Thanks Safrina and Lift the Wings for your reviews!
…So Look Ahead
Another two days had passed since Elrond's arrival. By the time Drifter awoke, the sun was already high in the sky.
"I knew that you would need rest after I had healed you," the elf stated, sitting next to the fire, "but I never realized you would sleep this long."
"You try being three quarters human and having the elvish tendency to not sleep," the girl grumbled, stretching to test Elrond's healing work.
"Like Frodo, that wound in your leg will never completely heal. You will always carry it with you."
"Will it hinder my traveling or fighting abilities?"
"…no, but…"
"Then I really don't care," she finished casually prior to stalking off for a bath in the cold stream. Less than half an hour later, Drifter had scrubbed the last of the dried blood from her body and proceeded to dry herself. Slipping the tattered dress back over her head, she picked up her daggers and was about to return to Elrond when her eyes caught sight of her reflection in the crystal water. She was no longer a fair maiden girl with a limited knowledge of the world, but a ranger woman. Her once gleaming golden hair had become a limp, light brown veil of slightly frizzed curls due to the lack of recent care; her eyes, once bright and hopeful, had turned to deep pools of wisdom proclaiming untold tales of suffering; and her countenance in general…before leaving Rivendell for the second time she remembered, the girl would have never recognized the experienced warrior/ranger staring straight back at her. Shaking her head, Drifter scolded herself for such random thoughts. Looking back was for another time. At that moment, she needed to determine what she was going to do about the impending near future. By the time she reached the campsite, Elrond was already waiting with the horse and holding her cloak and belt out for her to take. Gratefully retrieving her possessions, Drifter happily took the offered hand in getting onto the steed. After the elf had mounted in front of her, they were on their way to save the world of Men. The horse was not nearly as fast as Shadowfax, so it took them an hour before they reached the plains, where Elrond turned south.
"Where are you going?" the girl asked. "Edoras is the other way."
"During the day and a half that you slept, they traveled to Dunharrow to prepare for the journey to aid Gondor."
"So, they finally decided to do something."
"It seems so." Silence reigned between the elf lord and ranger until evening, when they reached the halfway point and Elrond stopped to rest the horse. After watering their ride and letting it graze, they once again began traveling.
"We should reach Dunharrow in a few hours," Elrond stated.
Once again, they were silent even as the campfires of the Men of Rohan came into view long after dark. The elf eased his horse to a slow walk as they approached the steep switchback leading up to a flat field covered with the tents of some of the Men, including those of their leaders. The majority was at the bottom of the mountain. As the two friends approached the tent of the king, Drifter checked to make sure that her hood was up and looked to the mountain, where dwelt the undead Pukel men of old. Théoden jerked up from studying a map on the table in the middle of the tent.
"Who are you and what do you want?" he asked hostilely before seeing the newcomers' hidden faces. "Falathiel? You're alive!"
"From what I can tell," the woman calmly replied.
"And who is your silent friend?"
"He is the Lord Elrond of Rivendell." The king was speechless, yet suspicious.
"I bring news, warning, and hope for Men," the elf said. "I wish to speak with Aragorn."
Théoden hesitated before finally calling a soldier in to send for Aragorn. There was an uncomfortable silence until the Man finally entered. He did not nearly look as intimidating without his weapons, vest, and cloak.
"I take my leave," the king stated, almost eagerly vacating the premises.
"My lord Elrond!" Aragorn exclaimed as the elf removed his hood.
"I come on behalf of one whom I love," was the utterly serious response. "Arwen is dying. She will not long survive the evil that now spreads from Mordor. The light of the Evenstar is failing. As Sauron's power grows, her strength wanes. Arwen's life is now tied to the fate of the Ring. The Shadow is upon us, Aragorn. The end has come."
"It will not be our end, but his."
"You ride to war, but not to victory. Sauron's armies ride on Minas Tirith, this you know. But, in secret, he sends another force, which will attack from the river. A fleet of Corsair ships sails from the south. They will be in the city in two days. You're outnumbered, Aragorn. You need more men."
