Orc Blood and Whiskey Soup - corrielikesstory (corrieander) (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Kara was nearing the end of her shift in the ER on an October morning, and the waiting room had blessedly thinned out. She leaned into the locker room where her coworker Ben had changed his scrubs and was now rubbing his head with a wipe.

“When we last left our hero,” Kara said, “he was toweling orange urine out of his ear…”

He rolled his eyes at her. An accident involving a toddler, colored urine, and the bad timing of a flip-top trash can had led to his accident. “Whatever. Did you finish admittance paperwork for the shoulder wound?”

“Just about to.”

Kara was starting to indulge the hope that she’d dealt with her last gunshot wound of the night. There’d been an accident with a college kid and his dad’s .22, a suspected gang shooting of a John Doe, and a gas station robbery that’d sent a bullet through a patron’s shoulder.

That was a lot, even by Houston standards, and it wasn’t even Halloween yet.

Despite being October, the day promised to be warm and humid, and every time she got near the ER room lobby, she could feel the swampy air. She would be glad to shuck her own scrubs off and head home in half an hour. She rubbed her blurry eyes with the back of her wrist—to avoid touching her fingers to her eyes—and clicked to another screen on the monitor to finish her notes on the robbery victim.

Patient aware and cognizant. No lapse in memory despite fall and head contusion.

Shoulder stabilized and wound packed by EMTs. No arterial bleeding and x-rays show no bones broken.

That was a miracle—

“Kara, we’ve got another.” Ben suddenly rounded the hallway to the nurse’s station. “Arrow wound, bed 5.”

“An arrow wound?” Kara sped down the white, fluorescent hallway and her arch-supporting sneakers squeaked on the linoleum as she pivoted into the curtained alcove for bed 5.

A group was already at work, shifting him from the ambulance gurney, establishing an IV, checking pulse and blood pressure. There was a terrible smell, and Ben’s face was screwed up like he might vomit as he hung the IV line. And normally Ben had an iron stomach, as they all did.

The patient was face-down on the bed and he was filthy. His thin black hair was oily and muddy, his clothes saturated in some sort of slime, and the skin of his neck and cheek—all she could see—was coated in muck. This wasn’t even homeless levels of dirt or grime; this was something else. ER tech was trying to clean a patch for an IV, and he was throwing dirty wipe after dirty wipe in the small trashcan.

Another nurse was cutting away his thick leather vest. “Heart is arrhythmic, we need AED now.”

An arrow, large and black, was deep in his left trapezius. It bled terribly, and the patient seemed to be unconscious. Kara grabbed the AED box off the wall. If his heart stopped, this was his best chance of life.

“What the is that smell?” Ben said. “Necrotic flesh? On a fresh wound?”

Kara grabbed fresh gloves from the wall dispenser while Erin opened the AED. “It’s going to take some doing to get clean skin to attach this to.”

His vest was off now, and his shoulders were… wrong. They were mis-formed somehow in a way she didn’t have time to analyze. His back was filthy as well, with both blood and hair. Kara was trying to clean him around the arrow wound when he suddenly shouted. He heaved himself up on his forearms and growled something in another language. Before Kara could step back, he seized her wrist and drug her forward, nearly to his face.

“Code gray,” Ben yelled for help. “We’ve got a code gray!” That meant someone was being aggressive or violent.

Kara raised her other hand slowly. “It’s okay, sir. We’re trying to help you.”

He was one of the ugliest men she had ever seen. His eyes were squinty and small and his forehead overhung them. His teeth were black and rotted, some of the worst she’d seen outside the pages of a textbook.

Kara jerked her arm to free it, but the man had maniacal, probably chemically-induced, strength.

As others edged in the door, Ben was closest, and trying not to agitate him further. “There is a doctor on the way, sir. Do you know the word doctor?” Ben tried the word doctor in Spanish and Farsi and Nigerian—some of the more common languages in their part of Houston— as he put out a hand to the man’s arm.

The patient suddenly spit at her, just pursed up his lips and spat a huge mouthful of blood and spittle. Unfortunately Kara caught most of it on her outstretched arms, her chest, and her neck and face. At least she had a mask on. She instinctively closed her eyes to avoid contamination and jerked away as the droplets spattered her. He let go this time—perhaps Ben helped—and she stumbled away from the bed with her eyes closed.

Unfortunately, she tripped over something and fell backward. Kara yelped, expecting to crash into the IV cart or the cabinet, but instead, she kept falling.

Her yelp turned into a choked scream as her eyes snapped open to darkness. She hit the ground after a far longer fall than was possible. It was like jumping out of a tree instead of falling to the linoleum floor. Everything was dark as if every light in the hospital had gone out. Quick thoughts of power outages, sudden blindness, and concussion competed with utter panic. What the holy heck--

Kara had fallen on something crunchy and dry, and as her eyes acclimated to the low light, she realized she lay in a pile of leaves, looking up at a moonlit canopy of forest. She wasn’t in the hospital at all.

Kara was in a wood. It was silver and gray in the moonlight, and her breath puffed white in frosty air. It could not have been more different from the hospital. The air was pure and smelled of earth and lavender. The stars were out, bright as anything. It was eerily silent, as if they woods waited to breathe.

“Ben?” Kara whispered. She felt as uncertain and nonplussed as she’d ever been in her life. If this was what an acid trip felt like, she’d take Saturday shifts without complaint for a year. The simplest explanation was that whatever drugs were in the arrow victim’s system had somehow caused her to hallucinate. But this didn’t feel like that. The trees were too quiet and distinct. Her mind was too clear.

Kara finally pushed herself out of the fallen leaves and got to her feet. She still had on her gloves and mask. She still had spots of blood and muck on her arms, torso, and neck.

If she was hallucinating, it had very good continuity.

The silence was broken by the sound of voices. Men or boys were nearby. Several voices were rather small, and one quite deep. Perhaps a father and sons? Why not add that to her delusion. Some companions for her inevitable stay in the psychiatric ward.

“Hey?” Kara called. “Is someone there?”

A sudden silence proved someone had heard her. Their soft footsteps had stopped too. Kara backed up against a tree lest someone sneak up on her. “I was just—”

A dark shape suddenly detached from the trunks and came at her. A knife was against her throat and a tall body pinned her to the tree. “Who are you? What are you doing in the hills above Amon Sul?”

“Nothing! I’m trying to get—home.”

“Why are you masked?”

“It’s—er—flu season, you know? Plus COVID precautions…” she trailed off. He seemed like the antivax sort.

He suddenly sniffed at her neck. “Why do you smell of orc?”

Kara was rigid with fear, but she was also exhausted and confused. “The heck, dude? You’d smell like an orc if you’d just worked a twelve-hour ER shift.”

The knife eased away from her an inch. Then he pulled her paper mask loose and crumpled it in his hand. “You’re a woman.”

“Ye-es.”

He had dark, shoulder-length hair, a strong jaw covered with stubble, and a narrow nose. His eyes were dark and bright, somehow reflecting even more light than the moon offered. He was probably in his mid-thirties and he didn’t look crazy. He did have an extremely sharp, long knife an inch from her throat.

“Okay. You’re freaking me out, but I think it was a misunderstanding. I didn’t mean to trespass if that’s what happened, ‘cause hey, I’m Texan too. I know we take our property rights seriously around here—”

“What is a Texan?” He looked back down at the blood on her scrubs and suddenly stood back from her, squinting in the moonlight. He eyed the bloody handprint on her wrist. “I apologize. Are you injured?”

“No—I don’t think so.” She flexed her wrist. “I just—I don’t know.”

“That blood is scarcely dry. If there are orcs in these woods, I must know of it.”

“Orcs?”

He spoke slowly. “How many? How long ago?”

“Er…what do you mean by orc? Is that slang for something? If you’re talking about the homeless man who came into the hospital— there was just the one.”

“I fear a blow to the head would explain your disorientation.” He reached for her head as if to check for lumps or blood and Kara ducked away from him. “Nope, that’s enough touching. I don’t think I hit my head.” She paused. “Unless I did…”

A quick examination discovered a tender spot over her temple, but not something that would explain all this.

“I’m not hurt,” Kara decided. “This blood belongs to a man who’d been hit with an arrow. But I—I blacked out before I could help him.” She gestured at her scrubs. “I’m a nurse at Houston Memorial.”

One of the small voices from the wood interrupted them. “Strider, she doesn’t look evil. Can we come out? Mr. Frodo is awful bad.”

“Be quiet, Pip!”

“Shush yourself, Merry!”

The names sank in slowly. Strider, Frodo, Pippin, Merry.

Kara laughed and swayed. “I must be lucid dreaming. You do look rather familiar. Sam was always my favorite… Frodo wouldn’t have got far without Sam.”

Three small people emerged from the silvery foliage as if out of nowhere, supporting a fourth who could barely walk. “Does she know us? How? Strider, could it be a trap?”

“Everything could be a trap,” Aragorn said grimly, facing her again with—yes, it was definitely a sword pointed toward her. If he was Aragorn.

Kara laughed again, feeling quite light-headed. “That’s almost a Princess Bride quote. ‘I always think everything could be a trap, that is why I’m still alive.’”

Aragorn frowned. “We already have an injured member of our party, and we are on a dire errand. You would be in more danger by traveling with us, but I will send help back to you.”

“No, that’s okay, I’ll be awake by then.” Kara was congratulating herself on calming her dream down—she could practically feel her cortisol levels rise—and that is when one of the Ringwraiths screamed.

Frodo collapsed with a cry, the hobbits cowered, and Kara—hardened ER nurse, top half of her class at U of H, and half-marathon runner—fainted.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

When she came back to consciousness, things were worse. She was not in the hospital or at home.

There was a small hobbit face above her—was it Merry? They did not look exactly like their movie counterparts, though close enough for a good guess.

Merry’s little brow was creased, and he wrung his hands. From some distance, she could hear the shrieking that served as Ringwraith conversation.

It was further away than it had been before, much further, but it still made her body chill and weak. It was like the worst moments of your life rolled into one. The moment before a car wreck, when you realize pain is inevitable. The moment before a patient codes, when you know you cannot save them. The moment your fiancé hits you, when you recognize some mistakes are going to cost you more than you have….

Tolkien had barely done justice to the fear the Ringwraiths induced.

“Except no,” she muttered to herself, “because this isn’t real. My body is expelling adrenaline and working through trauma.

“What?” Pippin had been just around the tree behind them, and he popped around to perch next to Merry. “Better be quiet, miss. Strider says the wraiths will follow Frodo and the ri—“

Merry elbowed him viciously.

“Frodo and the, er, elf,” he corrected hastily, “but we’d still not like them to hear us. They seem the mean-tempered, nasty sort of folk who would come back to stab us through for the sake of it.”

Sam and Aragorn came next, and Pippin popped up. Sam looked miserable and Aragorn grave.

“What news?” Pippin demanded. “Will they make it? Can that one elf fight them off?”

Aragorn lowered himself wearily to the ground. “Be still, Master Hobbit. I cannot see through the woods any more than you, but we can all listen.”

They did so, hearing the shrieks recede to the east.

Kara didn’t interrupt. It seemed rude in the face of the considerable effort her brain had made to create this lifelike dream.

There was a sudden silence and Aragorn stood abruptly, clenched like a bow string.

A slight tremor in the earth made her shiver, almost unnoticeable if she hadn’t been curled up on a bed of pine needles of the forest floor.

Aragorn grinned fiercely. “I believe our friends are safe. Elrond once told me there were great enchantments on the Bruinen River for Rivendell’s defense.”

His words cheered the others, and indeed, the wood immediately seemed brighter and more open. The sounds of birds pecking and cawing returned, the leaves rustled in the breeze… the fear and contamination of the wraiths had been washed away.

Kara pushed herself up and brushed pine needles and bits of dead leaf off her scrubs. “You know, Stephenie Meyer had a dream, wrote a book, and launched the Twilight fandom. This has got to be the most immersive dream I’ve ever had, and of course it’s in a copyrighted universe! Even my subconscious is derivative.”

They looked at her as if she’d spoken in Farsi or Nigerian, and Kara smiled. “Never mind.”

Pippin’s eyes were wide. “What is a twilight fandom? Is it some sort of night-bound kingdom?”

“It’s… no, you know what, I’m not doing a crossover. Forget it, Pippin, I’m sorry I said anything.”

Sam was industriously packing the blankets, pots, and pipes of their small camp back into their packs. “We’d best be getting on to catch up with Frodo, if it’s all the same to you. We can talk while we walk.”

“Samwise is right,” Aragorn said. “Let us move on to Rivendell.” He measured up Kara with his eyes and tightened his mouth. “It has not escaped me that you have not explained who you are or why you find yourself here. If you wish, you can accompany us to Rivendell. They will help you if you are injured, but I warn you that Elrond sees deeply. If you bring secrets, lies, or malice into his demesne, you’ll be sent away, if not worse. Spies and traitors are not treated kindly anywhere.”

His eyes were so intent, his voice so compelling, Kara almost felt as if maybe she was a spy. She did have secrets…

She shook her head to clear it. The voice of the king, indeed! That voice was a weapon.

“I have nothing but the best intentions,” Kara said.

Sam pulled on Aragorn’s arm, so that he would lean down. “I don’t like it, Strider. Let’s leave her here. Why, she knew my name!” Sam was whispering but Kara could hear him.

She felt a jolt of unease. This may be a dream, but that did not make the wilderness less—er—wildernessy. She didn’t like feeling lost, or hungry, or alone… and right now she was already rocking two out of three. As appropriate as that was for a Tolkien character, she’d no desire to plumb the depths of her own resourcefulness.

“I promise I won’t hurt Frodo or any of you,” Kara said. “I’m a nurse, I don’t hurt people.”

Merry tipped his head. “Do you mean a nursemaid? Do you care for children?”

“She might mean a wet nurse,” Pippin offered. “I’ve heard the great houses of men often employ—“

Kara crossed her arms over her chest, self-conscious. “I’m not a wet nurse! I take care of people who’re injured or sick, or we assist a doctor, plan care…”

“Oh, you’re a healer!” Pippin said. “Pity we didn’t meet you after Frodo got stabbed. He was in a terrible way.”

“Sadly, there’s probably not a lot I can do for a magic wound. If Aragorn, er, sorry, if Strider used athelas—“

She realized her mistake as Aragorn stiffened and put a hand on the hilt of his sword. “You were following us?”

“No! Well, in a sense…” Kara pressed one hand to her head, and the other found the ridged bark of the nearby oak. This felt so real. A tiny red ladybug with one spot crawled next to her thumb. Her back was in knots from sleeping on the ground. Her head hurt, probably from a lack of morning coffee.

Without admitting it to herself, Kara was perilously close to losing herself to the dream.

“I was lost in the woods, you can’t blame me for following voices,” she said finally.

Aragorn didn’t relax his severity, but he nodded shortly. “Very well.”

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Rivendell smelled amazing. It was fresh and green, but also with a hint of nuts and homemade bread. It smelled like the best day after a fall rain, but also with a sense that delicious food was waiting for you.

Kara felt bad for contaminating it with her scrubs. They’d been none too pristine even before that last patient. That last patient she mused, whom Aragorn implied was probably an orc or an orc-man hybrid… but that way led believing that this was real. No. The man had been dirty and wounded, but he was not an orc. Kara was no Alice in Wonderland. She didn’t want to believe three contrary things before breakfast.

She just wanted breakfast. After all, what good was a mental meltdown if one couldn’t appreciate all the flavors of crazy?

The elves provided, and Kara enjoyed a green soup that was possibly the best thing she’d ever eaten, then fresh fruit that tasted like kiwi and melon. The last dish was similar to the flakiest, savoriest quiche in the world.

The three hobbits agreed about the quality of the food, and tucked away every bit of the spread that she didn’t eat. It must have been twelve servings at least. Aragorn had gone away once they arrived, and Sam, Merry, and Pippin were relaxing now that they knew Frodo would mend.

“Now,” said Merry, “Strider is gone and our bellies are full, so we can have a bit of chatter. Tell us all about yourself.”

Kara wiped her mouth with the most exquisite linen napkin. “I’m more interested in this place. Do you think there’s elves that do laundry?” She held up the napkin. “I guess there must be, but I never thought of it. They all seem so other-worldly.”

Pippin laughed. “I’d like to see one of them scouring a pot or dusting. They might be immortal, but so are chores!”

“Sweepers!” Merry added.

“Gardeners,” Sam put in shyly. Once he’d gotten to Rivendell, he’d been feeling rather guilty for suggesting they leave the lady.

“Do they have elf servants?” Kara asked. “Or do they all do what’s necessary like some sort of utopian cult…”

A tall figure appeared in the arch that led to their small al fresco dining area. Kara assumed it was an elf and blushed, hoping they hadn’t heard her.

But it wasn’t an elf, and the three hobbits bounced up as if they’d been poked. “Gandalf! You’re here!”

“Frodo expected you at Bree!”

“Where have you been? Have you seen Frodo?”

“Yes, my dear hobbits, I have seen Frodo, though he has yet to see me. Lord Elrond has done much for him, and I expect he will wake fully tomorrow. Right now he needs a calm, dreamless sleep.”

“He’s truly going to be all right?” Sam asked. “He were starting to fade that last day.”

“I know, but he is a brave and strong hobbit, and he is now as solid as ever he was. The wound may pain him for many a year, but it will not take him.”

Sam sat heavily on the carved bench, wiping suspiciously at his eyes.

Gandalf turned to Kara, who had frozen at his entrance.

Aragorn was intense and formal; the hobbits were silly and friendly—but somehow Gandalf was real.

Kara’s breath caught in her throat. From his long gray hair to his robes—more than a little frayed at the edges—to his deep-set, twinkling blue eyes, he was real. She didn’t know why he would affect her so, but she felt nearly frightened of him. If this was not a fever dream…

“Now who is your friend?” Gandalf asked. “Strider says little of her.”

“This is Kara,” said Merry. “She’s a healer, though she won’t say where she’s from or who her family is or any of that. Even after Merry and I explained how the Brandybuck and Took lines are related to the Bagginses—“

“We’re second and third cousins!” Pippin added.

Gandalf held up a hand. “Yes, but I am well acquainted with your genealogy, so perhaps we should allow our guest to speak.”

Kara swallowed. “I guess I don’t have much to say. If I really am in Rivendell, in—in Middle Earth—then I am f— sorry, I am in deep trouble. I’m not from here.”

Gandalf regarded her with his bright, penetrating gaze. “I hear you know more than you ought, but you’ve no look of the enemy. Saruman’s spies, if he dare attempt to infiltrate Rivendell, would be more cunning and less unkempt, I expect.”

“Unkempt?” Kara repeated. “Yikes. You try working a night shift in the ER only to land in the wilderness.” Kara’s curly black hair had been braided before her shift, but now it must be a rat’s nest of tangles. She smoothed it down as best she could. “I’m not a spy for Saruman or Sauron—I’m certainly no friend of the wraiths.”

Gandalf’s humor disappeared. “You seem very familiar with our concerns for someone who claims to be a stranger.”

“I am a stranger, though.”

Gandalf had a way of waiting that made her fill the silence.

“Here’s the truth: I was working at Houston Memorial—that’s a big hospital in my city—when a strange man was brought in. He had an arrow in his shoulder, and he was, er, ugly. He grabbed me and spat on me and then I found myself here. Aragorn says I smell like orc,” she gestured to her dirty scrubs, “though to the best of my knowledge, the man at the hospital was no orc. Ugly, but not a different species.” She swallowed. “We have no orcs in my world.”

“Lucky,” Pippin said.

Merry smacked him. “She’s from a different world and all you can say is lucky??”

“Well, she is. No orcs! Do you have goblins or dragons?”

“No,” Kara admitted. “But also no hobbits, wizards, or elves.”

“What? That’s an outrage! Ridiculous!” Pippin and Merry were incensed.

“Dwarves?” Sam asked. He liked to have things clear.

“Actually, we do have dwarves.”

Pippin gasped. “But that’s not fair! Why do they get a place and not us?”

This time it was Gandalf who rolled his eyes. “Peace, Peregrine Took. There are infinite things in heaven and earth that you do not understand, and have nothing to do with you. Now please let Lady Kara continue. You say you have no orcs or wizards, but if that is so, why do you know what they mean?”

“We have… stories. First there were just a few, now many people write about them. Fantasies, games, wikis, fandoms—“

“Like the twilight fandom!” Pippin added, happy to have recognized the strange word again.

“Kind of like that,” Kara allowed. “This sort of fantasy is almost a…mythology. Though I’m starting to think perhaps it’s something more.”

Gandalf’s gaze grew vacant as he thought deeply. “Your story is strange, but not impossible. Blood is strongly magic, as wizards know. If that orc-man, which sounds very like one of the hybrids Aragorn saw at Bree, was sent to fetch something and his mind was focused on success and return… Yes, I think we can safely believe there was some magic involved. My instincts tell me Saruman is behind it, although he cannot have planned for us to receive the fruits of his labor. Indeed, now that I come to think of it, he spoke of a new undertaking. Something about "looking beyond time and space for knowledge that was denied us by Eru." I thought him only raving about his greatness and our doom as he is regrettably prone to do in his foolishness, but perhaps there was more to it than that."

Gandalf shook his head. “At any rate, you have made a friend of the hobbits, and that speaks in your favor. I believe Elrond’s people have prepared rooms for you all, and I don’t hesitate to say that baths would do you all good.”

The next morning, Kara woke again not in her bed at home or the hospital. That wasn’t ideal, but then… it also meant she didn’t have to go to work. It might say something about working America that she’d rather be in a lucid dream coma than in her regular life.

She rubbed her eyes and stretched slowly and, all things considered, happily. It was amazing what a good night of sleep could do. Some of her coworkers had toddlers and young kids and she could hardly imagine how they handled their shifts and then a baby on their free nights.

For her, there was no one waiting at home. If she truly had disappeared from her world (or perhaps gone into a coma), then her friends and coworkers would miss her, but no one would be devastated. She and Ben were buds, and he would feel terrible about what happened, but he wouldn’t break his heart over it.

Kara put on the clothes the elves had loaned her, and she had to admit, elven underwear was better than advertised. The layered dress and long sleeves were also warmer than her scrubs had been. No surprise that Middle Earth was colder than Houston and its sub-tropical climate.

Kara hated having her hair down, so she found her hair elastic from the previous day and braided it again. She needed to make sure not to lose that, since she couldn’t buy a hundred more from Amazon.

She left her room and wandered toward the nearest source of golden morning light, which took her to a garden between several elegant buildings. She was up high, and a stair extended like a vine to the greenery below.

She was down among the trees, in a sort of cozy maze, when she heard Aragorn talking to Gandalf. “Do you believe her? That she stumbled into our world at such a desperate time, already knowing my name, and knowing about Frodo and the wraiths?”

“That is strange, I admit, but stranger things have happened than you or I have years to tell of it. Why does it truly unsettle you? Surely you do not feel threatened. I am tolerably certain you could defeat her if it came to violence.”

Aragorn scoffed at his gentle humor. “I’m glad this amuses you. There are more dangers than warriors and swords, and I shouldn’t have to tell a wizard that.”

“I can assure you she is not evil, and I felt not a whisper of magic.”

“Yet a beautiful woman appears directly in our path, leagues from civilization, and immediately gains the hobbits’s trust. No wizardry, you say?”

Kara was not unhappy at being called a beautiful woman (although his standards for human women, as opposed to elves, were probably not high), but she was unhappy to be stuck eavesdropping. She knew she couldn’t sneak back up the stairs. She’d seen this scene too many times in movies. They would definitely see her and Aragorn would be convinced she spied on purpose.

If she was going to do a crossover, what wouldn’t she give for the Harry Potter invisibility cloak? Kara loudly cleared her throat. “Gandalf? Is that you? I found this small maze, but I cannot find the center.”

They soon came around the corner to her, Aragorn looking suitably suspicious, and Gandalf all old-fashioned politeness. “Dear Lady Kara, you look as if you slept well.”

“I did, thanks.”

“Eavesdropping so early in the morning?” Aragorn asked quietly. Kara couldn’t help thinking of Sam’s line. “I ain’t dropping no eaves, sir!”

This made her smile, and his brows drew together. “You don’t deny it?”

“I didn’t mean to overhear anything. I alerted you that I was here. Gandalf, could I have a word with you in private?”

They settled in her room on the two beautiful wooden chairs with strands of carved ivy forming the back, which were somehow as comfortable as they were lovely.

“I have been thinking about what you said,” Kara began, “about magic that is carried in blood. Do you think there is some way to reverse it? For me to will myself back home?”

He stroked his beard. “There has been speculation; that is more Saruman’s interest than mine. It is a rare form of magic and only triggered—as far as I am aware—by someone’s lifeblood. By someone gravely injured.”

Kara pressed a cold hand to her mouth. “You mean, it only happens if they are about to die?”

“I’m afraid so. I suspect the orc or person you met did not long survive their encounter with you. I don’t know if his injury was too great, or perhaps his journey to your world depleted him, but that is my speculation.”

“So you don’t think I can cut my hand and click my heels three times and wish for home?”

“You may click your heels however many times you wish, a quaint idea, but I do not think it will help you. I do hope you will leave your hands alone.”

Kara looked out the window at the most beautiful willow tree. It was majestic; it could have been Grandmother Willow in Pocahontas. “If this is all in my mind, then maybe if I believed that it would work, it would.”

Gandalf co*cked his head. Then withdrew a small dagger from his belt. “Then very well, go on.”

“Really?”

“I do not jest about blood, my dear girl. It seems to me the greater danger to allow someone to continue in madness than to help them wake from it.”

Kara took the knife. It was harder than she’d thought to bring it to her skin. The knife was very sharp though, so it would not hurt too badly. She brought it to the fleshy part of her hand below her thumb, and lightly cut herself. It stung, of course, but for someone who had practiced placing an IV on herself through nursing school, it was not that bad.

The blood welled up and dripped on the floor. “What should I do?”

“Don’t ask me,” Gandalf said. “This is your dream.”

Kara touched the blood and then brought her bleeding hand to her neck, where most of the orc blood had spattered her. She closed her eyes and pictured the hospital. She pictured her friends, Ben, her car, her apartment—she really had a pathetic list of things to attach her to her life.

Nothing happened, nothing helped.

Kara’s hand hurt.

Finally she brought it down and opened her eyes.

“I’m still here,” Gandalf said.

“You’re kind of enjoying this aren’t you?”

“Only a little.” He handed Kara a small length of wool, a scrap.

She pressed it to her hand. It hurt just as much as it would in real life. She still wasn’t quite prepared for the consequences of that idea. “If this world is real, you’re saying that the only way my blood will take me home is if I am dying.”

“I fear so.”

Kara pondered. “That is not as bad as you might think. My world is excellent at repairing people. We can do blood transfusions, skin grafts… artificial limbs.”

Even Gandalf’s twinkling eyes dimmed. He raised a hand. “Do you think to maim yourself to the brink of death to get home? I have little authority over you, other than as one who is very old to one who is very young, but that is not the path. There is a balance to the world and taking an innocent life—even your own—will bring a balance you would deeply regret.”

Kara grimaced, more than half sure he was right. “Not to be blunt then, but what about your blood? Shouldn’t it be more powerful as a wizard or—or—ugh, I forget the other word for you. It was like an angel.”

Gandalf’s lips quirked in a half smile. “Don’t let Aragorn hear you ask for my blood; he’d be even more certain you are ill news.”

“But between us…”

“My blood will not avail you. I do not know your world or your customs. Even if I were on the brink of death, I do not think I have the knowledge to send you where you wish to go.”

“I see.” Kara sank in the chair. “So then, unless I am dying by other means, I am stuck. I’ve no desire to seek out an orc or a Ringwraith, but I guess if it happens, there’ll be a silver lining.”

“A silver lining?”

“Dark cloud; silver lining—is that not a phrase here?”

“No, but I might adopt it. As long as you do not throw your life away, I do not see why this hope cannot comfort you.” He compressed his lips. “Is there anyone in your world that will grieve over you? A parent or child, a husband?”

“No, there’s not. I was raised by my grandmother, but she passed away last year.” That still hurt, but Kara took a deep breath past the longing for her grandmother.

“Is that common in your world, to be alone so young?”

“Not terribly common, no, but I am not that young. I’m thirty-three.

“In hobbit culture, that is the coming-of-age year.”

“Well, it is not mine. We come of age at eighteen, or maybe twenty-one. But I forget, you’re like, ten thousand, right? And even Aragorn is super old for a man.”

He smiled. “Let’s just say time was counted in a different way when I was young. Now tell me, Kara, how do you really know so much? You say there is a mythology on your world, but you seem to know us specifically, not merely of wizards and hobbits.”

She bit her lip. “There was a story. It was specific. I knew, for instance, that Saruman would turn against you. I’m sorry I wasn’t here soon enough to warn you.”

He pressed his hand against a healed cut on his forehead. “Indeed. And you believe you could warn us about future disasters?”

“I could, yes.”

“I must think on that.” He hesitated. “Perhaps it is an old man’s weakness, but I will ask this: does your mythology indicate any more stunning betrayals? I admit that Saruman’s fall has shocked me.”

Kara thought. “Well, I think you already know about this, but there’s a man in Rohan—I think he’s called Wormtongue?”

Gandalf’s eyes widened. “I’ve heard rumors of Grima’s turn. Did the men of Rohan have a place in your mythology? I am surprised.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Fascinating.”

“And then—but this person kills themselves so perhaps it doesn’t matter—”

He held up a hand, looking stricken. “I underestimated your knowledge. It has a draw almost as potent as—as the ring.” He frowned down at his lap. “I cannot imagine how it could be—unless there is an element of time I do not understand—” he shook his head. “I must think on this. What was the story called?”

Kara swallowed. “The Lord of the Rings.”

All merriment was gone from his face now. “Was it.”

A knock sounded, and Gandalf opened her door. Aragorn was there. He raised his eyebrows at Gandalf’s stricken look. “I was coming to find you. Elrond asks for our counsel.”

“Yes, yes. Kara—please speak of this to no one, it could be dangerous.”

Araogrn’s eyes went to her and he winced. “What happened?”

Kara looked down at her hand and realized she’d left a rather bloody handprint on her neck. Rivulets had stained her chest all the way to the neckline of her green elven dress. “Ah. Gandalf and I were—testing a theory.”

He looked at her as if she was crazy and possibly dangerous. “I see. Come, Gandalf.”

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Kara really wanted to see the shards of Narsil. If she’d landed in Hogwarts, she would’ve gone to the Room of Requirement and the Great Hall and Hagrid’s cabin. If she’d landed in Narnia, the lamppost was a must. If she found herself in Rivendell, she really had to see the sword, right?

She also wanted to see Arwen, but one didn’t just demand to see an elven lady who was considered the harbinger of the end of elvendom in Middle Earth. Arwen Evenstar, she’d been called in the book, the counterpart to Luthien, the morning star.

Probably Arwen and Aragorn were off having their doomed (but not!) epic romance. If they were doing their thing in the museum area where the sword was, she’d just make herself scarce, but Aragorn couldn’t possibly hang out there brooding over his fate every day. Kara had been shown around Rivendell by another beautiful elf who was gracious and kind, but also rather remote. Her guide had pointed out the heavy door that led to the Room of Memory, but she’d not taken her in.

This morning, nearly a week after Kara had arrived, she went to see it herself. She didn’t take the hobbits, as they were a little loud and boisterous for such a quiet place. She’d met Frodo, and he was a sweet hobbit with a bit of sorrow clinging to him. She really wanted to get him a box of Ferrero Rocher chocolate and wrap him in a fluffy blanket. Sam, too, while she was at it. After his first fright, he’d been trying to make it up to her, and his shy advances were the sweetest thing in the world. If she was three foot tall, less scared of relationships, and belonged in Middle Earth, she’d give Rosie Cotton a run for her money. Heck, she'd take any two out of three.

Kara pushed the heavy wooden door open, and it moved on silent silver hinges that were in the shape of leaves. There were just as many plants in here as outdoors, which gave it the feeling of a dim grotto. She followed the path through ferns and ivy and looked at a painting of Isildur striking Sauron and taking the ring. It was the beginning of the story.

She should have been sad, maybe, but seeing this was too amazing. Her roommate in college, while Kara got her nursing degree, had been an English lit major with a huge Lord of the Rings obsession. She played the movies on repeat while she studied; she bored people with the Silmarillion. She had a gold version of the one ring on her desk with the runes of the One Ring prophecy marked on it.

Kara never got to that level of devotion, but she’d read the books eventually, out of defense, and she’d seen the movies more than your average woman. Seeing this in person was simply astounding.

Aragorn’s voice, hard and suspicious, interrupted her. “Why do you smile at such a fell image? What are you doing here?”

Kara winced. Maybe Aragorn did spend all his time in here brooding over his fate. How the heck did he sneak up on people like this? She knew how poor Boromir felt. “The door was unlocked, so it didn’t seem forbidden? And I was curious.”

”These things are not for idle amusem*nt.”

”And I’m not amused, but this reminds me of a friend.” She held up a hand to forestall his question. “My friend has nothing to do with any of this. I just wish she was here. I miss her.”

His stance softened slightly, his jaw unclenched. “If that’s truly your reason, I apologize. I hope you will be able to return home soon.”

“Yeah, Gandalf isn’t too optimistic about that.”

Aragorn looked over his shoulder, and Kara followed his gaze. She didn’t see anyone, but perhaps he was waiting for Arwen. In fact, he probably was, while she talked on about her roommate.

“I promise I’ll go away and leave you alone, but can I see the sword first?”

She spotted the statue and a glint of light from the shards it held. She approached it slowly— hopefully respectfully—and stepped up onto the small dais to see it. Like the movie, there was a velvet cloth under the shards, though she rather thought it was a different color.

“This is so weird. It’s like a history that we’ve repeated so often we feel like we know everything, but we don’t, do we?” Kara backed away from the statue. “I’ll leave you now. I’m sure you’re waiting for… other company.”

He looked confused, but Kara just smiled. If this was real, then Aragron was going to go through many dangerous and terrible things, but at the end he would be king and have Arwen. At least that was a happy ending in a bittersweet story.

She left him and went to find the hobbits. They were jolly at their second breakfast of the day, already singing songs from the Shire.

“What about you, Miss Kara? What songs do you know?”

She automatically reached for her phone and then sighed. She’d been doing that constantly all week.

“You can just call me Kara,” she reminded them, “and as for songs, I don’t know if I could sing them for you. I mostly listen to music. We have devices to save the songs we like and play them again and again. Hundreds, even thousands of songs.”

They were wide-eyed with wonder. “Thousands of songs?” Merry breathed. “How d’you remember them all?”

“Oh I don’t, not word for word, but that’s why we’ve saved them, so we don’t have to remember.”

“Who sings the songs? Wouldn’t their voices give out?”

“They don’t have to sing it every time... Let’s just say they don’t.” She thought of trying to teach them Taylor Swift or Beyoncé or Adele and laughed. “We have many different kinds of music. My friend Ben listens to a type called Dwarf Metal.”

“Again with the dwarves in your world,” Pippin lamented. “What they need are proper hobbit songs.”

“What’s this about dwarven metal?” asked a gruff voice. He was a thickset, burly man who’d just reached her elbow. It could only be Gimli.

“Hello!” Kara rose to her feet. “I was just saying that my friend loves dwarf music.”

“Then he has good taste and must have been highly honored, for we don’t sing for sport or for strangers.”

Kara just smiled. “I guess so. Nice to meet you.” They performed introductions, and Gimli was surprisingly friendly. Neither the book or movie made her think he would unbend so fast.

“It’s a pleasure to meet non-elf in these halls, that’s all,” he said gruffly. “And you’ve a nice braid, lass, reminds me of my cousin Grina.”

Kara patted her hair, “A high compliment, thank you.”

Boromir was the next member of the company that she met, and this time she was sad, because you’d have to be totally heartless to not cry about Boromir. He was also blonde and handsome, and he knew it. Of course, he grew subdued quickly—the fate of Gondor rested on his quest—so there was a darkness under his levity. But still, he had big neurosurgeon residency energy, and he seemed to like to flirt to distract himself. She supposed there were no women for him to flirt with in the story except elves, or else she would’ve known that about him already.

She happened to meet him soon after he arrived, without the hobbits, and she didn’t mention them. She tried to give a vague, “dangerous times” sort of reason for her presence in Rivendell.

“Well, whatever the reason, I am glad to see a friendly face among the elves. They are noble, I know—but distant from the cares of men.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed that. Awesome for epic deeds, but I’m not sure I’d want to wear them every day, you know?”

He laughed loudly.

Aragorn was passing by with two tall elves—Elrond’s sons, she thought—and he frowned in surprise at seeing Boromir with her.

Boromir caught the look. “There goes a grim fellow! But another man, nonetheless. Where does he hail from? He has not the look of Rohan.”

“I believe he is from the north. A ranger.”

“And you, my lady? Where do you hail from?”

Her hand went for her phone—a sort of Pavlovian response to thinking of home—and she patted her empty pockets sadly. “I’m from Texas. It’s pretty far away.”

“Indeed, it must be for I do not know of it. Is it an island to the south? You’ve a bit of the look of the Haradrim, but they would count themselves lucky to claim a woman of your beauty.”

Again, she wasn’t unhappy to be called beautiful, but she suspected good dentistry had a lot to do with the admiration she was getting here. Her mom was from Colombia and her dad was from Dallas. She was pretty but she was also mid-thirties and frequently exhausted, so she didn’t get called beautiful too often.

“Hey, aren’t the Haradrim the dark people from the south? That’s kinda racist to say all people of color must be from the same area.”

His brow wrinkled adorably. “But, in many cases, they are…”

“Hm. Maybe.”

“Apologies for the offense. Do you come to the Council of Elrond?”

As it turned out, she did get to come to the Council, because come on. Was she going to come to Middle Earth at the end of the Third Age and not go to the Council of Elrond?

Huh, she must have absorbed more from her roommate than she remembered.

Aragorn didn’t like Gandalf bringing her—and wow, Aragorn was more paranoid than the books ever mentioned—but Gandalf overbore him.

Privately he asked her not to say much during the council. “I fear such knowledge as you possess would invoke fear in some, greed in others, and lust for power in yet more. Best to keep it a secret for now, but if you would aid me, listen to all and tell me privately if anything has changed from the story you know.”

“I don’t think I’ve had time to change anything yet, but I’ll keep an ear out.”

Gandalf patted her shoulder. “You may have already changed more than you think.”

At the Council, Kara really wanted her phone. She needed a picture of this so bad.

People who said you should put your phone down and be in the moment had never been stranded in a literal fantasy world without it. Moments were enhanced by phones, dadgummit.

Anyway, the Council was not about her, so Kara put her own (frivolous) needs aside to watch the proceedings. (She may also have winked at Sam when he peeked out of his hiding place. He blushed beet red and didn’t look around the pillar for at least five minutes.)

The ring was presented, and Kara was surprised when she realized it was the first she’d seen of it. Way to keep it low-key, Frodo, she mentally congratulated him.

As she stared at the ring, she felt again a frisson of the fear and angst she’d felt when the wraiths were shrieking. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, which no one noticed except for Aragorn. He—surprise, surprise—frowned at her.

Did he smile even once before the coronation at the end of all this? Had she seriously misread his character?

Boromir stood with a flickering look of hope. “I’ve had a vision, a dream of the darkness growing in Gondor, but there was a light to the north.” He described his dream in a way that no millennial could have pulled off. It gave her chills. “It was this,” he concluded. “Give the ring to Gondor. Let us fight our enemy with it-the enemy of all free peoples in Middle Earth!”

Elrond and Gandalf began to explain why that could not be, and Aragorn as well. The only difference Kara noticed was that Boromir made eye contact with her once or twice, as if to say, can you believe this?

Kara looked away. Looking into his eyes made this less like watching the best stage show ever, and more like watching people suffer from fear and depression. One was exciting, the other made her feel rather sick.

Gimli tried to destroy the ring and Kara flinched back as his ax exploded. Frodo’s eyes turned dark with pain and he clutched his shoulder.

When Legolas rose to defend Aragorn, to tell Boromir that he was the heir of Isildur, Kara was surprised when Aragorn didn’t cut him off. Shouldn’t he stop him? Didn’t Aragorn say something in elvish, like, “shut up, you handsome idiot, this is a bad time”?

Instead he let Legolas continue to make his claim. Aragorn looked at her even, as if this was for her benefit. To put her in her place, perhaps?

Well, sadly for Mr. Paranoid, she already knew he was the once and future king. Or, maybe she was mixing her British literature, but something like that.

Legolas’s little speech was lost on her. Soon they were all yelling, and it was Frodo’s voice that stopped them. “I’ll take the ring to Mordor!”

Gandalf closed his eyes in grief, but then turned them to Kara. She nodded once.

The resignation settled on him like another cloak. “I will go with you, Frodo, as far as I can.”

Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, and Boromir made similar pledges, and Sam, Merry, and Pippin burst out as well.

Kara opened her mouth. She had to go, too, didn’t she? How could she not?

But Gandalf shook his head at her, so Kara bided her time.

She joined the Fellowship. It was not without difficulty. Gandalf understood her reasons, though he did warn her again about attempting “a death route home,” and Kara assured him she wasn’t suicidal.

“I’m really not, but I can’t just stay here. I cannot just wave to you all and say, ‘Have fun storming the castle!’ Please Gandalf.”

Gandalf gave her a severe glare, “Please refrain from details of battles or castles—“

“That wasn’t a detail. That was…another story. Gosh, I would not have minded landing in Florin. Inigo was hot, and their adventure was a lot shorter than this one— sorry, sorry! No details!”

Gandalf rubbed his eyes. “Again, I put no geas on you to act or not act according to your knowledge, but due to the nature of the ring, I think the less you bandy your knowledge about, the better. Sometimes even the walls have ears.”

Kara refrained from pointing out the Sleeping Beauty quote. She could read the room when she had to.

“Our problem,” Gandalf continued, “is that I must offer some explanation of your inclusion in the Fellowship. You are not a warrior, a close friend of the ring bearer, or even a concerned citizen of Rohan or Gondor.”

“I’m a… healer?”

“So is Aragorn.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s the problem, isn’t he? Does he object this strongly to Merry and Pippin too?”

“No, but they are at least older—“

“They’re not older than me. Are they?”

“Except for Pippin, yes, and they are not women.”

“Oh my gosh, is that the problem? Is Aragorn secretly a huge misogynist? They say you should never meet your heroes—“

“He feels the journey is too dangerous and your motives too muddy. Also, he finds you a distraction, and without even a plausible reason to add you to the company…”

“Distraction? That’s not fair, I’m not going to be the one bringing him soup and doodling his name with hearts in Rohan.”

Gandalf blinked. “Details, Kara, please.”

She grimaced. “I deserved that, sorry. I really can keep my mouth shut. What if I come as your apprentice? We both know I am no magician, perhaps others don’t. And if I need to act on my knowledge, that would give me an excuse. Wizards are known for their unpredictable behavior, right?”

“I’ve never had an apprentice, everyone knows this.” But he seemed to be thinking. She let him.

“That is a fair proposal, I believe I can persuade Lord Elrond and the others. Aragorn will not like it.”

Kara clapped her hands. “You’re the best.”

He harrumphed. “You are acquainted with scarcely ten people in this world; your commendation leaves something to be desired. But…yes, I am.”

Kara laughed. “In our world, we say, Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I suspect your world is as unprincipled and tiresome as you.”

Kara grinned. “But you’ll take me anyway.” She kissed his cheek as she went to pack.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

When they finally left Rivendell, nearly a month after arriving, Kara scanned the stoic, watching rows of elves. Which one was Arwen? No lady stood at Elrond’s side, only his two sons. Aragorn did not seem to be looking back longingly at anyone. He was too busy glowering at her. Or maybe he was just glowering in general.

He certainly hadn’t taken Gandalf’s news well.

“An apprentice? You already told me she has no magical ability.”

“I spoke too soon. She won’t be making fireworks just yet, but she does have an affinity for premonitions and coming events.”

Aragorn had stared first at Gandalf and then her. “Her mythology, you mean. You think she knows things we need to know.”

“She is standing right here,” Kara said. “And if that was the reason, isn’t it enough that Gandalf thinks so?”

His jaw flexed. “Usually I would say yes, but the fact that you would use my affection and respect for Gandalf against me is badly done.”

“If I say she is an apprentice, than an apprentice she shall be,” Gandalf said, in the manner of a parent ending an argument between his children. “And if she can help us navigate these dangerous times, I will not reject it. Particularly not if Saruman is seeking out similar help. More and more I suspect that he is behind Kara’s abduction. It leaves me unsettled, and my hunches are just as valid as yours, Aragron, son of Arathorn.”

Aragorn had raised a hand in defeat. “I don’t contest that. Let it be as you wish.”

Today as they left, he still didn’t look very happy about the situation.

Boromir even asked her as they hefted their packs, “Have you done something to that Ranger? If he cast me such dark looks, I should only sleep when he did.”

“He doesn’t trust me.”

Boromir gave a flickering half-laugh that, if he only knew, was far more devastating than his practiced smile. “Then you can join me in that, for he certainly does not trust me either.”

It was a pity Arwen wasn’t present, Kara thought, as that would no doubt improve Aragorn’s mood. And didn’t he need one last look at his true love to last him through Moria and Helm’s Deep and Minas Tirith? Aragorn did glance back once, but not to anyone Kara recognized.

Oh, she realized, maybe Arwen looked different here. There were differences to what Kara expected. Maybe Arwen was one of the blonde elven women…

As they filed down the path, Kara gave in and whispered to Gandalf, who was just ahead of her, “Which one is Arwen?”

He gave her a strange look. “Arwen Undomiel passed into the West decades ago.”

“What?” Kara stopped walking, and Merry bowled into her. “She’s not here? Can she come back?”

Gandalf took her elbow to draw her on. “No, she cannot. Do not make a scene now. Why is this a blow to you?”

“Well, who saved Frodo then? Wasn’t that Arwen who got him across the Bruinen?”

“No, it was Glorfindel. Now, if you would please cease to embarrass me—”

“Then who is—How will—this doesn’t make any sense.” Kara stumbled along with his pressure on her arm.

“Why does this disturb you so?”

“Because my story is flawed somehow! And now I’m afraid.”

“Good. At times you act as if you are watching a theatrical, a passion play, and nothing could be further from the truth. It is best you fear the dangers that lie ahead.”

“But Arwen is important…”

At the fork in the road just past the bridge, Frodo looked back. “Which way to Mordor?”

“To the left,” Gandalf told him.

Kara hoped he could direct all of them because she suddenly felt very uncertain.

As Aragorn followed Frodo out, he didn’t look back any more.

Kara had been rather lax with exercise at Rivendell—other than some sword training along with the hobbits with their very patient elven teachers. She was probably going to hurt the first few days. On the other hand, she had eaten and slept better in Rivendell than since before she became a nurse. Possibly ever. She was not in the best shape of her life, but she was far from the worst.

She ran half-marathons, for heaven’s sake, she was tough.

Plus, she had camped in Big Bend National Park for a week in July which was about a thousand degrees and humid to boot. She could backpack her way through a beautiful landscape in cool weather. And elven women might not wear bras, but they understood the idea, and she would give her flexible corset a solid five stars. Her loose trousers were from a riding outfit from one of the elves (though apparently not Arwen!), and they were sturdy and well made, perfect for hiking.

That first day the party had not yet settled on any particular walking formation, and it seemed Kara walked next to everyone as they shuffled about that first afternoon.

When Aragorn strode along next to her, Kara felt unusually compassionate. He’d been a bit harsh, but he had nothing to look forward to, no hope that he might see Arwen again. Perhaps that explained his grim personality in this world. Unfortunately, she didn’t know him well-enough to speak of it.

Kara hitched her bag up. “I thought we might make a truce.”

“I was not aware we were enemies.”

Kara rolled her eyes. “Come on, you’ve got a higher EQ than that. You clearly don’t trust me. Will you give me time to change that?”

“I don’t know what you mean by an eekue. It is true I do not trust you, but that is not quite the same as being your enemy. You may not be a servant of Sauron, yet also not a friend to us.”

“I guess that’s fair. Shades of gray, and all. Perhaps in another week or two…” Kara reached for her phone again, idiot that she was, and then sighed.

Aragorn dipped his head under a low-hanging branch, causing his hair to swing forward and back. “You often clutch your hip in that strange way. As if you seek a weapon you used to keep there.”

“I do,” Kara said emphatically, “that is as good a description as any. I miss my phone so bad.”

“Your fohn? Is that a type of blade?”

“Sadly, no, that would be easy to replace. A phone is for communication and, mostly, information. You could find answers to almost anything. You could talk to anyone else with a phone. You could take pictures and watch videos…”

Aragorn looked disturbed. “You had a palantir?”

“No! Except… sort of. Everybody had them, but they weren’t connected to someone evil. Okay, actually they were, like my ex, but you could block people you didn’t want to talk to, and believe me, I did.”

“Everyone had these? Was there no privacy? No secrets?”

“I’m explaining it badly. I muted mine at night so only the hospital and my friend Ben could wake me up. He worked at the hospital with me, so I left him on in case they were short-staffed. Phones are rather like palantiri—they can be good or bad depending on what you do with them. Like you or Gandalf could use a Palantir and not be hurt, right? But if somebody like Pippin did…”

If anything he looked more disturbed. “I would not use a palantir except in direst necessity.”

“No, of course not.”

Aragorn pondered. “No wonder you reach for it. If you should encounter a palantir here, be cautious. They are treacherous.”

“Right. There’s no way to block Sauron’s evil Zoom call, got it.”

Aragorn shook his head. “I do not understand above half what you say.”

Legolas fell back to walk with her next. They’d been introduced, but not yet spent much time together. “Lady Kara, you seem at ease with the terrain.”

“I love hiking. If I didn’t have the pack, I’d run.”

He smiled. “It is tempting, but we must not lose the little ones. Or the slow ones.” He glanced at Gimli the dwarf.

“I’ll make you eat those words, Master Elf,” Gimli protested.

“I hear dwarves are very dangerous over short distances,” Kara said.

Gimli nodded in approval. “We’re natural sprinters.”

Legolas made a face behind his back and Kara barely bit back a laugh.

“Be kind, he is a very good fellow,” she said.

Legolas studied her. “And what about you? Mithrandir has not taken an apprentice in all the ages I’ve known him.”

“Then it’s about time. I will never be another Gandalf, but there’s much I can learn. Speaking of which, I would dearly love to hear about the Lonely Mountain and the dragon. I have, er, heard the story many times, but never from someone who was there.”

This easily set him off—he had been there for the Battle of Five Armies—but Frodo and Sam could not let him tell his parts without putting in Mr. Bilbo’s bits. This took them the rest of the afternoon and carried them well toward their first stop.

“Did you do that on purpose?” Aragorn asked later, when Kara was crouched at an ice-cold stream to refill all the waterskins for the fellowship. “Distract them by requesting a story?”

“Every nurse knows if you get a patient talking they’ll forget their ills for a bit. Frodo was looking a little bleak and Sam a little scared.” It had also distracted Legolas from her story, and that was good too.

“Do you not feel bleak or scared?”

“Not yet. You?”

“I am accustomed to the empty places of the world and the long days of travel that accompany them.”

Kara kept thinking she’d get used to the elegant way they all spoke, but the beauty of it still surprised her. “I’m not used to that,” she said slowly, “but I am used to hard work, and pain, and even death. As strange as this is, it’s still a relief from my normal life.”

“Your life must be perilous then.” He switched out another water skin. "But despite how you may feel, this errand is yet more perilous. There are wraiths, yes, but also orcs, wolves, and other dark creatures without names we utter in the light. It is not too late to turn aside."

As beautiful as his voice was, and it was beautiful when he wasn’t using it to accuse or scold her, he sure did have a dark outlook. This must be what he was without Arwen.

Kara splashed him lightly, just a few cold drops, but if she’d hoped to snap him out of it or make him flinch, she failed. He only looked at her in bemusem*nt.

“This isn’t a grim dark fantasy, okay? Sam is cooking sausage, and I can smell it from here. Let’s be cheerful for a little while.”

He gave her a hand up from the slick creekbank. “I suppose I would not begrudge even my enemy an hour of cheer.” He gave almost nothing away, but his cheek hitched a little as if he suppressed a smile.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

The journey continued peacefully for the first few weeks—except for an excessively cloudy sky and rather more rain than Kara enjoyed. Her elven cloak was really remarkable at keeping her dry though, and overall, she didn’t feel like she could complain.

Boromir even tasked her with it once, as they walked through the cold predawn hours, sometime past 4 a.m. Kara guessed.

“Do your feet never weary you, Kara, nor your eyes fail? The rest of us—excepting perhaps Aragorn—are at our lowest during the last watch of the night.”

“That just comes from working night shifts for so long. I sleep better during the day than the rest of you, so I’m not as tired now.” She shivered. “I’ll admit to being cold. We sometimes have an icy snap or two in my city, but generally it’s warm all year.”

Boromir threw an arm around her shoulders as they walked, and Kara gratefully accepted his warmth. She might’ve felt awkward, but he was just as helpful with the hobbits. Sometimes he walked with one at each side, his heavy cloak covering all three.

Sometimes in the afternoons, before they began another night’s hike, Boromir would train Merry and Pippin in some sword work, and he soon chided her.

“Does the Lady Wizard not wish to defend herself? You ought to know these things too.”

“I don’t want to be in the way.”

“Nonsense. You’re only wondering if the hobbits’ skill has already surpassed your own.”

“I don’t wonder, I already know it has.”

Merry laughed. “We will be gentle with you, Kara, and if Boromir is too rough we’ll take him down for you!”

Boromir scoffed and swatted Merry on the backside with the flat of his sword. “I’d like to see you try. Regardless, a pretty woman is never in the way, is she, Merry? A lady is an ornament to any endeavor.”

Before Kara could unpack the ‘ornament’ part of this, Aragorn grunted. “I can think of a hundred situations where a woman would be in the way. Shoeing a horse? Mucking a stall? Sharpening a blade?”

Boromir handed Kara a short sword. “In Gondor we know something more of chivalry then.”

Her lessons were short, brutal, but instructive. Boromir was a good-humored teacher, if a bit of a flirt. She suspected he did it instinctively, not out of particular interest, and that was just as well. When he had nothing else to think about, he easily grew morose and depressed. He needed the chance to be cheerful, between worries about his country.

Gandalf didn’t even pretend to teach her anything. He asked her once whether the story remained as she knew it, and she agreed that it did so far. “Arwen is the strangest thing,” she said. “I think it is safe to tell you that she would’ve married Aragorn if she was here, but now, clearly that can’t happen.”

Gandalf puffed his pipe, for they had stopped early tonight for Aragorn and Legolas to hunt. “Fascinating. She chose a mortal life?”

“Yes. It was an epic romance. A new Beren and Luthien.”

He frowned. “Aragorn has the temperament, but Arwen… I can’t imagine Elrond was overjoyed.”

“Not as far as I know.” Kara finally asked, “Were they together before she left? I can’t imagine her abandoning him.”

“Hm? Not to my knowledge, although Aragorn is not one to wear his heart on his sleeve, as they say.”

“No, but still…”

“Did she have a large role to play?”

“No, not exactly… but she was always his hope, I think.”

“I am far from denigrating hope or love, but you shortchange him. Aragorn will do what he must, with or without hope.”

Kara sighed. “I suppose I can’t argue with that. It is sort of the point of this story, to do what is right no matter what may happen."

Aragorn was uniformly polite now, if not warm, and he hadn’t accused her of being a spy or a witch since they left Rivendell. He was friendly enough, making sure she got enough stew or hard tack or venison, and that she was near to the fire when they had one, but otherwise still aloof with her. Kara let it be. He had a lot on his mind.

She re-braided her hair periodically and wore a warm shawl over it (but under her elven cloak) to protect her neck and ears as the days got colder. Sometime in the second week, Gimli made a noise of protest. “That’s the same braid ye’ve done since we left and it keeps falling out! Are ye trying to vex me?”

“I’m doing my best! I was never good at TikTok braids. Will you do it?”

Legolas coughed and Gimli went rather red. “I hadn’t ought to do that,” he said. “It’s for kin, say a… brother or husband to do.”

Pippin laughed. “No need to embarrass Gimli, we hobbits like braids also.” Pippin pushed Merry toward her. “Merry is good, he could do it. His ma taught him to braid her hair.”

Kara finger combed her hair. “Don’t look so scared, Merry, I won’t make you. After two weeks of camping, my hair is barely fit to be touched. The occasional dunk in a stream does not cover it.” But she was not above teasing Gimli. “But a dwarf braid would be nice to know. I’d hate to tell my friends I spent months with a dwarf and learned nothing.”

