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ARAGORN
It had begun to rain when they reached Orthanc, tiny silver lights visible between the torn clouds for a short while until the sky became a low-hanging gray canopy. The rain was heavy and dark, but the elvin-cloaks kept the worst of it out.
The three hunters crouched in the forest that ringed the tower, hidden behind the tremendous trunk of a fallen tree. Aragorn lifted his gaze above the wet bark and watched the Uruk-hai guards outside the entrance to Orthanc. There were only ten or so of them, standing stoic and unflinching beneath the dark tower. But Aragorn was not deceived by their small numbers; many more than this had attacked the Fellowship on Amon Hen, and those that had not been slain were surely nearby.
He sat against the tree and dragged his fingers across the muddy ground, then brought his hand to his face and smudged the earth over his cheeks, though Aragorn was careful to avoid the gash upon his face. Legolas and Gimli watched him with bewilderment, and it was the dwarf who broke the silence: "Have you gone mad?"
"Many have thought that of me of late," said Aragorn. "But I have not gone mad, friend Gimli; it is all part of the siege of Orthanc. I need you to gather as much wood as you can and bring it here. Driest is best, and if one of you will cover the wood with your cloak, it would be most helpful. I would use mine, but the less that Saruman sees of me, the better."
"I am not very fond of this plan," said Legolas doubtfully. "Do you intend to show yourself to Saruman? I would deem it unwise."
"Sauron knows only of our kind," Aragorn reassured him. "Not our faces or what we are called. And even if the Dark Lord has told Saruman what he knows, it is not enough for him to know me, particularly if I am hooded, filthy, and in the dark. I will play a weary traveler seeking shelter; there is no reason for Saruman to turn me away, and even if he sees one I shall overpower whoever he sends to the door, for a wizard would see that duty as beneath him."
"And what shall we do while you are inside?" Gimli asked. "Will there be a need for my axe?"
"There will indeed, my friend," said Aragorn. "Tell me, how loud can you shout, and are you willing to bludgeon a tree as well as the orcs?"
"I can shout as loud as any dwarf," Gimli replied. "Which is quite loud, I assure you; my voice shall be heard upon the summits of the great peaks. I myself have no qualms about bludgeoning trees, but the elf seems to disagree."
Seeing the angered face of Legolas Aragorn said hastily, "I thought we might find a dead tree, Legolas, and hew it down to make a greater noise. If we time its fall with one of these claps of thunder my plan may very well succeed. I can think of no other way to do it, save for clanging my cooking pans together."
"Still we do not know your plan," said Legolas, but a faint smile was upon his face. "Cease your dawdling and tell me what I am to do."
"We will need fire," Aragorn began. "Fire and many torches; these we will place in the trees and ensure that they are shielded from the rain. We have only two soldiers, but you must appear as if you lead a great army toward Orthanc. The torches will make it seem as though many men come to fight, and the tree will be needed to provide the sound of a battalion. Legolas—after the torches are lit and the tree is fallen, you shall fire many arrows, flaming ones if you can, out of the forest; this will confuse the orcs and force them into the woods to confront you. Gimli—" here he nodded to the dwarf— "you will shout that you are here to destroy Isengard. You are free to add any threats you like, but kindly refrain from calling out our numbers; it will be too clear that we have less men than we say we do."
"I will stand for it!" said Gimli, raising his axe. "I shall lash the Uruk-hai with my tongue and then my blade; this will be a night that they will not soon forget!"
"How shall we know when to light the torches, and fell the tree?" asked Legolas. "For you cannot shout a signal to us; nor can you raise a standard for us to see."
Aragorn thought for a moment, and then he picked up a stone from the ground and held it up for the elf to see. "I will throw this from whatever window I can; when it lands in the trees you will know to light the torches. Once the orcs have come into the woods to fight, you must get to the doors and guard them, for we cannot have the orcs going into the prison. I will go down from the room Saruman gives me and free the prisoners, then lead them out the back way to safety. We must then flee into the woods and continue to Minas Tirith, for I swore to Boromir that I would not let it fall."
He put the stone in his pocket and placed a hand on each of the shoulders of Legolas and Gimli. "I thank you for your courage, my friends. I wish I could help in your endeavor, but someone must free the hobbits; all I can do is work swiftly and give you time enough to prepare. I have faith in you, and I pray that we shall meet once more after the siege is through."
Aragorn stood and walked out of the trees, lending a slight limp to his gait; he hunched his shoulders and pulled his hood low over his face. The Uruk-hai growled and lifted their spears, and Aragorn bowed before them, saying, "I am Strider, a humble traveler, and I seek refuge from this storm. Who is the master of this tower, and might I speak with him? I ask only for a place to sleep tonight; I shall leave by morning."
