Lykairo: Thanks for the first review! I agree, there aren't enough, I don't think I've found any Aragorn/OC fanfics on the site. If you've found another, please send me an email, it's in my profile.

Anyway, here's chap 5

Chapter 5

'Gandalf! May I have a word with you for a moment, please.'

He caught the wizard by the arm, muttered some inaudible words in his ear. Gandalf remained silent, but his expression spoke volumes. He handed Shadowfax over to the care of a Rohirrim that was passing by and quickly followed the Gondorian messenger, who carried on speaking as they walked.

'He told me to take you straight to him, sir. '

A day had passed since Aragorn had sworn to protect the Mordorian Lass. The Host, at Aragorn's commands, had set up camp at the feet of the Morgul-vale. The men were well on the way to their rendezvous with the dark forces of Mordor at the black gates of the Morannon. It was there where the deciding battle for the freedom of Middle-Earth would be fought. Across the campsite, outside the numerous tents that had been pulled up, activities in the preparation for war were taking place.

Archers were re-stringing their bows, counting their quivered arrows; every shot would matter in the upcoming battle. Swordsmen were sharpening their blades, some at the wheel, and others with special stones that they ran across their swords' and daggers' bladed edges. Elsewhere the cavalry, while not attending to their weapons, were attending to their horses, feeding them up, and checking their riding equipment. Amidst the busy soldiers, Gandalf strode, specifically, to one tent in particular. As he passed, men looked up from what they were doing, nudged their neighbour and pointed excitedly. The white wizard's fame had spread far throughout the ranks. As the leading commander behind the Battle of the Pelennor, it was he who had defended Minas Tirith from the dark wave of Mordorian forces. It was he who had brought courage to the men of Gondor in their darkest hour. He was the White Rider, scourge of the Nazgûl, hope to men.

Gandalf stooped to enter the Elessar's elaborately decorated tent. Acknowledging the King with a nod, Aragorn waved the formality away. The Maiar spirit smiled. He knew the man was, in his heart, still a Ranger. He wasn't yet used to the splendour of the ornate furnishings that he lived in, he was still uncomfortable with the reverence that his very friends were expected to show him.

Candles in golden holders cast their light, dispelling the shadows in the tent. In a corner, Mornaundumë the Mordorian lay on Aragorn's bed. Beside her, on a table, a bowl of steaming water had been set. The smell of burning athelas leaf hung thick and refreshing in the air. Gandalf sighed. He didn't need to guess to know why Aragorn had called him.

'How is she?' Concerned eyes glittered under bushy raised eyebrows.

Aragorn took a deep breath.

'We discovered the Morgul wound in time; the Shadow, I think, is departing from her. I put forth all such power and skill I possess in the healing. But I am not Elrond.'

'But you share the same power as he, and you have saved her.'

'Yes, and so I must have, Gandalf...'

A long silence followed, both were watching Mornaundumë sleeping. The candles' glow was casting strange patterns over her face. Conflicting shadow and pale light washed over her features. At length, Aragorn whispered softly,
'Who'd have thought it? The very land she served dealt her a blow that would have killed her.'

'Is it so hard to believe? Servants of that land are just what they are; servants. Servants to Sauron's will. Loyalty has no meaning. Which is partly the reason that brought her here to you now.'

'Gandalf... whatever she chooses to do when she awakes, whichever side she chooses to ally herself with, I want her to do freely, without hindrance or prejudice. I know some of the men disapprove of me taking her in like this...'

'You are the King!'

'Yes... I know.'

Aragorn sighed, putting his head in his hands. Gandalf walked over and sat down beside the King, a worried frown on his face. So much had been expected of the man, in such a short space of time. Whereas before Strider had had nought to look after except himself, Elessar was now finding himself responsible for the lives of thousands. Gandalf's frown deepened. He knew just how cruel the tides of fate could be.

'Do not think one moment longer on what may have been Aragorn,' he said, as if reading the King's mind, 'whether to their liking or not, the choice has already been made.'