"There are none."
"There are those that dwell in the mountain."
"Murderers, traitors. You would call upon them to fight? They believe in nothing. They answer to no one."
"They will answer to the King of Gondor," Elrond corrected, revealing the Sword. "Andúril, the Flame of the West, forged from the shards of Narsil."
"Sauron will not have forgotten the sword of Elendil." Aragorn looked more like a king than ever when he pulled Andúril from its scabbard. "The blade that was broken shall return to Minas Tirith."
"The man who can wield the power of this sword can summon to him an army more deadly than any that walks this earth. Put aside the Ranger. Become who you were born to be. Ónen i-Estel Edain (I gave hope to the Dunedain)," Elrond quoted from the inscription of Gilraen's tomb."
"Ú-chebin Estel anim (I have kept no hope for myself)," Aragorn finished, returning the weapon to its sheath.
The Man did not notice the woman sitting on the bench nearby until Elrond had left.
"Drifter?" The girl quickly swiped the hood away from her face. She hadn't realized that it was still shadowing her features. "Drifter, we feared the worst!"
"Does 'we' mean everyone, or just those of you who have always underestimated me?"
"Alright, I admit that it was mainly me, Legolas, and Gimli, but what happened?"
Drifter paused. She could still hear the screams of the wraith, feel the freshly cut wounds.
"I just needed time to think without people calling on me for aid. Soon after I arrived at what seemed to be a quiet and cool place…I was confronted by a Ring Wraith."
"You should be dead!"
"Why? You faced three wraiths practically by yourself on Weathertop. What makes you think that I couldn't have survived one?"
"Well, for one thing, I had fire and a sword. You had neither your sword, nor your arrows."
"Ah, so you noticed that, did you? By the way, did you happen to bring them along?"
"Everyone was so busy preparing, so…no, not that I know of…Oh, Drifter, I'm so glad you're alright." Suddenly, Drifter found herself enveloped in Aragorn's embrace. "Gandalf told me that Sauron wanted to capture you and use you against me."
The woman hadn't felt quite so cared for in a long time. Pulling herself away from the Man, she said with spite,
"Sauron is not nearly as strong as he would make himself seem. The Eye's gaze found me before I began battling the wraith. He tried intimidating me, but I pushed him away. Even so, I've never heard a sound so full of hatred and lust than his voice."
"Drifter, are you going to travel with me to the Paths of the Dead? You don't have to."
"Yes, I do. Before we leave, I should get some clothes that aren't covered with blood."
"Very well. I will meet you at the pass entrance."
"Five minutes."
The ranger quietly trotted towards the tent where she knew clothes would be: Éowyn's.
"Falathiel?!" the woman exclaimed upon seeing Drifter.
"Éowyn, do you have something I can wear other than these rags?"
"Yes…in fact, I brought your own clothes, at least your dress and vest," Éowyn replied, handing the maroon travel garb and long blue vest to Drifter. When the ranger removed her cloak to change, the other woman's face was clouded with suspicion as she walked outside.
A few minutes later, Drifter walked out towards the mountain pass. Éowyn was confronting Aragorn, who was standing beside his horse, Brego.
"Do you not know," the lady of Rohan was whispering.
"It is but a shadow and a thought that you love," Aragorn replied, brushing his hand against Éowyn's cheek as Drifter slowly and silently approached. "I cannot give you what you seek. I have wished you joy since first I saw you."
Drifter glared at Éowyn as she passed by her prior to following Aragorn.
"Just where do you think you're off to?" Gimli queried.
"Not this time," Aragorn answered. "This time you must stay, Gimli."
"Have you learned nothing of the stubbornness of dwarves?" Legolas suddenly asked, coming up behind the Man with another horse.
"You might as well accept it," the dwarf advised. "We're going with you, laddie."
"No, indeed. It's hard to separate you three, even though I'm invited to travel the Dimholt road and you are not," Drifter stated, causing her voice to mimic Elrond's as she stepped from the shadows.
