The War of Light and Shadow

By Freddie23

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Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

A/N: Thank you so much for your support in the form of lovely reviews. Here's the next chapter for you. Enjoy.

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Chapter 47 – Touch Of The Shadow

Legolas paced back and forth, tracing the same strip of wet, slick mud formed with his own light footprints. He hadn't paced in a while and the motion was surprisingly comforting. He sighed heavily into the silence and raked his fingers through his damp hair. Remembering then that the effects of the Shadow still lingered around him, he lowered his hand and paused for a moment to register that the treacherous thing still trembled slightly despite his best efforts to stop it. He let his hand fall limply back down to his side, not wanting to look at this unwelcome aftereffect of the battle – it reminded him too much of the painful events of three days ago.

As much as it frustrated him, he was tired. Exhausted, actually. When he had volunteered to take the first watch of the day, he had felt oddly restless; he'd wanted to stay on his feet, to keep doing something useful. But now, approaching midday, he was beginning to flag, his body screaming out to him that he was pushing himself too far. Pacing was at least keeping him moving, keeping his mind occupied and alert.

At least the terrible rain had finally ceased. A small but very welcome mercy.

Unfortunately, whilst on watch there was very little to do besides wander around the camp, checking the perimeter. Legolas did not think for a moment that there was going to be an attack. The Wraiths would not return so soon after being injured by mere Humans and there was no way that the Shadow could mobilise Orcs or Uruks fast enough to catch up with them in just three days. Running so hard had gained them some much-needed ground on the Enemy; they could afford this break. Still, the Men were nervous. After such an attack it was to be expected and setting watches was a small price to pay for peace of mind so that they could rest easy.

On his own, with no one else to converse with, nothing to distract him, Legolas' thoughts inevitably turned inwards. Given that his thoughts were dark of late, this was a somewhat dangerous prospect. He scrubbed his hands across his face to wake himself up and wipe away the ache that was beginning to form behind his eyes.

"You want to get some sleep?"

The voice startled Legolas, making him jump and spin around so quickly that he almost lost his balance in the slippery mud. However, the threat was only Veron and Carion coming to relieve him of duty. The two identical brothers looked equally beaten up, having faced the wrath of the Nazgul so recently, but they were clean and appeared to be well-rested, managing even a brief smile in his direction as they approached.

"Thank you."

"Hey, Legolas?" Veron called to him before the Elf could walk away. "I just wanted you to know…Kinnale. It wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done to prevent…what happened."

Legolas nodded slightly, offering him a tight smile. "Thank you."

"All right."

Carion called after him, "Get some rest."

As he walked away, the Elf nodded in ready agreement. That was exactly what he planned on doing. He moved carefully around the sleeping Men until he spotted where Aragorn was buried under his blanket, sound asleep. Carefully, Legolas packed away his weapons in his bag, trusting that the men now on guard would keep them safe for the remainder of their respite.

Before he had the chance to join his companions in sleep, he noticed something. "Ciaran?"

The boy turned around sharply at the sound of Legolas' voice, clearly startled at being caught. He hadn't thought anyone in this part of the camp would be awake. He'd taken the opportunity to sneak away at the changeover of the watches so he wouldn't be noticed but he hadn't given any thought to the Elf.

Even though he knew there was no chance that Legolas would simply turn away and let him be, Ciaran spun back around, intent on striding away from the vigilant guardian of the king. "Leave me alone."

However, Legolas had already caught up with him and snagged his arm to halt his progress. "What are you doing?" Legolas' eyes roamed down the young man's body, noting the packed bag slung over his shoulder and the weapons grasped ready in his hands. Rephrasing the question, Legolas asked, "Where are you going?"

Snatching his arm from Legolas' tight grip and carefully avoiding the Elf's eyes, Ciaran muttered, "Leave me alone," again, hoping it would have greater effect.

He should have known that Legolas could never simply allow him to walk away. "Where are you going?" the Elf repeated a little more firmly this time.

"It's none of your business."

Not overly offended by the bluntness of the young man's reply, Legolas pressed, "I think it is my business to know, Ciaran."

"Let me go."

"Certainly. As soon as you tell me where you're planning on going."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Then why are you carrying your bag and weapons in a direction leading away from the camp?" Legolas asked with feigned innocence and genuine curiosity. "Tell me where you're going."

Frowning, Ciaran shifted uncertainly on his feet, aware of the blue gaze burning into him, pressing more intensely for an answer, before boldly asserting, "I don't answer to you."

