Title: Borderline

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: I do not own them, although sometimes I wish I would. I make no money with this story.

Summary: While Aragorn and one of his rangers are on a scouting mission to locate the position of some wild men, the Chieftain of the Dunedain has to make a decision that will change his life forever. There are some lines that need crossing, but others should be left in peace.

A/N: I wrote this for the Teitho Contest "White Lie". Please notice that English is not my native tongue. Any mistakes are mine.

A/N2: Many thanks for all the kind reviews! Many many thanks! Oh, and the title is 'Borderline' and not 'Boderline', sorry. 'g'

°°°°Chapter 2: Traitor°°°°

Morning dawned cold and misty. The storm had moved farther east, leaving the hills dripping with water, and the ground muddy and unreliable. The sky hung full of thick grey clouds that promised another downpour, but so far no rain had fallen.

Fog had sneaked over the plains at the foot of the hills, and the world looked lonely and abandoned. No sound sailed through the air despite the distant rumbling of thunder, and not even the twittering of birds could be heard.

With the change of night to day, the rangers had packed up and left their shelter. Without looking back, they had made their way down the hill, leaving the Tower of Elendil, the ancient Elostirion, behind them.

For hours they searched the hills for any tracks, signs that might tell them of the wild men's presence. To Aragorn's disappointment, they found nothing. The rain of the last night had more likely than not erased all signs of the men, but nevertheless, so many men could not just pass by and leave no signs. A broken twig here, some disturbed stones there; had the men been here, Aragorn was sure that he would have found their tracks.

After hours of searching, Aragorn was sure that the wild men had not been in this region. And although the Tower Hills were high and wide enough to provided a good shelter and hiding place for a large group of men, there was no river near. And that probably meant that the men would not hide in the hills or near them.

Aragorn had thought about that before, but he had wanted to be sure. Now, he was convinced that the men were not here. This trip had been a waste of time.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to face his companion. Since their depature from the ruins of the Tower, Rogondil had not spoken more than three words. Actually, the man had been subdued and quiet, starring at the ground as if he had lost the most important thing in his life.

But what unnerved Aragorn the most, was that the man had not once looked him in the eye since their conversation the previous evening. Something was definitely wrong, and Aragorn had vowed to find out. But now was neither the time nor the place. Perhaps in the evening.

Therefore, as he turned towards Rogondil, he simply stated, "They are not here. And I doubt that they have ever been."

He waited for the other ranger's opinion, but Rogondil only stared at the ground, and then nodded slowly.

"Rogondil, I think we should head back to the tower, stay there for the night, and head out in the morning. If the weather stays as it is now, we should make it back to the camp in three days."

Again, Rogondil only nodded. Thunder boomed in the distance, and Aragorn could see the horizon shimmer yellowy for a second. The storm that had assaulted them the last night was now raging in the East.

So, they wordlessly turned and made their way back the to ruins of the tower. Slowly, the fog that had already began to drift away and become thinner, grew more intense as night approached. It swivelled around the greened tree trunks and the high grass of the plains, giving the scenery a ghostly appearance.

The lands darkened around them, and the air became colder. Gusts of icy wind blew into their faces, and soon Aragorn's hands had become stiff and cold. He wished nothing more than to reach the remnants of the tower, light a nice fire and have something warm to drink.

Suddenly Rogondil, who was walking in front of Aragorn, stopped in his tracks. Then, he crouched down, and examined the ground intently. Frowning, Aragorn sidled up with him and looked at the ground as well. As the light was already fading, he could see nothing more than brown mud, leaves and grass.

"Rogondil, what is it?"

A nervous voice, mixed with a strange undertone that Aragorn could not identify, answered him, "An imprint. Fresh, as it seems. Here, look for yourself."

And with that, the broad shouldered ranger stood to his feet and made space for his Chieftain. Intrigued, Aragorn crouched down and let his eyes travel over the grassy ground.

Staring, he narrowed his eyes to see in the falling darkness. At first, he saw nothing. The mud was a little bit churned, but this was surely no imprint of a horse's hoof, or a footstep.

Bending down lower and letting his fingers slide over the small dent in the ground, Aragorn tried to figure out what it was he saw.

Distantly, he was aware that Rogondil had stepped back a few steps, and that he had not said another word. His keen ears detected the sound of leather moving, but Aragorn did not consciously register it.

Still concentrated on the ground before him, he did not notice Rogondil step up behind him again. Neither did he see that the older ranger had unsheathed his sword, and was raising it.

Tracing his fingers over the imprint, Aragorn wondered what kind of animal made such prints. They looked strange, almost as if someone had just… dug his fist into the mud.

Suddenly, Aragorn heard metal swish through the air. With reflexes born from years of training, he threw himself to the side, only to land hard on some sharp stones. Twisting, he rolled over on the muddy ground.

