The War of Light and Shadow

By Freddie23

OIOIOIOI

Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

A/N: OK readers. Here we go. This is the penultimate chapter of The War of Light and Shadow. Hope you enjoy it.

OIOIOIOIOIOI

Chapter 82 – The Mountain Of Doom

The way over the mountains was nowhere near as treacherous as the King of Gondor had been led to believe. Nor was there much chance of them getting lost along the way. The armies of Mordor had trampled out a very satisfactory path through the winding passes good enough for them to follow with ease. No snow or ice blocked their path as Faramir had feared it might. They moved quickly, unhindered, not meeting a single enemy along the way. Only a handful of them had gone on this final mission for peace, at the king's insistence. He did not want a lot of people holding them up or knowing about the Ring. Jecha and Sonal's reactions to it had made him even more cautious than before. Aragorn, of course, led the mission bringing along Eomer and Faramir. The Rangers, Aragorn had left behind, wanting some warriors to remain with the main group of Men just in case of any threat that might yet exist. Only Halbarad of the Rangers accompanied them, insisting that his presence to protect the king might be beneficial given their destination. Aragorn had not had the will to turn him away. Faramir and Eomer had each picked five men from their forces, those who were largely uninjured following the battle and willing to follow their king once more into the unknown.

None of the soldiers accompanying them had been briefed on the real purpose behind this expedition deep into Mordor. Aragorn did not think it prudent to tell more people than necessary of the One Ring's existence or his possession of it and the other commanders agreed wholeheartedly with this. Instead, the men had been told that this was a reconnaissance mission designed solely to determine the state of the Black Lands and how many of the Enemy there were left to take out later. It was a flimsy premise at best, mostly because none of the soldiers believed that the newly crowned King of Gondor would accompany them on such an unremarkable mission.

Still, orders were not to be questioned and they wasted little time wondering what their true purpose in the Black Lands was.

Aragorn set a fast pace for the group and no one seemed inclined to tell him to slow down. No complaints were made as they walked through the night, walking under the curious new light of a bright silver moon.

It took a total of two days to cross the mountains; far swifter than Aragorn had imagined. When they reached the peak of the final path at the beginning of the second day, they paused for the first time to take in their surroundings.

Aragorn didn't know what he had been expecting to see when he first glimpsed Mordor. A wasteland was not it. Perhaps he had thought it to be covered with machines of war, every inch of space utilised by the master of the Shadow to create and supply his armies and rule the lands he had claimed for his own. But it was not so. It was almost completely bare, stripped long ago of all plant life or anything natural that lived. There was no obvious source of water that the Men could see, although Aragorn rationalised that Sauron must have sustained his army somehow. The ground, however, was hard and cracked as though it had been in a constant state of drought for years. The only distant sign of life were the birds flying overhead; crows. Apparently, they could always count on something dead to eat in this part of the world and they flourished where everything else withered.

All around there were tracks beaten into the dry earth where thousands of Orc feet had recently marched. The small party of Men followed the same path the Orcs had stamped out, figuring that it would lead them into the heart of Mordor.

Just as the stories of its location told, they soon came to the plateau and got their first close look at the legendary Mountain of Fire itself. Aragorn had seen it depicted in the murals in Rivendell during his brief stay in that land. It was no longer a raging volcano as the Elves of Rivendell had thought to depict it though. Rather, it remained quiet and dormant, perhaps quietened now by the death of this land's master. Perhaps the entire land mourned the death of its master, just as the rest of Arda celebrated it.

They met no resistance as they made their way along the paths trod by the Orcs, crossing a great and terrible marshland that seemed long ago to have been bridged to make it easier to cross. Nothing would stand in the way of Sauron's war effort. Whereas once Aragorn could have imagined it to be all but impassable, it was now easy going and they covered the distance with remarkable speed, wary of the expanse of open space. The air smelled rank; of death and decay. No one paused to examine their surroundings too carefully.

Occasionally, they would stumble across a corpse on their path. They inspected the first few but after determining that they were Orc or Uruk or Goblin they checked no more. The creatures had probably fallen dead from exhaustion or been murdered by their comrades along the path heading out to war. It didn't matter to Aragorn. They were food for the birds now and nothing more.

