Earthdragon- absolutely; 😊 Nina- so glad to see you back 😊

Beta: Anarithilien. Thank you as always, my dear, for your generosity and support.

Chapter 44: The Promise

The campfire flickered and crackled. Aragorn slept deeply, for he was weary and wanted nothing more than to rest his bones. Nestled beneath his arm was the leather satchel containing the Palantír. He felt its presence through his sleep, but it was calm like the Sea after a storm and the swells gentle under the endless night. Above him, he felt the stars slowly moving in the huge galaxies that spiralled into nothing, disintegrating into unimaginable timelessness. He slept deeply, transfixed by the unutterable loveliness, the immensity. And within the vastness, a hand seemed to reach out to him across the distance of time and space, a questing, curious presence…

Slowly he became aware that someone was beside him, a hand lay gently on his shoulder. He was instantly awake, thinking it was Elladan who had awoken him. But it was Legolas, crouching beside him, between Aragorn and the campfire so he was limned in fire and Aragorn could not see his face.

'Forgive me,' said Legolas softly. ' I would speak with you. Not here.'

He glanced towards Erestor's inert form, swathed in bandages, and beside him, keeping a silent vigil, was Elladan, who barely looked at Legolas before he looked away apathetically. His hand rested near Erestor's as if he longed to take it in his but dared not. There could be no comfort for Elladan however much Aragorn longed to give it.

Aragorn shook his head slightly, wishing with all his heart that Elrond were here, that Vilya might save something of the damaged and wounded body that seemed to Aragorn, too ruined, too deeply hurt to ever recover.

As if he knew Aragorn's thoughts and wished to comfort him, Legolas held out his hand to pull Aragorn to his feet. With a sigh, Aragorn threw back his blanket and took the strong hand gratefully and felt his knees click as he stood upright.

It was barely dawn and the morning stars were still in the sky. Aragorn blew out a sigh and rolled his stiff shoulders. Legolas jerked his head away to his right, indicating that they should move beyond the ash tree and past the pool that reflected the lightening sky. Aragorn nodded and Legolas reached down and snagged the strap of the leather satchel that held Ascatar-axo.

Aragorn moved as if to snatch it back, but Legolas had already pushed the satchel at him. Hoping that Legolas had not noticed, Aragorn took it and nodded his thanks. He slung the satchel over his shoulder and followed Legolas beyond the ash tree to a grassy ledge that overlooked the gully and then beyond towards the Iaun-Gynd. There were blocks of crumbled stone on the ledge that perhaps had once formed part of the ancient fortifications. Grey lichen had crawled inexorably over the old stone and there was no trace now that any hand had once shaped and carved them.

Legolas settled upon the thick, cool grass and Aragorn leaned back against one crumbling stone and felt for his pipe. With the other hand, he pulled out a battered old pouch for pipeweed, and stuffed the bowl of the pipe. He noticed that Elrohir was standing high above them on the Keep. His arms were crossed, and his sword hung at his side. Keeping watch, Aragorn thought.

Legolas said softly, 'I would speak with you of Cardolan, of the Iaun-Gynd and what lies beneath.'

Aragorn nodded, his pipe between his lips and struck a flame from his flint. 'Then speak, for I am curious as to what you found.'

Legolas looked across the gully towards the Iaun-Gynd. A skein of mist wound between the tall standing stones, for the sun had only just appeared over the horizon in the east and its first light had not yet touched the tumuli. Aragorn puffed hard on his pipe to make it draw. He was curious about what Legolas had endured and even more curious about why it was so urgent right now. He had intended that they strike camp early this morning and try to bring Erestor down from the Tyr Gorthad and to Bree for he needed to be somewhere warm and dry. They could not risk being out if the weather turned bad.

Unaware, Legolas glanced at Aragorn and said, 'You must know that this is the holy place of the Haladin, from long ago, before the Edain even crossed into Beleriand. This is where their ancestors rested, and their bones lie in the Iaun-Gynd. They called themselves the Children of Haleth.'

