons and grandsons will exceed those faced by you."
"Indeed?" asked Aranarth, somewhat incredulous. "With all due respect, my lord, I cannot imagine any peril worse than the Witch King of Angmar. And he has now been defeated, and driven from these lands."
"And so you think the North free from peril?" asked Gandalf, his bushy eyebrows shooting up.
"No, to be sure," acknowledged Aranarth. "Orcs and Trolls and other vile creatures still threaten the land, of course. And now that my people are reduced to a shadow of their former strength there will be a growing threat to decent folk, such as the Hobbits and Bree-men, from the brigandage and outlawry of the wicked – even as the Dwarves we met on the road feared, Gandalf." Gandalf nodded in assent.
"All my Men of fighting age shall become Rangers," continued Aranarth, "and we shall do what we can to maintain order in our former realm, at least in those parts along the Road."
"And I trust they will do their part to help secure the Shire-folk and Bree-landers?" asked Gandalf.
"Of course," assured Aranarth. "The Shire-folk in particular; for they are good and kindly, and brave in a pinch, yet I fear gravely what will happen to them if their borders are not guarded by strong and watchful Men."
"That is what I hoped to hear," smiled Gandalf. But then his face was creased by a frown. "Still, Aranarth, your belief that your successors shall face no greater perils than yourself is thoroughly mistaken."
"I have witnessed the entire history of Arnor," observed Elrond. "I was present at its birth, when I sat at council with your forefathers Elendil and Isildur, not a stone's throw from this spot. I witnessed the long years of its peace, and its slow and steady decline, and all the efforts of Gandalf and my sons and kindred to save Men from their folly, and thwart the rising tide of darkness. And now I am present at its fall." He sighed deeply, and Aranarth noted that his eyes seemed sad and weary, as if he calmly bore a burden of memory and grief that would long since have crushed a mortal Man underfoot.
"But know this," continued Elrond, his eyes now hardening and his face assuming an even graver mein. "The fall of Arnor cannot be seen properly by itself, as if it were an isolated event. It is part of a broader tapestry, woven by a master of intrigue and treachery, of stratagem and deceit. All that has transpired thus far was foreordained ever since the Battle of Gorgoroth, two-thousand years ago."
"I don't understand you, my lord," frowned Aranarth. "But I have never spent as much time as my studies as I should, being too busy in the field."
"Or perhaps merely too idle to read the scrolls and books I assigned to you as a youth," huffed Gandalf.
"The lore of ages is not part of the memory of Men, but must ever be renewed by dillgent study," chided Elrond. "You must begin to learn of it in depth, and your heirs as well, when they are born onto you. It contains the keys you need to understand both the immensity of our common peril, and the means by which we might search for ultimate victory. Rivendell is the best place in all Middle Earth to do so, for even the archives of Minas Anor lack the depth and breadth of lore you will find in my library."
"At least, that is true for most matters," observed Gandalf. "Certainly it is true of Elven lore, and of the history of the long struggle of the Elves and the Fathers of Men against the forces of evil. But since it will take years for you to learn in full what you must, Aranarth, we shall explain to you the situation in a nutshell."
"Despite my dearth of book-learning," said Aranarth, somewhat defensively, "I find that on reflection I can guess at your meaning. You mean that the threat posed by the Witch King has not ended, simply because he has fled from the North. There are still many broad lands in the East and South in which he can work his mischief, and do harm to the people of Numenor-in-Exile. He boasted as much to Earnur, during their duel."
"What you say is right – as far as it goes," nodded Gandalf. "But even the Witch King is a piece on the board. He is not the chessmaster."
"Then who is?" asked Aranarth.
"Your distant forefathers would have known without asking," said Elrond.
"Yet even Isildur in his folly did not truly understand," interjected Gandalf. "And his heirs followed in his footsteps. By the time I arrived on the scene, and had taken fully the measure of the Arnor-men, I deemed it of the foremost importance to focus their efforts on the immediate peril posed by the Witch King, rather than to understand the place of their own chapter in the broader story. And to know the grim truth might only have demoralized them in any event. But now that Arnor has in any case fallen into ruin – Alas! – we shall wipe the slate clean with you, Aranarth. You and all your heirs must understand fully the nature of the peril facing us."
