Forever Afternoon
Chapter Twenty-Four
Word Count: 6,050
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: Same as chapter 1, really
Author's Note: So... This has proved to be the hardest section to put together. I have struggled with just about every scene involving this decision being made by Aragorn and the others. It's such a footnote in the movie and book, and yet it has turned into a monster of an arc in my stuff, each piece of which did not want to be written. I think I had the easiest time with Sérëdhiel's scene, and it was one that after I was done with it, I almost cut because it wasn't really that important and spent too much time on something that I wasn't going to make a big deal in any story.

Then I realized I hyped up the paths of the dead thing too much, and I was really not getting close to writing it, as is obvious by the side scene with Merry and Varyar, and so I finally had to reread the section from the book for about the tenth time today to put together a scene that covered even a part of the paths of the dead. And I still did not get past it. *sigh*

Once again, I owe Brightpath2 for looking over a few of these stubborn scenes in advance.

Closer to the Dead, Closer to Death

The truth was an unpleasant thing to face, something that Firyavaryar had known for many centuries, by now he had faced enough of them to where none of them should be difficult. He'd called himself plenty of names over the years, he'd been called many others, and many of those were true. Still, he had not truly thought of himself as a weapon for someone else to use before—or if he had, he'd never been willing to let anyone use him that way.

He'd refused Ogol, had defied Draugminaion, had killed and sacrificed and done everything in his power not to be anyone's weapon but his own. Had he truly offered that to Legolas' echil?

He supposed he had. For family, for a debt that could not be repaid, for the death he should have gotten. He did not follow an edain king, was not going to his death for some cause greater than himself. He was only offering because he should already have been dead.

He turned to the echil. Though Firyavaryar already had his own answer to the question, he found himself asking it anyway. "Are you a king or are you a fool?"

"A fool," Nostalion muttered, and Varyar smiled at him. In that, yes, they agreed. He doubted that his gwador would agree with anything else he'd done, though.

"You would fight for Legolas anyway, if what you said was true," the ranger said. He studied Varyar for a long moment. "Why should I let you come with me? You will only follow and do as you please anyway."

"That is true," Varyar said. He could go after them on his own. No, he would have Nostalion with him, and they would be able to find the others no matter where they might go. "It is possible I'd be of more use and value with you. I know Nostalion would be, but he does have a tragic flaw. He is loyal."

The echil frowned. "Loyal?"

"Do not insult him," Varyar warned. "You see only an assassin. Only a tracker manipulated into something no one should have to be. I see someone who gave all for family, who will always sacrifice for family."

"And you use this?" the would-be king asked. "You betrayed Legolas, use Nostalion. Why would anyone trust you?"

Varyar snorted. "You are a fool. Even with my... affliction, I could not use Nostalion. He chooses to lend his ability to my insanity, but it is his choice, not mine."

"You choose this?"

Nostalion grunted. "Varyar is family."

Firyavaryar glanced toward the dwarf, hobbit, and Legolas before turning back to the rangers and elven twins. "There is one other consideration. I had thought I was past the point of deception, that I no longer cared to continue it, that there was not enough reason to, and perhaps there is not. Most everyone knows of my survival now—"

"Everyone but Legolas," the echil interrupted. "He doesn't know."

"And he shouldn't," Varyar said, lowering his head. "It is not my wish to hurt him, but I do not see that my survival can do anything but harm him. If I am the weapon I'm supposed to be, if we go to our deaths, then do not give him the so-called hope of my survival to take it away a moment later."

Nostalion looked at him, but Varyar shook his head. "You know that I have been weak and growing weaker. I should never have survived that fall, and with that plague still within me, it is only a matter of time before I succumb either to the madness overtaking my mind or the disease in my body. Let me have what little redemption I can. I have always known that my family is safe with you. She loves you, and that will have to be enough."

The assassin cursed, and the echil grimaced. "I never said you were coming with us."

"You also did not say that I was not."