"No? Perhaps you would answer to Janor or Eomer instead? Shall I go wake them and we'll see if they agree with me?"

As Legolas tauntingly moved away to make good on the threat, Ciaran suddenly panicked. He couldn't be certain that Aragorn's inscrutable guardian was bluffing. And the Elf was correct; Eomer and Janor would demand to know what he was doing and when they found out the truth, they would do everything in their power to prevent it. Right then he didn't care at all what the two, powerful commanders in his eyes, said but he also knew that neither would hesitate in dragging him back and tying him down to prevent him from doing what he wished. It was a risk too great to take.

"Ciaran?" Legolas prompted, staring down at the boy. "Where are you doing?"

Lowering his head, Ciaran exhaled slowly. He couldn't escape now. He knew the Elf well enough to realise that he would not be allowed to leave without an explanation.

Softly, he said, "You know where I'm going." The Elf was no fool. He had to know.

Legolas nodded and his eyes softened slightly, indicating that he did indeed know. Of course he had to know what Ciaran wanted to do; exactly the same thing he had wanted to do after watching his own father get beaten to the floor and slaughtered by the creatures of Shadow. Only, Ciaran actually had a shot at doing it. He could go off right now and easily stumble across something evil to kill; that action might at least sate his need for revenge. Could Legolas really stand in the way of that? After all, not being able to gain closure for himself was what had made Legolas what he now was. Did he want Ciaran to turn into something akin to him? But on the other hand, he knew that killing a few Orcs who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time would not be enough for Ciaran. He would become consumed by that need for vengeance until it was all he could think of. No matter what he maintained, it would never be enough, not until he took on the Wraiths themselves and Legolas knew that the boy was no match for them.

"Yes," Legolas sighed, rubbing his hand over his aching forehead.

Looking decidedly dejected, Ciaran stared at his boots as he asked, "You're going to tell me that I'm stupid and reckless."

"No, I wasn't going to say that."

"No?"

"No; I understand that you feel angry, that you want revenge but…"

"But I can't, right?"

"Yes."

"Because I'll end up getting killed?"

"Yes."

Tears sprung to Ciaran's eyes but he hotly ground out, "Well, I don't care."

"I know you feel that way now."

"You don't know anything!"

"Yes, Ciaran, I do."

"No, you don't!" Ciaran yelled. When he remembered that all around him people were sleeping though, he lowered his voice, blinking his eyes slowly, letting the hot tears spill down his cheeks. "You don't know anything," he hissed. With that, he turned and strode away from the Elf, swiping at the tears on his face with his sleeve. He hated the idea that Legolas had seen him crying. His father would have admonished him for being so foolish but he didn't care. Let Legolas judge him. It didn't matter anymore.

A Human being aware of one of the Firstborn coming up on them would have been almost impossible. Now was no different. As he moved quickly away, desperately trying to swallow back the sobs that came up from his chest, Ciaran did not even hear Legolas' footsteps coming up behind him, didn't even know that the Elf was following him until suddenly, Legolas grabbed him again, dragging him back.

Turning about suddenly, Ciaran, in his anger, lashed out wildly with his fists at the Elf restraining him. "Let me go," he shouted, attempting to shove Legolas away from him. However, Legolas was stronger and easily held him back, uncaring of the weak blows Ciaran was raining down on him. He simply dodged them or else let them fall without even a slight grimace of pain. That made Ciaran angrier still. If he could not hurt Legolas, then what good would he be against the Nazgul? "Get off of me!"

"Calm down," Legolas ground out, trying to restrain the young man's arms before he caused some serious damage.

"Let me go."

"No. You have to calm down." Legolas was fairly sure that it was not his words that were having a calming effect on the young man but at least Ciaran was running out of steam. "Stop now," he said firmly, gripping Ciaran tighter. "I know that you're angry, I know that you're upset but if you go after them now you're going to get yourself killed."

"I don't care."

"There are people who do care about you," Legolas told him firmly and without hesitation. "Like your mother. Ciaran, think about your mother. She would not want this."

At this, the young man stilled, standing suddenly deflated, still held tight by a cautious Legolas. For a moment, it seemed like the man was considering continuing on his path of destruction against the Shadow that had just taken his father from him. But common sense won through in the end and Ciaran's shoulders slumped and his eyes dropped from the horizon to the ground instead. Swallowing back the lump in his throat, the man slowly nodded, tears slipping down his face once more.

Legolas' hands moved from gripping Ciaran's arms to gently lay them on the man's shoulders instead. "I am sorry, Ciaran, truly I am," the Elf told him.

