Chapter Twenty-Three

~ Aragorn ~
An arrow suddenly whistled through the air, and with astonishing accuracy knocked the dagger out of Gríma's hand. I looked to my right, expecting to see Legolas with his hands still on his bow and reminding myself to thank him later.

But Legolas's bow was still strung with an arrow, and even he could not reload that fast. . .

Eldarion leaped down at that same moment, still clutching his own bow, his expression murderous. In that moment I clearly understood how thoroughly his father had trained him in the ways of the Dúnedain. He had acted purely out of instinct and loyalty towards me in this moment – and he had probably just saved my life.

"You would dare to attempt to harm him?" Eldarion's voice was deathly quiet, and his eyes glittered with the same dangerous light I had seen in him when Estel had gone missing at Amon Hen. "You dare to – "

"Eldarion," I interrupted calmly. I stared at him until his pale blue eyes left Gríma and met mine. "~That is enough.~"

Eldarion's eyes narrowed, but I raised a firm hand. On top of the fact that he was my future descendant and heir, as I was the lord of the Dúnedain Eldarion had to obey me. Eldarion finally obeyed, inclining his head to me and taking a few steps back.

But his eyes never strayed from Gríma, making sure that the Man knew that any single threatening moment on his behalf towards me would land him a knock over the head or an arrow in the heart.

I turned my attention back to Gríma just in time to see him spit at my feet and take off through the crowd. I saw the way Eldarion's hands clenched around his weapons at Gríma's actions. I would not be surprised if one day Gríma comes to regret this action.

~ Estel ~
"They had no warning. They were unarmed. Now the Wildmen are moving through Westfold, burning as they go, every rick, cot and tree." Èowyn's disgusted voice made it quite clear what she thought of these Wildmen as she rose from the girl's side.

Shortly after the burial of Théodred, Mithrandir and Théoden had stayed behind, the former to comfort the weeping latter. The rest of us had withdrawn to give the king some privacy. I did not understand what Théoden was feeling, to lose his only child, but I knew what it was like to lose my family.

Then Théoden had come in, bringing with him two children who bore the message that Èowyn now told the rest of us.

I looked up at my brother, whose lips were tight with anger at Saruman's actions. The attack on both Théodred and the Westfold was, in the opinion of a Ranger, cowardly and dishonest. You did not attack the innocent and the unarmed.

"Where's Mama?" the girl asked, her voice heartbreakingly high and worried. I guessed that the mother had sent her children on ahead, both to send the message and to spare the children the ghastly fate that had most likely befallen her.

"Hush," Èowyn told the child, pulling a blanket around her shoulders.

"This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash. All the more potent for he is driven now by the fear of Sauron." Mithrandir's voice was ringing, lined with a passion I well understood. But I also knew that no matter what Mithrandir said, Théoden would make the decision to move his people to Helm's Deep.

"Ride out and meet him head on." Mithrandir's suggestion was quiet but empowering. I stared at the wizard as he continued. "Draw him away from your women and children. You must fight." His sincerity was evident in every word that he spoke.

I watched the internal battle in Théoden. Would he change history and fight?

As if to goad him on, Aragorn interrupted, "You have two thousand good men riding north as we speak. Èomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their king."

Théoden stood and walked away from his throne. "They will be three hundred leagues from here by now!" His tone was filled with defeat as he continued, "Èomer cannot help us."

He turned back to Mithrandir sharply as the wizard raised a hand and took a step forward. "I know what is that you want of me," he said, cutting the wizard off and making him stop in his tracks. "But I would not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war."

I closed my eyes. So. Théoden will not change history. He will not risk war, yet war will find him ere the end.

"Open war is upon you, Théoden Thengelion, whether or not you accept that." My brother's voice made me open my eyes. I stared incredulously at my brother, who was now facing down the King of Rohan. "The more you deny it, the more likely it will come true, and result in a massacre of all of your people."

I sighed. Eldarion had been raised first a Ranger and then as warden; to him, there was nothing worse than accepting an early defeat when other things could be done. However, I thought that breaking in his new philosophy by using it on the King of Rohan might be going a tad far. And it was made worse by the fact that Eldarion had not addressed Théoden as "Théoden King", as etiquette demanded, but merely as the son of Thengel, as if they were equals.

And they most certainly were not. Well, at least not now.

Théoden came closer, his expression angry. Aragorn rose and placed a calming hand on Eldarion, his gaze warning him not to say anything else.

"Last I checked, Ranger, I was King of Rohan, not you."

I cleared my throat, drawing everyone's attention. "Then what, Your Majesty, is the king's decision for Rohan?"

~ Saruman ~
"There were five who followed the wizard. An Elf, a Dwarf, a woman, and two Men."

This unexpected piece of information made me open my eyes. I turned to face Wormtongue, my curiosity piqued.

"You stink of horse," I said disgustedly. But I suppose that can't be helped. He's only a mortal, easily swayed and used.

"Were they Men of Gondor?" That would fit the description of part of the Fellowship of the Ring I was now hearing about.

"No, from the North. Of Dúnedain Rangers I thought they were."

You can actually think, I thought sarcastically.

"Their cloth was spoor. And yet they bore a strange ring. Two serpents with emerald eyes. One devouring, the other crowned with golden flowers."

Flipping through the book, my hand came to a rest on top of a large illustration of the said ring. I knew it had sounded familiar. I read the title with a raised eyebrow. "The Ring of Barahir. So Gandalf Greyhame thinks he's found Isildur's heir, the lost King of Gondor. He is a fool. The line was broken years ago."

I slammed the book shut just as Wormtongue said in a confused tone, "There are two heirs of Gondor?"

I whirled back to Wormtongue as the implications of his statement became clear. "What did you say?" I demanded in a dangerous voice.

Wormtongue shrunk away. "Are there two heirs of Gondor?" he near whispered.

I began to laugh. "Oh, you fool. There is no heir. That line was broken."

"But the ring – "

" – is an old heirloom that must have resided in Imladris all this time," I finished dismissively. I knew where that ring had come from, all right. Elrond Peredhel must have taken it in after Isildur's fall into the Anduin, as he was of distant kin with the fallen king. I had always wondered why I had never gotten the Ring of Barahir along with the Elendilmir. "Peredhel could have given it to any Ranger and claimed him an heir."

"But two heirs?"

"Have you been listening to me or not?" I raged, starting to get angry at his seeming inability to accept my statements. "There is no heir."

"But if the rings signal they are heirs – "

"Wait." I cut Wormtongue off, stepping towards the insufferable Man. "Rings?"

"Both of Men had that same ring, on the same hand, on the same finger," Wormtongue told me. "But one was younger, and obeyed the commands of the elder."

I frowned. That was impossible. There was only one Ring of Barahir.

What is going on? They can't be two heirs, that line is broken . . . isn't it?