Sword and Arrow

Chapter 64

Two days after the battle, a council convened in the great throne room. The throne still sat empty, as was the Steward's chair - Faramir had not recovered enough to take over his father's position. Gandalf stood on the first step, surveying the leaders that had gathered there - from Rohan, from Gondor, and those that had come from Rivendell and the North.

"Frodo has passed beyond my sight," Gandalf said once the room had quieted. "The darkness is deepening."

"If Sauron had the Ring, we would know it," Aragorn pointed out. He stood with his arms crossed beside an exhausted Beruthiel - her eyelids dropped and she slumped against the pillar at her back.

Beruthiel's eyes flickered periodically to Legolas, sitting at the base of the pillar. His elvish blood had proven true and the healers had wondered over how he healed so quickly. But he was still weak and walked with a limp, and needed support to climb or descend stairs.

"He has suffered a defeat, yes," Gandalf countered. "But behind the walls of Mordor, our army is regrouping."

"Let him stay there," Gimli exclaimed around his pipe. He had sat himself down in the Steward's chair, dwarfed by the tall back of black stone. "Let him rot! Why should we care?"

"Because ten thousand orcs now stand between Frodo and Mount Doom." Gandalf paced back and forth across the smooth floor, his arms crossed behind his back. Somewhere in the aftermath of the battle he had found clean white robes and now he stood resplendent, almost glowing in the dim light. "I've sent him to his death."

Beruthiel bowed her head. They had left Frodo so long ago - she hadn't even known him for six months before he had left for Mordor. She should have gone with them, should have gone to protect them before the dark gates of the enemy.

"No," Aragorn denied, touching her elbow though his eyes were fixed on Gandalf. "There's still hope for Frodo. He needs time, and safe passage across the Plains of Gorgoroth." His eyes met Éomer's, then Imrahil's. "We can give him that."

Gimli snorted. "And how do we do that?"

"Draw out Sauron's armies," Aragorn suggested. His touch lingered on Beruthiel's arm for a moment before he stepped forward. "Empty his lands. Then we gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate."

"We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms," Éomer protested. It was true; though both Rohan and Gondor had a significant army remaining, it was in no way enough to face the wrath and might of Sauron.

"Not for ourselves," Aragorn agreed. "But we can give Frodo his chance if we keep Sauron's Eye focused on us."

Beruthiel understood. It would not be a victory for them. It would be a victory for the next generation, a victory for those that they protected. Beruthiel would march to her death with Aragorn and die with him to give Frodo and Sam a chance, and she was at peace with it. So be it.

"Keep him blind to all that moves," Aragorn continued, surveying the room. An array of nods from various princes and generals.

"A diversion," Legolas said with a small smile.

Gimli burped, then nodded. "Certainty of death. Small chance of success. What are we waiting for?"

"Sauron will suspect a trap," Gandalf warned. "He will not take the bait."

Aragorn smiled. "Oh, I think he will."

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"Please don't do anything stupid," Beruthiel begged, hurrying after Aragorn, nearly jogging to keep up with his long strides.

"Why would you think I'm doing something stupid?" he asked, stopping at the top of the stairs to turn and look down at her.

"I know that look on your face." Beruthiel jogged up the stairs to his side. "And I have a feeling that you're not confident it will end well."

Aragorn sighed. "I'll be fine." He rolled the orb that he held between his fingers. It was wrapped in a rag, smooth underneath, and Aragorn dreaded looking at it even though he would have to.

Beruthiel sighed. "I'll be right here," she said in a resigned voice, sitting down on the top step. "If you're not out in half an hour, I'm coming in after you."

"I'll be fine, love." Aragorn took her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers before pushing open the doors of the Citadel.

The long hall was dark and deserted at this time of the night. Aragorn's footsteps, though soft, echoed through the room and back to his ears. Beruthiel would be silent, he thought uncomfortably. It felt as if the orb was growing warm in his hands, but that could not be. It was still covered.

Aragorn stopped before the throne of the king, looking up at the dais. He took a deep breath, surveying the ornate seat of marble inlaid with gold. He would sit on that throne someday. If they won. If he survived, if the line of kings was not permanently eradicated.

He set the Palantír on the seat of the throne and threw back the cloth that covered it. It flashed to life as Aragorn stepped back, seeming to roil with black and red clouds that flickered with lightning.

Then Aragorn grasped the Palantír with a hand and held it up before his face. The fiery light that came from it lit his face and threw shadows to the far corners of the throne room. "Long have you hunted me," he said through gritted teeth. "Long have I eluded you. No more." It hurt to hold it - it felt like his very blood was freezing - but he had to endure it. No other way.

In a single fluid movement Aragorn unsheathed Anduril, holding it up before his face so the ornate hilt was well visible to the Palantír. "Behold, the sword of Elendil." The orb pulsed in his hand, sending out shocks and waves of electricity. Aragorn's breathing grew more shallow as he struggled to hold on. He sheathed the sword and grasped at the pendant around his neck, whispering words of comfort to give himself strength.

An image appeared in the Palantír, an image of a tall, dark man clad in terrible armor. Then it flashed and showed Arwen - his beautiful sister Arwen - laying on a bed of flowers, her face pale, her eyes closed as if she was asleep but Aragorn knew that she was dead.

The pendant slipped from his grasp and shattered on the floor, gone to a million pieces of crystal. Aragorn screamed, sinking down to his knees, the Palantír rolling from his hands to the floor as he grasped his head in his hands.

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quick update before i go to bed :)