"What do you suppose they're talking about?" Merry asked, bouncing up and down as he tried to get a better look at the rangers. Legolas was only slightly aware of the hobbit's actions. He could not hear what Estel discussed with the others, but their behavior worried him. No one had been harmed, not yet, but Estel had been provoked, and that was not something that Legolas could ignore.

"Don't know," Gimli answered. "Pointy-ears over there might know, though."

"Legolas?" Merry asked, but Legolas was still trying to understand Estel's reaction. He trusted the twins and Dúnedain rangers above all others, despite the relationships he had forged with other lands and races. They were his kin, his brothers. Why would he have gone after one of them? What could they have done to upset him?

"This has gone on long enough, laddie, and I don't know how you've stood for it this long. I can tell you one thing more. I won't stand for myself," Gimli said, and Legolas jerked himself out of his thoughts barely in time to realize what the dwarf and hobbit were doing. The dwarf raised his axe, letting loose a battle cry as he charged forward, heading for the cloaked ranger that Estel had been arguing with earlier. A moment behind him, Merry lifted his own sword and ran in with a fierce cry that did not match his size.

"Gimli, no!" Legolas began, rushing after his foolhardy friend. He knew there was no need for violence. This must be some kind of misunderstanding, but it would become much worse if it was not stopped. He knew the cries had altered the others to what was coming, but they might not realize that it was not an enemy attacking them, not in time. "Daro! No!"

The cloak moved, another standing to block it, and a blade banged against Gimli's axe, halting him. A second blade caught Merry's sword, holding both of them back. To Legolas' relief, the wielder of the blades made no attempt to turn it into a battle. He held them in place, a tense wariness keeping all the others, rangers and elves alike, where they stood.

Estel stepped forward. "There is no need for this."

"Oh, aye? And what's with keeping us out of counsels—ones that almost became an argument, and don't deny that, laddie. That one over there got you riled, and you were ready to hurt him. Tell us why," Gimli said, appearing to have no fear of the blade against him, though he should have, might have if he realized this was no mere ranger he faced.

"I recognize those markings," Estel said, glancing not at the dwarf but at the knife-wielder.

"As do I," Legolas agreed. "I had thought that they had been rejected."

"Ehtyarion was annoyingly persistent," Nostalion said, letting his hood fall back to reveal his elven features. Merry stepped back from him, intimidated, but Gimli fixed him with a glare. "As was, I understand, your father."

"Ada is very stubborn," Legolas agreed, reaching forward to push the blade away from Gimli's axe. Nostalion let it move. "Perhaps not as stubborn as Firyavaryar, though, since he did manage to avoid taking them on more than one occasion."

Nostalion grunted. "I have more use for weapons than he does."

Legolas almost winced, hearing those words. He drew in a breath and let it out. "I am glad you have them. It is right that you do, as Varyar called you gwador and Ada wanted him to have them."

"You're not bothered by the fact that he's here?" Estel asked, frowning.

Legolas almost smiled. "I figured that he was the one who guided the Dúnedain to us. Such a group as ours would be difficult to find, and Halbarad did express his doubts about the way he found you. That, to me, suggested that it was Nostalion who directed your path, though yes, I am surprised that he came in person."

"I have reasons." Nostalion looked back toward the other cloak. "That one is mine, should he survive this fool's errand."

"What?" Legolas asked, confused. The assassin would not announce a target. That was not how such a person worked, and yet he had. Why? To have them stop him? Legolas looked to Estel, but the man was also frowning, as though he did not like or perhaps did not understand what Nostalion was saying, either.

"He hurt Eruaistaniel," Nostalion answered, as if that was any answer at all. "When this battle is over, I will deal with him accordingly."

Legolas blinked. Gimli shifted, ready to use his axe, though now he seemed uncertain who should get it, Nostalion or the ranger. Merry gripped his sword, nervous. "Do you mean you're going to kill him because he hurt her? What did he do?"

"Harm came to Eruaistaniel?" Legolas asked over the hobbit's words. "More harm?"

"She was quite disturbed when we crossed paths with them, I am afraid," Elladan said, and Legolas looked to him. "We knew that she had been harmed by edain, by slavers, but it was more severe than we knew, and after the Dunland raid on Edoras, she was... She became very frightened when we arrived in the company of men."