Gimli twisted his mouth in thought, and then heaved himself up to join her. “It won’t be my fault then, if you learn nothing. I suppose on this journey we are all a sort of kin.” He glared at Legolas. “Except the elf.”

Legolas looked skyward in exasperation. "If you were my brother, you'd have learned to breathe less like a bellows."

Gimli took her hair in hand, using his own wooden comb to tame it. Her hair was thick and wavy, almost always frizzy in Houston. It was the sort that would go curly if she put in the effort, but usually just tangled.

“Thank you, Gimli," Kara said. "I solemnly promise not to entrap you in marriage at a later date.”

He harrumphed but there was a smile in it. “You’d be lucky to have me.”

Kara grinned. “Don’t I know it. Is there an dwarf lass waiting for you at the Lonely Mountain?”

“Ach, you’re teasing me now, but I tell you I could have any dwarfmaid for the lifting of my finger!”

“I don’t doubt it. Have you lifted a finger?”

He scoffed, “Plenty of time for that. Not a thing to rush into.”

Kara’s smile slipped for a moment, thinking about her ex-fiancé. “That’s the truth.”

Gimli taught her the braid as he went, but she was not at all sure she could replicate it. It was sort of a French braid but there seemed to be five strands and sometimes six? “This is amazing,” Kara said. “It’s like the Great British Baking Show where they have to make an 8-plait loaf.”

This fascinated the hobbits, and she spent nearly the whole night hike describing cooking shows, from GBBS to Iron Chef to Dives and Diners.

“Now that is a people that appreciate food!” Pippin said. “We have a thing like the Iron Chef at the mid-summer festival. My cousin Frerin won two bushels of strawberries for making the best cottage loaf with only a campfire and single bowl to work with!”

“I remember that,” Merry said. “We got a powerful stomachache from strawberries, but it was worth it.”

Gandalf smiled in the moonlight. “Did you eat them all that day?”

“We ate them all that hour!”

Boromir laughed. “If you visit the White City someday, I will open the pantries to you. We can put on such a feast as you have never seen. I wager we could even fill up a hobbit.”

From the front, Aragorn called over his shoulder, “But could you fill up four?”

As the days passed, Kara saw the ring growing in Boromir’s mind. He watched Frodo, and at times his hand came to his throat, touching where the ring would lie around his neck if he took it.

“Tell me about Minas Tirith,” Kara said on one of those occasions, desperate to get his mind away from the ring.

He blinked at her, as if coming out of a daze. “The white city? It is the most beautiful city in the world. The Pelennor Fields stretch before it, green and fruitful, and Osgiliath sits like a jewel on the river, visible in the east when the air is clear.” His face shadowed as he thought of how battered Osgiliath had become, but he shook it off. “Then Minas Tirith rises in seven tiers to the west, in pure white stone, beckoning to all free men. Some say the blood of Gondor grows thin, but it is not true. In Minas Tirith we sleep in the bosom of our ancestors; we do not forget. We breathe and eat and drink the heroes of old. Children sip from pottery made in the great days of Numenor, and the elderly lay down in halls of honor as their forbears have for generations. Lovers walk among the frescoes and statues of Earendil and Elros. It is a beautiful city.”

“The halls of learning are what I love,” Gandalf added. “I would spend an age reading the scrolls there, if I had nothing else to do. Sadly my needs are usually more specific and I have no time to browse.”

Aragorn nodded. “The city is not like Rivendell or Lorien, which are the heart of elvendom. They are beautiful, but Minas Tirith it is more fitting for men. There is a vigorous heart there, a pressing will, an impatience to live and build and be that the elves do not understand.”

Boromir met Aragorn’s glance and a for once a friendly understanding flowed between them.

“Yes,” Boromir said. “That is something of what I feel.”

Aragorn tipped his chin toward Legolas. “No offense, my friend.”

Legolas co*cked his head. “None taken. Perhaps you are correct that elves do not understand. Or perhaps that is what strikes us when we get a taste of the Sea. I have heard an elf never escapes the call once it is heard, and that it creates a growing impatience in his mind.”

“Then I hope you’ll never see it,” Aragorn said.

Frodo looked to Kara. “We have never seen the sea either, but what about you, Kara?”

“Oh, all the time. The city I lived in was on the coast. I’d go to the beach with friends, or sometimes to the Pleasure Pier in Galveston. The pier stretches out into the waves—very gentle waves there—and there is a Ferris wheel that takes you so high.” This required more explanation.

“But that sounds dreadful,” Sam said. “Why would you want to go a-soaring up in a basket higher than a cliff, over all that water?!” He shuddered. “Next you’ll be telling us you ride boats for fun.”

“We do. Sometimes we take the ferry for fun from Galveston Island to watch the dolphins. The water is rather brown and dirty, but you can usually see a few surfacing. The sea gulls crowd the boats and tourists throw bread to them.”

“We took the Buckland Ferry to escape the Nazgûl,” Frodo said. “But I think it is smaller than what you describe.”

Boromir agreed. “Everything you describe sounds large, Kara. How many people live in your city?”

It might be childish, but Kara rather enjoyed shocking them. “Somewhere around seven million.”

Aragorn, at the head of the line, stopped walking. “Seven million? That cannot be.”

Boromir’s jaw hung slack. “But the amount of food to feed such a multitude would be immense, an impossibility! Not to speak of the problem of waste and transportation, education and governance…”

Kara knew he was in training to be a Steward of Gondor, but she was still impressed that he grasped the difficulties at once. “It is a logistical piece of work,” she agreed. “But we’ve grown up to that size over time, you know, and we have the technology to support it. Though I admit, education is still a problem, and every now and then the city floods, because it is basically built over a swamp.”

“You must find our world both empty and lonely,” Aragorn said.

“Surprisingly, no, or at least not in a bad way. Sometimes you can feel more alone among seven million people than seven.”

He looked at her thoughtfully, but Boromir was still thinking through the scale. “Do you have a king? Or perhaps a queen? You must have enormous army reserves.”

Kara didn’t feel like explaining the state/federal layout of the United States, so she decided to keep it local. “There’s no king, my people don’t really care for monarchies.”

“Do you have a steward?” Boromir asked.

Aragorn kept his face resolutely toward the path, though it was clear he was listening.

“No, we have a governor of the state, and a mayor of each city—“

“We have mayors!” Merry and Pippin proclaimed. “We win!”

“Our mayors and governers are elected every four or six years,” Kara added. “And another group makes laws and handle taxes and so on, who are also elected. It doesn’t work perfectly, but we muddle along.”

Both Boromir and Aragorn looked dubious. Boromir kicked a large branch out of the hobbits’ way. “I cannot imagine how a changeable authority, elected by the masses, could handle a sustained conflict.”

Aragorn nodded. “And if the country is at the mercy of the majority, justice will not always be served. Even a well-educated populace with uniform morals could be led astray, particularly if there were an internal conflict.”

Kara groaned. “I should’ve realized you would both be political science nerds. Legolas, you’re a prince, right? Don’t you have criticism to share?”

He smiled wistfully. “Not as yet. I cannot claim that even elven kings are perfectly just.”

Gimli guffawed. “That is the truth, though I never thought I’d hear an elf admit it! Why Legolas’s father King Thranduil kept my father Gloin in a dungeon for weeks! With no provocation other than his presence in Mirkwood!”

Legolas looked a little stern again. “He would not have kept him there for long.”

“That’s mighty fine talking when it’s long over.”

Legolas grunted, having no heart for much defense.

Kara cut back in, “You can vote once you turn eighteen.”

“That seems young,” Aragorn commented.

“Infants,” Gimli put in.

“You are all young,” Legolas said.

“That’s hardly fair,” said Merry, “elves can’t possibly have a proper perspective on age. Now hobbits, we have it reasonable. You can run for mayor at thirty-three, once you’re considered an adult hobbit. Pippin is still in his tweens, that’s why he’s so flighty.”

Sam raised his voice, “How old are you, Miss Kara?”

“Did Gandalf not tell you? How old do you think I am?”

She could not have gotten more diverse answers with a room full of children. The hobbits thought she was fairly mature—though there was debate that her coming on this journey didn’t augur well for that—so they guessed at least mid-fifties. But Frodo pointed out that she was Gandalf’s apprentice and there was no knowing with wizard types. He threw a hundred in there as a guess, and when Legolas was asked he shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest idea, you could be twelve or two hundred.”

Boromir only laughed and would not be drawn in. “In families of men you learn not to guess a woman’s age.”

Aragorn shook his head. “This looks a likely place for our rest. We will stop here for now, and sleep quietly during the daylight hours.” It was a high, flat ridge with large, exposed boulders, holly bushes, and a few good spots for a protected fire.

They all began to sling off their packs and get comfortable.

“Well, go on then,” said Pippin. “How old are you, Kara? I say whoever got closest gets to skip camp chores this morning.”

Aragorn glanced back. “You can say whatever you’d like, but firewood won’t collect itself.”

“Spoilsport!” Pippin called with no less good cheer. “Go on then.”

Kara told them her age, and there were groans from the hobbits. “You’re barely out of your tweens! We all guessed too high. Legolas was closest with twelve.”

Legolas bowed. “I will bear my triumph with humility.”

Kara leaned against a rock as the sun began to come up in the east. She drank from her water skin and relished the early morning light on her face. The others were spread about, appreciating the break. Perhaps it was the lively conversation, but the party did not seem so exhausted as usual. Instead of immediately rolling into their blankets for sleep, Boromir sparred with Merry and Pippin. Gimli dozed in the sun, and Legolas and Aragorn watched the sword practice with good-natured criticism. Gandalf was grumping to Sam about cooking.

It wasn’t long before Merry and Pippin knocked Boromir down. He went down laughing and Kara thought suddenly what a good father he would’ve been. She saw all types of parents at the hospital, and you couldn’t always tell what people were like… but there were tells. Like if a parent responded with laughter rather than annoyance when their kid surprised them. He was patient in teaching, too, and his jesting never got mean.

Suddenly Legolas leapt up on a rock and shaded his eyes. “A cloud comes.”

They weren’t sure, arguing about the wind, but Kara knew what was coming. She’d lost track of the days, and somehow this event took her off guard. Had it really been so long?

“Crebain from Dunland!” Legolas shouted.

“Hide,” shouted Aragorn.

Kara ran to take cover along with the others, though there was not much room under the spreading bushes with their earthy-colored leaves and dark berries. There should only be nine, Kara thought. They have enough hiding space for nine, but barely ten.

I’m superfluous. It was not a new thought, but it wasn’t usually so physically obvious. Kara curled in a ball to get her legs out of sight, squeezed between Sam and Aragorn. The birds made shrill and angry cries as they circled the mountain. They were nothing like the wraiths, but they were unpleasant. They seemed to circle much longer than Kara remembered from the story. Sometimes they left and Kara would begin to unwind , but Aragorn would place a hand on her arm to pause her. “Not yet.”

Sure enough the beat of large wings and wild bird cries would return. Gimli began to snore, and several of the others seemed to give up and go to sleep, despite their discomfort.

“How long?” Sam murmured when surely several hours had passed and still the birds returned.

“All day if we must,” Aragorn said. “Sleep, Sam. We must walk again tonight; we all need rest.”

“I’m sorry, but I have got to reposition,” Kara said. “My legs are killing me. Can we make any more room?”

Sam wiggled a little to his right and Aragorn shifted to the left, so that Kara was able to belly crawl further in next to them. She gasped as her legs began to wake up.

This new position put her almost face to face with Aragorn, which was disconcerting. It was possible—though she would deny it if asked—that she’d studied his face as they trekked. It was possible that she thought he was handsome and more than a little hot. None of those things affected her terribly…it was just objective truth. Ninety-nine women out of a hundred would think so. On the other hand, lying under a bush only inches from his face was awkward. He must’ve felt it too for he tried to shift away a little more, but Merry yelped sleepily, “Oi, Strider, you’ll smother me.”

“Sh,” Aragorn reminded him. “Low voices.”

Kara turned her head the other way to look at Sam and Merry, but that put her face right next to their hairy hobbit feet and that was just not okay.

She turned back with a wrinkled nose. Between staring at Aragorn’s eyes, or worse, his mouth, Kara settled on his nose. “Hobbit feet are a little disturbing.”

“I have very nice feet,” Merry hissed from somewhere near her knees. “The Brandybucks are known for it, whatever the Proudfoots’ may say.”

Aragorn smiled. “I’d have to hear their claim and see evidence to decide. Peace, Merry.”

This close she couldn’t not watch Aragorn’s jaw and throat as he spoke, the ripple of movement, the stretch of lips. There was a gentleness to Aragorn that belied his violent capabilities. He even smelled good, rather like rain and woodsmoke and something nutty—maybe almond.

Okay, drat, Kara admitted to herself, I totally have a crush on him. But who wouldn’t? Her feelings were just as much real caring as heady crush, and she could just as easily promote his match to Eowyn. She’d given some thought to that, and she thought Eowyn might do very well for this version of Aragorn. Sure, Eowyn was supposed to end up with Faramir, but Kara hadn’t met him yet, so it was easy to push his claim to the side. Besides, Kara had always suspected that was a bit of a last-minute match, maybe to placate Tolkien’s wife or something. Faramir was no doubt a great guy, but there were probably lots of Gondorian women already half in love with him. Aragorn deserved someone special, and Eowyn was awesome. She was going to kill the Witch King, for heaven’s sake. If any woman was Aragorn’s equal in the stories, it was her. Kara hated that, as of now, Eowyn must be suffering under Wormtongue, and all but despairing of King Theoden’s life.

“What troubles you?” Aragorn asked quietly.

Kara realized that she’d been staring at his eyes again while lost in thought.

His eyes flickered over her. “The crebain will pass. If they had seen us here, they would’ve disappeared back to Isengard at once.”

“I was thinking of Rohan, actually.”

“Rohan? But why?”

“Have you been there?”

“Many years ago.”

“Oh right, of course you have. I just wish there was something we could do for them now… Did you ever meet Theoden’s niece and nephew? Eowyn and Eomer?”

“Not that I recall. They might have been young children when I was last there.” He studied her. “Are they also part of the mythology of your world?”

“Yes.”

“Then I look forward to meeting them in a better hour.” They fell into silence again as the wing beats returned. Kara closed her eyes, and to her surprise, she must have fallen asleep, for she woke to Merry gently poking her in the ribs. “They’re all gone now. Aragorn has given the all-clear.”

Kara was alone in their hiding spot, and she rubbed her eyes before clambering out. Her whole conversation with Aragorn seemed rather like a dream.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

The next day Sam slipped while skinning a rabbit and gave himself a vicious slash on his hand.

He had just gotten Aragorn to sharpen the knife for him that morning, and Aragorn had done so with careful strokes that Kara had decided she shouldn’t watch for her own peace of mind.

“Ow, ow! Crumbles and crybabies,” Sam exclaimed. “I’ve done it now. Stupid, Samwise! As if you don’t know how to use a knife.”

Kara was close by. “Here, Sam, let me see.”

His poor trousers had already been splattered with drops of blood, and she held his hand to let it drip on the ground. It squirted distressingly with each heartbeat. He must have hit an arterial vein. That wasn’t ideal. Kara pressed the cut closed, ignoring the blood welling up between her fingers with each heartbeat and Sam’s whimpers. “Yes, I know it hurts, but we must apply pressure. Can someone bring the bandages?”

Aragorn had brought a few small lengths of cottonwool in case one of them was injured, and he fetched them now. “Should it be stitched up? The blade was sharp.”

“If we were at home, yes, definitely, but…do you have sutures? A needle?”

“Of course.” He brought those as well. “I’ll do it myself if you wish. I have sewn up my fellow Rangers on many occasions.”

“That’s okay, I’m pretty good at stitches. Texas law allows RNs to do minor medical procedures—not that that matters here.”

She used a piece of the cottonwool to staunch the bleeding for another ten minutes with firm pressure, then removed the pad. “I think it’s ready for sutures. We just need to disinfect this.”

Aragorn finished cutting a length of greased thread. “What does that mean?”

“Disinfect, like—Oh, gosh. Do you guys not have germ theory yet?” Kara exhaled shakily. “I don’t know if I can deal with that. I mean, medieval customs and an embodied dark lord—fine, whatever. But freaking germ theory is a step too far! Tolkien couldn’t at least have gone with World War 1 levels of medical knowledge?”

Sam blanched. “What’s a germ? Am I going to—to die?”

Gandalf was also frowning. “World war one? When did your people begin counting?”

Kara shook her head, “Sam, you’ll be fine, I’m sorry I said anything. I just need some alcohol for the needle.”

“I dinna think we have any alcohol,” Gimli said. “We finished the wine of Rivendell weeks ago.”

Boromir shook his head. “Nor I.”

Sam had gone quite pale watching his hand bleed, but now he looked up. “I ‘ave some. Tiny flask of whiskey.”

Frodo looked scandalized. “Whiskey? Sam, you can barely handle a pint of home-brewed!”

“It weren’t for me!” Sam protested. “It’s for soup. You can make a delicious stew with a bit of bird and whiskey. I was savin’ it.”

“Then I am terribly sorry, but I’ll need to use it,” Kara said. “You could’ve gotten anything in this cut, and who knows where Aragorn’s needle and thread have been? No offense.”

Aragorn looked amused rather than offended. “I have washed them with soap and water.”

“Which I appreciate, but it just won’t do. Unless—“ Kara gasped. “Maybe there aren’t microbes here? Do you ever get sick?”

“Oh, we get sick,” Pippin announced proudly. “I once had a stomach flu for a week. Mum thought I was going to die.”

Gandalf waved impatiently. “Elves generally do not, and dwarves are most hearty, but men and hobbits have terrible illnesses. I do not think our worlds are so different as all that.”

“Okay, good. I mean, I wouldn’t wish viral and bacterial disease on anyone, but it’s sort of comforting that you have them.”

Frodo fetched the flask and Aragorn carefully poured a tiny amount down the thread and needle as Kara directed. She also poured some on Sam’s hand, and he howled in pain. Kara wasn’t unsympathetic, but she’d dealt with a lot of people in pain. The fastest way out was through, and it didn’t help him if she was distracted by his suffering. Sam took a couple swallows of whiskey before she began to sew.

“That’s enough to knock him sideways,” Frodo whispered.

Kara was as quick as she could be, although knotting each stitch took a moment. When she was done, Sam took a ragged breath. “That twasn’t as bad as I thought, but can we cover it up? It I don’t like seeing them tiny knots in my skin.”

“Absolutely,” Kara agreed.

Aragorn bound it up while Kara used some of their water to wash her hands. Thankfully Hollin was full of streams and finding more water was not yet an issue.

“That’s the tidiest set of stitches I’ve ever seen,” Aragorn told Sam. “I’m certain you will heal up quickly.”

As they ate a breakfast for supper, before they lay down to sleep until the afternoon, Gandalf said, “Do you know, Kara, I begin to think our worlds are not so very different. Perhaps your stories are more history than mythology. You say your world is dominated by men, though there are some small people. It is only elves that have completely disappeared, which is already happening now, in the Third Age. I’m sure it would be complete in several more. Also your cities are so large, it would take thousands of years to build up that sort of population.”

“But that’s just… no,” Kara said. “There’s no Valinor, there’s no mystic islands of elves or whatever. We’ve mapped the whole planet. We know where everything is.”

Gandalf didn’t look dismayed. “The song of Eru is mysterious at best. Nor does your different culture dismay me. Though your customs and “technology” may be different, you perfectly understand our society and our morals. You understand self-sacrifice, friendship, and kindness—I do not think a wholly other world accounts for how easily you have slipped into this one.”

“But—those similarities could also be because the person who wrote the stories based them off my world. The stories have heroes and values we admire because we wanted them to.”

Aragorn looked at her, and Kara faltered. “Not that you are imaginary, but—”

Thankfully Gandalf cut her off before she could make it worse. “Well, it is possible that what you say is true, but it is also possible that what I say is true. I find I prefer to think of you as a time traveler than a world jumper.”

Soon they were all less hungry and more sleepy, and the party broke apart to rest. They all knew what would suit them best at this point. Gimli liked rock beneath him; he said it felt like home. The hobbits found the softest grass or leaves to burrow in. Boromir could sleep on anything, but he liked some sort of pillow, even if it was a lumpy satchel or a rock. Gandalf and Legolas didn’t seem to need as much sleep as the rest of them, but if they did lie down, they preferred to see the sky. Kara had discovered that she liked to be covered, and if possible, have her back to something. She preferred branches or overhangs above her with a tree or rock at her back.

Tonight her hands shook as she spread her bed roll near the hobbits under a very low-hanging pine bough. She would roll up in her blankets and be almost completely enclosed. She slept better in small spaces.

“Are you well?” Aragorn asked. He was returning with fresh water and must have noticed her shaky hands. “Sam will be fine.”

“Probably so. It was just that seeing his blood, it was so much like the real world—“ she cut off at his slight grimace. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t mean to keep saying that.”

He rolled the waterskin in his hands. “You need not put up a pretense. In your eyes, there is a real world and there is this one.”

“No, I—I believe that you’re real.”

“You don’t.” He shook his head, though his expression was gentle. “One shouldn’t lie, Kara, especially to themselves.”

“You haven’t ever—that’s the first time you’ve used my name.” The hobbits and Gimli and even Boromir and Legolas mostly treated her like a sister now, rarely using formal terms to address her except in jokes. Aragorn had not done that.

“Perhaps I’ve not been entirely honest with myself either.” His gaze flickered over her, and his hands tightened on the waterskin, as if to keep them from reaching for anything else. “You still view us as a story, and perhaps that is for the best. You may return to your world as quickly as you came into this one.” He gave a slight, pained smile as he shook a strand of hair out of his eyes. “It is best if none of this is real to you.”

His words stayed with Kara and she felt both guilty and trapped as the next week passed. He was right. In many ways she still did not truly believe they were real. Sam’s injury had shaken her, but it was far from complete. And she could not will herself to believe differently. She could control her thoughts, but not her heart.

As they discussed routes, Kara grappled with herself. Could she really watch them struggle through the same mistakes? Almost freezing to death on the pass of Caradhras? Moria and Gandalf’s fall? Poor Merry and Pippin mistreated during a nightmarish three days with the orcs? And poor Boromir…

Some things must happen—was not Gandalf’s fall the genesis of his change to Gandalf the White? Didn’t Merry and Pippin need to meet Treebeard? Would Boromir screw everything up if he lived?

Maybe. But she didn’t see why EVERYthing had to stay the same. The fellowship could just as well seek out the ents later, if Kara told them they must. And did Boromir’s father have to lose his mind with grief? Kara didn’t doubt that Gandalf and Aragorn could take Denethor down even if he didn’t peace out the night before the battle. Perhaps Boromir would fight for his father against Aragorn. That would be bad. But then, Boromir believed in Aragorn by the time he died, didn’t he? There was that whole, my brother, my captain, my king…

Kara took Gandalf aside the morning before Caradhras. There was already snow on the ground, and Kara felt half-frozen in her elven boots. “What if I said we shouldn’t do this?”

Gandalf looked none-too-chipper this morning either. “Then I’d say you could’ve spoken up four days ago, before we got this high on the foothills of the mountains.”

“I know. Maybe I should have, but I couldn’t make up my mind. This is an epic story—many people think it is perfect—so I’m scared to make it worse. There were supposed to be nine walkers to match the nine riders, but now that I am here, I’d have to be a really heartless bitch to do nothing. Excuse my language.”

He sighed. “You are not excused; you mustn’t use vulgar expressions about yourself. Kara, you have a compassionate heart, and you would save us all pain—but I think you are intelligent enough to realize not all pain can be spared. Sometimes the cut must be stitched, for example.”

“Yes, exactly. But sometimes pain is just… pain. It doesn’t serve any purpose.”

“Then which way must we go?”

She hesitated. “The pass will close in a blizzard. Saruman will nearly kill us with an avalanche. Legolas will hear his voice in the wind. In the end, you give Frodo the choice and he chooses… Moria.”

Gandalf rubbed his long nose. “I see. And do you choose Moria?”

“I think it has to happen,” Kara whispered. She would spare Frodo the remorse of choosing it, if she could. She knew he would blame himself when Gandalf fell.

Gandalf looked her in the eye. “Do you know what dwells there? I only know that there is a great evil roused by the dwarves.”

“I think I do.”

“Hm. Very well.”

When they caught up with the group on the snowy slope of the mountain, Gandalf shouted. “Hey, up there, stop!”

Aragorn and Legolas paused and the whole line turned to look back at them.

“Kara has had a premonition,” Gandalf said, “about the pass of Caradhras and the Redhorn Gate. She feels we ought not take it.”

“What? Why?” asked Frodo.

“What sort of premonition?” asked Boromir.

“What is a premonition?” asked Merry.

Legolas and Aragorn were silent.

Gandalf shook some snow off his hat. “The sort of premonition that means we must reconsider our path. We have reason to believe a terrible snowstorm will block us in the Pass. Kara even predicts an avalanche, a completely impassable route. She has voted for Moria. What say you?”

“We need not travel the dark paths of Moria or Caradhras,” Boromir said. “Let us make for the Gap of Rohan. You will be refreshed with rest and food. If the ring must go to Mordor, we could even cross the river at Osgiliath and examine Ithilien for a way through.”

“If the ring goes to Isengard we are as good as lost,” Aragorn said. “And I would not bring it within twenty leagues of Gondor.”

Boromir turned on him. “Have you so little faith in your own people? I give you my word that I would let the ring—”

“Don’t make oaths about the ring,” Aragorn said sharply. “It is treacherous; it will break you if it can.”

Gimli broke in. “There is no need for this argument! Moria is no dark cave, but a masterpiece of centuries. Long have I wish to set eyes upon it. Let us go without further ado!”

Aragorn made a quiet fist. “Gandalf, you already know my thoughts. I have a premonition that you ought not enter Moria. My memories of that place are evil, but my heart tells me you are more at risk than any of us. Let us at least try the Pass.”

Kara had not remembered that this was Aragorn’s plan. Perhaps she should’ve let it play out…but it was so pointless.

Gandalf looked to Frodo. “What does the Ringbearer say?”

And still somehow it came to this.

Frodo looked up at the mountain. “I think we should try the mountain. Saruman doesn’t know exactly where we are, does he? Perhaps we may get through.”

This time Kara was the one whose shoulders slumped. She could have spared her arguments with herself.

It happened as she had said, only this time everyone looked at her when things got worse. Even Legolas looked warily at her as he said, “I hear a foul voice on the wind.”

Aragorn and Boromir plowed a way through the snow for the rest of them, and she could not imagine how tired they must be. When the wind picked up and the snow came down with renewed fury, Boromir stopped, “The hobbits cannot take much more of this! Shall we wait for the avalanche to turn us back, or listen to reason now?”

Aragorn’s face was rock hard. “You speak from desperation, not reason.”

The hobbits were almost too cold to speak. They hunched down in the path tamped down by Boromir to get out of the wind. Frodo seemed to be falling asleep. Legolas was up above, walking on top of the snow.

Boromir’s face was red with exertion and frustration, but he followed on with Aragorn after they roused the hobbits. It was not far before Kara’s reputation of foresight was made. There was a rumbling sound; then the crash of rock and snow.

Perhaps because she’d told them it was coming, but everyone was ready. At the first rumble, they threw themselves toward the rock face for what protection they could find. The smash of snow still buried the hobbits and even Gimli, but they were soon extracted.

This time Gandalf was the one to halt them. “Kara was right; let us go down!” he shouted over the sound of the storm. “The mountain will kill us if it can!”

They began a retreat, after Gandalf gave each of them a swallow of miruvor from the elves. It gave them all a new strength and warmth in their limbs, so that they could force their way through the snow a little longer. It had piled up so high, that the hobbits could not navigate it at all. After some discussion, it was decided that Aragorn and Boromir would each carry a hobbit on their back, and then come back for the next two.

Kara sniffed, her nose was no doubt as red as a holly berry. “I can’t carry Sam, but I think I could get Frodo. I bet Legolas could piggyback Pippin.”

They were dubious, but they were also frozen, and when Frodo clambered on Kara’s back, they were willing to give it a try.

Aragorn held Kara’s arm as she got her balance with Frodo’s weight. “You need not—”

“I’ll be fine.” And she was fine. She placed her feet carefully. Frodo was heavier than a child, but he clung onto her and they managed quite well.

When they got past a large rock about halfway down, the snow was suddenly no more than ankle deep. It was a great relief to everyone.

Aragorn walked next to her for a span. “You have not said I told you so, even though I did not take your word about the mountain. You have told us it is a common phrase in your world.”

“It is, but I’m not a jerk. I wish the mountain had worked, too.”

“You showed great resolve carrying Frodo. I fear I have not been fair to you. Whatever you may believe about us, you have not deserved the suspicion and distrust I’ve shown you.”

“Eh, it’s fine. Nothing a little therapy won’t fix.” Kara wasn’t even joking. If she ever made it home, she was definitely going to start therapy again. So, I met my heroes, and they were funny and incredible, but they didn’t really trust me. I screwed up their whole story and developed the biggest crush, so I’m never going to be okay with modern men…

Aragorn often passed over phrases he did not understand, but this time he asked. “What is therapy?”

Kara almost slid on the packed snow, and he took her arm to help her keep her feet. He didn’t take his hand away, silently offering to help her down the steep, icy path.

“Therapy is—well—you talk to a person who is trained in dealing with painful thoughts and emotions. They listen and they… help you. They help you figure out why you might be frightened or make bad choices. They help you create better thoughts and make better choices.”

“That sounds rather like… a friend.”

“Except for the part where they’re experienced in helping people.”

He smiled. “Perhaps like an ancient elf or very old dwarf who has accumulated much wisdom?”

Kara sniffed again, the cold making her nose run. “I guess it’s not completely unlike that, except you have to pay a therapist. I assume Legolas bosses you around for free.”

“He does try at times. He has very decided opinions about my life.” Aragorn gave a rare wide smile as he thought of his friend.

Kara caught her breath. It was the first true smile she’d seen from him and he was stupidly handsome.

He added, “You’re an asset to the fellowship, Kara; I hope you will remember that when you go home.”

Kara’s eyes filled with tears as he went to discuss the path to Moria with Gandalf. How did he know just what she needed to hear when she was feeling extra useless and unnecessary?

Just remember, she told herself, Eowyn needs him and he needs her.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Kara was relieved to get out of the snow, that she couldn’t deny. Houston had the occasional icy day of winter, but for the most part it was hot or hotter. Snow was not part of her experience.

She didn’t even realize that she’d stopped shivering until she started again, as they reached lower elevations and the air warmed slightly. Soon she was shivering so hard she could hardly walk.

Boromir noticed and took her arm lest she stumble. “Don’t worry. The cold is hitting you now that you are warmer. That’s a good thing.”

“I g-g-guess so.”

“Lady Kara,” Boromir said, “do not you think we should go to my city? You were right about the Pass, they all see it now. Why not make for Gondor? There is precious little safety in any route, but at least it is familiar territory to myself, Aragorn, and Gandalf.”

“Lady Kara? You haven’t called me that in a while.”

“The hobbits’ style of informality has become my own, but the mountain reminded me what you are. Do consider what I say. I know Aragorn does not trust me, but he and Gandalf respect your insight. Aragorn thinks I would steal the ring for myself, but I would not.”

There was bitterness in his voice, and Kara placed her hand over his for a moment. “He doesn’t think that. He knows your loyalty is to your city and your father. It’s not you, Boromir, it’s the ring. Aragorn doesn’t trust anyone with it. Not even himself.”

“Still, think on it? They will listen to you.”

“Okay. I will.”

Kara had finally stopped shivering when Frodo tripped and slid down part of the embankment. She didn’t think much of it until she saw the chain in the last remnants of the snow. The one ring had come off Frodo’s neck, and it shone in the sunlight as if on purpose to tempt Boromir.

Shouldn’t this have happened earlier? She was getting confused with the timeline. Still, she did not want Boromir any closer to the ring than necessary. Kara let go of his arm and sprang forward to snatch it up. “Here, Frodo—the ring.”

Her steps faltered as the chain dangled from her fingers. Her reflection in the ring was smooth and perfect. The sublime beauty of the gold made her want to touch it. Like Polly with the rings in Uncle Andrew’s study—it called to her. If Kara had been a child, she might have put it in her mouth.

She hadn’t felt the call of the ring up to now. Maybe a slight uneasiness, but she’d thought it didn’t work on her since she wasn’t from this world anyway. Between one step and the next, she discovered her mistake. All she could see was the ring. It spoke into her mind, and she knew it could take her home.

I know every world, it seemed to say. Every world knows me. I can take you back. Even better, you will take the ring away from the others. It will no longer tempt them; it will no longer destroy the ringbearer. You could save them all.

“Kara!” Aragorn snapped. He’d come to her shoulder. “Give the ring to Frodo.”

“Right—yes, of course.” She approached Frodo, who looked at her with worry for the first time. He put it on and tucked it under his tunic at once.

“I’m so sorry you have to do this,” Kara said. “I thought the ring wouldn’t affect me, but...”

Frodo’s eyes shadowed. “But it does. I know.”

Everybody was in a better mood by the time they made it down the mountain. Even Kara, though her brush with the ring had thoroughly unsettled her, had at least compartmentalized it enough to think of other things.

Going down was so much faster, they made camp in the place they’d stayed two nights previously. Their fire ring and a little extra wood was still there, making it easy to light a fire. Aragorn managed to shoot two woodco*cks, and with those birds, Sam happily used the last of his whiskey to make the soup he’d told them about. He said his hand only ached. “If the snow did one good thing,” he said, “it numbed my hand for a day or so.”

Kara was terrible at recognizing herbs—the hobbits laughed themselves to pieces at how often she grabbed useless weeds or briars—so she helped by laying out their blankets to dry while the hobbits collected a few bits of greenery to add to the soup.

Aragorn joined her, shaking out blankets and trimming some twigs off a branch so they might drape the blankets over without tearing holes. He didn’t say anything, and the silence made Kara feel more and more uneasy.

“The ring caught me off guard today,” she said finally, “but I’ll be careful. I don’t want you to think the worst of me.”

“I think the worst of all of us when the ring is involved. Myself included.” He moved to another nearby branch, head height, and began trimming it. He spoke softly. “There are two dangers to the ring in the Fellowship. First are those who might take it by force.” He did not name names, but Kara winced, thinking of Boromir. “Second are those to whom Frodo would willingly give it, if asked. I fear you fall in the second category.”

“I won’t ask.” They were out of earshot of any of the others, but she threw up another blanket to block them from even the view of anyone else. She drew close enough to whisper. “Unless… if there was a possibility the ring might disappear for good, without all this suffering, would that be worth trying?” She raised a hand at his alarmed expression. “It’s a genuine question. If you tell me it’s not, I’ll believe you, but don’t I owe it to Frodo to ask? The ring is going to destroy him.”

“Gandalf believes in him.”

“I do, too, Frodo and Sam are the best, but if there was another way—”

“If there were easy solutions to evil, it would not be evil.” Aragorn gripped her hand. “Whatever the ring promised you, it lies. If you could take it back to your world, what then? Are all men virtuous and content in your world?”

“No.”

“Is all power shared in perfect amity and humility?”

“No, of course not. But Sauron is not there! He wouldn’t be there to power the ring.”

“I suspect anywhere there is great evil, the ring would wreak havoc. Is there no great evil in your world?”

Kara was silent.

“Then it would be as much a bane to you as to us.” He’d gripped her hand in his desperation, but now he released it, almost as if he’d touched the ring. “As it is a bane to me. I fear myself more than any of you.”

Kara hated the defeat on his face. “You won’t take the ring. You don’t have to be afraid for yourself.” Arwen was supposed to tell him this, wasn’t she?

Aragorn sheathed his knife and pocketed it. “You don’t know me.”

This time she reached for him, placing a hand on his shoulder to make him look at her. “You’re Isildur’s heir, but you’re not Isildur himself.” It would mean a lot more coming from Arwen since she, like, knew Isildur and Aragorn. But better Kara than nobody.

Of course, didn’t Aragorn kiss Arwen after that? Drat, now she was thinking about that. She hefted Gimli’s short, thick blanket and threw it over the branch. “If you believe I’m from the future of this world, then you can trust what I say.”

“Thank you,” Aragorn said. “I hope you’re right.”

She smiled shakily. “I’m always right, haven’t you heard?”

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Sometimes the hobbits asked for stories in the evenings, and on their way to Moria, they asked again.

“It’s Kara’s turn,” Pippin said. “Gimli went the night before Caradhras, and Legolas the night before that. Give us another, Kara! The Lion, the Witch, and the Cupboard was excellent. Are there more?”

So Kara told them about Prince Caspian, although she’d forgotten that Caspian was the true king who had to retake the throne from his Uncle Miraz, who had called himself the Lord Protector of Narnia. It was not quite the same as a Steward of Gondor, but it wasn’t totally different either.

“A werewolf?” Frodo interrupted the story. “What is that?”

“Oh, it was a man who could turn into a wolf.”

“Ah, a skin-changer—like Beorn,” Frodo said contentedly. “Bilbo would love this story. Do go on.”

“Well, he was an evil werewolf, so Trumpkin and the Pevensies burst in and killed him and the witch.”

“Very proper,” Gimli said, who considered Trumpkin the dwarf to be the protagonist of the story. “But what I want to know is more about Aslan’s How. Wasn’t there any information on how it was built over the table? One doesn’t just create caves and tunnels in a day, you know!”

Boromir fingered the white horn that hung from his waist. “The horn of Queen Susan sounds very like the Horn of Gondor.”

Gandalf puffed on his pipe. “Interesting that only humans were meant to rule that country, rather than the other creatures. Very interesting. You said Aslan’s home was across the ocean?”

“In the east across the ocean. I think that was all it said. In another story, they almost reach it.”

“Hm.”

“Let her finish,” said Merry. “I want to know what happens to the talking badger.”

The following day, they headed toward the mountain valley that held the gates of Moria. Kara wondered if the creature in the lake, which had very little effect on the overall story, was safe to tell them about. At least she had a day or two to think about it.

Boromir fell into step with her on the rocky path. “You did not decide for Gondor.”

“I couldn’t; I’m sorry. Even if I said so, I don’t think Gandalf or the others would agree.”

“Maybe not.” He sighed. “I hope you’ll see the city someday. I think you would like it.”

“I totally would.”

He and Kara were at the rear of the group, and Kara slowed a bit to let Legolas get further ahead of them. “I know you want the ring for your father, but Boromir—it really won’t work. Even yesterday, the ring tempted me to abandon you all. I almost did, and I only held it a few seconds! It’s worse than I thought.”

His brow furrowed. “I’m sorry you were frightened, but your goal has always been to return home. If it offers what you seek, obviously it offered that. But I seek the salvation of my city.”

“But it really won’t work—”

“I know!” He threw up a hand. “I know what you would say. I’ve given my word to help Frodo and I do not break my word.” He strode away from her, and Kara sighed.

Legolas waited for her. “You cannot change the hearts of men; they are easily corrupted by power.”

“Dude, you have ears like a bat.”

He smiled. “May I say in turn that you have the subtlety of an oliphaunt?”

“Ouch. And that’s not fair. I wasn’t trying to be subtle; I wanted to warn him.”

“Yes, but you are still tempted by the ring, are you not? Your breathing speeds when you think of it.”

“I don’t want to be.”

Legolas shrugged. “Nor do any of us. I suppose you are not wrong to try to warn Boromir, but I would warn you again, his fate is not likely to be swayed by you.”

Kara kicked a rock. “I know. Nobody’s fate is likely to be swayed by me, apparently.”

“I didn’t say that.” He looked to the head of the company where Frodo walked behind Aragorn.

“I know; I want to save Frodo too,” Kara said, “but I’m not sure I should try to change anything. There’s a reason he’s the ringbearer; he’s all but incorruptible.”

Legolas gave her a strange look. “Sometimes I think your mythology blinds you to what is truly happening. You see only through the narrow window of your expectations.”

“Ugh. Aragorn was right, you are kind of like a therapist.”

Legolas smiled quizzically. “Is that a good thing?”

“I don’t know. It depends how much you cost and how good your advice is.”

“My advice on what?”

“I don’t know. Want to take a stab at my whole predicament here? I know too much, but also not enough. I might be able to help, but I also might destroy everything. What if I change one thing and then that changes something else and so on until I fast-track the ring to Sauron on a platter?”

“That is a distressing image indeed. Very well, my advice is this: do not look too far to the past or future, for that way brings much fear and grief. Do what is necessary for today and find what usefulness and joy you may in the present moment. As one who has lived and will live far longer than you, believe me that the present is the only place to dwell safely. If we try to divine every outcome, we seek to hear not only the song of Eru but every conceivable song that could be played, and we go mad.”

Kar sighed. “Darn it. That does sound like good advice, but I’ll have to think about how to do it.”

“Good advice is sometimes simple, but never easy. As for the price—”

“What? You greedy elf, I was kidding. I don’t actually have any money.

He smiled. “You can afford this.”

He chose his words carefully, “Aragorn is much perplexed just now. He carries the burden of the fellowship, as well as the uncertainty of his destiny. I am glad to see him throw off gloom with his friends. With you, at times. Care for him as a friend then, as I do, but do not wish for more. I fear it would hurt you both.”

“Believe me, I know it.” Kara wasn’t as embarrassed as she would’ve expected. She wasn’t thrilled that Legolas had caught on to her slight infatuation with Aragorn, but at least he was very matter of fact about it. Probably living thousands of years gave a guy pretty decent perspective. “Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass him or myself by making it awkward. I live to avoid the awkward.”

Legolas smiled. “Such a strange perspective.”

They set up another small camp as evening fell. Gandalf stopped on a high round hill crowned with a sad copse of winter-dry trees. Gandalf and Aragorn were even going to permit a fire.

Unfortunately, a more ominous sound than hungry stomachs interrupted their usual activities. The howl of wolves sounded nearby.

They all listened intently and heard another round of howls and then another. The way they had come was lit poorly by the cloudy evening sky, but suddenly gray forms appeared. There were multiple sets of eyes, and no sooner had they appeared, than Aragorn shouted, “Wolves of Sauron! Arm yourselves.”

Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, and Boromir put themselves between the hobbits and danger as best they could. Soon Legolas’s arrows flew, Gimli’s axe swung, and two swords flashed. The hobbits had their small swords out, and they ruthlessly stabbed at any wolves that fell at the others’ strokes but still twitched on the ground.

Kara didn’t have a bow and arrow, so she grabbed a flaming branch from their fire and swung it as best she could toward any wolves that got near. Their glistening yellow teeth made her think of the wounds she’d seen at the ER from dog attacks. She smacked one wolf in the flank and it yelped away.

Another sank its teeth into the branch, almost in the manner of a dog playing tug-of-war, except this one wanted to tear her throat out. She tugged at the branch, but the wolf didn’t even seem to feel it, let alone the fire licking its muzzle.

Aragorn’s sword sliced across its ribs. “Kara, get back!”

She did, but only to grab up another burning log. This time she hurled it, as she saw three wolves at once bearing down on Gimli. The log smacked the center wolf, and Gimli dispatched the one on the left, while Boromir sliced off the head of the third.

Gandalf was busy with his staff. In a few seconds, he’d cast a great bolt of fire into the nearby treetops. The fire jumped like a salamander from one tree to the next, until they were ringed in the brightest white fire, almost rainbow colored in its brilliance.

Some wolves burnt, many retreated.

As the fire died down, Gandalf sighed. “I have just said, “Gandalf is here!” in unmistakable signs. I fear we must now rely on speed rather than stealth to avoid any enemies.”

Kara had been scared but focused during the attack; now she began to shiver. “I didn’t know that attack was going to happen. It shouldn’t have happened. I would’ve warned you! What good am I if I don’t know what’s going to happen?”

It was Gandalf who comforted her, though his comfort was rather gruff. “Yet I also did not know; nor did Aragorn or Boromir sense the enemy; nor did Legolas’s keen ears give us warning. Are we also useless?”

“That’s different. I have one job on this stupid trip…” Kara was caught between laughing and crying.

“Warning us of every danger is not your purpose,” Gandalf said. “What a dreadful burden that would be.”

In the morning, the bodies of the wolves had disappeared, and Legolas went around to collect his arrows. “Kara, you must learn to shoot. I have the steady nerves and heart of an elf, yet even I was made short of breath when you went to battle with no more than a branch. I believe all of us,” he glanced at Aragorn, who was studiously bandaging Sam’s hand again, “would be glad for you to have a reason to stand back.”

“I won’t argue with that, but we don’t have another bow, do we? At least, not till Lorien or—er, anywhere else we might stop.”

He did not seem to notice her slip. “I have another bow, and Aragorn has one for hunting. I will teach you, unless Aragorn would rather—”

“No, you are the better teacher,” Aragorn said.

There was one more night before Moria. From sleeping near one another for weeks, Kara was familiar with everybody’s sounds. Sam snored softly, Gimli loudly. Legolas was silent and seemed to sleep with his eyes half open. Merry talked in his sleep. Pippin sometimes laughed or whimpered.

Boromir and Aragorn were quiet and light sleepers, but every now and then Aragorn would groan in his sleep. It was an eerie, quiet, sad sound, as if he were trying very hard to call out to someone, but it was muffled into the faintest expression of pain and loss.

The night after the wolves, it seemed to be worse. Kara woke to the sound of Aragorn’s muffled cry. “No—go back. Please—”

She lay there, wondering if she should wake him up. She had just about decided to do it, but then she heard a slight rustling as someone else moved to Aragorn’s blanketed form. Kara was curled up on her side facing the dim embers of the fire, and though her eyes were barely open, she saw the fall of Legolas’s pale hair as he placed a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder.

“Wake, nin mellon,” Legolas said, but Aragorn must’ve been in the grip of a really terrible dream; he certainly had to be exhausted. He only made a guttural cry.

After a moment, Legolas seated himself next to Aragorn’s head, and placed a hand on his forehead. “Cin are ú- ereb, îdh in i galad.”

Kara didn’t know what it meant, but it seemed to calm Aragorn. Legolas sat there for a long time with his hand on Aragorn’s head.

“What did you say?” Kara whispered.

Legolas did not seem surprised that she was awake; he must’ve noticed her attention.

“I told him he is not alone; that he can rest in the light.”

“You’re a good friend.”

Legolas nodded. “As I said, he will need those.”

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

When they reached a terrible black lake next to the gates of Moria the following night, Kara held up a hand. “Nobody touch the lake, okay? There’s something evil in it. A freshwater octopus or something—”

“What an acto puss?” Merry whispered to Frodo. “Sounds like a cat. Here, puss, puss.”

Kara pointed to the dark water. “It’s some kind of terrible monster. Just take my word for it, okay?”

Aragorn nodded. “That is not much to ask; everyone do as she says. I do not like the look of the lake either.”

When they’d hiked around the edge, Sam was loath to give up Bill the pony.

“It’ll be okay, Sam, really,” Kara said. “He’s going to find his way back to Bree and he’ll be safer than we are.”

Sam was unsuccessfully suppressing tears. “”You can’t possibly know that, Miss Kara! I don’t suppose the likes of Bill would make it into a history book, even if he is the best—pony—that ever—” Sam broke off into sobs as Bill snuffled his ear.

But soon Gandalf had spoken to the pony, sending him back to Rivendell with some kind of magic knowledge, so Kara and Frodo only hugged Sam and let him cry.

The door of Moria lit up with the moon, and it really was beautiful. Kara smiled widely at it. She didn’t think she ought to mess up the riddle. Let Frodo have a moment of triumph.

Boromir made his way to her. He picked up a stone as if to skip it across the lake, before recollecting her warning. He let the stone fall. “You look quite cheerful for such a dark place. I don’t suppose you know how to get in?”

“Shh!” Kara whispered. “Frodo is going to figure it out.”

Frodo was just walking up to the Doors of Durin with a small smile. “Gandalf! It’s a riddle. Speak friend, and enter. What is the elvish word for friend?”

“Mellon.”

The stone doors began to crack open, as the mountain itself split open to receive them. Kara squeezed Boromir’s arm in excitement and some anxiety. “See?”

Gandalf gave a wry laugh. “So simple! Too simple for a learned lore-master. Those were happier times.”

The company was on their feet now, refreshed by the sudden success. They crowded toward the door and into the dimness of the antechamber--

Only to recoil in horror when arrows began to fly from the darkness. One hit Sam’s pack. Another was knocked out of the air by Aragorn with his sword as it flew strait towards Kara. All was confusion as the company shouted and crouched and dodged. The shrieks of orcs made Kara’s throat close up.

“Get out, go back!” Gandalf shouted. He slammed his staff against the floor and created a piercing white light. It illuminated five or six knots of orcs hiding behind rubble and at the top of the stone stairs. It also blinded the orcs temporarily and gave the fellowship a chance to run for the doors.

Sam’s pack bobbed along with the great black arrow sticking out of it. The arrow looked as if it would’ve gone through him if it’d hit its mark.

In that short moment of light and opportunity, Legolas had his own bow out and fired off arrow after arrow, taking down orc after orc based on their pained screams.

Legolas was the last one out, covering for them, but he was swarmed with orcs as he began a controlled retreat.

In Gandalf’s light, she saw him stab one in the throat, before somehow spinning himself out of the melee towards freedom. The orcs followed, and soon it was battle on the edge of the lake. The fighters hewed and sawed, but it seemed as if more and more orcs kept pouring out of the gates.

The narrow banks of the black lake did not make good footing for a battle. Kara could not have helped if she’d wanted to, for Boromir, Aragorn, and Gimli fought abreast and blocked the way. She did not much mind. Instead, she hurried the hobbits away. “We have to retreat! Hurry—if all the orcs of Moria are coming out, we can’t fight them all!”

Somehow Merry had ended up in the front, followed by Frodo, Pippin, and Sam with his arrow-laden pack. Kara raised her eyes to look ahead for their path and her blood ran cold. Great wolves, like the ones they’d fought the night before, were coming into the valley. The Fellowship was trapped between the orcs and the wolves, with only the lake on one side and a sheer cliff rising up on the other.

Merry squeaked when he saw the wolves coming. Frodo, who’d had his head down, did not realized Merry was turning back until they collided. Both hobbits tripped and fell.

The wolves had been slinking down the rocky path, but now they began to howl and to run.

“This isn’t supposed to happen!” Kara cried. With a burst of strength, she grabbed both hobbits’ collars and heaved them to their feet, thrusting them back toward Gimli and Aragorn and the men fighting. She put herself between the hobbits and the wolves, but… she did not have anything but the bow and arrow she’d borrowed from Aragorn. She’d barely had two lessons! She forced herself to stop backing up and plant her feet. She knocked an arrow, held her breath, and shot.

A wolf went down. It was only hit on the shoulder, rather than the throat or head, but it was better than nothing. In any other circ*mstances, she’d shout and cheer for herself. Instead she just grabbed for another arrow. She missed the second, but hit another with the third. The wolves growled and slowed as they grew closer. The pack must have twenty or more. Their teeth were visible in the moonlight, and she could feel how much they would hurt. She only had a few more arrows. Legolas had given her some so that she might try brining down game on their way to the valley.

Kara shot two more in quick succession, then she ran. There was strength in numbers, and she was too far from the others now. The fight had slowly moved around the edge of the lake.

And the fight was bad, she realized as she ran toward them. So many orcs bubbling out of Moria, so many wolves closing in behind her.

Aragorn cast her a glance as she entered his peripheral vision, and it was clear when he saw that wolves that pursued her. His eyes went wide and his jaw jumped. “Wolves—Legolas!”

Boromir slashed the orc that Legolas fought, so that Legolas could turn to face the new threat. “It’s an ambush,” Legolas said, even as his first arrow hit. “They waited for us.”

Kara panted in horror, looking from one fight to the other. This was an ambush, and they were going to fail here. Already Boromir had been hurt. One of his sleeves was dark with blood, though the red was washed dark gray in the moonlight. Gandalf cast fire at the orcs, but there was nothing to burn on the rocky dead shore, and for each five he blasted, ten more took their place. Legolas was firing with elven precision, but he did not have enough arrows for everyone.

A wolf made a low pass at Legolas, and managed to snap his jaws around Frodo’s ankle. Frodo screamed and Merry and Pippin stabbed at the wolf with their small swords, taking it down.

Kara made a sudden decision. She didn’t know for sure if it was the right thing to do, but something had to be done. The orcs and the wolves were avoiding the lake as studiously as the fellowship was doing.

Kara picked up a stone and threw it into the lake. And another, and another, as fast as she could. “Watch out for the tentacles!” she yelled. “Watch out for Frodo!”

The lake began to churn with ripples. Things like dark snakes rose from the water as Kara skipped backward away from them. A tentacle wrapped around Gimli, who yelped and sliced it off. Another found Frodo, but Merry was ready and he stabbed it furiously.

The tentacles were also grabbing wolves and orcs. There must be twenty—forty—a hundred tentacles? She couldn’t count them.

Wolves yelped and howled as they were pulled into the black water or thrown into the cliff.. Orcs screamed and went silent as they were pulled under. The fighting broke off as everyone turned against the tentacles. Body after body was dragged over the rocks. The Fellowship slashed at the tentacles, which did indeed go again and again for Frodo.

The wolves ran. The orcs—far fewer now—disappeared back into Moria.

“What—the—devil—is this thing?” shouted Boromir. With the departure of the wolves and orcs, the creature focused on them, and twenty more snakes come slithering up the bank. A huge bulbous body appeared in the center of the lake, and Kara nearly threw up. It was so disgusting; so horribly wrong on both a physical and spiritual level.

Legolas shot the thing, but it did not go down. “It is too large; too ancient,” he said. “We must get away.”

The other tentacles, perhaps learning that swords were a thing, began a different effort. They picked up rocks and boulders and threw them at the company. One wolf-size rock hit just between Kara and Pippin and showered them with rubble, besides making her bite her tongue. Another almost took out Legolas, who ducked with elfish agility.

The creature wasn’t throwing stones blindly, either. The fellowship found themselves herded toward Durin’s Doors, back toward Moria.

“We must not—” Aragorn jerked Sam out of the path of a rock that would’ve knocked his head off. “We can’t go in there!”

“I’d rather take my chances with orcs!” Boromir said.

“The man is not wrong,” Gimli growled.

With rocks and tentacles dodging their every step, the company found themselves back in the antechamber of Moria. It felt like the monster tore up half the mountain as it sealed the way shut for good. The ground shook and rock dust filled the air.

There was a deafening silence when it was complete. They all stood in the light of Gandalf’s staff—bloody, dusty, and confused.

Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli faced toward the depths of Moria with their swords out, their chests heaving. Everyone waited, expecting to see more arrows fly… but none came. There was no rush of orcs, no scream of battle.

Eventually Aragorn allowed the point of his sword to fall. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. He looked over at Kara. “It appears you were correct about the lake.”

No one wanted to travel further into the mines of Moria, but there was little choice. The way back was completely blocked. They went only a little further to find a defensible room. There they stopped to deal with wounds, take stock of the situation, and make plans.

Kara bandaged Frodo’s ankle, then sewed up a long gash on Boromir, who barely seemed to notice as he argued with Aragorn and Gandalf and Legolas about what should be done next. Only once did he descend into resentment, muttering, “If we’d gone to Gap of Rohan instead…” But he was too experienced of a military man to spend much time on I-told-you-so. His focus was forward.

“We have no choice but to go through,” Gandalf said. “There may be other exits of Moria, but they would only put us right back on the northwestern side of the mountains, with the same problem. Nor do I know where they are or how to find them.”

“Gimli?” Kara asked. “Do you know where another exit is?”

Gimli blotted his bleeding face, where he’d been scratched by an orc. “I’ll lead you anywhere with a good will, lass. But as far as knowledge of Moria…I’m afraid I haven’t much. I’ve not been here since I was a very young lad. Gandalf would know more of these tunnels than I.”

Aragorn nodded. “I think we must push through to the eastern door, despite the loss of secrecy.”

“But how can we?” Legolas asked. “The orcs know we are here. They will have time to get reinforcements and to set traps and ambushes.”

“That is true,” Gandalf said, “however, there is one small comfort. They are not a regular army, disciplined and lead by the likes of Sauron or even Saruman. They give tribute to Sauron—he has had much mithril from this place that he ought never to have touched—but they are not his in the same way as the orcs of Morder.”

Aragorn was working the arrow carefully out of Sam’s pack so as not to rip it further. “Do you think the battle at the lake disconcerted them? They cannot have expected Kara’s creature.”

Gandalf glanced at Kara, who was still kneeling at Boromir’s side, tending his arm. “Indeed, some ancient creature of the deep has been forced out from under the mountain. Perhaps they knew of it, but they cannot have expected us to intentionally wake it.” He stroked his beard. “Several of the orcs shouted something about the witchgirl. Aragorn, you know their tongue as well as I. Did you hear it?”