"Drifter!" the elf softly cried. "I was afraid that you were dead!"
"That seems to be happening allot today."
"Haha! I knew you'd make it!" Gimli laughed.
"Let's go."
"First," Legolas interrupted, running off for a moment before coming back with Drifter's weapons, "…I believe you could use these."
"Thank you."
--
"What kind of army would linger in such a place?" the dwarf queried as the group rode through a barren canyon some time later.
"One that is cursed," the elf replied matter-of-factly. "Long ago, the Men of the mountains swore an oath to the last King of Gondor to come to his aid, to fight. But when the time came, when Gondor's need was dire, they fled, vanishing into the darkness of the mountain. And so Isildur cursed them, never to rest until they had fulfilled their pledge. 'Who shall call them from the grey twilight, the forgotten people? The heir of him to whom the oath they swore. From the north shall he come, need shall drive him. He shall pass the door to the Paths of the Dead.'"
"You forget, Legolas," Drifter pointed out, "that there is more to that prophecy: '…and though the Dead may reject the Man, the Dawn will bring them to their knees for the heir.'"
"Hmm…" Clearly, no one but the elf paid any attention.
The woman was the first to dismount from Aragorn's horse and walk into the dark trees.
"The very warmth of my blood seems stolen away," Gimli whispered. As they neared the mountain entrance, Legolas read the inscription.
"The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead and the dead keep it. The way is shut."
"Brego!" Aragorn called as the horses bolted away from the wind coming out of the cave. "I do not fear death!" he finished, stalking into the cave, soon followed by Legolas.
"Well this is a thing unheard of!" Gimli cried. "An elf will go underground, where a dwarf dare not. Oh, oh, I'd never hear the end of it."
As Drifter stepped through the doorway after the dwarf, she heard the voice of Galadriel distantly whisper behind her,
"The time is near…"
The unexpected statement, however, did not surprise the girl as she was used to that sort of thing occurring. With Aragorn in the lead and Drifter in the back, the four companions walked through the dark mist.
"What is it? What do you see?" Gimli muttered to the elf.
"I see shapes of Men and of horses," Legolas replied.
"Where?"
"Pale banners like shreds of cloud…spears rise like winter thickets through a shroud of mist. The Dead are following. They have been summoned."
"The Dead? Summoned? I knew that! Very good, very good."
"Gimli…" Drifter warned from behind him, causing him to realize that he and the woman had been left behind by the others.
"Legolas!" Rolling her eyes, the girl followed, soon catching up to where Aragorn was in the front. Ghostly white hands began to writhe around them and Gimli tried blowing them away. Both the man and woman then looked down, noticing the human skulls which lined the floor.
"Do not look down," Aragorn warned the others, though the dwarf instantly ignored the advice.
After running for some time, they emerged from the tunnel into a large, open space.
"Who enters my domain?" an eerie voice questioned, prior to the appearance of the translucent King of the Dead some twenty feet away.
"One who will have your allegiance," Aragorn boldly stated, sword in hand.
"The dead do not suffer the living to pass."
"You will suffer me!"
As the dead king cruelly laughed, his entire army and city appeared about the travelers.
"The way is shut! It was made by those who are dead and the dead keep it. The way is shut! Now, you must die!"
Legolas attempted to shoot the king with an arrow, but it harmlessly landed some ways away.
"I summon you to fulfill you oath!"
"None but the King of Gondor may command me!" the undead Man replied, to which Aragorn retaliated to the sudden attack and put his sword to the offender's throat. "That blade was broken!"
"It has been remade. Fight for us and regain you honor. What say you? What say you?"
"Ach! You waste your time, Aragorn," Gimli opinionated. "They had no honor in life and they have none now in death."
"I am Isildur's heir. Fight for me and I will hold your oaths fulfilled. What say you? You have my word! Fight and I will release you from this living death! What say you?"
"Stand, you traitors!" The army had begun to disappear. Desperate, Drifter ran up to the fading king and put her sword to his chest.
"Remain, traitor, or loose whatever honor you may yet have!"
