Disclaimer: I was going to be funny and say that if I owned Middle Earth the books would be so much happier and not a single person would get hurt, but judging but this little story here that might not be the case. I don't own it, anyway.

Thanks again to my beta Atiaran. I don't dare to say this story is any good but she makes it so much better!

Oh, and thanks to everyone who has reviewed - special thanks to Alameda who wasn't signed it, because I can't reply and say thank you^^ I really, really, really appreciate it! :)

The gathering of the clouds

Roheryn looked a little abandoned. Aragorn had not ridden him for ages.

"You must have thought I had forgotten about you," he said as he climbed over the fence, landing with a soft squishing sound on a patch of bare earth on the other side. Roheryn kept his distance and looked insulted. He always knew when to be angry.

"You'll have to forgive me," Aragorn said, digging into his pockets for a handful of oats. "Truth is I had forgotten. A little." He held out the oats. "I had so much else on my mind."

The meager spring grass must have lost its first charm. Roheryn hesitated, yielded, and came closer. He ate from Aragorn's hand as quickly as a hungry hobbit child. Then he stood still and let himself be stroked on his spotted neck.

They stood there, hooves and brocade shoes sinking into the damp earth. Aragorn let their heads touch, Roheryn's silky forehead to his own.

"We'll ride again soon", he whispered, his heart fluttering a little at the thought. "We'll ride again, you and I."

Roheryn snorted as if he understood. Or maybe he just wanted more oats.

Aragorn looked up and let his gaze wander over the pasture. Arwen's dark Dae and Faramir's Bronind were grazing in the middle of it. Arod and Éowyn's Fréonda, both slightly dwarfed by the other two, stood side by side, tails swishing as they helped each other chase off some drowsy spring flies. All the other horses of the citadel had been taken to the stables or the courtyard beyond it to be prepared for the journey.

Aragorn absently fingered the green stone that clasped his cloak together. A gust of wind stroked his cheek, rustled in the grass, and stirred cords in his heart that he had not allowed to be touched for a very long time. For a moment he thought the wind called his name: Strider...

"The wind's from the north today, isn't it?"

Aragorn looked up to see Éowyn leaning over the fence, watching him over the edge of her fur-lined collar.

He nodded. "We'll have a cold journey."

"Sunny but cold."

"That doesn't sound too bad."

Éowyn shook her head, reaching over the fence to scratch Fréonda behind the ears as the grey mare trotted over to her. The sun was gleaming in her pale hair, puddles of water and patches of snow glittered around her feet and her dress and cloak were muddy at the hem. Already she had a couple of new freckles. The citadel was startingly white behind her, newly washed in a nightly rain.

From the other side of the stables behind her, came the sounds of the royal retinue getting ready - the stomping of hooves, the bellow of oxen, the jingle of tack, the occasional squeaking of a wagon's wheel and the voices of men and women calling to each other, giving orders, laughing, jesting, cursing the cold. The soldiers were saddling their horses, the servants were loading wagons with food and blankets and spare arrows. The white puffs of breath from the horses, the smell of wet wool, wet fur and sweat, and the lingering sharpness of winter filled the air.

"We will be slow," Éowyn said wistfully. "I would have liked to travel swiftly. I would have liked to ride alone, with you and Faramir and Gimli and the elves. Why do we need all those servants and soldiers again?"

"It's appropriate", Aragorn said, for what felt like the thousandth time. Last evening, when Legolas and he had returned from the balcony and told the others of their new plans, he had had to explain to them over and over again why they had to undertake the kind of journey he proposed.

Éowyn sighed. "It still seems unnecessary."

She was restless, just like him, and like him she could not just ride out on a whim. He was a king, she was a woman. Their situations were alike.

"We won't be that slow," he said.

"Yes, we will."

"Come." Aragorn gave Roheryn the last handful of oats and patted him goodbye for the moment. "Let's go and see how the preparations are faring. Have the others eaten breakfast?"

"Not when I left."

They walked between the two stable houses and onto the courtyard on the sixth level, between the citadel rock and the outer wall. The retinue had gathered here because there was no way to get wagons and horses through the tunnel in the rock to the courtyard in front of the citadel itself. Aragorn did not mind an excuse to get out. This was a sort of haven - so bustling with activity he could pass almost unnoticed through the crowd.