He was frowning deeply. “I heard several things. They referred to the White Wizard. Another said to capture the halflings and the witchgirl, not to kill them.”

Kara’s fingers slowed as she knotted another stitch. “Oh.”

“Which begs several questions,” Gandalf said. “Not least of which is what Saruman knows of Kara, and—well, there are things I must ponder. In the meantime, we must make choices.”

None of them paused to scold Kara or question her about her choice to wake the creature. She was still reeling that the whole attack had happened. As far as she knew from any version of the story, the orcs of Moria had not known the fellowship was there until much later.

Gandalf continued. “We can hope that they crawled back into their holes to nurse their wounds. With no clear leader, they may take some time to regroup. The more I think of it, I believe we must press through Moria as fast as we may.”

This seemed to be the consensus. With white, frightened faces, the hobbits wearily resumed their burdens. Kara wiped her hands as best she could on her cloak, hating the sticky feeling of blood but with no way to wash it off. They’d decided water was too valuable to use for washing.

“I’m sorry,” Kara said to Gandalf, as they prepared to leave the temporary safe haven of the stone room. “I had no idea that we’d be attacked so soon. And then I woke up the creature, which got us trapped.” Her apology was to Gandalf, as he was the one who’d taken the risk to bring her, but she looked at the others, to include them in her apology as well.

Gandalf shrugged. “Perhaps it was meant to be. At any rate, you are not an oracle or a wizard; I don’t expect you to be omnipotent.”

Boromir flexed his bandaged arm with a wince. “We all agreed to come here, knowing the risks. It’s a sorry soldier who blames his comrades for the enemy’s surprises.”

“Thank you,” Kara said. “In that vein, I think I should warn you all that the orcs have a cave troll they might bring out. Maybe they won’t… everything is a little different now. As far as I know, you defeat it, and the orcs that come against you at that time. There are worse things to come,” she glanced at Gandalf, “but as far as I know, they work for good to help you all save Middle Earth.”

Aragorn smiled wryly. “Grim but comforting words, I suppose. Let us not lose any more time.”

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Aragorn brought up the rear of the company as they continued on into Moria, in case they should be attacked from behind. Gandalf went at the front with Gimli, to find the way, and Legolas and Boromir did their best to stay on either side of the hobbits and Kara.

“Constant vigilance!” she whispered, giving a sad, half-strangled chuckle. “We must all show constant vigilance.”

She was a strange girl.

Sometimes the path didn’t allow them to walk abreast, as when they shuffled up a narrow stair, or when an arch filled with rubble only allowed one to pass at a time. The whole situation was Aragorn’s idea of a nightmare. Being strung out in a line like this, in a dark, complicated mine, waiting to be accosted by orcs and cave trolls…

He was no callow youth to shiver in fear or to indulge dread when duty called him to be bold—but he did not like it. More than one kicked pebble or distant fall of rubble caused his heart to lunge in anticipation of attack. The longer the attack did not come, the more threadbare his patience became. When Legolas twitched, Aragorn’s sword arm tightened. When Gimli stumbled and cursed, Aragorn flinched.

He clenched his jaw and breathed deeply through his nose. He was not handling this with the skill and knowledge appropriate to his age and experience. A warrior must be loose in body. He must be ready to throw everything against an enemy, but not wasting his strength by needless tension.

The problem was that he was afraid. And why? he asked himself harshly, remaining constantly aware of every sound that echoed through the damp corridor they followed. Was it a proper fear of the ringbearer falling into orc hands, or was it something much less grand—something to do with Kara firing arrows as wolves charged her and dancing away from a wreathing lake of snakes that darted around her ankles?

He had started off their journey wishing she had stayed at Rivendell, and now he wished it a thousand times more, although for different reasons. Or perhaps it was the same reason—perhaps in his unacknowledged thoughts he had sensed early on that she might be a dangerous distraction. The kind of distraction that frayed his resolve, that unwound his focus as rope that has frayed; the rope finds its fiber the weaker for the strands that have become divided from the whole.

And there was no great reason for it. She was odd and perhaps beautiful in her own way, but he was not one to be distracted by a fair face and form. Growing up with elves inured one to that. Not that she was like an elf; she wasn’t. She was dark rather than fair, and her perspective was utterly human, when it was not unnervingly prescient.

But then, Aragorn argued with himself, he cared deeply about Legolas, the hobbits, and Gandalf as well. Even for Gimli and Boromir, whom he did not know as well, he would do his utmost to protect them. Yet he was only one man, and he had no power to turn back death. If one of his companions fell, he would grieve them sincerely, but he would continue the path of duty and honor.

Yet somehow, with Kara, his philosophy grew cracks. Aragorn was committed to Frodo’s quest, but he wondered if he would come out of it whole if she died in the path of duty.

But then, what if she lived? The future was a blank to him. She didn’t belong to Middle Earth, certainly not to Gondor or Rohan or the Shire. Indeed, the more uneasy he became, the more he wished she would be whisked back to her world at once. It would save her pain and uncertainty, and it would certainly save him anxiety.

A gaping hole suddenly opened in the floor in front of Gandalf. The rocks crashed and clattered to the chamber below, and a sullen, dark dust shone in the light of Gandalf’s staff. The party froze—waiting to see if this sound would draw their enemy.

It did not, though Aragorn was certain his was not the only heart that was not beating a steady rhythm.

“Delightful place,” Boromir muttered.

Kara winced. She seemed to feel every unfortunate thing that happened to the company as a personal fault. At first Aragorn had wondered if this was due to a guilty conscience. Perhaps she was somehow in league with Saruman, he’d thought, but now that he had known her for nearly a month—grueling weeks of trekking in the dark and hiding during the day—he realized it was not a guilty conscience. She felt responsible for them because of her knowledge of them as history or mythology; as if she instead of Sauron had precipitated their danger.

The company circled around the hole, tentatively at first, and then quickly to get away from the noise that they had made. Frodo kept his sword a few inches loose in his scabbard, so that hopefully they might see it turn blue when orcs approached. So far, it had not.

Sam rubbed his eyes. “Cursed lightless hole is playing tricks on my eyes. I keep thinking your sword is winkin’, Mr. Frodo, but it’s just a reflection o’ Gandalf’s light.”

“Steady all, and less talk, please,” Gandalf said. “I’d prefer the orcs not to know precisely where we are.”

They walked on in silence through great galleries and stone courtyards and over bridges and along colonnades. Aragorn had a strong sense of time, but even his internal rhythm was crushed by the unchanging darkness and constant tension.

Kara continued on without visible exhaustion. She truly was unflagging. She’d explained what a marathon was, and while he struggled to understand anyone running such a distance, or even half, for pleasure, he understood the appeal for someone who was capable of much more than their daily life demanded. It must take mental discipline as well. She’d carried Frodo through the snow, though she was half-numb with cold, and sewn up messy wounds without even a grimace. She encouraged the hobbits, bantered with Gandalf, befriended Gimli, and… well, he was not certain of her relationship with Boromir, but he knew that Boromir trusted her more than he did Aragorn. Everyone trusted her; everyone liked her.

She even knew a great deal about governance, when she let slip when she talked about many facets of her world. She said her people did not care for sovereigns, but he couldn’t help thinking she would make a glorious queen.

He shied away from that thought at once. It did not matter. This was not her world, nor was he at all certain he ought to be king. She would go back to her world eventually and finish her life as a healer with diligence and honor. That was the best he could wish for her; the safest thing he could wish for her.

It seemed an age before Pippin tentatively cleared his throat. His voice was hoarse. “Gandalf—I’m sorry, but—I think Frodo needs to sit a spell. And me, too.”

All four hobbits looked dead on their feet. It had been hours and hours of tense walking.

Gandalf reluctantly led them to an alcove that was half-enclosed by rubble. “I suppose we cannot make the journey in one march. It took three days even in better days than these. Two marches we can manage, perhaps. We have made a valiant start today.” He left unsaid what they all knew. Every hour they spent in these halls gave the orcs more time to catch them.

“A short rest,” Aragorn agreed. “Two on watch at all times. Gimli and I will start.”

The others were weary enough to lay down at once, after small, careful sips of water to wet sour mouths before giving in to restless sleep.

Aragorn was weary as well, and when, after perhaps two hours, Legolas pressed him to close his eyes, Aragorn succumbed. “Only an hour,” he said.

Aragorn leaned against a diagonal slab of rubble and allowed himself to drift. He was brought out of his sleep, sometime later, by Kara rousing with a gasp. She thrashed against her tangled cloak, seemingly caught in a nightmare. In the pale light of Gandalf’s staff, she was flushed and panicked. Her lips fluttered as though silent words were trapped there.

Aragorn was near enough to reach her, and he pressed a hand to her shoulder. “Shh, it’s all right.”

Kara cringed away from him. There was no other way to describe it. She tucked her head and pulled away with a painful sort of expectation. As if she expects to be hit, he thought.

“Kara, wake,” he said quietly but firmly.

She blinked in confusion. “R—Rick?”

Aragorn stilled. “No. It is I, Aragorn. You are safe, I did not mean to frighten you.”

“Oh.” She lay motionless for a moment, perhaps as memory of their predicament returned. But who had she thought he was? Who usually roused her from nightmares? Why had she never mentioned him?

She uncurled from her ball and twisted this way and that to straighten her cloak. “Sorry, I—er—woke up thinking of my ex. It’s nothing.”

Aragorn saw that Boromir and Gandalf and Gimli were awake, along with Legolas. Only the hobbits slept on. “I think it is time we kept moving.”

She nodded, wiping cold sweat off her brow. Her eyes were haunted but bright. “Right, yes. I feel perfectly refreshed. How about all of you?”

“Lass,” Gimil cracked his back as he stood, “do ye know the proverb about a hearty greeting on a bleak morning bein’ like a curse?”

Kara laughed. “I’ve heard of it. I’ll keep my greetings to a minimum then.”

There was no morning in Moria, so they started the next hike in the same familiar darkness. Kara seemed to be cold; she shivered despite her warm cloak and the still air in the mine. Boromir sometimes walked with his arm around her shoulders, warming her, but Aragorn did not copy him.

It would be a stupid position from which to draw a sword, Aragorn told himself, though perhaps if he cared less he might have done more.

It was some five or six hours later that the drums began. They echoed and reverberated strangely. It was impossible to tell from which tunnel they originated, and impossible to doubt their import. They were drums that meant doom.

“Oh, crap,” Kara said.

The hobbits whimpered.

Gandalf scowled. “Do we keep going or barricade ourselves for protection?” He waited. “Kara, a suggestion?”

“Oh, I thought you were talking to yourself.” She grimaced. “Barricade, maybe? But I really don’t know the best place to fight a cave troll. I’m open to suggestion.”

“A bottle-neck would only hinder us at this point,” Legolas said. “We must reach the other side.”

They rushed on with renewed vigor and Aragorn and Boromir took turns giving the hobbits rides on their backs. Anything to quicken their pace. Kara did not offer, and she apologized as if they expected it of her. “I wish I could, but I’m afraid I’ll roll an ankle in the rubble and slow everyone down.”

Soon they reached a wider promenade than any they had yet seen. Great pillars rose like an forest into arches that would put Numenor to shame.

“I think we’re close,” Kara panted. “If there is a really stupidly narrow bridge somewhere around here…”

“There,” Legolas cried. “I see the bridge.” He pointed into the lower distance of the great cavern, though the rest of them could not see it in the gloom.

Someday, when Kara trusted him, Aragorn would have to get the full story from her about this history or mythology that she knew. It was uncanny.

The drums were louder, however, and soon the squeak, squawk, and scream of orcs bounced from the ceiling. The orcs rushed forth from their hiding places like roaches, though not as many as he’d feared. The battle at the lake must have been costly to their numbers or perhaps to their confidence.

The fellowship ran on.

Aragorn looked back to see a lumbering shadow far larger than an orc in their midst. “They have a cave troll,” he confirmed.

“Sorry,” Kara puffed.

“Stop apologizing, lass,” Gimli panted. “Unless you’re acquainted with the troll.”

Unfortunately, the orcs soon hemmed them in from the front and the rear; the company was forced to halt. Aragorn swung his sword in an arc, delaying the inevitable onslaught. They were surrounded by the gruesome faces of the orcs. Every sword was out. Legolas and Kara knocked arrows. Frodo’s sword, Sting, shone blue.

The cave troll lumbered through the masses. “They’re tough but not invincible,” Aragorn said. “Their neck, eyes, and mouth are vulnerable.”

Legolas acknowledged this with a nod. “Yes, do tell, I’ve only fought three before.”

“I was not instructing you, I was informing the others.” Aragorn’s gaze raked the sneering, quivering orcs. What were they waiting for? In orcish, which was an unholy marriage of the black speech of Mordor, and the common tongue of old Eriador, Aragorn demanded, “What do you want with us?”

Hissing and growling were the main response, though one rather large orc co*cked his head. “To die,” he spat.

Legolas wrinkled his nose. “Ask a stupid question…”

Aragorn moved his sword in a tentative arc, trying to keep his field of vision as wide as possible for the first move. “Then have at us! Or else speak.”

The big one spat again, and this time it splat on Aragorn’s boot. “We don’t speak to elf scum.”

“I’m not an elf.”

A distant fiery glow lit up the far columns with gold and red. There was a hush as it grew.

The large orc glanced from the orange glow to them and back again. “Give us the witchgirl and we’ll let you go.”

The others laugh-snarled.

Aragorn bared his teeth. “Never.”

The orcs around his interlocutor growled as they backed away. “It’s too late. It’s here. Just as she said.”

Then the orcs began to… slip away. They thinned out, until even the holdouts who had such hate in their eyes it was clear only the direst fear would send them away began to run.

The only one who didn’t run was the cave troll. He looked about in dumb confusion as the orcs abandoned him. He held a mighty club, and each fist was like the foot of a mumakil.

The company was frozen with shock at the development, until the troll slammed his club in the midst of them. They scattered to avoid the blow.

“To the bridge!” Aragorn shouted. “Forward.”

They ran and the cave troll chased after them. Prey was a thing it did understand. Legolas turned back twice to shoot at it, but one arrow in its broad chest and another in its shoulder did nothing to hinder it.

Aragorn’s mind raced faster than his feet. The orcs wanted Kara alive. They spoke of the coming monster, whatever it was, that she had predicted. Who did they mean? It could not be Kara.

Still the fire grew behind them. The air began to feel warm. What foul beast stalked them to the very edge of Moria?

Great stairs led down from the forest of arches. There were gaps and holes, but the cave troll at their heels urged the hobbits to far longer and bolder jumps than they’d ever attempt otherwise. However, one particular stair was so crumbled, so decayed, that the weight of the cave troll was too much. With a terrible rending of stone, one section of stairs crashed into another, which crashed into theirs. It shook terribly, and Frodo nearly lost his feet. Aragorn grabbed the edge of his cloak to keep him from plunging over the edge. Kara did the same for Merry.

The rest of the party had made it to the next section, but he and Kara and Frodo and Merry felt the stone beneath them waver and tip.

“Hold on,” Aragorn said. “Hold—lean with me.” Kara seemed to understand and they shifted their weight, breathlessly encouraging their crumbling platform to glide forward— and it did. They rushed onward.

Kara was pale. “This is so much worse than the game play-through!”

They were able to make it down the rest of the stairs, but the cave troll leaped the last two flights and landed squarely in front of them, between the company and the footbridge.

Aragorn did not wait to attack it; he knew Legolas and the others would join him. They must get past the troll as fast as possible, for the fiery creature grew closer. They must not be trapped between the two.

He stabbed, rolled, and slashed. Legolas shot arrow after arrow. Gimli hacked.

The cave troll roared but did not go down. Its spear and its club were instant death if the troll reached the hobbits.

From behind he heard Gandalf inhale sharply. “A balrog of Morgoth.”

In his horror, Aragorn turned away from the fight to see. A balrog—a servant of Morgoth and of similar status to Sauron, though of different origin—approached. It was black and leathery, with red eyes and horns, and a deadly blaze surrounded and burst from it. A balrog was a demon of ancient times; a nightmare of ages past. Yet here it was.

“Run,” Gandalf said. “This foe is beyond any of you!”

But the cave troll had no intention of letting them run. It caught Gimli with a glancing blow, and he was down. It focused its beady eyes on Frodo, and threw its spear straight at him. Aragorn’s lungs burned and his eyes started with disbelief. Frodo was down. Fallen. This could not be the end, but Frodo was motionless, no doubt run through.

The whole party was frozen in horror. Boromir put a hand on Kara’s shoulder.

“Frodo’s fine!” Kara dodged toward him. “I’ll get him. The troll—the balrog!”

Frodo could not possibly be fine—but her words galvanized them just in time as the balrog put its fiery foot on their level. A great whip of fire, a golden snake, cracked through the air and Aragorn barely avoided it.

With the strength of grief and desperation, he and Boromir and Legolas finished the troll by sword, arrow, and ax. There was no time to cheer.

“Over the bridge,” Aragorn called. One by one, those who were able ran across the narrow arch. Legolas supported Gimli. Kara came, cradling Frodo like a doll. Aragorn took Frodo from her—surprised at the lack of blood—and followed her across the bridge.

Gandalf was last, and he stopped halfway across the bridge. His light grew and grew. “Go back to the shadows!”

Aragorn clutched Frodo tightly to him. The Balrog was a dark demon of the past, but Gandalf was every inch the light that conquered such demons.

“Flame of Udun, you shall not pass!” Gandalf slammed his staff into the bridge, and it cracked in half, taking the creature down into the chasm.

Aragorn could not rip his eyes away, but he heard Kara’s sob beside him. Did she cry for Frodo, or did she—

Even as he watched, the whip snaked up and caught Gandalf by the ankle. It jerked him off the bridge until he only clung to the edge.

Aragorn tossed Frodo at Boromir.

Kara grabbed his arm as he rushed to Gandalf’s aid. “You won’t make it!”

Gandalf looked up at them, though his eyes focused on Kara. “For the good of Middle Earth,” he mouthed almost silently.

Kara nodded, with tears running down her cheeks.

Gandalf let go. His gray robes and twinkling eyes fell into the abyss of the chasm and were swallowed up in darkness. Aragorn felt as if his heart beat its last along with him.

On instinct he got the rest out of Moria, but his chest was full of pain and his heart stuttered with horror. Even the joy of realizing that Frodo was alive and well was overshadowed by the loss. Frodo himself could hardly comprehend it. He kept looking back, kept stopping.

“He is gone, Frodo—we must go!”

They made it outside, through a small door that led to a rocky slope and a late afternoon sky. The hobbits were prostrate with grief. Gimli and Boromir were lock jawed and red-eyed.

Legolas was the most shocked. “Mithrandir,” he murmured. “A great light has passed out of Middle Earth.”

But Aragorn looked at Kara. She no longer wept, only looked uncertain and unhappy.

“You knew of this,” he said. “Or did this surprise you like the battle by the lake?”

She raised her hands and backed away. “Please don’t be angry. If there were any other way—! Ugh, I don’t know how much I can tell you, but Gandalf has a role to play. The balrog must be slain and Gandalf has to do it.” She wrung her hands.

Aragorn’s frustration was immense, but he knew sincerity when he saw it. He also saw her fear. She fully expected him to turn on her. He sighed sharply. “I believe you.”

“You—do?”

“As Boromir said, it is a poor soldier who blames a comrade for the enemy’s choices. You’ve proven your loyalty to us; I won’t doubt you now. If any of the Fellowship disagrees with me, they may speak freely, but I venture to guess our hearts are knit too closely to yours to let even this fell and dark day sunder us.”

He looked about—everyone was watching.

Frodo screwed up his face, wiping away tears. “Aragorn is right. You’re part of this Fellowship, you’re practically kin to Gimli—” he tried to give a watery smile, “we trust you.”

Kara reeled back, more surprised by this than she would have been by a blow. Anger, shock, distrust—she’d expected those. She’d hoped to explain just enough to keep them from leaving her behind… but somehow she was more unnerved by their freely given forgiveness and trust.

“Screw it,” Kara said. “I don’t care what I’m supposed to do or not do. Gandalf will come back to you, alright? He had to fight this fight, but when we need him, he’ll be there.” She looked at each of them in turn. “I promise.”

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

After Kara blurted out that Gandalf would return, she could tell the others weren’t sure what to think. They were afraid to hope, which was fair as Kara hadn’t been infallible, but the hope began to take hold anyway.

Frodo had the easiest time of it because he hadn’t seen Gandalf fall into the chasm with the balrog. “If Kara’s history says so, I don’t see why we shouldn’t believe it.”

The other hobbits also began to sniff away their tears and even to smile. “I knew it!” Pippin said. “I knew no nasty whatsit could end Gandalf the Gray like that!”

Legolas and Boromir and Gimli responded with more caution, with nods of acknowledgement, but reservation.

Aragorn too. “May it be so. My heart tells me the fellowship is all but lost without him. But we must not pause here to ponder. Everyone, on your feet. We must get to the Silverlode and follow the river into the woods. These hills will be covered with orcs when the sun goes down.”

There was an ancient road that led through the Dimrill Dale and past the Mirrormere. Gimli told her that the spring that fed the Mirrormere—a sacred pool—also poured forth and became the headwaters of the Silverlode. “I’ve longed to see it,” Gimli said. “I must see it. Frodo, do come, lad! It is a holy place for dwarves, where Durin saw a crown of stars in his reflection.”

Aragorn allowed this, though he showed no strong desire to go see it himself. Kara could see how the loss of Gandalf still weighed on him. Perhaps he believed her, perhaps he didn’t; but it didn’t change that the burden of leading the fellowship was on him now.

Frodo wanted to go, however, and Sam also—perhaps mostly to keep an eye on Frodo. Kara followed after them, skirting around rubble from the ancient road, tangles of dry weeds, and thorny vines that had grown over some places of the smaller path.

Legolas followed after her.

“I didn’t think you’d be much interested in a holy dwarf pond,” Kara said lightly.

He inclined his head. “I have a great curiosity to see many things, although I will be shocked if I see any reflection but mountain and sky.” He spoke softly, for her ears only, “If you think to lessen the hobbits’ grief, or any of us, by giving false hope about Gandalf, you must speak the truth.”

“I’m not making it up, I swear.”

“We don’t take oaths as lightly as your people seem to.”

Kara frowned. Had she said ‘I swear’ very often to them? Maybe she had. “Okay, fair, but I promise that I’m telling the truth—I know some things have gone wrong, but I can’t imagine that this is one of them.”

“Very well. Let us see this holy dwarf pond, as you so charmingly term it. I may not care for dwarves, but even I should not be so bold as that.”

Kara laughed. “Gimli will forgive me.”

The Mirrormere was quite strange. It was glossy and smooth, with only a few permanent ripples where it flowed over an old stone wall that was furry with moss.

The reflection was only mountains and sky, as it should have been… but as she looked further, it seemed as if the late afternoon sky grew darker than it ought to have been. And in a ring, eight sparkling stars were visible in the midnight blueness. Kara gasped at the beauty of it. The magic and mystery of this world continually surprised her.

From there, they caught up with the others as they descended the stairs next to the small stream that would grow to be the Silverlode.

Sam helped Frodo down a few of the larger steps, and suddenly Aragorn noticed. “Frodo! You were injured, and like an idiot I have done nothing. I am terribly sorry, my friend.” He called a halt and slung off his pack to fetch bandages. “It is remarkable that spear did not skewer you, but it must have left terrible bruises. I apologize for my distraction.”

Kara felt bad too. She was a nurse for crying out loud, and she hadn’t even thought to check if he had any bruises or broken ribs.

When Frodo undid his shirt, the mithril chain mail shone like a thousand tiny diamonds in the slanted sunlight. They were all amazed at it, and his story of Bilbo’s gift, particularly Gimli.

“Worth the Shire?” he repeated. “Why, this is worth ten times that! A noble gift, indeed.” He looked to Kara. “Such a thing must have made it into the history books! Is this why you knew Frodo was well, lass?”

“Yes and yes,” she said.

Frodo smiled. “I’m glad Bilbo’s gift made it into the story.”

But under the mithril, he was seriously bruised. Aragorn crushed some of the dried athelas leaves and put them in water. Then he soaked a bandage and wrapped Frodo’s torso. This immediately seemed to ease some of his pain.

Kara was intrigued and took up a small bit to smell. It was rather like an herbal tea, chamomile or lavender. “I wonder if it’s some sort of analgesic pain killer? It probably has antibiotic properties that help wounds, from what you’ve described, but this must also be absorbed through the skin.”

Aragorn looked at her quizzically.

“Or is it just magic? What I wouldn’t give for a couple of test tubes and basic chemistry set.”

Frodo chuckled, a little painfully. “You’ll just have to trust me that it works.”

“Yes, but why?” Kara tossed the small bit in her mouth and sucked on it. It was a bit like eating a dry tea leaf, bitter and papery. It did clear her head, and her lingering headache disappeared. Her tongue felt slightly numb and tingly. “Fascinating.”

The others had breathed in the aroma of the athelas, and they seemed to feel better as well.

Boromir still favored his arm that had been badly cut at the lake, but he waved Aragorn away. “Save your small stash. It is knitting together well, I can tell.”

With renewed energy they descended for another three hours, long into the dark. The road and the stream helped them keep their way, as well as a rather glorious waxing moon. Finally the stairs of the Dimrill Dale gave way to flatness and they reached the trees. The outer edges of the woods were not the beautiful mallorn trees that Legolas had described to them, but just regular large and beautiful trees—ash and yew and pine, Boromir told her.

The trees grew broader and more massive, and their canopy began to block the light of the moon.

Even though Kara knew they were entering Lothlorien, it was surprisingly creepy.

“They say there is a sorceress in these woods,” Gimli said. “And that if you look at her, you will never set foot outside her enchanted wood again.”

Legolas said. “Don’t speak against what you do not know. Can you not feel the wholesomeness of the air? These good trees bear witness to the elves that tend them. If you should see it in spring, Gimli, even you would wonder at it. A golden roof of leaves and golden floor and silver pillars…”

All was quiet as they went further in. Kara wasn’t positive the elves of Lothlorien were already tracking them, but she suspected it.

She finally said, “I don’t want to alarm anyone, but the elves are very close—“

With a flurry too fast for her eyes, Legolas drew his bow even as the elves materialized from the shadows with arrows nearly in their faces.

“At least one of you has ears,” said a tall, commanding elf. “I don’t know how she could hear anything over the breathing of the dwarf. It is a strange day that sees a daughter of men more canny than one of our woodland kin from the north.”

This was for Legolas, who only relaxed marginally as he replied, “Indeed, your woodcraft is unparalleled. I’ve no excuse.” He relaxed his bow arm a little more, allowing the arrow to drop. “Dare I hope to receive a kinsmans’ welcome?”

“We welcome you, Legolas, son of Thranduil, Prince of the Woodland Realm…but you have strange companions, and we must show constant vigilance at our borders in these dark days.”

Kara, despite the arrowhead that was only a handspan from her nose, couldn’t help a nervous, strangled laugh. “Constant vigilance!”

The elf’s gaze flicked to her. “Does the lady mock our defenses?”

“No, no,” Kara protested.

Legolas raised his hands in a show of peace. “Please excuse my friend, she is exhausted and worn with travel and conflict. Only three days past, we fought orcs and wolves on the west side of Durin’s Gate, and today was far worse. We must ask for shelter and escort to pass on to the Great River.”

Legolas introduced the company, and it was clear they knew who Aragorn was. They were more amused than nervous of the “halflings.” Gimli was the problem.

“Dwarves of Moria have not been welcome here in many years of men.”

“This is Gimli, son of Gloin,” Aragorn said. “He is a dwarf of the Lonely Mountain, and he has been a stalwart companion on our travels.”

The news about Gandalf shocked them away from the argument temporarily. Legolas and Aragorn didn’t share Kara’s prediction with them yet. Haldir and Aragorn and Legolas and several others discussed the situation for a moment. They’d gone off into elvish with Aragorn and Legolas, so Kara sat down with the hobbits. It’d get worked out eventually and she was very tired.

Boromir stood near her. “What do they say? Legolas can say what he likes about the wholesome air, but I feel stifled and breathless.”

“I don’t know what they’re saying; I don’t speak it. But they’ll let us in eventually. I think we’ll all be blindfolded? I can’t remember.”

There was sudden silence from the elves, intent looks at Kara.

Aragorn squeezed the bridge of his nose. “They were just offering to allow us entry if Gimli will submit to the blindfold. I was counter-offering that we all go blindfolded, as we are a company and will share each others’ trials.” He sighed, but half-smiled. “If you could refrain from uncanny statements for a short time, it would be much appreciated.”

The negotiations ended with agreement to the blindfold solution, but it was too late to begin that night. The elves brought them up to a flet to rest before they trekked to Caras Galadhon the next day.

“This is the craziest tree house,” Kara said as they climbed. “I don’t usually mind heights, but—!”

The hobbits agreed, and they huddled together at the top.

Kara was too tired to complain though, so she lay on one of the woven mats and fell asleep with her back pressed against Merry and her hands tucked under her head.

It was a restless night. Several times she woke to see Legolas and Aragorn still discussing things with Haldir.

But the last time she opened her eyes, probably a few hours before dawn, they had gone to rest also. Between Kara and the edge of the flet there was now a larger person stretched out on his side. It was Aragorn, she realized, taking a rare rest after barely sleeping in Moria. He was near her, but there had been a careful distance which she’d lessened when she rolled over. As if he sensed her, he curled toward hers until she could feel his breath puff softly against her hair. He smelled like woodsmoke and the athelas leaves, and she rather wanted to bury her face against his chest.

But…she was better than that. He was for Eowyn or somebody else amazing, and she’d only end up heartbroken if she indulged that feeling.

Kara shifted a few inches away, but in his sleep Aragorn followed, as if a string connected them. Kara was now squished between Merry and Aragorn, and worse, Aragorn’s arm found its way around her, pulling her closer.

Kara stiffened…but he really did smell comforting, and he really was warm, and she really was tired. Kara fell asleep.

Aragorn clutched her a little tighter as the first light of day began to reach his eyelids. Warmth, soft curves, the smell of flowers and mint… He buried his nose in her dark, wavy hair only to freeze when he realized what he was doing. Quietly and gently he extracted himself, relieved to see that she was limp, relaxed, and still in a deep sleep.

Aragorn scrubbed a dirty hand over his face. He was not so longing for comfort that he could make excuses for this. Usually he slept lightly when he slept at all, and he rose in the same position he’d lain down. Becoming so deeply asleep as to wrap himself around Kara… he must’ve been more exhausted than he knew.

Soon they were underway, all blindfolded, even Legolas. Aragorn heard Kara stumble again. She muttered, “I like this even less than I expected.”

Her elven guide, one of Haldir’s men, apologized. “Pardon, Lady Kara, I will go more slowly.”

“No, no, it’s just my stupid feet. If we go any slower we’ll be going backward.”

“It’s not so bad, Kara,” said Pippin. “You’ve just got to feel it out with your feet as you go, really get your toes into it. It’s quite flat and the leaves feel like velvet!”

“If I was barefoot, I’m sure that would help.”

Gimli and Boromir were not having much fun either. Aragorn, though he would have happily torn off the mask, was slightly relieved not to look at Kara or any of them this morning. He somehow felt as if he’d betrayed not just Kara but the rest of the fellowship. He was supposed to be their leader, offering them what strength and comfort he could. He was not supposed to be seeking it from them— at least not more comfort than what comrades and friends and kinsmen should offer.

It was a slow march, and with his sight cut off, Aragorn found his other senses heightened to take in the glory of Lothlorien. Unlike the cold, dead spaces of Moria, there was the chirping of birds, the keening of insect-life, and the rustle of growing things under pure sunlight. The canopy of the mallorn trees created pockets of deep, cool shadows and moments of warmth where the sun broke through to the forest floor; and the contrast between the two, while blindfolded, was both unexpected and delightful each time. Leaves that had fallen in the autumn still carpeted the way, and though they should have been either squelching with rot by this time of year or crunching to dust, they were instead soft and dry, like a covering of linen or cloth along their way.

He suspected that’s why Kara kept stumbling; she could not reconcile her mind to an easy and benign path before her. At times she betrayed a deep cynicism; she did not seem to trust good things. She cared for the company, certainly, but trust them… no.

Perhaps that was unfair of him. Aragorn himself did not trust the others with respect to the ring, as he’d told her. With the exception of Legolas, perhaps, who he knew to be pure, high-minded, and loyal even among the race of elves. Aragorn felt the rest of them must be on guard to protect one another from its temptation.

This brought his mind back around again to Frodo, and he was glad to hear Frodo’s steady footfalls nearby, supported as always by Sam. If friendship and valor could do anything, those two would go to the very ends of Middle Earth.

Sometime later, about midday, Aragorn heard a messenger coming out to meet them from further within Lothlorien.

“A message from the Lady Galadriel,” he said. “The travelers are to be unbound and allowed to walk and look freely. They are welcomed as honored guests by Lord Celeborn.”

The blindfolds were removed, and their elven guards looked just as glad as they were. The one helping Gimli even smiled. “I hope you will look on us with friendly eyes hereafter, Master Dwarf. We are a people under command, you understand, and cannot go beyond our orders, yet I am glad to receive orders to leave off blindfolds and suspicion.”

This was a fair speech indeed, but Gimli only grumbled, “I suppose. I hold my doubts until I have seen your Lady.”

They made much faster time with everyone walking freely, and the hobbits’ moods picked up extremely. Aragorn wondered how it would’ve been if Gandalf’s death had weighed them down. Kara’s prediction had allowed them to put it aside, and as Gandalf was in the habit of disappearing and turning up unexpectedly, they did not have trouble fitting this episode into their view of him.

The forest was even more beautiful with sight returned to him, although the stint of blindness had grounded him into his other senses so well, it seemed a luxury rather than a necessity. He felt the tension in his shoulders ease and his stride became loose, what it was when he was alone, without nine companions to care for. In Lothlorien, at least, he could trust that the elves would protect his friends.

Haldir walked near him. “I am glad to see you well, Aragorn. You have not walked here in nearly fifty years… a long while in the lives of men, even one such as you.”

“And yet now that I am here it feels as if it has not been so long.” He smiled ruefully, “Except that I am a little more worn than I was then.”

“We heard of your departure from Rivendell; but who is the woman? Another ranger from the north?”

Aragorn spoke carefully. “Did not Lord Elrond tell of her? She was an apprentice of Mithrandir.”

“No, we have not heard that—how strange. It is dark indeed to know that Mithrandir has fallen into shadow; I cannot comprehend it.”

“It is true Gandalf fell in Moria fighting a balrog of Morgoth, but Lady Kara believes he will return to us.”

Haldir raised his pale brows. “Do you believe her? Is she a soothsayer? A wielder of magic? Or what is she?”

Aragorn sighed. “I wish I knew.”

Haldir gave him a strange look. “From your closeness in the flet, I assumed you knew more.”

Aragorn hadn’t felt himself blush in forty years. Haldir must have drawn his own conclusions early this morning.

Aragorn shook his head. “I was weary; it was nothing.”

“Then I think you will be glad to have an audience with the Lady Galadriel.” Haldir nodded toward Kara, who was now some ways behind them. “And if you harbor doubts about your companion, be at ease. Lady Galadriel can see into all hearts; she will uncover what is hidden.”

Aragorn sighed again. “I would welcome guidance from the Lady of Light.”

Haldir’s lip twitched as if he suppressed a smile. “I should say so.”

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

Everyone’s spirits were lifted without the blindfolds. As they went further into Galadriel’s domain, it was as if her light began to suffuse them all, and the heaviness of past days lessened. Aragorn was glad to hear the hobbits talk freely, for they were a merry people and should not be silent.

Legolas shared news of the Greenwood and Thranduil’s kingdom; Boromir and Gimli were quiet but at least not hostile.

Kara asked questions about the forest, about the strange warmth—quite unlike the February weather only few miles away—and even about the Galadhrim’s distinctive green cloaks. “Is it the color of the natural fibers or do you have to dye it to match the trees so well? And if you do, are there elves spending their immortal lives in great dyeing houses somewhere?”

Haldir smiled. “You cannot expect us to share all our secrets with you, Lady Kara. We have the skill of making cloaks that will hide us from enemy eyes almost anywhere, even should he be at our shoulder, but it is dear to us.”

She nodded. “Proprietary trade secrets, I gotcha. I just wonder—how does all of this work? Where do your boots come from? Legolas’s bow? That satchel?”

Legolas laughed. “Please leave me and my bow out of your queries. I made it myself.”

Merry cleared his throat. “You notice she’s never questioned us about our clothes, Pip. That’s because she can perfectly well picture a hobbit doing menial work. It’s a bit insulting.”

Kara laughed. “I’m sorry you are feeling left out. Where did you get your fine waistcoat and breeches, Merry?”

“Best tailor in Buckland, thank you very much.”

Haldir smiled. “There is no great secret in most of our things. Some we make, some we gain in trade.”

“Aye,” growled Gimli. “There’s many an elf that still uses tools, goblets, axes, and armor made by dwarven hands.”

“If there are, they’ve paid for it,” said Haldir.

Gimli opened his mouth, but Kara glared at him. “Be nice, Gimli, you’ll regret it later if you aren’t.”

Haldir looked between them with amusem*nt. “A lady who threatens a dwarf for his manners? I am impressed despite myself.”

“It was less of a threat and more of a promise,” Kara explained. “I suppose I must stop pestering you about supply chain questions as well. It is just such a mystery to me.”

Aragorn put in, “You think in too large a scale, Kara. I imagine that for a million people, let alone seven million, there must be thousands devoted to clothing them all, but in a place such as Lorien, things can be done at a slower pace. Children learn many skills, and when they are youth they perfect a few, and when they are older they do them with joy for the good of their people.”

“Huh.” She smiled. “Still sounds suspicious.”

He rolled his eyes skyward. “Yes, a very dark thing.”

Haldir was startled. “Seven million? A city of men? What a blight upon the natural world!”

“Dude, ouch. But kinda yeah, a lot of people do see Houston as a blight on the natural world. On the other hand, it was largely a swamp so you could say we improved it.”

“Such a population,” said another elf, one of Haldir’s. “How is it possible?”

“Well,” said Kara, “when a man and woman love each other very much—“

Boromir, who had been rather dour about the woods, finally laughed. “Kara, you cannot flirt with an elf. It’s not in their nature.”

Gimli chuckled. “He’s not wrong lass. Not to say you were, but—eh, they’re a cold-blooded lot.“

“Nonsense. Who’s read the history books?” Kara said. “That’s right, I have. Elves are totally not cold-blooded.” She glanced at the elf in question. “But you don’t know me, so I apologize for teasing you. Our population is rather shocking.”

He didn’t look embarrassed, though his pointy ears were slightly pink. “I merely meant that children must be numerous. Among elves, they are most precious and rare.”

“Ah. I hadn’t thought of that.” She paused. “That must be why Arwen was so shocked about—some things. Never mind.”

“Arwen? Have you some acquaintance with Lady Galadriel’s granddaughter?” Haldir was amazed.

“Is she her granddaughter?—I didn’t know that. But no, sadly I’ve never met Arwen. I just say strange and stupid things sometimes. Ignore me.”

Aragorn frowned at this but let it pass. Clearly Kara had some knowledge about Arwen she didn’t want to share with the elves of Lorien.

Boromir said, “Kara, your city of men sounds more like Minas Tirith. I only have one brother, Faramir, but many families can boast more.”

Sam put in shyly, “My aunt Mabel has thirteen.”

The elves looked positively scandalized by this. Haldir chuckled. “The halflings will take over Middle Earth at this rate.”

Aragorn patted Sam’s shoulder. “Against such a horde, what could be done? Give me orcs or goblins and I will prevail, but hobbits are hardy and quick to learn. I’d fall in a day.”

Pippin nudged his arm, “That’s right you would! And you’d be lucky to live under such beneficent and handsome governors as us.”

“I think it should be Sam,” Kara added. “I’d obey King Sam.”

“Oh, come, don’t make fun.” Sam blushed.

“Wait, you’re right, you don’t have kings. You could be thain of the Shire,” Kara offered.

He choked. “Samwise Gamgee, the thain? My old gaffer would laugh hisself silly. Now, Mr. Frodo, he’s the right sort.”

Frodo shook his head with a small smile. “No, I’m going to be busy finishing Bilbo’s book. I can’t do it, so it’ll have to be you, Sam. Merry and Pippin can be your enforcers.”

Aragorn wondered at Kara’s smile. Did she know something about the hobbits’ distant future? He’d noticed her knowledge of history before Frodo’s quest was sketchy at best, and she knew litttle of the dwarves or the people south of Gondor. Her knowledge was an itch between his shoulder blades that he could not understand.

Aragorn, despite his weariness and the bruises he’d gained during the last two confrontations, found his stride quicken as they approached Caras Galadhon. The sunlight shone on the trees and created a glad golden glow. It was a city in the treetops; a city of floating pavilions of light among the leaves and smooth silver columns of the mallorns.

At the appointed place, surrounded by elves that glowed with inner light and radiated that peculiarly elvish serenity, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn came to greet them.

Aragorn had met them before, when he stayed in Lorien for some time after a mission had taken him south to contend with Sauron’s followers. Lady Galadriel had not changed, except to grow more bright, or else his own acquaintance with darkness had grown, making her thus the more blinding.

She greeted him first, as the leader of the fellowship, and—though she did not say it aloud—as the future king of Gondor. She had never made a secret of her conviction that he would take up that mantle. Her eyes, or perhaps her smile, promised that they should speak more, but she moved on to the rest of the company.

Legolas she greeted warmly as a son of the Woodland Realm; Lord Celeborn greeted Boromir with gravity but respect as a captain of Gondor. The halflings looked on Galadriel with wonder, and Aragorn suspected her attention lingered with Frodo, although she gave no sign of it. With Gimli, Lord Celeborn’s face tightened. “We welcome you also, Gimli, son of Gloin, though the darkness of Moria trails after you.”

Galadriel put a hand on his arm. “Would I be able to pass within reach of Galadhon and not look upon it, even had a dragon taken up residence here?” She smiled at Gimli and, in Khuzdul, named some of the places dearest to a dwarf’s heart. “You have had a dispiriting journey under the mountain, but as you have seen, the crown of stars yet shines in the Mirrormere. Take heart, Gimli, son of Gloin.”

Gimli blinked back sudden tears at her compassion and at the honor and joy with which she named those places in his language. Her beauty had struck him, as dwarves valued beauty in all things, but to hear her defend him had taken him utterly by surprise.

Aragorn happened to look at Kara who was grinning widely at the exchange, as if seeing two good friends meet. She tried to school her features, but she was still smiling when Galadriel turned to her.

“Lady Kara, welcome. I have heard but little of you, yet I sense that even the little I heard must be false.”

This made Aragorn tense, and Kara looked uncomfortable. “I mean, I don’t know what you heard, but it’s kind of a long story.”

“I hope to hear it.” She smiled slightly. “Do not be afraid. If I am surprised, it is that you are more light and less shadow than I feared from report.”

“I’ll tell you whatever you’d like to know, but you can basically read minds, right? So you can probably just check.”

Lady Galadriel co*cked her head to one side, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulder. “It is true that from my age, experience, and art, I can read people well. Yet Mithrandir has passed into a grayness beyond my sight. Yet you are certain within your own mind of his well-being. You are certain of… many things.” Galadriel’s eyes shadowed momentarily as she glanced at each of the others. Then the light returned. She spread her hands. “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Here you are safe and may recover from your wounds and weariness. You must rest and then I will take counsel with you.”

The next day, when Kara was introduced to the warm springs of Lothlorien, where she was able to get really squeaky clean for the first time since Rivendell, she was ready to stay forever. Seriously, if she had to ride out the war of the ring, and she wanted to stop causing problems for the fellowship, where better?

She ran her fingers through the warm, clear water, watching the ripples spread. There was a series of small round pools, deep but narrow, that overflowed into one another and down the slight slope. The elves had also given her a wooden flask of green-smelling lotion, something like conditioner, and it would put the priciest Sephora products to shame. She supposed that made sense—Galadriel wasn’t the only elf with crazy beautiful, long hair, and apparently the magic of elvendom only took you so far.

Kara put on clean underthings and the dress that they’d offered her to use while her two sets of clothing were washed.

The dress actually fit, to her surprise. It wasn’t too loose or too long, and she wondered where the elf girls that were—ahem—only medium-height and sorta-flat-chested hid themselves. Her hair she combed and let dry. Even though it was February out in the Middle Earth, it was not cold in Lothlorien—at least, not a bone chilling, teeth chattering cold. There was a fresh coolness to the shade, but it invigorated her rather than leaving her shivering.

The hobbits also looked fresh and clean, and she shuddered to think how much dirt must’ve come off their hairy feet in those pristine pools. They must be self-cleaning somehow.

Gimli had washed himself and he carefully combed and braided his beard, though he had an absent expression on his face.

“What are you thinking about?” Kara asked with a smile.

He jerked. “I didn’t see you there. I was thinking of the Lady Galadriel. The finest diamond in the world, the purest mithril in the crucible, the very silmarils themselves could not compare to her. Dwarves look for gems of purity and light, you know—I wish you could see the Arkenstone in Erebor, lass!—but there is no gem so pure and bright as the Lady.”

Boromir approached, carrying a bundle of his dirty clothes. “She is fair, but I do not trust her motives. She allowed the ring in, yes, but will she let it leave?”

Gimli placed his hand on the hilt of his ax. “What dark thing do you insinuate?”

Boromir shook his head. “I hardly know, only I would wish to be gone from here sooner rather than later.”

Kara touched his hand. “Can I check your arm? I know you want to go, but we really ought to stay for a little while to let everybody heal.”

“Yes, of course.” He raised the sleeve of the elven tunic he’d been given. The stitches she’d given him still held, but the flesh was red, swollen, and puckered. She’d need to remove the stitches eventually, as she’d done for Sam, since they certainly didn’t have dissolving sutures here, but certainly not yet. “I don’t like the look of this inflammation. If we were at home, I’d give you a z-pack to kill any infection, but here… I think we’ll need athelas.”

He moved his arm uncomfortably, and Kara pressed a cool hand carefully to his inflamed skin, just above the wound. “Just wait here. I’ll get it from Aragorn…”

She looked over to see that Aragorn had also just returned, and her words died in her mouth. He was clean and his hair was still a little damp. He had also borrowed clothes from someone, probably Haldir, and Aragorn looked—different. Good. Like a king. Like a really hot king.

She must have seen him clean and well-dressed in Rivendell—though actually he’d mostly worn his ranger clothing there, too—but this was different somehow. Now she knew him better than just as a hero in a story. She knew he wasn’t waiting for Arwen, that he didn’t have anybody—yet—and man, he was distracting. “We—er—we need some athelas. Boromir needs some athelas. This cut is festering.”

If Aragorn paused a long moment, seeing her freshly dressed, with her hands pressed to Boromir’s bare arm, Kara didn’t notice.

“Of course.” Aragorn rummaged through his sack and brought out the small leather bag. He loosened the draw-string and passed it to her. His fingers overlapped hers, careful and warm. “I haven’t seen much athelas since Amon Sul. It is not the season; use it sparingly.”

“Um. Sure thing.”

She applied it in hot water to a bandage, and wrapped Boromir’s wound gently, the way she’d seen Aragorn do for Frodo. She hoped her sudden awkwardness had not been obvious to Boromir, but she shouldn’t have worried. He was sunk in his own thoughts. Perhaps thoughts about the ring.

Kara frowned. Boromir’s time was coming. It was not a question of whether to try and save him, but how and what to do after. She could warn Aragorn, but then he already knew it was a risk and she didn’t want to turn him further against Boromir. She’d considered warning Frodo so that he and Sam might leave a little sooner. She’d considered keeping Boromir in sight every moment after they left Lothlorien. Perhaps the answer was all of the above, like the most perilous multiple choice question of her life.

Kara slept that night with the hobbits. The elves offered her her own space, as a lady and a member of the fellowship, but Kara hadn’t wanted to sleep alone. It was too stark a difference after sleeping with the snores, sniffs, and sighs of the fellowship for so many weeks.

The elves set up a pavilion for them on the ground, and the hobbits grouped together on one side. Aragorn, Gimli, and Boromir also slept there, but Legolas, after the first night, slept somewhere else.

The next morning, Lady Galadriel sent for her.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

Lady Galadriel didn’t make it easy for Kara as she stood and studied her. The silent examination went on for some minutes as a slight breeze moved Galadriel’s hair and the leaves above her glinted and fluttered.

Kara shifted from foot to bare foot, completely failing to approach any sort of stoicism. “I guess I expect mind-reading to hurt. Kylo Ren is probably to blame for that. Do you need me to, like, focus on anything in particular? My brain is kind of a hamster wheel at the best of times.”

Lady Galadriel smiled quizzically. “You are very far from home, child.”

“Yeah. That’s the truth.”

Galadriel did not shift or fidget. Not even her gaze faltered or flickered. Kara had never felt more read. She felt as if Galadriel could see the D she’d gotten on her Bio 2 lab final. She probably knew that Kara had once asked a coworker if she had a good vacation, forgetting that the woman’s mother had died and she’d been out of town at the funeral. That was up there on Kara’s worst moments list. There was also the time—before COVID—that Kara had sneezed full in the face of a surgical resident as he leaned in to shake hands with her patient while she removed their blood pressure cuff. That one wasn’t totally her fault, but it still came back at night, you know? The longer Galadriel looked, the more flayed Kara’s nerves became.

Did Galadriel know she was a bit of a loner who got along with everyone but struggled to keep friends? That Kara liked the idea of a backbone, but actually hadn’t even left her fiancé as she realized how abusive he was. He’d left her at the end. Yeah, that was how pathetic she was. The therapist said that was a good thing—it meant that Rick realized she wasn’t going to live in his bubble and play his game. And maybe that was true, but in the end, Kara didn’t know for sure if she would’ve left.

Did Galadriel realize how worthless Kara was to this story? In Middle Earth, Kara was kinda only worthwhile for what she could do. She was supposedly a wizard’s apprentice and a nurse and she was fresh out of wizardliness. Wizardness? Wisdom?

“You are harsh in your judgements,” Galadriel said finally. “If you imagine another woman in your same predicament, you would not so easily condemn her.”

Kara gulped. “I don’t know, I might.”

Galadriel smiled slightly. “Humility is a double-edged sword. Here in Middle Earth, your instincts and choices have shown wisdom.”

“That’s just—that’s cheating. I already know who the heroes of this story are. And it’s amazing to see, don’t get me wrong, but I’m afraid I’m making things different, not necessarily better. Every time I try to help, everyone ends up in just as bad a situation, if not worse! I don’t deserve to be here.” Kara released a long slow breath. “Sorry for going off. Aragorn was not kidding about elves being natural therapists.”

If her flood of words discomposed Galadriel, it didn’t show. “Walk with me, Lady Kara. I can see that standing in one place chafes your spirit.”

Galadriel glided down the steps to the forest floor and Kara followed beside her. Kara was barefoot still, as the warmth of the wood and the fallen leaves protected her feet. It felt rather carefree and childlike to walk through the trees with bare feet. Kara released a deep breath. “I’m nervous to hear what you might tell me,” she explained.

“Do not be afraid, yet I fear a dark plot between Sauron and Saruman is to blame for your situation,” Galadriel said. “Saruman’s thoughts are almost opaque to me, for he has great power over his own mind, yet I have long sensed a greed and affinity for foreknowledge in him. I do not think, however, they he expected someone such as you.”

“Well, they weren’t likely to find someone very different—someone sympathetic to Sauron. Our books are pretty clear on the good guys and bad guys.”

“They may have hoped for weakness, for desperation. They certainly did not want you to fall in with the hobbits and Lord Aargorn. That they have attempted it again, I also suspect. From your trials with the wolves and orcs, it seems that Saruman has some foreknowledge of your path.”

“Oh. Oh crap. You think he brought someone else?”

“Are there many with such knowledge in your land? Would it be difficult to find another such?”

“No, not really… at least, not in my country. You think that is why Saruman sent the orcs to kill us at the lake? That he knew we would enter Moria at that time and place?”

“I do.”

Kara gasped. “But if he found somebody else, he knows Frodo will destroy the ring. He knows how it will happen and maybe even when it will happen. Sam and Frodo would be doomed. Or even before that—if Saruman knows how and when we leave Lorien, he could catch us and take the ring there.”

Lady Galadriel touched her hand briefly. “Do not speak of Frodo’s burden so freely, not even here.”

“Right, sorry.”

“I understand your distress; you immediately grasp the dangers. Saruman is dark to me, but Sauron’s mind is open—at least all of his mind that is centered toward elves—and he is aware of your presence here. He is particularly aware of you, Aragorn, and Frodo and each of your roles. He contemplates in rage and cunning and growing confidence what he can do to destroy each of you. I fear that whatever story you know has now been altered beyond recognition.”

Kara stopped, aghast. “Then I’m useless to you. There’s no hope of Frodo reaching Mount Doom. And if Sauron knows the heir of Elendil is returning to Gondor, he’ll never let it happen. He’ll somehow kill him before he gets there.” Kara turned one way then the other. “Maybe I should take the ring. It might wreak havoc in my world, but at least all of you would be okay.”

Galadriel touched Kara’s shoulder to stop her panicked pacing. “Hope remains, Kara. I tell you these things because you have entered a dance which has altered, and you must learn the new steps. I do not demand a solution from you.”

“Right. Okay, yeah, I know I’m not the brightest one here, but I feel like this is my fault somehow. Especially if somebody from my world is the one who betrayed all your plans to the enemy!”

“If that has occurred, and I cannot be certain, then your presence here is what was always intended.” She led Kara down into a small dell in the woods, a sunken place between a ring of trees. It was shadowed even though it was morning, and it seemed to be perfectly silent. In the center was a large, silver basin—

“Oh my gosh, are you bringing me to look in the mirror?”

“If you will. No one is forced. It can enlighten one, but it is not to be lightly used. It shows what has been, what is, and what may yet come to pass.”

She poured out the water from a pitcher. Kara’s heart pounded and her skin flushed. She knew magic was real because she had felt the ring, but she still found it strange and frightening. But if this would help Galadriel, Kara would do almost anything.

The water didn’t slosh and settle like normal water. It grew abnormally still almost at once. Kara held her breath and leaned forward to see her reflection while Galadriel watched from the other side.

The trees faded from view and a scene of night appeared: the fellowship around a campfire with wolves attacking. Kara saw herself swinging a burning branch at the wolves while the others fought. That was the past. As was the brief flickering scene of the bloody battle at the lake, where she threw the stones to rouse the monster and save them. Then they fought the cave troll and ran from the balrog. Those scenes—though strange to view from the outside—were at least clear.

They began to come faster after that. There was a terrible battle next to a wide river. Boromir, Gimli, and Merry were lifeless on the ground. Aragorn and Legolas fought desperately as Kara and Frodo were carried away.

“No,” Kara murmured.

“Watch,” said Galadriel.

The next showed Kara chained to a wall in a dark tower.

“Orthanc,” Galadriel whispered. “These things may occur, but they are not certain.”

Kara whimpered.

Then Kara was outside of a flooded Orthanc with a giant tree that could only be an ent. She took heart. If this was still a possibility, maybe all was not lost.

Galadriel nodded. “The mirror shows moments that may or may not come to pass, if the watcher forsakes their path.”

The next view showed Kara free in a rough stable full of beautiful horses. A pretty blond woman took Aragorn’s hand, and then hers, as if asking for Kara’s congratulations. She must be Eowyn. Kara’s heart hurt a little at the sight, but it would be a good thing for him…

Another young woman that Kara didn’t recognize ran down the steps of Saruman’s tower and threw herself at Kara, who hugged her tightly.

The white city of Minas Tirith flashed in the Mirror, first burning, then not. First in rubble, then with a blooming white tree. “I get it,” Kara mumbled. “Either we win or we don’t. The imagery’s a little heavy-handed.”

The last scene surprised her the most. It was Aragorn and herself in a large hall with many pillars and tapestries. She was clean and wore a dress while he was ragged and worn from battle. He suddenly pressed her against a pillar and kissed her tenderly and deeply. Desperately.

Kara was so startled she jerked back from the mirror. “What was that?”

Galadriel raised one slim brow. “A possibility that frightens you more than being tortured in Orthanc, as it seems.”

Kara shook her head. “It’s not worse, obviously—but—” She tried to collect herself. That was an image that would live rent-free in her mind for a long time. “Is the mirror usually more—helpful? I already know that Rohan and Minas Tirith will fall if things go badly.”

“More than that. If the enemy gets the one ring, every enclave of light will fall. I can command the mirror to show some things, but what it shows unbidden is often of greater import.”

