Chapter Sixty-Six

~ Eldarion ~
Estel flew to the man's side, leaving us all stunned motionless in the wake of her exclamation. Even Legolas, ever so protective of her, was frozen in the saddle.

Father. She called him Father.

That was impossible. I had seen Father die. I had seen Father die. I had seen Father die.

That thought finally spurred me into action.

I leaped off the horse and yanked Estel away, only noticing out of the corner of my eye how Aragorn moved his horse forward to partially shield us from the Mouth of Sauron and the Uruk-hai guards still there.

"~What are you doing?~" I demanded.

Estel wrenched her hand away. "~Can't you feel it, Eldarion?~" she asked, her voice just as urgent but a great deal quieter. "~Can you not feel the connection that binds us to him? Can you not see that it is Father?~"

"~Father is dead!~" I shouted without thinking. "~Dead and buried and beyond the circles of the world, Estel! I saw him die!~"

I didn't expect to have my anger, my sadness, my anguish trumped, but trumped it was.

"~You saw me die too!~" Estel retorted, her voice alive with more grief than I'd ever heard. "~And Mother, and Tinúviel!~"

I found myself floundering. My mind was floating in a sea of confusion, of possibilities, of hopes I wasn't sure I wanted to crush or seize.

"~But, Estel . . .~"

She suddenly seized my right hand, and jabbed at the Ring of Barahir. "~Listen to your heart, Eldarion! Can you not feel the warmth invoked by the nearness of one of our bloodline? Can you not hear the whispers of your heart from the power of the Ring of Barahir? Have you become blind to the world you were born into, Eldarion?~

"~I have not.~"

Stunned, I had no choice but to let her go when she pulled away yet again. She turned away without any further word, kneeling besides the person and laying a tender hand on his brow.

And yet . . . And yet, somehow, her words rang true deep down.

I had closed myself to my feelings, for even now the Ring of Barahir did seem warm against my skin. I had closed myself to my heart, for even now I could feel the urge to see the truth.

I had become blind.

In my desperate attempt to protect myself against the pain of losing anyone else the way I had lost my father, I had shut down my connection to the world, the worst possible thing one with Elven blood and Elven eyes to view the world could. I had allowed myself to lose the very thing that made me a descendant of the Peredhel.

So, for the first time in nearly two decades, I opened my heart and mind and soul, flinging wide open the gates and sending my thoughts whirling out like an arrow in flight, calling to all the world to answer me.

Is this my father?

The answer was unanimous and crystal clear, in my heart, in my mind, and in the now-burning Ring on my hand.

Slowly, I moved forward as if in a dream. Slowly, I knelt beside my sister. Slowly, I rested my hand on the dirtied, sweaty, bruised brow of the Man.

And then, very softly, I said, "~Father.~"

The Man stirred, and suddenly clear soft blue eyes opened and met my own, the kind I had last stared into so long ago.

But . . . they hadn't changed.

I would have recognized them half-asleep and half-dead.

"Eldarion," the Man – my Father – whispered.

~ Legolas ~
I could only stare at Estel and Eldarion.

Their father? As long as I had known her, I had known that Estel had lost her father and brother in one swoop, and then her mother and sister. She had regained her brother, found her mother and sister – was it really possible that the entire family had really survived? Even though Eldarion's clearest memory of his father was of . . . his death?

The Valar have roles for us all to play, I reminded myself. Sometimes, we might never even know the parts we would play.

There was the sound of thundering hooves, and then Tinúviel rushed into my field of vision, falling to her knees beside her brother and sister. They conversed quickly in soft, rushed tones that even I had to strain to hear, but I caught the gist – they were debating how best to get their father to receive immediate care for the injuries he had sustained.

Haldir caught on to. He dismounted and moved to Tinúviel's side, glaring at the Uruk-hai when they shifted in her direction.

"~Quickly, get him on a horse,~" he urged quietly, resting a hand on his love's shoulder. "~You can accompany him back to Minas Tirith before the battle begins and all hope is lost.~"

I bit my cheek. So. Haldir felt the same way I did.

But I refrained from commenting. Estel was far more stubborn than her sister, and I had not a hope of persuading her to play the injured-father-caretaker while battle loomed behind her and cast a dark shadow of death over those she loved.

In the meantime, apparently Tinúviel had relented, for then Haldir and Eldarion gently lifted the Man between them and started edging towards the horse with her trailing.

Estel remained behind, hands clasped in fear, her eyes wide with worry as she watched.

Then the Mouth of Sauron reached towards her.

At once, I got ready to fire, seizing an arrow and lifting the bow faster than I had ever had before.

But there was no need.

The Elessar suddenly burst into a soft shimmer of emerald and silver light, casting a faint glow over Estel. She seemed to change again, once again becoming the queenly woman she had been on the Pelennor Fields, growing taller and more serious and a great deal wiser. It sparkled faintly on us, and even I felt courage and hope and strength seep into me, calming my tension and sharpening my determination.

The Uruk-hai felt quite different.

They shrieked and dropped their weapons and covered their eyes, cowering in fear. Even the Mouth of Sauron drew back.