Legolas grimaced. "Was she hurt?"

Elrohir shook his head. "She was badly spooked, and she ran, but the onod returned her safely, and he watches over her and the others now. When we asked Nostalion to help us find you and Estel—"

"You gave him the promise he could have that one when it was over?" Legolas finished, unable to believe that Elladan or Elrohir would do that, that any of the Dúnedain would agree to it. The elder of the twins shook his head, and Legolas thought perhaps the reason they had Nostalion with them was actually to prevent him harming the ranger.

"Bah. Stick an axe in him now and have done with it," Gimli said. "No point in torturing the lad."

"Is such a crime worth such a fate?" Legolas asked. He shook his head. "I know how she suffered, and I know she barely survived Firyavaryar's death, but if this one only scared her, then it is too much, I believe, to demand his blood for the offense."

Nostalion's expression darkened. "No one harms those under my protection."

"Didn't they already?" Merry asked, and Nostalion turned toward the hobbit. "Well, that is, I thought—they said that slavers hurt her and that a raid happened and—"

"My skills are for one purpose, little hobbit. If you do not want me to use them for it, silence yourself now," Nostalion warned, raising one of the knives that Thranduil had given him toward Merry. "What I do not prevent, I avenge."

Merry nodded. Legolas moved closer to him. "Scaring him is not necessary, Nostalion. I know your loyalty to those you protect, and it is admirable, if perhaps lacking in boundaries."

Nostalion stowed the blades. "I did not ask for your opinion on it. If you wish to render one, tell your friend that his company is foolish for taking the paths of the dead."

"What?" Gimli demanded. He turned to Estel. "You cannot be serious, lad. You'd go straight to your deaths, you and all with you. You're insane to think of it."

Estel sighed. "It may be the only path that we can take. I do not like it, Gimli, but that is part of why you have seen us arguing. We do not like this course, but none among us has offered a proper alternative for the haste we find ourselves under. Sauron will attack Gondor, and I will not let the white city fall. I promised Boromir that I would not, and it is a promise I will honor, even if it means paths I do not wish to take and alliances that I would not otherwise make."

Nostalion glared at Estel for that statement, and Legolas wondered if he was wrong to want the Avari assassin with them. Somehow it made him feel closer to Varyar. He turned to Estel. "If it is the paths of dead that you must take, then I will take them with you."

"You're both daft," Gimli said. He grunted. "But I'm with you as well, laddie. Can't leave your protection to the elf alone."

"Take Merry back to King Théoden and the others," the echil ordered, and Firyavaryar had to bite back his response to that. He was not one of these fool rangers for the would-be king to order about, and he would not ever be. Yet, he did recognize that no one had contradicted Nostalion's story about the ranger who upset Eruaistaniel—in part because it was true, though the fool that had done it was still free among the others. If he was to continue to have that kind of cooperation, he must act the part of a subdued fool—a mute, since it would all be undone if Legolas heard him speak.

He would almost rather let Legolas know and take the opportunity to hurt that echil, but he needed to remain concealed.

"Go, now," the echil repeated, and Varyar supposed this was a test of what he was willing to do in order to remain a part of their company. He had to obey—or pretend to. "There is still more than I must discuss now with Gimli and Legolas, and the king will have need of Merry."

Firyavaryar chose not to snort at that, pushing the hobbit forward as he walked past the others. Nostalion grabbed his arm, and Varyar stopped long enough to nod to him. His gwador could stay to ensure that the echil kept his word. Firyavaryar could deliver the hobbit to the others. It was a meaningless task, but he had been concealed as a ranger, and he had to act as though he was one. The foolish rangers would have followed the echil without question or hesitation.

The hobbit managed to stay quiet for the first part of their journey, letting nothing more than sighs pass through his lips, enough of them to have Varyar pulling at his own glove in annoyance, thinking he only needed one touch to end this nuisance for good.

Only this nuisance was another that Legolas would call friend, fool that he was.

The hobbit stopped, shaking his head and appearing to gather his wits. He turned back to look at where the rangers had been. "I should stay with them."