Kara hugged herself, trying to rub some warmth back into her chill arms. “It didn’t show me back in my world. Is that not a possibility at all? Or is it because this is magic, and my world isn’t?”

Galadriel frowned. “That I do not know. I do not think of magic in such terms, or in any terms at all. If you wish it, we will try once more and I will direct the mirror to such a task. I may fail.”

“P—please do it.”

Kara looked into the water again, and the reflection of the sky faded out. Galadriel placed her hands on the marble platform, also leaning slightly forward. “Think of your home, Kara.”

The scene that unfolded was in the hospital. Her coworkers were going back and forth in the white sterile halls, seeing patients, looking at bumps, breaks, and bashed thumbs. They listened to thick, wet coughs and checked the painful ears of small children. They stitched up cuts and sometimes worked fruitlessly on someone who had come in unconscious and never awoke. It was hard work, but it was meaningful to Kara; she had always been good in emergencies.

She saw Ben pass her locker on his way to grab his coat and keys to head home. He hesitated next to it in his blue scrubs. A look of grief passed over his face; then he shook it off and snagged his keys.

Then she saw her apartment. Home was a bit of a stretch for it because the walls were too bare and the floor too messy. Although—in this scene there was more art on the walls, plus a mirror and a friendly clock. Kara watched as she came through her own front door with a cloth bag of groceries. Ben came in behind her, also carrying groceries, and tapped the door shut with his foot. He kissed her cheek as he put away the milk.

Goodness—that was also unexpected.

Then Kara saw herself at the hospital. She was fingering something on her finger, and she held up her hand to show a ring. At first Kara thought it must be a ring from Ben, showing her what could happen, but then she recognized the ring.

It was the one ring. Kara’s face was more angular and severe. That Kara clapped her hands and the hospital froze. The ring-bearing Kara could heal at a touch; she went through the rooms fixing bullet holes and infection.

That same Kara climbed aboard a huge yacht and healed a billionaire, receiving a huge sum for it. She faced her ex, Rick, and he crumpled to the ground, annihilated. She got on a private airplane where a foreign dignitary promised her anything and everything if she would heal him. Kara walked from a helicopter to the White House, past crowds that clamored and pleaded for her help. Her face was supremely beautiful and supremely cruel.

This time Kara backed away from the mirror slowly. “That’s what would happen if I took the ring. I’d be a healer—a magic healer who could do anything. The richest people in the world would give me anything to prolong their lives, but I’d become just like them.”

“The ring gives power in accord with the power you already possess. You have some power, and you would start off well.”

“But I wouldn’t end well.”

“No.” Galadriel hesitated, a strange look of uncertainty coming into her beautiful face. “Now that I have seen all of this. I could perhaps send you back. Saruman is crafty and learned in lore, but his power does not exceed my own. Each thing in this world has a place where it most belongs—I believe I could detach you from this moment where you have been grafted in and put you back where you came from.”

“Back where I belong.”

“That I did not say.”

Kara thought of Ben and that moment of domesticity. He was a really sweet guy. They’d kinda flirted now and again—as nurses and techs and residents tended to do—but she hadn’t known it might be more. He wasn’t Aragorn—but who was? Ben was real. It was a real future that wouldn’t get torn away from her.

As for Kara’s vision of Aragorn… she pushed that aside. Perhaps it was possible—though it certainly didn’t seem likely—but what if he was kissing her because she was about to go back to her time and break both their hearts? Or worse, he was sorry for her, or something humiliating like that?

Not to mention, if chains in Orthanc was part of that timeline, she wasn’t terribly gung-ho about that either. But neither could she leave her friends without warning them of all that could go wrong. Torn was too small a word for Kara’s heart and mind.

“Think on these things,” Galadriel said. “If you choose to go back, you may still do the fellowship good. They must know everything Saruman knows. You have been circ*mspect, but the time for candor is at hand.”

Aragorn saw Kara come back to the pavilion, but she didn’t notice him. He sat on a large rock and used his whetstone on his sword, which was not an inconspicuous task, but Kara hurried by, blind with tears.

The pavilion was made of the gray-green cloth of the Galadhrim, with bits of silver to gladden it, and it contained many cushions provided by the elves for the fellowship to use for sleeping and resting. Just now it was empty. Kara sank to one of the cushions and clutched another to her chest to bury her face in as she wept.

Aragorn’s heart clenched. His instinct to go to her was strong; he was on his feet before he thought better of it. He paused. Kara in his arms, even if for comfort, was not a thing he should indulge. Still, he argued with himself, even if Frodo or Pippin or one of the others was distraught, Aragorn would comfort them—

But he was too honest to think it was the same. Aragorn strode the other way, and his long legs soon brought him to the open rise where Legolas and Gimli were comparing the merits of axes, arrows, swords, and spears in close battle.

The hobbits lolled nearby, munching on breakfast. Pippin was asleep. Boromir was on the side of the open space with his arms crossed, idly watching their competition. Aragorn passed him in favor of the hobbits. Aragorn respected Boromir, but he did not want him comforting Kara either.

Sam looked up. “What’s wrong, Strider? Is something amiss? Have those nasty orcs entered the wood?”

“Nothing that serious, I hope, but Kara is upset after her visit with the Lady. Perhaps her friends would be a comfort to her.”

Sam, Frodo, and Merry popped up. Sam looked knowing. “I don’t wonder at it. I felt as if Lady Galadriel was seeing into my very soul… and offering me what I couldn’t turn down but couldn’t accept neither. Right off-putting, it was. And I know I’ll see the Shire again, but Kara don’t even have that.” They hurried around the practice field toward the pavilion.

Boromir’s jaw ticked. “Sam is wiser than he knows. I think the Lady offers what she cannot provide to test our faithfulness. She could have spared her arts on me; the men of Gondor do not forsake their oaths.”

Gimli had come close enough to hear, and he bristled. “And what did she offer you that you speak ill of her? They say there is no evil in this wood but what a man brings with him; I reckon they speak truly on that.”

Boromir dropped his arms. “What I bring with me is not evil, but a knowledge of the ruin that we face—a knowledge fresh with the grit of battle on my hands and the smell of my comrades’ blood. If I edge toward despair it is because I have seen the darkness growing; and I will bow my head to no one, elf or otherwise, who seeks to use my despair against me. That’s the enemy’s tactic.”

Legolas put his hand on his bow. “The Lady is nothing akin to Sauron! Such insults are enough to end—”

Aragorn shouldered between them. “Peace, Legolas. Patience, Gimli. Boromir is not wrong that despair is a sharp knife, and the Lady may have jostled the blade that already cuts into him.”

There were sharp glares, but they backed off. Several elves watched from nearby.

Boromir turned to go, and Aragorn followed. “Still, there is hope. Boromir. As long as the company holds together—”

Boromir slashed a hand as he strode down the hill. “None of you know what it is to watch the Shadow grow every day for years. To smell it; to feel its chill; to taste the evil it brings into the hearts of those who succumb. I am not poisoned, but I admit the cup is at my lips.”

Aragorn felt his compassion grow. “I don’t speak platitudes when I say there is hope. Gondor may not have been my home, but I will do everything in my power to save it.”

Boromir paused as he looked down the hill. “I admit—you are not the sort I thought you were at Rivendell. My soul would rejoice to ride back through the gates of the city with one such as you.” His burning gaze caught at Aragorn. Boromir was one who would be loyal unto death if he ever believed. “But you are sworn to Frodo, and you have sworn not to take the ring to Gondor. Where does that leave your promises to me?”

“I will do what I can for Frodo, but if by my own will and power I can come to Gondor, I will do it.”

Boromir laughed bleakly. “Perhaps you will; but maybe we ought not speak of hope when the one person who knows our story is weeping her heart out.” He gestured toward the pavilion, where they could see Kara still crying, as Sam patted her back. “Will you go down?”

“Yes. Presently,” Aragorn said. “You can go down if you wish.”

Boromir eyed him. “You would do more good than I. It’s you she looks to for approval and direction.”

Aragorn ground heel into a tuft of grass; forcing himself to leave. “Perhaps later.”

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

Kara was a little red-eyed, but she was calm when everyone joined her in the pavilion. “I’ve asked you all to come because Galadriel has told me I ought to be forthright about what’s to come. She thinks that Saruman might have acquired another—er—time traveler like me, and that they know the story as well.”

Their dark faces showed that they understood how devastating that could be.

“So, I’m supposed to tell you the story.” She sat silently for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “The first thing I should probably tell you is that Gollum has been tracking us for some time.”

Legolas nodded. “That’s what those pale eyes in the trees were; the evening we arrived here. I suspected as much. I daily regret the sympathy that led to his escape from the Greenwood.”

Aragorn nodded. “Haldir spoke to me yesterday. Gollum slipped away, but they spotted him following.”

“That’s actually a good thing,” Kara said. “He has a big role to play.” She launched into the story, sharing how the attack of Saruman’s Uruk-hai would split the party. Merry and Pippin would be captured—this was interspersed with a lot of terrified squawks on their part and reassurances that they’d be fine on hers—and how the attack would send Sam and Frodo off on their own. She didn’t explain how Boromir would attack Frodo for the ring, but she did say, with a great gulp, “And Boromir would fall to the Uruk-hai—giving his life to protect the hobbits until the end.”

Boromir stood at the edge of the pavilion, and he rocked back on his heels. “What?”

“But that’s—it doesn’t have to happen! That’s why I’m telling you.”

His strong face was pale. “Then I will never see the flags flying again over my city, never hear the horns—” He broke off, turning his face away from them. “Go on, Kara. Get it over with.”

She winced, hating that she was hurting him. “Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas would chase after the orcs to rescue Merry and Pippin. You’d run after them for—I don’t even know, some ungodly amount of time—but at the end, you’d realize they escaped on their own.”

“Of course we did!” Merry said. “Er—how did we do that?”

She explained how they escaped, and that led to a whole conversation about ents. Aragorn’s eyes were wide. “Indeed; I would never have ventured into Fangorn if I could help it.”

She turned back to him. “Right, and that’s where you would meet Gandalf. He’d take you to Rohan to King Theoden. What’s the name of his town again?”

“Edoras,” Aragorn supplied. “Where I am to meet Theoden’s nephew and niece, I believe you once said.”

“Yeah, exactly, good memory.” She explained the situation at Rohan and the retreat to Helm’s Deep. She got as far as Gandalf and Pippin riding ahead to Minas Tirith and the gathering siege there. She turned back to Gimili, Legolas, and Aragorn. “The three of you, like, call up a ghost army or something and swoop in and save Minas Tirith when everybody is on their last legs.”

Boromir stepped forward. “He takes the Paths of the Dead? Where the faithless dwell for their betrayal of Isildur?”

“Yeah, I think so? Anyway, Minas Tirith is besieged by Sauron’s forces and it’s really bad, but you all win. That’s the main thing. I think you come up the river with some ships with black sails.”

“We must’ve sailed from Belfalas,” Legolas muttered.

“That might have to be changed, as Saruman would know to expect you on the river,” Kara said. “Or maybe the army of the dead could handle it… I don’t know.”

Frodo raised his hand. His eyebrows were tacked high. “Uh—what about Sam and I? I don’t like the sound of all these battles, but I don’t like the thought of us off on our own even less.”

Kara grimaced. “You’re not entirely alone. You make a deal with Gollum and he leads you through some of the worst parts—Emyn Muil and a swamp?—and even finds a way into Mordor.” She warned them of the spider and everything she could remember of that part. She didn’t tell Frodo he would succumb to the ring or have his finger bitten off. That seemed a step too far. Kara paused. “I’ll tell each of you more individually, if you want to know, but Frodo, you make it to Mount Doom, even though you’re weak and exhausted.”

Everyone watched her, waiting for the final word.

“The ring is destroyed.”

There was silence as each contemplated what she’d told them.

“Like I said, there’s more, but I don’t think everybody needs to know every detail. I can’t even remember every detail.”

Sam coughed. “I don’t like to have a poor attitude, and if we destroy the ring, all the better, o’course, as that’s what we’re set to do, but what I’d like to know is when do we get back to the Shire?”

“Um, I don’t know exactly, but I know you do get back. All four of you.”

Sam heaved a breath, wiping hastily at a few errant tears. “O’course we do.”

Aragorn was frozen in thought. There were many layers of meaning to the story Kara told, and for himself it was plain. He went through the Paths of the Dead—though Aragorn could not imagine what necessity led him to that dark road—and it worked, meaning he claimed their allegiance as the rightful king. But Kara said nothing of him ruling Minas Tirith.

Aragorn did not have to ask the question then, for Boromir did, his voice laced with pain. “What of Gondor?”

Kara gave an uncertain cough. “It begins a new golden era, I believe, with the return of the king.”

Boromir’s face was set. “I see.”

“I don’t know if it helps, but your brother survives a serious injury. I forgot to say that he helps Frodo at one point. He steps down after the war and I think he lives in Ethelien—Ithelien—with his wife.”

“Ithilien,” Boromir corrected quietly. “I am glad to hear that. Faramir deserves such a fate.”

“But—so do you. We can change this. You and Faramir can grow old together.”

He shook his head, not looking any of the others in the eye. “You mistake me, Kara. I will never willingly throw my life away, yet I am not dismayed by death. I can face death with peace if I know Gondor will thrive.”

“Well, I don’t want you to face death with peace,” Kara said. “I want you to live.”

He smiled. “I don’t think that is your decision, my friend. Even in the last few weeks—as I now recognize your attempts to change the story—were you successful? We still faced the blizzard on Caradhras. We still fought the monster in the lake. We still faced every danger that you knew of and some you did not.” He shook his head. “Some things are fated to end a certain way, and there are far worse deaths that what you have outlined. Excuse me.”

He strode away into the trees. Aragorn rose, but Legolas shook his head. “Time, nin mellon. Both of us would want time alone.”

The others needed time as well, and each went to find his own nook or stone or tree to contemplate what he had learned. Aragorn alone stayed in the pavilion with Kara. He paced the length of it, before forcing himself to be still.

“I am surprised that Lady Galadriel bid you tell us these things. It does not seem like her. To know one’s fate is a perilous thing; for Boromir, it is doubly so.”

Kara rubbed her face vigorously, still seated on a cushion. “I know, but she is convinced that Saruman and Sauron are ahead of us now. Maybe we can leave Lothlorien a different way—so they don’t expect us? Or maybe we head straight for the ents and hurry ahead to Rohan? We have to change what we do or when we do it so that he can’t anticipate all your choices.”

“Perhaps, but let us leave strategy for later. Why did her guidance leave you distraught?”

Kara’s bent head told him nothing. She shook her head mutely.

Aragorn crouched down in front of her and tipped her chin up. “I’ve seen you in adversity, and you were not overcome. I would never force you to confide in me—but…” he realized he was grinding his teeth. “I want to know, if you’ll tell me.”

Her eyes welled up again and ran over.

Against his will, his thumb came up to wipe her tears away.

“She says she can send me back.”

Aragorn jerked back. “Truly?”

“Somehow with the mirror—I don’t know. She thinks she can do it.”

“Gandalf could not.”

“I think she has a different kind of power; and she saw my world in the mirror.”

Aragorn struggled to take a deep breath. When he had achieved it, he let it out slowly, gently. “That is not a tragedy; that is a miracle.”

Kara cried harder. She wiped her face in the crook of her arm as she sniffed. “Maybe. But then I’ll never know what happened to any of you. I won’t know if you save Boromir, or if Merry and Pippin save the Shire, or if Legolas and Gimli grow old as BFFs.”

He stored those things to think about later. “It will hurt us also, not to know what becomes of you, but there is a time and place for everything, and your time and place are not here.”

Aragorn sternly silenced the part of himself that fought against this decision. His weaker side brought forth arguments for her to remain that were both logical and illogical, practical and ridiculous. The upshot of it was that he did not want her to leave, but that was undeniably the best thing for her. “You should go back and live your life to the fullest,” Aragorn said. “Remember that those who love you there would rejoice.”

“Nobody loves me there,” Kara said, matter-of-factly.

“That cannot be true.”

Her eyes flickered to the side as she remembered something.

“There is someone?” he asked. There had to be; he could not imagine someone of diligence, intelligence, and warmth being totally overlooked no matter how large the city.

“There is—the possibility of someone.”

He nodded and sat back on his heels. “As there should be. You do not need my permission or approval, but I would have you go home and—and find what joy is allotted to you.”

“But—”

His chest tightened at her words. If she argued much, he would give in; he wanted to give in. He wanted to stroke her cheek and see her eyes close. He wanted to undo her braid and bury his hand in her hair as he drew her to him—

She twisted her hands together. “I get that you want me to go, but what about that other person Saruman may have kidnapped? In the mirror, I saw another woman run out of Orthanc. Can you imagine if I’d ended up with him instead of meeting up with you and the hobbits? She might need me. In fact,” Kara’s chin came up, “if I stay, I could bring her back to Lothlorien. We could go home together, if that’s what’s best.”

“We could bring her here ourselves, if the situation is what you suspect. You need not stay for that alone.” If Kara stayed, half of him would rejoice. The other half would curse her presence as he continued to burn without relief or hope for the future.

Kara stood, bracing her hand on his shoulder as her numb feet unsteadied her. He could smell the mint leaves she liked and the soap of the elves. It was both more contact than he wanted and not nearly enough.

Kara nodded, even more decisively. “I know I’m a liability for you, another person to keep alive in the midst of this mess, but I hadn’t truly though about that other girl yet. I will not leave while there is a good chance she’s trapped here.”

Aragorn stood as well. If this trial was to continue, then he would endure it. “Far be it from me to deny such a calling.”

They were very close, and neither stepped back. Kara tipped her head back to look at him with a strange, pensive expression. “After all this, you will be the king of Gondor. You won’t have time to escort a refugee back to Lothlorien.”

“I cannot yet imagine that.”

“I can.” She smiled. “I could from the moment I met you. Everyone can see it.”

Aragorn’s heart throbbed, but he replied lightly. “The hobbits only see a ranger.”

“You’re not a ranger anymore.”

“Nor am I yet a king.”

There was a moment of charged silence. Of possibility.

Then Kara stepped back. “No, you’re not, but it won’t be long. I’m going to tell Galadriel my decision.”

Aragorn knew plans must be made soon, but he went to Galadriel that evening.

She seemed to expect him, and she awaited him at the foot of the stairs that led to the treetop palace of herself and Lord Celeborn. Without words, they turned together to walk in her private gardens. They were less beautiful than they would be in spring and summer, yet the very silver of the gray stems and branches and empty buds seemed to glow in the sunlight.

Galadriel was as tall as he, and they walked easily at the same pace. She sighed. “I have learned too much from Lady Kara of what might have been. I find myself wishing for what I do not have, which is a path of folly I have not walked in many ages.”

Aragorn was silent. If Galadriel wanted to share what she wished for, she would. It was not for him to ask.

“How much do you remember of my granddaughter, Arwen?”

Aragorn sniffed in surprise. “I can picture her well. She was beautiful and fair, a light in Rivendell. Lord Elrond was both joyful and despondent when she left for Valinor.”

Galadriel inclined her head. “Nothing more?”

Aragorn half-smiled. “I suppose she was the first woman I admired as a man. It would have been wonderful if I had not been half in love with her. She only saw me as a boy, which I was… then.”

Galadriel let the subject fall as they walked over green grass and fallen petals. “Lady Kara remains. She hopes to bring back the other victim of Sauron’s greed, that I may free them both.”

“It is a worthy purpose. I expect to have congress with the fellowship tomorrow that we may choose a path. I believe we must move quickly to get ahead of Saruman.”

“Yet that is not why you come to me.”

Aragorn clasped his hands behind his back. “The fellowship stands on the edge of a knife, and I must decide what we do. Whether we remain together or whether we divide. Whether we rush ahead or wait for our enemies. If you have any guidance to offer, I would hear it.”

“It is only this: you cannot reject hope for yourself while offering it to others. Like a parent teaching a child, you must take hold of hope yourself before you offer it to them. Otherwise it is an empty husk and a dry morsel.”

He shook his head. “One might think I would be accustomed to elvish advice after nearly ninety years, but one would be wrong. Do I not have hope? What do you see in my mind that you doubt? I believe I will be king in Gondor before the year is out, if my strength and will do not fail. What is that if not hope?”

She tilted her head. “Your strength and will are accounted for, what about your heart?”

He bowed his head. “I won’t indulge that hope. It will sink too deep, it will stab too acutely if it is lost.”

She spread her hands. “I have said what I have said. I cannot say whether any one thing will come to pass, but courage does not usually end in destruction.”

Aragorn did not ask to see the mirror, and Galadriel did not offer it.

When he left the glade, Merry found him. “Have you been off having your soul inspected by the lady? She talked to Frodo that first day and he was white as a ghost after.”

Aragorn nodded.

“I’ve no great desire to go then, unless she happens to serve tea while she shakes your melon around. Their teacakes are delicious.”

Aragorn smiled despite everything. “A hobbit is ever a connoisseur.”

“Indeed, we are!” said Merry. “But what I want to say is this—I think we’d best be getting on, Strider. I don’t look forward to being captured and all but gobbled up by orcs, but I’d rather get it done than wait for it. However, best of all would be to avoid it altogether, and if we’re voting, that’s what I’d say.”

“I agree with you. We must meet and make a plan.”

Legolas and Gimli joined them as they went back to the pavilion. Gimli twisted his wide lips. “I hate to leave, but I think the lad is in the right of it.”

“Hate to leave?” repeated Legolas with a smile. “You have rare good taste for a dwarf, nay, for anyone. If we stayed a little longer, you might even learn to walk without stomping and to breath like a person and not a horse.”

“Eh, keep your jabs,” Gimli said good-naturedly. “Next you’ll be saying I’ve grown taller and my ears are getting pointy, and I’d have to knock some sense back into your head and mar your smooth face.”

“What violence you offer,” Legolas said. “You’re welcome to try. Elvish heads are not knocked about so easily.”

“That explains their lack of good sense.”

Merry laughed, and even Aragorn felt his heart grow lighter. Friendship was stronger than any other relationship, he reminded himself, and he ought not overlook it for lack of the one that distracted him. He clapped Legolas on the back. “Good sense or no, let us take council with the others. We must leave Lorien as soon as possible.”

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

Kara would’ve given almost anything for a phone or laptop or even a heckin’ spiral notebook to keep track of ideas as they brainstormed way to avoid the enemy.

Oral cultures are stupid, she thought traitorously. Even Antman had a white board to plan his heists.

They spoke of going overland to Rohan to avoid the river entirely. They considered sending a larger number with Sam and Frodo and acquiring orc disguises sooner. They debated the merits of going straight to Fangorn, of sending an advance warning to the Westfold of Rohan, or even sending Aragorn to the Paths of the Dead before Helm’s Deep.

Boromir had entered fully into the planning, and he was just as tactical a thinker as Aragorn.

“One of the primary questions,” he said, “is whether we are willing to split into small groups, and how thin we dare spread ourselves. Either Aragorn, Legolas, or Gimli must be with each group for navigation, so that limits you to three parties at the most, at least until you find Gandalf. Four, if Frodo and Sam decide to continue on their own.”

“Five parties, with you,” Aragorn said.

Boromir shook his head. “Perhaps, but you cannot count on it. The three locations that we must reach first are Fangorn Forest, Edoras, and the Westfold. From Kara’s description, the Westfold may be attacked any day. The secondary targets are Orthanc, Helm’s Deep, and Dunharrow, where Aragorn can take the Dark Door to the Paths of the Dead.”

With painstaking questions, they attempted to work out everything they could about Kara’s timeline. She didn’t know dates or distances and only had hazy knowledge of times and locations. When Aragorn elicited the fact that they passed the Argonath before the breaking of the fellowship, he and Boromir’s eyes grew wide.

Aragorn rubbed his chin. “That is much further south than I assumed; the battle must have been on the shores of the lake, above the Falls of Rauros. That would be nearly a week’s travel on the river and more than three weeks on land.”

“That might be a good thing,” Boromir put in. “If Saruman’s Uruk-hai were ready much before that, they would’ve caught us further north. We also know that they begin to move their main force against Rohan only a few days later. Perhaps we can extrapolate when his forces reach their strength.”

Aragorn nodded. “Good point. Also, if we know Fangorn is our destination, we could leave the river much sooner, and cut off at least a third of our travel from the Falls of Rauros. If we know that Saruman will be expecting us at the Argonath, we all avoid it.”

“Unless,” Merry put in, “Saruman knows we know and changes his plans.”

“I don’t think we can plan that way,” Kara said. “It’s always possible he’ll change, but so far we’ve done what he expects. We tried Caradhras; we went through Moria; we fled into Lorien. As far as he knows, we’ll stick to the plan.” Kara suddenly frowned. “Although I wonder how long Saruman has had another person like me. How long has he been planning this?”

Aragorn drew the fletch of an arrow through his fingers slowly. “I assumed he tried again after he failed to acquire you. So… he would only have had this potential person, this source of information, for a month or two at most.”

“But—what about Arwen? That still bothers me. She should have been at Rivendell. If Saruman managed to change that—”

Aragorn frowned. “Lady Galadriel spoke of Arwen also. Yet you have not said what she ought to have done.”

Kara bit her lip. “I guess I’m not keeping secrets anymore. Arwen was supposed to marry you when this was all over. She was supposed to encourage you not to give up.”

Aragorn’s eyebrows winged skyward. Gimli laughed in surprise. The hobbits looked impressed too.

Boromir whistled and smacked Aragorn’s shoulder. “An elf? As queen of Gondor? Impressive.”

“Ah, indeed?” Aragorn imperfectly concealed his shock. “That is—unexpected. At any rate, she has gone on, so it is a moot point.”

“But do you think Saruman was involved—how long ago did she leave?”

He shook his head. “Decades ago. I do not think it could have been he. She was not one to be lightly swayed, and certainly not by a man succumbing to the dark.” He furrowed his brow. “And if Saruman had had such foreknowledge then, why not go to the Shire and wrest the Ring from Bilbo, dead or alive?”

“Oh, good point.”

“Nor would he have tried to bring you from your world if he already had such a person.”

Kara slumped against her favorite large cushion in the pavilion. “That is a relief. The thought of someone trapped there for years made my blood run cold.”

They turned back to the task at hand.

Sometimes Boromir grew dark as he thought through ways and strategies. It still burned at him that they would be sending the ring back to Mordor where it might be found by the enemy. He understood the necessity, but it was not easy for him. Even worse was when his fire died down, and the palor of death swept over him. Every time this happened, his eyes dimmed, and his breathing stuttered, as if he could feel the black arrows even now. However, every time that happened, he fought it back. He was determined to help them as much as he could, even though he was convinced he would not survive. She could see that Aragorn was aware of his struggle as well. Aragorn’s gaze became both more compassionate and more sorrowful as he saw what kind of man Boromir could’ve been.

More than once she saw Boromir, with equal amounts of pain and pleasure, repeat the phrase she had used: Then came the golden age of Gondor.

As they began to form a plan, which took two full days, the hobbits came and went. Kara also left at times, needing a break from the intensity of it all. During meal times they would break apart to walk, or pace, or in Gimli and Legolas’s case, to see one or two of the last sights of Galadhon before they would be called on to leave.

Boromir cornered her when she was alone near Galadriel’s garden. He looked weary and older than he had before. His attitude when she first met him (if she put it in hospital terms) had given arrogant neurosurgeon vibes. Now, if anything, he was like a veteran charge nurse, strong and capable but broken inside.

“Kara, I have one more question. You have not said why Sam and Frodo left the Fellowship, or why we were scattered when the uruk-hai came upon us.” He scowled. “Did I attack Frodo? Is that why you have been so cautious of me?”

Kara opened her mouth and then shut it. Not sure what to say. Boromir already felt terrible about his fate. She didn’t want to send him off the edge.

“I see. Your silence is enough.” He half-smiled. “He is safe from me, I swear it.”

Kara began to notice that Frodo was maneuvering time alone with each of them. When he brought his elven pie to sit with her the second evening, Kara’s throat almost closed up at his kind, resigned face.

“You’re saying goodbye, aren’t you?” Kara asked. “You’re saying goodbye to everyone.”

He nodded. “No matter what they decide, I’ve got to go on.” He swallowed and shoved a bite of beef and pastry into his mouth. His eyes were suspiciously red. “I thought of trying to leave Sam, but he’s been dogging my footsteps, as if he suspects me of slipping away already. I don’t think I can shake him off.”

“You can’t, and that’s okay.”

“I would never ask him to come, but I will not stop him.”

“I’m glad. I wish somehow I could make it easier for you, but I don’t know how.”

He smiled sadly. “I don’t expect it to be easy. You and Aragorn will do your best to distract the enemy, and Sam and I will do our best to get through. After all you have said of Gollum, I’ve some curiosity to meet him.”

“You’re a very brave hobbit, Frodo.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. I am glad you told me Gandalf is coming back. I wish I could see him again.”

“I think you will, Frodo. I can’t promise anything, but I really think you will.”

“What about you?”

Kara sighed. “I’ll muddle along. I haven’t told everyone yet, but Galadriel thinks she could send me back. If we can rescue that person from Saruman, I’ll come back here and—maybe—we’ll go home.”

Frodo frowned. “But do you want to do that?”

Kara scratched her forehead. Darn hobbit was too observant for his own good. “I think it’ll be best, but I don’t have to decide now.”

Frodo nodded. “I hope—if this all ends as we want—that I’ll see you as well as Gandalf at the end.”

She’d already given him her warnings about the spider, about Minas Morgul, about trusting Faramir. Most of all, she’d told him, trust Sam. He’ll always guide you right. Kara gave him a tight hug, wondering how his small body would bear everything he had to go through.

When he went a part with Boromir, she did her best not to watch. He came back wiping his eyes, but with no sign that Boromir had tried to take the ring. Boromir gave her a lazy salute when he saw her looking.

That night, with their plans finalized, they sat around the pavilion one last time. Gimli smoked his pipe, Merry whittled with a sharp little knife the elves had given him. Sam packed and repacked his bag, getting a little more in each time.

A piece of lembas lay on a leaf. They’d all tried a piece of it as they packed more of the waybread in each of their packs. Kara chased an errant crumb with her tongue. “It’s strange—I don’t feel bloated or even very full, but I do feel as if I’ve eaten. There’s an energy to it. Maybe this is how patients feel when we give them nutrients and sucrose intravenously.”

They all looked a little nervous to ask what that meant—they’d learned to be ready for any answer when Kara mentioned medical procedures.

Boromir smirked. “Very well, I’ll ask. What barbarous thing do you speak of? How do you give someone nutrients without feeding them?”

Kara grinned and touched her inner arm. “We stick a needle in this vein, connect it to a tube, and we pour good things into their bloodstream.”

Pippin yelped and Sam looked queasy. Gimli shook his head. “You’re a strange one, lass.”

Kara reached for the last piece of lembas, but Pippin defiantly swiped it. “Every time I think it can’t get worse, it does! That’s even worse than the—whatsit where you pump their stomachs out.”

Kara grinned. “It is a long and honored tradition for nurses to gross out their friends and family, I am only doing my part.”

Aragorn shook his head with a small smile. Tomorrow they would have to face the coming conflict and danger, but he was happy for the fellowship to have one more night of peace and laughter.

Legolas stood. “It is another long and honored tradition to have music at a feast, particularly a feast before the guests must take leave of one another.” He gave them a ballad of the woodland realm, and then as a group they sang three of the hobbit songs they’d learned in the last month. Gimli even gave them a song from Erebor, and Aragorn wondered if the others besides Legolas realized how unusual a dwarf honor it was. Boromir even gave them a marching song of Gondor. In the middle, however, his face wavered and his voice broke. Aragorn joined him, for it was an old song he’d known since childhood. He clapped Boromir on the shoulder, and they finished the song together, although Boromir’s cheeks were wet.

It was a terrible thing to know his fate. Kara might be right and Boromir might survive, but Aragorn grimly suspected Boromir was correct that some fates were inescapable. Kara, though excellent in many ways, was not a warrior. She did not understand the weight of war and responsibility that rested on Boromir, or the depth of pain of a man—almost a prince—that would never return to fight for his people and his home. Aragorn had seen few things as soul-burning as Boromir’s struggle with his own death.

Everyone’s eyes were wet after Boromir’s song, but no one spoke of it. By midnight they’d all fallen asleep in their various corners. Aragorn hoped it was not the last time they would meet to celebrate in this life.

#

The following day was the beginning of the breaking of the Fellowship. Aragorn hoped he was doing the right thing. They set out in boats down the Anduin River, but most of the party would be leaving the river after only a day of fast rowing. Two elves, Haldir and one of his men, had agreed to take Sam and Frodo on further. They would go as far as the Undeeps—a shallow, fordable bend in the Anduin where Sam and Frodo would leave them.

From there, the elves would return secretly to Lorien, and it was hoped that Sam and Frodo could skirt around the north and east edge of Emyn Muil and avoid that razor-sharp maze of rocks. Somewhere in that journey they would meet up with Gollum and make with all speed for the stairs that led to the secret way into Mordor. They would not go to the Black Gate at all, and thus take some days off their journey. Or as Kara had strangely put it, “They won’t pass Go and they won’t collect $200, but they will use their ‘get out of jail free’ card.”

Galadriel had given them gifts, and Frodo wore the small, crystal vial of light around his neck. She’d given Kara something too, and Kara had frowned momentarily before pocketing the thing. Whatever it was, he had not seen it, only that it was small and gold—perhaps a pendant.

So for today, together for one more bit of their path, the Fellowship rowed with vigor. They were already, with any luck, several weeks ahead of Saruman’s expectations, as Kara said they’d originally spent a month in Lorien. Every stroke of the oars took them, as Merry said, “Further from safety, but also further from harm.”

Late that evening they set up camp a few furlongs from the river. They planned to say farewell to one another in the morning, but Sam and Frodo slipped away with the elves before the first light. That is, Aragorn heard nothing from Haldir, but Sam and Frodo arose with mumbles and whispers. They gathered their packs, and rather loudly “snuck” away. Aragorn chose not to interrupt them. Frodo had said his goodbyes in Lorien, and it would do no one any good to prolong the ring’s proximity.

Haldir raised a hand in farewell just before he was out of sight, as he must sense Aragorn watching.

Aragorn shifted slightly, moving his hip away from a root, and another motion caught his eye. Boromir knelt against the base of a rock and stared in the direction that Sam and Frodo had gone. The motion that had caught Aragorn’s eyes was Boromir rubbing his temples as if a very bad headache had just passed.

As Aragorn watched, Boromir’s shoulders relaxed, and several deep furrows in his brow smoothed. He looked up at the moon, and though his eyes were bright, he shed no tears.

“Boromir?” Aragorn whispered.

“I’ve passed the test.” Boromir glanced at Aragorn. “Perhaps in another life I succumbed to the ring, but not in this one.”

“I would’ve been proud to know you in either,” Aragorn said.

#

The rest of the party was subdued for some days, as the loss of Sam and Frodo sank into their hearts. Aragorn led them through the Wold of Rohan as fast as he dared. They traveled in the dusk of evening and the dark of night. During the daylight hours, which were blessedly still short, they slept in the tall grasses and all but disappeared from sight.

It was a bleak, treeless grassland, with little cover. Aragorn did not mind it, for it would allow him to see and hear Saruman’s uruk-hai from a distance. He pressed his ear to the ground every so often, but he did not hear the tell-tale rumble of an army. The grassland was also cold, sometimes bitterly so. They all did their best, but they were happy to sink down in the daylight and let the sun warm them from above.

They made good time, for even Merry and Pippin had grown hardier during their travels, and the lembas bread gave them stamina. It was only four nights until they arrived at the edge of Fangorn. They were fortunate in having Kara’s insight, for the same distance from the lake would have taken far longer.

It was dawn as they approached the treeline, and the sun stretched toward them across the grassland from the east, leaving the forest in thick shadow.

Pippin raised his voice. “Show of hands, who votes we eat breakfast and warm up before going in there?”

Kara raised her hand promptly, as did the other hobbits. Gimli nodded. “I don’t like the look of those trees; they grow in knots and gnarls.”

Boromir snorted. “In a sortie, the soldiers don’t get to vote on the mission.”

Merry rubbed his cold hands together hopefully. “Ah, but not all are accompanied by such enlightened, intelligent, and practical creatures as hobbits.”

Aragorn held up a fist. “Merry, you’re in luck, we’ll stop here for an hour.” He checked the ground again, stretching out flat and putting his ear against a long low rock. He closed his eyes to focus. The smell of the grass was overlaid by the damp, shadowy, mold smell of Fangorn. The rock had just begun to soak up the sun’s rays, but it was cold against his ear.

He heard… something. For the first time, there was a vibration that indicated a large company. It was faint, however. He would guess at least a day away, if not two.

He rose to his feet. “We are doing well. I hear Saruman’s uruks heading north toward us, but we are as safe as we may be here at the edge of Fangorn. We have only to enter the forest and I think they will not follow. We have reached it before them.”

“Hurray!” cried Merry and Pippin. “No captured hobbits today!”

Kara smiled and stepped toward Aragorn. For a moment he thought she was going to embrace him, in either relief or joy, but she only snagged a bit of dry grass out of his hair. “That is a relief.”

He allowed the hobbits to make a small fire, and they fed it rolled grass, even though they had nothing to cook on it. It was cheery, and everyone took turns warming their hands and feet.

Kara took her hair down, saying that it was still damp, and sat near the fire, finger-combing it dry. Aragorn hadn’t realized he was watching her until Boromir came up and cleared his throat.

“I like a rest as much as the next man, but what is our next move?”

Aragorn turned away from Kara. “We will enter Fangorn and give Gandalf two days to appear. If he does not, we will go to the second part of our plan. You, Kara, Merry and Pippin will remain at Fangorn until the ents or Gandalf are found. I will go to Edoras to warn Theoden. Gimli and Legolas will go to the Westfold to warn the villagers.” He paused. This had been decided before, but he still wasn’t sure of it. “I still maintain that the men of Rohan will listen to you as well as Legolas or Gimli. If you chose to go—”

“I’d prefer to stay with Merry and Pippin.” Boromir spoke with quiet intensity. “I will go where you bid, so if you order me otherwise, I will follow. However, I would not choose to live my life wondering if I ran from my fate and my death when they might have needed me.”

Aragorn nodded. “Very well.”

Fangorn would be the safest place for the hobbits to wait for “the narrative to find them,” as Kara had said, and it would be safer for her as well. Aragorn was content to let Boromir keep watch over them there.

After a breakfast of lembas, they entered Fangorn. Legolas was eager and fascinated and solemn. Gimli was distrustful and uncomfortable, having to force his thick legs to take him into the palpably ancient forest.

Aragorn was on alert, as was Boromir.

Merry and Pippin seemed unaffected. They joked and laughed and their small voices seemed to shock the very shadows into quivers, as if such young, light-hearted voices had never been heard there before. Everyone’s footsteps were muffled by layers of fallen leaves, sodden and moldering into rich soil under their feet. The air and the silence were flavorful here, as if one had only to breath it in to take in strength and age.

Kara looked around at the gnarled old trees—oaks and pines and cypress—and she swallowed. “This gives total fire-swamp vibes, but the trees are actually quite lovely.”

Gimli puffed a breath. “The air feels close and tight and my skin crawls as if we are being watched.”

They’d walked most of the night, but no one seemed eager to make camp in the forest. They pressed on until near midday, when yawns and tired eyes were becoming overwhelming.

Gimli suddenly pulled his axe free. “I saw movement away over there.” He jutted his chin to their right.

The trees groaned and the shadows shifted ominously.

“Put your axe away,” Kara hissed. “They don’t like it.”

“Begging your pardon, but it’s I that don’t like it,” he growled. “I saw it again, another movement.”

“It’s probably one of the ents,” Boromir said. “I am also uneasy, but to be threatening a man in his own home is no way to gain welcome.”

Perhaps Gimli would have stowed his axe—he made a reluctant but resigned noise—but he did not have time.

A branch lashed through the air and the axe went flying. It thudded into the ground just next to Aragorn’s foot. A few inches to the side and he would’ve lost his toes.

Another branch knocked down Gimli and Legolas, while yet another wrapped around Kara’s waist.

Aragorn’s eyes were confused by the dim, dusty light, the shifting shadows, and the various shades of bark and leaf. He didn’t realize that the ent was already in their midst until the branch that held Kara lifted her up over their heads. It was not so much a branch as a long gray arm with many fingers.

The ent appeared rather like an ash tree; it was very tall and very strong, with long legs and a strange, narrow face. It brought her up close to this face, as its long fingers clutched her waist.

Kara yelped. “Are you—er—Treebeard?”

The ent made a rushing sound, as of shifting wind through many leaves. “Shhhh, rhhh, no. He’s…. away south.” He brought her a little closer and sniffed her. The wind noise grew a little more intense. “Rhhhh, shrhhhh, and why do you smell… like that other one? That one that comes with the white wizard?”

The ent suddenly pinned her against a nearby tree. Kara’s breath left in a gasp.

“A strange smell,” his voice was rough and slow. “It’s a smell of metal and death, iron and melted earth.”

Aragorn took several steps to stand beneath Kara, facing the ent. “We are friends. She may smell of another world, but she has only goodwill toward the ents.”

“Shhhrhhhh, perhaps. The white wizard said to bring her if we found her.”

Kara gasped as his hand tightened. How could he smell anything on her but sweat and river water and maybe lembas bread? But he did. Perhaps the faint smell of Houston—whatever that was—lingered on her. It would be skycrapers and plastic and iPhones and car exhaust.

“Can you take us to Treebeard? Is the white wizard with him? We must speak to both of them,” Aragorn said.

His boughs tossed. “I know how you men are. You must do this and you must do that. Very hasty. And what are those? Little orcs, I daresay. And an elf and a dwarf. I don’t like it.”

The ent pulled her away from the tree. “I’ll take you to… the white wizard. He’ll sort you out.”

“Okay. Do you mean Mithrandir? We want to see him, too.” Kara said. Saruman and Gandalf were both white wizards now, but hopefully he meant Gandalf, if things were progressing sort of like the book.

The ent tossed her over his “shoulder” and Kara’s ribs ached. She could handle this for a little while, but she didn't relish it. Her bow was shaken right off her back, and she could only hope that Galadriel's small present, which Kara had hidden in the time honored place of women everywhere--tucked between her breasts just above her corset--would not fall out. Kara was therefore distracted and completely unprepared for how fast the ent could move. He took a stride and it must’ve been ten feet if not more.

He strode quickly but quietly through the woods. Kara only got brief bouncing glimpses of the others as they tried to follow. Gimli heaved like a bellows as he ran, and Boromir snatched up Pippin to try not to lose them. Still, the ent went up knolls and over creeks and dells in a single stride.

“Wait,” Kara gasped. “My friends. We need to stay together.”

He sounded confused. His leafy hand held her firmly. “You are together. The forest is all together.”

“But they’re behind. They won’t be able to find me.”

Soon the trees blotted her friends from sight. Only Aragorn was not so easily shaken off. He ran lightly through the trees and over rocks and snags, but she saw him glance back uncertainly as the others fell behind. He didn’t want to leave them.

Kara managed to raise her head to look back at him. “It’s okay. You can follow after!”

His jaw clenched in frustration as he slowed, and Kara lost sight of him.

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

Aragorn and the rest of the fellowship followed after Kara as fast as they could. They clambered over boulder-lined creeks, in and out of gulleys, and around dense thickets of bush they could not push through.

“The good thing,” Gimli puffed, “is that that tree fellow took off in a very straight line. I wouldn’t have argued with a path, but lacking that, at least we’ve only to follow his heading.” He paused and added, with slightly less confidence, “And I hope that anyone other than me has a strong sense of direction in these woods, because I can’t see the sun nor barely the sky and every tree looks alike; we could be going in circles for aught I know.

“We’re not going in circles,” Aragorn said, “although we need to bear a bit to our left after this bramble.”

Legolas seemed to be lost in wonder at the ancient grandeur of the forest. Aragorn assumed—hoped?— if they did go astray, Legolas would right their course.

Boromir grunted, “It’ll be well. With any luck we’ll find Gandalf the faster this way. If she reaches him before us, we’re none the worse except for a few lost hours.”

“May it be so,” Aragorn agreed. He reminded himself that ents were not evil, they were merely strange and old, with their own odd understanding and necessities. Still, Aragorn did not like to have Kara beyond their aid. When the time came to break the company further, he’d known it would be a necessary and painful duty to leave her behind. Now he discovered that having her forcibly removed from the company was far worse.

Aragorn cleared his mind. Such worry did nothing. He fixed his mind on the direction, and on gauging how far he could push the hobbits. Having walked the night before and most of the current day, he must let them rest soon. He cared about Kara, but she was not his only charge.

#

“You’re not—Gandalf.” Kara tried and failed to clamber to her feet in the rotting leaves, her legs shaky and numb. The ent had walked for hours and she’d completely lost feeling in her feet and ankles by the time he plunked her down here.

The “white” wizard watched her struggle with a faint, satisfied smile. The forest was darker here, both with less light and more gnarled old trees. He shook his silver head. “Were you expecting my humble compatriot? I’m afraid things get terribly muddled when two wizards claim the same color. First two blues, now two white.” He clucked his tongue as if Gandalf had been very careless.

Kara’s blood ran cold at his sheer confidence. He didn’t seem the least bit discomposed to see her. He was well aware that Gandalf was alive and about.

She clutched at the ent, who still stood next to her, and hauled herself to her feet. She held onto his trunk-like leg with its papery bark and stomped her feet ruthlessly to get feeling back in them. She’d made some headway with the ent—learning his name, at least. His name alone took a long while, something in iambic pentameter about roots and feeling a warm golden drench of summer rain. She’d shortened it to Drench.

Saruman nodded gravely to the ent. “Thank you for bringing back this lost daughter of men. She is another stranger to this world, like the other. You did well.”

Drench bowed to Saruman, much as a tree bending in the wind. “That is the way they are; small ones are apt to get into—er— mischief. But there were some others with her….” He trailed off for a long moment. “She says it’s them… that she belongs to.”

Kara was surprised he’d latched onto that much of what she said. Communication had been rocky at best.

“Ah, but the ent nose never lies,” Saruman’s voice was slow and gentle and reassuring to the ent. “Does she not smell like the other?”

Drench wrinkled his nose at the thought of her smell.

Saruman continued, and Kara began to see why he was considered so persuasive; there was something so believable about his voice. “She is safe here with her kind, out of the forest where she does not belong. She is one of mine.”

Kara slashed a hand in the air. “Drench, I’m not his at all. This is the wrong white wizard! Whatever he told you isn’t true. Whatever he promised you, he won’t do it.”

Drench looked at her with his strange gray-green eyes. “You… talk too fast.”

Kara forced herself to slow down and simplify. She already talked faster than most of the inhabitants of Middle Earth—a modern, American habit she struggled to break—and it seemed that Drench could barely understand her even when she slowed down considerably.

Drench finally answered. “Did he promise me something? Perhaps I’ve forgotten.”

Kara frowned. She’d thought the ents were already against Saruman. Or at least, they were supposed to be trusting him less, weren’t they? She’d tried to find out if Drench understood that there were two white wizards and that Saruman was evil, but she’d quickly given that up.

“The white wizard knows the forest,” he had said finally, as if that answered her question about his good or evil quotient.

“But has he been here a long time?” Kara had asked. “That’s the bad one. Gandalf has only been here a few days or weeks at the most.”

“What do you call… a long time?”

“Many years.”

He’d thought about that for half an hour. Finally he’d said, “I don’t count days, or what you call weeks. A year I understand, but they are rather short. Lately… it seems I remember the early centuries better than the latter ones.”

Great, Kara had thought, I’ve got a senile ent.

She’d tried again, but he didn’t seem to understand everything she’d asked. Once he went off into a bout of sneezes after complaining about her smell, and his sneezes had knocked her about so badly she’d given up. He didn’t seem to have evil intentions, he just seemed a little simple. Perhaps that was why Treebeard was the leader. Anyway, she’d convinced herself it would be okay, except now it clearly wasn’t.

Saruman laughed. “He does not understand you, my small friend. I promised him nothing, for he needs nothing from me. He only does what he thinks is right.” He tapped his staff and Kara felt a strange vibration behind her breastbone. Her body began to feel weak.

She wracked her brain. If Drench wouldn’t or couldn’t save her, she would have to run for it. It was already late afternoon, so the light would fail soon. She would have to get far enough that Saruman couldn’t find her… was that even possible? With no bow—it had been shaken off while Drench carried her—and only one small knife, she had little hope of fighting Saruman.

Saruman spoke up to Drench, “You have done very right to bring her to me. Entings belong with ents and dwarves with dwarves and elves with elves. And this stranger belongs with her kind. This is the way things should be.”

Kara didn’t know exactly what magic Saruman had, but something was causing her eyes to droop and her limbs to sag. She tried to stagger away, but her legs wouldn’t hold her. She sank to the ground.

“Drench,” she slurred, losing focus as she slumped back to the rotten leaves, “please tell Treebeard what…happened.”

Kara could barely keep her eyes slotted open as Saruman swept toward her. His long robe was sewn with many colors of thread that all swirled together. But they didn’t make white, they made an ugly tangle of color. The edges were filthy, and bits of muck and leaves stuck to the hem. Knowing what he was supposed to be and what he was now was rather awful.

“You’re…nasty,” Kara managed.

His white hand made a violent gesture, and she lost consciousness.

When Kara woke up, she groaned. She was slumped on a cold, lumpy mattress that was prickly and stuffed with… hay, it felt like. She had that disoriented and uncomfortable fell-asleep-on-a-car-trip feeling. Her head pounded like she had the mother of all caffeine headaches.

The narrow room was dim and cold, and when she rolled to her side, she realized the heavy weights on her wrists were chains. The ceiling was high above her. She couldn’t see it well, but the walls near her were black, damp, and slick, like onyx or obsidian. The room was dark, but there must’ve been a skylight, because a bit of moonlight worked its way down to her in hexagonal patches.

Her hands—surprise, surprise—were numb, but she found that the chains moved enough to let her shake them out and get the nerves going. She was honestly surprised to have a mattress and enough slack in the chain to be relatively comfortable.

Unfortunately, she was definitely in Saruman’s tower, Orthanc, and to say she was bummed to have been captured was an understatement, but neither was she cowering in fear. This was pretty bad, but other than being a bit thirsty and sore and cold, she wasn’t in terrible shape. A little wriggling proved that her small knife had been taken out of the sheath at her waist and that was a bigger bummer, but… she was still hopeful.

She would’ve had to come to Isengard sooner or later. She would’ve rather done it after Saruman was defeated, but at least Aragorn and the others would know where she was. They would find Gandalf, and somehow or other they’d get here.

Eventually.

The ents destroying Isengard was one of her favorite chapters in the story. At least she’d have a front row seat, right?

By and by she heard movement and voices. The deep, persuasive one was Saruman, and the other was rough and harsh. She couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like an orc.

When a door suddenly swung in on silent hinges, Kara blinked in yellow-orange lantern light.

Saruman swept in, along with four orcs. The smell that came with them was intense and awful. It was all she could do not to gag in the enclosed space.

Several of them seemed to be guards. Two positioned themselves on either side of the door and a third outside. The fourth orc was huge, even towering over Saruman. She’d guess he was near seven feet tall and powerfully built. Was this the one that would’ve killed Boromir? She remembered he had a name, but she couldn’t think what it was.

Kara got to her feet, which caused her chains to scrape her wrists, but she preferred to be standing in their presence.

“A pity about all this.” Saruman gestured to her chains as if he had nothing to do with it. “As soon as I am sure of your cooperation, I will get rid of these savage trappings.”

Oh, so he was gonna play good cop/bad cop? And be both sides? She’d give it to him, Saruman wasn’t afraid to make a bold play.

“Like you would actually let me go?” Kara scoffed. “Please, I’m not an idiot. My stories told me what you were like, and everything I’ve heard from the fellowship confirms it.” She was not averse to playing along until a rescue came, but she’d need to make it look real.

“Ah, but history is, as we say, written by the victor. I am not the villain I was painted to be.”

Kara co*cked her head. “I’ll admit, I was surprised Drench listened to you. From everything I’ve heard, the ents are good.”

“The ents are what they are meant to be, and I suppose that can be described as good. Good and bad are such childish labels, however, don’t you agree? Effective or ineffective would be my preference.”

“So being effective makes you a good guy? What about Rohan? When you send your orcs to crush the refugees at Helm’s Deep, I’m sure that’ll comfort them.”

He smiled his slight, unbothered smile. “But I have no intention of attacking the horse lords at present. You have my oath.”

Kara gaped. They did take their oaths seriously here. “R-really?”

He put a thin, bony hand to his chest. “It seems I have been described as someone who acts from malice and hate, when nothing could be further from the truth. Rohan threatens my plans, but I have nothing against the people. When I found out from your—er—compatriot that my attempt at Helm's Deep would fail, I immediately gave it up. I have more intelligence than to beat my head against the rock of the Hornburg if I do not have to.”

Kara looked between him and the orc. “Then—then what are you going to do with your orc army? Or didn’t you make one? Do I have that wrong, too?”

The orc growled and Saruman raised his pale hand. “Patience, Ugluk. She means no harm.”

“I do indeed have an army,” he continued. “An army is not made in a day, and I have been about this business for some years. Its uses are many, its potential great, but its ultimate destination may rest with you.”

“With me?" Kara tried to order her aching head. "If you’ve learned that Sauron can and will be defeated—are you thinking about turning against him? Lack of hope was supposed to be your downfall.” Privately, Kara thought arrogance and cruelty and petty jealousy were also his downfall.

He steepled his hands. “What a clever young woman. You are right that I have no great desire for Sauron to rule Middle Earth. He was an ineffective lieutenant to Morgoth in the First Age, a failed conqueror in the Second Age, and I expect nothing better from him now.”

Kara slid one cuff up and down her forearm. “Then is it possible you would you fight with the men of Gondor against Sauron?”

“It is possible. I’ve no great desire to see the throne of Gondor restored, but I will not oppose it.”

“I'm floored."

“I’m glad to see I am capable of surprising one such as yourself, one who has come beyond time and space with her knowledge intact."

“Yeah, I'm all that and a bag of chips. How did you get your orc to retrieve me? I can't imagine what kind of magic co*cktail you'd need--"

For once his wise, stoic facade failed. "We will not speak of that," he snapped. "Only that it is high time my efforts bore fruit. They will bear fruit; they must."

Touchy subject, apparently. Kara pivoted. "Could you even make your orcs fight for men rather than against them? Or would they turn on you?”

The orc abruptly slammed a fist into the wall next to her head. Kara flinched and bit her tongue.

“We fight for the White Hand,” Ugluk growled. His breath hit her forehead, hot and rank.

Saruman paced a little closer to Kara. “My Uruk-hai obey me; they do not care for slurs against their loyalty.”

“Sure, sure. My... mistake."

The orc still stared down at her from far too close. He stared at her body, too, and it was somehow creepier than a guy undressing her with his eyes. This orc looked as if he would literally eat her flesh if she moved wrong. There was no way these orcs would fight with Gondor, or that Aragorn or Theoden or Boromir would want them.

“Wh-what would you want in return for helping fight Sauron?” Kara’s voice wavered in spite of herself.

The orc smiled at her with sharp, blackened teeth as he stepped back.

Saruman tapped his staff to create more glow in the room. The light from it was cold and cruel, not like the warm pure light that Gandalf made in Moria.

“Something you have been entrusted with. Something I could wrest from you but will instead ask--because I would much rather make of you an ally than an enemy."

Kara frowned. Did he want more knowledge of the story? Did he think she brought something else back from the future?

He smiled. "In more mundane matters, I want the horselands. Their young kingdom, such as it is, is a thing of yesterday. It pains me to watch their mewling crawl toward efficacy.”

There it is, Kara thought. He wants a kingdom for himself. And after that he would take more. Probably he’d stretch his hand toward the peaceful, green Shire, like he did at the end of the series. He would definitely make a play for Gondor sooner or later.

“I don’t think Aragorn would allow you to take Rohan, even if you could defeat them. I mean, they are one of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth. And didn’t you just give your word you wouldn’t attack?”

“I did not say I would attack. And who is Aragorn to permit me anything? Even if he were Isildur himself, I would not bow to his authority.”

“What if he was better than Isildur?”

He curled his lip. “What if Ugluk decided to grow wings and become an eagle? Things are what they are. Men will not grow more noble than their nature allows. They have already proven themselves to be faithless and weak, incapable of true leadership.”

“But you aren’t?”

He raised his gray-black eyebrows, which were like slashes against his pale forehead. “I am not a man. My nature is above theirs as much as an elf is to a mudfly. My only folly has been submitting to a role of service, rather than ruling them as I was meant to do.” His hand clenched at his side. "And yet again I find myself serving those who should be beneath me, like Sauron. If you believe anything, believe that I will do what I must to never serve again."