At long last, they caught their first sight of the infamous Tower of Barad-dur. It stood tall against the clouded sky but it was dark; no light burned within. It, like the Mountain of Doom, was dormant. At least that was how it looked from the outside. Aragorn could only hope that it was not crawling with the Enemy who sought shelter within.

"It's eerie," commented Eomer as they proceeded towards the Mountain of Doom, passing through towering gates that stood open and unguarded. Aragorn wondered at this. Had Sauron really been so confident that he would leave his entire realm open and unguarded? As always, he was struck by the sheer confidence of the armies of Shadow. "Seeing a land so deserted."

"I'd rather it be deserted than rife with the Enemy," Faramir said back. So far his hand had never strayed away from the hilt of the sword at his side. He did not trust this silence. Faramir's eyes darted around constantly, searching for the next threat hidden in the shadows.

Anduril, however, had not yet been unsheathed. Partly this was because Halbarad had not left Aragorn's side since they had set off from the camp less than a week ago and his sword had been constantly at the ready for any threat from both outside and from within, leaving Aragorn confident that nothing left in this land would get close enough to cause him harm. But more than that, Aragorn felt no direct malevolence left in Mordor. There were traces, of course. Echoes of what evils Mordor used to harbour. But there was no great warning ringing in the back of his mind, cautioning him to be wary of danger and he trusted that instinct just as much now as he always had.

"What do you think, Aragorn?"

Aragorn looked to Eomer, realising that he had been lost in thought whilst looking into the distance at the Mountain of Fire. "Sorry?"

"Where are we headed? Some guidance might be good."

"Right." Turning his eyes from the commander of the Rohirrim back to the Mountain looming non-threateningly in the distance, Aragorn replied, "There."

Following his gaze up, Eomer questioned, "The Mountain?"

"Yes."

"What's up there?"

"I have no idea. I just know that that is where we must go."

Eomer sighed softly. He pondered to himself that Aragorn's vagaries had become rather similar to those adopted by his guardian and it was hard not to be irritated by it. Still, he gathered his patience and nodded. "Very well. To the Mountain we will go and hope that things become clearer."

The paths around the plateau were well defined and they had a clear way towards the dormant mountain. Even so, they moved quickly and with the same caution as before.

"What was that?" Faramir asked in a brisk whisper, snapping around to the sound of a high cackle of laughter coming from the distance.

"Maybe we are not alone, after all," Halbarad suggested unhelpfully.

Eomer gestured them forwards, having spotted another path branching off from the main. "Look here." The path ran straight until it hit an iron grate in the side of a slight hill. "A prison?" he suggested in a whisper. The thought was not a pleasant one.

"What would the Dark Lord wish to imprison?" the Ranger asked in an equally quiet voice, acutely aware that even now they could be being observed.

"I dread to think. But it is worth investigating, don't you think? Aragorn?" Eomer looked around when he received no response from the king. "Aragorn?" He spotted the king already a way ahead of them, not having stopped when the others did. Apparently his mind was set. "Damn! Faramir, take a couple of men with you and investigate around. If there are any survivors…well, either kill them if they are allied to the Shadow or liberate them if they are on our side."

Faramir nodded in agreement but then asked seriously, "Prisoners of war?"

This was something that they had not yet discussed. Whether, should they find any of the Enemy within the Black Lands alive and who surrendered to them, they should take them prisoner and march them back to Gondor to face the consequences of their allegiances. After all, it was not just Orcs and monsters allied to Sauron. There were Men too. Haradhrim, Easterlings and many more besides.

Eomer thought upon it for a moment, his eyes searching out Aragorn ever gaining more distance on them. It should be the king's decision. But the king had other things on his mind, reasoned Eomer. He turned back to the Gondorian man and answered in a cold, hard voice, "No."

"Very well." It seemed that Faramir was in no mood to quibble. Any Enemy spotted would be killed on site. Perhaps it was not a policy that Aragorn would agree with but a decision had to be made and the Men all seemed to be in agreement this time.

