All Shall Fade

Chapter 38

Shadow of the Supernatural

The ride to Dunharrow wasn’t particularly long; we had left in the morning and had reached the already teeming camp by early evening. The encampment was filled with row upon row of hundreds of white tents, flying the banners of Rohan and surrounded by men and horses clothed in the colours of the Rohirrim. As we rode ahead with the King’s party, the crowds parted respectfully, different men shouting out greetings to Théoden as we trotted past.

“Make way for the King! Make way, the King is here!” A soldier yelled, alerting the others as we entered the camp.

“My lord!” One cried, and Théoden waved as more people began to greet him.

“Hail to you sire!”

“Grimbold, how many?” The King called out to one man as we rode past.

“I bring five hundred men from the Westfold my lord.” The soldier answered.

“We have three hundred more from Fenmarch, Théoden King.” Another man called out.

“Where are the riders from Snowbourn?” Théoden asked.

“No have come my Lord.”

We rode on in this manner, surrounded by the shouts and greetings of the soldiers. There seemed to be a never-ending number of them, but for some reason it didn’t seem to be enough for Aragorn and Théoden. There must have been thousands of men here, so what was it exactly we were facing? In Helm’s Deep we had three hundred men, against ten thousand Uruk-Hai, and we’d won – alright, so we’d had the Elves and Eómer’s company as well, but it wasn’t that much more. How vast could the armies of Mordor be if the men we already had weren’t enough? I frowned in confusion as our party began riding up a steep, winding mountainside path. The meandering path was dotted at each turn with large stones, and upon closer inspection I could see that they were crude, weather-beaten carvings of men, hunched over as if they were protecting the path they lined. For some reason, they seemed to give me the chills as we continued up the path, and as we reached the top Aduial seemed to become uneasy. I glanced up at the tall mountain that overshadowed our camp and shivered – there was something slightly ominous about it that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. The King’s encampment looked out over the soldier’s one below us, offering a view of every singe tent and every small company that arrived. As we rode forward amongst the collection of finer tents that would house us, the horses seemed to get more and more nervous, until many men dismounted and lead them away, giving up on trying to ride them. I nudged Aduial with my heels, and she jumped, and I wondered why she was spooking so easily. Théoden and Aragorn dismounted from their horses and went to overlook the camp below us, but I rode on, anxious to find somewhere for Aduial to rest. Suddenly, she dug her heels into the ground and refused to take a step further. I frowned, urging her to take a step forward, but she just danced backwards, despite my efforts to keep her still.

“What’s wrong with you?” I muttered, dismounting and walking to her head, “Hm? What are you scared of?” She rolled her dark eyes wildly, exposing the whites as she tried to further back away. “Come on, there’s nothing to be scared of.” I assured her, tugging on her reins to pull her forwards. Without warning, she reared up onto her hind legs and I had to leap out of the way to avoid her thrashing hooves. “Aduial!” I cried, reaching for her reins as she threatened to bolt away, but someone else caught them. I turned to see Legolas stepping towards my horse, murmuring softly in Elvish and coaxing her back down to the ground. “Thanks.” I breathed as he handed me her reins and I turned to see that around the camp, other people were having issues with calming their horses.

“The horses are restless and the men are quiet.” Legolas commented as we walked alongside Gimli amongst the tents. Eómer turned to us from where he had been tending to his horse, and seemed to have overheard Legolas.

“They grow nervous in the shadow of the mountain.” He murmured, turning to look at the mountain he spoke of, and I noticed a small cleft in the rocks that housed a winding path.

“That road there where does that lead?” Gimli asked, and Eómer turned back to us, but Legolas answered first.

“It is the road to the Dimholt, the door under the mountain.” His words seemed to mean something to the others, but I’d never heard of the mountain before.

“None who venture there ever return.” Eómer said, “That mountain is evil.”

“Evil?” I frowned.

“Haunted.” He muttered as a way of explanation, and I bit my lip as I stared at the path.

“What do you mean, ‘haunted’?”