Aragorn nodded, his gaze moved from the wizard to Mornaundumë, and he saw Gandalf looking in the same direction.

'And who knows...' Gandalf mused, smiling, a touch of his old humour returning, 'the pity that you showed the Mordorian could just rule the fate of many...'

Pippin wandered aimlessly about the campsite. Swinging around his little sword, in his mind he was already fighting the Mordorians, every empty swipe cutting swathes in the Dark Lord's ranks. So caught up was he in his fantasy, he wasn't even aware of the amused glances that were being shot his way, of the men who were having to dodge aside as he passed. With his tongue sticking out in extreme concentration, he was just finishing off a mountain troll, when Gimli called him over.

'And if you don't stop swinging that dagger around, I'll have your share of the soup myself!' He added threateningly.

The hobbit gave a startled yell and came charging at once towards the camp where Legolas and Gimli had a little fire going, with a stew of some sort bubbling noisily in a pot.

The dwarf grumbled as he moved over to allow Pippin some room by the fire. Legolas smiled and passed around some wooden bowls as Gimli pulled out a few chunks of bread from his pack to complete the meal. The trio ladled their bowls up to the brim, with Gimli complaining about why Pippin who was the smallest still got the same amount as he, and the hot soup warmed them against the fierce cold of the Morgul-vale.

Presently Legolas nodded in the direction of the darkening eastern sky.

'A full day's march towards the east, but will He have taken the bait?'

Pippin followed the elf's gaze, munching on a piece of bread; he stood up and walked in that direction. He was thinking, and suddenly Merry's words were coming back to him: don't you understand, they think you have the Ring!

'Well, they can't have missed me!' He said cheerfully.

'Oh! So now...' Gimli made as if to protest, before Pippin continued, 'but I'm the one they're after, aren't I!'

Gimli stopped mid-sentence. The elf raised an eyebrow.

'Well if you want to put it that way... ' He mumbled, ashamed, then turned back to the warmth of the fire. 'Don't stray too far' he called after Pippin in afterthought, 'the sun will be down soon.' Pippin nodded once, and was soon lost again amid the bustling soldiers.

They can't have missed me, I'm the one they're after aren't I? Pippin whirled his sword aggressively toward the east, a Gondorian ducked just in time. And they must keep coming after me; I'm the diversion. I'm the one keeping Frodo and Sam safe...

He stopped just short of stabbing one of the horses, and accidentally struck it's Rohirrim master on the kneecap instead. Pippin cringed as the man yowled in pain.

'Who did this? If he is looking for a fight...' The man grabbed the hobbit by the arm, a fist raised. Pippin closed his eyes, but the blow never fell.

'Well, well, well, one of the halflings... Merry isn't it?'

Pippin looked up to see a familiar Rider of the Mark shaking his head, laughing, his golden curls bouncing around his shoulders.

'Eomer!'

'Pippin?! But I thought I had seen the last of you, that time when Mithrandir left with you for Gondor...'

'I haven't seen you for a good while either!' Pippin laughed.

'But what are you doing here?' Eomer grew serious, 'this is no place for halflings. Does Mithrandir know that you have come? I understand you were left in his charge...'

'Oh he knows I'm here, he allowed me to come. This isn't going to be the first battle I've been in...'

'You fought at the Pelennor!'

Pippin drew himself up proudly. 'Yes'

Eomer stared at the hobbit awhile, disbelievingly, and a little sadly.

'Your friend, Master Merry, he wanted to fight too...'

'And he did. He got wounded and that's why...'

'Merry got hurt!'

"Yes. But he's alright now.'

Pippin paused at the expression of the Rohirrim's face.

'I just don't understand it.' Eomer said softly, 'first Aragorn, the King, allows a Mordorian his company, and now Mithrandir thinks it's alright to drag a halfling into this war.'

'Hey wait! Gandalf hasn't dragged me into anything; I want to fight! And... what did you say about Aragorn?'

'Oh didn't you hear? Gossip's spread; he's looking after some sick Mordorian lass in his tent. Thinks it's important...'