They split up then. Faramir took four men with him to investigate the suspected dungeon whilst Halbarad, Eomer and the remaining soldiers hurried to catch up with Aragorn.

At least, Eomer thought with a glimmer of hope, Aragorn knew where he was headed now. He seemed determined. That had to count for something.

The look of determination on the king's face offered Eomer further hope that perhaps this mission was not folly as he had first thought. He could not help but notice the strain in the man's grey eyes, the frown of concentration as he followed a path he did not know, nor the fact that Aragorn's hand rested over the his breast where the Ring of Power still hung on its chain around his neck.

"We head for the Mountain, my Lord, but what of when we reach it?" asked Halbarad, his eyes remaining wary and alert for any danger. Complacency would not be the reason for their downfall here, of that he was determined.

Aragorn, however, made no answer. His own gaze was fixed ahead, so much so that on occasion he stumbled on the uneven surface of the path. His loyal companions were there to steady him though.

Another high-pitched scream emanated from somewhere in the distance and this time Eomer was certain that it belonged to the Orcs. "Be on your guard. We are not alone." He was very much aware that they were trespassers and that the Orcs would not have been ambivalent towards the Human's role in the fall of their lord and master. Should they come across the scourge of Mordor, Eomer doubted very much that they would be left to their own devices. Leaderless, the Orcs were still a dangerous threat.

"I know this is right," murmured Aragorn to himself, seemingly oblivious to any outside threat.

He led them up a steep slope, the rock loose and slippery, no longer flattened by the feet of a great many Orcs. It seemed no one came up this way. The climb was a struggle and the Men found that the way was treacherous. Every so often they would slip, sending a small landslide of dusty red rock pouring down. The noise was troubling to Halbarad; should anything hear it they would be drawn to this very spot and take out their revenge on the king who had devastated their realm.

Aragorn persisted though. Every time he slipped down, he pulled himself back up, scrabbling against the rocks, using his hands to steady himself even as his feet scrabbled for a firm hold.

"You stay behind," Eomer finally instructed the other guards who were following them. It seemed ridiculous to make them all undertake the chore of climbing the path given the danger involved. "Guard this path. If any of the Enemy comes close, kill it without hesitation."

Relieved to have been excused the exhausting, frustrating task, the soldiers fell behind, returning to the base of the mountain and positioning themselves around the bottom of the hill, wafting clouds of thick dust away from their faces as their leaders climbed. Killing Orcs was a far better use of their skills they thought.

By the time they reached the top of the hill, Aragorn, Eomer and Halbarad were soaked through with sweat at the sheer effort it was taking. The heat was almost unbearable even though the thick clouds that had dissipated from the skies over the rest of Arda remained blocking out the sun from Mordor. Still, the Men were determined. They would not be put off by rough terrain and heat.

Reaching the top by practically throwing himself to the ground and crawling the final way up, Aragorn paused a moment to gather his breath and strength. He felt the Ring tugging against his mind, warning him against his chosen course of action but he ignored it; he would not be dissuaded. He knew this was right.

Getting to his feet, he ignored Eomer and Halbarad still struggling up behind him and stumbled towards the opening in the craggy rock.

Even though the Mountain of Fire remained dormant, it was stiflingly hot as he stepped through the huge crevice torn into the rock but he pushed onwards heading for the orange glow that he knew led to the very centre of the mountain. He emerged after a short walk on to a precipice jutting out over a river of molten rock flowing fast and churning around in the basin of the mountain. Coming to a halt near the edge, he attempted to peer over to see the magnificent flow beneath him, but when he got too close he felt almost unbearable heat sear his face and took a quick step backwards.

He knew that this was where, decades before, his ancestor Isildur had stood. It felt strange walking in those same footsteps, being faced with the same decision. He even carried Isildur's sword at his side. Now that he was here, he remembered all he had been told about his ancestor, how Isildur had chosen so wrongly, had led all of Middle Earth to terrible war and suffering. He was reminded that that same blood, that very same weakness, ran in his veins. Closing his eyes against the hot orange glow, Aragorn reached beneath his shirt and pulled out the Ring. Immediately, as if it sensed the peril it was so close to, he felt the Ring pull insistently on his mind, warning him against doing what he intended. It was still a powerful thing despite the loss of its master and he could not so easily dispel its warnings. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, making his head spin.