Eómer glanced around before turning back to me, “We do not speak of the tales so close to the mountain.” He said under his breath, and I stared up at the mountain in fascination.

“Haunted, huh?” I smiled wryly to myself, before leading Aduial away. “Superstitious goats.” I muttered under my breath as I relieved her of her saddle and bridle and turned her loose with the other horses, but not before I cast another glance at the mountain.

You’re never too old for ghost stories, but I was too old to believe in them… Wasn’t I?

I shook my head and set Aduial’s saddle with the other’s as I spotted Aragorn looking down the path. I watched him for a moment as he stared at something I couldn’t see. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever confirmed what I’d thought of ghost stories, I’d never fully passed them off as nonsense designed to scare children, but what if there was a grain of truth in them? Or this one at least?

“Aragorn!” I jumped as Gimli suddenly called out, and I saw Aragorn flinch too as he turned to the Dwarf. “Let’s find some food.” He muttered, turning away. I saw Aragorn glance back at the path once more, before turning and following Gimli. For a moment I found myself also staring down the path, wondering what on earth he could have found so captivating, before I shook my head to clear my thoughts and followed them, coaxed onwards by Gimli’s promise of food.

*

Later that evening, I found myself walking around, searching for my tent. Legolas had told me that I was to share one with Aragorn, and judging by the elf’s mischievous grin, I’d had no doubt that he’d had something to do with the sleeping arrangements. As I finally located the tent he’d pointed me to, I heard someone shuffling around inside, so I assumed Aragorn was already in there.

“Knock, knock!” I called softly as I poked my head in through the flap, “Oh! Sorry!” I cried, blushing as I found Aragorn undressing for bed. He was still wearing his shirt and trousers, but nonetheless, that flimsy open-necked shirt could be very slightly distracting. He laughed at my obvious blush as I crept into the tent and began rolling out my bedroll, trying and failing to hide my reddened cheeks as I pulled off my own jacket and boots and rolled the sleeves of my long shirt down as I prepared for bed. I stood to go put away my things and felt Aragorn catch my waist and spin me around to face him. I giggled as he smiled at me and rested his hands on my hips as he leant his forehead against mine and I wrapped my arms around his neck.

“Are you tired?” He murmured softly, and I grinned pretending to think for a moment.

“A little, but I guess I could wait a while before going to bed if you have other ideas…” I trailed off as he brushed his lips across mine and smiled at my instant reaction as my eyes fluttered closed and I felt a curious weakening sensation in my knees. Damn him and his effect on me. He gently pressed his lips against mine as his arms curled around my body, practically holding me up as I melted into a compliant puddle under the light pressure of his lips. My hands slid down from his neck to rest on his chest, allowing me to feel his rapid heartbeat beneath my palm. I sighed softly, my fingers clinging to his shirt front as he held me against his warm, muscular chest. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew through the tent and I gasped as its chill seemed to pierce straight through me, freezing the very core of my body. Aragorn’s arms tightened around me, making me think that he’d felt it too as his lips broke away from mine and he held me close against him, but for some reason the heat of his body wouldn’t warm me anymore. I shivered in his arms and then frowned. What on earth was that?

“Are you alright?” Aragorn gasped breathlessly, and I nodded.

“Yeah, just a chill.” I smiled weakly, remembering the superstitious term ‘Someone just walked over my grave’. “I- I think I’m just going to try and get some sleep.” I stammered, unnerved by whatever had just happened. Aragorn smiled a little at me, reaching out to gently brush his fingertips across my cheek before kissing my forehead.

“Sleep well.” He whispered, and I nodded, before turning and lying down on my bedroll and pulling my blankets around me. Just before I closed my eyes, I saw Aragorn moving to pull across the flap that served as the door of the tent, obviously trying to ensure that we weren’t disturbed by any further breezes. I smiled as I nestled down amongst my blankets and dropped off to sleep.