"It's not fair," Ciaran cried and slowly leaned into Legolas so that his head rested upon the Elf's shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry that this happened to you." Pain flared in Legolas' chest, sympathy burned in his heart. He knew Ciaran's pain. He hated that now Ciaran would have to endure that bitter, terrible pain of loss for the rest of his life. There were no words that Legolas could think of to ease that pain. There were none that anyone could have spoken to him after Thranduil's death that could have made it better, so he would not waste his breath trying. Rather, he let Ciaran cling to him, let him cry and release that pain that resided deep in his heart.

Once all his tears had been spilled, his sobs finally cried out, Ciaran stood back and turned away from the Elf, wiping his face on his sleeve and taking a deep, albeit shaky, breath.

Legolas' hand fell on his shoulder again. "Come, let us return to camp. You need to rest."

Head still bowed, Ciaran let Legolas drape his arm supportively over his shoulders and lead him back to where the Rohirrim and Rangers were camped. They had drifted further from the camp than Ciaran had thought – or maybe the fact that his heart and body was heavy with misery that it felt further to walk than when he'd been filled with angry passion.

Gently, Legolas helped Ciaran sit down in the place he'd vacated earlier. He helped the young man shrug off his bag and coat then urged him to lie down and covered him with a blanket.

"Try to get some sleep," Legolas said to the young man softly.

Ciaran nodded, suddenly feeling very tired, and let his eyes slip closed. "Could you stay here for a while?" he mumbled sleepily.

Legolas was surprised by the request. Anxiously, he glanced about, searching for someone more suited to protective duty; perhaps Janor or even Eomer would be better at comforting than any attempt he could make. Unfortunately, no one had been disturbed by their absence and return to the small camp.

A tentative hand slipped itself into Legolas' hand and the Elf looked down at the young man's fingers clenching around his own.

Clearing his throat, Legolas finally answered, "Of course I'll stay." He settled himself down on the ground, keeping a tight hold on Ciaran's hand. Already, the young man was drifting off to sleep, thoroughly exhausted. Legolas ran his hand over his eyes.

How did this always end up happening to him? First Aragorn and now Ciaran. Given that he had never really wanted guardianship of anyone, the prospect of the son of Kinnale also clinging to him was not one he particularly relished. Responsibility was hardly a strong point for the exiled prince of Mirkwood. To have more piled on top of him, especially considering Aragorn's future which grew more complicated with every passing day, was not a prospect he liked much at all.

"Is he going to be all right?"

Legolas startled, looking up to see Aragorn standing before him. He'd been so lost in thought; he hadn't even heard his ward's approach. "I'm sorry?"

"Ciaran – is he going to be all right?"

"Oh." The Elf's gaze drifted downwards to where Ciaran lay sleeping deeply. Smiling very gently, Legolas answered, "He will be fine in time."

"You're sure?"

"You tell me – you've lost your father too."

"So have you," Aragorn dared to point out.

"Yes." For a moment, Legolas' eyes glazed over in thought for the past. Then he said, "He'll be fine."

Aragorn agreed, "Yes." He turned and left Legolas and Ciaran alone. He felt like he should have been experiencing jealousy; someone else taking Legolas' time and affection away from him, but he did not. He only felt sadness. Three kindred spirits, each of whom would be lost without each other. He wondered whether his guardian felt the same way. He would probably never know.

OIOI

"Wait. What am I supposed to say to them?" demanded Aragorn as he hurried to keep up with his guardian as they strode quickly through the Human camp. "Legolas?"

"Yes?" the Elf called back nonchalantly.

"What am I supposed to say?"

"Aragorn," Legolas sighed heavily in wake of the imploring question. "Just go to Eomer, tell him that we should move out, tell Janor and then tell everyone else. It really is not difficult."

"For you maybe."

"Please just do it."

"Why can't you do it?" implored the young man, narrowly avoiding tripping over the leg of an elderly Rohan man sat on the ground.

"Because."

"Ah."

"Aragorn, I am busy."

"I don't feel comfortable doing it."

"Why?"

"I cannot command these people."

Legolas stopped abruptly and Aragorn bumped into the back of him before, with an irritated sigh, the Elf turned to face his ward. "First of all, you can lead these people seeing as you are their leader and secondly, all you have to do is tell everyone that we are leaving within the hour. It is not a life-altering command."

"Don't get annoyed with me."

"I am not. Just do this one thing."