"You think me easy prey, Lieutenant of Barad-dûr?"

The voice made me stare. Estel didn't sound like herself anymore. She sounded like a queen, like a goddess, like what I imagined Lúthien Tinúviel herself might sound as she spoke, all tinkling bells and singing chimes and pure music.

Estel turned slowly, and the Mouth of Sauron shrank back as the full force of her aura touched him.

"You do not know me," she stated. "I am not just 'little hope'. I am hope – for my people, for my kingdom, for my world. I am the last of the line of Isildur, of Eärendil, of Lúthien Tinúviel. I am the Queen of Gondor and Arnor and Rohan – and, you, traitor to Númenor, cannot begin to challenge my right, my power, and my lineage. For Barad-dûr will crumble as Mount Doom consumes the land in ash, and what remains of Sauron will flee into the deepest, darkest, foulest depths of the Void. What say you now?"

The Mouth of Sauron said nothing.

The Elessar flared once before sinking in dormancy yet again. And, as before, Estel's eyes flickered once before closing.

I sprang from the saddle and barely managed to catch her before she fell. But at least it wasn't as long before her eyes fluttered open, although she seemed weak, confused, and disoriented; once again, I realized, she did not remember what she had said under the influence of the Elessar. Which may have been a good thing.

The Mouth of Sauron began to laugh at her obvious weakness.

There were hoof beats, and then I looked up to see that Aragorn had ridden casually around to the Mouth's side. It paused in its laughter to speak, changing its attention from Estel to Aragorn.

"And who is this? Isildur's heir?" It snorted. "It takes more to make a king than a broken Elvish blade."

Aragorn gave a small, grim smile, almost like resigned acceptation.

Then his sword flashed up and out.

There was silence. Then the Mouth of Sauron's head tumbled off one way as the body fell the other, and the horse reared in belated surprise and fear.

"I guess that concludes negotiations," I heard Gimli mumble.

Aragorn whirled his horse around. "I do not believe it," he declared vehemently, almost urgently. "I will not."

~ Aragorn ~
Behind me, the Black Gate creaked loudly, and I turned my head just in time to see it swing very slowly open, revealing row after row after row of marching Orcs and Uruk-hai, with the red-orange-yellow light of the Eye of Sauron shining open them as it stared straight at us.

Only . . . I kind of got the feeling that it was really staring at me.

In either way, the reaction was obvious.

"Pull back!" I ordered, spurring my horse into motion as I spoke. "Pull back!"

We thundered back to our army, with Legolas and Estel the last to reach the safety of the line, mainly because Legolas had had to move Estel to his horse and then get both of them on and then finally get the horse to return. I waited until they had made it, and noted with relief that Estel seemed to have recovered and was perfectly alert now.

"Hold your ground!" I called, seeing the fear in the eyes of the Men as they beheld the Orc army massing to and around us. "Hold your ground."

I spurred my horse back into motion, to better maintain eye contact with all the Men.

"Sons of Gondor! Of Rohan!" I shouted, letting my voice carry across the plain My brothers! I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of Men fails, when we forsake our friends, and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the Age of Men comes crashing down, but it is not this day! This day we fight!"

The Men murmured, standing at attention, gripping their swords and shields, their eyes alight with the power of my words.

But I wasn't finished. The words just kept coming, like Estel's seemed to, flowing with ease and with each word I felt power grow in me. And I wondered: Is this what it means to be a King of Men?

"By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West!"

The soldiers agreed.

Swords were drawn, shields were hefted, and everywhere people were readying themselves. No longer did fear or apprehension or resignation reign. No, they were gone. We were not fighting for ourselves anymore. We fought for our people, for our country, for all of Middle Earth. We were the Men of the West, and this was our stand. Oh, we would die – but we would be sure to die in such a way as to give honor to the race of Men and to prove that we could stand against Sauron. And in our deaths, Frodo and Sam would find a way to end what Isildur had started, and finally the land would have peace.

We would die, yes.

But not in vain.

Beside me, I heard Gimli mutter, "Never thought I'd die fighting side by side with an Elf."

"What about side by side with a friend?" Legolas retorted warmly.

There was a pause.

Then: "Aye, I could do that."

I saw, out of the corner of my eye, that they were not the only ones doing this. All around us, Men were settling after bidding good-bye or telling jokes with comrades. Even the Elves were exchanging glances and clasping shoulders.

I turned to face the army, lifting the Sword of Elendil and readying myself to charge.

I did not expect to see the Eye of Sauron focused right at me.

"Aragorn. . . Elessar. . ." it whispered, all of its power as a Maia focused on me in that very moment, physically and mentally.

I found myself taking one slow step forward, my eyes enlarging in size, my sword slowly falling back to my side. Its power was haunting, in a way, dark and miserable and potent in ways I couldn't even begin to fathom.

I began to turn back to Mithrandir.

He looked at me, taking a step forward, alarm and confusion in his eyes. But I didn't look at his eyes. What concerned me was in his hand.

The mithril shirt. Frodo's shirt.

Frodo.

And like that, the spell of Sauron was broken.

I smiled, and gripped my sword anew, and whispered, "For Frodo."

Then I charged.