"I do wish you would simply tell me what that peril is," sighed Aranarth. "It seems I am unlikely to guess it myself."
Elrond and Gandalf stared at each other. Then Gandalf nodded, and Elrond turned back to Aranarth and said, "The peril is simply this; that the Witch King, and his Orcs and Trolls and evil Men and other minions, are nothing more than pawns in the hands of Sauron the Abhorred, who is now, as ever, our relentless Enemy. For nearly two-thousand years has he hidden in the shadows, pulling strings from behind the scenes as he plots and schemes to restore his dominion over Middle Earth."
"Come now!" exclaimed Aranarth, standing upright. "With all due respect, both of you are surely putting me on! Every Man knows full well that Sauron was slain in the Battle of Gorgoroth. Even a child knows as much."
"Proving that grown Men in these times are no wiser than ignorant children," replied
Gandalf brusquely. Aranarth stepped back, abashed at his mentor's stinging rebuke.
"Take your seat, Aranarth son of Arvedui," said Elrond, "and listen to our lore." Aranarth did so, and the Elrond resumed speaking.
"You forget that I was at the Battle of Gorgorth myself – the last battle that I ever fought. With these very eyes, I witnessed the terrible form of Sauron the Dark Lord, his slaughter of the High Kings Gil-galad and Elendil, and his miraculous defeat by your forefather Isildur. Will you not then lend credence to my words, when I tell you of matters relating to Sauron and his fate?"
"Forgive me," replied Aranarth ashamedly. "I forgot myself and spoke unkindly to you."
"You need not ask for forgiveness," replied Elrond, "but rather listen and believe. Sauron was defeated at that battle, and his body destroyed. Yet he was not slain; for his essence was contained in his One Ring, which survived when Isildur claimed it for himself. Surely you have heard the tale of Isildur and the Ring?"
"Do you mean the legend of Isildur's Bane?" asked Aranarth. "Of course. Isildur took some trinket or talisman from the Enemy, which had the power to make a Man invisible. He was ambushed by Orcs at the Gladden fields, and tried to use the trinket to flee; so reported his squire Othar, who alone of his company escaped to Rivendell and then made his way to Arnor. Othar reported that from afar, as he fled from the Orcs, he had seen Isildur disappear, only for his arrow-laden body to reappear as it floated down the Anduin. A party of Arnor-men was sent in force to scour the Gladden Fields some months later, but found no trace of Isildur or his talisman; and that chattel is called Isildur's Bane, since its power of invisibility failed him when he needed it most."
"Which goes to show how tales can be twisted in the telling," replied Elrond. "The tale as you have stated it is in truth not a legend but fact, albeit incomplete in its essentials. Isildur's Bane was nothing less than the One Ring, the ancient weapon of the Enemy, and to confer invisibility on a mortal is by far the least of its powers. It contains the essence of Sauron's potency, and the means by which Sauron hopes to rule Middle Earth until the end of days – how, you shall learn in your own studies at my library. But suffice to say that Isildur was both the means by which Sauron was defeated, and the means by which his essence and his lust for dominion were preserved. For Isildur cut the Ring from the Enemy's hand, and destroyed his physical body; yet he did not destroy the Ring in the fires of Mount Doom, as both Lord Cirdan and I pleaded for him to do. It survived to betray Isildur to his death - and to guarantee that its dark master would some day return."
"Then you mean Sauron walks again in Middle Earth, here and now?" gasped Aranarth.
"We cannot jump to that conclusion yet," replied Gandalf, shaking his head. "For our purposes, whether he has returned and lives in hiding, or still dwells in the shadowlands, is not our foremost concern – though those of us who number amongst the Wise have our varying theories and opinions. The point for you to grasp, Aranarth, is that the fall of Arnor, and the deeds of the Witch King, are all Sauron's doing. He has long sought the downfall of the Men of Numenor; and now, he has destroyed your kingdom in the North. The fall of Arnor is a great victory for Sauron, and he has taken a mighty stride along the road to his dominion over Middle Earth."