'I had not realised you had become a scholar,' Aragorn said, smiling a little for Legolas always purported to know nothing of the lands beyond Rhovanion. 'But yes, so it is said among the Dunédain. In ancient times, some believed that Haleth herself was in fact interred and buried there. Halbarad told me that his wife had longed for a daughter, that she might call her Haleth in the way of her family.' He let a long stream of grey smoke curl lazily into the cold dawn, thinking how alike her son was with his flaxen hair and clear blue eyes. He watched the smoke dissolve into the grey morning light.

As if he followed Aragorn's own thinking, Legolas then said, 'I think that Haleth became a ceremonial name amongst the Men of Cardolan. So it was through the matriarchal line that the title was passed on?' he asked.

Aragorn hummed agreement. 'Yes, although I had not realised until now, but it makes sense. Brianna claimed ancestry from the Princes of Cardolan,' he added. 'Her family had fled to Fornost after the rout of Cardolan, so she always said. No one disputed it. It was she who gave Baranor the horn that he carries. It is an heirloom of her folk.'

'Presumably artefacts may confer an entitlement to rule, as is the way of Men,' Legolas said thoughtfully. 'Although that seems strange to us in the Woodland Realm,' he added as an afterthought.

'I know of no crown,' Aragorn said, suddenly more interested. 'What did you find?'

'Who shall sound the horn in the hills, ringing?' Legolas recited mildly, seeming to ignore Aragorn's question. 'Who shall call them back to the grey twilight, those Kings of Old?Shall he free the faithful and restore the lost Kingdom?' He turned and looked steadily at Aragorn. 'Is that not the prophesy you seek to fulfil?'

Aragorn wondered where the sudden switch in conversation was taking them. 'Yes,' he agreed. 'It is my great hope to restore Arnor and bring peace to all these lands. You saw what had become of Tharbad, and how ruined are those lands. No one can live here safely. Bands of Orcs, wild Men and starving Wargs still roam these parts. I would see the prosperity we have in Gondor, the children fed, the fields green and orchards laden with fruit.' He drew on his pipe, thinking with pleasure how these lands would thrive.

Beside him, Legolas nodded once, but he was staring off into the distance, his eyes wide with memory. 'It was Baranor's horn that awakened the Guardians of the Iaun-Gynd. They are the faithful of the Prophesy, their greatest warriors. Their role at the Dagor Dagoreth is to fight against Angmar. With the Mergyll-Dagnir they will defeat the Witchking and so aid the battle against Morgoth. For Bauglir does not sleep. And He does not rest. Always He seeks to return to the world. The fabric of the World is thin in places, and He seeks ever to test, to find those places and to … press against them.'

Aragorn glanced at Legolas and touched his friend's arm lightly, in gentle concern. He seemed feverish and his eyes overly bright. Aragorn took his pipe from his mouth and said, 'You must rest too, Legolas. You have not slept I think.' He glanced over his shoulder and was relieved to see Elrohir still looking down at them from the ridge for there was a strangeness about Legolas.

'I will rest when I know that their sacrifice was not in vain.' Legolas turned towards Aragorn then. His long green eyes were eldritch strange, and the pupil seemed elliptical. Aragorn almost expected to see light reflect back from them in the way a wolf's does at night.

Legolas lifted his hand to Aragorn's face; he was startled and flinched, but Legolas merely drew two fingers down the side of his face as if opening something up. 'There is a great treasure beneath the Iaun-Gynd,' he said slowly, and Aragorn's perception shifted, and he saw something…. He had glimpsed it before, he realised. In the Palantír, but now it was as clear as if he stood before it…

A great ship with a dragon's head for the prow, and its gunwales and hull shaped so that it resembled a dragon's wings folded back on itself. Eighty feet long and wide enough for two oarsmen on either side. He saw how the sleek hull would cut through the glass-green sea, white foam about its prow as it plunged and rose. The sails were furled but it would only take a hand to release them, and he thought how they would fill with the westly wind and the Sea's sough and breath rush past him as they headed for the wide green-blue horizon…

For a moment, Aragorn's own ancestry asserted itself and he thought of the Ship-Kings, of Elendil and Isildur, braving the great storms, discovering the coasts of Middle Earth, and his heart was stirred indeed.

'A thousand years of Men has passed and more since the Draken Hårfagre Eldarion was brought here,' said Legolas. His voice sounded strange, otherworldly as if it were not truly his. 'It was brought to seal a treaty, to bind a Promise. To honour one that was worthy.'

