With Hope and Without Hope

Chapter 42: A Glint of Gold

A shimmer appeared on the horizon. Aragorn recognized the golden roof of Meduseld even now, after so many intervening years, after all he had lately endured. Saruman may have muddled his mind, but the sight of the Golden Hall under the broad blue sky brought back clear memories of his time in Rohan long ago. For a moment he was wistful of that period in his life, but the present mercilessly intruded on his nostalgia before long.

"Come, Dúnadan, I would be at Edoras by nightfall." Saruman spurred his horse on, and Aragorn could do naught but follow.

As he rode he tried to order his thoughts. What was their purpose in going to Edoras? He drew bits of memory from his cloudy mind. The king-Saruman would meet with him. The wizard had a plan of some sort, and he wished for the succor of Rohan.

Was Aragorn part of that plan? Yes, yes, he and King Thengel-no, Théoden... Aragorn thought for a moment. Sauron. Saruman intended to defy Sauron. But he needed Rohan to do that. Were they to face Sauron with Rohan's army? That would be madness.

Saruman had been quite certain of Théoden's support, but he also desired Aragorn's presence, that he might speak to the king-or to the people? What could he do that Saruman could not? How did Saruman expect to... Gondor. He aimed to persuade Gondor to join them. In that case, he needed Denethor, not Aragorn. Aragorn shook his head as his thoughts doubled back over each other.

He did recall giving his consent to this strategy. He wondered at his reasoning at the time, as his horse pounded its way to Edoras. Perhaps his head was clearer and he had understood. Of late, he had been unable to sort out his thoughts after Saruman brought his hands to the palantír.

Pippin usually helped him afterward, but Pippin had not been given much time with him since they had left Isengard. And so he was left in this fog, his mind drifting as he struggled vainly to discern reality from illusion.

Certainly the goal of fighting Sauron was worthy. If those where Saruman's aims, perhaps they were acceptable after all. The only hope for success against Mordor was in the union of Rohan and Gondor. However that was arranged was of little consequence if the end was the same, was it not?

Aragorn's mind merged with the thunder of the horses' hooves, and for a while his thoughts had no form. The gold colors of the sky deepened, the air cooled, and still the hooves pounded over the grass. Gradually, his thoughts regained clarity, but his despair lingered.

A glint of gold reflected the setting sun and reminded Aragorn of their destination, if not their purpose. He did not try to remember. For it did not matter.

They were all gone.

When he had seen Arwen fall, something in Aragorn had broken. Was it true? He knew not. But he did know, quite suddenly, that Saruman meant to take lordship of Rohan. He would march them to Gondor and bring them before Denethor. Gondor and Rohan would owe fealty to Saruman and thus would he rule.

Gondor's future was gone. The throne that awaited him-gone. But there was yet more to lose.

Sauron would not tolerate Saruman's impudence. Saruman thought himself a match for Mordor. But Saruman would learn his errors. Sauron would march on Gondor. Saruman would die.

Then Sauron would pursue the hobbit. For Saruman would have put Pippin to the Stone again. Sauron would learn of Pippin. And Pippin would die.

Perhaps before he died, he would reveal Frodo. Aragorn saw all this in the first moments after Pippin had touched the Stone, and Aragorn grieved deeply for the hobbit. He did not deserve such a death. And more terrible, perhaps, it would lead to Frodo's death as well. Then all would be lost.

Sauron would destroy them all. They were all gone.

The horse's hooves continued to pound over the hills of Rohan.