Aranarth was silent for a time. Then he said, "I understand now our peril, and begin to see the larger picture. Yet you have implied, Lord Elrond, that had this Ring been unmade then Sauron would have met his final doom."
"That is correct," replied Elrond. "He would become an impotent spirit of malice, as incapable of causing further harm to Middle Earth as his dark master, Morgoth Bauglir."
"Though still the taint of his evil would linger and fester, leading in time to new perils and strife," added Gandalf. "So it has been with Morgoth's lingering evil, woven now into the fabric of all things under the Sun. The harm that evil has done, once unleashed upon the world, can never be fully undone as long as the world itself exists."
"I understand," nodded Arnarth – in fact he did not, but cared not to admit it. "But you said this Ring was lost by the Gladden Fields. That was nearly two-thousand years ago. Has it not been found in all that time?"
"No," replied Elrond. "More than one search has been conducted for the Ring, utterly without success."
"The Anduin is a river broad and deep and swift," said Gandalf. "The Ring might lie where it fell, buried under many feet of thick mud and gravel; or it might have rolled far across or far down the riverbed, under the influence of the current; or it might even have rolled all the way down into the Sea, and be lost forever. But that which is lost still exists; and as long as the Ring exists, the shadow of Sauron will glower over Middle Earth."
Aranarth was again silent, as he struggled to digest all the lore that he had learned that day. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders, and said, "I accept the truth of all that you have told me, my lords, even if I do not fully understand all of it. But I cannot guess what this lore means for me, in the here and now, or for my people. It is to their welfare, and the quest to preserve such order as we can in my fallen realm of Arnor, that I must look first and foremost."
"Here you are less shrewd than you should be, Aranarth," frowned Gandalf. "What we have told you is of the direst and utmost importance for you and your kin in the here and now. For what it means is that Sauron and his minions will not be satisfied by the fall of Arnor. Earnur told me that the Witch King had taunted him, boasting that you lay dying by the Western Gate of Fornost. That dark mage saw much, yet not enough; not that I and the Elves would restore you to life and health. The Witch King would never have fled the battlefield if he knew Isildur's Heir yet lives and breathes."
Gandalf sighed. "Yet surely he shall discover it, sooner or later; and when he does, Sauron will know of it. Then you and descendents will be hunted for all your days, marked for death; for Sauron seeks the annihilation of the heirs of the High King Elendil, and most of all the heirs of his nemesis Isildur."
Aranarth drew back, his blood turning chill at Gandalf's grim prophecy.
"Thus you see it is no mere charity that has led me to offer you and your people Rivendell as a refuge," said Elrond. "For the race of Men shall fail and fall into abject slavery forever, unless they have a King to lead them to victory against the evil of Sauron. The blood of Kings flows only in the veins of the heirs of Isildur and Anarion, the sons of Elendil. Were your line to be extinguished, the burden would fall to the Kings of Gondor alone; and should their line fail, there would be little hope indeed for Men. Yet Gondor sits hard on the frontiers of the Enemy's own land, and the peril of its Kings has always been graver than they have known. I would not have recommended to Elendil that he establish his South Kingdom so close to the walls of Mordor, if I had realized that the threat of Sauron would not be soon extinguished, but would endure for generation after generation."
Elrond frowned. "But what is past, is past. And the Kings of Gondor have grown proud and arrogant, spurning the counsel of others save when it flatters them." Gandalf muttered under his breath, but Elrond continued speaking.
"The heirs of Anarion are in peril as grave as yours, but know it not, nor would they believe it. I fear greatly for their fate, trusting to the false security of their mighty walls and high towers. Still, whatever may befall the heirs of Anarion, I have resolved that here at Rivendell, the heirs of Isildur shall be sheltered. Not for Isildur's sake – for to this day I have not forgiven his folly - but rather for the sake of Middle Earth. Here the heirs of Isildur shall be reared in their youth, taught both wisdom and war-craft by our finest lore-masters and warriors; and here shall they spend their old age, imparting their own wisdom to their sons, who shall take up the burden when their fathers pass from this world to the next. Thus shall we guarantee that the line of Kings will continue, and its scions shall be wiser and stronger than ever before."