What if Jecha and Sonal had been right and the Ring could be used for good? Given that Middle Earth, whilst now free from tyranny, was still in a state of utter desolation, such a powerful object could be immensely useful to his efforts of rebuilding it. Was he being short-sighted in letting it go, of throwing back to where it came from? He could well be condemning his people to a harder life than was necessary because of his fear. And what exactly was that fear based upon? It was just a tool now. Sauron was gone for good. He was not coming back. Perhaps once his essence had lived within the Ring but he was dead by the king's own hand. He had seen him fall. Just because the Ring had been forged by him didn't mean that it was intrinsically evil. He could use it for good. He was strong enough to do so. After all, he had resisted the Ring long enough already. It might take some effort but he could learn to control it, to bend its power to his will.

Suddenly, all of Aragorn's previously-held certainty deserted him. There was too much at stake to rush into a decision and he found himself suspended in a strange kind of limbo, the Ring clasped tight in his hand.

He realised then that he didn't want to let it go. He wanted to keep it. It felt like it had become a part of him, attached to his mind and to be rid of it would break him too. He could not risk that. Too many people were back home depending on him to be a good, strong king. Surely he could only be that with help. Legolas had deserted him, left him alone when he needed guidance the most. He had to have something to aid him. The Ring seemed a natural substitute.

And yet, even as he thought this, somewhere in his mind, he knew that the Ring must be destroyed. It was evil. It could never be harnessed for good. He knew this. And yet the Ring would not let him go.

Aragorn cried out in despair at his conflicting thoughts. This should have been easy. He knew what was right. He had known it all along. Why now was he questioning himself?

"Aragorn?"

He spun around at the sound of Eomer's voice. The man was staring at him expectantly. Clearly, he had seen that the Ring remained in Aragorn's hand and was confused. Inexplicably, anger raced through Aragorn's heart at the man's expression. How dare Eomer judge him? What did he know about the pressures of being a king? He ran his fingers around the band of gold, feeling the soothing heat.

"Aragorn? Why do you hesitate?"

"What business is it of yours?" snapped Aragorn immediately and with such fury that he saw Eomer physically recoil as though he had been struck. Guilt stabbed at the king's heart then. Eomer meant well, he reminded himself. He was a friend and confidante. He could be trusted. More calmly this time, Aragorn called out his doubts, "What if Jecha was right and I am destroying a great gift? Can I risk that?"

Eomer was already shaking his head and dared to take a step closer. "No, Aragorn. It is not a gift. That thing is a curse. You know this already; you feel it in your heart." He came closer still, tentative for he could sense the change in the young king even though he didn't understand it. "You have said yourself that this is the right thing to do. Throw it into the fire, Aragorn, and be rid of it at last."

In his heart, Aragorn did know that Eomer was right. And yet, the doubt nagged at him, tempting him.

"Yes," he breathed to himself. "It's the right thing."

"It is," agreed Eomer, about to take another step forward but hesitating when he noted how close to the edge Aragorn had drifted. One misstep and the king would fall to his death.

Aragorn did not seem bothered by this, however. In fact, he seemed worryingly oblivious to all else around him.

"Yes," the king repeated with more conviction this time. "It is…the right thing."

Legolas had worked hard for this very moment, he thought as he sought to block out the call of the Shadow that screamed loud and clear in his mind. His father had entrusted him with this monumental task, and however much he despised Arathorn for this, he knew that he had to respect that kind of faith his father had in him.

Thinking on the two greatest influences in his life, he turned slowly on the spot, finding that the toe of his boot almost hung over the edge of the precipice, the thin leather growing almost unbearably hot. His next action took effort that almost completely overwhelmed him. Holding the Ring out over the edge and ignoring its continued desperate call in his mind grow even more intense until the thudding almost drowned out all conscious thought, he opened his fist and watched with wide eyes filled with tears as the small band of gold, now glowing in the light of the fires of Mordor with flowing script that covered the outside of the metal, fell away from him to immediately be submerged in the roiling lava below.