All around them, soldiers were leading saddled horses out of the stables, blinking in the sudden sunlight; a couple of kitchen maids struggled with lifting a barrel of ale onto one of the wagons; the two carpenters were arguing about the number of hammers they would bring; the chirurgeon was giving instructions about his many fragile instruments as a man carried his wooden chest towards the wagons; the blacksmith made some last-minute repairs to horse's shoes and broken cauldrons, and a scullery maid slowly turned a grindstone while the weapons master sharpened swords and knives for a long row of soldiers.

"What do you think?" Aragorn said. "Will we be ready to leave in an hour?"

"Less," Éowyn said, smiling. "Half an hour."

"Not if Gimli and Legolas start arguing about something."

"Or if Faramir remembers some letter he must write." Éowyn stopped outside the armory. "My sword needs to be sharpened. Maybe I should have it seen to before we leave."

"I hardly think you will need it on the journey."

"Maybe not," she said, looking a bit secretive. "And maybe I will."

"What?"

Éowyn shrugged and gave him a mischiveous smile. "You owe me a re-match. I know I can beat you. It's just a matter of luck on your side."

"And you want your sword sharpened for that?"

She grinned, shook her head, and kept walking, zigzagging between horses, people and heaps of luggage left on the ground. The snow and the dirt on the courtyard had been trampled into mud that reached to their ankles, with the white stone visible in patches, and Aragorn wondered for the hundredth time why, of all shoes he owned, he had chosen the brocade ones. But the mud would dry, he thought, if only the clouds drifting across the sky remained this white and tiny.

Come to think of it, the clouds had been much smaller an hour ago... Aragorn looked up. More of them were gathering in the north.

"We'll have rain," he said.

"I saw that earlier." Éowyn followed his gaze and frowned. "We should leave as soon as possible, or it will be over us."

"Better wait till it has passed."

"Nay," she said and grinned, "that could take hours. I don't care if it starts raining, I just want to leave before the others realise that it will."

They left the courtyard behind, followed the street to the citadel gate, and walked through the gate into the tunnel where torches lit up the broad stairs. Five servants met them inside the tunnel with heavy loads of blankets, furs and spare cloaks. Master Tâwarbenn was with them.

"Are all of these really needed?" he asked Aragorn. "I thought you would be going south."

"We are," Aragorn said. "South to Dol Amroth, where the wind blows day and night and the damp gets into the very marrow of your bones. We'll need everything warm we have."

"What was it Imrahil called it in that letter?" Éowyn asked, as they left the darkness of the tunnel and stepped into the blinding sunlight reflected against the citadel. "The wind-whipped, wave-drenched, miserably grey and rainy coast..."

"The place the Valar forgot," Aragorn added, smiling at the memory, "the place that the swine finds too muddy and the seals too wet...I, the shivering, sniffling prince of Dol Amroth, Imrahil the Unhappy, humbly welcome you to share my despair in my damp castle by the stormy sea...The man should have become a bard."

If you looked south and strained your eyes, on a clear day like this, you could see the Sea like a thin line of cold blue. When Aragorn was younger, and lived in Gondor under the name of Thorongil, he had always loved that place. Dol Amroth was a walled city on a rock above the sea, and a stone castle defying the cold grey waves. It was cold, very cold - and very wild.

It was not like the north, but Aragorn did not want to go north - not when he risked meeting the twins there. The wilderness was huge, but a chance meeting was not impossible - it had happened to Aragorn before. The twins might make sure it happened again, and if it did, Aragorn trusted them to be stubborn enough to try to persuade him to come with them once again. He did not want that wound to be opened again. He did not want the possibility back.

Thinking of the twins waiting by the Eilenach Beacon, in Anorien on the road to Rohan, Aragorn was glad they did not go west either. Rohan would have been the perfect destination - not too far, like Eryn Galen, and not too close, like Ithilien - but Aragorn had argued heatedly against it, and in the end he had won. The one who was most reluctant to go to Dol Amroth was Legolas, because it was so close to the sea, but he had given in - maybe because he knew Aragorn would not want to pass through Anorien.

"If only Imrahil's court wasn't so similar to this," Éowyn said, as they walked up the broad steps into the shadow of the entrance hall. "I like my brother's better."

"We'll go to Rohan in the summer."

"I know. And I do want to see Lothiriel again. There's something between her and Éomer and I've got to know what. But I would have liked to get away from court."

"Well, so do I. There's nothing we can do about it."

"At least we have a long journey ahead of us."

Their feet left tracks of mud on the stone floor, and their voices echoed slightly against the arched roof high above their heads. The windows threw long squares of sunlight on the floor. Horse Master Narion hurried past with a rucksack flung over his shoulder.