"I begin to see more clearly," nodded Aranarth.
"But is it clearly enough?" queried Gandalf. "I trust you understand the implications of what we have told you? To begin with, the less that is known about you and your heirs, the better. Indeed, the fewer the number of Men who know of your existence, the better."
"The entire army of Gondor knows of my existence," observed Aranarth.
"That is true," nodded Gandalf. "For their own lifetimes, and those of their sons and even their grandsons. But Men have short memories. The day will come when other Men no longer know who the mysterious Rangers of the North truly are. That might greive you, but it should comfort you; for in secrecy lies the best hope of you and your people. Sauron's agents will find it far more difficult to track you down than they would if you lived in the open, your true identity known to Men, and that will will buy us time. The day might come when one of your heirs must reveal himself openly, in the final battle against Sauron for the fate of Middle Earth; but until then, secrecy and vigilance are paramount. Trust no one outside of Rivendell who is not known to you intimately."
"You should not even use your own name openly," cautioned Elrond. "Not outside the bounds of Rivendell. Choose another name for your journeys, one that does not in any way signify your status as Aranarth son of Arvedui. Your heirs must likewise use false names, when dealing with all but their most closely trusted friends. For a bounty will someday lie on your head and theirs that will have every cutthroat and assassin from Hithaeglir to Umbar scouring the lands for you, every ready with an arrow for your heart and a dagger for your throat."
"I am more than capable of dealing with common cutthroats and the like," replied Aranarth. "The sorceries and wiles of the Witch King himself are more fearful to me. But, while I see the wisdom in your plan, I do think you are too quick to dismiss the prospects for the Kings of Gondor. King Earnil is a learned and a wise man, and his son Earnur, as you well know Gandalf, is the mightiest warrior amongst the Men of this age. Moreover the armies of Gondor are vast, and unsurpassed in warcraft. The Witch King and the Enemy whom he serves will be hard-pressed indeed to bring the line of Anarion to an end. My own peril, even sheltered here at Rivendell, is far greater than theirs."
"Don't be too sure of that," cautioned Gandalf. "The fate of armies can hang by the slenderest of threads, and no army looks grander than on the eve of its defeat. As for King Earnil, I met him some years ago. He is wise and learned by the measure of what passes for wisdom and lore amongst the Men of these times – which is to say he is wise in flummerly and learned in superstition, calculating his actions by the movements of the stars, and the flight of birds, and the drawing of cards from decks, and the reading of tea-leaves in cups, and other such quackery." He sniffed loudly, as if to register his professional disapproval with such perversions of lore concerning the laws of nature.
"And as for Earnur," he continued, "well, he is indeed strong; strong in body and headstrong in mind. I would venture that he is also invincibly ignorant, and utterly reckless. Do not forget that he is still bound to his foolhardy Oath by Eru to slay the Witch King in a contest of arms. That Oath cannot be undone, and it shall hang over his head like a sword for all his days, ever-ready to fall upon him and bring him to his doom."
"I pray you are wrong," said Aranarth, rising from his seat. "Though I will not gainsay your wisdom. In any case, I am honoured and humbled again by your aid to me, and your readiness to provide your counsel. I and my people shall do what we can in the struggle against the Enemy, and you have my word we will never slacken or give up the fight."
"That is all we can ask of any Man," replied Elrond. "Though the burden will not rest most heavily upon your own shoulders. I foresee that it is one of your heirs who shall face the ultimate test in the struggle against the Enemy."
Elrond then smiled warmly. "But those days are yet far off, Aranarth. Meanwhile, you have my word that I shall never forget the ties of blood and history that unite your House and mine. I shall never fail to succor your people, as long as the struggle against the Enemy continues."
Lady Vana sat on a balcony that overlooked the meadows of Rivendell, as a gentle autumn rain fell in a misty cloud. She sighed quietly, contemplating the events that had led her and her people to dwell in the House of Elrond.
The Men of Arnor had sent for their womenfolk some years before, and had escorted them along the Road from Mithlond to Rivendell, there to dwell amongst the Elven folk of that land. The women had at first been reluctant to undertake such a long journey, but when they arrived at Rivendell, they had at once fallen in love with its beauty and serenity. It was the perfect place to calm their fears, and dull their memories of the horrors they had endured amid the fall of Fornost.