Aragorn, still seeing the ship as clearly as if he stood at the prow as it plunged and rose over the green and white foamed sea, thought what great honour the Men of Cardolan had intended for a Man long dead and long forgotten.

Legolas held his gaze. 'You have already seen it then,' he said softly, 'the Draken Hårfagre Eldarion.'

Aragorn blinked. 'Eldarion?' The name struck him, resonated, as if he had known it all his life but only now recognised it.

Legolas did not answer him, seemingly set upon his own course. 'The Men of Cardolan intended it as an honour to your ancestor although they believe now that he betrayed them at the last.'

Aragorn remembered what Baranor had said when he had awoken the young Man in the burial chamber, how he had spoken, raved almost, and guilt for his ancestor's failure washed through him like a wave.

'The King did not send the Palantír as he promised, and he did not come to their aid but instead rode North to Fornost,' Legolas continued.

Aragorn sighed and nodded. 'I have come to understand, yes.'

'Eldarion is the name of the Last Prince,' Legolas said very softly now, but there was a note in his voice that was intractable. 'He has long been forgotten so that even his name is lost, though Arveleg is remembered as the King who kept Angmar at bay for many years.' Legolas tilted his head slightly to look at Aragorn intently. 'There is a way to remedy this great wrong.'

Aragorn knew it was true and was ashamed of his erstwhile ancestor. 'I will make right the story,' he said. 'You know that I will do whatever you ask of me.' He knew he had not always done so; he had denied Legolas too many times and he squirmed inwardly whenever he remembered the sharp words he had said at the Council of Elrond: How came the folk of Thranduil to fail in their trust?' he had cried out in his anger at Smeagol's loss. Only later did he come to understand the bitterness and grief caused by Smeagol's escape. 'I will have the history of Cardolan rewritten and Eldarion take his rightful place alongside Arveleg if that is what you ask. I will make sure that the Children of Haleth are remembered and that their defence of you is remembered.' He looked warmly at his friend.

'That is not enough,' the Elf said, uncompromising.

'What more can I do?' Aragorn asked, spreading his hands wide in appeal. The leather satchel was against his thigh and the Palantír felt warm. 'Tell me how I can make reparation.'

Legolas did not reply at first. He drew his knees up and clasped his hands around them, looking away south. Then he spoke. 'I know that your heart longs for peace, and to see Arnor returned to prosperity. It is the goodness in you that wishes this to be so.' He flashed a quick, bright smile to Aragorn. 'You wish to see Tharbad rid of those evil folk who prey upon travellers, those werewolves and half orcs. And I know that you wish to preserve the peace of The Shire for our dear friends. You are a good King.'

Aragorn scratched at the lichen growing over the rocks. Dried and curled, he picked at it for he felt a little embarrassed at how it pleased him to hear this. But Legolas had not finished.

'I know that you think the prophesy is important, that by fulfilling it, you hope to show that you are the legitimate heir of Elendil; the peoples of Arnor will accept you more readily.' Legolas said gravely.

'Arwen has foreseen it; the finding of the Palantír heralds the return of the Kingdom of Arnor.'

Legolas cocked his head a little, as if listening and indeed, when he spoke, to seemed to Aragorn that he might well have heard his own thoughts. 'Do you think that taking the Palantír back to Gondor will bring you the peace you desire? Is this not exactly as Arveleg's predecessors did? It caused such bitterness that Angmar was able to divide Arnor and conquer it. Is this not a lesson that sharing the wealth of the Kingdom will secure more allies, spread power, forge alliances that are strengthened because of your generosity? Your justice and fairness?'

Aragorn fidgeted with the stem of pipe uncomfortably. 'There is something in what you say, Legolas, I will concede, but what else can I do? There is no Prince of Cardolan, nor of Rhudaur.' He saw how Legolas was watching him, attentively, waiting for something and he wondered what that was.

And then he realised; the horn of Cardolan given to Baranor by his mother who claimed descent from the Princes of Cardolan. He gave a wry smile. 'You mean Baranor?' he said drily and shook his head. 'Baranor may well be a descendant of Princes, even of the Princes of Cardolan as he claims, and I have no reason to dispute that. But he is not a prince. He has no way of holding these lands. He has no men of his own, no wealth no…'

'Then give him what he needs,' Legolas interrupted. 'Guide him. Make him your vassal. Do the same in old Rhudaur if need be. Vassal princes or lords who will rule for you. Surely you do not think you can do it all from Gondor?'