Varyar snorted. "Do you think it shows some great courage that you are willing to go with them and die? I assure you, it does not."

Angry, the hobbit stood at his full height, which was nothing to Firyavaryar, even stooped as he was by his own weakness. "What do you know of it? That dark elf—"

"You know nothing of him, and speak not of what you do not understand. They could ask for none finer at their side, and they head to a battle that they will not win without someone of his skill," Varyar said, forcing the hobbit to move again. The little creature stumbled, and Varyar shook his head. These things were useless as well as stupid. "He will not harm your friend. That is not his nature."

"Why do you defend him? He wants you dead, doesn't he?"

"At times, I suppose, he does, but I have offered the same opinion, so we are equal," Firyavaryar said. He almost laughed. No one understood their humor, though, and it was best not shared with one so young and foolish. The hobbit seemed a child, though it was grown, or so it claimed.

"Are you truly a ranger?"

Varyar glanced at the hobbit. Perhaps it was not such a fool after all. "Were I not, do you suppose that I would tell you that truthfully? You suspect that Nostalion will do them harm, and you would rush back to their defense. The truth is, though, that the ones who will do them harm are either far from here—or them themselves."

The hobbit swallowed uneasily, looking back at where the others had been. "What do you mean?"

"Your friend will seek the path of the dead. That path is one that has been sealed against living men since before the your king's men came to these lands, before the Rohirrim. It is possible, according to some prophecy—and I assure you I trust them little, those prophecies, though I fear I have myself been the victim of a few of them—that the heir of Isildur might pass through that way, but he alone could do so, for no other would be allowed to live."

Merry frowned. "But if that is true, why do Gimli and Legolas and the rangers go with him? Will they not all die?"

"I suppose they all go forward under the hope that some allowance might be made for those of his company." Firyavaryar shook his head. "It is not much of one, or he would not try to spare you."

"I'm not that little," the hobbit said, jerking free of Varyar's guiding hold. "No. I am going back. I will go with them and I will fight—"

"For what will you fight? To prove you are not small? To prove courage? These are not things worth giving your life for, you little idiot," Firyavaryar said, catching hold of him again, and the hobbit struggled in his grip. "Going with the king of Rohan—that alone is enough to ensure your end. You need not seek the dead yourself."

The hobbit glared up at him. "Aragorn and the others are my friends. I would be with them."

"Even at an age younger than yours my brother was less of a fool," Varyar told him. He knelt, looking at the hobbit in the eyes, which had the smaller creature backing away from him in fright. "There is no great glory in battle. There is no use in proving courage by death. All being valiant does is get you killed—and if you are fortunate, you suffer little in the process, but few are that fortunate. No, healing is a finer art, and loyalty is no less valuable in such support than it is in war. I would rather have one healer by my side than all Théoden's army."

"You would?"

Varyar smiled, amused by his own declaration. Two he would have fight beside him, were that the question, though he might want Nostalion a bit more than Legolas, but outside of combat, he wanted one, and one alone. "It helps that the healer is one I value more than you love your friends. She is my sister, and I would have her beside me, only I know that she must take the path that is hers as I walk my own. I would not bring her down this road I travel, nor would your friends do so."

"I can help. I am brave."

"No," Firyavaryar corrected. "You are a fool. My sister's courage is greater than mine, and it always has been, yet she has never seen battle. The aid she gives us all is greater than any I have ever provided. I have blood on my hands. She has salvation. This life, this path you think you seek—it is not the honor you believe it is."

Merry frowned. "Who are you?"

"I feel it more likely that you will survive than any of us will, little hobbit, and so you must go to your path as I go to mine," Firyavaryar said, rising. He looked at the hobbit. "Should you ever meet Sérëdhiel, remind her that she was always the best of us."

"You don't want me to tell her that you loved her?"

"She has never doubted that."

"You sent Merry away," Legolas said, troubled as he watched the cloaked figure walk the hobbit out of the camp. He turned to Aragorn with a frown, shaking his head, and Aragorn swallowed. He did not know that he could face his friend, not now. He had not lied to Legolas about Firyavaryar, but his silence was as much of a lie as the ones that Nostalion had told.