Her husband had made alliance with Elrond and his people, and Rivendell was now to be the last refuge of the Dunedain of the North. Aranarth spent many long months in the library of Rivendell, imbibing all he could of Elven-lore, and many more months in the company of the greatest warriors of Rivendell – the High Elf Glorfindel, and the sons of Elrond, Elrohir and Elladan – honing his own war-craft, and learning to fight in the Elven fashion. Though he had lost his kingdom, he was now a wiser man and a more skilled and cunning fighter than he had been when he dwelt under his own roof at Fornost.
Aranarth had not been utterly despoiled of his patrimony, for he had brought with him in secret the heirlooms of Isildur's House. He had deposited in trust with Elrond the Shards of Narsil, the Star Crown and Sceptre of Arnor, and the Ring of Barahir. His instructions to Elrond, should anything happen to himself, were that his successors as Lord of the Dunedain should take possession of the Shards of Narsil and the Ring of Barahir, and use them as they saw fit. However, Elrond was not to confer the Crown and Sceptre on any Man of Isildur's line until that Man had restored the kingdom of Arnor. With so few of the Dunedain left it might take many centuries before such conditions could be fulfilled, but Elrond had sworn to uphold Aranarth's wishes.
Vana found it discomfiting to contemplate Aranarth's bequest, for his own peril had not lessened with the flight of the Witch King, or the toppling of the accursed tower at Carn Dum. Though she knew little of matters of ancient lore, she had certainly overheard enough to know that Aranarth was being hunted; by what evil forces exactly, he would not say. Yet rather than shunning such peril, he choose to expose himself to it by risking his life in the wilds of Eriador, striving with his Rangers to maintain what order they could in the lands along the Road, and to protect the simple folk of the Shire and the Bree-land.
Vana knew that Aranarth was merely doing his duty; yet, she could not help but wish that he would place such perils and burdens in the hands of others. She was but recently with child, and greatly feared the prospect that her husband would meet an untimely end on one of his forays into the wild, leaving her to raise the next Heir of Isildur without a father. Between the loss of her homeland and all her own kinfolk, and the perils that seemed to loom up before her beloved husband on every front, Vana felt her own burdens lie heavily upon her. Weighed down by her fears she often retreated to the balcony on whch she now sat, to take what comfort she could from the beauty of the earth and sky.
"Why are you saddened?" asked a soft, deep voice behind her. "For it is plain that the veil of sorrow lies heavily upon your heart."
Vana turned about, and gasped in amazement. Before her stood an Elf-maiden, dressed in the flowing dresses and deep blue cloth beloved of the ladies of Rivendell. Yet she had never seen before the lady who now spoke to her, and felt both awed and envious of the beauty of this Elven-maid. She was tall, as tall as Lord Elrond, and her complexion was as his own; long, dark hair, pale, rosy-cheeked skin, and blue eyes laden with ancient wisdom and lore. Yet her beauty was indescribable, beyond compare; like the sheen of the Stars and the Moon, radiant with inner light, the curves of her face and figured carved as if from marble by the greatest sculptor of the ages.
Vana was accounted a great beauty amongst her own people. Yet compared to the immaculate glory of this lady of Rivendell she felt flawed and inadequate, keenly aware that her own mortal beauty was like that of a flower, which blooms but for a brief span of days before withering and fading forever.
"Do not be troubled," smiled the Elf-lady, sitting down beside her. "You are the Lady Vana of the Dunedain, are you not?"
"I am," whispered Vana, her voice faint and small.
"I am Arwen Daughter of Elrond, known to my people as Undomiel, the Evenstar" replied the Elf-maiden. "I am pleased to meet at last the Lady of the Dunedain."
"I am honoured, Lady Arwen" blushed Vana. "Yet, if you'll pardon me, I did not know that Lord Elrond had a daughter. I have lived here for some years know, yet I only ever met or saw his sons."
"My brothers have always made themselves seen and known, with my father's approval," smiled Arwen. "But he seems to think I am like a delicate flower, whose beauty should be shielded from prying eyes lest it be trampled underfoot."