The largest of the Uruk-hai regarded Aragorn with distaste and replied, "Saruman the White can be hospitable, if you are not a threat. Come, I will alert him to your presence."
He took Aragorn by the shoulder and half-led, half-dragged him to the great black door. Aragorn let himself stumble, and though the gash in his side stung he pushed aside the pain, wishing to seem as weak and pitiable as he could; it might make Saruman more likely to grant him hospitality.
The orc pounded upon the dark wood with his great fist, and when it opened a man in dark robes stood on the threshold. He looked over Aragorn and said, a note of irritation in his voice, "This is not a Halfling, Ugluk."
"I know that, you foul worm. He seeks shelter from the storm, as do my soldiers; you would do well to speak to Saruman about that. Get this man a room and tell Saruman that he is here; I see no reason to trouble your master further."
The man sighed and stepped aside, and Ugluk thrust Aragorn forward. He nearly tripped on the hem of his cloak but righted himself, bowing his head to the servant of Saruman and murmuring, "I thank you for your kindness, good sir."
"It is but pity," the man said, and turned toward a staircase in the corner of the entrance chamber. "Follow me; I will show you to a room. You are to be gone by sunrise."
"Of course. Thank you."
As they ascended the stairs, Aragorn clasped tightly the stone in his pocket, and behind him the black door of Orthanc swung shut.
Aragorn waited in his room for as long as he dared; it occurred to him that while he could throw his stone at any point, Legolas and Gimli had no way to tell him when they were ready. That had been something of an oversight.
He rather wished he was truly staying the night in the room; it was nice enough, and Aragorn felt certain that the last time he had slept in a bed was in Rivendell. He had grown accustomed to having a cloak for a pillow and the forest floor for a mattress, but a bed was a true luxury that he would have enjoyed experiencing again.
The fact that it was his birthday made it even more disappointing. Aragorn had not remembered until sunset that it was the first of March—today he had lived for eighty-eight years, and yet he was sure he looked in his early thirties at most. Being a Dúnedain had its advantages.
He gazed out the window at the dark trees, where Legolas and Gimli surely worked. How long had it been now? An hour? Half that? Time seemed to stretch and shrink oddly in this tower; perhaps it was the overwhelming presence of evil. But a strange feeling tugged at something in Aragorn's chest; he must throw the stone now. The hobbits could be in grave danger.
Aragorn took the stone from his pocket, and with his other hand he grasped the Evenstar that hung about his neck. Raising his gaze to the clouds he murmured a swift prayer—if his throw was not long enough, it could be traced back to him and he would lose his chance to slip out of the room and find Merry and Pippin. It must be a perfect throw, one that would arc over the trees and crash down into them without being seen.
He pulled back his arm and felt the tension in his muscles as that of a bowstring. Whipping his hand forward Aragorn released the stone; it flew perfectly, high above the heads of the Uruk-hai, and landed in the trees with the snapping of branches and a dull thunk.
Almost immediately many torches flared to life in the woods; Aragorn could only assume that Legolas had fired flaming arrows at them. The Uruk-hai commander gave a shout of alarm, and at the next clap of thunder a great thud shook the forest and a volley of arrows were fired at the black tower. Many of them hit the orcs, who fell and further shook the earth as a roar came from the forest.
"Saruman!"
Gimli was impressively loud; his challenge did not disappoint. Aragorn watched as the remaining guards hoisted their spears and started toward the trees. Though they shouted in anger none could be heard over Gimli, who bellowed, "I am Gimli son of Glóin, and I come to claim Isengard! Let Saruman's forces challenge me, if they can! All shall fall before their spears do! Come at me, you filthy brutes!"
The sound of many running feet echoed through the tower, and Aragorn watched through the driving rain as many orcs charged into the woods. Out of them, running swiftly as he could, his hair flowing behind him as white silk, came Legolas, bow in hand as he stopped beside the door.
"Estel!" he cried, and Aragorn knew that Legolas had done what he had forgotten and thought of a way to signal when all was ready. Quietly he opened the door and scanned the corridor for orcs; none were in sight. Aragorn stepped outside and shut the door behind him, then walked to the end of the corridor and down the staircase; he felt certain that he had seen a row of barred doors on the way up.
He found the floor that contained the cells and moved swiftly down the corridor, peering into the small dark rooms. What Aragorn saw broke his heart—the prisoners were huddled in shivering heaps on the floor, gazes hollow and blank, and all of them were emaciated, so gaunt that they might have been skeletons.