"I did," Aragorn agreed. He almost wanted to use Merry as a distraction, as wrong as he knew it was. Either that, or he would let Nostalion be it. Again. He still could not believe that his friend was so glad to see the assassin—or to let him carry those ancient knives. It was undeniable that the elf had the skill to use them, but deserving them? That was something else.

"Estel, I know that we intend to go down a path that is dangerous and uncertain, but none of us can doubt the valor of the hobbits. We have all seen it, and we all value it. Why will you treat him as a child now? Everyone's fate lies in the hands of Frodo and Sam, and yet you turn Merry from us," Legolas began, and Aragorn had to smile at his endless loyalty.

"The hobbit will slow us down," Nostalion said. "The only reason to take this path is haste, for nothing else would make it worth the risk."

"What do you know of the paths of the dead, dark elf?" Gimli asked. "They go about telling tales of it when they teach you how to follow Morgoth?"

Nostalion looked at him coldly. "It is not only the wood elves who have little use for your kind, dwarf, but know this—if I followed the shadow, you would already be dead."

"Your mother was a wood elf."

"So they claim, but I do not believe it, and even if she was, that does not make me loyal to Thranduil or his son," Nostalion said, giving Aragorn a warning look before addressing Gimli. "Your legends are not completely unknown to those who do not follow the Valar. I have heard the seer's words, yes. It does not make your choice any less foolish."

"Isildur cursed the people of the mountain for failing to honor their vow," Aragorn said, thinking of the stories that he had been told and those same words of the seer. "I am his heir. Only I can free them from that curse that binds them forever to the mountain. They will listen to me."

"Aye, laddie, they might, and it is perhaps safe for you, but what of your kinsmen? Will you risk all of their lives on this hope?" Gimli asked, folding his hands on his axe. "There is no guarantee for those of us who would ride with you."

"Sauron has seen me in the stone," Aragorn admitted, for he had looked into the planatír when he took it from Pippin. The dwarf shook his head, and Aragorn nodded. "He has, I hope, received a blow in learning that I live, but I do not know. What I do know is that he will attack the white city and it will take too long for the Rohirrim to get there. I must go through those paths or risk losing it all. I do not ask anyone to come with me. Those that choose may come with me, but they will all know the risk. And all of you do now. I will seek the Stone of Erech and beyond it, the path of the dead."

"Yet you denied Merry even the option to choose," Legolas said, folding his arms over his chest. "Why is it that you trust us but not him? His size?"

Aragorn sighed. He did not want to answer that. It was not that he thought Merry lacked courage. He did not. "I think he would have chosen to go with us, but I do not think it is the right choice for him. I cannot say why, but I feel certain that he must not come with us. There are already too many willing to risk their lives for a fight that is not theirs."

Halbarad shook his head. "We are Dúnedain. We are sworn to preserving the line of Elendil and the throne of Arnor. This is our fight."

"And it has long been ours," Elladan said, getting an answering nod from his twin.

"And you, princeling, I suppose you'd say it was yours, too," Gimli said, looking over at Legolas, who nodded.

"Estel has long been my friend, and I have fought beside him for years," Legolas said. "I have already chosen that path, did so long ago, and I will continue beside him regardless of what lies before us. Such is the nature of our friendship."

"Bloody loyal fool," Gimli muttered, shaking his head. "Never let it be said that an elf was more honorable than a dwarf, though. I am with you, laddie, as I already said. Let us seek this stone."

Aragorn looked over as Firyavaryar approached, making more noise than usual—than a ranger would—and he frowned, not understanding the elf's need to draw attention to himself. Nostalion moved over toward him, taking hold of his arm and speaking low to him, but for all the frowning from the other elves, they either did not understand what was said or could not hear it.

Nostalion looked at him. "Someone intends to speak to you before you leave, echil. I do not think that you want us to hear that conversation."