Éowyn went to fetch her sword from her room and take it to the weapons master, and Aragorn went on to the royal apartments on the fourth floor. At first he thought it was empty. The only one in the hallway was Arwen's maid Maew, who was carrying Arwen's jewelry chest. Aragorn held open the door for her.

"Is Arwen here?"

"In the morning room."

The morning room was at the end of the hallway, a small airy room where Aragorn and Arwen preferred to take their breakfast, rather than in the dining hall where the rest of the citadel ate. Hushed voices came from the slightly opened door. Aragorn peered inside. Arwen and Faramir sat with their heads together, Legolas between them, Gimli watching from a chair beside the fireplace.

"Making evil plans?" Aragorn said and stepped into the room. All four of them straightened up and fell silent. Aragorn sat down beside Arwen and kissed her on the brow. "What were you talking about?"

"Nothing," she said. "Where have you been?"

Something about her voice sounded tense, but he decided not to ask. Maybe she was just stressed about the journey. As the Queen, she had a great deal of responsibility.

"On the sixth level. Everything's almost ready. We should go down as soon as possible."

Faramir looked startled. "We will leave this early?"

"Why wait when we can go now? It's a lovely day. Have you packed?"

Arwen hesitated. "If Maew has found a dress I can ride in... well, then I'm ready. You don't think it's better to wait till after lunch, then?"

"Why?"

She shrugged. Aragorn did not miss the glance she exchanged with Faramir, but he could not exactly read it. Surprise? Confusion?

"What's going on?" he asked. "There's something you're not telling me."

Another glance. This time Gimli looked towards the roof and scratched the back of his neck, trying to look casual. Legolas was slowly turning an empty teacup in his hand hands, his expression unreadable. But Aragorn recognized this kind of silence. It was guilt.

"Arwen," he said, frowning, "what is it you don't..."

"What is it you're not telling us?" she shot back, twisting in her chair to look at him. "Four days ago you collapsed, for the whole winter you've been waking up in the middle of the night and leaving without a word, and I haven't been told anything - nothing! And now I ask Legolas why he has been so quiet all morning and he says - " Legolas looked up, bewildered, and started to protest, but Arwen raised her voice above his: "He says that you've been unhappy and that's why you're making this journey, because you want to feel like a ranger again, and Legolas is worried that it will not help..."

"Did you say that?" Aragorn asked, scowling at Legolas who refused to meet his eyes. "Why did you tell them?"

"Why would he not?" Arwen snapped. Her face was flushed with anger. All the worry and confusion and weariness of the last days - or weeks? For how long had she sensed something was wrong? - exploded in a flurry of words. "We have the right to know - I have the right to know - and don't you understand you are hurting Legolas as well? He doesn't want to go to Dol Amroth because you are being a fool!"

"I am being a fool?" Aragorn leapt from the chair. "Well, tell me what I'm supposed to do then, since you seem to know everything about me!"

"Oh, do I?" Arwen glared at him, but even as she did so her voice cracked. "What do I know about you? When did you tell me anything true last time? I don't know what you need, I don't know what you feel! I knew something was wrong but I could not see what. I don't... Valar, I don't know anything."

As her voice died away, she closed her eyes, as if that would take away the pain. Aragorn sat down again, shocked. He had never shouted at Arwen before.

"I was going to tell you," he said. "I just wanted to wait till it felt right. But if Legolas has decided he knows better than me, then so be it. What he says is true. What of it?"

Silence fell again. Aragorn looked from Legolas to Arwen, but none of them seemed to know what to say. He turned to Faramir.

"This is all a mistake," Faramir said, calm as ever. "We do not need to argue. The thing is, Aragorn, that Legolas doesn't want to torture himself by going to the Sea because of something he doesn't think will help you. He told us what he heard from you because we asked, and that was what we were discussing. We don't think this sort of journey is what you need."

Aragorn forced down the anger flaring up again, but he could not help sounding irritated as he said: "All I need is to get away from the citadel, and I can't see any other way to do that than an actual journey. I do not think I will feel like a ranger if I do that, and I do not want to be one either."

"But you want to feel like one," Legolas said.

"Possibly. But I am not a ranger and therefore I will not travel as one."

"And you think it will help?"

"Help?"

"You think it will make you sleep easier?" Legolas asked, challenge in his voice, despite the glances Faramir threw at him. "You think you will feel better?"

"It was your idea."

"I regretted it."

