Chapter Forty-Eight

~ Legolas~
Mithrandir called a council early the next morning. When I walked into the throne room, I saw that I wasn't alone; Aragorn, Gimli, Éomer, King Théoden, Boromir, and Eldarion were already there. Mithrandir was also there, pacing rapidly back and forth, a thoughtful frown on his face as he spoke to the others.

I was late, I knew, but I had been loathe to leave Estel alone after what had happened.

I stood beside Aragorn as Mithrandir was saying, "There was no lie in Pippin's eyes. A fool . . . but an honest fool he remains." He paused. "He told Sauron nothing of Frodo and the Ring."

All around the room, there were signs of relief. That had been our greatest concern. Eldarion had touched Estel, not the palantír, so we weren't terribly worried about him revealing anything even though he had been in Sauron's grip for a moment. And Estel had obviously not seen anything; her outburst had proved what she had seen, and Sauron had only been trying to hurt her through images rather than demand her name or any information.

"We've been strangely fortunate," Mithrandir announced.

I stared at him. Fortunate? Estel and Eldarion and Pippin – all injured by Sauron and that was fortunate?

"Pippin saw in the palantír a glimpse of the enemy's plan," he explained, perhaps catching my expression. "Sauron moves to strike the city of Minas Tirith."

I felt Aragorn stiffen. He was not yet King – but he still considered those of Gondor his people, and Minas Tirith had the most of them. Besides, were he ever to be crowned King, it would have to be at Minas Tirith. If he wasn't, it would signify him having a crown – but lacking a kingdom. And a King without a kingdom wasn't King for long.

"His defeat at Helm's Deep showed our enemy one thing: he knows the heir of Elendil has come forth," Mithrandir continued, nodding at Aragorn. "Men are not as weak as he supposed; there is courage still, strength enough perhaps to challenge him."

"And there is nothing more that he fears than a challenge," Eldarion murmured, pale blue eyes alit with excitement. He was ready to challenge Sauron; that was much I could easily see.

Mithrandir nodded. "He fears this more than anything." He turned his eyes back to us. "He will not risk the peoples of Middle-Earth uniting under one banner. He will raze Minas Tirith to the ground before he sees a King return to the throne of Men."

This time, both Eldarion and Aragorn stiffened. Even Eldarion, who did not belong, knew the significance of losing Minas Tirith to the Enemy.

Mithrandir turned at last to Théoden, who had not moved and whose expression had not changed during the course of the entire discussion.

"If the Beacons of Gondor are lit, Rohan must be ready for war," he warned.

Now, Théoden stirred. "Tell me . . . why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours?" he asked quietly. "What do we owe Gondor?"

I frowned slightly. This was an attitude I had seen before in this King; namely, when he had been pressured to ride out and fight the Wildmen when they ravaged the Westfold. I was getting the feeling that Théoden, especially now with the death of his son, was beginning to feel helpless. Perhaps not the best time for it, of course – but also, perhaps the best time to find it.

Meanwhile, I guessed that Eldarion had had enough.

"Owe Gondor?" he repeated, staring at the King. "It is not a question of owing anything, Théoden King! It is a matter that without Gondor, you will be attacked from all sides by Mordor! Is Rohan ready to fend off all the forces of Mordor?"

Théoden wasn't moved. "And what has Gondor done to protect us from attack?"

"You forget the Rangers of Ithilien," Boromir pointed out. "My brother is one of them. They still patrol the plains."

"The Rangers are not enough against the tide of Mordor," Théoden stated.

"No, we are not," Eldarion conceded. "Not alone. But the greatest fear of Sauron, Théoden King, is that we will unite! With the Rangers and the Men of Gondor and the Rohirrim of Rohan, Sauron will be hard-pressed to destroy us. Together, we are far stronger than he ever will be."

"I have lost many in the Battle for Helm's Deep," Théoden protested. "How can I ask my people to sacrifice even more for a people that did not aid them? And you, Ranger – will you answer the call of the beacons?"

Eldarion opened his mouth furiously, but I put a hand on his shoulder. "~Peace, Eldarion,~" I cautioned. "~You forget your place. Let your Chieftain speak for you now.~"

Aragorn stirred. "I will go," he announced quietly. "The Rangers of the North will go to Gondor's aid."

"No!" Mithrandir exclaimed, whirling around to face Aragorn.