Before Aragorn was given another opportunity to object, Legolas had walked away from him, unwilling to hear any further protests. Watching his guardian go, Aragorn sighed in exasperation. He really did not want to start issuing orders. It had only been three weeks since Kinnale had passed away and he wasn't entirely comfortable forcing himself into the Ranger's recently vacated position. Nevertheless, he went off in search of Janor and Eomer as he had been told to do.

"Legolas?"

The Elf turned around when he heard Ciaran calling his name, running to catch up with him. "Yes?" The boy had been sticking close to him ever since the events of three weeks ago. He didn't mind except it made him feel somewhat uncomfortable to be considered a guardian to a second person, especially one who was, understandably, so reliant on the support of another. "What is it, Ciaran?"

"Do you need help with something?"

"No."

"Are you sure? I could help pack things away."

Legolas went to assure Ciaran that there was nothing he could do to help at that particular moment but the look of desperate need for something to occupy his mind that shone in his eyes, so very much like his father's, changed Legolas' mind and his features softened. "All right," he smiled. "You can get people ready to go. Inform them that the order to leave will soon be issued. It might save us some time."

Nodding most enthusiastically, Ciaran went off to do as asked.

As he watched him go, Legolas pondered on the young man. To any casual observer it would appear that he had actually been doing remarkably well since his father's untimely death at the ghostly hands of the Shadow. He'd been keeping himself busy, keeping his mind occupied and he had found a friend to latch onto in Legolas. But Legolas knew that it was not possible for him to have bounced back from his terrible ordeal so quickly. Not only had he lost his father but he had witnessed the gruesome murder, had been literally drenched in the blood of his parent, and he had looked into the Shadow of the Ringwraiths of Mordor. Even Legolas, who was considerably more experienced than the young man, had been majorly affected by the presence of the Nazgul so close. It was not possible that Ciaran went untouched by their magic.

Legolas did not understand where this sympathy for Ciaran and his plight was coming from inside him. When Arathorn had died, Aragorn had been similarly distraught and Legolas had ruthlessly dragged the child away from the resting place of his father, had had little sympathy or time for his distress. Why now had that changed so dramatically?

"Yes, I know we're leaving now, thank you, Aragorn," Eomer sighed as he secured two bags of supplies to his horse.

"Legolas told me to tell you."

"Why, exactly?"

Aragorn shrugged, beginning to feel fed up with being ordered around by Legolas and then told off by Eomer for doing as he was instructed; it seemed that he couldn't do anything right by either of them. "I don't know. I'm just doing what I'm told."

"Fine," the Rohan man said shortly, seemingly distracted again.

"Legolas told me to let everyone know that we were leaving. Is that all right by you?"

"Do what you like, Aragorn."

"Right. Thank you," the young man muttered under his breath, turning from Eomer to do as Legolas had asked him. He had no idea how to go about addressing the whole of the camp. If he was uncomfortable speaking with authority to the commanders then ordering dozens of people was beyond intimidating. He had seen Eomer, Legolas and the late Kinnale do it multiple times and they always made it look so terribly easy but in truth now that he was faced with the prospect of doing it himself it seemed terribly difficult.

Looking about himself, Aragorn cleared his throat loudly, hoping to gain the attention of those nearby, although it had no effect. People did not even notice him.

"Excuse me," he called but it was too soft to be heard above the background noise. "We're moving out soon."

"What are you doing?" Eomer snapped as he breezed past the young man.

"I…" Aragorn turned to follow the man of Rohan and explained, "Legolas told me to let everyone in the camp know that we are leaving soon."

"Then tell them."

Hesitantly, the young man confessed, "I don't know how."

"Just tell them."

"How?"

Releasing his breath in an annoyed rush, Eomer raised his eyes to the heavens then shouted loudly, startling Aragorn as he did so, "Get ready to go."

Immediately, the men and women in the camp started getting ready to leave upon Eomer's order.

"See? Simple," Eomer declared to Aragorn as he started to walk away.

"Right, simple," the young man muttered sarcastically as he turned to go in search of his guardian.

Legolas was aiding an elderly woman in packing away her things. As Aragorn approached him though, the Elf rose to his feet and from the dissatisfied look in his eyes, he'd been watching Aragorn's fumbling approach to issuing a simple order to the people following the commanders of Rohan and Rangers.

"I asked you to do it," he asserted as soon as Aragorn was close enough to hear.

"It's done isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

"What is wrong?" Aragorn snapped irritably, his mood turning darker by the minute.