Yeah, this guy should not be allowed to touch power with a ten-foot-pole, Kara decided. She furrowed her brow, as if in thought. “I don’t know about all of that. My stories just say that King Theoden dies… I don’t know much about what happens to Rohan after that.”

Eomer happens, you sick, twisted sad*st.

He relaxed his hand. “I know. That is why I am giving you time to think. I will even allow you to speak to your fellow traveler. Perhaps her words will reassure you of my reasonable aims. She has been an invaluable ally.”

Kara’s heart sped up. That was the only person in this benighted black tower that she wanted to see. She could hardly believe he would just allow it, but she wasn’t complaining.

#

Kara was given water and something like jerky that night. In the morning, after an uncomfortable and scratchy few hours of rest, she was escorted to another small chamber within Orthanc.

It was also cold, also bleak—but maybe that’s just how the whole tower was. Cloudy, early-morning light misted through a high window, and a single candle in an ornate but dirty candelabra sat on a small table. There was a woman curled up on a similar mattress to Kara’s, under two unimpressive blankets. Despite the lackluster arrangements, it didn’t look like a dungeon. There were no chains. There was a table with several large empty pages and an inkwell. Two shapeless dresses hung on hooks under the window.

The woman twisted around to look at the door as Ugluk grunted at her. She was young, maybe late-twenties, though her face was drawn and tired so maybe she was older than that. If Kara had any doubt that she was from her world, her dark skin and long locs put that to rest. She’d fit right in in Houston or anywhere, but not here. She wore another of those shapeless dresses that she must’ve been given here in Middle Earth.

Her eyes went to Kara’s warily and flashed with understanding. But she waited to speak until Ugluk strode out, slamming the door and bolting it on the outside.

The woman pulled her blankets a little higher, tucking another rough linen blanket under her head as a pillow. “If I say we’re in the second movie now…do you know what I'm talking about?”

“I’d say Legolas and Gimli’s competition was everything, but I have no desire to reenact Helm's Deep.”

She gave a faint smile. “You are from the real world then. Saruman told me, but you can't always believe him."

"No kidding. Have you been--have you been locked up here the whole time?"

"Something like that." She stretched and groaned. "We couldn’t get set down in a romantic comedy. Oh no, it had to be epic fantasy.”

Kara smiled, despite everything. “Er—do you like romantic comedy?”

She rubbed her eyes. “Sometimes. I could totally rock one of the new Hallmark ‘diverse’ Christmas movies. I’d be the big city executive who goes to the country and falls for a small-town hottie. He could be a lumberjack or a rock painter."

Kara laughed, but she was concerned at the woman’s clear exhaustion. “Are you—I mean, clearly you are not all right, but what have they done to you?” She came to kneel next to her. “Have you been getting regular water? Anything nutritious besides dried meat or bread? I’m a nurse, by the way. I work at Houston Memorial Hospital.”

The woman didn’t reciprocate with her home. She just nodded. “Andrea Cooper."

Kara took the Andrea’s pulse, and though Kara didn’t have a clock to measure the seconds, she compared it with her own, and it was definitely fast. “I wish I could check your blood pressure.”

Andrea waved a hand. “Nah. No headaches or blurred vision or anything. Just because I'm black doesn't necessarily mean I have high blood pressure."

“I didn't mean it like that, I'm just concerned about you. Do you happen to be a nurse?"

“Nope, I’m an accountant. I just know my way ‘round WebMD, and I know some the symptoms of high blood pressure."

“Oh. An accountant?"

Andrea picked at the blanket. "Yeah. Three years with the IRS. I’ve got an almost eidetic memory and I like making businessmen cry. It’s a good fit.” She raised an eyebrow. "What?"

“That's just—not what I expected. Are you a Tolkien fan?"

She shrugged, still making no effort to get up. "I've read the books once, seen the movies now and again. But you know, good memory." She studied Kara. “You look more cheerful than you should. Tell me you got a way out of here.”

“Not yet, no, I’m sorry.” Kara had more questions, but she didn’t push it. “So, nutrition—”

“Unless you’re hiding some fruit in your bra, it doesn’t matter, does it? Not much you can do.”

“That’s true.”

Andrea relented a little. “I don't mean to be so harsh. I am glad to see another woman in this madhouse. Somebody that knows what's real. Saruman talks about you—about the traveler that ended up with the fellowship. I keep closing my eyes, hoping I’ll wake up out back home. But instead I wake up more tired than I was.”

“I get it. How long have you been here?”

Andrea scratched her forehead. Her nailbeds were a little too pale; probably she was anemic. “More than a month. Less than two.” She moved her legs to the side to sit up. Her movements were awkward and she winced. Kara gave her a hand and wondered darkly if she’d been hurt by Saruman or his orcs. Once Andrea was a little more comfortable, Kara would ask about other injuries.

Kara sat back on her heels, rubbing her cold hands together. “So Saruman has been interrogating you—or using the palantir against you—and you’ve been telling him what happens in the books?”

Andrea’s face shut down. “Yeah, unfortunately. It wasn't a plan, all right? I woke up with a bloody crystal ball in my face and a migraine from hell. At first I thought it was a nightmare."

“I understand—I mean, I wasn’t blaming you. That must’ve been terrible.”

“Yeah, it was. And then I thought he was some kind of psychopath with a Lord of the Rings fetish. I was willing to say whatever he wanted to make him calm down, you know? By the time I realized it was real... I'd told him more than I meant to." Her jaw tensed. "So you can blame me if you want to, but I didn't have a lot of options with an orc breathing down my neck. I've tried to make myself useful to him without telling him everything,but I'm not looking for your forgiveness."

"Fair enough." Kara took a deep breath. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. You'll be glad to know I’ve spoken to Galadriel, and she thinks she could get us home. I know that's not much, but it’s… something.”

Andrea looked wearier than ever. “How far away is she?”

“Um, not too far, although I guess we couldn’t take the river back up, so probably a couple weeks.” Kara swallowed uneasily. “I figured I’d see this through until they win the war, though. Make sure they know what they need to know.”

Andrea eyed her a little warily. “What if I wanted to go back sooner?"

“It’s hard not to sympathize once you get to know the Fellowship..."

“Well, you got me there, but I'm sort of on a deadline."

Kara winced. “I’m sorry. It’s just—if you can tell me how much Saruman knows, that might help—”

“I don’t give a— Look, I'll help you if I can, but these people aren’t real. The sooner we get out of here, the better.” She got heavily to her feet and took a few hasty strides. Her locs swung back and forth. “I just want to get home."

There was a mix of pain and guilt on her face. Her eyes were suspiciously wet. Kara was completely distracted from pretty much all of that, however, because she’d finally gotten a look at Andrea’s figure as she walked.

Kara gasped. “You’re pregnant?”

Andrea touched her round stomach. “Yeah. And let me tell you, this sucks more than night shifts during tax season. I am not having a baby in Middle Earth.”

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

As the predawn light began to infiltrate into the wood between lumpy twigs, sharp leaves, and heavy branches, Aragorn shook Merry and Pippin. “Up, master hobbits, we must be on our way.”

Gimli squinted into the dim woods and then up at the tracery of early morning sky. A few stars were still visible. “Perhaps its just me, but this wood feels just too old for men or hobbits or dwarves. I can feel the air weighing in my chest, and I must push it out with extra force, for it is too old and heavy for me.”

Legolas nodded. “It is far older even than Lothlorien. I feel as if there are words being sung in a language of forgotten times, older than hills and trees, a language of wind and breath and creation. I cannot make it out, yet it itches at my ears.”

Pippin yawned. “When I feel like that, I take a bit of cotton wool and clean my ears. Does wonders itching.”

Legolas shook his head. “The mundanity of hobbits is unfathomable.”

Boromir stretched. “Mundane or no, I’ll take a bite of lembas before we go. A man can’t live on ancient songs alone.”

Aragorn was impatient to be gone, to continue following Kara, but he was not unreasonable. It was only the work of a moment for Legolas to break apart a small lembas cake and give each of the remaining six of them a piece.

“I’m pretty sure my piece is smaller than Pip’s,” Merry said dubiously.

“That’s because you’re too big,” Pippin said. “Us small folk need to keep up our strength.”

Gimli laughed. “If that’s the case, Aragorn and Legolas and Boromir could give up their share entirely.”

Boromir rolled his eyes and raised his bread toward the east. “To Frodo’s success,” he said, before eating it.

The rest raised their pieces toward the east as well. “To Frodo!” Merry called.

An unexpected voice made them all start. “It is a bold company that calls out Frodo’s name in these dark times.”

They spun around and Aragorn started forward with relief, “By truth and life, you did survive.”

Gandalf wore a shining white garment, and as the sun finally passed the low banked clouds in the east, a shaft shone straight through a gap in the trees and made him gleam like a sun.

Gimli clenched his eyes shut, and Merry and Pippin clapped hands over their eyes. “Oi, he’s white alright! Just as Kara said.”

Legolas was the only one who could look straight at his radiance, for even Aragorn and Boromir had to cast their eyes away. Legolas smiled and greeted him in Sindarin.

Gandalf smiled wryly, and his radiance dimmed as he stepped toward them. “I see my journey beyond death has not greatly inconvenienced any of you. Indeed, you do not even seem surprised.”

“We are still startled,” said Pippin, kindly. “But we did come to Fangorn looking for you.”

Gandalf huffed. “I gather my “apprentice” has something to do with spoiling my surprise. Where is she?”

Aragorn suddenly blanched. How could he have forgotten for even a moment? “Kara is not with you. The ent we met took her away—to the white wizard.”

Gandalf furrowed his brow. “Hm. Unfortunate.”

Aragorn forced back a few rather biting words. “Yes. It is unfortunate.” He took a deep breath. “But we are fortunate to have found you without much delay.”

“Fortunate? I walked half the night when word came that you had entered Fangorn.” He sat on a large rock. “And I may have strayed out of time and thought, but I have stomach, and I could eat.”

Legolas broke off another large portion of lembas bread while they began to catch Gandalf up on all that had happened. As he wiped his fingers carelessly on his white robe, they rose and began to walk while they finished their explanation of Sam and Frodo’s direction.

Aragorn hesitated. “Should we not bear south and west? That will lead us toward Isengard.”

Gandalf shook his head. “And what could we do there at this juncture? Get our heads lopped off by orcs, most like. You are coming to meet Treebeard.”

Aragorn’s feet felt heavy as they headed away, back north towards the center of the forest. He trusted Gandalf, but he could not bear to think of Kara in Orthanc. She would be surrounded by dark walls, violent orcs, and a treacherous wizard. But he was also practical, and if Saruman’s orc army still surrounded Isengard—which it must if it had not yet headed toward Rohan—the fellowship could not face down a whole army.

“I should like to meet another ent,” Merry said. “That last one didn’t stick around long.”

“Yes,” Gandalf agreed. “From what I understand, Saruman has been playing a sly game with the ents. He brought out his other captive from Kara’s time and told the ents that any such beings ought to be brought to him. The ents are ancient and wild, but they have a strong sense of order and loyalty. I believe he likened it to the lost entwives, ensuring that they would bring him Kara if she entered these woods. I thought I had gotten to most of them and passed word to do no such thing, but even I cannot be everywhere.”

They ranged back over many of the discussion they had had in Lothlorien. To some ideas Gandalf scoffed, but to others he nodded thoughtfully.

It was not quite mid-day when they entered a clearing and Gandalf paused. “Well met, Treebeard!”

Aragorn and the others bowed to the ent. He was rather shorter than the one that took Kara. He was knobbly and bumpy, like an old oak.

“Ah, young Gandalf.” He laughed with a rumble. “You have found your friends.” Treebeard had large dark eyes, with were black with highlights of green, and a wiry beard that was more twig than hair. “An elf, I see. It has been many years since I have seen an elf in these lands. And a son of Aulë! You smell of Erebor, my young dwarf, where I have not wandered in…” he trailed off. “In many an age. But what are these little things? Halflings, you said, Gandalf?”

“That’s right!” piped up Merry. “Only we call ourselves hobbits. And I hear we are going to be great friends.”

“Oho, friends, is it? Not very particular are you?”

“Not very!” Pippin gestured to the group. “As you can see!”

Gimli grunted. “Ungrateful brat.”

Treebeard’s eyes twinkled. “You have a hearty soul, little hobbit. But this forest is not a place for things as small as you. Not unless they can scurry as fast as a squirrel or burrow as quick as a mole.”

“We’re actually good at both,” said Pippin.

“And they will have to stay with you for a time,” said Gandalf, “for the rest of us have other errands.”

Treebeard stroked his brushy beard. “Hrrm, hm. I’ve errands of my own.”

“I’ve no doubt. But presently, please do me a great favor by taking up these two hobbits until we shall meet again. They do not weigh much; they will not burden you too badly.”

Merry and Pippin had already packed lembas in their small traveling bags. They knew that they were to do whatever they could to get the ents to go against Isengard. “Talk about the destroyed trees,” Kara had said, “and the orcs coming with fire and axes. Whatever you have to do, get the ents to go to war. You can do it.”

They looked a little uncertain now, but they had valiant small hearts, as Aragorn had long known.

Treebeard lifted first Merry and then Pippin to his shoulders. “They are not heavy. Indeed, I may forget you are here, little hobbits, so you must talk to me from time to time.”

“Yes, alright!” said Merry.

“No need to shout, young hobbit; my ears are right here.”

“Sorry,” Merry said. “But this is terribly exciting. I’m ever so glad to have skipped the orc march and gone straight to the ents. Terrible creatures, orcs.”

“That they are,” agreed Treebeard. “Gnawing, biting, burning… Oh! That was a dark day when orcs were brought to life in Middle Earth.”

“Yes,” Pippin said. “And now Saruman is making even more! It is terrible.” He winked at Aragorn.

They would have taken their leave then, but Aragorn and Gandalf paused as another ent came lumbering into the glade. Unless Aragorn was much mistaken, it was the one that took Kara.

Treebeard seemed startled, too. “I have not seen you move so fast since…! I cannot say. Why do you rush about, my friend?”

The ent paused.

Aragorn stood before him. “What happened to the lady you took? Where is she?”

“She—she…”

“Yes?” Aragorn prompted.

Treebeard shook his head. “You cannot rush an ent. He has slept for many centuries, I have only recently woken him again.”

Aragorn ground his teeth and waited.

“She called me… Drench.” His bough-like limbs moved uneasily. “She… asked that I tell you… what happened She talks too fast.”

Aragorn couldn’t help a half-smile. That was definitely true of Kara; her tongue ran on wheels when she was excited. She said everyone in her world spoke so rapidly.

Treebeard looked up at Drench, for he was a very tall ent. “What did happen?”

“She was angry; and the wizard made her sleep.” He looked at Gandalf and his great gray-green eyes widened. “You are another—white wizard?”

Aragorn could practically see the ent’s thoughts as he put the two facts together. Drench swayed unhappily again, with his boughs groaning as if from a high wind, though there was none. “The wrong wizard. Oh dear. The wrong wizard.”

Treebeard put his hand on the other’s shoulder. “She will be safe enough with her kind.”

Drench shook his head before Aragorn or anyone else could correct Treebeard’s misapprehension. The taller ent swayed again. “Smells of smoke. I was only a few leagues from Isengard and it smelled… strongly of smoke. And orc.”

Treebeard bristled. “I have not been to the southern edge in sometime. He promised he would not encroach.”

“He has,” Pippin said. “He’s encroached as much as you can croach! He’s a wicked man. He’ll keep cutting down your beautiful trees for the fires of Isengard until you stop him.”

It was almost comical to see the other ent’s surprise when he heard the small voice and realized the hobbits were sitting on Treebeard’s shoulders. He staggered back a step. “Little orcs?”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Merry demanded. “We look nothing like orcs and more importantly, we smell nothing like them either.”

It was almost comical, but Aragorn’s heart was too heavy at the thought of Kara’s plight to gain much relief.

Boromir’s brow was furrowed also. “Good ent, when you say the white wizard made her sleep—what do you mean? Did he strike her? Was she injured?”

The ent rubbed his hands, causing shreds of bark to fall to the ground. “Didn’t hit her. Held out his black staff and made her sleep.”

Boromir nodded. “Hm.”

Gandalf nodded. “Let us away to our next task. The sooner we succeed, the sooner we may free Kara from Orthanc. They are in good hands here.”

“Are you certain Merry and Pippin are in good hands?” Gimli muttered. “I don’t like leaving the little lads behind; I’m not ashamed to admit it. And these tree folk are stranger than even elves.”

“I meant the ents are in good hands,” said Gandalf. “I believe I can trust them to Merry and Pippin. Now, let us go south to Edoras. There is much to set right, for it will take more than ents to take on Saruman and his army encamped about Isengard.”

#

Kara and Andrea ate the food brought to them at midday and evening, and it was not as bad as Kara feared. There were even some stewed greens and candied fruit along with the rolls and dried meat, which would at least get Andrea a few nutrients and trace minerals.

The setting sun cast strange shadows through the wooden inlays in the high windows. A rectangular splash of geometric shapes worked its way up the wall until it faded away with the dusk.

“Fifty-six hexagons in each window,” Andrea said, chewing on a handful of raisins. “Two hundred twenty-four in all.” She pushed a piece of hair out of her eyes.

Kara pushed her own wavy hair back as well. Sometime on the way here she’d lost her hair elastic. It was the only one she’d had when she fell into Middle Earth and it was stupid but she almost wanted to cry over it. She didn’t even know when it had happened exactly—had Saruman carried her here? Had his orcs carried her? She shuddered either way.

Or maybe it was one of his petty cruelties to leave them without such things. Andrea said he’d taken everything she had with her when she fell.

Andrea slowly picked at a bread roll, sipping a goblet of water that was ornate but also looked dirty. Kara would really like to get her a course of prenatal vitamins, some slow-release iron, and a good night’s sleep, but she’d settle for watching her eat something that wasn’t brown.

Kara tore off a bit of dried apple with her teeth. “I wonder if this fruit is from the Shire. Saruman is supposed to be trading with them already.”

Andrea shrugged. Kara noticed that she avoided talk of the characters of Middle Earth. Her time here had been so awful, it was no wonder she tried not to think about the damage she'd accidentally done.

Andrea swallowed a bite. “So what’s your deal, how’d you end up here?”

Kara explained about the hospital and the orc and asked in turn about her story.

Andrea rubbed her ribs with a wince. “Baby’s kicking. I was in the parking garage below the building where I work. I’m always cautious down there. Flickering lights, lots of places to hide—it’s always given me a bad feeling. One of these orc bastards snuck up on me as I tried to unlock my Prius. I thought I was about to be raped or abducted, you know? So you can imagine I fought. I had my keys between my fingers, the way we do. I got him pretty good, but then he spit on me.” Her hand fluttered near her throat for a moment, but she forced it down. “I fell and woke up here.”

“That is so strange. I can’t imagine how Saruman is doing this, or why it has been so random. Where are you from?”

“D.C.”

“And I’m from Houston. It makes no sense.”

“I’ve thought about that. Saruman told me if I didn’t talk, he’d try again, right? So I asked him about the process.” She rolled her eyes. “And he likes to talk about himself. Men are all the same.”

Kara actually felt that menweren'tall the same, several in particular came to mind, but she didn't want to interrupt Andrea.

“I don’t know how his magic works, but he said timing is important.” Andrea stood and rubbed her arms. “He’s tried before and gotten women that don’t know anything about Lord of the Rings. I’m pretty sure they’re –they’re dead." Her eyes looked haunted, but she pushed on. "From what he said, I think he might've hit southeast Asia or somewhere the movies were never big. Whatever spell he uses--he was vague about that--he says the timing matters down to the second. It affects what area of the world he sends his orcs.” She grew animated as she talked about her theory. “Mathematically, DC is not that far from Houston. Saruman doesn’t want it to be random, so if he can time his spell perfectly, it ends in roughly the same area."

“But then, getting two women—that seems like a strange coincidence.”

Andrea gave her a look like she was being stupid. “That is easy; he tells his orcs to only pick women. Not too old, so they won’t die on him; no men, as he assumes we’re easier to control. Misogynism at its best.”

“Oh. Yeah, that checks out." Kara didn’t want to aggravate her, but she couldn’t help saying. “Saruman told you that he’d already killed the women he first got; and he threatened to try again if you wouldn’t cooperate?”

"Pretty much. You can see why I first thought psychopath. I thought he was some elaborately dressed serial killer." She glowered. "I wasn't totally wrong."

Kara didn't force her to continue that subject. “How far along are you?”

“I was six months to the day when I got here, but I lost track since then.”

“Well, crap. So, you’re between seven and eight months along?”

She gave a mirthless smile. “Somebody scribble Middle Earth on my birth plan.”

“Did you have one?”

“Nah, but I was thinking about it.” She cursed quietly. “It would've included pain medicine and no creepy white dudes.”

“Is there a dad in the picture?”

She grimaced. “Not really—no. Not that I need that; I can do it alone.”

“Absolutely. And if the moment comes soon, I am a nurse.”

Andrea looked skeptical. “How many deliveries have you done?”

“A lot,” Kara said. That was a little generous, considering her maternity rotation had been a decade ago, but it was way better than nothing. Kara didn’t want Andrea to be forced to deliver in medieval squalor, but hey, at least she knew about germ theory.

Andrea forced a smile. “Don’t suppose you’ve got an epidural in your bag?”

“Sadly, no, although athelas seems to do pretty much anything, and I do have some of that.”

Their one candle was guttering rather low, threatening to send them into darkness when it went out. Kara rubbed her cold arms. Her wool tunic and elven bodice kept her somewhat warm, but her cloak from Lothlorien had disappeared after Saruman took her.

“I guess I’m sleeping in here tonight—since Saruman hasn’t come back.”

“He usually comes at night.” Andrea sighed. “Look, I don’t know you, but you seem like a decent person--"

“Thanks?”

“So I'm going to offer you some advice. If he asks you questions, answer them. Do it as carefully as you can, or lie as well as you can, but don't be needlessly brave. Because if we 'fail him,'" she used air quotes, "it'll just be someone else later. I don’t care where your loyalties are, this imaginary world is not worth dying for, or sacrificing more women for.”

“If it’s not imaginary—”

“Okay, fair--say it isn't. If your friends are really that heroic, they won’t want you to suffer for them. Listen, Saruman doesn't want to work for Sauron; he's frightened of him. Lately it's gotten worse. Maybe there's a deadline--I'm not sure. If you don't give him what he wants--he'll throw you under the bus in a second. The eye of Sauron," she shuddered, "I can't describe it. So give Saruman something so he doesn’t go nuclear and turn you over to it, got me?”

Kara nodded, if only to reassure her. Andrea spoke harshly, but Kara was beginning to suspect it was mostly a cover for the fear and helplessness of the past months.

She guessed right, too, as Saruman arrived soon after. Kara was escorted—again with the sneering, growling orcs—to a round room with a low table in the middle. There was a black silk cloth over the table, with a palantir-sized lump under it. Great.

Saruman sat in a throne-like chair to one side, while Kara remained standing in front of him. There was a low stool, but she wasn’t going to play into his power game by sitting there. The big orc from before stood at his right side. Somehow he looked both larger and more disgusting today.

Saruman laid his black staff across his lap. The four prongs at the top held a milky white stone that radiated coldness. “Have you and my dear guest Andrea had a chance to become acquainted? She is a remarkable young woman; so intelligent and pragmatic. She has been helpful to me."

Kara’s temper was roused. “You mean you frightened her with orcs, tortured her with the palantir, and then blackmailed her with the threat of killing another innocent woman from our world? How enlightened of you."

His lips, already thin, were pressed into a line. “What a tragic perspective. I prefer to say that confronted with the realities of her new situation, she made the decision to trust me. I am eminently trustworthy; I will do what I say.”

“She doesn’t trust you; she’s trying to believe you're not real. It’s a dissociative coping mechanism." Kara made herself stop talking. She was furious about what he'd done to Andrea--eight months pregnant!--but she wasn't helping her by going off. If Saruman wanted to see Andrea as an ally rather than a victim, so be it.

Saruman's hand tightened on his staff, his black eyes glinting. “And what will you be: an ally or a victim?"

Kara gasped. Could he read her mind?

"Oh yes, when they are so obvious as yours. Tell me, Lady Kara, will you not consider accepting my help and helping me in return? Why not put the ring in the hands of the one person whose nature is above that of Sauron, one who could break it free from its master?"

"It's not up to me," Kara said. "Aragorn would never give you the ring. Even Gandalf said he couldn't wield it, and he's just as much a maia as you. Sauron's will is bound up in it; the ring would corrupt whoever wielded it. " Of course, Saruman was already corrupted, so that would be a quick minute.

"I am sure your opinion weighs heavily with this Aragorn, the so-called heir of Isildur, but I am not concerned with his at present. This is between us. No man can wield the ring, no hobbit, elf, or dwarf--your Aragorn is right that they cannot be trusted. But I am no mere man. Perhaps Gandalf refused the one ring, but did he tell you that he already has a ring of power? No? Ah, he does like to keep his little secrets."

"I--I knew that."

"Givemethe ring, Lady Kara. I will smash Sauron's hordes. I will turn back the mercenary men of the Haradrim. I willsend you home."

Kara knew it would probably be smarter to play along for a while like Andrea recommended, but she was both exhausted and angry. “Like hell would I give you the ring. Didn’t you try to kill us with the wolves and the snow and the orcs? You would’ve been super happy if we died on the way. You’re just scared now that Aragorn has gotten this far. Well, guess what? You’re already beaten, you just don’t know it.”

He stood abruptly. He pointed his staff at her. “Foolish woman. Give me the ring."

Kara backed up a step. "What? It's not like I have the ring on me."

He jerked his black staff toward her and Kara's body went stiff. She rose a few inches off the shiny black floor. Her toes instinctively reached for it and her arms wanted to pinwheel—but she couldn’t move at all. It was terrifying, but her mouth seemed to be immune. “This is so Sith Lord, and it is not a good look."

He ignored that. “Perhaps you do not recognize the peril that haunts us both. I learned from Lady Andrea that I shall be defeated dreadfully, irrevocably, if things continue. I cannot allow the story to go on in that way. Yet I cannot allow it to go your way either, if you see no place for me in it. Therefore, I have nothing left to lose; I cannot make my position worse.”

Kara did understand that. Her body was frozen, her hair hung in her face, and she couldn’t do anything about it. “There’s one more option you didn’t mention. Instead of jockeying for a kingdom, return to what you were meant to be. Aren’t you and Gandalf and what’s-his-face—Radagast—supposed to be helping Middle Earth? You’re not supposed to become kings and emperors, so stop. It’s not a complicated equation.”

He jerked his staff and Kara slammed into the floor. She barely got her hands up in time to prevent a face-first broken nose. Even with her hands up, she hit her cheek hard on the cold black stone. Her hands and wrists stung, and her knee was bruised. But Saruman wasn’t done. He lifted her up again, and Kara felt her ears ringing.

He whipped the cloth off the palantir dramatically.

“That is one fat marble."

“Enough diplomacy,” he snarled. “Give me the ring or I will take it from your corpse.” His long gray eyebrows quivered with suppressed rage.

“You really have confused me now." Kara tried to marshal her thoughts. For a while, Saruman was supposed to think that Merry and Pippin had the ring, but surely Andrea had told him they never had it. He knew Frodo and Sam were supposed to destroy it. Why would he think she had it?

“I don’t know where the ring is,” she said. True enough.

“Lies,” he snarled. “I know you have it. We have searched your things. You must have it on you. Give it up unless you want me to turn Ugluk loose on you."

The orc bared his teeth.

Kara was truly frightened. “I don't have the ring. I thought you were just posturing."

Saruman circled her slowly, keeping his four-pronged staff toward her. “Would you truly send it with the two hobbits into Mordor when your plans were known to the Dark Lord? No, I cannot believe the heir of Isildur or Galadriel herself would be such imbeciles. They sought to deceive everyone, but the seeing stones do not lie. Galadriel thinks she shields everything in her land, but she cannot keep me out at every moment. I saw her give you the ring.”

Kara suddenly felt dizzy. Galadriel had given her a ring. It was her parting gift for Kara when Frodo got his necklace thing, Sam got seeds, and Gimli got the three hairs. Kara had thought it was odd, but Galadriel had only given her a strangely sorrowful look. “Keep it hidden until the right time.”

The ring was gold, but it was so clearly not the one ring that it hadn’t even occurred to Kara. It was smaller for one thing, it didn’t change size, and didn’t tempt her to go home and become an evil dictator. It was… just a ring, as far as Kara could tell. She’d looked at it a few times as she lay rolled in her blanket in the grasslands, and it was definitely not a ring of power. She’d wondered if maybe she was supposed to keep it in trust for one of the others.

But now it all came back to her. Maybe this was the time. Maybe Galadriel looked so sad because she knew she was setting Kara up. That was pretty uncool. If Aragorn had realized she'd given Kara a decoy ring, he never would've allowed it. Also, what would be the point? Saruman would just take it from her and realize it was the wrong one.

“Uh—I do have a ring,” Kara said. “I can’t really get it from this position.”

He released her and she crumpled to the floor,

He held his staff toward her. “Do not think to use the ring. Even with it, you are but a mortal woman with no power and little strength."

Kara clambered to her feet; her knee throbbed. “You think I have a little strength? I’m honored.”

He sneered. “It is only because you are a ring-bearer. You have the confidence and bearing bestowed on such a one, but you have been given something beyond your nature. It suits you ill. I do not understand how Gandalf or Galadriel though I would mistake it. They must think I grow as blind as them.”

“Er—who knows? Maybe they thought all that confidence wouldn’t tip you off.” Despite her terrible predicament, she was rather proud that he thought she was a ring-bearer. Maybe he wasn't used to women standing up to him. Kara felt around in her bodice. She’d hidden the ring in her bra, or rather, the garment that was as similar as she could get in these clothes.

Did she dare bluff?

Kara fished the ring out and held it in her hand. Saruman was practically salivating. Could he not tell that it wasn’t the right one? She supposed Gandalf hadn’t realized the ring was powerful all those years that Bilbo had it, so maybe their sense of power wasn’t as fine-tuned as they liked to pretend.

“How did you know I had it?” Kara asked. “I mean, how did you know to watch Galadriel give me a gift?”

His eyes blazed. “Galadriel dares not send the ring to Mordor. Who will I least suspect, she must have asked herself? Why—an unknown woman from another world! She dares not give it to the man from Gondor, lest he turn on the returning king. The dwarves would take it for themselves, and the elves have forsworn it. She will not give it to the halflings, because the story is known. Nor to the king, lest it corrupt him. You are the answer.”

“That’s—a real interesting theory.” Kara was scared to pass over the ring. Her fist was clenched so tight the ring was bruising her palm. Once Saruman realized it was fake, would he be done with her? Would he let Ugluk murder her?

He took another step closer to her. “You dissemble. Give me the ring.”

Kara began to extend her hand. “What will Sauron do when he realizes you have it? Won’t he send his army here to take it?”

“Ugluk, take it from her.”

Kara opened her hand. She rolled the ring from her palm to Saruman’s outstretched white hand with its long, sharp nails.

His breath trembled as he took it up… and then a sound of futile rage poured from his mouth as he slid it on his third finger and absolutely nothing happened.

Kara smiled weakly. “April fools?”

“What is this? A trinket?” He tore it off his hand and threw it to the floor. It pinged and rolled away.

“I honestly don’t know.” Kara looked uneasily at Ugluk. He looked disappointed that he hadn’t gotten to tear her arms off yet. “Maybe Galadriel has a real dry sense of humor.”

Saruman whipped his staff up and Kara was swept up into the air once again. She gasped as she hit the east wall and slid down. “This Sith stuff is really...painful."

“If you will make a fool of me, I will make a fool of you. Sauron has demanded results from my experiment—”

Despite her aching body, she pushed herself up against the wall. “Is he the onebank-rolling this whole thing—”

“Silence, woman. If I had the ring—but I do not.” He even looked—was it possible?—a little frightened.

Ugluk came and jerked her away from the wall. His hand nearly encircled her neck. His other hand locked around her upper arm. His black nails--more like claws--dug into her skin.

“Wh-why--why don’t you make Sauron think you have the ring?" Kara stuttered. "He wouldn’t march against you at once. He would send messengers or something. Or he’d expect you to send it to him. It would give you time to find the real ring, wouldn’t it?”

Saruman’s teeth ground together in his anger, but he thought about her words.

“I know it would work,” Kara said, "because in the original, it works! Andrea probably told you about it, so you know I'm not lying. Pippin looks into the palantir, and Sauron assumes it is you forcing him to look in. It took him a while to realize that you’d already, er, been defeated, let alone that they didn’t have the ring.”

Saruman snapped at Ugluk, who reluctantly released her to fetch the ring. His giant black form crawling on the ground to find the ring was kind of amazing. Maybe she was disassociating a little bit.

Soon enough, the orc came back around to her. He grabbed her wrist, forcing her hand up. His nails dug into her skin again. The ring was pressed back into her hand. Then Ugluk turned her toward the palantir. Her feet barely touched the stone floor as he forced her close to the table. It was higher than it looked in the movies, making the ball almost in her face.

Ugluk’s heavy hands descended on each shoulder, locking her into place. He leaned forward to sniff her neck, but not like a man might—it was as if he was smelling his dinner. His smell and touch made her shudder.

Saruman was still angry, but he held his hand over the palantir. “Let us show the Lord of Darkness what you have."

Kara tried to brace herself as the the ball flamed up. She desperately hoped Galadriel had a good reason for this. If it was just to distract Saruman for a few days, she hoped Aragorn was making good use of the time.

#

From afar, Aragorn looked on the fortified town of Edoras glinting in the moonlight. He could see the faint glow of torches and golden light from inside the great halls that covered the hill inside the city walls. He and the others were still probably a day away, but they were on a rise and could see far over the plains of Rohan.

Aragorn had wanted to come here with Kara—she had been concerned about Rohan since the beginning. It felt wrong to reach it without her. He hoped she was not hurting—but no, he could not think of that now.

Galadriel was right; the fellowship was on the blade of a knife and although Saruman had just snatched Kara from under their noses, they could not give up.

Legolas paused. “Do you see that?”

“The lights of Edoras?” Boromir replied. “Yes, it is a clear night, and our eyes are not so weak compared to yours.”

“No, the riders.” Legolas pointed to the east. “A large encampment.”

Aragorn squinted into the darkness. “I see no campfires.”

“No, they are silent and dark; they want obscurity. But I have caught the whinny of horses on the night winds and the smell of many men.”

“How far?” Aragorn asked.

“An hour’s hard walk, perhaps.”

“Then let us go,” said Boromir. “We are all thinking the same thing, are we not? It must be Theoden’s nephew, Eomer, the man Kara told us of.”

“Eomer,” Aragorn repeated. He felt a lightening of heart. Perhaps they could return to Isengard sooner than he expected.

Be strong, Kara. You must hold out only a little longer.

Chapter 19

Chapter Text

Without the hobbits, Aragorn and the others had been able to push faster and harder on their journey south.

They reached Eomer’s encampment an hour before the moon set, just before midnight.

As they drew closer, it was no longer just Legolas who could hear the snuffling, stomping, and occasional neighing of horses. Aragorn could also make out the moonlight glinting on many pointed helms and fair heads. There seemed to still be quite a bit of movement in the camp; it did not sleep.

Boromir paused. “We should not sneak up on them like thieves, if they be friends.”

“I wish somebody would tell that to the elves,” Gimli snorted, although there was no longer animosity in his voice, more a kind of grudging affection.

Aragorn agreed with Boromir, and so Gandalf lit his staff. He did not make it terribly bright, but it was enough to illuminate their faces.

As they approached the northern edge of the encampment, shouts broke out. Gandalf stopped advancing as the Rohiirim, with impressive speed, armed themselves and threw themselves onto their horses. Aragorn would wager he and his companions were surrounded less than forty breaths from when they were spotted.

Spears were directed toward them in bristling silence but for the thudding of horse hooves. Aragorn raised his hands. “We are friends of Rohan!”

When the horses were silent and still—the spear points quivering in Gandalf’s light—a tall, broad man answered. “Many who claim to be friends of Rohan have proved faithless in these days. I have no reason to love wizards, dwarves, or elves, nor even men of Gondor.”

Aragorn kept his hands up. “This is Gandalf the White, Mithrandir or Tharkun, in your tongue. He brings counsel.”

The man backed his spear an inch further away. “Do you mistake this vast plain for Meduseld, the hall of the king? He is the one who ought to receive foreign counsel.”

There was weariness and bitterness in his voice.

Gandalf took off his hat, that he might be better seen. “No. I go not yet to Theoden King, but to Eomer, son of Eomund, who has the potential to set much right that has been wrong for many a year.” Gandalf pointed west toward Isengard and the Gap of Rohan. “The wizard Saruman has long haunted your borders, and now he haunts your king, sapping him daily of strength and conviction. We mean to depose him from his tower.”

Eomer’s brow furrowed. “It is as if you speak my very mind, but Saruman’s tower is a pillar of the ancient days; we cannot breach it nor tear it down. And for many a year he has been breeding orcs.” He spat in disgust. “We have killed a company of them only this week. My men are doughty and bold, but to confront the wizard in his tower, with his army defending it—that is beyond us.”

“What if I handled the wizard and the tower?” Gandalf said. “Come, let us speak together. For there are great deeds afoot and if they should align, a great blow to Rohan may be avoided.”

In the camp of men, they sat around a small, grass-fed fire, and the smoke drifted nearly straight heavenward in the calm night air. The moon had descended, but the stars were visible in the clear sky. The constellation Wilwarin, the candle, pointed to the west.

The camp smelled of the ever-present grass of Rohan, and the rich scent of the horses’ coats, sweat, and steamy breaths. It was perhaps a bit less pure than the air of Fangorn, but Aragorn found himself breathing more easily surrounded by the smell of men and action, than the smell of ents and antiquity.

The Rohirrim supplied them with ale, and Aragorn and the others welcomed it to warm them in the darkest part of the night.

Gandalf gathered his robe about his knees and sat on bundle of sticks next to the small fire. “I do not know how long Saruman has harbored the evil ambition and cruelty that now possess him, but I do know that he must be cast down. War will come with Sauron, and we cannot have an enemy at our back.”

Eomer took another sip of ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “His orcs began as a stench and a rumor, but they have been seen abroad in increasing numbers this past year at least. It is worse than you know, for Saruman has sent his acolyte, that one known as Grima Wormtogue, to gain my uncle’s favor and poison his counsel.”

“I do know, and that is our next destination.”

Eomer’s eyes were dim and sad as he thought of his uncle, and bitterness of voice covered his pain. “I cannot escort you there. My uncle’s anger has flourished against me, I must believe poisoned by Grima. If I wished to return to Edoras, I should have to do it as a skulking shadow.”

Aragorn interjected, “Do not despair of Theoden. We would see you reconciled to your uncle.”

“But in the meantime you would have us breach Isengard and face Saruman like a spider in its web?”

“Yes,” said Gandalf. “You have what—a thousand men?”

“Two thousand, if I have a day to send out the call.”

“And we have a powerful ally. The ents of Fangorn.”

The Rohirrim around the fire grew still.

“You speak of the tree-herders. We have legends, but none has been seen in generations. Even if there were such beings, what good would they be against orcs and flaming arrows?”

“Not much against flame, admittedly, but their strength is unparalleled. Saruman has greatly underestimated them, but we must not. They can throw down rock and gouge stone. They can withstand swords and spears. They can kill an orc with a single step.”

There was growing excitement among those who listened, though Eomer still looked skeptical. Aragorn didn’t fault him for that. As the leader of these men, it was his responsibility to question this claim lest he lead them to needless death.

Boromir seemed to feel the same. “You are right to be cautious, but this is an opportunity that may never come again. Would you leave the spider at your back to spew his venom? If we had such creatures as these ents in Ithilien, you may believe Gondor would take their aid when it came.”

“What Gondor would or would not do has little to do with us.” Eomer looked at Boromir more closely. “I did not apprehend it before, but you have a familiar face.”

“I am Boromir, son of Denethor, the Steward of Gondor.”

A murmur of surprise rippled through the men.

Boromir continued. “And this is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the heir of Isildur and future king of Gondor. If you have ever hoped to have Gondor in your debt, this is the day fate has given to you.”

Aragorn could spy neither resentment nor regret in Boromir’s voice. It was the first time he had proclaimed Aragorn’s future kingship to another. Boromir had still little hope for himself, but he held it out for others.

Legolas nodded. “It is true.”

Eomer looked between the four of them. “I have not enough wisdom or knowledge to judge the truth of your claim, but I do not deny it. I would destroy Saruman if I can. But will these ents come? What guarantee do we have of their aid?”

Gimli growled, “You question Gandalf’s veracity?”

Eomer held up a hand. “Anyone who promises a legend must expect a question or two.”

Aragorn leaned forward. “We have left two of our company with them. All things are uncertain in war, so I make you no promises, but I believe they will come.”

Eomer studied his face shrewdly, and though he said he had little wisdom or knowledge, Aragorn found it a most penetrating stare.

Finally Eomer stood. “Very well. I will send riders to summon the rest of my men in the north country.”

#

It had now been three days since Kara was taken, and Aragorn approached Isengard at last. He was mounted on a fine stallion of the Rohirrim, Brego, and was fast coming to the opinion that he must keep him. He would bargain with Eomer for him. Boromir and Gandalf also rode beside him, and Legolas and Gimli shared a horse. That made Aragorn’s lips quirk for just a moment. It was a friendship he had not anticipated.

It was late evening, and the horses squelched in rain soaked moss and weed. The ever-present grass brushed against his horse’s knees and rippled with every early night breeze. Aragorn flexed his gloved hands, warming his fingers for the coming battle.

The cool smell of damp and fading sun gave way to the stench of smoke as they approached Isengard. A black stone wall formed a perfect circle around the grounds, and within, the spindly tower of Orthanc rose like a black column against the pale yellow sky. Over the top of the wall, instead of tall trees, green and stately gray, there could be seen only the tops of great wooden contraptions and the belch of smoke. There were four gates in the circle, and they approached the southernmost one.

About a third of Eomer’s men rode with them, in several wide columns. The others waited a short ride farther into the Gap of Rohan. Aragorn’s plan—with Eomer and Boromir’s concurrence—was to draw as many orcs out of Orthanc as possible and to take the battle to the Gap. “It is almost certain that Saruman underestimates you and the Rohirrim,” Aragorn had said. “So let us meet his expectations. Attack him with a smaller force and almost immediately fall back. We will make certain he knows that Boromir and I are among you; he will want to grasp the opportunity to end the threat. If he send the orcs after us, we retreat to the Gap, where the rest of your men are waiting to come at them from the side and rear.”

The first question was how to make certain that Saruman knew Aragorn was with them. Eomer had rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If only my sister were here, she would sew up a banner for you. Something kingly.”

“If we had cloth, I might do so myself,” Aragorn said. He had much experience mending clothes from his years as a Ranger and was no mean hand with a needle. “Lacking that, I believe Gandalf and I and Boromir ought to attempt a parley rather than an immediate attack. He will not accept our terms, and battle will come anyway, but it will serve our purpose. We will attack just before dusk, so that the orcs are more likely to go forth.”

At the southern gate, four huge orcs stood guard.

As they saw the Rohirrim approach, they called for reinforcements. A clanking and hungry screeching could be heard from within the walls as the orcs readied for blood. It was a noise that made the hair on the back of Aragorn’s hands raise. It was a sound of imminent battle.

Eomer held up a fist, and the rows of horsem*n behind them stopped. Only five of them headed for the gate.

“Halt there,” shouted an uruk-hai in a deep voice. “You are on the land of Saruman. You are not welcome.”

Aragorn raised a hand. “Saruman has committed crimes against both Rohan and Gondor, against Gandalf the White, and against the White Council. He must answer for his crimes.”

Gandalf made his staff to glow, which showed well in the purple dusk that crept over the grasslands. “Tell Saruman that Gandalf is at his gate, along with Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor.”

One of the uruks disappeared within the gate.

“There goes your message. I hope you are satisfied.” Eomer flexed his own hand around his sword hilt. “I hate to wait.”

The waiting stretched. A few minutes, a quarter of an hour, a half hour.

“Shall we stand here all night?” Eomer asked as his horse shifted unhappily. “Is it a ruse?”

But to their surprise, the gate opened fully and Saruman was there, surrounded by orcs. As was Kara. Her hands seemed to be tied behind her, and her head hung down, her hair loose on either side. A large orc held both of her arms, placing her just in front of himself like a shield.

She rolled her head up to look forward. One side of her face was heavily bruised from eye to jaw. A red welt marred her forehead. Aragorn felt his breath catch in his throat. She was battered, but she was alive. He must put that thought at the top of his mind and leave everything else until later.

Her mouth quirked upward, and she winked at him. Or at them. Boromir growled something low in his throat at the sight of her. Eomer said nothing, but grew tense.

Gandalf raised his staff. “Saruman, we have come to offer terms. Release Lady Kara and your other prisoner. Recall your henchman Grima from Edoras. Send your orcs to the far north where they may live out their miserable existence in what peace they can find.” He paused. “Do these things and submit to the will of the Council. Or be destroyed.”

Saruman’s strange glinting robe grew murky as the last of the lingering daylight failed. “You come full of accusations, but I am your ally against the Dark Lord. Have I done anything to Rohan? Have I burnt the Westfold? No. Have I run Theoden out of his hall toward his last refuge? Never! Is this any way to approach an ally?”

Eomer frowned and shook his head, as a dog that has got water in its ears.

Aragorn had met Saruman before, and the persuasiveness of his voice was now a grating whine to Aragorn. “An ally, yet you bring a battered woman as proof of your sincerity? Eomer, remember Theoden. Remember Grima.”

“Yet I come to trade,” Saruman said. “If this woman is valuable to you, take her. Take your prize and go. Is it not the essence of compromise? If Grima has made himself odious to Theoden, send him away. Is he my puppet that I must pull his strings? Is Theoden not master in his own hall?”

Eomer shook his head again. He was strong and pure of heart, but the wizard was twisting his thoughts.

“What have I done that is worth this attack?” Saruman focused on Eomer, “Will your men lay down their lives for one woman that is not even precious to you? This Aragorn has deceived you. He wants your strength, and he offers nothing in return.”

Eomer screwed up his face, as if in pain. Even Boromir blinked heavily.

Saruman leaned over to say something to the uruk that held Kara. Aragorn could not hear it, but Legolas had keen ears. He repeated quietly, “Saruman says that they must keep her visible if it comes to battle; he thinks you will act recklessly to save her. Get you into that brute’s orbit.” Legolas gave him a stern look. “Don’t act recklessly to save her. Leave that to me.”

Gimli grunted his affirmation.

Boromir shook his head. “There may not be a battle if Eomer disbelieves us. He is on the brink. And there is no sound from Fangorn as yet.”

They had all been keeping their ears out. If the ents came at all, it would be soon. Aragorn’s hopes were with Merry and Pippin. He had allowed time for the entmoot, and the days that Kara recalled. The ents must come.

Saruman spoke again. “Perhaps the woman has told you of terrible things I might do, but is it the place of honorable men to punish what might happen? I have committed no crimes; neither justice nor necessity is served by this.”

This flicked Boromir on the raw, as he saw himself as one of those who had been told of the terrible thing he might do. He spat on the ground. “Eomer, son of Eomund, you must decide who you will trust. This wizardly worm who would steal the heart of your kingdom from under you, or your brothers in arms, who will fight to rid your land of this growing canker.”

Eomer’s eyes cleared. “Indeed. Why do we bandy words with a worm?”

“Why indeed?” Gimli muttered. “Well said, lad.”

Eomer raised his fist again, summoning the smaller contingent of Rohirrim that waited fifty paces back. “What odds they will close the gates and make it a siege?” he asked.

“None,” Aragorn said grimly. “Look at his face.”

Saruman had a kind of grim determination, and it was almost turning to glee. “You puny horse lords. You will never enter the walls of Isengard with your heads intact. Ugluk, end this rabble.”

Faster than Aragorn could realize, Kara was scooped up and passed from one orc to another. To see her small body clenched in their misshapen arms was frightful. Although he would hate to lose sight of her, he hoped that the orcs were taking her back to Orthanc. He would rather she was safe behind bars, or even in a dungeon during this battle. The chaos of war was no place for someone already injured and tied.

He did not have time to hate the uncertainty, for the Rohirrim joined them, and orcs poured out of the gate like roaches out of a drainpipe. Aragorn’s sword was out in a trice, while Legolas’s bow twanged and bodies of orcs filled the gate, only to be shoved aside by the sheer numbers of those behind them.

The first orc reached him and raised a spiked mallet to strike his horse. Aragorn directed the horse with the pressure of his knees and the reins looped round his left hand. They sidestepped the blow, and Aragorn sword separated the orc’s head from its body. That first killing was crystal clear, as if in slow motion, but then the wave of battle reached him. The chaos of death was familiar to Aragorn and the horse seemed nearly to read his thoughts.

He did not try to decapitate every orc that got within reach. That was a wearying blow, to cut through the muscle, sinew, and bone of a neck. If he did it relentlessly, his arm would tire far too soon. When possible Aragorn preferred to slit throats or open stomachs, but if pressed, removing a hand or arm would also do.

The Rohirrim around him were up to the task as well. They were worth a ranger, every one of them. Still, an orc spear caught a man near Aragorn, and he was borne of his horse and under the trampling feet of orcs before he could cry out. Thirty orcs fell, fifty, a hundred, but another Rohirrim fell to a thrown axe.

A cry from the battle brought him back. “More orcs, from the other gates!”

Fresh orcs were swinging down to flank the Rohirrim on both sides. They must’ve come out of the other gates and run down both sides to surround the enemy.

“Fall back,” Eomer yelled.

Right, that was the plan. They would fall back and lure the orcs onward until it was the Rohirrim ready to close in on the horde.

Only—Saruman had been right, damn him. Keeping Kara visible was an effective distraction. Every time Aragorn swung toward the keep, his eyes instinctively sought her. Sometimes she was hidden by orcs, but usually he could catch a glimpse of her soft face and green skirts.

Another of those moments came as Eomer began the controlled retreat. Aragorn’s eyes caught for half a breath on Kara’s face. Legolas jumped from his horse’s back to tackle an orc that nearly hacked Aragorn’s head in two from behind. The orc and Legolas went sprawling on the ground in a tangle. Legolas, however, was quick on his feet. He surged up before the orc could right himself and plunged an arrow in its eye before putting it to string and sending it almost point blank into the next orc.

“Focus, Aragorn,” Legolas called. “We must fall back.”

“Thank you.” Aragorn reached down a hand and swung Legolas up behind him. He turned his horse to follow the retreat. In frustration, he lopped off three more heads as they went.

A quick glance over his shoulder made Aragorn’s eyes widen. There were far more orcs coming out of Isengard than he would’ve thought possible. Where would they even fit? Such a horde would take acres of land or dwellings… more than what Saruman had within the circle wall of Isengard. He must have dug those tunnels and pits that Kara spoke of. He’d turned one of the wonders of the Middel Earth into an ant colony.

The company of Rohirrim rode in a precise v-formation, like an arrowhead. Gandalf, Boromir and the rest were within the arrowhead, and the great column of orcs followed like the black shaft of the arrow.

Aragorn kept his face toward the Gap of Rohan. He could feel Legolas just behind him, still firing at the following orcs. Despite the terrible numbers against them, Aragorn was not cast down. Only one thing could’ve distracted him in that moment.

Behind him there was a ruckus among the orcs.

“Catch her!”

“Grab her!”

“Kill her if you must!”

He looked over his shoulder, and to his horror, he saw Kara darting for her life through the charging orcs. Ragged ropes swung loose from her wrists. Only the orcs’ surprise was saving her, for any one of those she passed could’ve taken off her head with a single blow. But they were heavy and weighted down, and Kara ran as if she had wings. She was a runner, she had told him, she ran for fun.

Only today she ran for her life.

Legolas cursed. “What are you doing—”

Then he saw Kara as well. She was fast, but she was not as fast as a horse, and they were leaving her behind. Without need for talk, Legolas sprang from Aragorn’s horse to Gimli’s. This allowed Aragorn to turn his horse in a tight circle to go back for Kara. Legolas and Gimli came just behind him, helping to clear a path.

They were nearly to her when Kara’s booted foot slipped on a bloody patch of grass. The orc behind her lunged a few more steps and caught her. He grabbed her by the neck and lifted her up. Her feet kicked fruitlessly, looking doll-like next to the orc.

Kara choked and scatched at the orc’s hand, but it did nothing. She’d done so well, it seemed unfair that her efforts to be tough should end like this. First she’d slid her wrists along Ugluk’s blade to slice her ropes, then she’d stomped on the insole of her captor’s foot and kneed him in the balls. It had probably only worked because of the sudden retreat of the Rohirrim and the orc’s distraction, but hey, it’d worked. She wasn’t sure orcs were made the same way as men, but he had doubled over when her knee found his groin.

Then she ran. She was in the midst of the stampede, in a veritable avalanche of orcs, and she knew if she faltered or fell she’d be dead. The ground was muddy and slick, churned up from boots and horse hooves. She sprinted like she had never done before. The battle had begun at evening, but as she’d raced toward Aragorn it was fully dark. Kara’s flight—as she dodged between uruks and goblin men—was only lit by the moon.

She’d seen the horses disappearing into the darkness in front of her. The moonlight shone on their silver helms and fair hair. They were getting further away. Then she’d slipped in the blood.

Kara scrabbled at the orc’s forearm, but she could not hurt him even a little bit.

It’d seemed worthwhile to run when she realized that Saruman was retreating inside Orthanc and leaving her with the orcs. “Use her as a pawn, or murder her in front of them,” he said. “You decide. It turns out Lady Andrea is far more useful than this one.”

She’d seen her death in the orc’s eyes, and so she’d waited until Saruman disappeared and made her move.

But now this orc had gotten her. He squeezed her neck, and Kara saw spots. Her friends would kill her if she died now, but it didn’t seem like she had a lot of options. At least, she thought as her eyes dimmed, at least if I’m mortally injured, I might be able to send myself home.

But that reminded her of Andrea, and Kara could not leave Andrea in Middle Earth alone.

The problem with being choked like this was not air, though it sure felt like it, but the constriction of the arterial veins. A few more seconds with blood trapped in her head and she would pass out or worse. Kara forced her eyes open and pried again at the orc’s steel thumb. It was huge, but it began to give and slight bit of blood seeped through. A little clarity returned to her thoughts.

Enough for her to see as Aragorn cut off the arm that held her aloft and somehow caught her in front of him on the saddle. How was that even possible? The orc stumbled back with a groan, and Kara felt Aragorn’s strong arm go around her waist, holding her tightly to him.

His horse sprang forward again toward the retreating Rohirrim. “I’ve got you,” Aragorn said. “I’ve got you.”

Kara was sideways in front of him. She turned and wrapped her arms around his torso, burying her face against his chest. “I know.”

Chapter 20

Chapter Text

Kara’s heart still thudded painfully as she clung to Aragorn. Her desperate run through the charging orcs left her throat burning, her eyes streaming, and her lungs straining.

But now all she had to do was hold on. Her ears heard only roaring, though whether it was the shouting and fighting of men and orcs or only her own staticky brain, she wasn’t sure.

Aragorn’s horse ran fast and words like canter and gallop went through Kara’s head but all she knew was that it felt really freaking precarious to have both her legs dangling on one side of the horse. Kara knew nothing about riding, and this was not the moment to learn. She just tried to balance her weight and not pull at Aragorn, but he was also trying to maneuver and there was only so much she could do.

Aragorn held her tightly to him with one iron arm, and the other he used to direct the horse. This was all well and good—an incredible relief, really—but if he needed that arm to do something else, like hold a sword, they would be in trouble.

Kara managed a quick peak around Aragorn’s shoulder and the mass of orcs following in the moonlight—shouting unintelligible but rage-filled filth—made her blood run cold again.

Surely…the Rohirrim must’ve had a plan for retreat? They’d attacked with what seemed far too few to make a dent in Saruman’s forces. They must’ve known that… unless it was some sort of last stand, we-fight-and-die-together-type thing, but it wasn’t nearly late enough in the war for that kind of nonsense.

They would retreat. They were on horses and the horses were fast, right?

It was several minutes—or hours—into this terrifying retreat that Kara realized Legolas and Gimli rode just behind and to the left of Aragorn. Well, Aragorn’s left, her right… They were protecting his flank as Aragorn wouldn’t be able to defend himself with her hampering him. When her breathing had subsided enough that she could think and hear a little, she realized Legolas was shouting something to Aragorn.

“Get off the field! South, past the fresh line!”

Aragorn didn’t look back, but he gave a quick nod.