Their voices had raised a little and Aragorn noticed that Elrohir had moved a little above them on the Keep, watching. His hand was on the hilt of his sword. 'If it were not Ascatar-axo it would be different,' he said. 'But Ascatar-axo cannot be protected in the Angle. It needs to be in a strong place that cannot be easily assailed. Surely you can see that?' Aragorn scrabbled for his flint again; his pipe had gone out and he wanted the peace smoking it would bring. He did not want this conflict with Legolas.

'I was not speaking of the Angle,' Legolas persisted.

Aragorn dropped the flint. 'Then where?' he tried not to snap but felt Legolas was being unreasonable.

'Here. Where it is meant to be. Beneath the Iaun-Gynd, on the Draken Hårfagre Eldarion.'

Aragorn laughed abruptly at the idea. It seemed reckless enough to place such a weapon in the hands of another, one he did not know well even though he was the son of Halbarad and Brianna whom he had trusted with his name, his lineage and his life. But to leave it in a place so easily assailed was counter to all his instincts. 'Which was haunted by the Barrow Wights until only a day ago!' He did not mean to scoff.

'Then it can be held in Imladris until the barrow is made safe,' Legolas said, his voice firm. Not quite angry, Aragorn realised, feeling even more irritated now; it was a foolish request. He could not possibly agree.

Legolas held his gaze. 'I ask this as a boon, of my dearest friend, of my king,' he said intractably, 'for whom I have given everything.' He spoke emphatically and Aragorn cringed inwardly at the last phrase, for it was true; Legolas had followed him to the Sea, in spite of Galadriel's warning, and he had believed it meant his death at the time and followed, nevertheless. And though he had not died, the sea-longing was stirred so that he could not rest, and for that, Aragorn knew he was responsible.

'You asked how you could right this wrong and I have told you,' Legolas continued. 'You said you would do whatever I asked of you. I ask this.'

Aragorn sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his beard anxiously.

'The prophesy by which you set such store is not about you, my friend.' Legolas was determined. 'It is about Baranor. Your role is to restore the rightful heir to this realm of Cardolan. The Palantír is his, as promised by your ancestor, Arveleg.'

He stared at the Elf. 'And what if I do not just hand over Ascatar-axo?'

'You will.' Legolas' face was unnervingly certain. A strange light flared in his eyes for a moment and then was gone.

Aragorn recoiled slightly. It was not so long ago that Legolas had attacked him with a determined ferocity that was intent upon killing him.

'I have faith in you,' Legolas said before Aragorn could speak. 'And I am sworn.'

He rose to his feet and stood looking down at Aragorn. 'I am sworn to see it done,' he repeated emphatically, and Aragorn looked up at him, and Legolas was limned by the sudden light of the rising sun. A blackbird broke out in sudden song. 'Think on it,' the Elf said and then was gone. Soon after, Elrohir followed.

Aragorn sat silently, deep in thought. His pipe went out and he did not move. I cannot, he thought. I cannot let the Palantír stay here. It is madness.

0o0o

Maglor had watched from the shadow of the ash tree, cloaked with a light glamour that even Elrohir's eyes slid over. He paused for a moment and then lifted his gaze to where Elrohir stood above on the hilltop. Once Legolas had gone, Elrohir too moved away with the long stride of a warrior, his sword at his hip and the close fitting black leather smooth over his limbs. Elrond must be proud of his sons, Maglor thought, and wondered if this was what his own boys had looked like in their first flush of maturity. It was an unexpected indulgence to let his gaze linger upon this child, who might almost be his own grandson.

He watched Elrohir disappear over the ridge. A pang of loss thrust through him, a familiar pain that he suppressed with uncompromising brutality. He would not allow this indulgence. He would lose himself in the task he had set for himself instead, and so he stepped forwards, letting the glamour slide way as he did.