Heat pounded up at him and for the first time Aragorn actually noticed the pain and stumbled backwards, away from the jagged edge, for fear of falling into the heart of the volcano.

It hit him them. It was gone.

The relief that swept over him was indescribable. It was as though all of his doubts and troubles that had shadowed his mind since first walking the road from Mirkwood with Legolas simply flew from him and he was free at last from the great burden he had been bequeathed. A moment later, he felt a wave of love wash over him; then pride as he imagined what Legolas would say to him about this final decision.

So great was the feeling of relief at being rid of the Ring that Aragorn's knees buckled and he found himself kneeling on the hot ground inside the Mountain of Doom. His head bowed to hide the tears that streamed down his face and his shoulders shook with sobs of unrestrained emotion.

At long last, his war was over.

OIOI

Eomer stood back respectfully for a moment, watching the king for signs of movement as he crouched on the ground, hunched over and shaking. However, it seemed that the king would remain on the ground until something prompted him to move. After a while, Halbarad, who had fallen slightly behind them on the way up the incline, joined him and went to rush forward upon seeing the king in such a state but Eomer held him back. Aragorn needed a moment with his thoughts, to come to terms with what he had just done.

However, they could not delay forever. Eomer's mind remained on the ominous sounds they had heard upon entering the Black Lands, which Faramir and his small company were now investigating. They were not alone here in Mordor and if they lingered overly long, he feared they might be discovered and he did not want to do battle on enemy territory.

Quietly, the Rohan man stepped forward and stood behind Aragorn, uncertain of how to proceed given what he had just witnessed. The Ring of Power, the last trace of Sauron's spirit here on Middle Earth had just been destroyed and it had clearly cost Aragorn to make that choice.

"Aragorn, we should leave now." He received no response from the king so he laid his hand upon the trembling shoulder. "Danger yet lurks nearby. We must return to Gondor."

Finally, Aragorn raised his head. So lost had he been in his own misery and celebration that he had forgotten that he was not alone here within the Mountain of Doom. Twisting so that he could look up at Eomer, he offered a weak smile and went to stand up. Eomer aided him, taking his arm.

"Are you all right?" the Rohan man asked once his king was standing.

"Let's just get back to Gondor."

Eomer nodded curtly, despite the fact that Aragorn had skirted around answering his question, such was his relief to be leaving the Black Lands at last. Yet he knew that this would not be their last journey to this cursed part of the world. If the Enemy yet lingered here then at some point they would have to be sought out and destroyed lest they rise up again. A repeat of what had happened to Middle Earth before was not an option. A fresh uprising would be devastating. There was much work yet to be done before the race of Men could fully declare peace. But for now, they could leave this land and all its cursed inhabitants and that brought Eomer immeasurable comfort.

They left the mountain the way they had come and made their way down the slope. It was far easier going down than it had been going up and it took them only a few minutes before they were safely on solid ground and again surrounded by their small contingent of soldiers. Together, they followed the path back. Aragorn left it to the others to lead this time. Strangely, although he had known with absolute certainty which way to go to get to the Mountain, he had no recollection of walking these paths.

Faramir was waiting them outside the 'dungeon' entrance where they had left him. He and his guards had picked up no innocent beings following their search but their swords showed signs of recent battle with the black-blooded enemy.

"Any survivors?" Eomer asked, nodding to the grated dungeon entrance when they met up.

Faramir shook his head sadly. "But plenty of bodies. The state of that place-"

"A prison?"

"Creatures in chains." He grimaced at the memory of the rotten corpses he and his men had encountered; some free, most chained to the walls and floor. Not one of those wretched beings had been living by the time Faramir reached them and he was secretly glad for it. Evidence of cannibalism had been obvious and their suffering clearly great. It seemed that they had lingered for many years in the darkness and filth of Mordor's prisons. Faramir thought that death must have been a relief for them. "All dead now though. Slaughtered by the looks of it."

"Sauron?"