The king dropped to his knees as the girl's eyes widened with surprise at the power she had just used. The inscription on her sword happened to be facing up, giving the Man a chance to read it.
"Who are you to command such over me? How did you come by the sword of the wife of Isildur?" the dishonored leader asked almost fearfully.
"Two women fought in the Battle of Dagorlad three thousand years ago. One was the wife of Isildur, the other was my Númenorean ancestor. During the battle, my ancestor saved the life of the queen, and was in turn granted this sword. On down the line has it been passed, mother to daughter, down to me. I am Aralyn, daughter of Arathorn and Gilraen, the half-elven…and my brother has commanded you to fulfill your oath. I suggest you do so."
Suddenly, the army flashed out of existence and the ground began to quake, followed by the collapse of the wall, which had apparently held back thousands of human skulls.
"Out!" Aragorn yelled, grabbing Drifter…or Aralyn, in fact, by the arm and dragging her towards the exit.
-That should have worked!-
"Legolas! Run!" the Man continued as they waded through the flow of bones. Finally emerging from the cave, a puff of dust closely following them, the group caught sight of the river…and the Corsair ships. As Aragorn fell to his knees in despair, Aralyn walked behind a rock. Like she predicted, the King of the Dead was waiting for her.
"You swear that your brother will release us?" he hissed.
"Upon my life and honor, I know that he will keep his word."
"You have yourself an army, my queen, for are you not the true heir?"
"I forfeited my place long ago."
The king then led his Men to stand behind the surprised Aragorn.
"We fight."
After quickly coming up with an effective plan, the four companions waited for the mercenaries by the shore while the dead army remained invisible.
"You may go no further," Aragorn ordered the sailors. "You will not enter Gondor."
"Who are you to deny us passage?" the leading ship's boson asked.
"Legolas, fire a warning shot past the boson's ear."
"Mind your aim," Gimli warned. Just before the elf released his arrow, the dwarf knocked the bow with his axe, causing Legolas to shoot one of the sailors instead. "That's it, right, we warned you! Prepare to be boarded!" The mercenaries simply laughed.
"Boarded?" one of them asked. "By you and whose army?"
"This army," Aragorn whispered as the Dead revealed themselves and charged the ships. Aralyn shivered when they ran through instead of around her.
Ten minutes later, they were on the ships, sailing towards Minas Tirith. While the Dead took care of the navigation and such, Aralyn sat near the bow, whetting her sword with a stone she had discovered.
"Please, call me something other than 'my lord' or 'sir'. It gets annoying after a while."
The woman softly laughed as she held her dying leader's head in her lap and brushed the hair out of his face.
"Yes…Father."
"Ar…Aralyn, I know that you are my firstborn and rightfully the heir, but there has always been…"
"No, Father, you do not have to explain anything. I never really wanted the weight of a crown anyway. Aragorn will become a great leader, just like yourself, I assure you of that."
"Then I die in peace, knowing that I have taught you well."
At that, Arathorn, son of Arador, drew his last breath, leaving his grieving daughter alone and surrounded by the bodies of her slain enemies.
"Drif…I mean…Aralyn?" Aragorn addressed her, sitting beside the woman. She simply kept working methodically. "You're really my sister? My…older sister?"
"Yes," the girl thoughtlessly replied.
"And Lord Elrond knows of this?"
"There are several people who know of it, but yes, Elrond is one of them."
"And no one even considered telling me?"
"I feared that, if you were not established as the rightful heir before I revealed my identity to the world, the people would somehow force me to rule. Aragorn, I promised Ara…Father that I would see you to the throne, and that is what I intend to do."
"But I did not even guess it. How would I not know my own sister?"
"Our mother, a half elf, left with you to Rivendell when you were two years old, leaving me completely in Father's care. When I moved to Imladris, I hid from you so that you never saw me."
"When I first saw you in Bree, I mistrusted you almost more than any other stranger…and now, I find out that you're my sister? It doesn't make any sense to me!"
"You'll get used to it, I know."
Thanks for reading! Please review and vote!