Elessar did not stir for a long while so when Maglor sat beside him, he glanced up, startled and before Maglor could stop himself, he had lifted his hand as if to push a tendril of hair away from the Man's fine-boned face. His hand hovered between them and then he let it drop to his side.

'You are very like him, you know,' Maglor smiled slightly. 'Elros.' The name almost stumbled from his lips. It was so long since he had spoken it. 'You remind me of him. You have the same watchful care, the same thoughtfulness.'

'Elrond never speaks of him,' said Aragorn quietly.

The words drove all Maglor's thoughts of his task from him and he could not speak. He thought of the pain that his child must be suffering, knowing that his own child, Arwen, would wither and die and follow this Man beyond the bounds of Arda.

'It would comfort him…' Aragorn began but Maglor stopped him.

'You do not know what you ask, of him or me. And you cannot imagine how it …how it would be if I walked into Imladris.' He almost laughed; Elrond had struck that uneasy balance and peace between the remaining Noldor and the Sindar who sought sanctuary in Imladris, who had fought for her and who had seen loved ones die, or sail in grief. 'Men are like the briefest mayflies,' he said softly but not unkindly. 'How many lives of Men have passed since I stepped upon this shore and stood in the flamelight of burning ships?' He said it provocatively, forcing Aragorn to confront the truth of Maglor's past, for he was not some distant hero from a tale. 'There are some in Imladris who followed upon the Ice, others who lived in Doriath and Sirion. Do you think they would still see Elrond as their lord if he welcomed me home?'

Aragorn opened his mouth to speak.

'Enough now.' Maglor cut him a look. He had not held the Gap against Morgoth for nigh on five hundred years for this child to remind him of his duty. And he was not to be distracted by some wild speculation that he might go to Imladris. It would never happen. 'I have one more task here and then I will be gone.' He spoke firmly.

'Then if your travels ever take you South to Gondor, you will always be welcomed and my door is always open to you,' said the King, bowing his head towards Maglor.

Maglor turned away and looked ahead, over the misty downs where the tall stones stood, where the long grass was beaded with mist. He could not allow himself to be diverted by this noble Man's simple courtesy.

'And what is the task you would see done?' asked the King of Gondor who would reunite it with Arnor, and who seemed as ready to be provocative as Maglor himself.

Maglor gave him a steady look. 'I think you know,' he said simply.

'It will be better if you tell me,' said Aragorn Elessar.

Maglor shifted so that he looked into Aragorn's face. 'I have sworn,' he began emphatically so that this Man, this King, would remember what an oath meant to the last son of Fëanor, 'to see Arveleg's last wish fulfilled.'

He paused to allow Aragorn Elessar to consider that.

Aragorn was very still. Then he put a long-stemmed, finely carved pipe between his lips and struck a flint, holding the flame to the bowl to relit the pipe. He sucked on the stem to draw it with an aplomb that Maglor found himself admiring. Faced with the last of the bloody sons of Fëanor making a demand of him, he did not think many of the Man's ancestors, Men or Elves, would have had such coolness.

Maglor waited patiently, never taking his eyes from the Man's face.

Aragorn Elessar leaned back and let a long thin stream of grey smoke curl lazily upwards. 'It seems that you and Legolas are united in your purpose,' he observed. 'And no doubt you heard what I said to him. Leaving Ascatar-axo here is a dangerous proposition,' he said carefully.

Now his grey eyes turned upon Maglor, and Maglor was struck again by how like he was to Elros. But he is not, he reminded himself.

'You and Legolas would have this weapon left unguarded in the tumulus there, and you would have a Man with no lands or men, be the Prince of this?' The King waved a hand to indicate the wild moor about them. 'I do see the benefit of re-establishing Cardolan. Indeed it is my dream also. I want these lands to be free of Orcs and Wargs and danger.' He looked at Maglor earnestly. 'Legolas has made me see that Baranor carries the blood of the Princes of Cardolan in his veins and I will gladly acknowledge him. Today if you will.' He looked at the pipe bowl as if to check it were still lit. Then he looked back up, meeting Maglor's gaze. 'But Ascatar-axo is too dangerous to be given so lightly.'

Maglor narrowed his eyes. 'So said Celebrindor, and his son, Malvegil after him and Argeleb his son. It was Arveleg who finally listened. And it is to him that I owe my last allegiance.'