"No idea. I didn't stick around long enough to examine each of them."

"Are they…Human?"

Faramir's eyes looked to Aragorn but it seemed the man was lost in his own thoughts and not listening. Nevertheless, he whispered his answer, "Elves, I think."

"What?" frowned Eomer, his eyes looking to the barred opening in the rock.

"Sauron's hosts," Aragorn interrupted coldly, his voice empty. Apparently, he had not been as oblivious to their conversation as he appeared to be at first.

"Of course," Faramir sighed with grim realisation, remembering the fair face of the Elf Sauron had possessed on the battlefield. What a terribly cruel way of ravaging a soul. "I am sorry, Aragorn. They were not alive. None of them. There was nothing we could do."

The king nodded slowly, his eyes gazing towards the grated entrance and filled with pain. "I am sorry also. We were too late for them."

Eomer told them, "He probably had them killed before he rode into battle. Arrogance. He knew he would win; there would be no need for another host once he possessed the Ring for himself."

Aragorn's features hardened at this. "He was wrong."

They all took some small amount of consolation in this. Sauron had not won. His army had fallen or ran and he himself had been destroyed on the field of battle.

"What should we do with it?" Faramir asked of him, nodding towards the grate.

The thought of the innocent souls tormented until the end of their lives by the Shadow turned Aragorn's stomach. He thought of Legolas, of the dream in which he had seen his guardian under the control of Sauron and tortured to near death in just such a prison. This was how he might have ended his life had Sauron beaten them in the war. This was how Legolas' father, Thranduil, Sauron's unfortunate puppet spent his final days of freedom, locked beneath the earth in squalor and despair. The thought was unbearable. He thought of what Legolas would have suffered had he known of his father's ending.

"Leave them." It nearly broke his heart to say. He wanted to do something for those poor people, to give them one last mercy, but there was nothing he could do for them anymore. He was also acutely aware that even though the war had been won, they were still well within enemy territory. They had lingered too long already. "Their suffering has ended. They are at peace now."

It hurt all of them to simply walk away from what remained of the prisoners of the Black Lands. They knew that perhaps there had once been more innocents within the boundaries of Mordor but they could not find them. They were too few to search the entire land and it had become obvious that Orcs and perhaps even Uruk-hai were nearby; if they were close then they would have been alerted by now to the presence of outsiders in their territory. The only course to take now was escape. They owed that to those who yet survived, on their way to Gondor where the race of Men belonged.

OIOI

Eager to put as much distance as they could between themselves and Mordor, the small party of Men hurried away from the Black Lands with all haste, continuing as fast as they could manage until dusk started to dim their view of the path ahead. They halted in the mountains that night, stopping to rest for the first time since they had set out. With no fear of being discovered, convinced as they were that the creatures still roaming the lands had better things to worry about given that their numbers were suddenly leaderless, Aragorn ordered that they start a fire for warmth.

Despite all they had seen within Mordor, the mood was surprisingly light as they gathered around the fire, huddled close to the warmth and light. They ate sparingly of their rations but sipped with delight at the Ranger's foul-tasting but reassuringly potent alcohol, gifted to them by Kalub before they had separated, which only served to lighten the atmosphere even further.

"I think our young king has exhausted himself," chuckled Faramir, nodding to the others in the direction of Aragorn.

Eomer laughed softly, reaching over to pull the blanket up further over the man, who had fallen sound asleep where he had laid out on the ground earlier. "I should say."

"Personally, I am relieved that thing is gone for good. It chilled me, knowing such evil was amongst us. How he managed to bear it for so long, I don't know," said Halbarad, taking another swig from the flask and wincing as the liquor burned his throat.

"It was a little uncertain there for a moment, you know. Even though I was not connected to that Ring in any way, I still felt its pull, its desire not to be abandoned."

"Desire?" Faramir repeated in disbelief, shaking his head. "I can't get used to that. All the evil things in this world, we have spent decades trying to avoid and Aragorn brought the worst of all amongst us. It doesn't seem right." He shuddered dramatically before wrapping his arms around himself to ward off the chill of the night. "Still, it's over now. Aragorn bested the Dark Lord, things can return to normal."