Kara just clung tighter; this wasn’t the moment to demand explanations. The bouncing of the horse—though its gait was remarkably smooth, all things considered—still made her bruises ache and throb. Her face, elbow, and knee were the worst, from Saruman’s tendency to throw people to the ground with his staff. She didn’t know how Gandalf had stood it. Geriatric bones would totally snap under that kind of treatment.

As they’d ridden away from Isengard, there had been trees on one side as well as the dark, gurgling River Isen, and flat plains on the other. Now, although she could not see well, she sensed that the terrain had changed. The horse seemed to be going slightly downhill, and hills had risen up on both sides, black and shadowy in the night air. The river had veered off to their left, further away. There was still a wide gap, but… oh, the Gap of Rohan, maybe?

Legolas’s fair head was easy to keep track of in the moonlight, and Kara saw that he was forced to veer away, as a particularly large orc managed to launch a spear that would’ve skwered Gimli. It caused Aragorn’s horse to veer the other way, suddenly opening a wide space between the two of them. This went even further as Leoglas… circled back?

“Where is he going?” Kara cried, though she didn’t think Aragorn could hear her. It wasn’t just Legolas, however, the whole company of Rohirrim slowed and reoriented back toward the orcs. Aragorn kept going full speed, and he and Kara flew past the new front line of Rohirrim just before the first orcs struck them. The sound was chaotic with metal striking metal, horses screaming, armor shrieking.

The men of Rohan weren’t retreating, Kara realized. This had been part of the plan.

Aragorn kept them going forward, but the battle was coming for them. Orcs penetrated through the ranks, and several must have seen them.

“There! That one. Kill the wench!”

Aragorn grunted, “Be brave, just a little further.”

But the orcs were closing in on them. Aragorn couldn’t go as fast in a field of battle. He tried to let go of her and reach for his scabbard to draw his sword, but he had to jank the horse to the right to avoid a fallen man, and Kara almost fell off.

Her left arm just hurt too much to hold her weight at present. Kara whimpered in a way she was not proud of, but hopefully Aragorn couldn’t hear her. Aragorn grabbed her again and said something that sounded a lot like praying in elvish, if such a thing existed.

Then she saw his knife sheath on his right thigh. Kara grabbed his long knife. She trusted that Aragorn would hold onto her, so as the nearest orc approached, Kara let go of him, leaned to the side, and allowed the horse’s momentum to do the work. It happened so fast, she could barely see if she’d struck. She felt the knife scrape over something, though, and hot blood splashed her and Aragorn. The orc fell back with a hoarse shout.

“Cín rochon, nín mell!” Aragorn pulled her firmly back in front of him. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but it sounded halfway between congratulation and scolding. “We are almost there.”

She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but another wave of Rohirrim charged out of the darkness and towards the battle. They must’ve been waiting in the Gap to hit the sides of the orc force. They separated to pass around Aragorn and herself and closed up ranks on the other side.

Aragorn navigated them into a thin stand of trees on the hills—foothills?—around them, and finally brought their poor horse to a halt.

Behind them, the fresh wave of Rohirrim tore into the battle. No more orcs were coming this direction. She and Aragorn had successfully slipped into the darkness beyond the battle.

That must’ve been what he and Legolas agreed on.

Aragorn’s chest was heaving, which totally made sense because the poor guy had been doing crazy horse stunts while holding a whole adult person with one arm and trying not to die. Kara shifted to give him space to breath, but he pulled her tighter one more time. She could feel his breath against her hair. “I have not been that terrified in battle…”

She waited for a since… but he didn’t add one. Perhaps he couldn’t think of another time. Then he seemed to recollect himself. “Here, let me help you.”

He couldn’t dismount with Kara basically in his lap, so he took his knife back from her, and slid her down carefully. Kara’s elbow hurt, and she bit back another whimper. At least she managed to take her weight on her good knee and not stagger too badly. Thin tree trunks, barely as big around as her arm, supported leafless branches that stood up stark and black against the moon. Kara clutched one of the smooth trunks to support her weight.

Aragorn secured his knife in its sheath and jumped down after her. The moon only partially lit her face, blending her bruises into gray shadows so that he could not tell how dire were her injuries. He held her shoulders and slid his gloved hands down her arms and back up, anxious to assure himself that she had taken no injury from their mad flight or the orcs that had gotten so near.

“You are not wounded? This blood—” It smeared black on his glove in the moonlight. Rough-cut ropes still dangled from her wrists.

“The blood is from that one orc. I’m okay,” she said.

He couldn’t seem to stop checking, running his fingers lightly over her neck and head and back. Kara shivered. Then she suddenly embraced him, wrapping her arms tightly around his torso and pressing her cheek to his chest. “Thank you.”

Despite the battle that still raged, Aragorn felt a deep relief in his chest as he held her close. A place that had not relaxed since Kara disappeared in Fangorn finally unknotted itself.

Still. There was a battle. All Isengard was emptied against them. The battle was not finished, nor certain.

Kara must have felt his conflict. She withdrew. “Do you need to go fight? I promise I’ll hide under a bush or something.”

He grimaced. “You ought not be alone, even beyond the field of battle. If chance brings an enemy your way, you would be defenseless.”

“Well, I have every intention of hiding really well, but if you want to stay I’m not going to argue.”

Aragorn was torn. Eomer had adopted their plan, risking himself and his men on this mad gamble brought to him by foreigners in his land. In return, Aragorn had sworn to do his utmost to lead and defend them.

He had not fathomed that Kara might end up in the battle in this way. His heart demanded that he protect her, but it also demanded that he not leave Eomer, Boromir, and the others to fight without him. He was only one man, but he was—for better or worse, by blood and by fate—a leader. Men followed him; men believed in him; men died for him. If Eomer’s men were slaughtered, no one would blame Aragorn more than himself.

Kara exhaled softly. “Never mind. I guess I am going to argue with you. Go on. I can see it all on your face—you’re like, palpably noble, did you know?—and you are going to go make sure that Isengard falls tonight.” She leaned over, balancing with one hand against a tree, and pulled his knife out of the sheath on his leg. It was an intimate thing, and Aragorn knew that he had passed a point of no return.

But this was not a moment for such things. “Make your way to the rear of this copse,” he said. “Stay hidden. Whistle three times, loudly, if you are in need. Myself or Legolas—someone will come.”

Aragorn remounted Brego with a great heave and galloped back toward the fray. It was indeed a mighty and terrible host of orcs. If his thoughts remained with Kara, the first orc blade he turned aside with his sword centered him.

Their armor was of leather and iron. Some had ring mail and scimitars. Others were equipped with spears, axes, and short swords with gleaming edges. Apparently Isengard had also become an armory as well as a forge and cradle of this foul horde.

Aragorn fought his way forward. There were men—and horses—down, but the Rohirrim fought well and furiously. As Aragorn fought alongside them, the men shouted. “Eomer and the king!”

It wasn’t entirely appropriate, but he wasn’t going to reprimand them.

Though a night battle was not ideal, he and the others had calculated that the nearly full moon tonight would cast enough light to see friend from foe. It was so, but as he fought forward, Aragorn blinked in increasing difficulty.

Were his eyes growing dark or—no, it was not that. Clouds moved across the sky, beginning to wreath the moon in veils. The clouds moved unnaturally—he chopped off an arm that came too close—and from the direction of Orthanc. By the dark and dread feel of those clouds and the growing darkness, he could feel Saruman’s hand at work.

Aragorn fought on with vigor to find Eomer and Gandalf before the night should be fully dark. The orcs would have the advantage in the pure dark, being creatures of the night.

He spotted Boromir not far ahead. He had been unhorsed, as some of the men were, but a circle of orc corpses grew around him; he was a fell warrior indeed, with the silver tree of Gondor gleaming on his tunic.

But even as Aragorn called out to him, a huge black arrow struck Boromir in the chest. Then the moonlight failed, and the tree and the warrior disappeared.

“No!” Aragorn cried out.

A dim light from Gandalf’s staff relieved the pure blackness. It was away off to the west side of the battle. It stuttered and then grew again. Aragorn looked toward Gandalf, and saw that Eomer, Legolas, and Gimli fought around him, as well as others.

Aragorn hewed his way forward toward Boromir, kneeing Brego first one way and then the other as he dodged killing blows, parted orcs from their lives, and made for his friend. For Boromir was his friend, and Aragorn’s soul revolted that he should be lost now, fulfilling Kara’s prophecy.

As Aragorn got closer, he saw that Boromir had fallen to his knees, but even as Aragorn expected to see his death blow, Boromir surged back to his feet. He took another orc on, stabbed a second through the gut, and slashed a third across the neck.

Aragorn made it to him in time to stop a blow to Boromir’s back that would’ve cleaved straight to his heart. Boromir’s cloudy eyes didn’t immediately seem to take in Aragorn on his horse. Blood ran from his mouth and painted his chin red. A brief turn of the battle had created a lull around them.

Aragorn slid off his horse. Perhaps there was yet a chance. “Boromir—take him. Ride to the south side, a clump of aspen. Find Kara.”

“The river! The water!” Boromir shouted in reply. He tilted his head toward the River Isen that ran through the Gap on the lower side. The river was not visible in Gandalf’s light, which cast strange and grotesque shadows as the fighting continued, but the sound of the river, Aragorn now realized, was growing. Instead of a gurgling mid-depth river, it began to sound like a torrent—roaring, breaking, and splashing.

“Merry and Pippin have done it,” Boromir said, but now his voice was barely audible. “The ents have come, and Kara was right.” He stumbled and had to use his sword to hold himself upright. “It is enough… for me to know that it will be well. Where is she?”

“She is safe, on the south side of the battle,” he pointed toward the hills, though Boromir could not see the trees.

Boromir nodded. “Good.”

“And you must join her. You are injured, you can do no more here.” Aragorn put an arm around Boromir’s waist and all but hoisted him toward the horse. The arrow was high, more his shoulder than his chest, although it bled freely.

Boromir stumbled. “I wish I could have—gone with you to the end. I heard what they were shouting—“Eomer and the king,” and it is true. I’m glad I lived to see it.”

Aragorn suddenly understood what Kara had said about being palpably noble. “Kara is alone and injured,” he said instead. “Get to her at all costs!”

Boromir blinked in surprise at this. He allowed Aragorn to help him onto the horse, though it wrenched his shoulder and he grimaced and grew pale.

“Go,” Araogrn shouted. He slapped Brego’s rump. “Get him out of here.”

Even as they went, the clouds began to break apart, allowing the moonlight back in. Aragorn grinned fiercely, feeling renewed hope and strength flow through him.

Merry clung to Treebeard’s shoulder and cheered as the water raged around them. To think he, Meriadoc Brandybuck, should live to see a moonlit battle! And an army of ents—magical storybook creatures if ever there was one—unleashing a flood.

“They’ll never believe this, Pip!”

Other ents had unleashed the dam, and Treebeard had been part of the contingent breaking down the great circular wall around the tower. Their limbs crushed rock as though it were rotted wood or sand. The black walls crumbled before them.

There were great orange cracks and pits between the wall and the tower, where underground forges and the machinery of war rumbled and belched smoke from the ground. As the water poured into the shattered walls, it hissed into the cracks in huge waterfalls and cataracts, causing geysers of steam and smoke.

“Ah, that’s done for the view of the battle,” Pippin said sadly as clouds of steam obscured their view. From their vantage point, he’d been looking out towards the battle and watching he small figures moving back and forth like ants. “I hope the others are safe.”

“I’m sure they will be. And we did our part! Look at that one—I think it’s Drench. He just tossed one of those catapult thingamagummies into a pit! And Treebeard stomped ever so many orcs on his way in. Every step was three at the least!”

Merry nodded. He’d been a bit concerned about that. In Kara’s story, Isengard was all but empty except for the wizard. In this story, it was far from empty. Many of the orcs had gone out to that blisteringly big battle, but quite a few were still defending Saruman.

There had been a dicey few moments as hails of arrows flew at them. The arrows were no more problematic to Treebeard than gnats, but Merry and Pippin had cowered behind his branches and in the end they had hidden inside Treebeard’s beard which was a thing they both agreed didn’t need to be told when they got back to the Shire.

The orcs had gotten wiser with fire, but by then the contingent working on the dam was making headway. Soon the orcs were being swept off their feet by the water, and washed into their own devilish pits.

The current was strong and frightening, but Treebeard waded through it relentlessly toward the Tower at the center.

“Look! There at the top!” Pippin said.

Merry saw. It was the wizard. His white hair shone in a cruel light from his staff. When they were close enough to hear him, his voice was both angry and majestic. “My friend! Why have you done this? What great injury have I done you? Did I not instruct you in the forgotten ways? Did I not walk with you mile upon mile as you woke the Huorns and those of your brothers who had fallen asleep?”

“Aye, you did,” said Treebeard, looking up at Saruman on top of his black tower. An orc appeared at the doors of the tower with a flaming dart. Treebeard idly plucked him from the step and tossed him over his shoulder into the water. “But that is not all you did. These trees were my friends and you hacked them down to make your machines of war.”

“Only the trees inside the walls, which was, however regrettably, necessary. I barely touched a tree beyond.” He began to sound less controlled and his voice grew thin. “She promised me! She said that the ents went to war because I cut down the tress of Fangorn! If I refrained, they would not.”

Treebeard shook his head. “I don’t understand so many ifs and woulds. You have destroyed these trees you planted and befriended. You have lied to the ents of Fangorn; you have done a great evil in breeding this orc army. We are slow, but we have minds.”

Saruman made an inarticulate noise of rage.

Merry nodded wisely. “He sounds exactly like Farmer Maggot when we get into his vegetables.”

Aragorn was worn, bloody, and weary beyond measure when the last orcs fled back toward Isengard. “Let them go,” he called. “They will find no refuge there. With any luck, they will panic and seek shelter in Fangorn. That will be the end of them.”

He flexed his left calf, feeling the sharp sting of a cut that would probably need to be stitched.

Eomer rode up to him. He had not been unhorsed. “The Battle of the Gap is over, and we remain as victors. My men who died, died well.”

Aragorn nodded. “You have saved Rohan from a great tragedy. This army would’ve been turned loose on the people, even the women and children, until only a remnant remained. Theoden will know of your deeds ere long.”

“Even if he does not, I have seen and know what filth came forth from Isengard.” He saluted in the way of the horselords. “It was a worthy task you placed before me.”

“And you have completed it. You are under no oath or promise to remain with me longer than you wish.”

Eomer nodded. “I must begin the rites for the dead. After that—” he mouth curled up. “Perhaps we shall see to what task you next turn your hand.”

Aragorn began to limp toward the south side of the battle where he had left Kara. The dawn began to break over the field, as the sun rose in the east. Great clouds of steam and smoke shrouded Isengard.

Had Boromir made it to Kara? Was she able to help him, injured and alone as she was? Or had he sent Boromir only to die at her feet?

As he went, Legolas and Gimli, and finally Gandalf, came to walk with him. They were silent for a long moment as they quietly trudged over the field of carnage and mud.

Gimil cracked his knuckles as they walked. “Well, elf—I ended with a count of thirty-nine uruks. Not bad, eh? And you?”

Legolas smirked. “Forty-two.”

“Forty-two! Well, if you count those puny goblin men who also fought for Saruman—I had far more…”

The sun rose over their argument.

“I’m sure the lass is fine,” Gimli said eventually. “And Boromir is an ox of a man; he will not die easily.”

Aragorn nodded. He hoped so, but he would only know when he saw both of them. This, he felt, was a final test of Kara’s history. Battles could be changed, events rearranged, but could Boromir’s fate be changed? Could any one person’s fate be altered? He would very much like to know.

Chapter 21

Chapter Text

When Aragorn left her to return to the battle, the copse of trees where Kara hid herself felt far colder, darker, and more sinister. Her aches and pains from Saruman’s hospitality reared up, and she sank down in front of the widest of the trees and leaned against it.

She would definitely hide… in a minute. For now, it seemed impossible to move again, let alone to turn her back on the battle. In the chill moonlight, she could at least see if an orc or goblin was coming at her.

The copse was on the first foothill of the southern mountains, and so she sat a little higher than the battle. To her untrained eyes, it looked chaotic, but the more she watched, she could see that Eomer’s men were staying on the flanks of the orc horde. She saw Gandalf with his white hair and occasional flashes from his staff. She thought she spotted Legolas and Gimli and the strange silhouette they made together. Her hair was loose, and the fitful wind blew it in her eyes. Kara tried to braid it but realized her sore elbow—probably sprained—was not going to cooperate in bending like that. She settled for tucking her hair in the back of her dress with her good hand.

She had time to grow by turns anxious, hopeful, desperate, and unbelievably stiff before she saw a horse approaching her at a walk. Soon it was revealed to her who it was, for Boromir’s tunic held the tree of Gondor and it flashed in the restored moonlight as the unnatural clouds withered away.

Kara broke away from the trees and ran toward him.

“Oh, no!” Kara cried as she reached the horse. Boromir was slumped, and the shaft of an arrow made a grim shadow across the tree on his tunic. After all that…

But Boromir raised his head and blinked down at her. “Kara… I found you.”

“Shh, don’t talk,” Kara said. “Save your breath.” She did a rapid analysis of the wound—it was high, well out of the way of lungs, stomach, or heart. There was blood but it was hard to tell how much as it only made a black stain in the dark. She touched it and her hand came away wet. But there was none running down the horse or—she used her other hand to check—pooling in the saddle or running down his leg.

He began to loosen his foot in the stirrup as if to jump down, and Kara pressed on his knee. “No, stay up there. It will jar you too much to get down.” She thought furiously. She had absolutely nothing here to help him. No tools or bandages, no extra clothing, no stupid athelas. She didn’t even have water to wash his wound. They could not stay here. “Don’t get down,” Kara repeated.

He shook his head. “Aragorn said—you were alone. Injured.”

“Did he? Well, I’m better off than you. Don’t you tare touch that arrow!” His hand had twitched toward it. “We can’t take it out until we can staunch the bleeding. You just stay right there.”

“The river,” Boromir said. He grimaced as he tried to straighten and his muscles clenched and bled. “The ents have brought their flood. We must get you to safety.”

“Right. Yes. Let’s… do that.”

What followed was one of the scariest walks Kara had ever taken. It even rivaled Moria, and that had been no picnic. Her knee trembled, her arm throbbed. Her brain whirled with thoughts for Boromir. The only place of refuge within reach was Isengard. It made no sense to go there, but it made no sense to go anywhere else. Boromir was doing remarkably well, but he needed help.

In her mind, she whipped between stab and bullet wound protocols. She had no schema for arrows, but it was basically an impalement situation like a stab wound, with the foreign object still in the wound. She could deal with that. She would have to.

She took the reins from Boromir and led him along the edge of the hills, making a wide arc around the battle.

The ents were taking down Isengard. She had no intention of braving Saruman in his tower, but weren’t there outlying buildings? Hadn’t Merry and Pippin found some sort of amazing store room in the story where they found pipeweed from the Shire? She needed clean water, maybe wine or rum or some other kind of alcohol for disinfectant. She would need clean cloths, and probably sutures…

As they began to leave the battle behind them, she could see Orthanc rising like a black spear. Direction was easy, but the closer they got, also the lower they had to go. This brought them nearer to the water that was turning most of the valley into an impromptu river.

Houston was given to flooding. On the highways and underpasses there were poles with measurements so you could see how many feet deep the water was during a flood. Kara knew you had to be careful with running water, even if it didn’t look very strong. On the other hand, at least the horse didn’t have a motor to get flooded like her mid-size Toyota.

The forest grew up closer to the south side of Isengard, and soon Kara was among the very edge of the trees. The water gurgled and flowed strangely only a stone’s throw from her feet. It only looked to be a foot or two deep, but it was strangely wrong. It changed the landscape and made Kara feel very lost and alone. But there were not many options. She steadied her weak knee and continued onward as Boromir slumped closer and closer to the horse’s neck.

Then one of trees in front of them lunged forward.

Kara screamed.

Andrea lay on her straw tick mattress on the floor and told herself she did not care what happened in the battle that raged beyond the walls.

She had only been out there twice, but she could picture the curving black wall and the huge gnarled trees beyond. She’d seen the pits and machinery, smelled the smoke, heard the ugly chanting of a thousand orcs.

Now they had gone to fight.

She tried not to think about who was fighting or what must be happening. The only person she cared about out there was Kara, and that, she told herself firmly, was only because Kara was the closest source of medical care that Andrea was likely to get.

She couldn’t help picturing Kara as she’d last been: with a bloody lip, bruises, and a deep horror lurking in her eyes from her “conversation” with Saruman. Saruman had been angry with Kara’s stubbornness, and Andrea had been too, a little. But when Kara explained the ruse with the ring, Andrea just felt sorry for her. She’d heaped the extra blankets on Kara, who was still shivering. “That elven woman set you up. What a jerk. You think there’s good guys and bad guys, but from my perspective, there’s just crazy people who will do anything to win.”

Still, Andrea had taken Kara’s hands and rubbed them sharply to help her warm up. She knew the palantir left a feeling of biting cold. Andrea might not make the same choices Kara had made, but she understood the right to make them.

Soon an orc had come unexpectedly to take Kara away. That had been hours ago.

Andrea shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of her stomach pulling at her back and hips. Every loud noise made her jump, every distant shout was like a finger touching her spine.

When a harsh clang of metal sounded in the hall, Andrea jolted yet again. The stretched muscles of her abdomen twinged painfully.

She groaned and sat up. There was no point in lying down; she was not going to sleep.

Her ears were trained on the hall, to the shouting of orcs within the tower. She could hear Saruman’s angry voice in the mix… something about the river.

And that gave her a start. She knew that moment of the story, but it should not happen yet. Should it? And the tower itself didn’t flood, did it? She looked dubiously at her huge stomach. She couldn’t even see her feet at this point, she didn’t want to think about staying afloat in cold, dark water.

She didn’t think the flood had gotten in the tower, but she still eyed her furniture. In a pinch, she could get on the table… it would probably float.

Her stomach clenched again, and Andrea rubbed her sore ribs, bearing down with her thumbs. The baby wasn’t kicking as much these days. What she wouldn’t give for some extra-strength Tylenol and a good ultrasound to make sure everything was okay.

Her door—a large wooden monstrosity—slammed open abruptly and hit the wall with a bang. It was Saruman’s favorite orc, Ugluk. Andrea had become unfortunately familiar with him these past weeks.

Right now, he was clearly angry, but he bared his teeth in the mockery of a grin. “The White Hand calls for you.”

He drug Andrea up a circular stair that seemed to extend into infinity, but had—she could not help counting— 617 steps, give or take a few when she stumbled and he hauled her up several at a time. Indeed, he all but carried her the last few flights, and Andrea cringed at his large filthy hands on her.

On the roof at last, the stars burned in the cold air. Andrea was gasping from the climb, and the wind snatched the rest of her breath away.

Around them was moonlit water. The valley of Isengard was now a round cauldron of eddying waves and foam. Whirlpools swirled here and there, quickly forming and disappearing again. Treacherous splintered wood washed this way and that, veering slowly toward the lower end of the valley.

There were also trees—ents, rather—planted and still amidst the destruction. She could hardly see their faces in the dim moonlight, but their silhouettes were clear.

Saruman’s eyes were wild with frustration and failure. He snatched at her arm and pulled her to the edge of the tower. “Look! What happened to your promises? Was there no truth in your words? I did not touch the trees of Fangorn.”

Andrea was so close to the edge, a wave of vertigo had her pulling back. She didn’t even realize Saruman was talking to her until he shook her hard again. His narrow cruel fingers bit into her upper arm. “Andrea, my dear, you told me that the ents only fought because their forest was harmed.” He pushed her to the brink of the tower. “Did you think you could lie to Saruman the White?”

“I don’t know! I told you I could only guess,” Andrea protested. Her feet had almost no traction on the slick black stone of the tower. She tried not to glance down, but the depth of the fall at her feet seemed to pull her eyes. The water was black at the base of the tower. A dead orc floated facedown.

She shuddered convulsively. “It is not my fault—how could I know what they might do? The story is changing.”

She thought perhaps the ent below them was speaking, but she could not focus on it. Her stomach clenched in fear; her ears were filled with the sound of wind.

Saruman released her all at once, and Andrea fell backward. She landed on her right hip and cried out at the pain that radiated through her.

“All that effort and you have done this. A betrayal,” he said.

“I didn’t—” Andrea panted through her pain. “You know what? Screw you. You’re going to lose, and you know why? It’s not because you’re fated to be a misunderstood villain, it’s because you’re an asshole.”

He extended his staff toward her, and Andrea was lifted into the air. Her tears made frozen tracks down her cheeks. Her body slid without resistance through the wind, until she was hovering over the abyss of watery moonlight. Only her toes touched the tower.

“Then join your friends,” Saruman said.

He released his power and Andrea fell.

The wind blinded her as she tumbled through the air. The roar deafened her. She screamed in terror.

From a distance, Kara saw Andrea thrown from the tower. She stopped in absolute horror.

“No!” She clutched Boromir’s ankle, and though he was slumped over the horse, he also looked up and saw Andrea fall. The locs of her hair seemed to fan out in the moonlight. A thin, distant scream reached them, the sound carried by the water.

Even as they watched, one of the ents seemed to lunge underneath her. Andrea’s body disappeared into the dark tangle of the ent.

“Did he catch her? He must’ve caught her—but that was so far! She’ll be—She must be hurt, if not worse…” Kara pressed her forehead against the horse’s shoulder to center herself. “I can’t believe he tried to murder her.”

Kara clenched her shivering teeth. Whatever had or had not happened to Andrea, she couldn’t help if she fell apart now.

“Drench,” she said, “we need to get there as soon as possible.”

Drench—her erstwhile friend of the forest—had been the one to surprise her. He had been waiting for any orcs fleeing to the south, and thankfully—as he had smelled her before—he recognized that she and Boromir were not orcs before he stomped them. Now he was escorting them toward Isengard, and Kara was trying to—in the most painstakingly slow conversation of her life—understand what was happening.

She gave up on that. “I don’t know if this horse can handle the water,” she told him. “I certainly can’t. Will you carry me? And lead the horse?”

Drench took a moment to understand, but eventually Kara found herself lifted to sit in the crook of one arm. With the other he took the horse’s reins. Then he started into the water.

It was not as deep as Kara feared, at least not on this edge. The water only reached the horse’s knees and he did not seem to be struggling. Boromir was hanging onto consciousness, though she hated to think how much blood he must’ve lost by now.

Kara couldn’t stop picturing Andrea’s body plummeting from the tower. Visions of broken limbs, cracked ribs, and far worse fluttered across her tired brain as they made their way toward the tower. Her own hurts were minor in comparison. She just hoped she could be strong enough to handle whatever was waiting for her.

Aragorn knew before they reached the trees that Kara and Boromir were not there. She was not one to hang back and wait. When she heard the battle ending, she would have been watching. She would have come to meet them.

The only thing that made him go all the way to the trees, as the sun came up on the flooded battlefield, was the fear that she had lost consciousness. In the darkness, he had not been able to ascertain how hurt she was. How many hidden wounds had she? Was she bleeding? When that orc hefted her into the air, had he done serious damage? If Boromir had reached the trees and not seen her, he might’ve wondered off in his pain and delirium.

But neither were there.

Gimli made a deep sound in his throat. “They found somewhere safe to hole up. That is all.”

Gandalf frowned. “They must have returned to Isengard.”

“Then let us go.” Legolas turned back the way they had come, as if he had not just fought a battle through most of the night and slogged across a newly formed bog. Sometimes Aragorn envied his elven resilience.

Eomer must have spied them turn back. He sent one of his men to bring them fresh horses, plus another for Aragorn, who had sent his mount off with Boromir. The Rohirrim had fought well, but there were more than a few horses without riders.

Riding again, the four of them reached Isengard shortly. The grounds had become a great shallow lake. It reflected streaks of early morning sun in peach and yellow and blue. It was rather striking.

“I daresay Isengard has never looked better,” Gandalf said drily.

Their horses plowed diligently through knee-high water, churning up muck and splashing liberally. Aragorn wondered how Kara and Boromir had navigated this in the dark.

Ents could be seen stationed around the circular wall. Or perhaps they were not stationed, but merely stationary, he mused, as they calmly soaked in the water and sun.

“There is Treebeard on the north side by those small storehouses.” Gandalf called to him, “What news, friend? We seek two lost members of our company.”

Treebeard had been crouched over the largest hut and was peering in the open doorway. He now stood to his full leafy height, bracing himself on the wooden crossbeam that stuck forward from the roof.

“Indeed, they are here. And another besides. Very fragile things, you men.” He turned back to the door, speaking to someone within. “What’s that?”

They were close enough now to hear Kara’s weary voice. “More cloth, if you can find it, as clean as possible. Another table, if you can find one.”

Aragorn felt great relief, but it was quickly swallowed up in concern as she went on.

“There is just so much blood.”

Chapter 22

Chapter Text

Andrea had come back to consciousness lying flat on her back on a long wooden table. She blinked in confusion. Her whole body hurt like a bruise, and the low light of a single lantern seemed to pierce her head. There was a slanted wooden roof above her, and the room was small and crowded with shelves. There were bags, barrels, and boxes all around. It was very unlike the cold, black rooms of Orthanc.

The floor seemed to be covered in at least a foot of water that sloshed about, knocking against the lower shelves and flowing in and out the open door that swung freely on its leather hinges. Andrea was a little cold, but less so on her left. She managed to twist her head that way and nearly flinched off the table. A man lay there next to her, his warmth radiating through the linen of her dress. His eyes were shut and there was blood on his face. A large arrow protruded from his shoulder at a gruesome angle.

Andrea gagged and looked away. After her startled flinch, her body hurt even worse. Her back muscles were clenched and painful, and she could not draw a deep breath. The pain seemed to grow and grow. Andrea moaned, partly out of panic as the memory of falling came back to her. Had she injured her spine? What had happened?

The door swung open again, and Kara entered with a second lantern and a copper pot. She sloshed through the water, and her skirt was soaked to the waist.

“You’re awake!” Kara rushed over to her. “Don’t move at all.”

Andrea could only grunt. The pain finally lessened and she gasped. “I can’t move. My back… am I paralyzed?”

“No! At least—I don’t think so.”

“That’s not—reassuring.” The pain was almost gone now, and Andrea slumped bonelessly into the hard table.

Kara put her stuff on a shelf and took Andrea’s hand. “Can you wiggle your toes for me?”

Andrea did, and was relieved to see that it worked.

“Good, good. And just flex your knees a little…” Kara worked through several sets of muscles and movements, and her relief grew with each success.

But then Andrea’s pain began to return. It was in her lower back, but it wrapped all the way around her ribs. “There’s something wrong though—!” She broke off into silence as she clenched her teeth shut.

“Breathe,” Kara said. “Inhale, hold, exhale. Just breathe.” It was her hands that gave her away. She placed them on Andrea’s extended stomach all through the pain.

Andrea finally understood. “I’m in labor?”

“Yes.” Kara waited until Andrea nodded that the contraction was over. “There’s good news and bad news. The good news is that Treebeard managed to catch you and cushion your fall. I’ve found bruises, but nothing seems broken? You’ll have to confirm what hurts in a moment. The—er—other news is that you seem to be going into labor. It might’ve been the stress and shock, or maybe your baby is just a little early.”

Andrea’s mind revolted. “No. No… no. I can’t do that here. I can’t—I won’t.”

“Before we get to that, I’m just going to lift your chin a tiny bit. If it hurts at all, tell me…” Kara moved her head very gently, then had her turn left and right. “That’s good. That’s very good. If you had a neck fracture, you wouldn’t be able to do that without pain.”

“Pain? My whole body hurts!”

“I know, and I’m so sorry. But its good news that your spine and neck seem to be fine. Now, I’m not sure if you fainted or hit your head, so I’m just going to palpitate your head before the next contraction. If there is any extra pain, sing out.”

Andrea felt rather like throwing up, but her head didn’t hurt under Kara’s fingers.

“That’s a relief!” Kara said. “We’ve ruled out the worst possibilities…” She trailed off as Andrea tensed with another contraction. “Now we need to work on this.”

Kara tried to take her hand during the contraction, but Andrea shook her off. Somehow Kara’s cold hand just made things worse.

When the contraction eased, Kara was grimacing. “I wish I had a watch! I think those two contractions were four or five minutes apart. You’re in active labor, but not transition. You probably have a while, but that’s a good thing. It gives your body time to prepare.”

Andrea refrained from several loud curses. She jerked her head towards the man. “Who’s the stiff?”

“Er—Boromir.”

“Boromir?” Andrea turned her head to look at him again. With his dirty, blood-spattered face and pale skin—even pale compared to the pasty white guys she worked with—he didn’t look like she’d expected. His blonde hair was stuck to his head and neck, and his mouth sagged open slightly. There were deep furrows between his eyebrows, as if he was in pain even in sleep. His skin was rough—probably from living outdoors—and there were flecks of blood in his beard.

Andrea turned away again. The sight of blood was not her favorite. “Well. You need to get him fixed up before I have this kid.”

Kara looked torn. “Yeah, I do—but he is stable. When I take the arrow out, it’s going to hurt him. He might writhe around, shout, yell. I’d rather do it while he’s out, but I have nowhere else to put him…”

“Just do it,” Andrea said. “Maybe he’ll stay out.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. This isn’t your fault. Just—” another contraction was coming. “Just do what you gotta do.”

Kara watched as another contraction came over Andrea. She seemed to be handling it better now that she knew what was happening.

Kara did need to deal with Boromir. She didn’t want the wound to adhere to the arrow any more than it already had, because it would bleed all the more when it was removed. She’d done a fast search of the outbuildings and made several extremely lucky finds… she was as prepared as she could be.

Prepared, she repeated ironically to herself. I have a woman in a high-risk birth situation, and a man with an arrow in his chest. I’m exhausted, injured, wet, and cold. This couldn’t possibly go wrong.

But waiting would only make things worse. Kara moved both lanterns to nearby shelves. She’d managed to unbutton his long leather vest, and she’d found several sharp knives in the storeroom. Kara used the smallest knife to cut through the neckline of his red shirt. She carefully avoided jarring the arrow as she cut across to his shoulder and to the hole made by the arrow. The shirt was stuck to him with blood, but she used the wet hem of her skirt to work it loose. Then she bared his shoulder. Once she’d wiped off the blood, she saw mottled blue and purple skin around the injury. It bled sluggishly.

“Could be worse,” she muttered. She glanced back at Andrea, who was coming off that contraction. “You’re doing great.”

Next Kara washed Boromir’s chest, no longer using her sodden skirt, but one of her lucky finds. It seemed Saruman liked fancy food and drink, and he had it shipped from near and far. Most of it was packed in barrels or chests with straw, but she’d found several fine wines wrapped in cotton wool. She’d prefer sterile gauze, but it was far better than nothing. One of the ents had used his nose to find a bucket of lye soap which must’ve been used for Saruman’s things, as the orcs didn’t seem to care about cleanliness.

Kara washed Boromir with soap and water, and then washed her hands well, too.

Andrea kept her eyes averted. “Sorry, but if I look I might throw up. That won’t help anybody.”

“Absolutely. I’m so sorry about this.” She couldn’t help apologizing. A woman was supposed to have a safe, calm, controlled environment to labor in and that was sort of the opposite of what she could offer Andrea.

The next part would be the worst. Kara’s main fear was that the arrowhead would detach inside Boromir. She did not feel capable of performing surgery to extract it. Other things, yes… packing or binding a wound, disinfecting it, sure. But surgery while she stood calf deep in water in a medieval storage hut? No.

She’d even thought about pushing the arrow through to the other side and breaking the shaft to pull it from the back of his shoulder. That would probably do less damage if the arrow was only an inch or two from the other side… but the arrow was not that deep, she didn’t think.

Kara gripped the shaft of the arrow right where it exited from his chest. She would do this slow. The movie trope of ripping it out quickly was only a good idea in some situations. It would shorten the pain, but as far as ripping muscle and flesh, slow was better.

Then she wimped out. She leaned her forehead against Boromir’s bare shoulder. “I am not this kind of nurse! I don’t know battlefield medicine. I am not Florence Nightengale. This is stupid and I shouldn’t have to do it.”

Andrea was tactfully silent.

Kara breathed deeply a few times and put herself back together. This was like jumping into a cold lake; she could count to three all she wanted, but eventually she just had to do it.

Kara began to work the arrow out as gently as she could. She wasn’t sure what the head looked like, but there was a good chance it was barbed on the back. She wanted to do as little exit damage as possible. At first it barely moved. Her slight outward pull might as well be nothing. She gently moved the shaft in a slight circle, hoping to shift it free.

Boromir moaned.

She forced herself to keep going. He wasn’t awake yet, all the better.

The arrow suddenly gave and slid an inch toward her. Fresh blood welled up around the shaft of the arrow. Okay… now she was on a timeline. Slow, but not too slow.

It slid another half inch and this time Boromir arched up on his back. Andrea clenched her eyes shut as if to shut out what was happening around her.

Kara bit her lip and kept going.

Boromir awoke to a burning pain in his shoulder. He somehow knew, though he could not recall, that it had been burning for some time. He finally cracked his eyes open and saw Kara illuminated in the yellow-orange light of several lanterns. Her hands were on the arrow. There seemed to be a bottle of wine at his elbow and a roll of cloth on his chest. Flood water swirled around her feet and reflected coins of lantern light.

Everything felt unmoored, as if he was in a dream.

He hissed as the arrow moved again. A painful dream.

“Sorry!” Kara murmured. “It’s close. Brace yourself.”

There was nothing to brace himself with. He clenched his teeth hard as the arrow slid again. It felt as if a fiery rope was being drawn through the wound, but now that he was cognizant, he tried not to move. A muffled sound may have escaped his lips, but that was all.

Boromir could handle pain. He had handled pain many times in his life, but he would be the first to admit that lying on a table with nothing else to think of made it worse. Give him a sword and he could fight through this. To simply lay here and take it was against his nature.

With a final wrench, the arrow was out. His jaw ached with his effort to keep his mouth shut. A tremor ran through him, but he did not move. His vision swam and narrowed.

“Stay awake,” Kara said. “Look at me.” Boromir blinked and tried to focus. He could not succumb to sleep and dreams and death, not when Kara was working so hard to save him.

With one hand, she pressed clean wool to his chest. With the other, she tossed the arrow behind her where it disappeared into the water. For some reason that struck him as funny. He laughed.

“I think you’re going to be okay,” Kara said. “I’d just rather you stay with me for a little longer. Then I’ll let you sleep.”

He also discovered, to his surprise, that someone was holding his hand. Or perhaps he was holding their hand. His confused gaze roamed over Kara. Both of her hands were accounted for. One of them pressed against his shoulder, the other prepared a bandage with honey. He remembered how she’d poured whiskey on Sam’s cut. He thought distantly that this was going to hurt.

He turned his head the other way and found a woman lying next to him. She was also grimacing in pain, which he could not account for. She was a stranger to him, with dark skin and large dark eyes. Perhaps it was his pain, but she was fascinating. Her gaze was far away, but her hand was in his.

“Am I dreaming?” he asked.

She turned to him with a long exhale. “If you try a pick-up line on me right now, I will end you.”

“What is a pick-up line?” His hand involuntarily squeezed hers as Kara poured wine onto his wound. She held the edges of it apart with her fingers and he gasped at the sudden pain as the alcohol came in.

“A—apologies,” he said, when he could speak. He forced his hand to unclench around hers, afraid that he’d bruise her fingers. “Unless you wanted the comfort—”

“Please. You grabbed my hand when you first woke up.”

He moved his hand an inch away. “My apologies.”

Kara next poured honey on him, even going so far as to use a rolled-up cloth to push honey into the wound. “Sorry, sorry!” she repeated, as he grunted. “Almost done packing it. We don’t want you to get infected.”

Finally she began wrapping his shoulder. He shifted slightly so that she could get around him.

“I had Treebeard rip a cloak. I hope I can get this around twice,” Kara said, “but you have really big shoulders…”

The wrapping hurt, but he teased her, “Yet still you never look at me and my broad shoulders the way you look at—”

Kara smacked his leg. “Shut up, you big oaf.”

“And you were a healer in your land? We tend not strike our patients, but perhaps you have superior learning—”

The unknown woman at his side laughed. “This one would fit right in at home, wouldn’t he? I didn’t think Middle Earth did sarcasm.”

Kara rolled her eyes as she began to wash her hands. “I know, right? But Boromir is a terrible flirt.”

Boromir closed his eyes, still weary. “You have not yet explained to me what a flirt is, but I am certain I do it as well as any man.”

“You do,” Kara said, kindly. “But drink this before you go to sleep.” She helped him raise his head and prop himself on his good elbow.

He spluttered. “Water? Have you wasted all the wine on my shoulder?”

“I wouldn’t give it to you in any case, it impedes healing. This is fresh water, not the scummy stuff around my feet. I had Treebeard fetch it.”

He reluctantly drank, and soon found that he was quite thirsty. He sank back onto the table when he was done. “Thank you, Kara.”

“You’re welcome.”

For the first time, it struck Boromir that he had lived. He shuddered. “I was supposed to die, was I not? I was prepared; I accepted it.”

“Then you’ve done something few people can,” Kara said. “But we don’t want you to die.”

“I honor your care of me, but perchance there may be greater temptations in my future. If I cannot be trusted, if the ring is ever again within my grasp—”

“Don’t think like that. You are a good man and of course there’ll be temptations…. But that’s how we all live. You have more to do here.”

The woman beside him moaned, and Kara rushed around to her side of the table, splashing through the water and limping slightly. A pre-dawn light was beginning to creep through the open doorway illuminating them all.

Boromir could almost feel the pain radiating off the other woman. “What is the matter with this lady?” A sudden dim memory returned to him: Kara’s gasp as a person fell from Orthanc. “Was she injured?”

The woman’s eyes were closed. She panted through the pain. “Kara, the baby is coming.”

Boromir's eyes grew wide. "Saruman threw this woman off the tower, knowing she was with child?" Such villainy was beyond his thinking.

Kara silenced him with a look. "Yes, but she's going to befine. We're all going to be fine."

*

Chapter 23

Chapter Text

Kara was relieved when Aragorn, Gandalf, Gimli, and Legolas reached the storehouse where she had set up a temporary clinic. They were safe and the battle was over, and she would appreciate that at great length when she had time.

However, at the moment, she barely spared a moment for Gimli’s heartfelt hug, Legolas’s calm smile, and Aragorn’s—fleeting—squeeze of her shoulder. “What do you need?” he asked.

“Well. There’s—I mean—” Kara’s exhaustion was becoming acute. “I can’t stay to explain, but Andrea—the other woman from my world—is going to have a baby shortly. We’ll need some warm clothes or blankets. More clean water. Scissors, if they could be found. Do you still have your needle and thread?”

Soon she had a few more supplies, and Aragorn and Legolas had set up a door on several barrels to move Boromir over. It was tight in the storeroom, with barely a foot between the table and the impromptu stretcher, but at least Andrea could move her arms or roll onto her side without hitting another person.

Aragorn offered to get Boromir out of the way entirely, but Kara waved him off. Just moving Boromir slightly had restarted the bleeding and she did not like it. He was asleep again, at any rate, and Andrea was too far into labor to care.

Kara did send the other men outside as she supported Andrea through the final stages of labor. She washed her hands again and tried to prep Andrea as much as she could in such a non-sterile environment. She didn’t have any tools to check her dilation, but Kara was pretty sure at the last check that Andrea had to be near 10 cm.

Andrea was being a champ about it. So much so that it worried Kara. “You’re doing so well, but you can make noise. Whatever helps you is the best thing. You’re safe here.” She wasn’t sure which reassurance Andrea needed, but she deserved all of them.

Kara would have preferred to have her up and about, but with Andrea’s terrible fall and the murky flood water… it just didn’t seem safe.

Andrea curled up on her side and nodded. She barely made any sound, except for breathing. “I feel like—I need to push.”

Kara took a deep breath. “Okay. That’s a good sign. You’re doing really well.”

The next half hour was a blur. Kara no longer felt her sore elbow or wobbly knee. She talked Andrea through pushing and taking breaks between contractions.

Kara’s brain made brief snapshots. Andrea’s sweat dripping down her forehead. A bucket slowly spinning in the water by the door.

Kara even noticed, at some point, that Boromir had wakened again. Andrea’s hand had found his and she clutched it tightly, outstretched over the gap between them. Kara didn’t think Andrea even realized what she was doing, and Boromir said nothing to distract her.

Then the hard part was over. The baby was out in several pushes, head-first the way she was supposed to be. There was no tangled cord around her neck, and Kara allowed herself one exhale of relief as the baby gasped and cried.

They would deal with the umbilical cord in a moment.

Kara wrapped the baby in a clean shirt that Aragorn had brought. “A baby girl. I don’t know how big or tall, but she looks perfect to me. I’d guess between six or seven pounds.”

Andrea’s breath came in shudders. “I did it. She’s here.” She suddenly seemed to realize she was holding Boromir’s hand. She dropped it. “Um—thanks.”

She reached for her baby.

Kara positioned the baby in her arms, wishing she had pillows or something to prop Andrea up, but there was nothing.

Kara’s hands shook as she finished the final things… delivering the placenta, cleaning Andrea. Kara’s final concern was that Andrea might bleed excessively. It would be hard to tell at first… and there was little Kara could do… but for now everything seemed normal.

She covered Andrea with another blanket, as it was far colder than she would like. The baby was whimpering, and Andrea looked to her in uncertainty. “Should I try to feed her?”

Boromir closed his eyes again to give them privacy, glad that he was forgotten. He had never been in a birthing room before, for they were solely the territory of women, midwives, and healers. Perhaps a husband and father might be included, if they had a stout heart, but he was neither.

Still, the lady had reached for his hand as she labored, and he was not so cruel as to refuse. The birthroom was rather more like a battle than he would have expected. She fought her own battle with pain and fear, and she was among strangers and in a strange land. He would never be embarrassed to offer what little comfort he could to a warrior in such conditions.

But now her battle was won. Boromir was not familiar with children and infants, but he knew this moment was not for him. He took one good look at the small person who had just been born—it really was rather a miracle—and closed his eyes. And because he had fought through the night, lost much blood, and felt something like intense fatherly anxiety for the past hour—he fell asleep again.

Aragorn decided to bully Kara out of the storehouse around midday. Her voice cracked when she spoke, and her lips trembled with fatigue. When she stood still, she listed to one side alarmingly. The water had subsided to ankle depth, but she still stumbled in it.

Aragorn took her arm. “You must come sit. For a short time only, if you insist, but you will fall if you do not rest.”

“I can’t leave. Andrea needs me. And Boromir may develop a fever…”

He guided her through the door and away. “They are both asleep for now, as is the babe. Gimli and Legolas will stand by to aid them.”

The sky was a glorious blue, as if the battle had never occurred. The sun shone on the water and the warmth of it was welcome to everyone who wished to drive away the lingering darkness of the long night.

“We can help, too!” said Merry, crossing their path with Pippin. “I’m the youngest on the Brandybuck side, but on the Bolger side I’ve a scurry of young cousins. I’ve burped them many a time.”

Pippin nodded. “You’ll rarely find such excellent uncles as Merry and me!”

Kara smiled faintly. “That’s good to know.”

Aragorn led her to the broad steps of Orthanc, where she could be out of the water and in the sunshine for a brief time. He slung his bag down, which he’d fetched during the long morning.

“It is safe to sit here?” she asked. “Is Saruman dead yet?”

“Saruman has locked and barred the door from the inside. If he tries to come out, we will hear him.”

“But did he speak to Gandalf?”

“Yes, however—if I am remembering you story aright—Wormtogue was not here to stab him.”

She slapped her head. “Right. Or if we are going off the original version, he wouldn’t die at all…”

Kara began to sit, but her knee gave out. She plopped down with a yelp as Aragorn tried to brace her on one side.

“Where are you hurt? Other than this.” He stroked her jaw with his hand, lightly touching the ugly bruises on her neck and cheek.

She blinked at him, as if trying to remember a lesson she’d fully forgotten. His left hand was still under her arm, and she looked down at that, too. “I think… my elbow. And my knee is shaky.”

Aragorn retrieved several long strips of cloth from his bag. They were used for leg wraps in cold weather or to hold on a bandage at need. He fashioned a loop around her neck and measured it to be a sling for her arm. “You may wish to take off your boots to let your feet dry. The water is subsiding.”

He took the sling back to tie it off, and she removed her boots and the green elven stockings. “My toes are wrinkled. I’m not sure my boots will ever dry out.”

“Even a little will help.”

“That’s actually… very serviceable,” Kara said, trying the sling. She relaxed her arm into it with a wince. “We still use this in my day. I’d totally take some extra-strength Aleve, but this will help a lot.”

She stretched her toes out in the sun. “Now only the rest of me is wet.”

He took another strip and paused with a hand near her foot. “May I?”

“Er—sure.”

Kara felt surprisingly immodest as Aragorn moved her skirt to wrap her knee. Which was ridiculous as she was still covered in more layers than a modern woman would wear to a funeral. He was careful as he passed the cloth around and around, moving her leg gently with his left hand. Hands of a healer, all right. Her knee already felt better.

Were his ears turning slightly red? This must be even more scandalous to him. Kara tried to take the cloth from him. “I’ll finish it up.”

He wouldn’t relinquish it. “You’ve taken care of everyone else, let me do this one thing for you.” He wrapped it snugly, which would help her not twist or overextend it while she was healing. He was gentle and tender, and there was such intensity in his gaze—if she wasn’t careful, she could call it...caring, tenderness…

But, she reminded herself, that was just his resting compassionate face. Was that a thing? Aragorn could make it a thing. It was exactly how he looked at certain people in the movies like Boromir, Eowyn, or Frodo… anyone he cared about and feared for.

Kara’s eyes began to fill with tears. By the time he tucked in the edges of the wrap and sat back on his heels, she was crying in earnest.

“Sorry! I don’t know why I’m crying now,” she said. “You’re just so—kind. And Boromir will recover, and Andrea is doing as well as can be expected. I’m so relieved you’re safe, and Gimli and Legolas and Gandalf, too. I just—” she shrugged helplessly as tears streamed down her face.

Aragorn gave her his large handkerchief.

Kara wiped her face. “Actually, I do know why I’m crying. My therapist would say I’ve been under a lot of stress, and now that I’m in a s-safe space, my emotions have to f-find an outlet.”

Aragorn only hesitated a moment before sitting next to her and putting an arm around her shoulders. “You are shivering. Are you cold?”

She sniffed, tears still welling up. “Yes, but this helps. Is this…okay?”

“If anyone needs us, they will call.”

That wasn’t what Kara meant, but she only nodded and snuggled up closer to his side. The warmth of the sun was finally soaking through her damp dress, and the weight of Aragorn’s arm around her was blissful. Her bare feet were finally drying out. Somehow Aragorn smelled of grass and woodsmoke, instead of blood or orc. She turned her face toward his chest and breathed deeply. “You smell good.”

She felt his silent laugh in her chest.

“You must be very tired indeed,” he said.

“Probably that too.”

His hand absently stroked her shoulder. “You can close your eyes.”

“Mmm. If I do that, I’ll see Sauron.”

He tightened his hand. “Oh?”

“The, er, palantir.” Kara kept her eyes on the mud that was beginning to show in patches around the tower. “That thing should be shattered.”

“I’m afraid it cannot be.”

“Bummer. Does it have to be thrown into Mount Doom, too? Because I’d make a side quest to get that done.”

“I’m not certain; I’ll ask Gandalf.” He stroked her shoulder some more. “Saruman made you stare into it?”

“Yes. He wanted to—He thought I had the ring.” She suddenly lifted her head. “Oh, I forgot to tell you any of that. Saruman used me to—to trick him. As far as Sauron knows, we have the ring.”

“Saruman sought to deceive the Dark Lord? Why?”

“I don’t know, it confused me, too.” She explained what had happened with the ring.

He froze. “Galadriel gave you this ring?”

“Yeah.”

He was speechless.

Kara continued, wanting to finish and be done. “When I was looking in the palantir, it seemed that both Sauron and Saruman were in my head. Saruman just wanted to make sure I didn’t give him away. Sauron wanted to see what I knew… They both twisted and controlled and laughed—there was only one tiny part of me that was still me. I tried to tuck everything I knew in there, but—it hurt.”

It hurt wasn’t sufficient to describe the horror, but she didn’t have the words. There was a cold, lingering darkness that had touched her soul, and it was not entirely gone.

“The shadow is still on you, but it will lessen,” Aragorn promised. “Time, and life, and—friendship will do that.”

“I hope so.”

He tucked her head under his chin, “We will defeat him. We will destroy the shadow for good, freeing you and many like you from that evil contamination.”

Aragorn held Kara close. She hadn’t said where she got her other injuries, but he could imagine. His relief to have her here in his arms was extreme. It was probably not wise to be so blatant—not where Saruman might see them, or Gandalf, for that matter. A king—even a yet-to-be-king—ought not wear his heart on his sleeve, lest he put his loved ones in danger.

But Aragorn didn’t care. Kara had already been in the greatest danger. It no longer mattered if others knew that she mattered to him.

She didn’t think of it that way, of course. Her world was very casual and free, more like the people of Rohan, and so she did not view his actions in the same way he did. But when he saw Gimli and Legolas looking their way, he could almost see their expressions. They knew that he had made a decision.

How it would come to fruition, he couldn’t say. If Kara wanted to go back to her world, he would see it done. If she wanted to stay in Middle Earth and live with the elves, he would make it happen. If she wanted to stay with him… he shied away from that thought, unwilling to raise his eyes to such heights lest he be blind when he lowered them.

Kara had gone very still and limp. She was asleep.

Gandalf rode by on his white horse and stopped to look at them. After a moment, Aragorn raised an eyebrow.

“Hm,” Gandalf said. “I was worried about this.” He spoke softly so as not to wake Kara. “She may return home at any time. Any serious wound could send her back. She may choose to go back.”

“I know,” Aragorn said.

“She knows little of Gondor. She is unconnected and uncouth.”

“I know.” Aragorn smiled a little.

“Well, good. I haven’t time to waste on you being foolish when you have a perfect opportunity right in front of you.”

Aragorn blinked.

“Now, I must get to Edoras as soon as may be,” Gandalf shortened his reins. “Saruman still has some evil influence over King Theoden, and I would tear apart every web that has been spun from this dreadful place. I will take Legolas, Gimil, and Eomer with me. Will you organize the second caravan with the wounded? Eomer’s men will help you. Meet us in Edoras in three days’ time.”

“I’m yours to command,” Aragorn said.

Gandalf harrumphed. “As if you would not make the same plans yourself. You will be giving orders soon enough.”

Aragorn smiled. “I’ll still be willing to listen to my friends on that day.”

“Hm, I hope so.”

Aragorn nodded toward the storehouse, where pipe smoke was beginning to float into the blue sky. “Leave me the hobbits.”

“I hadn’t considered them yet. Why do you want them?”

“Apparently they are good uncles.”

Gandalf’s eyes twinkled. “I see. I admit I am very curious to see what a child of the future will do in a world like ours.” He raised a hand. “Farewell for the present. Three days!”

Chapter 24

Chapter Text

Aragorn was concerned about the palantir. Specifically, that it was still in Orthanc. Gandalf had broken Saruman’s staff; the splinters had rained into the water. But the palantir was a weapon in its own right.

He and Kara stood on a patch of mud that was beginning to dry. The ground around Orthanc was still largely puddles and ponds, but there were beginning to be islands. It was less treacherous now that they could now see the great pits as they walked, but it was also concerning, as it meant that Saruman’s tunnels must have an outlet somewhere else.

Gandalf had shared his concerns with Aragorn before he left. “The ents have agreed to take charge of Saruman, and they have agreed with my final suggestion, which is that they should divert the river again to flood the grounds.” He’d twisted his mouth unhappily. “Perhaps even a third time. I’d prefer to see a permanent lake here. If Saruman’s tunnels get clear of flood water, he will have a path of escape from within the tower.” He shook his white head. “A wizard abroad could do much damage.”

Now Aragorn and Kara shaded their eyes as they looked up at the tower. The afternoon sun was a blinding white, and large puffy clouds were moving in from the west.

The creak of wagons sounded from the north wall, where some of Eomer’s men were helping to load the wounded. They had negotiated with the nearest village of Rohan to provide them as many wagons, tumbrils, and horses as they could spare.

“Yet another job Grima was supposed to accomplish,” Kara said. “He would’ve tried to hit Gandalf or you with the palantir before you left, basically giving it to us. I never thought I’d miss a guy who everybody agrees is the worst, but there it is.”

A cloud temporarily covered the sun, and Aragorn blinked his sun-spotted eyes.

“Maybe we could trick him into throwing it,” Kara said.