Maglor looked away over the distant tumuli now, remembering. 'Eldarion was noble and just. I saw Elendil in him as if he stood at his shoulder. More than good. He was a great Man, willing to trust, willing to make the first move to an alliance.' He smiled at the memory. 'And Arveleg too, hearkened back to the Men of Hador and Bëor, the greatness in them.'

Aragorn drew on his pipe, listening.

'It was agreed that Ascatar-axo would be brought to Cardolan and interred in the Iaun-Gynd.' Maglor gestured to the stone circle and the tumulus still veiled in early morning mist for the sun had not yet risen. 'The task of bringing the Palantír to Eldarion was entrusted to Torhîr Tryygson, a Man of irreproachable reputation, trusted on both sides and honourable. He was a scholar who knew the tales of both Houses, of both realms.' Torhîr's face appeared to Maglor now, the serious scholarly man in his burgundy colours and his flaxen maned Cardolan horse had been solid, dependable.

'Instead Angmar came. Over those ridges, thousands and thousands of Orcs and the half-Men half-Orc abominations of Carn-dûm. They killed everyone, slaughtered everything.'.

'Eldarion rallied his men. They stood here at Barad-Arth, and he sent messengers to Arveleg begging for help for there would be a rout such as Middle Earth has not seen since Beleriand. But in vain. It was a slaughter, and the messengers were betrayed and slain before they could reach Arveleg'.

Maglor stared at nothing, seeing again the battle at which he had arrived too late. 'Angmar had spies and traitors in Arthedain. They knew the Palantír was at Amon Sul, that it was to be given to Cardolan. Angmar could not risk it coming here where its power would be unlocked. Cardolan was already vanquished before we knew there was a traitor in Arveleg's camp, and that the call for aid from Cardolan never reached us.'

Maglor looked away; Ulfang's ugly, brutish face emerged from the darkness of his memory of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. He felt the cold Presence of the Doomsman now at the edge of firelight. Hated him for the cold cruelty of his Curse upon the Noldor. But this time, Maglor intended to defy the Valar's curse and would see the end of this turn to good.

'Arveleg too was killed and Angmar razed Amon Sul searching for the Palantír. But it had already gone. If he had found it, he would have used it. I thought Torhîr had fled North to Fornost with Ascatar-axo.' He blinked suddenly, remembering himself. 'Arveleg's son, Araphor was a mere child who had been sent to Cirdan for safety.' He glanced at Aragorn. 'Cirdan did not welcome me.' He grimaced.

'I was unwelcome in the court of Fornost after the rout too, and I never had the trust of the Kings after that.' The Curse had been hissed in corridors as he passed, had lingered in the air after he had gone. He had been blamed rather than the Kings of Arthedain- easier perhaps than to lay the blame at a dead King's feet. 'The story that Arvedui lost the Palantír in the Ice Bay seemed so typical of the fool that I was persuaded that it was true and for all the long years after, I did not search and believed my efforts all in vain. It was the fires on the Barrow Downs that drew me here. Närmófinion, Erestor. I knew that someone was searching. I did not know they had found it.'

'Ascatar-axo was in Amon Sul,' Aragorn told him. 'Your friend must have returned after the battle and hidden it again. Elrohir found it.' He seemed to check himself and said in a low, thoughtful voice, 'No. It was Baranor who found it.'

Maglor nodded. Torhîr must have found his way back there after seeing the hopelessness of delivering the Palantír to Eldarion; he must have seen the battle, or the aftermath. He would have fled back to Amon Sul in the hope that he might reach the King and found Amon Sul destroyed too. He would have waited until the search by Angmar had been abandoned. Maglor wondered how many years Torhîr had hidden the Palantír in breathless fear of discovery, how he had made his quiet way back there in secret and hidden the Stone under the earth.

'And now it is found comes the moment of true greatness, Aragorn Elessar of Gondor who would reunite the kingdom. But you will only accomplish that through honouring the promise made to Cardolan by your ancestor, Arveleg,' he said. He turned the full intensity of his eyes upon Aragorn. He wanted Aragorn to remember who he was talking to, what Maglor had done, how important was a promise, an oath. 'Ascatar-axo has been promised to Cardolan. And I will see it done.'

0O0O