"What do you think, then?"

Legolas leaned closer, watching him with those piercing blue eyes. "I think that it won't matter how far you ride as long as you have the servants and soldiers and all that behind. I think it won't matter where you ride, when we will sleep at some lord's estate every night and our destination is a palace. I think you're fooling yourself."

"I am not fooling myself."

Legolas shrugged and looked away. Aragorn scowled at him. Maybe a part of him knew the elf might be right, but he was not going to admit it.

"I trusted my troubles to you and you alone," he said instead, "because I thought you would understand me best, and I trusted you not to tell anyone else. Had I known you would reveal it to the first person to ask..."

"Estel." Arwen put a hand on his arm, very lightly, as if not sure if he would allow her to touch him. Pain and guilt were written across her face. "Don't blame him. We... we pressed him to tell us. We were worried for you. And for him. It's not Legolas fault."

"And now we're quarreling again", Faramir said softly. "Look, Aragorn, we're concerned about you, but it's your choice. We cannot decide for you. We just want to help."

Aragorn pressed two fingers to his temples and sighed. Gimli was the only one who dared to look at him, and though he had not said anything, Aragorn knew he was the least guilty of them all. Gimli would have waited for Aragorn to explain when he wanted to explain, because Gimli trusted people to do that before it was too late; and if Aragorn asked for his help, he would give it without question. Somehow the dwarf's steadfast loyalty gave Aragorn new strength. Gimli would not try to judge him. Gimli would never say, told you so.

"Listen", he said, looking up again. "I don't want to be angry with any of you. I am certain that this journey will be fine for me, but if I'm wrong - then it will show, right? And then I'll need your help. But I will never know if I'm wrong before I have tried."

Arwen hesitated. He looked at her, pleadingly. She managed a faint smile. "You are right."

"Of course," Faramir said. "We never meant you to cancel the journey, we just wondered if you knew what you were doing."

"And I do," Aragorn assured him. "Don't you agree, Gimli?"

The dwarf shrugged. "That will be interesting to see."

"Legolas?"

Legolas sighed. "You know why I don't want to go with you. But it's no problem. If you still don't want to go to Rohan, we can go different ways."

"I'd hate to leave you behind."

"I'll be fine."

Aragorn reached over the table to put his hand over the elf's. "Maybe I'll need your help too. You cannot avoid the Sea forever, Las."

Legolas lifted an eyebrow. "If you can avoid being a ranger, why wouldn't I be able to avoid the Sea?"

Aragorn ignored that. "When are you going to accept it? You have to live with it, Las, not pretend it isn't there. One day you'll have to -"

"And that has to be tomorrow?" Legolas retorted. "Listen, Estel, it's not such a big deal. What I want is to go with the twins, and if you don't want that, why shouldn't I?"

Aragorn did not know how to answer that. He sighed. "So you've made up your mind?"

"I..." Legolas hesitated. "Not exactly. I didn't think we'd leave so soon. But I guess..."

"No," Aragorn said and squeezed his hand a little. "Don't make any decisions in a haste. You may come to regret it. Let's say - "

"Who is making decisions in a haste?"

"I am," Aragorn quickly admitted, "so listen. We'll postpone the journey and set off tomorrow. That way you've got time to think, and so have I. Maybe one of us will change our minds." He grinned. "Hopefully you."

Legolas pulled his hand away and seemed to fight with himself to not smile, but he had never been good at being angry with anyone. With the expression of someone surrendering unwillingly, he smiled back. "Most likely no one. We're both more stubborn than a dwarf demanding payment."

The empty bread basket from Gimli's side of the table came flying through the air and hit Aragorn in the head, since Legolas very quickly ducked.

"Goodness!" Faramir burst out. "Go outside if you're going to throw things, I haven't finished my breakfast."

The oxen were unharnessed from the carts, the horses unsaddled and led back into the stables, and the luggage carried back into the citadel. It was with a heavy heart Aragorn gave the orders. He stood and watched the procedure and he could almost feel Roheryn's disappointed eyes as the horse was taken back into the pasture.

Maybe Legolas felt Aragorn's disappointment, because the elf was nowhere to be seen. When Legolas felt guilty about something, he wanted to be alone.

"I still don't understand," Éowyn said and sat down on a barrel beside him, the newly sharpened sword in her hands. "If Legolas doesn't want to go to Dol Amroth, why do we wait? It's his choice."

"It's just a day," Aragorn said. He did not feel like explaining the real reason yet again. "We'll ride off on the morrow. That way we will miss the rain."