"Normal," scoffed Eomer. "What is that? Do you remember a time when we weren't at war? There are going to be a great many people out there now without direction or purpose."

"I'm going to be one of them," conceded Halbarad, his grey eyes flitting in the direction of the king almost with sadness that their friendship might not endure as he had first wished upon coming to Minas Tirith. "But such is our life. If patrolling the lands to keep safe the people of a world in peace is what must be done then the Rangers will rise to the challenge."

"That challenge may belong to all free Men." Eomer looked at each in turn. "The war may be won and Sauron destroyed but things are not over yet. There will be much to do upon our return to Minas Tirith. Rebuilding the city, making homes for those who are lost. And there will be battles yet to fight. The filth of Mordor will not simply vanish. Every last bit of Shadow must be washed away from this earth. We will be occupied for many years yet before we have true peace."

Faramir sighed deeply and lowered his head in a weary gesture. "That's something to look forward to then."

"Yes. But first, we return home to Minas Tirith."

"Home?" Faramir echoed softly. "Never thought I'd hear you call Gondor 'home'."

"I would not have. But it feels right now. Somehow, I know that my place lies with the king in Minas Tirith. For as long as he may need me."

Silence followed then, deep and thoughtful. Given that the end of everything they had ever known had come upon them, it was all but impossible for any Man not to think of the future. There were so many options open to them now. Eomer had no doubt that some of his people would wish to return to Edoras and some of the Rangers would surely want to return to Bree, at least for a time until they knew for certain where they wanted to spend the remainder of their lives. United under a single banner and in the knowledge that they had defeated the Dark Lord of Shadow though, he had no doubt that Mankind was changed for good and things could not go back to how they had once been. Nor would he wish them to. They had not fought so long and hard simply for nothing to change.

For now though, Eomer knew that most of those who had fought under the banner of the king would happily settle in Gondor. It would be a whole new chapter and one that he had to confess he was looking forward to.

After he had left Edoras so long ago, he had longed to return there. It was and always had been his home. But once he had left it, once he had seen the splendour of the White City and felt that it too he could call home, he realised that he had no desire at all to return to his own haunted land. A new start was what he needed and he was convinced that he would find it in Gondor.

OIOI

Daylight, unusually bright and brilliant, disturbed Aragorn from his sleep. He cracked his eyes open a little, aware of the sound of voices around him, but closed them quickly again. The world was still bright and he was not used to it yet. Better to languish in the wondrous, comforting darkness for as long as possible, especially when his head pounded and his thoughts were so fuzzy.

The voices still invaded his mind though; even if he could shut the light out, he couldn't block out the noise. Sighing heavily, he pulled up his blanket further although he was no longer chilled as he had been during the night. In fact, the sunlight beaming down on him was wonderfully warm.

"Ah, you are awake at last, I see," a voice proclaimed cheerfully and Aragorn knew that it must be addressing him.

Somewhat irritated that he had been woken from the first decent night's sleep he had had in months, Aragorn threw back the blanket protecting him from the outside world and glared up at Eomer.

"Good morning," grinned Eomer.

"Is it?" mumbled the king grumpily. He sat up, stretching out his arms, noting the others also watching him with thin smiles on their lips. "What?" he snapped, somewhat irritably and they all moved away. "What time is it? Past dawn?"

"Way past. It approaches midday already," Eomer answered him, braced for the tirade he knew would follow. The night before, they had discussed leaving their modest camp at dawn so they could make the most of the daylight.

"Midday? Why did you leave me sleeping so long?"

"It's not like we had a choice."

"What?"

"Well," Eomer grinned at him, "Halbarad tried to wake you but you mumbled a threat at him - something about a sword in his chest."

"Oh." Aragorn looked in Halbarad's direction but the Ranger was smiling gently as he packed his bag up. "Sorry."