"Nothing is wrong. Except that I asked you to give the order to leave and instead you handed the task over to Eomer."

"I did not pass it over. He just did it."

"You should have done it yourself."

"You…" Aragorn shook his head, gritting his teeth together in annoyance, eyes moving to the elderly woman who was watching the exchange in interest. "Can I talk to you in private?" Although the Elf looked far from pleased, he did step with Aragorn away from the group of people Legolas had been helping so that they could speak with a degree of privacy. "Why did you tell me to give the order for everyone to leave?"

"Aragorn," Legolas sighed wearily, passing his hand over his eyes. "Honestly, I didn't think this would be such a big problem for you. It was a simple…"

"It was not simple for me and you know it!"

For a moment, Legolas looked into his ward's eyes, trying to see what was really troubling Aragorn. "You…I don't understand, Aragorn, you knew this was coming. You are their leader."

"No I am not. Kinnale…"

"Kinnale is dead," Legolas told him pointedly, his patience becoming frayed.

The words slammed full force into Aragorn and he took a deep breath to clear his mind of pain at the loss of one he had genuinely liked. He couldn't understand how Legolas could be so entirely unfeeling. Really, he thought that his guardian had softened over the years they had travelled together. Perhaps things could not so easily be changed.

"I know that," Aragorn finally replied in a soft voice.

Quietly, Legolas told him, "You are going to be king someday. At some point you are going to have to start giving orders to these people who follow. Why not start now?"

"Because I can't!"

"Aragorn, I am not even asking that you make a decision. I asked you to relay a message."

"I cannot…"

"Why?"

Shouting now in heated anger, Aragorn answered, "Because they don't care who I am. I have no authority over any of them – Ranger or Rohirrim. I can't order any of them to do anything. And Eomer and even Janor is more experienced than me…"

"Be that as it may, you have the right to."

"That doesn't matter to any of them."

"It should matter," Legolas told him, walking away already.

"Great. That's fine then," the boy murmured grouchily but then he hurried after his guardian. "Legolas, why are you pushing this all of a sudden? You've never wanted me to command before. Why now?"

"Because it's time, Aragorn. We're nearing Gondor. At some point you are going to have to take the lead and I'm not always going to be there to push you to do so."

"Isn't that going to annoy Eomer and Janor?"

"Yes, but I don't care much about that."

"I care."

"You shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because this is your destiny, Aragorn. You're meant to lead these Men and it doesn't matter what Eomer or anyone else thinks about that."

"Legolas…"

The Elf sighed heavily and stopped to look back at his ward again. "I'm sorry, Aragorn. This is my fault."

"What is your fault?" Aragorn pressed impatiently.

"This. I should have taught you all this years ago. I just…I thought we'd have more time." Legolas sounded sad again and Aragorn's anger melted away for he knew that tone all too well. Suddenly, Legolas' hand appeared on his ward's shoulder and then Legolas said, "I am sorry, Aragorn." He smiled then, weakly. "I think this is not what your father had in mind for either of us when he entrusted me with your education and keeping."

Chuckling, Aragorn reasoned, "I believe this was exactly what he had in mind."

It was a little reassurance to the Elf and he smiled his thanks for the thoughtful words. "All right. Get ready to leave."

"Legolas," the young man called after his mentor as Legolas went to help the Men pack up camp. "I'm sorry. I promise that I'll try harder to be the leader you want."

Legolas nodded; he knew Aragorn would never purposefully let him down. It was hard though, watching the man struggle with things that by now should have been second nature to him. He did not blame Aragorn at all. These were his failings. No one else's.

OIOI

Sauron was tired. Tired and therefore increasingly grouchy. The body he had taken recently was failing him already, after only a few weeks. This was getting beyond frustrating. What good was he if he could not even sustain in a physical body for weeks at a time? Not for the first time, he had ordered his greatest minds, such as they were, to come up with a viable solution to his continuing problem. He needed something more permanent to sustain him and he needed it quickly. Reports from his spies of rebel forces of Light gathering were growing more frequent. They had taken the Deep in Rohan. That had been a blow. He had not anticipated it. It had not even once crossed his mind. Saruman had been confident that the ancient stone fortress could not be taken. And he had listened to that assurance without questioning the Wizard's wisdom. Apparently, they had both been wrong.

It had been a bold move that the young 'king' had executed – storming a stronghold so well protected by the Wizard's forces. Sauron did not understand yet quite why he had done it. Helm's Deep gained the small army now following the king nothing great. It was too remote to be of any use to any attack they had planned on the armies of Shadow. Not to mention that it was at best a temporary haven. One could not stage an attack from the Deep. Aragorn must have known that. He had the Rohirrim on his side.