"Unless it keeps raining through the night."

"And then we will be very happy we did not set off today."

Éowyn shrugged, absently running a finger along the fine steel edge of her sword. She looked as unhappy about the delay as he felt. "I understand him, though," she mused. "Sometimes I feel it would be better to ride alone."

"You do?"

She made a face. "The retinue."

"Ah."

"I was not far from strangling one of your guards yesterday, and it won't feel better because we're not in Minas Tirith. And do you remember Imrahil's ward, whatever his name was?"

"Very clearly."

"If he keeps insisting on protecting me and Arwen wherever we go, I will kill him."

Aragorn had wanted to kill the ward too, last time he saw him. "But that's not why Legolas doesn't want to go with us."

"I know, I know - the sea," Éowyn said. "We all have our reasons. I guess I'm the only one who has a problem with servants. We didn't have that many in Edoras."

Sometimes Aragorn had the eerie feeling that she knew more than she pretended. She was so young - twenty-six this year - but much wiser than he had been in that age. He had known he was a king, but not understood it; had never grasped the meaning of it, had never felt the chains. He had still been a child. She was not.

When he left her and walked back to the citadel, the wind had lessened a little. There was no longer the sharp bite of winter in it, nor did it tear at his clothes as if it wanted him to hurry. Was it a sign - did the northern wind turn its back him because he turned his back the north?

On the way to the fourth floor he met Gimli in a very bad mood, stalking down a spiral stair with his axe in hand. The dwarf only ever walked around with his axe indoors when he was angry.

"You two," he muttered as Aragorn carefully stepped out of his way, "are the most foolish persons in the world."

"Have you been talking to Legolas?"

"I have tried."

"Has he made up his mind?"

Gimli gave a frustrated sigh. "Does that flighty creature ever make up his mind? Talk to him if you want. This is all your fault, after all."

"How is it my fault?"

But the dwarf gave no answer, and Aragorn shook his head and went on upwards. Maybe Gimli was right, maybe he should try to persuade Legolas once more. He found the elf on the floor in the guest apartments, fletching arrows.

Aragorn stopped in the doorway, silently wondering what the elf prepared for - the possibility of a leisure hunt on the road, or the dangers of the roadless north? Legolas said nothing, concentrating fully on the arrows. If he knew Aragorn watched him, he did not say it.

"Have you made up your mind?"

"You gave me till tomorrow."

Aragorn left the doorway and came to stand beside him. Legolas kept working with the arrows, his fingers swift and skilled, his brow furrowed.

"What are you leaning towards, then?"

"I'm not sure yet. Hand me my quiver?"

"Listen," Aragorn said, giving him the quiver, "I'm sorry for getting angry before. It won't be the same without you."

"And it won't be the same without you, if I go with the twins", Legolas said. "Ever thought of that?"

He hadn't. He had never considered that they might miss him.

"Tell me when you've made up your mind", Aragorn said and backed out of the apartments. "I will be outside."

He shut the door close behind him, leaned his back to it and swallowed hard, because something had stuck in his throat. Then he began to walk, faster and faster, aimlessly. The realisation that had come with Legolas's words - said without the purpose of making him understand, said even without the knowledge that there was something to be understood - made his thoughts run in circles.

The very tragedy of everything that had changed was overwhelming. Aragorn had never understood that he was important to the twins' life - to them, yes, but not to their way of living. But the truth was that without him, the twins would never have their old life back; it was as lost to them as it was to him.

Aragorn passed Gimli in the entrance hall and did not notice him. Suddenly he saw exactly how devastating the peace had been, not only for him but also for many of his beloved ones. They were broken; shattered by a peace they had not been prepared for. They were foreign, a relic of old times. In that instant he knew why the elves were sailing. They had known and loved another Middle Earth, not this one.

He left the citadel; walked through the tunnel, past the Houses of Healing, past the inn of the Singing Swan, to the street edged with chestnut trees where snow still covered the cobbles. Sunlight shone through spidery branches. Only the faintest touch of cold was left of the nothern wind.

Still Aragorn shuddered, and tugged the cloak closer to his body.

Tomorrow, he thought, and looked down the street as it wound its way through the White City, all the way down to the last gate. All he wanted now was to get out. He did not want to know how difficult everything was. He was on his own; if he could make it, so could the twins.

Tomorrow.

So sorry for all the angst-.- Aragorn, Y U SO STUPID?

Thanks for reading, please review! :)