I found myself standing outside in the camp, watching as Aragorn walked away from me. I called for him, but he didn’t turn around, so I followed him at an infuriatingly slow pace, each time I seemed to catch up with him, he would slip away, and as I tried to reach out for him, my fingertips seemed to only just fall short. As I shadowed him through the camp, I saw the path at lead into the mountain loom before us. Aragorn drew his sword, and again I realised that it was different from his usual one. I called out for him again, but he didn’t seem to hear me as he began walking down the path. I found myself unable to move forwards, and I could only watch as he disappeared from my view and was engulfed by a thick, greenish-grey mist. I screamed his name, feeling that something terrible would happen if I let him go. I tried to take a step forward, and found myself falling into nothingness. I screamed again, crying out for Aragorn as I fell and was engulfed by darkness.

***Aragorn’s Point of View***

As I turned away from closing over the tent flap, I cast a glance at Alice, smiling at her peaceful expression as she slipped away into what appeared to be a calm sleep. I allowed myself to gaze at her for a moment longer before retreating to my own bed. As I lay down, I had the strangest feeling that I was being watched. I looked over at Alice, but she was soundly asleep, and I frowned, wondering where the feeling had come from. I thought back to earlier in the day, and the ghostly figure I had seen on the Dimholt road. I frowned and reached for my hunting knife, slipping it under my folded cloak which served as a pillow and feeling a little less unnerved. Nonetheless, it took some time for me to drop into my uneasy sleep.

Images flashed before my eyes in a confusing pattern; the stone Pukel men that guarded the pathway below our camp, Alice sleeping, a winding road leading to a dark stone doorway embedded with skulls. The images became less rapid, and an image began to focus in front of me. I saw Alice laughing, her vibrant emerald eyes shining as she stood in front of me, beckoning me forwards. I reached out for her, but her image began to fade, slipping through my fingers like smoke as the scene shifted to a moment I had replayed in my memories so many times. I stood on the small stone footbridge in Rivendell, gazing at Arwen as she stood before me, tears glistening in her radiant eyes as I recalled that mere seconds before this moment she had told me of her plans to depart these lands.

“You must watch over Alice.” She murmured to me, “She will need your guidance in time. I in return will watch over you.” I looked down as she pressed something into my hand, and I stared in wonder at the Evenstar, the token of her immoral life that she would no longer need as she sailed to the Undying lands. As I stared at it, I heard a sound behind me. A scream. I turned quickly to see Alice; her eyes that had previously been alight with laughter were now wild with fear as she fell away from me. I lunged forward to catch her outstretched hand, but her fingers slipped through mine and she continued to fall, letting out a single, terrified scream.

I sat up quickly, my hand finding the hilt of my hunting knife as I drew it in defence.

“Sir?” I turned to the doorway of the tent and saw the soldier standing there, looking somewhat alarmed at the sight of my blade, “King Théoden awaits you my lord.” He mumbled quickly before slipping out the door. I sighed and glanced across the tent at Alice’s sleeping figure, suddenly feeling foolish for being so frightened by my dream. I sheathed my knife and left it sitting on my bedroll as I stood, wondering why Théoden had felt the need to summon me at this late hour. Walking out into the camp, I saw that some soldiers were still milling around, but I paid no attention to them as I reached the King’s large tent and was shown inside. I looked around, spotting Théoden standing over a hooded figure who sat before him. As I frowned in confusion, the King looked up.

“I take my leave.” He murmured, walking past me and out of the tent as the hooded figure stood level of my confusion mounted, peaking as they cast back their hood, revealing the familiar stern features of someone I knew very well.

“My lord Elrond.” I bowed hesitantly, unable to comprehend why he might be here.

“I come on behalf of one whom I love.” He murmured solemnly as he stood before me, “Arwen may have left these shores, but she left me a single request before she left. The time has come for it to be fulfilled. The Shadow is upon us Aragorn. The end has come.”

I frowned, still not understanding what he fully meant, but I knew that he was speaking of Sauron. “It will not be our end, but his.” I said determinedly, and the elvish lord looked at me in an almost mocking manner.