Sauron might have considered this to be an act of cowardice, might have rejoiced that at last the man was scared and on the run and searching in desperation for shelter from the threatening storm that was coming for him and his ragtag band of followers. Had it not been for the fact that Aragorn had not stayed at the fortress. He had not hidden away in the Deep, even though it was the sensible thing to do. Despite its failings, Helm's Deep was an easy place to defend. They might have succeeded in keeping the Deep once it had been gained. But in fact, it had been mere days later that his spies had informed the Dark Lord that Aragorn was leading his Men, the now combined forces of the Rangers of the North and the Rohirrim, away from Helm's Deep.

Confusion gnawed constantly at him over this. Sauron did not understand the move. Why attack Helm's Deep? The Men gained nothing from it. The attack presented only risk for them. Not only had they undoubtedly lost warriors in the fight and suffered countless injuries, but they had also betrayed their position for there was no way that such an assault would go unnoticed. They may as well have lit beacons leading Sauron's forces to their position. But it got odder still, because Aragorn's intention had clearly not been to bring the army of Mordor to him, for he had left just days after taking the Deep from the Shadow.

What was this young king playing at?

Now, Sauron was by no means concerned by Human losses but he could not comprehend Aragorn's reckless, dangerous strategy.

The conundrum was frustrating Sauron for he could not grasp the explanation no matter how long he thought upon it.

A loud pounding on the door interrupted his chain of thought and although he barked out a sharp, irritated, "Enter," he found himself glad for the distraction from his thoughts. "Ah, you have returned," he said almost in pleasure as the Witchking and his companions filed past a trembling Orc servant and into the room on silent feet. "Yet not victorious. The boy still lives, protected by the Men following him." It was not a query. Sauron knew. "You have failed me. Again."

Lesser beings may have protested their innocence, stated their determination to set things right. But the Nazgul did not beg or plead. Their leader simply agreed, "Yes, Master."

"That is…disappointing," Sauron sighed, standing from his throne and stepping carefully down the stone stairs. The Wraiths said nothing as the Dark Lord walked, stretching his legs as he went, cramped as they were from sitting in the same position for too long. He paced around them and they stood as ghostly statues as he observed them. They were unafraid. Sauron didn't know how to feel about their complete indifference; it could be perceived as both an asset and a curse.

As he slowly circled them, eyeing them shrewdly, he observed, "You number only eight."

"Yes."

"Where is the other? Where is the Ninth?"

Keeping their faces front, impassively ignoring Sauron as he passed behind them, the leader of the Nazgul explained simply, "We were attacked. The Men got the better of us."

"That is not good."

"Yes, Master."

"Where are they now, these Men who bested you?"

"A cave on the road to the White City."

Sauron considered this for a moment, pacing around the dark ones, deep in thought. "On the road," he mused out loud. "A bold move, Aragorn. Very bold." The boy was still unafraid of discovery. Why? Was he so confident that he was untouchable by the Shadow? Why did he not feel the need to hide? To do otherwise was so obviously foolish. And yet Aragorn did not hide. He did not do the sensible thing. Was it a statement, a show of bravado? If so, then it was indeed a great risk. Damn it, what was he trying to prove?

"Orders, Master?"

Going after Aragorn was not helping. The Nazgul were not enough. Yes, they were powerful creatures but he needed something…bigger. Behind his hood, Sauron smiled.

"Return to Minas Morgul and wait there. I will send for you again."

They were dismissed and they left silently to return to their given home and lick their wounds. They may not have been fearful for their master but they were not entirely emotionless. They felt pride. That pride had been severely dented after being beaten back by a mere band of Humans. Ego was a fragile thing even in the powerful shadows of Mordor. The Nine were not used to being beaten and they did not like it one bit. Still, they would take no action until so commanded.

"Master?" the Mouth of Shadow asked as he entered upon being summoned.

"Send out all our forces from Isengard. Send them all after the boy. Bring him to me."

"Alive or dead?"

"I care not any longer."

The creature nodded slowly and deeply. It was the order all inside Barad-dur had been waiting for.

"And being to me the White Wizard."

The Mouth of Sauron bowed low to his lord and master. "Yes, sir." He turned and strode out of the presence of the Master of Arda, robes fluttering around him. He smiled a cracked smile once he was out of sight of the Dark Lord Sauron. Finally, his master was ending this.

To Be Continued…