Near the midpoint of the hall, Aragorn stopped, looking into the cell before him. Pippin, his sea-colored eyes wide and anxious, sat against the wall. Merry was unconscious in his lap, a dirty scrap of cloth bound across his brow. Sorrow pierced Aragorn's heart again, followed by anger; whoever had done this to the hobbits deserved a taste of his sword.
"Pippin," Aragorn whispered, and he knelt beside the door of the cell. "Pippin! Are you alright?"
Pippin looked up, and hope rushed into his gaze like a dam breaking as he gasped, "Strider!"
"Stay quiet," said Aragorn, and he pulled an arrow from his quiver, carefully pushing the head into the lock on the cell door. "The Uruk-hai have gone, but Saruman may be watching. We must be swift."
He felt for the catch in the lock and found it, wedging the tip of the arrow underneath it. The lock clicked open, and no sooner had the door done the same then Pippin gently slid Merry to the floor and rushed to Aragorn, embracing him tightly.
"You're going to be alright," Aragorn whispered, hoping it was true. "I am taking you both to safety, which I hope we shall find in the woods. I promise, Pippin, I will never let you out of my sight again."
He set Pippin down and cupped the hobbit's face in his hands, studying it. A bruise darkened Pippin's cheek, and his skin was smudged with dust, but he looked much better than Merry and the fire had not left his gaze. Upon learning that Pippin was not badly hurt Aragorn went to Merry and laid a hand on his brow, and the heat radiating from the hobbit's skin shocked him. Merry was not so far gone that Aragorn would give up on him, but it would be a difficult healing process and greatly deplete Aragorn's store of athelas. Nonetheless, he knew he must try, so he reassured Pippin and lifted Merry up onto his shoulders.
Aragorn showed Pippin how to use the arrowhead to open the locks, and he went swiftly down the row of cells, opening the doors to release the prisoners. Most of them could walk, and came forth draped in their blankets, looking at Aragorn with empty yet grateful eyes. But one would not come, and remained a sorrowful heap under the blankets. Aragorn stepped cautiously into the cell and placed a hand on the prisoner's shoulder, saying softly, "Come, I am here to free you. You need not be afraid."
The blanket slipped down, revealing pale moon-colored eyes and limp white hair. The prisoner was an elf, her face drawn and yet lovely as the morning, and tears glistened in her eyes. Aragorn changed tongues and said in Sindarin, "Gorga il, lle ier varna yassen amin,"which is rendered in the Common Speech "Fear not, you are safe with me."
"Le fael," she whispered. Thank you.
"Mani essa?" he asked. Your name?
"Ithiriel," said the elf, and Aragorn took her hand, pulling her to her feet as she said, "Amin aaye tuulo' Taur-nu-Fuin." I hail from Mirkwood.
The elf stumbled as she stood, and Aragorn looked down to see that her ankles were gashed and bleeding, sure to scar. He had no need to ask Ithiriel where the wounds had come from; no blade that he knew could make such thin cuts, but he had seen the same wounds on Gandalf's brow after his imprisonment here. They were the work of Saruman, his method of torture when the usual ones failed.
Aragorn, careful not to shift Merry's weight too much, wrapped his arm around Ithiriel's shoulders, supporting her weight as they left the cell, and murmured, "Sii' lle ier leitha. Tul a' Gondor ale' i' ohta." Now you are free. Come to Gondor after the war.
"Le fael," she said again, and she stepped carefully away from him, testing her weight. Ithiriel did not fall, and she stood on her own, bestowing upon Aragorn a radiant smile. She reminded him of Arwen, his beloved, and Aragorn's heart ached for the simpler days of his childhood in the house of Elrond, the time when nothing could come between himself and Arwen, not even the One Ring.
He tried to push aside the sorrow. That was the object of his quest—to bring about the salvation of Middle-earth so that he and all the people of its great lands could know a better day than this. That was what he fought for.
Aragorn told the assembled prisoners of his plan, and he feared for them, for what if they could not run swiftly enough to escape the Uruk-hai, or Saruman himself? All would be for naught—but Aragorn vowed to himself that if any being, orc or wizard, attempted to attack the prisoners, they would have to kill him first. Those under his protection would have it until the bitter end.
They descended the staircase, and Aragorn hoped it would not jostle Merry too much. The hobbit was still unconscious, but he would be in great pain if he woke, and Aragorn hoped that Merry would remain asleep until after the athelas had been administered. Outside the rain fell in dark sheets, and Pippin pulled his hood up to guard against it. He looked very small and fragile under his elvin-cloak, and a protective fire seared in Aragorn's chest. Saruman had hurt the hobbits enough; no one would ever do it again if Aragorn could stop them.