Turning towards him, Halbarad performed a mock bow in his direction, the grin still lighting his face. Aragorn couldn't help but smile himself for he knew that his friends were teasing him. His bad mood was already disappearing rapidly. He threw his blanket all the way off and climbed to his feet. Most of the weariness from the day before had disappeared and he was certainly a lot more relaxed. Annoyed though he may have been that his friends had ignored his orders of the night before, his mind was clear for the first time in years and he was pleased to have the company of people he liked and respected. They had made this whole thing so much easier to bear and he was grateful for that.

"It looked like you needed the rest anyway. You slept soundly all night long, not waking even once. All right, let's get going, so long as you're feeling up to it," Eomer told the others, still slightly concerned about the king.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Aragorn asked in demand.

Eomer shrugged, "Just checking that you were feeling all right. It was a strange day yesterday."

"Strange is one way to describe it," murmured the king as he crouched to roll up his blanket and pack it neatly away in his travel bag ready for the next time they stopped.

They were back on the path down the mountain within minutes and Aragorn once again felt the lightness of his step coming back, something he had not felt since his childhood. Every step brought him closer to his home and he was eager to return, even though he knew that much responsibility awaited him there. But at least he had a vague notion of what to do next and he was surrounded by people who wanted to help him; that brought him much comfort.

OIOI

"You've been very quiet."

"I'm sorry," Aragorn startled from his thoughts.

"On the journey home, you have been unusually quiet so far. It's not like you."

"I'm fine, Eomer."

"No doubt." Despite the words, green eyes stared unflinchingly at the king, waiting for him to elaborate.

"I've just been thinking."

"About anything in particular?"

Aragorn shook his head and offered the commander of the Rohirrim a weak smile, hoping that it would assuage any concerns his friend had over him. He knew that in the past few days since they had left Mordor he had been quiet but he had been so lost in his own thoughts, of the past and the future, that he had not even thought of what his companions may think of his introspection.

"Look there," called Faramir from where he walked ahead of them and everyone's attention was drawn forwards.

Aragorn's breath caught in his throat when he saw what had caught Faramir's eye. They were all brought to a stop by the sight, so arresting it was. In the distance stood the White City of Minas Tirith, burning brilliant white in the dazzling sunlight. Shading their eyes against the glare, they stood for a moment and admired their city, taken from the dark clutches of the Lord Sauron himself, destined to be made wondrous once more. When last they had made this trip from the opposite direction, their vision of the city had been quite different. It had been overrun with the filth of Mordor. They had been so intent on getting out of Osgiliath alive that they had given the White City little thought and certainly not paused to admire its aesthetics of the imposing buildings. Of course, Aragorn thought that it had probably looked dramatically different anyway when last they had looked upon it. It had not been bathed in sunlight then, not glowed almost mystically beneath the golden rays.

Now, it was breath-taking.

"Home at last," breathed Faramir aloud, attempting nonchalance but failing somewhat. Even though he had lived in the shadow of this city all his life, it had amazed him too, how beautiful it looked. Nevertheless, he gathered his wits and laughed out loud and clasped Aragorn's and Eomer's shoulders tightly, leaning in close to those he considered now to be good friends.

Finally finding his voice, Eomer said, "Well, that is a sight I never thought I would see."

"Gondor has been awaiting this day for many long years," Faramir continued as he guided them onwards. "And now, finally, our patience has paid off and what we have always hoped for has come to pass. It is all yours now, Aragorn, to do with as you will."

Swallowing thickly at the thought, Aragorn corrected, "Ours. Minas Tirith belongs to all Men."

"It will be a challenge, you know." Eomer gazed out over the plains towards the splendour of Minas Tirith, a sight he thought would never cease to fill him with awe. "There will be a great many people looking to you for guidance." He smiled towards Aragorn, whose grey eyes were also transfixed upon the shining white city, blazing brilliantly ahead of them. "Intimidated?"

Aragorn smiled across at his old friend, the first genuine smile he had managed in months. "No. I would like to think that the worst is over."

"Of course it is," exclaimed Faramir in a ringing voice filled with excitement. "He defeated the Lord of Darkness and liberated all of Humankind. Anything else after that is sure to be a breeze."

They all laughed lightly and carried on towards their reclaimed city, their steps as light on the ground as their hearts felt.

To Be Continued…