“You ride to war but not to victory.” He spoke assuredly, “Sauron’s armies ride on Minas Tirith, this you know,but in secret he sends another force, which will attack, from the river. A fleet of Corsair ships sails from the South.They will be in the city in two days.” My heart fell as I realised what his words meant, “You’re outnumbered Aragorn. You need more men.”

“There are none.” I told him, knowing that we had drained our resources. No more would come.

“There are those that dwell in the mountain.” Elrond said slowly, and an image of the spectral figure from the Dimholt road flashed in my mind as a chilling breeze gusted through the tent.

“Murderers, traitors.” I growled softly, remembering how the army he spoke of had betrayed my ancestors. “You would call upon them to fight? They believe in nothing. They answer to no one.”

“They will answer to the King of Gondor.” With those words, Elrond through back his cloak, revealing a sheathed sword, the hilt of which I easily recognised, and I had to muster the strength to stop myself from stepping away from this symbol of my lineage as Elrond held it out for me to take.

“Andúril, the Flame of the West, forged from the shards of Narsil.” He said as I hesitantly reached out, taking the sheathed weapon from his hands.

“Sauron will not have forgotten the sword of Elendil.” I murmured as I examined it, my fingers itching to curl around the hilt. As I did so, I marvelled at the natural feeling of the blade in my hand as I swept it from the scabbard, holding it in front of me as the tip of the long sword brushed against the high ceiling of the tent. This blade belonged in my hands, but with it came my past, my present, and my future. And I was finally ready to accept it. “The blade that was broken shall return to Minas Tirith.” I said determinedly, looking back to Elrond.

“The man who can wield the power of this sword can summon to him an army more deadly than any that walks this earth.” He informed me, “Put aside the Ranger. Become who you were born to be.” I sighed, realising what I was finally facing up to, “Ónen i-Estel Edain.” I glanced up at his familiar words.

“Ú-chebin Estel anim.” I whispered, looking down and sheathing the sword as his words echoed around me. Lord Elrond inclined his head towards me slightly, and I returned the gesture, before he cast his hood back over his face and left the tent. I closed my eyes, letting my shoulders drop as I found myself alone. I knew what I had to do; I now needed to summon the courage to do it. Turning on my heel, I made my way back through the camp to my tent, ducking inside and smiling as I spotted Alice in the midst of her deep sleep, and then turned away, trying not to think about what I now had to do. I dressed as quickly and quietly as I could, replacing my old sword with Andúril and belting it’s sheath to my side. I sighed before turning to look at Alice; my heart felt like it was being torn within my chest as I knew that I had to leave her. She didn’t stir as I quietly walked over and knelt at her side, sweeping a few of her russet curls away from her face. My hand lingered on her warm cheek as she sighed softly in her sleep, totally unaware that when she woke up, I would not be here.

“Namárië,” I whispered my farewell in Elvish, hoping that the diversion of the word would make it less painful, “May we meet again in safer times, my dearest Alice.” I leant forwards to gently press my lips against her forehead, “Forgive me for not telling you before how much I love you.” I sighed, finally saying the words out loud. “Forgive me for leaving you.” I gazed at her face, desiring nothing more than to lie down and stay by her side forever, but I knew that I must complete my task. I stood as silently as I could, and turned to walk to the door.

“Aragorn?” I turned back to Alice as she called my name, fearing I had woken her, but I could see that she was still asleep, her smooth forehead creased in a frown. “Aragorn!” She called out again, the clear distress in her voice telling me that she was having a nightmare. I moved back to her side, crouching down as I fought with myself over whether or not to wake her. I knew that I had to leave; staying would just prolong the agony for the both of us. Again she called my name, and I felt my chest tighten as I saw a tear slip from behind her closed eyelid, travelling down her cheek before dropping onto her blanket. Another followed it and I reached out gently brushing away the droplet as she stirred beneath my hand. “Aragorn?” She whispered, this time with some element of consciousness as her eyes fluttered open.