Suddenly Aragorn became aware of a pale figure standing before him, hooded and almost luminous in the rain. Saruman held his great white staff, and his eyes glinted with malice as Aragorn drew his sword and aimed its point at the wizard.
"You have failed, Strider," said Saruman, and his staff glowed at the tip with a pale fire. "You do not have the authority to release my prisoners; they are mine to do with as I wish. Now begone from Isengard, and perhaps I shall spare your life. I do not make a habit of killing weary travelers; you may leave in peace if you return the captives to me."
Aragorn slid Merry gently from his shoulders, and Pippin reached up with fear and understanding in his eyes. The hobbit laid his cousin over his own shoulders, and though Pippin was small he was also strong, steadfastly bearing Merry's weight.
"Run, Pippin," Aragorn whispered, his lips barely moving. "Keep the prisoners together. Find athelas for Merry; you know what it looks like. Whether I follow you or not, you must not lose hope. Remember that, my friend."
He bent and kissed Pippin on the forehead; the hobbit looked up at him with eyes full of tears as Aragorn turned back to face Saruman, his sword at the ready. "Your forces are depleted, Saruman. You shall not destroy any more lives with the Uruk-hai, and you shall not take anyone captive again, for they are free to do as they will. And if you wish to do harm to any of the people of Middle-earth, you will have to go through me, for I am their king, and they are my people."
Aragorn raised his sword, cried, "Boromir!", and charged.
PEREGRIN
Pippin stumbled into the woods, the rain blurring his eyes and soaking his fetlocks. Merry's weight was heavy upon his shoulders, and so his steps faltered as he crashed through brittle underbrush. Torches burned in the trees, the last of their dying embers flickering out into ashes, and Pippin wondered who had lit them and why.
The shouts of Aragorn and Saruman, coupled with two other voices that Pippin knew as Legolas and Gimli, faded as the prisoners limped as swiftly as they could into the trees. Pippin heard no orcs pursuing them; he could only assume that they had all been slain or otherwise incapacitated.
Would Aragorn and the others be alright? They were brave warriors, to be sure, and there were three of them to only one of Saruman, but the wizard was powerful and could launch multiple attacks with his staff. He may very well best them, in which case Pippin supposed the best course of action would be to run.
They reached a clearing in the woods, and Diamond called, "Stop!"
Pippin slowed to a halt, confused but relieved to rest for a moment. He did not dare put Merry down; if they had to run from orcs he feared he would not be able to hoist his cousin back up in time. Instead he simply stood still, the wet earth squishing between his toes as he looked on Diamond questioningly.
"We must wait for Strider," she announced. "He alone knows the road to the Gap of Rohan, unless any of you can get all the others there? I would offer you shelter in Long Cleeve, but I do not think my mother will take kindly to so many men entering the borders of her kingdom, so it will be better for you to go to Asgolen. We cannot get there without Strider; we can only wait and hope that he prevails against Saruman. Otherwise all of you will be finding your own way to Asgolen."
Diamond turned to Pippin and said, more softly now, "You are coming with me to Long Cleeve. Merry needs shelter and treatment, as do you to a lesser extent. Besides, the queen will wish to know of those who saved me. Perhaps she will reward you."
"I did hardly anything to aid in your escape," said Pippin, bowing his head, "and I desire no reward but your company, Dia. I think if I were parted from you now I should feel as if a fire in a cold night had gone suddenly out."
Diamond narrowed her eyes. "Do not attempt to flatter me, Shire-child. You stand on the edge of my fierce anger more often than not."
Pippin managed a smile despite the rain coursing down his face. "And yet you seem to enjoy my company more often than you would like to admit. I'm beginning to believe that you actually enjoy having me around, Dia."
"I am quickly regretting my decision," Diamond sighed. "Pray I don't change my mind."
"Dear Ilúvatar," Pippin said dramatically. "Please do not let Dia change her mind."
"You are insufferable."
"I make a habit of it, as most of the Shire will tell you," Pippin laughed. "Though I try not to antagonize warrior princesses or anyone else likely to kill me."
Diamond looked as if she were going to reply, but a high-pitched yell cut through the trees, and Pippin recognized the voice as Aragorn's. Another cry followed, one of "Estel!", as a great roar of thunder rolled over the forest. Pippin glanced wildly back through the trees, but they had traveled such a distance from Orthanc that he could not see the combatants.
"Gimli!" cried the voice of Legolas, and there followed a shriek of pain. Pippin had had enough; he took Merry from his shoulders as carefully as he knew how and began to shoulder his way back through the brush. The three hunters were in need of help; that much was clear.
A hand landed upon Pippin's shoulder, and he turned, meeting Diamond's flaming green gaze as she hissed, "Where are you going? Strider told you to run!"
