Sword and Arrow

Chapter 32

Indeed, Edoras was quite far away and the five riders did not reach it that day. As night fell and a blanket of silence covered the land, they made a quick camp in the long grass, letting their horses free to graze. They did not carry many supplies, but they nibbled on some of the lembas bread that Beruthiel had found in the pocket of her cloak.

Not having bedrolls with them, and opting not to start a fire for fear that they would be spotted, the five of them laid down on the grass, using their cloaks as pillows. Despite the time of year, the weather was rather warm, even at night.

Beruthiel almost immediately fell asleep, tired out after the last few days' events, as did Gimli, and the dwarf's snores soon filled the area. Legolas merely lay down, arms crossed behind his head, staring at the rapidly darkening sky with open but vacant eyes.

Aragorn also sat down, but did not sleep. Instead, he pulled out his pipe (which had somehow survived the events of the past few days) and chewed on the stem as he gazed at the distant horizon, reddened by the glow of Mordor. Every day, as they went farther and farther south, the dark mountains of Mordor grew closer and its vile red light tainted the sky a little more.

He would never admit it, but he was afraid. Afraid of his destiny, afraid of the danger that was to follow, afraid for his friends. Aragorn had promised Boromir that he would save Gondor and he would claim the crown, but... back then, in those woods beside the Anduin, Gondor, and his crown, had felt faraway. It had been easy to dismiss them, to set them aside for another day. Now, in the endless expanse of grass, with the dark mountains and red sky looming so close, Minas Tirith seemed just a stone's throw away.

Aragorn hung his head, setting his pipe down and wrapping his arms around his knees. At Amon Hen, after such a small battle, they had already lost a member of the Fellowship. A man that Aragorn had loved very, very much. Aragorn was no fool: he knew that there was war to follow, war that could kill another one of his friends. Or perhaps all of them.

Raising his head, he looked over at the sleeping trio. Beruthiel, who had fallen asleep during the ride, had dismounted very sleepily and all but collapsed on the soft grass. Aragorn felt sorry for her, and wished that it had been him in her place. Him that was captured by the goblins, and him that was wounded and molested instead of her.

She looked so peaceful and beautiful under the starlight and moonlight, lying with her hair tangled and her head resting on her elbow. Aragorn sighed and looked away.

Gandalf was standing silently beside Shadowfax, a hand on the horse's mane, looking off into the east. The red light of Mordor shone softly in his white hair and robes.

Aragorn stood up, picking up his pipe and tucking it into his belt, and walked over to join Gandalf beside Shadowfax. The wizard acknowledged his presence with a slight tilt of his head, turning to look at the Ranger, and then gazed at Mordor again.

"The veiling shadow that glowers in the East takes shape," he said after some time. "Sauron will suffer no rival. From the summit of Barad-Dûr his Eye watches ceaselessly. But he is not so mighty yet that he is above fear. Doubt ever gnaws at him. The rumor has reached him: the heir of Númenor still lives. Sauron fears you, Aragorn. He fears what you may become. And so he'll strike hard and fast at the world of men."

Gandalf turned to look at Aragorn. "He will use his puppet Saruman to destroy Rohan. War is coming. Rohan must defend itself and therein lies our first challenge, for Rohan is weak and ready to fall. The King's mind is enslaved. It's an old device of Saruman's." The wizard shook his head. "His hold over King Théoden is now very strong. Sauron and Saruman are tightening the noose."

"But for all their cunning, we have one advantage," Gandalf said with a soft smile after a moment. "The Ring remains hidden, and that we should seek to destroy it has not yet entered their darkest dreams. And so the weapon of the enemy is moving towards Mordor in the hands of a hobbit. Each day brings it closer to the fires of Mount Doom. We must trust now in Frodo. Everything depends upon speed and the secrecy of his quest."