Looking to the side, he saw that a blade was protruding from the ground where he had crouched not a moment before. Had he not thrown himself to the side, he would be dead now.

Lifting his gaze, he directly looked into the contorted face of…Rogondil.

Confused, Aragorn scrambled further way from the blade and the ranger. His hands scraped over rocks and stones, but he did not care. What was going on, what had just happened? Why was his companion attacking him?

But Aragorn got no time to dwell on this thought. With a grunt of anger and disappointment, Rogondil raised his sword, and started forward. His face was a grimace of hate and fury, so unlike the face of the man Aragorn knew.

With a mighty thrust, Rogondil brought the sword down on his Chieftain again. The blade sliced through the cold air, but Aragorn was faster. Rolling to the side once more, he avoided the blade.

Hastily, he scrambled to his feet and drew his own sword out of his baldric in a fluent motion. Readying his fighting stance, he positioned his sword before him, but did not attack. Instead, he fixed his stormy grey eyes on the ranger in front of him.

Rogondil was panting, but not from exhaustion, but rather anger. He flipped the sword in his hand, and a small sneer appeared on his face. Slowly, he took a step forward.

"So, this is how it will end, Chieftain." He spit the last word as if it would burn his tongue and make him sick.

"Why?" Aragorn had not wanted to ask this, but it was the only question that made any sense to him. He knew somehow that he would not be able to convince Rogondil to not fight him; nevertheless, he wanted to know why his friend had turned against him.

"Why? I tell you why. You are not worthy to be our Chieftain. You are Chieftain by blood, not by deeds. Your decisions will get us killed one day, and I will not sit by idly and watch my friends die because of your foolish actions. I will not give you another opportunity to kill my little brother."

And with that, Rogondil raced forwards, sword held high, ready to kill. Aragorn parried the heavy blow, twisted his body to the right and brought his sword down. Seeing his blow blocked, Aragorn took a step back, arched his sword high up and at the same moment pressed his upper body forward.

The movement caught Rogondil by surprise, and he yelled in pain as Aragorn's blade cut his upper arm. But the victory was short lived. With burning eyes, Rogondil charged forward and his sword thrusts rained down on Aragorn.

Blocking a blow that was meant to behead him, Aragorn twisted his body to the side as another thrust was aimed at his right side. But the moment he moved, he felt his foot slip on the muddy ground, and he knew that he would not be fast enough.

Searing pain engulfed him as Rogondil's sharp blade sliced through his side, opening a deep gash. Hot blood pulsed from the wound, flowing freely down his chest and leg. Cursing under his breath, Aragorn retreated hastily from his opponent, and stood defensively, panting against the pain. He did not dare to press a hand on the wound, for fear of Rogondil attacking him the moment he removed one of his hands form his sword.

Sneering, the older ranger mocked him, seemingly undisturbed by his bleeding arm, "Not so strong now, are we? As I have already told you, you are not worthy to be Chieftain."

Angered and hurt, Aragorn retorted hotly, "And who do you deem should be Chieftain? You?"

Rogondil lifted his eyebrows, and then shook his head, "No, not me. But Amandil. Amandil would make a great Chieftain. He 'will' make a great Chieftain, once you are gone. And then he will not have to go on dangerous and foolhardy missions any longer."

"Rogondil, you cannot truly think that, Amandil…" but Aragorn's words of reason were cut short as Rogondil yelled in fury and attacked once more.

Hardly being able to block the next blow, Aragorn brought his blade up just in time to avoid being severed in half. He parried and blocked, sliced and hacked. But Rogondil was a good fighter, and his years of training and experience made him a deadly enemy.

Ducking a mean blow that was aimed at his head, Aragorn pushed his sword forward, and was rewarded with a small grunt of pain as steel made flesh. Withdrawing his blade and retreating a few steps, Aragorn looked at his opponent.

Rogondil was breathing hard, the wound on his arm still bleeding. A red gash had opened on his chest where Aragorn's sword had hit him, but the man's face spoke of determination. Nevertheless, Aragorn tried to reason with him, as he did not truly wish to kill the man.

Panting himself, he brought out, "Rogondil, I do not want to fight you. Think of what you are doing. Think of you brother! What do you think Amandil would say to this? He would not…"

"Do not speak his name! You know nothing of him! And I will make sure that you will never get the chance to hurt him again!"

Lifting his sword high above his head, Rogondil charged forwards and brought his blade down with all his might. Barely lifting his own weapon in time, Aragorn blocked the blow. The force of it made his arms tremble, and he felt his feet slip under him.

The ground was still wet from the previous night's rain, and the fighting had churned it and made is slippery. Pressing his feet into the mud to stop his sliding, Aragorn ignored the ache in his arms and shoulders. He could not loosen his block, or Rogondil's sword would kill him instantly.