"Strider needs my help," Pippin insisted. "He and Legolas and Gimli; Saruman is hurting them as he did Merry and I. They cannot stand against him; I must go!" He looked at Diamond with a pleading gaze. "Please keep watch over Merry. I will return soon."
"The others will do it," she said. "I am coming with you. Come, Shire-child, we must make haste!"
And she sprinted away, Pippin following swiftly. The hobbits crashed through the underbrush, twigs whipping at their faces, until Diamond thrust out her arm, stopping Pippin in his tracks.
"Saruman will take us," she said. "For once I believe that we cannot simply run in; this enemy is too great for us. We must think of what to do. I will grab the elf's dagger, you will—Peregrin Took!"
For Pippin had leaped out of the bushes and ran toward the skirmish. He had caught sight of Wormtongue leaning out of the topmost window of Orthanc, holding what looked to be a ball of glass wrapped partially in a dark cloth. Pippin was certain that it was the object that had been on the pedestal during the questioning—and Wormtongue was heaving it out the window, prepared to shatter it and the skull of its victim.
Aragorn lay upon the earth, shaking off a daze as he groped for his fallen sword, and Gimli was slumped near the wall of the tower, unmoving. Legolas stood a little ways off. The elf was firing arrow after arrow at Saruman, but the wizard sent them spinning away with his staff. The hunters were nearly defeated, and as Wormtongue let fall the glass with a shout Pippin knew it would hit Aragorn.
"Strider!" he cried, and sprang from the ground in a leap that was immense for a hobbit. He sailed over the grass and struck the falling glass with his shoulder, and to Pippin's surprise he felt a strong heat through the fabric of his shirt. He and the sphere of glass crashed to the ground, the impact driving the air from Pippin's lungs.
"Pippin, stay down!" Aragorn commanded, and climbing to his feet with a grimace he raised his sword. But Pippin's attention was not focused on Aragorn—his gaze was fixated on the unbroken glass, which glistened with rain and sparkled as the moon, though no light came through the darkening clouds. A strange whisper came from it, a quiet dark murmur that Pippin did not hear so much as feel.
Peregrin.
He regained his breath and raised himself up onto hands and knees, crawling toward the glass; he was vaguely aware of Saruman's scream of "No!" and swift pattering footfalls.
"Elf!" Diamond's voice shouted faintly. "Give me the dagger!" A flash of silver spun through the air, shrieking through Pippin's peripheral vision.
I have searched your soul, and I have seen darkness.
Pippin stretched out his hand and felt the searing heat from the sphere. It did not deter him; rather, he felt as if it had beckoned to him, drawing him in. Saruman's anguished scream pierced the air as Pippin reached out, and then his hand rested on the surface of the stone. He stood, cradling the glass in his arms. The dark silken cloth it had been wrapped in fell to the earth, and the world became for a moment vague and blurred.
Embrace the shadow, Peregrin, for it is a part of your destiny, much more so than the light.
Then the veil fell from his vision, and Pippin stood again outside of Orthanc, a very strange scene meeting his eyes.
Aragorn eyed him with a wide, fearful gaze, his sword still in one hand even as the other clutched his side, blood trickling from a wound just above his eye. Legolas stood still with his bow held limply in his grasp, his sky-colored gaze vacant. Gimli still lay motionless beside the wall of Orthanc, and Diamond—
Diamond stood, panting and flushed, beside a broken, pale figure upon the ground. Saruman's throat trickled dark blood onto the wet earth, and his face was twisted into a ferocious expression of fury and terror. His staff lay beside him, cleaved in two as if Gimli had taken his axe to it.
Saruman the White was dead.
And Diamond clasped a silver-white dagger tightly in her hand, its blade stained with the wizard's blood. Her gaze burned with a raging flame, and Pippin looked on her in shock and disbelief. Diamond had slain Saruman, when none of the three hunters had been able to. She had simply slit his throat, and the wizard had fallen.
Aragorn broke the silence. "Pippin. What…what is the thing in your hands?"
Pippin looked down on the glass, entranced by the way it glimmered, even with no moonlight. It no longer felt searing; rather, it was pleasantly warm in his hands, and he felt a surge of protectiveness toward it.
"I know not what it is," he said. "But it is a beautiful thing, is it not?"
Aragorn must have seen something in Pippin's gaze, for his own eyes widened, and he said firmly, "Pippin, drop the stone."
"I do not wish to."
"Pippin."
Why should he put it down? It was lovely and shining, and felt so warm against the chilly night; why would Aragorn want him to put it down? Pippin did not have to. He could hold onto this stone, keep it close to him where no one could hurt it. Suddenly he felt that it must be protected.