Aragorn, Eldarion, and Boromir all stared at Mithrandir, aghast. I too was stunned; even Théoden seemed taken aback by the strength of Mithrandir's response.

"They must be warned!" Aragorn said, speaking for all three.

"They will be," Mithrandir said enigmatically.

He stepped closer to Aragorn, lowering his voice so much that I only heard because of my Elven senses. I was surprised that he did not speak in Elvish, but perhaps he did not wish to intentionally offend Théoden. Besides, Mithrandir rarely spoke Elvish to us anyways.

"You must come to Minas Tirith by another road," Mithrandir advised softly. "Follow the river and look to the black ships."

Aragorn frowned slightly, but after a bit he inclined his head in acquiescent.

Mithrandir appeared satisfied, for he turned back to the entire group and continued speaking. "Understand this: things are now in motion that cannot be undone," he announced gravely. "I ride for Minas Tirith." He paused and looked at Pippin. "And I won't be going alone."

~ Éomer ~
I found Estel sitting on the steps, hugging a blanket to her slender figure and gazing out over the fields with a distracted expression on her face.

"Éomer."

She spoke my name so calmly, so certainly, and so suddenly that I nearly jumped. Hiding my surprise at how she had known it was me, I sat down beside her.

Estel turned to me. "Sorry if I scared you."

I examined her appearance, dismayed at how much damage the palantír of Sauron had done to her. There were dark circles under her eyes, as though she had gotten no sleep. Her hair rested limply around her shoulders, as though there was no life in it anymore. And her eyes – her eyes looked simply exhausted. Not the exhausted of having done too much work and being overtired. No, this was the exhausted of those who have grown tired of living.

"How do you feel?" I asked quietly.

She sighed. "Why does everyone feel the need to ask that?" she asked, her tone frustrated.

I reached out and brushed back a strand of her hair. "Because we care. And because you look . . ."

"Terrible, I know," she finished with another sigh. She looked down. "Honestly, I don't feel much better than I look, I think. My mother nearly had a heart attack when she saw me this morning. She said I looked . . . almost dead."

Estel tried to say these words in a causal tone, but I could hear the confusion and the fear. She was afraid.

I took her hands, intending to offer comfort, and gasped.

Her hands were ice cold. They were freezing.

I looked at her, alarmed. "Estel, you're – you're so cold."

She yanked her hands away. "I've been sitting out here for a while; obviously my hands will feel cold to you."

I frowned at her. "The blanket?"

Estel groaned. "You are entirely too observant, Éomer Éomundion," she said in exasperation.

"Well?"

She looked down again. "I don't know why," she admitted finally. "Ever since I . . . well, I've just been cold. It seems nothing I can do is will warm me up. Everything just seems a lot colder now. I don't know why."

Concerned, I put my arms around her and pulled her close. It wasn't just her hands; her entire body was cold.

To my surprise, Estel didn't say anything. She merely leaned tiredly against me. She trusted me.

I was very surprised. She wasn't exactly the most lady-like of girls, but even so,

But perhaps Estel was past caring at the moment. We had already seen each other after battle – sweaty, exhausted, dirty. Being tired, then, was simple after that.

And then there was an enormous bang, and we both jumped.

A white horse leaped from the gates of Edoras with two riders on it.

Estel straightened. "Is that . . . Is that Shadowfax?"

I looked at her. "Of course."

She blinked once, and then her eyes narrowed. Her entire body tensed, and I got the feeling that she was doing some very quick thinking.

"What did you do in the council?"

For a moment, I was too startled to answer.

How had she known?

She had still been sleeping during the meeting, and she had been with no one since. There was now way she could have known about the meeting. No way at all. So how had she found out about the council?

I shrugged. "I didn't do anything. But," I added, "Gandalf has apparently decided to take matters into his own hands. He's riding to Minas Tirith with the Hobbit – Pippin."

Estel stared after them. "Events now in motion that cannot be undone. . ." Her voice was so low I barely caught it.

"What?"

She seemed to come back to reality with a jolt. "What? Oh – nothing. Don't mind me; my mind just isn't here right now. . ."

I looked down at her again. Her etherealness was gone, perhaps, but her beauty remained. Besides, I knew how she had lost it – she had sacrificed herself to save the Hobbit. A courageous act, and I could respect that.

I stood. "Why don't you come inside with me? There's a fire in my room; perhaps that can warm you."

Estel looked at the hand I offered, and then she smiled. "Why not?"

And she put her hand in mine, and allowed me to lead her there.