Grounding his teeth, he glared up at the older ranger. He was not willing to let this man kill him, not if there was a way to prevent it. And although the did not want to kill Rogondil, he would do it, if there was no other way.

Thunder growled in the distance, and a gust of wind rushed over the plains. Aragorn, still holding the block and trying to somehow get out of the situation, suddenly felt his feet slip again, and this time, he was not fast enough to compensate.

His right leg gave out from under him, and with a sound of surprise, he felt his body slide to the side. Unable to hold the block, he twisted his sword to the side and upwards, willing the other blade to slide harmlessly down his sword and to the ground.

But Rogondil seemed to have anticipated this. Grinning, he removed a hand from his sword hilt, and mercilessly brought it down on Aragorn's already bleeding side. Screaming in pain, Aragorn felt himself loose his balance completely, and he fell to the slimy mud.

Hitting the ground hard, the air left his lungs with a whoosh. Blinking against the pain, he tightened the grip on his sword and instantly tried to rise to his feet. A booted foot stopped his motion, pushing him down on his back once more. Cold steel was pressed at his neck, forcing his chin upwards.

Aragorn looked up into the eyes of his former friend, a man who he had trusted. Trusted with his life, that the older ranger would now take.

Rogondil stared at his Chieftain without pity in his eyes. They were cold and dead, but in the depth glimmered fury and hate. He had set out on this mission to kill his Chieftain, and had he still doubted his plan the night before, no doubts were left now. He would end it, here and now. And then, he would return to his little brother and protect him until fate had made Amandil Chieftain of the Rangers of the North.

Sneering, Rogondil pressed his blade down harder, opening a bleeding cut on Aragorn's disposed neck. Despite all that had happened only moments prior, Aragorn spoke calmly, almost pleadingly, "Rogondil, it does not have to end this way."

"Oh, but it will. You will die, and then all will be as it should be."

And with that, Rogondil removed his blade from Aragorn's neck, lifted the sword high into the air, and let it race down again in a killing blow.

Aragorn's eyes widened, and a part of him could still not belief what was happening, and how things had changed so abruptly. Until now, he had still hoped to get out of this situation, but now, as the blade raced towards him, he suddenly realized, that he might have been wrong.

He would die, here, now, and only with his murderer as witness; to be left in the wilderness to be savaged by the animals, forgotten to rot.

No! He was not willing to surrender, he did not want to die now. With sudden strength that he did not even realize he still possessed, he lifted his right arm, and brought his sword upwards and before his body. In the same moment he drew up his knees, and with a mighty push he kicked the legs out from under Rogondil.

The older ranger's face contorted in surprise as he fell forwards. Steel met flesh, and an ear piercing scream filled the battle side. Rogondil landed heavily on Aragorn, pressing him to the ground, and then, stillness settled over the two unmoving rangers. Sluggishly, red blood flowed from under them, creating a puddle in the mud.

For long moments, nothing moved. The two men lay motionless on the ground, and neither of them made a sound, nothing steered. The distant rumbling of thunder floated through the air, followed by the lonely hoot of an owl.

Suddenly, the heap of tangled arms and legs shivered, and then Rogondil rolled to the side. With a wet thud he landed in the mud on his back, arms flayed to the side, mouth hanging open in a toneless scream.

Panting, Aragorn stared up into the sky. Night had fallen, and the darkness that surrounded him was nearly complete. Grey clouds sailed over the sky, and here and there the silvery moon shone through the veil. The light send its fingers to the ground, reflecting on the two blades that lay abandoned in the murk.

Both were tinged in red blood.

Grimacing, Aragorn pushed himself to his elbows, and then into a sitting position. Groaning in pain, he pressed his hand to his side, so as if it would stop the agony that pierced him. Red blood flowed from under his fingers, and trickled to the already stained ground.

Taking a deep breath, he turned and looked at the ranger beside him. Rogondil was dead. When the ranger had fallen forwards, he had found his end on the blade of Aragorn's upturned sword, piercing his chest. But Rogondil's sword had done its work as well.

Rogondil had intended to pierce Aragorn's heart, but the cold steel had instead buried itself in his shoulder. The blade had not gone through, and due to the fall of Rogondil, it had not stuck. But the gash was deep and bleeding heavily.

Shivering slightly due to the coldness of the night and the shock of the fight, Aragorn sat in the mud, head hanging down.

What had happened? Why had Rogondil done that? And why did it have to end that way?

Numerous questions filled his head, but he knew that there was no time to answer them now. The pain in his side and shoulder was overwhelming, and he knew that he needed to clean and bind them, if he wanted to make it through the night.

But not here, not in this place. Everything inside of him called to leave, to run and not look back.

Scrambling to his knees, and then his feet, Aragorn took up his sword and pack, and without looking back, he left the site and walked into the night.

Tbc...

Chapter 3 comes tomorrow. Love to hear what you think! I love all your reviews!