"Please, Pippin." Aragorn's hands were on Pippin's shoulders now, firm and pleading and having sheathed his sword. "I need you to drop the stone. It is for your own good. We nearly lost Boromir this way, I will not have you taken as well."
Panic began to spiral in Pippin's chest. "I—I cannot—"
"Give it to me, then."
"Take it," Pippin whispered, fear tightening its grip upon his mind. What was this strange dark power that now flowed from the glass, when it had been so bright and wonderful only a moment ago? "Take it, Strider, please!"
Aragorn took it, and Pippin drew in a gasp of wet cold air, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. But Aragorn too let out a gasp, one of pain, and the glass sphere crashed to the ground, though it did not shatter. Aragorn drew back, cradling his hands, and from what Pippin could see of them in the dark they looked red and raw.
"It burns as if fire were contained within it," said Aragorn. "I know not why, for when you touched it, Pippin, it did you no harm—not to your body, at least. It is clearly a powerful object, and one that we should not use lightly. When we meet Gandalf again I shall ask him what it is, and perhaps he can advise us."
"Why did it not harm him?" Diamond asked, edging forward. "Is it, perhaps, partial to hobbits? Or against men?"
She brought a finger to her lips, moistening it, and touched the glass lightly. With a sharp hiss she too drew back, the dagger held in front of her as if the sphere might try to attack her. "Nor can I touch it. Elf? Will you not try?"
Legolas, his gaze sharp and wary, placed a hand upon the sphere, and his body jerked and he cringed away with a gasp. "It is as the light of the Silmarils! None may lay their hands upon the glass, or it shall brand them as a flame of fire!"
"None may touch it," Aragorn agreed, "save Pippin. Why, I do not know, but Gandalf is learned in these matters. We will take it to him. At any rate I do not think we should leave this for anyone to find—but neither can we let Pippin carry it."
He bent and wrapped the glass in its cloth, handling it carefully, and slid it into his pack. Looking kindly at Pippin he asked, "Are you alright, my friend?"
Pippin nodded; his hands were shaking and every ache in his body seemed to have been amplified, but he was free of the dark power. Suddenly he remembered Merry, lying on the forest floor with the other prisoners, and he shook the last of the daze from his mind. "We must get back to Merry, Strider. I fear we have left him for too long"
"Of course. Legolas, will you bear Gimli and his axe? I do not think he is much hurt, but be careful with him all the same."
Legolas took Gimli's axe from his limp hand and tucked it into his own belt, then hoisted the dwarf onto his back. Pippin thought he saw a faint tinge of red upon Legolas's face, but he could not be sure in the dark.
"What shall I do with this?" Diamond asked, and she kicked Saruman's body more viciously than Pippin thought was required. Aragorn regarded her for several moments, deep in thought.
"We shall leave him," he said finally. "His servant will come for his body. Come, let us depart."
As they walked into the woods, Pippin looked back at the rain-soaked clearing, at Saruman's body upon the ground, and wondered if the glass had ensnared the wizard too. If he took it again, would it drag him down and turn him to Sauron? Would he become a servant of evil?
How much darkness had the glass seen within his soul?
ARAGORN
The world was quiet, which Aragorn rejoiced in. The patter of the rain and their swift footsteps were the only sound, and he breathed in the misty air as deeply as he could before they emerged into a clearing, where the prisoners were huddled. Merry lay at the edge of this, shaking so violently he was on the verge of convulsions. Fear struck Aragorn in the heart as he dropped to his knees beside the injured hobbit, wincing at the many pains in his body but trying to ignore them. He wrenched the pouch from his side and took out several leaves of athelas, putting them into his mouth and chewing.
"Pippin," Aragorn instructed, speaking around the leaves. "I need you to find more of this. It is found all year round and grows in forests such as this one. Be as quick as you can; I will use all I have here for Merry, but there will not be enough for everyone here. You may take someone with you if you wish."
"I will go with Diamond," said Pippin, and he turned to the maiden hobbit who stood beside him. "That is, if she will let me. Will you come with me to fetch athelas, Dia?"
"I will," she said, and the hobbits darted away into the forest. Legolas, who leaned against a tree with Gimli sprawled on the ground beside him, said, "Pippin seems quite fond of her. I wonder how they know each other. She is quite skilled with a dagger, so I doubt she comes from the Shire. I have heard they are too peaceful for such matters."