Aragorn grimaced. “I fear he knows its value and its danger too well.”

“Do you think he already told Sauron what happened? Andrea thinks he won’t be too eager to admit his crushing defeat to his dark lord.”

“Gandalf agrees, but we cannot rely on Saruman’s cowardice forever.”

“Maybe we could trade for it.”

Aragorn raised a brow. “What would a wizard trade for? He is corrupt; I would not give him anything his dark heart desired.”

Andrea’s baby begin to cry from the storehouse. The child had strong, lusty lungs, which boded well for the babe’s health but not so well for anyone who valued sleep.

The two hobbits left the storehouse and tromped through the mud to join them. Merry wiggled a finger in his ear. “It seems to us that human babies are louder than hobbit babies.”

“She’s small for now,” Pippin agreed, “but her lungs seem to know that she is going to be a big ‘un.”

“Does Andrea need anything?” Kara asked.

“No, she shooed us away so she could feed the baby,” Pippin said.

“The baby eats like a hobbit,” Merry added with satisfaction. “This is her second luncheon.”

“Now what’s this about trading with Saruman?” Pippin asked. “What has that pompous old codger got that we need?”

“It was a passing thought,” Aragorn said. “There are few bargains to be made with mad men.”

“He’s got to be getting hungry,” Merry said. “It seems his food was stored out here.”

“He probably has reserves within the tower,” Aragorn argued. “And even so, he is a wizard. There is no saying how long they can survive without food.”

“Ugh. Terrible way to live.”

“Appalling,” Pippin agreed. “But I bet that orc needs to eat. Didn’t Andrea say there was at least one in there with him? Maybe we could bribe the orc to turn on him.”

“A canny thought,” Aragorn said, “but Saruman bred his orcs to be loyal only to him.”

Kara frowned. “Food might be a way to get one or both of them to come out and talk to us though. It’s worth a shot. Maybe history will repeat itself, and it’ll get thrown out? Like how Boromir still got struck by an arrow, but not by the same orc or in the same battle.”

Aragorn did not like the idea of treating with the wizard without Gandalf, but he liked even less the idea of leaving Saruman there in the tower with a palantir. At some point Saruman would be forced to be honest with his dark master, and their game would be up.

Aragorn ordered that some of the dried fruit, wine, and salted pork should be brought and left halfway up the broad stone stairs before the door to Orthanc.

Then he lifted his voice. “Saruman!” he called. “Saruman, come forth!”

Merry and Pippin slunk away, probably to smoke more pipe tobacco before they had to leave, but Aragorn, Kara, and ten of Eomer’s men stood and waited. Treebeard and two other ents stood by. Sometimes Aragorn’s eyes seemed to trick him. He’d see a motion at one window, or a flicker of light at another, but when he focused on it, it was nothing.

Eventually they heard a distinct creaking and thud from within the walls. The ornate doors of the tower opened into a blackness that seemed deeper than it ought to be on such a fine day. Saruman stepped out and came to the top of the steps.

His black, clever eyes took in the small barrel of wine and the chest of food. “A peace offering, is it? My thanks! The heir of Isildur has better manners than Gandalf the White in these troubled times.” He inclined his head. “What have you to say to me, Aragorn son of Arathorn? I am always open to the reasonable speeches of wise men.”

Aragorn ignored the flattery; it was not worth addressing. “We are leaving today, and then the ents will redirect the river once more.”

Saruman’s eyes flickered from one ent to the next. “I see. Strange it is that a leader of men must rely on such servants.”

“They are not servants but allies; a concept you have perhaps forgotten.”

“On the contrary! You go to Edoras, and then to Gondor, do you not? And you will need allies.” Saruman’s voice somehow grew in both wisdom and depth. He descended several steps closer to the food. “You are not so different from me, my son. You have benefited from a project that I began. Or did you forget that your companion, Lady Kara, only entered Middle Earth at my behest? You are welcome.”

Aragorn hid his dismay. Displaying any affection for Kara before the walls of Orthanc had been a mistake. Saruman had now seen and understood something of what Aragorn valued.

Saruman’s lips twitched. The sun came out from behind a thick cloud, and his hair shone white. “You trust that you will win the day based on her promises, and you may indeed, but that does not mean your victory will be without losses. Do I not speak the truth, Lady Kara? Are there not deaths that will haunt this good man? Do you not wish King Theoden to live? Do you not desire that the thousands who perish in Pelennor Fields, including these fine men, might be spared?”

“No victory is without losses,” Aragorn said. The Rohirrim stirred uneasily at the mention of Theoden and their own demise. Saruman was truly uncanny at unsettling the heart. Even Kara’s brow was furrowed. Aragorn did not court war, but he preferred an outright conflict to Saruman’s slow poison.

Saruman descended a few steps more. “Is it not true that Theoden will have a remarkable recovery, only to die an unnecessary death before the darkest of enemies? Speak Kara.”

Kara stumbled over her words. “Not… unnecessary, exactly…”

The men frowned.

Aragorn cut the conversation off. “Saruman has long twisted the truth, do not believe him! Is there a man among you who doubts that Theoden King would gladly give his life in battle to save his countrymen and die in glory?”

“But what if he had his glory and his life?” Saruman said. “Lady Kara has rightly said that wizards are to be the helpers of men, not their rulers. Will you deny me this role in which I could work out my own salvation as well as yours?”

Kara shaded her eyes again. “He probably could help us, but we can’t trust him.” She unconsciously rubbed her sprained elbow. Aragorn wanted to reach out and touch her, but he refrained.

“If you are willing to be of service to our cause, prove it,” Aragorn called to Saruman. “Give us the palantir that you possess.”

Saruman must’ve been surprised by this request. He was silent for a bit too long. The absence of his insinuating voice began to chip away at the spell of words he had woven for the Rohirrim. “I would,” he said eventually, “but such things are… not for mortal men. The danger they present—”

Kara scoffed. “That didn’t stop you from torturing Andrea and me with it.”

Aragorn raised his hand. “Saruman, will you not do even this small thing to prove your change of heart? You forget that you are no longer a wizard of renown but of infamy, one who stands on a battlefield of defeat. Your lands are flooded; your staff is shattered; your orcs are slain. You have little to offer us.” Aragorn had only held out a slim hope that Kara was right, and that perhaps through this conversation fate would align to put the palantir in their hands. It seemed even less likely now. “If you have nothing else to say, take your food and hide in your tower.”

Kara choked off a laugh.

Saruman’s posture grew rigid as his muscles tightened with rage. “You are a child among children. All you have is a broken sword and a weak lineage, yet you speak of renown. You have been fortunate thus far, reaping the benefits of what I have sown, but that will not save you. You might have that prophetic slu*t to whisper the future in your ear, but no woman will do greater things than Saruman!”

Aragorn put a hand on his sword. “That’s enough. Save your poison for softer minds.”

Saruman began to smile. “Do the men of Rohan know that you care more about the woman warming your bedroll than the lives of those who follow you? What a king.”

Before Aragorn could reply, a splash and blur of motion drew his attention. The nearest of Saruman’s deep pits, which extended several fathoms into the earth, was about ten feet behind Kara. The water level had sunk such that there was a lip of earth about two feet high around the fetid, oily water within it.

Without warning, a large orc, one of Saruman’s uruk-hai, burst out of the water. Perhaps his eyes had been just above the surface, like a water snake or a toad, but none had perceived him. With a sudden splash and shout, he was out of the water and upon Kara, who had taken several steps backward as Saruman insulted her.

Aragorn lunged for her, but he was too late. The orc pressed a long, filthy knife to her throat and laughed. “Come at me. Let us see how she bleeds.”

The sudden shouts of alarm from the men gave way to silence as the orc backed toward the tower. One of the orc’s arms was locked across Kara’s arms and waist, the other held the knife. She kicked and writhed, but he easily held her off the ground with her back pressed to his wet chest.

The orc grinned as he reached the steps, carefully keeping Kara between him and the Rohirrim. He leaned down to say something low to her, in their guttural accent and Kara’s face went white. She had told Aragorn rather little of what occurred in Orthanc, but seemed to know this orc.

Saruman gestured. “Bring her up, Ugluk.” The orc obeyed, unbothered by Kara’s struggling, until he stood just below Saruman.

Aragorn’s body was clenched, but he spoke calmly. “Is this how we are to believe that you have had a change of heart?”

“This violence is a necessary evil. If you will not listen to sensible speech, I must descend to such crude tactics. I want my freedom, you want her. It is simplicity itself.” He tightened his mouth. “Or if you will not listen, I will return to my tower as you have commanded. Ugluk will have Lady Kara to assuage his boredom.”

The orc spoke in her ear again; his black tongue drug against the shell of her ear.

Aragorn drew his sword and took a step toward them, but the orc pressed the blade to her throat and a fine seam opened. It welled up like a paper cut and began to bleed.

“One last chance,” Saruman said. “Direct the ents to leave me in peace. No more flooding.”

“Does it matter?” Aragorn kept his eyes locked on Kara. “It seems you have found a way out regardless.”

“Oh, no. Ugluk can swim with one breath far longer than I.”

Kara felt Ugluk’s heavy, hot breath all around her and struggled not to panic. Her neck stung, but she wasn’t worried about that yet. Ugluk would try not to kill her, as that would hurt Saruman’s bargaining position. But if Ugluk made it back into the tower with her…

Ice seemed to ripple down her spine. She had to get away from him. She couldn’t kick him in the balls. Her arms were pinned. She tried to claw at him, but his leather trousers, wet and slimy, gave no purchase.

All she had was her head. And because Ugluk had decided to be gross about things, her face was very near his face. Kara took a deep breath. In one motion, she brought her head forward and then slammed it back into Ugluk’s nose.

She didn’t have time to gauge how much more the sword cut into her neck. Her ears were ringing too loudly to hear if his nose broke.

All she knew was that her feet suddenly hit the stone stairs and the knife had moved a few inches away. He still had her about the waist, but she went limp over his arm, letting her head fall as far as possible. Surely one of the Rohirrim had a bow and arrow ready…

Something did fly past her and impale Ugluk, but it wasn’t an arrow. It was Aragorn’s short sword. The fwick-thump of two arrows followed, and Kara twisted away from Ugluk to see that one had struck in his open mouth and the other in his neck. The sword quivered in the shoulder juncture of his armor over his sword arm.

Ugluk coughed around the arrow, and his blood spattered Kara. He reached for her face, but only managed to smear the blood as she jerked away.

Aragorn held Kara up with his left arm, while keeping the point of his long sword toward Saruman. “For Gandalf’s sake, I have not touched you, yet—”

Saruman’s eyes gleamed viciously. He raised a hand and said a harsh sentence in a language Aragorn did not know. It sounded older than even Sindarin. “Have you forgotten how Kara came to this world?” he said.

Kara’s weight against Aragorn’s side suddenly grew lighter. Her mouth opened but no sound came out. Her dark hair grew translucent, and her fingers began to disappear against the dark leather of his coat. She was fading before his very eyes. The darkest spots on her were the blood splatters of the orc. She was blinking as if she could not see him.

“No!”

“Aragorn—” her lips formed his name, but she was already half-gone.

Aragorn lowered her to the ground, his heart seizing. She couldn’t go now, not like this…

Kara was halfway between. She could feel Aragorn’s hands on her arms and then her shoulders, clutching her. She could also hear the beeping of a heart monitor and feel the cool, cotton sheets of a hospital bed. She could smell the antiseptic floor cleaner; she could feel the IV in her inner arm, dripping nutrients and saline to her.

Oh my gosh, I’m in a coma.

If she was in the hospital in a coma… how terrible! Ben, her other friends, her boss… they didn’t know she was okay. She would make everyone so happy if she woke up.

But she couldn’t come back now. Could she? Should she?

They’d saved Rohan. She’d saved Boromir. Gandalf was back. Merry and Pippin would be all right. Frodo and Sam were beyond her help.

Aragorn…ah, that hurt, but he didn’t need her. Distantly, she could hear his voice. “Not yet, Kara, not like this. Andrea—the baby—”

Right!

Andrea. The baby.

She had a duty to stay, and if her heart sang with relief, that was her own business.

Kara twisted her hand to reach for Aragorn’s invisible arm. His grip was growing fainter, but she clutched at his wrist. She threw everything she had at him. “Not yet, not yet.”

Aragorn breathed again when she began to solidify. Her hand clamped on his wrist with sudden strength. It was a strange, other-worldly sight, as if a ghostly image was taking on life. He hardly knew what he had said to her in those dreadful in-between moments, but as she grew solid again, he felt a flush of shame. Did he truly care about Andrea and the babe, or did he merely find the strongest note to play on Kara’s compassion?

Kara awoke with a gasp. She jolted up and grabbed his shoulder. Her other hand sank into his cloak, gripping a handful of it. “Am I still here? Are you real?”

“I am—as real as I ever have been.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Kara breathed.

His instinct was to embrace her, to hold her as close as he could and tuck her head under his chin where he might, at least for a moment, prevent her falling prey to any more danger. But he was very aware of the men around them. He leaned back on his heels. Was it in his mind that Kara wavered toward him, as if to follow, before catching herself?

Eomer’s men swarmed around them.

“Is the lady injured?”

“That was a fine throw.”

“The wizard has disappeared back inside.”

Merry and Pippin hurried to them. “Is Kara still with us?! What magic was that?”

Aragorn marshalled his thoughts and helped Kara to rise. “She will need a bandage for her neck. Someone bring my things.”

Treebeard was peering into the pit that the orc had come out of. “A curious thing. I wouldn’t have thought anyone could swim that deep and that far, but then, I am very large. I would as soon fly like a bird as swim like fish.” He harrumphed. “We will redirect the river as soon as you are safely away.”

Kara felt at the cut on her neck and winced. Her bodice was wet with blood. “Will it need stitches?”

Aragorn tilted her chin up carefully to avoid stretching the skin. “A few would help.”

“I can’t stitch my own neck.” She grimaced. “Good thing I have my very own ranger to do it for me.”

He felt a jolt of pleasure at her words, although it was just her way of talking.

Kara pressed a cloth to her neck to staunch the bleeding. Aragorn looked up at the tower and ground his teeth. “A fruitless errand and the palantir is still in the stronghold.”

Merry cleared his throat. “Ahem. Having taken a page out of Bilbo’s book, it is possible that Pippin and I did a bit of burgling whilst you kept old Sharkey busy.”

Aragorn stared at him. “What did you do?”

Merry pulled out a lump that he’d concealed in his gray elven cloak. One of his shirts from the Shire—grubby but with a fine collar and cuffs—was wrapped around a perfectly spherical orb. “Well, we grabbed some branches and planks from the flotsam and jetsam and made a smart little trellis against the tower, didn’t we? And when Saruman was focused on all of you, we snuck up it, nipped in the front door and went to fetch the palantir.”

Aragorn gingerly took it from him. “I never saw you.”

“We wouldn’t be very good hobbits if we couldn’t go unnoticed, could we? I’ll admit we were a little scared of finding any other orcs inside, but we didn’t. We found the room Andrea described, and I just wrapped it up and brought it out. We nipped down the ladder just as Kara was fighting the orc. Terrible luck, Kara, but you did give us excellent cover!”

Kara laughed, but then grunted as her neck pulled. “You’re so welcome.”

Aragorn eyed the hobbits in wonder. “Yet again, you have surprised and impressed me. I would have refused such a mission if you had asked, but… yes, I think it best you did not tell me. And neither of you looked into it?”

“Not likely!” Pippin spoke up. “Kara told us how it is.”

Aragorn wrapped a blanket around the palantir and stowed it at the bottom of his large bag. “You did well. If fortune had been against you—but it was not, so I will say no more.”

Kara grinned at him. “See? In a way, my plan worked. We spoke to Saruman for a while and the orb came to us.”

Aragorn briefly closed his eyes. When Kara had been at the mercy of the orc; she could have died. Then she had nearly returned to her own world. To call that collection of crises a plan was such a misnomer it made his head ache.

He sent Eomer’s men to finish the preparation for their removal to Edoras, and Merry and Pippin to help Andrea. He took Kara to the wagons and seated her on the rear of a flat tumbril. “It might help if you lay back.”

Kara did so, positioning herself so that he could easily reach her neck. Aragorn leaned close to gauge the length of the wound, placing one hand at the juncture of her collar bones, the other on her throat. “Perhaps it does not need stitches.”

“Does it really look better or are you just nervous?”

From this angle, from this close, Aragorn could almost have been lying next to her.

“It’s all right,” she added. “I trust you.”

Her words shot through him like an arrow. To have her trust, so freely and beautifully given, was a great gift. He did not know that he deserved it at present. He pressed her wound closed. “This does not need stitches, I was wrong. A tight bandage will do.”

“Healing hands.”

“You will have a scar.”

“Eh, I’ll have a lot to explain if I ever do go back.” She looked contemplative, even sad. “Or maybe not. I saw myself in my world. I was there also, in the hospital. You’d think—I wonder if Andrea—” she shook her head. “I don’t understand it at all.”

He began to wrap a wad of cotton wool into place, carefully moving her jaw when needed. “Please forgive me. When you began to disappear—I should have let you go.”

“No.” She caught his hand. “No, Aragorn, you were right. I can’t abandon Andrea here. I need to see this through.”

He gently freed his hand. “I would have taken her back to Galadriel. It was—wrong to pull you back to this.”

“I’m too tired to argue with you, but it was the right decision. Anyway, don’t worry; there are many reasons I stayed, and you were only one of them.” She began to count on her fingers. “Obviously Andrea is the most important. I’d still like to keep an eye on Boromir while he heals. Merry and Pippin have a few trials to avoid, and I might need to cast an eye over Boromir’s brother to see if something could be done for him. And Gandalf would never say so, but honestly I think he’d be hurt if I left without saying goodbye. You’re probably last on the list of people who need me.”

“Do you often come to such inaccurate conclusions?”

“Which part?”

He only shook his head.
He finished the binding with Kara watching him quietly. From scant inches away, her breath touched his cheek, his brow. He almost regretted the end of the task as he helped her sit back up. But all these things would come to an end, and he was not one to wallow in wishes. He squeezed her hand and went to attend to his duties.

Kara and Andrea were tenderly settled into a wagon with as many blankets and cushions as the hobbits could find, which was considerable. Boromir was in another one nearby, along with a wounded man of Rohan. Boromir was conscious, but he had lost a lot of blood, and could not yet walk without support. He eyed Kara with concern as she passed by his wagon.

“Kara, the battle was over and yet you still nearly got your throat cut? You will kill Aragorn with anxiety if you are not careful.”

“He’s fine,” Kara said. “This is just a scratch.”

Andrea snorted. She did a terrible British accent, “It’s only a flesh wound.”

Kara burst out laughing. “I knew you were a movie nerd. You just wouldn’t admit it.”

Boromir looked confused. “But it is only a flesh wound.”

Their second round of laughter woke the baby, who began to whimper and fuss. Her tiny nose scrunched up, and her dusky pink lips quivered.

Boromir arched an eyebrow. “You are both quite strange. Why don’t you hand me that poor infant while you settle yourselves?”

They did so, and Andrea grumbled as she rearranged her side of the wagon to get comfortable. “Only thing that’s strange is my baby being more comfortable with a dudebro than her mama.”

“I do not want to know what a dudebro is,” he declared. The baby did indeed quiet down as Boromir held her with his good arm. He handed her back reluctantly when Andrea was settled.

“I’m so sorry you have to make this trip now,” Kara told her. “But you’re bound to be more comfortable at Edoras.”

“Pippin, does Kara always apologize for things that aren’t her fault?” Andrea cuddled her baby against her shoulder. She had dark circles under her eyes and weariness in her face, but she only rolled her eyes at Kara.

“Yes, quite often,” Pippin said.

“And does she often do it when she’s terribly injured, and it sounds ridiculous?”

“Hmm. That hasn’t come up until now, but it follows. I think she apologized to Gimli when he stepped on her foot.”

“You guys!” Kara said. “I’m not that bad.”

Andrea settled herself a little more comfortably as the wagon began to jostle forward. “You just keep it to yourself until your neck isn’t bleeding.”

Merry grinned. “Now that Andrea is here, we can find out all the ways that Kara is strange in her own land. We thought it was just here.”

“It is just here,” Kara grumbled. “I’m perfectly normal in my world.”

“No, you’re not.” Andrea’s face became sober. “I heard what happened. You could’ve gone back.”

“Not without you. I’d never leave you.”

Andrea wiped a tear. “Damn hormones making me cry like a baby. I’m not one to go on and on, but… thank you. I won’t forget it.”

Pippin smiled. “What’s more—”

But Andrea turned on them. “No, we’re done ragging on Kara for now. Don’t get me started on you two. You asked me all those questions and didn’t tell me you were planning to sneak into the tower.”

“Um, we didn’t want to worry you?”

“My nephews say the same line when they do stupid things.”

Merry grinned. “Does that mean we are honorary nephews? We’ll tell you the next time we do a stupid thing. Do you want me to hold the baby?”

Andrea’s eyes were already growing heavy, despite the jostling of the wagon as it slogged through the mud in the road from the flooding. The movement seemed to have soothed the baby, too. “Yes, you can hold her. Man, I really gotta choose a name for my girl.”

She passed the baby to Merry, who looked comically tiny holding a newborn. Kara gasped at a sudden thought. “How big are hobbit babies?”

Pippin stroked the baby’s soft, brown cheek. “Well, they’re not like this giant one. My cousin had a two pounder and that was the biggest baby in the East Farthing since the gaffer’s time!”

Kara laughed, although she was getting darn sleepy. “I can’t imagine.”

Soon she and Andrea were dozing off, although before they completely succumbed, Andrea leaned toward Kara. “You were right. Meeting them, all the main characters—it does make a difference. I understand now.”

Kara nodded. “I knew you would.”

Andrea bit her lip. “I don’t expect them to forgive me.”

“You’d be surprised.” Kara closed her eyes. “Give them a chance.”

#

Chapter 25

Chapter Text

Edoras was built on a hill. Or maybe it was called a mound? A tell? Kara wasn’t really into archaeology. Anyway, it was way up there, and they could see it a good way off before they arrived.

Despite riding in a wagon and not walking, it’d been a grueling two-day journey. Kara watched the city of Edoras grow steadily larger through intermittent attacks of sleep that came on her almost violently no matter how hard she tried to keep her eyes open. She jolted out of these dozes with flashes of nightmares involving Saruman, Sauron, or—more recently—Ugluk pressing his mouth against her ear while whispering how he would make her suffer.

She supposed, in her mind’s defense, that she had been avoiding sleep so hard as to make it necessary to beat her into submission. She had been kidnapped, kept prisoner, escaped, endured that terrible night with Boromir, and then delivered a baby. Kara’s adrenaline levels were shot. She could probably attribute her body aches and lightheadedness (from low blood-pressure) to it, as well as her insomnia. Plus the missed sleep while trying to assist Andrea with her newborn the last two days. She even had the classic salt craving and brain fog of adrenal overload.

Thankfully, Andrea and the baby slept much of the journey, only waking to feed the baby or take a few mouthfuls of food when it was passed out to those riding in the wagons.

When Kara jolted out of another short doze, Aragorn was walking next to the wagon in front of hers, the one holding Boromir. They did not see her wake up.

The sun was getting low in the west, and long shadows stretched out from each rider and wagon. A slight breeze had started up and it felt cool against Kara’s sweaty cheeks. Edoras shone like gold in the sunset.

Boromir was stretched out in the back of his wagon, though he was propped up on lumpy blanket. He shifted restlessly. “I cannot deceive myself that I will be anything but a burden to you at Edoras. Theoden has no great love for Gondor, and I will exacerbate that. I propose to continue on to Minas Tirith with Gandalf and those of the company willing to go on at once. I can prepare my father and brother for your arrival.”

Aragorn’s broad back was toward her, so she could not see his face. “If Kara’s timeline is correct, your brother will be in Ithilien.”

“Then I will speak to my father.” Boromir rubbed his face. “Did you notice how little Kara spoke of him?”

“Yes.”

“She spoke of you becoming king and of Faramir stepping aside… not Denethor.”

“I noticed that.”

“I fear…I do not know what I fear, but since I yet live, I am desperate to see how things go on there. Does he die before we arrive? Kara spoke of Faramir’s injury, but not of my father’s guidance or decisions.”

Kara closed her eyes as she listened. She did not want to be drawn into this conversation. How could she tell Boromir that his father had gone mad through hopelessness and hatred, and that he had even tried to kill his son before killing himself?

Boromir went on quietly. “He is a hard man and does not suffer fools. He is wise in many ways, and he has preserved much in Gondor that might have been lost. But I am not blind to his faults. He distrusts the old stories and the old ideas. He has always disliked Gandalf, and Faramir’s love of Gandalf.”

“That will be difficult,” Aragorn agreed. “As for me, I’ve no intention of entering the city until the war is over, should our victory come. And not by force, whatever may happen.”

Boromir reached over the lip of the wagon, to grasp his arm. “As long as I am there, you are welcome.”

Kara must’ve dozed off again while she eavesdropped, for the next thing she knew, the wagons had rolled to a stop and there was confused but cheerful shouting. Kara had slid down almost flat in the wagon bed, next to Andrea, and she achingly pushed herself back up. To everyone’s surprise, Gandalf, Legolas, and Gimli were riding across the great green plain that lay before Edoras. However, they weren’t coming from the town on the hill, but from further north. It looked like they had seen the company from afar and altered their course to intersect with them.

“How is this?” Pippin called. “You were supposed to be there at least three days ago.”

Gandalf didn’t look amused, but Merry sang out, “Did you forget, Pip? A wizard is never late, he arrives precisely when he means to!”

Gandalf’s grim face gave way to exasperation. “Impertinent scalawags! You may have your laugh, for I am afraid late is precisely the word!”

Legolas scanned the wagons. “You have made good time, better than us. We stopped to assist several villages that were plagued by orcs. We did not realize how many escaped the Battle of the Gap.”

Gimli was just behind Legolas. “We slew nearly eighty between the two of us! Not to mention Eomer and his men. A fair hunt.”

Gandalf’s blue eyes were weary. “It was a necessary delay, yet I would have wished to reach Edoras the sooner, for I do not know how Theoden fairs at Wormtongue’s mercy.”

The last hour of the journey was more lively with the others returned. They had to be told about the last adventure, which Merry and Pippin did with great gusto. They had not seen Kara’s part in it themselves, as they had been busy fetching the palantir, but they still described the orc’s sudden explosion out of the water-filled tunnels and Kara’s subsequent danger eloquently.

Gimli shook his great beard. “You are a magnet for trouble, lass. You’d best stay within arm’s reach of a friend until you can at least defend yourself again.” He nodded toward her sling arm.

“No complaints from me,” Kara said. “Believe it or not, I don’t try to find danger.”

Andrea’s baby cried and fussed as they began to jostle up the road toward the huge gate that led into the town of Edoras. Andrea sighed wearily. “You just ate, child! You are gonna have to find your thumb because we got no pacifiers here.”

“I’ll hold her,” Boromir offered. He sat up to take the baby and settled her against his chest. “We are almost there, small one.”

One of Legolas’s brows rose at this, the other joined it when the baby stopped crying and subsided to small whimpers. “Interesting.”

Boromir patted the baby with one large hand. “Yes?”

“Only that…” Legolas smiled at Andrea. “Children are rare and precious to elves. I have only been around an infant once, a long time ago.”

“Well, you can have a turn holding her, if you want,” Andrea said. “So far she isn’t too picky.”

“No, thank you, I am happy to watch.” There were tombs in the side of the hill that they climbed, with white flowers around them. “Simbelmynë,” Legolas said. “I had heard how they cover the ground of the barrowfield of Rohan, and it is indeed true. Have you thought about a name for your child?”

“I do like names from nature— I’d thought about jasmine, ivy, or iris for a baby name. I like Rose also, even though it’s simple,” she said. “But maybe I’ll choose a flower that grows here.”

“We have roses in the Shire, too!” Pippin said. “And blue irises. There’s also those bright yellow flowers from Lothlorien..”

“Elanor,” put in Legolas. “We have asphodel, as well as riverweed and Harad daisies.”

Andrea had barely met Legolas before he left, and she eyed him dubiously. “You really think I might name my daughter riverweed or asphodel?”

He laughed. “I would never presume to guess. To me, Andrea is a strange name, as are Pippin and Meriadoc.”

Gimli snorted. “They are not half so difficult as the Rohirrim. Eomer, Eored, Eomund…why not change it up a bit?”

“Like Ori, Nori, and Dori?”Kara offered.

“Yes, exactly—ach, you’re teasing me, but truly those are not the same! They all start with a different leading letter. It’s completely different.”

Several of the wounded of Eomer’s company laughed at this.

Andrea swayed with the bounce of the wagons. “Simbelmynë is a mouthful, but I like the end, Mina.”

“Simbelmynë means “ever-mind,” Legolas told her. “A forever remembrance. We also call it uilos which means “snow white.”

Andrea wrinkled her nose. “Well, maybe not that. I still like Rose. Perhaps Elanor Rose… but I’ll call her Rose or maybe Rosa…”

“Or Rosie?” Pippin offered. “That’s a good hobbit name.”

Andrea’s mouth tilted up at the corner. “I do like Rosie. But she’s not a hobbit no matter how many times you check her feet for hair.”

Pippin squawked, “But they’re so bare! How is a baby with hairless feet supposed to stay warm?”

“With her mama. Anyhow, I like Rosie, and she can always use Elanor or Ela or some other nickname if she wants.” She looked across at her baby and a rare smile of vulnerability crossed her face, as she pushed her locs back over her shoulder. “You’re my Rosie, aren’t you?”

“Elanor Rose,” repeated Boromir, bouncing her. “A very fine name.”

Rosie made the last part of the trip with a few more loud bouts of crying, which garnered even more attention from the people of Edoras as the caravan wound its way upward. The people came out of their sturdy wooden houses to greet the wounded men and to ask for news. Some inkling of a terrible battle at Isengard had reached them, but details were scarce. Old men and women, mothers with babies, and children all came out. Some walked alongside the wagons, joining the march as they progressed up to Meduseld, Theoden’s golden hall. The sky was a brilliant blue deepening toward purple, and a strong wind whipped across the town, tugging at dresses and scarves and horse’s manes. The hall wasn’t really golden, Kara assumed, but it certainly shone brightly in the evening light.

The crowd also marveled at Andrea and her baby, a most strange sight to see, particularly with the wounded men from a battle. Legolas and Gimli got their fair share of attention as well. Elves and dwarves were not common in Rohan. Even Gandalf was somewhat known, and his horse Sahdowfax as well. Kara found herself and Aragorn mostly overlooked, which she did not mind at all.

Finally they reached the open square in front of Theoden’s hall. There were some guards shifting uncertainly at the top of the stairs, seemingly undecided on how to handle the impromptu parade that had just reached them. The were tall, strong men, with the distinctive leather vests and round shields of Rohan. Their helmets were polished and sharp.

Kara had already told Aragorn and the others what happened here, at least in broad strokes, but she hoped it would be easier since Saruman was already defeated. He couldn’t be influencing Theoden much the last few days without his staff and without his palantir. Could he?

The guards stopped Aragorn and Gandalf at the door. “In time of war, no stranger will be admitted to the king.”

“I am not a stranger,” Gandalf barked. “I was here not long ago, when the king loaned me Shadowfax. Or has the memory of Rohan grown so short? I must see Theoden.”

“You are known, Gandalf Grayhame, but not these others. War has begun; the king must be cautious.” He paused, as if weighing his words. “This is by order of Grima Wormtongue.”

Gandalf clacked his staff loudly on the stones. “Indeed? I have a great desire to see this Grima, and I must see the king. War is upon us, and Eomer has won a great victory over Isengard. The king must be aware. As for my companions, this is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, who fought for Theoden’s father and deserves a better welcome than this.”

The soldier’s posture changed slightly. “Is it so? We heard only that Eomer provoked Saruman into attack, endangering the Westfold and losing many men.”

“Who says so?” Aragorn demanded. “Grima?”

“I—I will speak to the king.” The soldier disappeared inside the hall. The other soldiers blocked the door as it opened and shut.

Kara had approached while this argument went on, coming close to Legolas and Gimli. Aragorn glanced at her. He looked as if he might send her back to the wagons, but he thought better of it.

The guard returned and after some back and forth, Aragorn and Gimli and Legolas agreed to leave their weapons. Gandalf retained his staff. Kara didn’t think she’d told him that part, but then she didn’t need to, did she?

The hall was dark and dreary, for such a bright day. The windows had been shrouded with boards or tapestries. A few candles were lit, and a small fire smouldered in a fireplace that could’ve housed a bonfire. It was so dim at first that Kara could not see well.

She waited toward the rear. With her arm in a sling, she must not have looked very threatening. She was largely ignored as Gandalf advanced into the hall.

He seemed to throw sparks of light with his robe and hair that broke apart the dark, stuffy, smoky gloom of the room. Kara blinked and blinked and finally her sun-dazzled eyes were adjusted.

An old king sat on the throne, stooped and defeated, though not quite as old or creepy as he’d looked in the movie. The man beside him must be Grima, but she only figured that out because of the look of disgust on his face. He was pale with long dark hair, but not disgusting. He was not as large as Eomer or Aragorn, but he was solid. He looked intelligent and capable… except for the shifty greed in his eyes.

“Why do you force your presence on the king, Gandalf the Gray?” Grima said. “Is it not enough that you alienate Theoden’s ally to the north, causing Saruman to turn against us? We who have always lived peacefully with him! You would create a war on two fronts, between the darkness in Mordor to the south and Saruman’s anger to the north.”

Gandalf held up his staff and thunder shook the hall. “Be silent, snake. How do you dare continue your false counsel when your master has fallen?”

None of the Rohirrim moved; Aragorn and Legolas and Gimli kept a wary guard around Gandalf, but no one tried to take his staff. If anything, they looked hopeful.

Grima’s face flickered. “My master is here, and he has not fallen. Not if he can only be given some rest, some escape from sorrow. You would weigh down his weary soul with burdens too heavy for any man!”

“He does not need to escape, nor to rest—he needs to live again.”

“Do you come to stir up the last of his strength? You would bring him to the grave, if you had your way. Yes, we know that you fought with Eomer, his rebellious sister-son. First he insured Theodred’s death, now he seeks to take the authority and glory that belong to Theoden!”

Gandalf raised his staff again, and a crack of thunder had Kara flinching away against one of the large beams at the back of the hall. Grima was shaken to his knees.

“Stop your poison,” Gandalf said. “Get away from the king.”

Theoden barely looked up. “Gandalf? Have you… brought back the horse we loaned you?”

“There are far more important things for you to attend to,” Gandalf said, though not harshly. “You need to rise, Theoden. You need to see the sky; to breathe the free air.”

Theoden shook his head wearily. “The last few days, I have almost thought I might… but I am old, Gandalf, my days are running fast away.”

“Old? Do not speak to me of age,” Gandalf said. “You have been under the spells of Grima and Saruman, and even now the spells remain entangled around you like a discarded web. You are caught, but the spider is dead, and the poison disperses. You must free yourself.”

Theoden looked up. The dust motes danced in the candle-light between he and Gandalf. “What hope is there?”

“Much hope! Eomer is wholly loyal to you. Saruman is no longer a threat. Your Rohirrim long to see your face. No, don’t look toward Grima! He has corrupted your thoughts and mind long enough. Your people are strong, but they need a leader.”

Grima crouched on his knees, looking uncertainly between the king and the door to escape. His eyes flickered to one of the large posts at the rear of the hall. Following his gaze, Kara spotted a woman who had slipped in quietly. She’d made herself small in the shadow of a column, but when Grima’s eyes found her, she came past Aragorn, and bent over Theoden.

“Will you not come out, uncle? Please do.”

It was definitely Eowyn, and Kara caught her breath. She really was beautiful, with long blonde hair in a braid and the most beautiful green dress. She was smaller than Kara expected, barely as tall as Kara herself. She pleaded with her uncle, while also looking as if she would stab anyone who got in her way. If anyone could pull of medieval fashion and still look tough as nails, it was her.

Theoden braced his hand on her shoulder as he rose from the throne. He looked too frail to make it to the door, but his steps grew less faltering with every step he took. Eowyn supported him on the right, and Gandalf came and walked on his left. By the time they reached the doors—the guards hurriedly threw them open—Theoden’s back had straightened, and he was walking under his own power.

Kara felt a thrill. No matter what the details, Theoden’s restoration always got to her.

The sun was down, but the twilight remained. The first stars shone in the east, but a lavender and peach glow remained in the west. The sharp wind from earlier blew through the hall, snuffing out candles but causing the fire to flare up. Theoden’s thin hair lifted in the wind, and seemed to fall heavier and thicker when the breeze had passed. Aragorn followed just behind them until they all stood on the stone portico looking over Edoras.

Theoden took a deep breath and then another. His skin grew several shades less white and withered. His cheeks filled and his eyes cleared.

The wagons and the people who had climbed to the hall with the caravan were still spread out in the square. Torches and lamps had been brought, as the wounded were identified and cared for.

Theoden took another deep breath of the night air. “I have sat in the smoke of an indoor fire too long; I have looked only at my own mind and found despair. What have I done?”

The people froze as they saw that their king had emerged. There was silence as they looked up at Theoden, surrounded by Gandalf on one side and Eowyn on the other.

Then a great shout rose up. “Theoden King! Theoden!”

Eowyn wept, but she did not wipe her tears or make a sound, so it was almost invisible but for the droplets on her cheeks.

Kara had not forgotten Wormtongue, however. She turned back to the dim hall—now very dim—to see him rise to his feet and edge toward the rear of the hall where he might slip away by another door.

“Hey—where are you going?” Kara said. “Saruman is defeated; there is no point in going back to him.”

He ignored her except for a hateful glance, but several of Theoden’s guards heard her. One of them, the one from the door, grabbed Wormtongue’s arm and twisted him away from the door. They struggled for a moment, but the guard knocked Grima to his knees, and set his sword to his neck. “You will await the word of the king.”

Grima spat on the stones. “How you have longed to turn on me, Hama. You are in league with these rabble rousers, no doubt.”

“I’m not in league with anyone, but everyone has seen how terrible your counsel has been for the king.”

Theoden came back into the hall in time to hear this. He passed a hand over his eyes. “Hama, forgive me. You have tried to warn me, more than many others, and yet it was as if your voice was at the end of a long tunnel, lost in a dead wind…”

Hama bowed his head. “My king needs no forgiveness. But what would you have me do with this man? His spells are broken. Say the word and I will remove his head for what he has done.”

“Grima, you were once a trustworthy man,” Theoden said. “Yet you would’ve had me gray and die on that chair.”

Grima rose to his feet. “I only advised what I thought was right and wise in these dark and chaotic days—”

“Silence,” Theoden said. “Gandalf rightly calls your words poison for they numb and darken my mind. Too long have I listened to your doubts and fears.”

Hama tightened his sword arm, ready and perhaps even eager to execute Grima.

Grima felt it too. His throat bobbed and spots of color burned into his pale cheeks. “Am I to die on the word of Gandalf the Gray? Have I not done everything you asked of me, my king? Have I not kept order in Rohan, overseen harvests, organized the marshals? Does it mean nothing?”

Theoden was silent, thinking.

Grima was getting desperate. “Eowyn, did you and I not take counsel together—My love—”

“Do not speak to me,” she hissed. “Never again.” There was such venom in her voice, every man in the hall flinched or scowled. It did not take a great leap in deduction to guess the nature of her hatred of him.

Theoden looked to her, and his face was even more troubled than before. “I have been blind to many things, but the court of Theoden is not a court of murderers. I would have let Grima go for the sake of who he used to be, but… no. Hama, Secure him in the gaole.”

Grima was muscled out of the hall. Eowyn closed her eyes and turned her head away as he was drug out, protesting.

Kara was not near her, but Aragorn was. “Are you well, my lady?” he asked quietly.

Eowyn turned to him with a slight dip of her head. “Yes, thanks to you and your companions, a long ordeal has come to an end.” She studied him, as if she had barely seen him before. Her hair shone like gold in the light of the lamps as they were relit. “You are Aragorn, son of Arathorn?”

“Yes, I am.”

“We received rumors only yesterday; they said that the battle at Isengard was won in the name of ‘Eomer and the king.”

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Eomer is a fierce warrior. I hope to fight alongside him again ere long.”

She glowed to hear this praise of her brother. “And he is well?”

“Yes. He is but a few hours hard ride from here. He believed he was not welcome at Meduseld.”

“He was not; but things will be different now.” She suddenly blushed and bowed her head. “Forgive me. You are all weary and hungry. I will send for food.”

Kara turned away so that Aragorn wouldn’t see her watching. She felt vaguely sick to her stomach. It was so natural with Eowyn and Aragorn. She was the niece of a king. They had the same formality. The same cadence. They were from the same world.

Ever since freaking Rivendell, Kara had been telling herself that maybe in this altered story it would be Eowyn. But Kara didn’t expect it to sting this bad. She knew why she was upset, but it was stupid. She was going to return home someday with Andrea and Rosie. Aragorn kept reminding her of that. He had even apologized for keeping her here and calling her back at Isengard. He didn’t intend for her to stay, and that was okay. Wasn’t it? She wasn’t from his world anyway!

This was fine. She sniffed. The smoke was making her eyes water and her nose run.

Legolas came to stand at her side. "You are unhappy."

"No."

"Does Lady Eowyn represent a danger to Aragorn?"

Kara forced a smile. "No. Not at all."

#

Chapter 26

Chapter Text

Soon Eowyn’s women were bringing bread and stew and trenchers for everyone. They moved wooden tables away from the walls, and it was an impromptu feast for those who had just arrived as well as King and those of the Hall. Boromir and Andrea and Legolas and Gimli gathered together at one of the tables, and Kara went to join them.

Merry and Pippin were having a jolly time at one of the tables with the soldiers, teaching them drinking songs from the Shire.

Gandalf and Aragorn sat with Theoden, having a more serious discussion. Kara tried not to watch them, but she couldn’t help noticing when Eowyn brought Aragorn his stew. She already liked him, and clearly she had it bad. Aragorn was tired and his dark hair was a bit lank and tangled, but he was still so handsome it made Kara’s heart hurt. It was no wonder Eowyn wanted him.

Aragorn smiled and thanked Eowyn, and even though Kara knew he wasn’t in love yet, the possibility was there. In the original, he’d admired Eowyn but his love for Arwen had predated her. Now there was nothing to keep his admiration from transforming to something warmer.

She hoped Faramir would be okay.

Andrea leaned toward her to speak under the noise of the crowd. “You don’t look so good—what’s the matter?”

“Nothing! I’m fine. I’m just not hungry.”

Andrea looked skeptical. “Right… Well, I am starving. You want to hold Rosie?”

Kara took the baby, who was mesmerized by the noise or maybe the warmth, and who was content to rest in the crook of her good arm. Kara still had a sling on the other arm, so she was handless for the moment.

Boromir was eating next to her, industriously putting away stew and tearing off large chunks of bread to sop up the brown broth. He was suggesting to Legolas and Gimli that they go on to Gondor in a day or two. “My heart tells me I must be in Minas Tirith as soon as I can.”

Legolas shook his head. “I will stay with Aragorn unless he orders me away. If he must take the Paths of the Dead, I do not think he should do it alone.”

Gimli shrugged. “I’d go on with you, Boromir, but I think Aragorn has a higher claim on us. The Fellowship may be broken, but he’s the captain of our band.”

“If he had no objections, you’d come?”

“Certainly.”

Boromir suddenly turned to her. “Kara, would you come with me to Gondor?”

“Er—I mean, I assume I’ll end up there eventually.” Her eyes went to Aragorn, who was now taking a glass of wine from Eowyn. “Yeah, I’d go.”

Andrea swallowed a bite of stewed carrot. “I notice you’re not asking me, but that’s okay. I think Rosie and I’d be safer staying in Rohan and away from the last battle. And isn’t Minas Tirith the city under that creepy old dude who eats tomatoes like an animal and tries to burn his son—”

Kara widened her eyes and shook her head to stop Andrea. She rolled her gaze pointedly toward Boromir.

“Um—and it gets real dangerous there,” she ended lamely.

Boromir was pale. “WHAT happens in Minas Tirith?”

Andrea looked to Kara.

Kara winced. “That isn’t a story for right now, Boromir. It may not—help you to know.”

His hand was visibly unsteady as he drained his wine. “Very well. Tomorrow.”

Gimli had not been closely attending, but he seemed to realize something difficult had gone down. He wiped his mouth and beard with his sleeve, and then held out his hands for the baby. “Pass me the wee lass, Kara! You’ve not eaten anything.”

He scooped Rosie up and cradled her against his broad chest. For a dwarf with thick fingers and hands, he was surprisingly gentle with the baby. “Aye, you think me a great oaf,” Gimli said, guessing their expressions, “but dwarves know how to handle fine things! We work with precious gems and jewels, and we know a thing or two about precision and care!”

Though Gimli was short, his hands were almost as big as Boromir’s, and he had no trouble holding Rosie against his chest. He almost seemed to purr as her puff of dark hair tickled his nose. “Almost like holding a sweat-smelling feather! Dwarf babes are as heavy as a block of granite.”

“Thank God for small favors then,” Andrea said. “I can’t imagine a granite baby.”

Kara was growing sleepy by the time the feast was winding down. Eowyn came to show her and Andrea to her own chamber. “We do not have many empty rooms, but I will try to make you comfortable here.”

And darn it, Eowyn was really great. She’d already asked a servant to find a cradle for the baby, as well as hunted up unused baby clothes and—most happily of all—a set of cloth diapers. “In the summer we allow our infants to go naked,” she explained, “but in the winter we use these.” She showed Andrea how to secure a cloth with two fancy copper pins that had the heads of horses on the ends. Andrea and Kara were ready to grovel at her feet in thanks, as they had been making do with scraps of cloth and washing them out in a bucket, with help from Merry and Pippin. There had been many accidents and neither had escaped.

Eowyn had questions as well, but she saw how tired they were and didn’t ask.

The next day she proved herself to be both practical and kind. She taught Andrea how to use a long cloth wrap to tie the baby to her back, and she listened with intense interest to their stories. At least as much as Kara was willing to tell.

“I envy you,” she said to Kara. “You have tested yourself against wolves, goblins, orcs, and men. You have changed the path of great events.”

“You will, too,” Kara told her.

Eowyn smiled, a little bitterly. “Or I will grow old in obscurity, tending to others as my vitality drains like water from a sandy pool.”

“You have great things to do, trust me.”

They were in the Hall of Meduseld again, and Eowyn’s eyes went to Aragorn. “I hope you are correct. Lord Aragorn thinks highly of your knowledge.”

“Yeah.” Kara couldn’t bring herself to discuss Aragorn with Eowyn. Maybe it would be helpful, but she just couldn’t. “Eowyn, you don’t know me, but… do you need to talk to someone about Grima? In my time we believe that it helps to speak, at least once or twice, of traumatic things.”

Eowyn’s eyes grew remote and suspicious. “Why do you ask me this? Surely my trials are not in the history books that Lord Aragorn has spoken of?”

“Well, not exactly, but you’re an important character—er, I mean, figure—in the story. There aren’t many women in the story, you know.”

“That I can well believe.”

“So, naturally, the women of my time who have read these books, they look up to you. Every detail about you is… noticed.”

Eowyn looked torn between pride, hope, and shame. “But even—Grima?”

“Not in specifics. Only that he—loved you, and that you had little protection while your uncle was under his thrall.”

“He did not love me. He wanted to possess me as one does a lockbox of Harad. For every clasp and puzzle he solved, I built a thousand more to keep him out. Soon he would have crushed the box to get what he wanted. If that is love, I never want to experience it again.” She pressed a hand to her white lips. Soon she had control again. “He is rightly called a snake.”

Kara was no therapist, but she knew when to agree. “You’re right, that’s not love. Love makes you feel safe, respected, and valued. You’ll know when it comes.”

“Perhaps. And yet I am not someone who lives for love—at least not that sort.” Her eyes grew distant. “I will love a sword that swings true in my hand. I will love a horse that carries me into battle. I will love a leader of men who sees me as a warrior and not a woman…”

A weight dropped in Kara’s stomach.

Boromir tapped his boot impatiently against the crossbeam of a trestle table while waiting for Kara to finish her meal. His shoulder throbbed with each tap, but it was growing better every day. He still felt weak if he exerted himself too much—too many stairs, or too many steps, or too many hours upright. It was maddening for him, as he was accustomed to strength, but he knew that healing was not a shameful thing.

Still, he would do what he could to speed it along. Kara said to drink water, and he did. (Though also wine, as he was not a dog.) Kara said to keep his arm still, and he did. She recommended lots of rest and some walking, and he was following her commands.

When she had finished her meal, he rose. “I have not yet walked today, Kara. Come see the town of Edoras with me while we have the chance.”

Kara bowed awkwardly to Eowyn. “Please excuse me.”

“Of course.”

Boromir led her out of the hall and down the steps. “You are terrible at ceremony,” he said. “You need not bow to Eowyn. She is the niece of Theoden, but you are the companion of a visiting king and a wizard. She is not above you.”

They both navigated the steps rather carefully, each being off balance with an arm in a sling.

Kara sniffed. “Are you kidding? I am a nurse. She is a princess, and you’re not going to convince me otherwise.”

He shook his head. They were on solid ground now, and they followed the road. It was largely gravel, and though parts of it were worn to mud, most of it was well-packed for walking. There were sturdy wood-frame houses on either side of the road. Thatched roofs were the usual, though a few had wood tiles. Most of the structures had a side door that opened into a paddock for animals, which could be brought into the house in cold weather.

Today, being sunny and almost warm, there were goats, chicken, and sheep to be seen bleeting, pecking, and braying to one another. And the horses.

“They really do have beautiful horses,” Kara said as they passed yet another man grooming two beautiful tall horses, one black and the other a rich brown. Kara had never been a “horse girl” in middle school, but she could appreciate how sleek and powerful and healthy they all looked.

“Indeed, the best horses are from Rohan.” He sighed. “But that is not what I must ask you. You know what it is. Speak, Kara, and do not seek to spare me.”

“Your father, Denethor—sorry, Lord Denethor, I guess?—has a difficult end.”

“He dies, then?”

“Originally, yes. However, you are not dead, and that may change everything. In my story, he found out about your death long before Gandalf made it to Minas Tirith. You went over the falls of Rauros, and you were seen. Your horn—which had been broken in the battle—was sent to him.”

“Ah. He would not take my death well. He has always been, perhaps unhealthily, devoted to me.”

“That’s the understatement of the day. Apparently he was devasted. When Faramir is then gravely injured, it seems that your father, er, snapped. He wanted to have a proper burial fire—er, pyre?—for Faramir. Only Faramir wasn’t dead yet. Merry manages to get Gandalf and they saved Faramir.”

“Did my father not know? He did not call for a healer?”

Kara paused. “There is some disagreement as to whether he knew. He certainly said aloud that his son was dead.”

“You still have not said how he dies.”

“It’s pretty terrible, Boromir. I think it’s enough to say that he dies of his madness. With you alive and there though, perhaps it can be prevented.”

Boromir still felt a deep sense of doom. “You don’t sound as hopeful as you did for me.”

“I’m sorry. Denethor doesn’t get a lot of description, and most of what I know is pretty damning. If you love him, there must be more to him than that, so for your sake, I hope we can save him.”

Boromir kicked at a weed that had somehow made it through the gravel of the road. “He has a strong mind. I cannot imagine him influenced by grief to such insanity. If such were the case, he would have passed after my mother died bearing Faramir.”

“Oh. Is that why he doesn’t like Faramir?”

Boromir ground another weed under his heel. “I hate that my father was known for this, rather than all the battles he has won. But yes, his unreasoning prejudice against Faramir began when my mother died. It was made worse by Faramir’s love of Gandalf and all things of the old days. Faramir even looks rather like Aragorn, though his hair is lighter. Some have said the blood of Numenor ran pure in his veins.”

“As for your father, I forgot to say that there was another thing that drove him mad. He has a palantir as well.”

“Another of those accursed seeing stones? Did the ancients scatter them about like acorns?!”

“Yeah, it does seem weird that they’re supposed to be super-rare, but we already know where three of them are. Saruman, your father, and Sauron.”

“Do you think the damage is already done then?”

“I don’t know,” Kara said. “Some of it, definitely, but with you alive… maybe there’s hope. You can at least prevent Faramir from almost being killed. He tries to take back Osgiliath despite overwhelming forces. He almost dies.”

Kara felt guilty about Faramir. She was sort-of rooting for Aragorn and Eowyn to end up together—as much as she could root for something that hurt like a stubbed toe—and that definitely left Faramir out to dry. And if he avoided getting hurt, he wouldn’t even be in the healing houses to meet Eowyn. That seemed a bit underhanded, even for her.

“I will remember.” Boromir stopped and turned his face back the way they had come. “We had best return before we descend too far from the Hall. Neither of us is very strong.”

They turned and started back up the hill. Soon they were warm and puffing from the climb, even though it was a brisk February day with the perpetual wind that never seemed to stop in Edoras.

“I must believe my father can be saved,” Boromir said. “However, he will not take well to Aragorn’s arrival. I shudder to think—but that is craven talk. Thank you for your honesty, Kara.”

Her conscience twinged a little about Faramir, but she silenced it. “You’re welcome.”

As they approached the hall, Aragorn spotted them. His long legs ate up the ground as he joined them. “Lady Eowyn told me you two had gone. You are both injured; you had best not go off alone together.”

He had bathed at some point, and his hair was still wet. He’d trimmed his beard as well, which had been getting longer on their journey. He was stupidly good-looking. Kara wanted to stroke the stubble on his jaw. She wanted to bury her face against his chest. She wanted him to stroke her hair and tell her everything was fine. He was so handsome she was going to start holding it against him soon.

Boromir headed away. “I must prepare for Minas Tirith. I leave tomorrow at first light.”

Aragorn stood by Kara. “His father?”

“Yes. He also has a palantir.

“I have been thinking about that.” Aragorn reached for Kara’s hand and tucked it under his arm. “You’re still unsteady on your feet. Allow me.”

“Thanks. What about the palantir?”

“In your story, I used it to taunt Sauron and draw his attention away. That is even more necessary under the current circ*mstances, as he knows that destruction of the ring is our ultimate goal.”

“That’s true, but I think Saruman kinda helped with that when he made Sauron think I had the ring.” Kara shivered and Aragorn covered her hand with his. He led her into the hall and out of the wind.

“Yes, but Sauron may know that the palantir was used for such purposes originally. Once he realizes Saruman’s defeat, he will realize he may have been deceived. Too many orcs escaped to think that a few will not make the journey to Mordor.” He led Kara to a bench against the wall where she might sit and lean back. “It is a matter of time.”

“But we have the palantir.”

“Yes. And we have you, and myself.”

“I even still have the ring,” Kara said.

“You do?”

“Yes. Saruman was so disgusted with it, he never took it back after the zoom session from hell.”

“Where is it?”

Kara felt herself flush, and Aragorn looked away when he realized she was fishing the ring out of her bodice. His ears were a bit red as well.

“Here it is,” she said.

Aragorn took the ring in his hand. It was still warm from her skin, which was not a thing he should picture for very long. “My anger burned against Galadriel when you told me of this, but in quieter times, I have begun to think. She must have possessed a great purpose to put you in such danger and pain.”

“I hope so.”

Aragorn hated the quaver in her voice. He gave her back the ring and took up a fur from the pile in the corner. He put it over Kara’s lap, as she was lightly shivering. There were a few others in the hall, but it was largely empty as Theoden made an inspection of Edoras today.

“Thanks for the blanket,” Kara said. “So, do you think we should do, ‘Where is the Ring, Part Two?’ I gotta say, I’m not terribly eager to look in that thing again. As in, I would rather go another round with Ugluk than look in it again.”

“No, I will do it. The only thing I would ask of you is to be near me. You may look away, in truth, I insist you look away, but your presence would lend credence to my claim.”

She released a long breath, and he resisted the urge to stroke her lips with his thumb or caress her bruised neck with his mouth.

“I suppose I could do that.” She tucked herself a little more under the fur. “Hm, I wonder if there are mirrors here. We could do a little industrial light and magic to really sell the thing.” She explained her idea about using a mirror to make her “disappear.”

He was dubious. “I believe you must show me, I cannot picture this.”

“Well, it’d be surprising if you could. Special effects don’t really date back to the time of kings.”

Aragorn realized something that he should have grasped long before. “You truly see me as a figure of history, as a great king of the past, even though I am not yet a king at all.”

Her brow furrowed. “But you will be a great king. I told you—“

“But at present and ever since the time we met, you never saw me as…” he trailed off lest he give himself away or make her uncomfortable. She had never seen him as simply a man.