"I hardly think that would be possible," said Vana. "But still, how can it be that I have not met you before?"
"I have not dwelt here for many years," replied Arwen. "Rather I have dwelt amongst the people of my mother Celebrian. She is still there now, in the hall of her parents the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel amid their hidden land of Laurelindorean; that is Lothlorien as some now call it."
"For many years?" asked Vana. "You hardly look older than twenty summers."
"Time passes not for my people as for yours, as surely you know" replied Arwen. "I was born in the second century of this Third Age of the Sun, and have seen many generations of your people grow and fade amid the passing years." Vana stared amazed.
"Come, my lady," continued Arwen, "as I said, your heart is troubled. Yet it grieves me to see that anyone could fail to find peace and happiness amid the bounds of Rivendell, when this place is one of the few lands of this Middle Earth on which the Shadow does not lie. Pray tell me your sorrows, and let me do what I can to succor you."
"I am grateful for your concern," said Vana. "But there is little you or anyone can do to assuage my sorrows and fears. My homeland is destroyed, and my blood relatives are dead, and my husband is in grave peril, or so it seems. I am with child, yet know not whether I shall even have a husband alive to help raise him to manhood, should the child be a boy. With respect, you are of immortal kind, and I do not see how you could begin to understand such burdens. Surely they are beneath the notice of beings such as you."
"On the contary," replied Arwen. "We Elves have been fated from the eldest days not only to know greater joy than Men, but also greater sorrow. Your burdens are for a time, and then they fade away; but ours do not cease, and lie ever heavier on us with the ever passing years. If you seek comfort for your sadness, there is no one better to turn to than an Elf, for we are long accustomed to enduring our own."
Vana was silent for a time. Then she said, "I had not thought of the matter in such terms. Well then, I am certainly grateful for any counsel that you have for me, my lady."
"I would say only this," replied Arwen. "The past is past, and it cannot be changed. It is in the nature of Elves to dwell in the past, ever more so with the passing of the years, and to look to what once was, but is lost forever. For we are a fading people, and for all our glory as it appears to you our time on this Middle Earth is near its end. We but linger in the twilight of our age. Yet it is not fitting for the race of Men to see the world as we do. It is in the nature of your people to look to the future, to what might be rather than what has been."
"What has been is the source of my sorrow," replied Vana, "and what might be is the source of my fear."
"To surrender to fear is to surrender to the Enemy," insisted Arwen. "Yet beside fear there is also hope. You fear the future because it is unknown to you; but if it is unknown, you cannot think it will lead inexorably to doom. There is always hope for the living, as long as they draw breath."
"What should I hope for, then?" asked Vana.
"For the long life and good deeds of your husband, who is a noble and brave Man by all accounts, and has grown well-learned in lore and well-skilled in warcraft under our tutelage," replied Arwen. "Morever he has left you with child, and that is the greatest hope of all. I foretell that your husband will live for many long years under the Sun, and will not soon leave you alone as you fear. And even if worst came to worst, still you would not be alone; for you have not only your own people as your friends, but ours as well. Beyond any doubt Lord Elrond would raise any heir of your line as his foster-son, should the boy's own father not be alive to do it. Therefore quell your doubts and fears, and contemplate instead your hopes and dreams."
Vana smiled quietly. "Your words are wise," she said. "I would do well to think on them."
"That is all I ask," smiled Arwen. Then her eyebrows lifted, and she pointed her slender arm gracefully towards the meadows. "There goes your husband now, with some of his Rangers," she cried. "Let us bid him farewell from afar."
The ladies stood to their feet, waving to the Rangers as they strode across the meadows, their green cloaks warding of the rain as they made their way to the distant Ford of Bruinen. When they reached the narrow span that crossed the stream of Imladris, Aranarth turned for a moment, gazing at the House of Elrond and the sylvan vale of Rivendell. He caught sight of Vana and Arwen on their balcony, and bowed to them in a graceful gesture. Then he and his Rangers crossed the bridge and disappeared into the forest, to battle the forces of darkness and kindle hope in the hearts of Men.