"We owe her our lives," Aragorn said, taking the athelas from his mouth. He tore the bandage gently from Merry's brow, and his stomach lurched at the sight of the infected wound. With his teeth he tore the cleanest strip he could from his tunic and dabbed at the gash, washing the excess fluid from it. When it was done he took the athelas and rubbed it deep into the wound, then bound the strip of cloth over it. Aragorn then treated the gash on Merry's cheek, and seeing tears in the back of the hobbit's waistcoat he pulled it down to find two lashes across Merry's back. These he treated also, and when all was done Aragorn wrapped Merry tightly in his elvin-cloak and stood, looking over the prisoners.
There was Ithiriel, with the gashes upon her legs, and another elf with two missing fingers, the stumps of which were still bleeding. A woman cradled one arm in the other, and a dwarf stood with much of his weight on one leg. Gimli was stirring, Legolas kneeling beside him. Aragorn reached into his pouch; it was empty, and he began to search the underbrush for more athelas. After some moments he found a single plant growing underneath a larger bush, and he took it by the stem and pulled it up, stowing the roots in his pack for food later.
He went first to the three-fingered elf; thankfully the wounds did not look infected, and they were clean cuts. Aragorn spoke to the elf in his own tongue as he treated him, and he was pleased and grateful. He was the brother of Ithiriel, and his name was Cerindur; he and his sister were of noble standing in Mirkwood. Moreover, they were cousins of Legolas, who greeted them with cheer and sorrow at their capture.
Ithiriel's cuts would scar, but they were not fatal, and infection seemed unlikely. Aragorn wished he had thought to bring more bandages on the journey; he had run out some time ago and they were proving hard to come by. When he finished Ithiriel fisted her hand and placed it over her heart, and Aragorn returned the gesture, bowing his head.
Pippin and Diamond returned, their arms full of athelas, and Aragorn went about treating the prisoners. When all were finished he went back to Pippin, who sat at the edge of the clearing with Diamond and Merry. Legolas and Gimli were a few yards away, conversing softly.
"Come, Pippin," said Aragorn, kneeling upon the earth. "Where are you hurt? Athelas will help, whatever it is."
"The worst of it is my ribs, I think," Pippin said. "I don't believe they are broken, but they pain me if I move too quickly. And there is a lash on my shoulders from an orc-whip, but it has not hurt for three days at least."
"Let me look at your side," Aragorn requested. "We can go somewhere more private, if you wish."
"It is alright with me," Pippin laughed, and he pulled off his shirt, laying his bloodstained scarf beside it. Aragorn looked over the hobbit's chest and back; there were many bruises upon his skin, though they did not seem to pain Pippin. His side was mottled lavender and red, and Aragorn knew that the ribs underneath had been bruised. The salve would do nothing for that, but Aragorn gave Pippin a leaf to chew, which would dull the pain. He rubbed the salve over the healing cut on Pippin's shoulders, then took the hobbit's shirt and pulled it over Pippin's torso. He caught a glimpse of Diamond looking swiftly away from Pippin, and Aragorn smiled as Pippin flushed.
"Estel," said Legolas. "Would you look at Gimli? He has a rather unsightly lump on his brow, and he is dazed from the blow Saruman dealt him."
"Of course, Legolas." Aragorn stood and moved to kneel beside the dwarf, inspecting the swelling upon Gimli's forehead. It was hard to the touch and hot, and when Aragorn touched it the dwarf hissed in pain and anger. Again Aragorn gave only a leaf to chew; he could think of plants that would have reduced the swelling, but none grew at this time of year.
"Will he be alright?" Legolas asked, his eyes wide and shining with anxiety.
"He will," Aragorn reassured him, standing and placing a hand on the elf's shoulder. "I shall watch him, and if he worsens I will give him more athelas. Are you injured, Legolas?"
The elf shook his head. "Save for the burn on my hand, I am unhurt. It is hard to do an elf harm. But you are hurt, Estel; you must treat your wounds."
"I shall treat yours first."
Aragorn spread salve over Legolas's palm, then over both of his own, as well as on the fingertips that had touched the glass. He tended to the cut upon his forehead, then looked once more on the one on his side; it was still clean, and the bandage he had bound over it was securely in place. Aragorn applied another coat of salve, then tucked the remaining plants into his pack.
He sat down and pressed his back against a tree, grounding himself, and looked upon the people in the clearing. They looked happier, talking amongst themselves, and a few even laughed. Pippin and Diamond still sat beside Merry's supine figure, and both looked up at Aragorn as his gaze fell on them.
"I never thanked you, Diamond," said Aragorn, "for felling Saruman. He would have slain us, and Pippin, were it not for you. Where did you learn to fight? I believed all hobbits were peaceful beings; evidently I was wrong."