"Please stop fussing. I assure you, I am well, if perhaps... mortified by my behavior," Eruaistaniel said, pushing away Sérëdhiel's hand as she tried to examine her. Sérëdhiel shook her head, unable to believe that after the way the past few days had been. She did not want to ignore or belittle her friend's discomfort. Doing so before had not helped any, and to let it go unaided now would be something that she could not forgive herself for.

"You have no need of mortification," Sérëdhiel told her. "What you need is—"

"Nothing." Eruaistaniel caught her friend's hand and held it. "I am not lying. I regret running, but I did not injure myself. I only regret that I was so... foolish as to behave that way, that I had to be found and carried back and... and that Varyar had to hold me to calm me."

"Varyar chose to hold you," Sérëdhiel said, looking her friend in the eyes. She did not want to encourage hopes for something that could not be, but one thing she did not want Eruaistaniel believing was that she was only a burden to them. "He did it despite fearing letting us touch him, and he did it because it was what you needed."

"He does care about you," Alassë said, and Sérëdhiel gave her a look. That would not help, and they all knew that. Even if Firyavaryar was to admit to feeling something for Eruaistaniel, he could never act upon it, and that was, Sérëdhiel believed, part of the reason why Eruaistaniel had started to feel something for him first—he was safe in a way no other male could be.

"I know that, Alassë," Eruaistaniel told her. She let go of Sérëdhiel's hand and folded her own together, lowering her head. "That does not make it any less foolish for me to feel the way I do. I wish I had not put so much of my hope into Varyar after he and Nostalion rescued me. Perhaps I would not feel as I do now if I had not."

"Sérëdhiel would be glad to have you as a sister, and Varyar could do worse," Idhrenion said, and Sérëdhiel gave him the look this time. He gave her an unrepentant smile. "Oh, come now. You know I am right. There was that one elleth that wanted him because she had already tried and failed to get Legolas—Bainwen—and there was also Rhavaniel. Both of whom we hated, I might add."

Sérëdhiel nodded. Unfortunately, many of the females interested in her brother had only wanted to use him. Some might have seen the father he almost was to his siblings and thought he would be a good ada for children of his own, but most had only sought what Varyar had—proximity and influence with Legolas first and later his position within the twisted hierarchy of Eruaistaniel's family.

"I think it should be said that Eruaistaniel could do better," Alassë said, and the others frowned at her. She smiled. "Well, it is not as though she did not gather the attention of the sons of Elrond, after all. She could be mistress of Imladris someday."

"Those two play, but I have my doubts that any could claim their hearts," Eruaistaniel said. She shook her head. "I would not want Imladris."

Thenidriel crawled her way into Eruaistaniel's lap, reaching for her hair, and Eruaistaniel smiled down at her. She caressed the baby's cheek, humming softly as she did. Sérëdhiel smiled, thinking this was how she liked to see her friend.

"I thought you liked the gardens there," Alassë said, smiling herself as she watched her daughter batting at her cousin's hair.

"I did, and I do," Eruaistaniel said, rocking Thenidriel in her lap. "It is a beautiful place, and I was glad to be there when we were."

"Yet?" Alassë prompted, shaking her head as Idhrenion leaned forward to make faces at his daughter. He made one at her, and she shoved him. He grinned.

"I would not choose any place where my family is not welcome," Eruaistaniel said, lifting her head with a strength and defiance that spoke to underlying strength that continued to sustain her despite her fears and nightmares, that helped her go on when others might have faded under the trauma. She might falter every so often, but she still managed to find that strength somewhere. "And I do not have to marry Varyar to consider you all family."

"No, you do not," Sérëdhiel agreed. They had always considered her family, same as she did them, and that would not change. They did not need a bond or blood to feel that connection. They never had.

Eruaistaniel snuggled Thenidriel close. "What are we going to do about the real problem?"

Sérëdhiel frowned, but her friend pointed above her to where Lothanlass leaned over them. She grimaced. She did not know. The onod was kind, dedicated and perhaps even loyal, but they could not travel without notice, not with him by them. He was far from subtle, and they needed subtle to survive.

She sighed. "I do not know."