"I come from Long Cleeve," she said. Her accent was something like Pippin's, but with softer consonants and brighter vowels. "My mother is the queen and commander there, and she has taught me to fight since I was but a child. As for the slaying of Saruman, it was something that must have been done, whether by my hand or by yours, for he imprisoned and tortured many innocent souls. Some were lost in the black tower, some that should have lived and that I knew. Middle-earth is made the better for my deed."
"She wants us to come to Long Cleeve," Pippin burst out, as if he had been holding the exclamation back. "Merry needs someplace to recover, Strider, and so do you by the looks of it. Think of it—beds to sleep in, and perhaps even a full meal! I hate to say it, but that soup you make has long since lost its appeal."
Aragorn laughed, clapping Pippin on the shoulder. "You do not understand the greatness of athelas, my friend! I would think that a plant that can cure nearly any ailment, including hunger, should be prized among hobbits."
"We never had it," Pippin defended, "and at any rate it has hardly any taste; you would do well to at least season it a bit. Perhaps the victuals of Long Cleeve shall change your mind!"
"That is if my mother will be hospitable," Diamond said. "She will not take kindly to a man in our lands, but as you are the one who brought me out of Orthanc she may be merciful, even kind. We ought to leave, Strider, don't you think?"
"Indeed," said Aragorn, though his entire being ached and he wished he could simply lie down and sleep. He stood and called to the prisoners, "Come, my friends! We shall get on the road and make for the Gap of Rohan. I am afraid I will have to leave you before long, but my thoughts and my prayers shall go with you to Asgolen."
He hoisted Merry back onto his shoulders, and lifting a hand to beckon the prisoners he began the journey through the woods to the road. It would take them a few hours to reach a place where the Gap of Rohan could be seen well enough to serve as a landmark, but it was not far out of the way, all things considered.
"You seem to have many names," Diamond remarked, glancing up at Aragorn. "Pippin calls you Strider, but the elf calls you Estel. Why is that?"
"Strider is what I am called as a Ranger," Aragorn told her. "A Dúnedain of the North am I, and I have had sufficient time to go by many names. Would you believe that I am eighty-eight years old today?"
"Are you really?" asked Pippin, grinning broadly. "Happy birthday, Strider! We ought to celebrate once we reach Long Cleeve. Why, if we were in the Shire we'd give you a feast and fireworks and bring presents for you."
"I think the company of so many would render me anxious at the least," said Aragorn. "At worst I would lock myself in one of your hobbit holes and not come out unless Ilúvatar himself commanded it. Diamond, I have been called Strider by all who know me, save a very few, for many years. Before that, when I served in Gondor, I was called Thorongil, and for the first twenty years of my life I was raised in the house of Elrond in Rivendell. There I was called Estel, which signifies hope in the Sindarin tongue. But my name, the one my mother Gilraen gave to me, is Aragorn."
"Strider I shall call you," Diamond decided. "It feels the most natural, since that is what I have known you as since Pippin told me of you."
"I did not know you served in Gondor," said Pippin. "Why were you there?"
"Elrond knew not what to do with me," Aragorn told him. "Perhaps it was to train me in diplomacy. I served the Steward of Gondor, Ecthelion, before his son Denethor succeeded him. You know, Pippin, I was there at the birth of Boromir, and remained in Gondor while he was but a small boy. He was two years old when I left."
"Were you?" Pippin asked, a look of delight coming over his face. "That brings me much joy, for reasons that I cannot explain. What was he like?"
"As kind a child as you could ever meet," said Aragorn, smiling down at Pippin. "His eyes could draw you in and bend you to his will, and yet that will was as pure as the snow upon the towers of Minas Tirith that fell the day he was born. All who knew Boromir loved him dearly, and it saddens me to think of what they suffer now without him. But we were blessed with a few short months of time with him, and we are all the better for it."
Pippin smiled, but his eyes shone with tears. "I miss him, Strider, more than I miss even Frodo and Sam. But I suppose that's because I might still see them again. Boromir I shall not see for a very long while, if ever. I wonder if we might pay him some sort of tribute, Strider?"
Aragorn put a hand on Pippin's shoulder, drawing him to his side as they walked. "We certainly will, Pippin. It is only fitting, since he gave his life to protect you. Let us do it in Long Cleeve, if we ever make it there."
"We shall," said Diamond. "Although we are presently heading away from it, so we had better turn back as quickly as we can."
"Strider knows where he is going," Pippin said confidently. "He has never led us wrong, and I don't believe he'll ever do it, not if he can help it."
"I will certainly try," Aragorn agreed, and as he walked down the road with the two hobbits, Merry on his back and Legolas and Gimli following, he felt the most at peace that he had been for quite some time.
He did not usually allow himself to feel safe, to feel as though he and everyone else were exempt from harm, but for now, Aragorn did.
Just this once.