"I cannot forget the look on her face when we left her," Gimli said, and Legolas nodded, for he, too, had been affected by the emotions of Lady Éowyn. He had not wanted to see her heartbroken, but he feared that all had done so because of Estel's actions, and he did not like to think of her begging him as she had done.

"Nor can I."

"First he sent Merry away. Then he denied her. 'Tis a face of his I cannot be certain is good."

Legolas grimaced. He did not like it much, either. Estel had rejected his counsel on the matter several times, and in the end, his actions seemed heedless of what damage he had done.

"Cowardice," another voice said, and Legolas frowned, looking over at Nostalion. The assassin had mostly kept to the tail of their group, the ranger he had claimed as prize never far from him, ever since they left the company of Rohan behind, and Merry with them.

"You call Aragorn a coward?"

"Yes," Nostalion answered, no hesitation in his voice. "He said he could not give her leave without the approval of the other king, yet were he to have the throne he claimed, he would be the higher king. He would have the greater authority. He hid behind the others rather than telling her he would not have her there himself. That is cowardice."

"I wish your wife could have counseled her," Legolas told him, and Nostalion frowned. "Sérëdhiel knows much of being left behind, yet she is not the sort to be discontent with it. I wish she could have shown the lady of Rohan the truth of her position, for I fear Éowyn has always been blind to it."

"Sérëdhiel is not left behind. She chooses to stay when others go."

"Yes," Legolas agreed. "That is what I wish Éowyn could have seen."

Nostalion inclined his head, acknowledging the words before letting his horse slow down enough to rejoin the disgraced ranger near the end of their group. Gimli grunted, shifting behind Legolas.

"That one is dangerous."

"We are all of us dangerous," Legolas disagreed, but they could not discuss it further as Estel stopped their group under the dark trees, in the dark hollow at the base of the mountain. The door loomed in front of them, a single massive stone barring their path.

"That door is evil," Halbarad said, gazing upon it. "Beyond it lies our death, and I do not think that any of the horses will be willing to pass through it."

Legolas had not thought the horses so easily swayed, and had their riders asked it of them, they would all have passed in that instant, but the hesitation was enough, and Estel's horse started to turn in agitation.

"Stupid beasts," Gimli grumbled, shaking his head as Estel tried to calm the gelding. A snort from their own mount had him sliding off, agreeing with Halbarad's assessment that none of the animals would pass beyond the door.

"The horses are, perhaps, wiser than we ourselves are," Legolas said, getting off his mount to cross to where Estel's horse tried to pull away from him. He covered the horse's eyes, singing softly to it, soothing it.

"I should have been able to do that," Estel muttered, and Legolas smiled, handing the mount's reins back to the man.

"None are better than elves at interacting with nature," Legolas reminded him, glancing back at the one he had been riding. Their own gelding stamped the ground, likely to charge the dwarf soon enough, having endured too many insults from him. "The horses do not like this place, and I confess—I do not, either. None of us do, I suppose. Still, I believe that we can take the horses with us now."

"You going to sing them calm all the way?" Gimli asked as Legolas returned to his side.

Legolas glanced at Nostalion as he passed, hearing a soft song he knew to be Sérëdhiel's, but the assassin did not seem willing to do more than hum. That was, Legolas supposed, enough for his horse and the ranger's beside him. Legolas had to smile as he led the Rohan horse into the gloom beyond the door, but it was gone as soon as he crossed the threshold.

The shadow here wanted to envelope everything, to subdue it and take all hope from it until Estel lit a torch and Elladan another. Legolas waited for Gimli to return, and once they were both upon the horse, they moved ahead to let Elladan take the rear with the second torch.

"Does he feel no fear?" Gimil asked as Estel urged them onward, and Legolas shook his head. Estel was a king—he knew he could not show the fear even if he felt it. "I see no sign of it on you elves, not a one—"

"We have no fear of the ghosts of men."

"Ghosts?"

Legolas nodded, glancing behind them as one of the rangers shuddered. "I see shapes of men and horses, cloud banners and winter thickets. The dead are following."

"Yes, the dead ride behind," Elladan agreed, getting a shudder out of the dwarf. "They have been summoned."