For a time, she had not thought he and the others were real, but that had blinded him to the heart of the matter. Even after she believed they were real, she saw him as a symbol of history.

No wonder she did not guess the trend in his affections.

If Elendil or Isildur or one of the ancient heroes of old were to turn up today, Aragorn would struggle to see them as men like himself. There was such a legacy to their names, such history and weight. It was difficult to grasp that for Kara, he carried that legacy and weight. He wondered briefly, indulgently, what it might have been like to know Kara in another age. In a time wherein he had no burden and no legacy and she had no reverence for it.

“Why are you smiling?” Kara asked.

“Because…I had a pleasant thought. We are friends, are we not?”

“Ye-ah. You’re making me nervous though. You look too happy—oh. Is it Eowyn?”

“What?”

“Are you looking for a friend to talk about how great she is? Because she is really fantastic.”

Aragorn could not follow Kara’s mind. “She seems most valiant.”

“Yeah, she does. You can see why I anticipated meeting her.”

“Certainly.”

Kara shivered again. “So, when are we going to do this palantir thing? I half-promised Boromir to go to Minas Tirith with him. So, if he is leaving in the morning—"

“No,” Aragorn said.

“No—which part? He isn’t leaving?”

“He is leaving. I have given Boromir, Merry, and Pippin leave to go or stay as they choose. Legolas and Gimli wish to stay. Gandalf will go where he thinks best.”

“Then don’t I have leave to go or stay as I choose?”

“No,” Aragorn said. At this point, he would sooner let his sword be taken away than her. “You have nearly been killed three times in the last few days. My conscience won’t allow me to risk you further.” His heart also wouldn’t allow him to risk her further; not out of his sight, if he could help it.

“Look, Aragorn, I appreciate it, but there’s not much more for me to do here. Sooner or later you will convince Theoden to muster the Rohirrim and come to Gondor. Then you’ll have to go through the Paths of the Dead. I’m not needed for any of that.” She collected her thoughts, picking at the edge of the furred blanket. “But in Minas Tirith, we’ve got to save Faramir, reason with Denethor, light the beacon to call for Rohan’s aid… there’s stuff to do, that’s all.”

“As the leader of the Fellowship, I don’t give you leave to go.”

“Since when are you the leader of the Fellowship, isn’t that Gandalf?”

“Since he fell in Moria, necessary though it was, his concerns have been elsewhere. He left it to me.”

“You’re leaning into your authority pretty hard for someone who keeps insisting he’s not yet a king.”

Aragorn stared at her. He wanted to shake her to sense and also to kiss her to insensibility. “I forget that you are unused to taking orders.” He started again, “I don’t think it wise for you to go to Minas Tirith yet, my friend. I’d prefer you to stay.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “That was all you had to say, but—heck. Your voice is a weapon.”

He could not tell whether Kara thought that a good thing or not. “Then you ‘ll stay?” Forever, his heart added.

“I’ll stay.” For now, her voice implied.

Aragorn leaned back against the wall, letting his arm brush Kara’s. “If you won’t obey a king, why do you listen to me?”

“Because, like you said, we’re friends.”

“Middle Earth is built on kingship.”

“The Fellowship is built on friendship.”

#

Chapter 27

Chapter Text

The afternoon after their arrival in Edoras, Legolas helped move a mirror into Theoden’s hall. Aragorn set the swaddled palantir on one of the long wooden tables.

Theoden had cleared everyone out, that Aragorn and Kara might run the gambit of using the palantir without any danger to others. Legolas hefted a large mirror—a kingly gift that Theoden said had been a gift from Gondor in generations past—and set it on the floor next to a table.

Kara waited nearby. One of her arms was still in a sling, but the other was wrapped tightly around her waist in discomfort. “Yeah, that’s about right. We want it at the far end of the table, between the legs, so that it perfectly reflects the flagstones.”

The mirror was a large square of polished silver with a frame of inlaid and polished wood. It was heavy. “I still fail to see,” Legolas grunted, “how this will do aught to fool Sauron.”

The corner of Kara’s mouth lifted. “Hey, if it worked for Houdini and it works on Tiktok… Let me show you.”

Afternoon sunlight shone in the few open windows. The doors were well-shut, keeping all others out. Legolas was there at Aragorn’s invitation.

She eyed the mirror, moving one edge slightly closer to the table leg. Then she stepped up onto a bench, and then to the top of the table. Her head almost reached the crossbeams of the hall. “Both of you stand there, at the end of the table, so that you can see beneath it. I know it’s weird, but bear with me. If you don’t think it’ll work, we’ll forget the whole thing.”

Aragorn frowned in confusion, but Legolas suspected that Kara could make a thousand such strange requests before Aragorn would cease to bear with her.

Kara backed up until her heels nearly overhung the edge of the table.

“Take care,” Aragorn said.

She smiled. Then she jumped backward and… disappeared.

Aragorn made a discomfited noise, and Legolas owned himself shocked. “I placed the mirror myself, and yet to my eye you have vanished!”

Aragorn rounded the table. “Kara?”

She rose from her crouch behind the mirror, wincing slightly. “Welcome to the world of optical illusions!” She flung out her good arm and fluttered her fingers. She laughed at Legolas’s look. “I guess jazz hands mean nothing to an elf. Anyway, did it work?”

“It was shocking, but are you hurt?” Aragorn said.

“No, my knee is just sore. I probably shouldn’t jump from the table to the stone too many times. But did it work?”

“It does not seem as if it should be so effective.” Legolas walked around the mirror to examine it again.

“Great,” Kara said. “In my time, we’ve worked out how to fool people’s eyes, but I was afraid maybe elven sight was too good for this sort of trick.”

“Perhaps in time I would not be fooled, but if I was unsuspecting, I would sooner think magic than trickery,” Legolas agreed.

“So, is it good enough for Sauron?” Kara asked.

“It may be,” Aragorn said. “However, the palantir must be positioned at the right height.” He placed a three-legged stool on the second table. Upon that, he placed the lump of dark cloth that contained the palantir. This placed it at shoulder height to him, facing toward Kara’s table.

Kara wrinkled her nose. “Will he think it weird that we’re standing on a table? I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”

Aragorn co*cked his head. “I doubt he will think on it heavily. He is far from being a man, to think as men do. His mind will be consumed with our identity, not our strange customs.”

Legolas shuddered. He himself had no personal experience of the Dark Lord Sauron; the Battle of the Last Alliance was before Legolas’s time, when Sauron had last faced the forces of elves and men and lost the ring to Isildur’s blow. However, Thranduil had been present. He usually did not speak of it, but he had brought home less than third of the Silvan army to the Greenwood, and it had long informed his choices. And his rage. Thranduil’s own father, Oropher, had perished in the first assault against Mordor. Only twice did Legolas recall his father speaking of that battle; speaking of Gil-Galad, of the last alliance of Noldor, Eldar, and Silvan elves with the men of Numenor. Legolas’s blood had run cold at his father’s description of the living darkness of Sauron and his wraiths. Thranduil’s bitterness and horror at the battle, in which he had hated Sauron but also distrusted his allies, had created a distinct shadow in Legolas’s memory.

Legolas had long wondered if perhaps the depth of his father’s hatred of the memory and even of his allies, like Gil-galad and Isildur, had been caused by Sauron. Sauron’s power was such that suspicion, disgust, and betrayal festered even between friends.

“Shall I stay or shall I go?” Legolas asked Aragorn. Facing Sauron’s contaminating presence was the least of Legolas’s desires, but he would sooner march to Mordor alone than leave Aragorn to his mercies. Aragorn was the last of the blood of Numenor, a man that proved every good, true, and strong thing that the race of men were capable of. If Sauron managed to corrupt Aragorn’s mind, it would be a greater loss than Legolas could contemplate. “I would prefer to stay.”

Aragorn looked down at the dusty floor, considering. Legolas looked to Kara. If she said yay or nay, Aragorn would listen to her. She didn’t realize the power of Aragorn’s affection for her, or the power such a position gave her. Perhaps it was to her credit that she did not think in terms of power or position, but it made Legolas uneasy.

In this instance, Kara shrugged. “Whatever you think.”

“Stay,” Aragorn decided, “But out of sight. If you have any suspicion that we falter, you may cover the palantir.”

“Well enough.”

Kara felt major nerves as she and Aragorn stood on the table. Her stomach ached, and her tongue hurt from chewing on it. Sweat beaded on her neck and trickled down her back.

They were preparing to use a simple mirror trick to fool Sauron.

“Am I crazy?” she asked. “Y’all would tell me if this was the worst idea ever, right?”

Legolas smirked. “You are as much in your right mind as you have ever been.”

She glared at him. “Not funny.”

Aragorn shook his hair back. “This is not what I first offered. You are far nearer the palantir this way. It is not too late to back out, if you wish to stay apart.”

Kara forced a deep breath and released it slowly through her nose. “No, it’s okay. We really need to convince him that Sam and Frodo aren’t heading for Mt. Doom, and it’s all the harder since he knows that was the plan. We can do this.”

Aragorn drew his sword. This was a chancy endeavor, but the path forward demanded bold action. Indecision and fear were not worthy of the evil day that faced them.

He twisted Anduril so that the point rested on the table and the inscription of stars and runes was visible. The afternoon sunlight hit the blade and it shone red. If anything would strike Sauron with fear, it would be the sword of Elendil, reforged and held by the rightful king of Gondor.

“I sure wish you could lop his head off with that thing,” Kara said. “If he has a head. I guess he doesn’t. Ugh, I am anxiety-talking, ignore me.”

Aragorn paused. “Do you truly not know why I display Anduril? It is not merely a weapon. It is my birthright, my claim to the throne; my crown, one could say.”

Her eyes were wide. “Is it? Honestly, I skipped a lot of the weapon stuff in the books. So many sword names and horse names… I mostly read it for the hobbits.”

Legolas snorted. “That explains much.”

Aragorn shook his head, but his eyes were soft. “Why did you think I was so loth to leave it outside Thedoen’s Hall, when I was fairly certain there would be no violence?”

Kara shrugged. “I mean, I would beat my roommate if she took my favorite mug. Everybody’s got their limits.”

Aragorn smiled despite the dire task they were about to undertake. “Everyone does indeed have their limits, but at some point I must teach you the history of Anduril and you must endeavor to remember. I find myself relieved there is something of my story you don’t know.”

She spoke nearly under her voice, “Well, if I’d had you reading the audiobook, with your stupid voice—”

Legolas cleared his throat. “Shall we?”

At Aragorn’s nod, Legolas whipped the cloth off the palantir.

Kara could only observe the battle of wills as Aragorn fought Sauron for control of the palantir. She had expected the same pain in her head and the same horror as when Saruman forced her to look into it. She hadn’t been able to see anything but what it showed her, and she could not look away.

This time… Sauron ignored her. She kept her eyes on the legs of the stool that the stone rested on. In her peripheral vision she could see flickers of color and fire in the palantir, but she was thankfully, mercifully separate from it.

Aragorn, on the other hand, was as tense as a bow string. Sweat stood out on his forehead, and his eyes blazed. He swayed slightly toward the palantir and away again. The fire flickered brighter on the edge of her sight, but she kept her eyes resolutely toward him.

Aragorn’s mouth moved silently, and then audibly as he went on. “…the palantír of Orthanc from the treasury of Elendil, set there by the Kings of Gondor. Now my hour draws near. It belongs to me.”

Kara could feel heat pour off the palantir, and Aragorn raised the sword which shone as red as blood in the light from the windows. “Behold Anduril, the sword that was reforged from the shards of Narsil that were first wielded by Elendil, and then taken up by Isildur in the last age. You know it well.”

There was a silent question. Aragorn did not lose concentration, nor did he lower the sword. “But I have that as well. Saruman is defeated.”

The sword seemed to waver as if a silent wind tried to tear it from his grasp. Aragorn tightened his grip and steadied it. “I am the heir of Isildur, the rightful king of Gondor. “ Then he gave their agreed upon signal. “And the ring will never return to you.”

Kara, still without looking straight at the palantir, opened her hand to show the ring. She was already on the edge of the table. She held it up and jumped backward as she put it on.

She landed on her toes and fell into a crouch behind the mirror, looking up toward Aragorn above her.

There was a muffled roar that tugged at his hair and clothes. Aragorn exerted even more force. Kara felt as if two great magnets fought each other, both trying to slave the palantir to their will.

Aragorn’s face flickered orange with the fiery light of the palantir; it painted the beams of the hall red. With a final shove of pure determination against Sauron’s rage, the palantir went dark.

Aragorn slumped to one knee. His face was gray now, and his eyes were clenched shut. If Kara saw somebody come into the ER looking like that, she’d be checking their oxygen levels stat.

Legolas threw the cloak back over the palantir for good measure, then leapt lightly onto the table and put a hand on his shoulder. To Kara’s shock, Legolas’s other hand was on the hilt of his knife which was loose in its scabbard.

“Aragorn?” he asked.

Aragorn grunted, then looked up to meet his eyes. “I am well, Legolas. Merely…breathless and expended. I am myself.”

Legolas stared into his eyes and then finally relaxed his grip on both Aragorn and his knife. “I concur. There are few who can engage Sauron’s will and not be brought under his influence.”

Kara rose from her crouch with protesting knees. “But, I mean—I told you both that Aragorn could do this.”

Legolas did not answer. Aragorn resheathed his sword with shaky hands. “And I believed you, but we cannot be complacent.” He staggered as he jumped down from the table. He leaned a hip heavily against it. “I had strength enough, but barely.”

Kara waited a moment. “So, did he believe us?”

“Undoubtedly.” He used a cloth to wipe his face. “Now, shall we use the palantir once more before I consign it to darkness?”

Kara backed up a step. “Say what? You already look exhausted.”

Aragorn’s broad shoulders were slumped and he breathed shallowly but carefully, as if he was recovering from an asthma attack or something. But his eyes were bright, still keyed up from the confrontation. He gripped her hand, almost as if he would pull her to him. “This part is less taxing. The palantir now serves my will. I can use it as was intended of old, a seeing stone for the king’s use.”

Legolas put a hand on Aragorn’s arm. “But should you? In stories it is only used at necessity.”

Aragorn grinned, a little feral. “I believe it is a time of necessity.”

He took the palantir, set it before him, and uncovered it. He sat wearily on the bench before it. “Bay of Belfalas,” he said.

Kara watched with wonder as the thing lit turquoise and green and cheery brown. From her angle she could not see the bay or the city, but he clearly could.

He uttered a succession of names. She didn’t know if he needed to say them aloud or only did so for their benefit, but it worked. Legolas moved to stand at his shoulder. His perfect elven face was slack with wonder.

“Umbar,” Aragorn continued. “Ithilien. Osgiliath. Harad.”

“The Elvenking’s Halls,” Legolas murmured.

Aragorn repeated this, then, “Your father is well.”

The last name he spoke was Minas Tirith, and both he and Legolas startled. Legolas almost moved to cover the stone, but Aragorn did something—some shift of concentration and focus that she could not see, and the palantir fell dark.

“I may have unintentionally faced Lord Denethor,” Aragorn breathed. “I did not think the two stones would align so nearly, nor that he would be using it at this exact moment.”

“Perhaps it is for the best,” Legolas said. “He must grapple with your existence soon or late.”

“Perhaps, but I would not have presented myself in such a—-challenging fashion ere introductions or emissaries.” Aragorn shook his head. “But I cannot undo it now. Also, the corsairs of Umbar are prepared to strike up the river. The number of orcs massing in Mordor is even greater than I understood from your stories, Kara. It is the largest muster since the end of the last age.”

Legolas inclined his head. “And the Haradrim with their beasts have already trespassed in great numbers into Ithilien. They are within days of Minas Tirith.” He cleared his throat. “I believe Sauron is working faster than we expected.”

“Yet that is not against us. I would rather he strike too soon, if delay gives him more time to build his forces.” Aragorn rubbed his bleary eyes. “We must give Frodo and Sam as much time as possible.”

“Can we…see how Frodo and Sam are doing?” Kara asked. “Or would that endanger them?”

Aragorn’s brow furrowed. “It may. Sauron has the stone of Minas Morgul, the city of the Nazgûl, which was always counted equivalent to the stone of Minas Tirith and Orthanc.” He gestured to his stone. “The Master Stone in Osgiliath was the greatest, it was said that it could show the business of all the other stones. It was larger and could not be lifted by human hands, and it was lost in the Anduin….But Sauron is stronger than I. It is possible he can interpret what I see even with a stone of equal power. It is even possible that Lord Denethor might spy out our intentions.”

“Never mind, then,” Kara said. “I’ve gotten greedy for news, but we’ll just have to trust them.”

“Indeed.” Aragorn looked at the palantir with distrust. “Indeed, I think I must not use this again unless at great need, for it is seductive to have such knowledge. I would use it for good, but I had barely enough strength to contend with Sauron once. Repeated use might bring me under his influence.”

He resolutely wrapped the stone and stowed it again at the bottom of his satchel. “Legolas, would you request that Boromir speak with me before supper?”

“Of course.” Legolas went out, leaving Kara and Aragorn in the quiet, echoey hall.

He collapsed on the bench again, leaning back against the table. “I must believe I have the strength to do what destiny requires, but at times… though my resolution does not fail, strength does.”

Kara sat next to him. “That’s only human.”

His lips quirked. “You say that as someone from a world of men. But I must contend with elves and dwarves, orcs, goblins, and Nazgul. I must be more than a mere man.”

To her surprise he twisted to lay back flat on the bench with his head pillowed on her leg. His eyes were closed, so perhaps he did not see her surprise. His knees were bent, his booted feet rested on the end of the bench. “In a moment, I will be strong again.”

Kara froze, not knowing what to do with her hands…or with her feelings. How the heck was she supposed to maintain any kind of emotional distance when Aragorn laid his head in her lap?

She gingerly smoothed his hair back from his forehead, lightly brushing her fingers over the crown of his head.

He made a small noise of pleasure, almost as a child would do when you unexpectedly scratched their back or rubbed their neck. Kara carded her fingers through his hair in slow, even strokes. She rarely got to stare at his face without reserve and she took full advantage of it.

Did this mean something to him? Other than exhaustion and rest? Surely it had to…and yet, his eyes stayed resolutely closed. She wanted to trace her fingers over the purple of his eyelids, down his nose, across his lips, and through the stubble of his beard. Once or twice her hand ghosted that direction of its own free will, but she caught herself.

He’d been uncomfortable with her knee, he’d probably run away if she touched his lips.

How long they stayed there, Kara wasn’t sure. The room began to grow dim as the sun went down, but it was still too soon that they were interrupted by footsteps from a corridor in the rear.

“Oh, I apologize,” Eowyn said, looking into the dimness, “I thought the hall was now empty.”

Aragorn sprang to his feet as though Kara had jabbed him with a needle. Not even a little vaccine syringe, like a big, fat IV needle.

He stood tall, as if he had never been tired, never collapsed on the bench. He picked up his satchel and swung it over his shoulder. “The hall is at your disposal, my lady. Our task is complete.”

“It is fine—“

But Aragorn was already taking his sword from the table. He left through the front door with a respectful salute.

Eowyn looked to Kara. “Have I offended Lord Aragorn?”

“No, I don’t think so. He is just…tired.”

Kara wasn’t actually certain what had just happened, but she had a lowering feeling about it.

Aragorn could be vulnerable with Kara because she was his friend, but Eowyn…she was an unknown factor. An unknown factor that perhaps Aragorn wanted to appear strong before. At any rate, he clearly didn’t want Eowyn to see him exhausted and half-asleep after contending with Sauron.

Which was… fine. Kara felt a fierce protectiveness. Maybe Eowyn would be the one, but she didn't have this journey; that would always belong to Kara. Kara knew what Aragorn sounded like when he had a nightmare, or when he crouched under a bush for half a day, or when he made wry jokes after a day of muddy hiking. All of that was hers.

So why did she feel like crying?

When Legolas finally found Boromir, he was holding the baby, Elanor Rose. He sat near the long stables on the flatter side of Edoras. There were benches along the outer walls, and the sound and smell of horses from within. Nearby was an oval paddock of churned earth that must be a practice ring for the horses. In a large grassy area to the side, some of Theoden’s men practiced sword fighting with ferocious clangs and shouts.

Boromir was seated on one of those benches watching the fights, in the deep shade provided by the overhang of the stables.

The infant appeared to sleep. She was swaddled in a length of light brown linen in which she nearly disappeared except for the black fuzz on her head.

“Ho, Boromir,” Legolas said. “I expected to find you in the midst of arrangements for leave-taking.”

Boromir looked over to him. “Unfortunately, I am precious little good for packing with one hand and a weakened frame, but the arrangements are underway.”

“Where is Lady Andrea?”

“I bade her rest. As I was required to sit at my leisure, it seems I can at least serve as a… nursemaid.” He made a wry face. “My troops in Gondor would stare to see their captain thus employed.”

“As well they might. Aragorn asks that you attend him at the hall before the evening meal. A concern has arisen.”

Boromir rose, for the sun was already behind the wall and must be fast approaching the horizon. “Yes, very well, I will go up directly.”

He extended the bundled child to Legolas, who took a quick step back.

Boromir extended her again. “You imply Aragorn wishes to speak of a serious matter without interruption. Merely hold the babe; her mother will return ere the evening meal.”

“I’m sure it—the babe—will not interfere.”

Boromir grinned. “Is it fear I see in your eyes, elf? I vouch that Rosie is less villainous than the creature in the Black Lake, although she does occasionally smell like a goblin. Surely an elf who accounted for forty-seven orcs in one nights work is capable of this task.”

“There is simply no need—”

But Boromir, who had been chafing rather more than he let on under his enforced inaction, gave into a mischievous impulse. He all but dropped the child on Legolas, whose quick elven reactions meant that Rosie was in no danger at all.

Legolas held her cautiously in two hands before him. With one hand he instinctively supported her head and neck, the way one might hold an injured bird. The other was under her swaddled hips and legs, and it was suspiciously damp.

The child wriggled and black eyes popped open. No doubt she felt uneasy being held by a stranger, but her unease must be less than his. Children were rare and priceless, yes, but also mysterious. A gem no less perilous for being precious.

The child began to whimper.

Boromir turned away. “If she starts to cry, press her against your chest and bounce. It should be easy for you, as light-footed as you are. You could dance.”

“I am not—dancing—with an infant. Boromir, come back at once! She is crying.”

But Boromir only laughed as he trudged up the gravel road. The laughter was rather longer and harder than Legolas thought appropriate or necessary.

The baby was not happy. Neither was Legolas. He did manage to lean the infant against his chest without flopping its head about, but he was not very reassured. He swayed and—obeying an impulse he had not known he had—he hummed.

The humming brought the child from screaming down to mere fussing, and he supposed that was a success. But where were Merry and Pippin when they were needed? Legolas felt very alone, and slightly betrayed.

Boromir was at least correct that Andrea would return soon. She came down the road rubbing her eyes and swinging her ropy black hair over her shoulder before the humming had completely lost its efficacy.

“Oh, Legolas! Did Boromir leave you with her?”

Legolas smiled, somewhat tightly. “Indeed, he did.”

She came and took the baby from him. “You probably think I’m the worst mom ever, leaving her like this. Maybe elven women can go without sleep, but I sure can’t.”

“On the contrary, childbirth and rearing are very challenging for elven women. That is partly why infants are rare. And why should you not leave your baby in safe hands while you seek a short rest?”

Legolas did not at all blame Andrea for leaving her baby. In his experience, infants were valued above everything. Andrea might not know the Fellowship well, but surely she knew they would all put their lives on the line to protect her daughter.

She gave him an odd look, as if she suspected him of making sport of her. “Well, I appreciate the help.”

Legolas gingerly wiped his damp hand on his trousers. “I regret to inform you that she is rather wetter than she was previously.”

Andrea rolled her eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Boromir spoke with Aragorn just outside Theoden’s Hall, and learned of the possibility that Denethor had seen Aragorn in the palantir.

Boromir rocked back on his heels. “Ah. Not ideal, I agree, but perhaps inevitable. Mayhap the warning will prepare him for my news.”

“I hope so.” Aragorn ran his hand through his hair.

“You look like the arse-end of a horse at present,” Boromir said. “Perhaps you ought to rest before supper.”

Aragorn’s shoulders slumped. “I did lie down… but yes, I am weary. Please give my excuses if I do not come to the meal.”

Boromir went into the hall which was now pleasantly lit with the yellow-amber glow of lamps and fireplace. Eowyn and the other women set out bowls and mugs.

Kara was helping, but the servant women kept taking things out of her hands, so she soon gave up and came to stand beside him. “They won’t let me help,” she complained, “even though Eowyn can help.”

“I told you before, she is not above you. The horselords are wise and capable, but of nobility and class distinction—” He broke off. “Is there some other reason you think of her as a queen? Does she marry into a kingdom or some such thing? You did not tell us what became of her after the Battle of Pelennor.”

“There… are several possibilities. But you must admit, if she does kill the Witch King she deserves the best.”

Boromir tapped his heel against the wall while the women began to set out barley rolls. “Is it possible you’re talking about Aragorn?”

“Why not?”

“Because—good heavens, Kara, you are foolish.”

“Ouch. I think they might do very well together!”

“Putting aside for a moment that you are an idiot, why do you think so? You already told us that he was intended for Arwen, so Eowyn cannot be his match.”

“Shh!” Kara said. “I don’t want anyone to hear us.”

He stared at her profile. “I know that expression. What are you hiding, Kara?”

“Nothing.”

He raised a brow. “Now you have left the truth behind. Perhaps I may guess… From your attitude, it is clear she marries someone highborn. Perhaps a prince of the south, Imrahil is Prince of Dol Amroth and he has three sons. Or even—” his eyes widened. “Legolas? He is a prince of the Woodland Realm.”

“Pfft, no! Legolas doesn’t marry.”

“There are few in Gondor that would—” he stiffened. “Wait. Was it Faramir?”

Kara was quiet while she chewed on her mouth. “Maybe?”

“Faramir wooed a shield maiden of Rohan? The shield maiden of Rohan?” Boromir pictured his brother in his mind’s eye. Tall, dark, intelligent… but not bold. He would do what was necessary, but Faramir never loved battle and glory for its own sake. He was nothing like the rough men of Rohan. Boromir himself was more akin to them for they loved a fight and an ale as much as he did. He looked at Eowyn. She was like a knife, sheathed, but sharp. He could not imagine her marrying his gentle-spoken brother.

Perhaps Kara sensed some of his thoughts. “Okay fine, you guessed it. She and Faramir marry and live in Ithilien… but you’ve gotta admit she’d be a better match for Aragorn. Faramir probably could have any woman of Gondor for the asking!”

This made him laugh, though he felt a surge of protectiveness well-up in him. “How dare you try to give away my brother’s wife? This is nonsense about Aragorn anyway, but I won’t stand for it. If Faramir is supposed to love Eowyn, I’ll make sure that she arrives in Minas Tirith unattached.”

“I wasn’t going to do anything crazy,” Kara protested. “But since Aragorn isn’t in love with Arwen right now, there’s no reason for him not to like Eowyn. Things don’t have to stay the same, Boromir, you’re proof of that! Maybe Faramir will have a better future with someone else.”

“Hm. My brother is romantic, but he is reserved. One might even say shy. He is resigned to a political marriage, for my father has long said it is all he is good for… though that, of course, is grossly untrue.” Boromir frowned. “Did your stories imply that their union was for political purposes?”

“Er, no. Supposedly they did love each other. There was something about them kissing on the walls and everybody seeing them.”

“Faramir?” He grinned. “You cannot take that away from him; I refuse. And I want to be there when it happens. In fact, you have given me an idea…”

Boromir made his way to Eowyn. If she was so eager to be in the battle and to leave the restrictive environment of her home, perhaps she might accompany his party to Minas Tirith now. Boromir didn’t think Kara would succeed in getting Aragorn to fall in love with her—he was obviously fixated on Kara. But on the other hand, Eowyn might fancy herself in love with Aragorn. Not hard to do; he was a stupidly noble, handsome sort, if one didn’t mind that stringy ranger-look.

No, better by far to have her in Minas Tirith. She could meet Faramir the sooner that way, and Boromir—loving brother that he was—would lose no opportunity to torment him over it. While, of course, also making sure that Faramir wasn’t injured unto death as Kara warned.

Perhaps, Boromir mused, he might recommend that Andrea accompany them also. She would not want to stay in Edoras without Kara or Eowyn, and Kara would be with Aragorn as they camped at Dunharrow for the muster of the Rohirrim.

Eowyn and Andrea would be companions for one another, and perhaps soften Theoden to the idea. And when they reached Minas Tirith, Boromir could hunt up his old nursemaid to take care of Andrea and Elanor Rose. Hazeth, his nurse’s name had been. When Boromir’s mother passed, Hazeth had been the only source of comfort and kindness in his life, both to him and his baby brother.

Decided, he made his way to Eowyn. “My lady, I have a request and an offer to set before you…”

Chapter 28

Chapter Text

Aragorn pulled Boromir aside after the evening meal while Eowyn was directing the men to move the tables to make space for bedrolls before the great fireplace.

He and Boromir stood in the shadowy corner furthest from the others, and the firelight flickered on Boromir’s weary face. He would not admit it, but he was still badly weakened from the wound he had taken and the blood he had lost.

Aragorn tapped his pipe against one of the rocks in the outer wall. “I could wish you had spoken to me before inviting Eowyn and Andrea to Minas Tirith. Why the sudden change of plans? I thought you wished to make for the city as soon as possible.”

Boromir rubbed his upper lip. “It was…er, partly Kara’s suggestion. She had forgotten to mention several important points and I believe it will be better that they should be there sooner rather than later.”

Aragorn frowned. “Kara forgot to mention something so important that you have immediately changed your plans? What is it? If I must make plans for another contingency—”

“Not important for the war, but for the lives involved.”

Aragorn was always more or less aware where Kara was, and he turned to find where she waited near the fire, holding the baby. She responded to his look and joined them, patting the baby on the back and swaying side to side as she came.

“Boromir says you suggested he take Eowyn and Andrea to Minas Tirith—”

Kara glared at Boromir. “That totally wasn't my suggestion.”

Boromir gazed innocently back at her. “But you have told me that Eowyn must meet my brother! Why would you wish to hold her back? Please, explain to Aragorn why you want her to stay.”

Kara’s cheeks flushed. “You’re the worst.”

Boromir smiled. “No, really—is it some reason of battle or strategy? If you think somehow this will hinder her in fighting the witchking—”

Kara hissed, “Shh! Fine. If you are determined to take her to Minas Tirith, be my guest. I’m sure she could sneak into the battle just as well there as here, although she is supposed to ride with Theoden.”

Boromir looked rather too satisfied. “Fine, I shall take her. And Andrea will accompany her, which will offer respectable female company for the journey.”

Aragorn raked his hand through his hair. “Yet you realize that leaves no female to accompany Kara as we go to Dunharrow?”

Boromir raised an eyebrow. “She’s been traveling with us for months without another female. I’m sure she will persevere.”

“There are kings and armies involved now; it is different.” Aragorn looked to Kara, who was still swaying back and forth to pacify the infant. She looked troubled, as well she might. They had not discussed Saruman’s vulgar words about her, but they had been heard by enough of Eomer’s men that rumors would easily be set off, if they were not already rampant. “You did not hear Saruman, Boromir, for you were still laid low. He already implied that Kara was—that she—”

“He said I was sleeping with Aragorn, slu*t-shamed me, etc. Hm, isn’t that another good reason that Eowyn should come with us?” Kara said pointedly to Boromir.

Aragorn was still processing Kara’s equanimity in referencing those insults.

Boromir gave no ground. “Take a maid of Rohan to travel with you then, Kara. You can’t have Eowyn. Excuse me, I must speak to her of travel arrangements.”

Kara watched him go with frustration. “I really thought Theoden would say no. Why doesn’t he want to keep Eowyn with him?”

Aragorn followed her gaze to where Theoden had entered conversation with Boromir and Eowyn. “I do not usually speculate on motivations, but—”Aragorn looked to Kara, “I am surprised this had not occurred to you, but he hopes that Boromir’s attention has turned to her. It would be an excellent match for Eowyn, daughter of Eomund.”

Kara slapped her forehead as she was wont to do when she felt foolish. “Of course he does! What a mess.”

Aragorn returned to the former topic. “I never apologized for my part in the insults Saruman cast at you. I had been indiscreet and unwise. I opened you to further abuse; I apologize.”

Kara shook her head, causing her braid to move. “Abuse was when he threw me around his creepy throne room and almost broke my arm. I can handle insinuations. Besides, he just said I was sleeping with you,” Kara flushed again, “that’s far from the worst thing someone has said about me, and I’m sure there’ll be worse to come.”

“Kara…” Aragorn raised a hand to her arm.

“The baby is getting fussy. Excuse me.”

Kara sought out Andrea and Eowyn, who had retired to Eowyn’s bedchamber.

Eowyn had a number of hooks for hanging clothes, several chests with horses cut in bas-relief, and a tick mattress over a wood frame. One of the chests was open as Eowyn and Andrea packed and made plans for leaving.

“We will bring a large supply of cloths for Rosie,” Eowyn said, “and such of my dresses as will suit you.”

Andrea took Rosie, looking a little overwhelmed. “Kara, I agreed to go to Minas Tirith—but should I? Will it be more dangerous for us?”

It would, of course. As far as Kara knew, no more battles would happen near Edoras, while a terrible one would happen near Minas Tirith. But at the same time, as the story moved and changed and flexed, Kara was having a hard time making hard predictions. “You could definitely stay here,” Kara said. “I’ll have to go on to Minas Tirith eventually, but I would come back for you. Before we—er—return to Lothlorien.”

Andrea sat down on a wooden chair to nurse Rosie. She had borrowed a long-sleeved linen dress from Eowyn that laced up the front. She loosened the laces clumsily while Rosie began to cry louder. When she got her situated at her breast, she said, “Can Galadriel really send us back to our world? Or did you just tell me that in Orthanc to give me hope?”

“She said she could,” Kara said. “That’s all I can tell you; I don’t know for sure.”

Eowyn had just rolled up a brown cloak and stowed it in the chest. She turned back to Kara with confusion. “But you cannot leave, unless—did I misunderstand?”

“Misunderstand what?”

“Are you not committed to Lord Aragorn?” Eowyn smiled a little, though it looked as if it cost her something. “I heard of no official betrothal, but I thought perhaps you chose to wait until the hour of war is past. We are not well-acquainted, but I offer my sincere wishes for your happiness.”

Kara’s throat almost closed up with surprise. She was sure her eyes were bugging out of her head. “What?”

Andrea scoffed. “Kara isn’t going to marry Aragorn. She and I are going to go back—” She suddenly cut off and cursed, once. “I’ve been an idiot, haven’t I? How long has this been going on?”

“It… has not been going on,” Kara said carefully. “Aragorn and I are not committed.”

Eowyn shook back her blonde hair. “Does he know you think this? I ask because you have strange customs to ours; perhaps there has been a misunderstanding. Forgive me if this troubles you, but men do not commonly show such affection much less lay their head in a lady’s lap, unless she be mother, or sister, or trothed wife.”

Andrea gave Kara a side eye. “Introducing lap dances to Middle Earth?”

“Ew, no! It wasn’t like that. Nothing is going on.”

“Nothing going on?” Andrea retorted. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it—except that I had a baby and I’m somehow living on half-hour chunks of sleep. When were you going to tell me that you weren’t actually going back to our world?”

“I wasn’t! I am. I don’t know.” Kara covered her face. “I admit, I fell for him, okay—who wouldn’t?”

When Kara uncovered her face, Eowyn looked a little self-conscious.

Andrea shrugged. “I wouldn’t. He seems like a good guy, but nothing I’m worked up about, you know?”

“Well, I wasn’t lying to you.” Kara took a deep breath. “He’s always talking about when I go back to my time; he’s not making plans for me to stay.”

Eowyn was pouring her a measure of wine. “Drink; you are tired. Perhaps I am wrong, I should not have made assumptions.”

Kara sipped the strong wine. She tried not to ask, but she wasn’t that strong. “Aragorn and I are friends, good friends even. You don’t think that could explain whatever this is?”

Eowyn grinned, suddenly looking less remote and regal; she had very perfect teeth for a medieval woman. “Perhaps friends act in such ways in your time, but it would be most unusual here. Perhaps he does not wish to put undo pressure on you to stay—but that he wishes it is clear. And if he wants you, I hope you will consider. He deserves to have a woman like you.”

Kara floundered for response. That was nearly the exact same argument she’d made for Eowyn, word for word. “But I’m—nobody. I got hijacked into this story randomly. I’ve sewn up some wounds and given out some warnings—I’m really glad Boromir survived after all—but the story would’ve worked out fine without me.”

“It is the fear and the lie of every heart that our lives are nothing; that our loved ones and our countrymen would suffer no loss in our absence… that we are smooth stones in the creek that do not cause a ripple let alone a divergence. I also have this fear,” Eowyn said, “but you have given me hope. You say that this war will be remembered, that even I will be remembered. You must hold some hope for yourself, Kara.”

Kara wiped unexpected moisture from her cheeks. She knew this must be even harder for Eowyn since she had immediately liked Aragorn. She was selfless on top of everything else. “You are really the best,” Kara said, wiping another traitorous tear. “You were always my favorite character. Well, after Sam.”

Eowyn smiled again and took her hand. “Then I hope I may meet this Sam someday. And I hope you will give Lord Aragorn a chance.”

Kara stared at their hands. How was Eowyn this nice?

“Besides,” Eowyn offered, “if you were promised to Lord Aragorn, it would not be so unusual for you to have traveled with him. In Rohan, such vows are considered as binding as marriage.” She chuckled. “But I can see from your face that I have startled you, and we have much to do. I will not tease you.”

Later, as they finished packing, Andrea moved a lumpy object wrapped in a blanket from the chest. “What is this? It takes up a lot of space; do we need it?”

The blanket slipped a little, and the tip of a shiny helmet poked through.

Eowyn gasped and wrapped it back up again. “It is—my training armor. I take it with me everywhere.”

Andrea put it back. “Oh, right. So you can pretend—”

Kara was making a slash motion across her throat and Andrea broke off. She really wasn’t trying to spoil the story, but things kept slipping out. That was probably the sleep deprivation talking. “So you can train,” she said lamely.

Eowyn covered the helmet again. “Yes. I have some skill with the sword.”

“Oh, we know,” Andrea said. “We know.”

She finally laid down on the bed and cuddled up near Rosie, who was sleeping in the middle of the mattress. Andrea’s body physically hurt when she relaxed; the exhaustion was bone deep. Before she fell asleep, she wondered why it hadn’t occurred to her that Kara was in love with Aragorn.

Kara was heroine of this weirdness; Andrea was the extra. Strangely, she felt a shiver of jealousy. The thought of being sent back home while Kara stayed suddenly felt more like a consolation prize than a dream come true.

But that was craziness talking. Andrea fell asleep thinking of diapers, high chairs, teething rings… all the things she didn’t have here, and trying to convince herself that she still desperately wanted to go home.

In the morning, from the windy platform outside Theoden’s hall, Kara and Legolas and Gimli watched the procession wind its way out of Edoras.

Now Merry and Pippin were off to Minas Tirith together. She had no idea how that would go. Surely they wouldn’t both end up offering themselves in service to Gondor.

And Gandalf would confront Denethor, but Boromir was on Gandalf’s side, so that would be totally different.

Andrea and Rosie were a complete wild card. Kara hoped Denethor wouldn’t be rude to her, but she didn’t have high hopes.

Then there was Faramir. Would he and Eowyn still click if they weren’t both wounded and healing together?

Kara had completely given up on Eowyn and Aragorn. Whether or not Eowyn was correct about Aragorn’s wishes, Eowyn had mentally consigned Aragorn to her, and she seemed to have a strong sense of girl code. She wasn’t going to compete with Kara for him.

As for Aragorn, Kara hadn’t yet seen him this morning. She assumed he was talking about horses or arms or something military-related with Theoden. They’d been making plans to go to Dunharrow, where Theoden would collect the rest of the Rohirrim who were able to fight.

Eomer had returned yesterday, and Kara wasn’t the only one who had cried at their restoration. Eomer had clearly still been dubious. He had entered the hall with square shoulders and straight back, but with caution in his eyes.

Theoden had opened his arms. “Eomer, sister-son, you have made me proud when I least deserved it. Forgive me.”

They hugged and both Eomer and Theoden had cried.

Theoden stood back and clapped his shoulder. “You were loyal when I allowed myself to be poisoned against you. I will not forget it. I mourn Theodred, but I rejoice that I yet have an heir.”

Eomer’s stern face had gone momentarily slack. Then he had thumped his chest. “Theoden King, I hear you.”

That had been yesterday. Today, she’d heard Eomer teasing his sister about Boromir before they left. He also must think that Boromir had invited her because he liked her. Kara only hoped that Eowyn didn’t think so. She sure didn’t deserve that kind of whiplash twice in one week.

Kara hadn’t gotten that impression from her, but either way, there wasn’t much Kara could do about it now.

Aragorn joined them on the platform as the last of Gandalf and Boromir’s group was passing through the gate below, out to the wide fields beyond the city of Edoras.

“Thus the story changes further,” he said.

“Completely,” Kara agreed. “I don’t know what’s happening anymore.”

“Join the rest of us mortals,” Gimli grunted.

“Nor do immortals have knowledge of the future,” Legolas added.

“I guess I’m in good company then.”

Gimli patted her arm. “Aye. The best, even with the elf.”

Kara took a bracing breath of cold morning air. “I know. I don’t think I want to go back home. I might never want to go back.” She didn’t look at Aragorn, but she saw him turn towards her.

“Of course, you don’t,” Gimli said. “You’ll stay here and marry Aragorn.”

Legolas sighed. “That is my conclusion as well.”

Aragorn cleared his throat, and paused. Then, "A moment alone with Kara, if you two would be so good as to take yourselves off?"

Chapter 29

Chapter Text

Andrea found the journey to Minas Tirith exhausting, but then—she supposed there wasn’t any situation that wasn’t exhausting at this stage of a baby’s life. At least between Eowyn and Boromir, as well as Merry and Pippin, Andrea was as well cared for as they could manage.

As they traveled through the grasslands of Rohan, Eowyn would roll bundles of grass to make a fresh bed for her each night. Boromir made sure they had plenty of blankets and supplies. Merry and Pippin distracted Andrea with questions and stories.

And all of them took turns holding the baby, which was a relief. Rosie was still too young for stranger danger or even mom-preference to set in. She mostly ate and slept, and she didn’t mind sleeping in other people’s arms.

Since one or the other was always on nightwatch, they probably helped far more than a theoretical husband would have.

Andrea rode in the wagon, and sometimes she walked, but most of the party was on horseback. They traveled long hours, but every night there was a fire. Andrea didn’t have memories of camping with her family, but the smell of a campfire triggered memories of beaches and holidays.

“What did you do in your time?” Merry asked. “Kara was a healer—a nurse she calls it.”

“I was a tax accountant,” Andrea said. “I—er—I figured out how much people owed to the government each year.”

“A tribute, you mean?” Boromir asked. “A percentage of crops, goods, or income for the tradesmen?”

“Eh, sort of like that, except a lot more complicated. People spend years learning tax law, non-profit structure, corporate tax liability, individual and family exemptions, investment, taxable interest… it’s a lot of regulations to know and a lot of math to get it right. And if people get it wrong, they can go to jail.”

Boromir brows were drawn. “Why do you not create a flat tax by income to simplify?”

Andrea threw up a hand. “People try sometimes, but we’ve had a couple hundred years to complicate it, and I think it’ll take twice that long to change it. Besides, most government officials are fine with the current system.”

They talked a little more about government, and Boromir tilted his head. “You have a much more cynical view of your government than Kara.”

“I doubt every two people in Minas Tirith agree about your father.” Andrea shrugged. “People differ.”

“Is it true that her city alone holds seven million people? I thought perhaps she was—what did she call it—pulling a fast thing?”

Andrea laughed. “Pulling a fast one. I don’t know for sure what Houston’s population is, but that sounds about right. I work for the Internal Revenue Service, which we call the IRS, and it employs eighty thousand people.”

He shook his head. “I cannot imagine.”

“Nothing is certain in life but death and taxes,” Pippin said wisely. “That’s what my Aunt Bracegirdle says.”

“Yes, that’s a famous quote,” Andrea said, surprised. She knew they’d decided that she and Kara were from the future, and although Andrea wasn’t sure she believed that, some things were oddly familiar, and not just from the story.

Andrea had to admit, it was nice to go on this part of the journey without Kara. Andrea had nothing against her—she seemed like a really great person, actually—but it was nice to get to know Merry, Pippin, Boromir, Eowyn, and even Gandalf on her own.

Merry and Pippin were daily astonished at how Rosie grew. “Will she stop at your size, or will she be a giant?” Merry asked. “Because at the present rate, I think she could be as tall as Treebeard!”

“That’s just for now. Babies grow a lot their first two years. They say kids have half their adult height by the time they turn two. Don’t hobbit babies do that?”

Pippin goggled. “No! Why, I can still carry my nieces in my arms and they are upwards of seven and eight. Why, we are not considered adults until we are thirty-three.”

“That’s weird.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know our growth rate,” Boromir said. “But I think it is not unlike Rosie’s progress.”

“There aren’t any little Boromirs running around the White City?” Andrea said.

Eowyn coughed on her sip of water.

He laughed, though it looked as if he flushed a little. “Definitely not. I am a warrior and I have always cared more for swords than words and glory than romance. That is Faramir, perhaps.”

“Ah. He’s the one with extra kids running around?”

“No! I meant merely that he is better with words, and that he befriends people better than I—he sees more and cares more easily. He is not a profligate man.”

Andrea had realized fairly quickly that Boromir was trying to talk Faramir up to Eowyn. Eowyn did not seem to have the slightest idea and certainly had no interest in Boromir’s brother, except out of polite courtesy. It was funny to see how far he would go before Eowyn would discretely yawn and change the subject.

She was more interested in swords and glory as well, Andrea thought, and was a lot like Boromir in that way.

Merry and Pippin had also not caught on, although they were willing to hear many stories about Boromir’s brother. In return they told stories of their own families, and it was clear this was a common thing for hobbits.

“What about you, Andrea?” asked Merry. “You have not told us much of your family!”

So she told them stories about her mother and father and brothers. “I was the youngest of five, all boys except for me. That’s why I tend to be too aggressive. Puts people off.”

Eowyn frowned. “I know no reason why women should always be submissive and self-effacing. I think many marriages and most countries would be the better for women who are as unafraid as yourself.”

“I wish you coulda met my ex,” Andrea said. “You’d’ve set him straight or gotten rid of him right off.”

“What is this word, ex?” Boromir asked. “It seems to signify a person to you, and Kara has used it the same way.”

“Um.” Andrea wasn’t sure she wanted to get into this with them, but they had been open with her. “An ex is a person you broke up with.” Even as she spoke she realized that wouldn’t help. Did they even understand divorce? “An ex is a person you were—er—courting? Or married to, but then you break it off.”

Boromir didn’t seem shocked. “In Gondor a broken marriage is usually termed an annulment. If an engagement is broken, there is no particular word for it, though one or the other might be considered faithless according to the circ*mstances.”

“Yeah, like that.”

Boromir paused in sharpening his sword, remembering this was not an academic discussion but a word she’d used for herself. “Were you—married?”

“I guess its fair for you to ask, but no. I wasn’t married to Rosie’s father. He left when I got pregnant.”

Boromir’s face darkened. “A cowardly act, indeed. I can see why there must be a word for this.”

There was a slight stillness as Gandalf paused in packing his pipe for a smoke. “Kara also mentioned an ex. Was she married?”

Merry and Pippin ceased teasing one another.

“I don’t think so,” Andrea said. “I’m sure she would’ve said if she was. Probably just another bad boyfriend.”

Eowyn dropped a rock in front of the wagon wheel to keep it in place for the night. “Is there something wrong with the men of your time? Here are you and Kara, both valiant and bold and beautiful, and you have both received broken promises by those who owed you loyalty?”

Boromir resumed sharpening his sword with care. “A strange thing, indeed.”

Andrea laughed, a little grimly. “Not that strange. I don’t expect loyalty from men at the best of times, and those weren’t the best of times. It’s their nature, isn’t it?”

Boromir frowned. “Far be it from me to criticize what I do not know, but lack of loyalty in the midst of trouble is the worst of men’s nature, not the norm. Not all are so weak-willed.”

He held out his hands for Rosie soon after this, and Andrea had to admit, he put his money where his mouth was. He certainly had pulled more than his fair share of the work in helping with her. But that was in the wild or in Rohan. When they got back to Minas Tirith, when he was with his soldiers and his a-hole of a father, he’d be different.

He’d plant her and Rosie somewhere safe, but that’s the last she’d see of him.

#

Kara felt breathless as Gimli and Legolas went down the stone stairs toward the stables, leaving her and Aragorn in front of Theoden’s hall. Below them, the square was still bustling with people after the departure of Gandalf and the others.

Gimli—and even Legolas!—had just suggested, without warning or laughter, that she marry Aragorn. She wasn’t sure if a bell was peeling or there was just ringing in her ears.

“Meduseld is perhaps not the place for such a conversation,” Aragorn said quietly. “Yet it is quiet and warm and currently empty…”

Kara returned with him through the heavy, iron-studded doors. The fire had died down, and the lingering smell of rabbit and onion stew from the previous night grounded her.

Now her brain went into overdrive. Did Gimli and Legolas guess how she felt? Did they say what they did to hint Aragorn to something? Or did they know howhefelt?

Her instincts, strong and uncontrollable, urged her to avoid the discomfort and possible pain of disappointment. “We don’t have to—That is, Gimli and Legolas surprised me, but it’s not your fault they made it awkward.”

Kara perched on the edge of one of the long tables. Her knee and her arm were doing a lot better, but standing around still made it ache.

Aragorn studied her. He’d bathed again at some point, and his hair was half-dry, tucked behind his ears. “Do people of your society generally avoid important conversations? You certainly do.”

“Er—I’m a millennial, we totally do that."

He clasped his hands behind him. “I dare not assume I understand anything in this case; the cost of error is too high. I cannot decide if you are consciously avoiding the idea or you are truly oblivious?”

“Both, probably?”

“Kara…” he could not seem to keep his hands from her. He stepped forward and took one of her hands, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “I would never seek to make you stay in Middle Earth if you wished to go home. Ever since Lorien, I have attempted to reconcile myself to the thought that you have a life and purpose waiting for you there. But it will not do. You say you think of staying, and my heart bounds. Surely that doesn’t surprise you.”

Kara stared at their hands, in something very close to shock. “But you—always speak of me returning.”

“As I thought you wished to do; as I supposed would be best for you. But now you speak of staying, and I cannot help but think, as do Gimli and Legolas, that surely if you stayed… you would stay with me."

“Oh."

“That is a small word to leave me with as I wait.”

“I don’t know what to say. Is this about Saruman’s taunts? Are you concerned with my reputation or something?”

“Yes, I am concerned about that, but it is a mere nothing if this,” he raised her hand and pressed his warm lips to it, “is not what you want.”

Kara’s stomach dropped completely away. She pushed away from the table, though Aragorn kept her hand. “Is it something you want?” she asked.

“Have I not been clear? I have all but declared myself, as Gimli, Legolas, Boromir, and even Gandalf have noted.”

“You have?”

He followed her as she moved restlessly a few steps. “Our cultures must be even more different than I understood.” He slid his hand to her wrist, circling it with his long fingers. His other hand came up to touch her forehead, her chin, and then her cheek, almost like a benediction. “If I did not, I would not touch you as I do.”

“You hardly ever touch me.”

He raised his brows. “I thought I was being most forward.”

“Not to me.” She stepped away again.

“Kara, you have still avoided the question. Would you want this? If not, then enough is said. Would you want me to be forward, in whatever way you understand that word?”

“How could I… not?"

He stepped up to her, but she put a hand on his chest to stop him.

"But you could have anybody, you know. Well, except for Arwen, presumably, as she’s too far away. But Eowyn or what’s-her-name, Prince Imrahil’s sister, or any woman of Minas Tirith…”

Aragorn found holding Kara’s wrist with her pulse pounding under his fingertips was rather intoxicating.

But he was impatient of following her as she backed away and talked about the women he should have loved.

He turned her so that her next backward step brought her against one of the wide wooden columns that supported the arched roof. She stopped, in surprise, but recovered quickly. "You'll be kingof Gondor," she said. "We are friends, but there've gotta be scads of better options--"

His lips found the curve of her neck without trying. Kara sucked in a breath at his kiss.

“Is this forward in your age?” Aragorn asked against her ear. He braced a hand against the beam behind her head as he kissed her pulse point below her jaw.

“Y-yes.”

“Good. I have finally gotten your attention.” He kissed the soft skin below her ear. He had been under such control for so long. He would not mind convincing her of his affection like this for some time.

“I d-didn’t think you would—ah—be okay with this sort of thing.” She broke off as he rubbed his nose around her ear and then kissed her jaw.

“I am not intimidated by your culture’s strange norms,” he said.

“Clearly not.”

Finally her hands, which had been clenched rigidly at her sides, lifted to his shoulders. Her fingers tentatively traced over his jaw, rubbing the short hair of his beard. He had no expectation that this would undo him, but he felt it through his whole self. It was not just the touch, but that she would reciprocate—that she would trust him and make her affection plain.

Aragorn moved his lips over the pulse in her neck. “Kara…”

Her hand moved into his hair, running over the nape of his neck. Aragorn narrowly avoided groaning. He pressed his forehead to her shoulder. “I’m no longer open-minded. If you try to go to Lorien, I’ll lock you in a tower. I’ll forbid the stable master to provide horses. I’ll ride ahead and forswear Galadriel from sending you home.” He paused. “I’m partly jesting but mostly not.”

He pulled back so that he could see Kara’s face, but he kept one hand on her shoulder, the other behind her. “If you stay, stay with me.”

She touched his cheek. “Don’t you know I’ve wanted to stay since almost the beginning? I’d stay forever if you really wanted me to.”

Aragorn’s eyes closed at her touch. “I do. Elbereth help me, I do.” He kissed her forehead. “Forever.”

“I don’t deserve this.” Kara’s arms wrapped around his waist, and he held her wishing he never had to let go.

“On the contrary, you are a woman of courage, kindness, and self-sacrifice. What more could I ask?” He nuzzled his nose in her hair, loving the scent of her. “I love you, Kara.”

“You can’t say that!"

“Is it taboo in your culture? How misguided.” He took another deep breath, enjoying her embrace and restraining himself from wanting more. “What should I say?”

“No, we do say it… but not before—I don’t know, months of dating. Maybe years?”

“What nonsense, when I already know that I love you.”

“You just said my cultural norms don’t intimidate you.”

“I am not intimidated by that, I am disdainful. I love you, Kara, and I have loved you for quite a long time. Why do you think I did not let you go with Boromir? If you are captured again, as I saw you born off in Fangorn, I will be—distraught at best.”

“I--I love you, too. I couldn't help it."

Aragorn felt her tremble as she said it, almost in apology. Exactly what protocol of her society she was trespassing, he did not understand, but that she was sincere, he felt deep in his bones.

Though presently, he realized there was still something reserved and uncertain in her embrace. His arms were tight around her, and she rested her cheek on his chest.

“Then what is wrong?” he asked.

“It’s just… you’re going to be the king. That’s such a formal thing. Did I mention that my country doesn’t do kings? We have almost no traditions. I mean, we are super-casual. I’d probably be a huge liability to you—”

He kissed her hair. He was finding it hard to keep his lips off her, now that he had begun. “Yet I am unconcerned. Perhaps that is—as you say—a bridge we must cross when we come to it.”

“Some people see you as the king already.”

He sighed. “Yes, they do.”

“I don’t even know how this works. Do you even—I mean, in the movie you kissed Arwen before you were married. Do you just kiss a king when you want to, or—”

“Yes,” Aragorn stopped her, finally slipping a hand in her hair. It was softer than he expected. His fingers grazed the back of her head, gently tugging her head up. “You do.”

Aragorn kissed her lightly, once, twice, a third time--on her mouth this time.

Kara could feel his smile between kisses and she hardly knew how to stop. It was too good to be true, but she was too far in it to think further. For the moment, it was enough that he loved her and that he emphatically chose her.

Kara stretched up on her toes to follow his lips one more time. When she did, he gave way to the quietest, most muted groan she’d ever heard, as if he hadn’t even meant to let that much escape. He pressed her back into the pillar abruptly, tilting his head to kiss her more fully.

So they did do this in Middle Earth. Good to know.

Kara was lightheaded, adrift. Her hand came up to his neck and slid into his hair again.

Suddenly, Kara turned her face to the side.

“What is it?” Aragorn realized he’d pressed nearly his full weight against her, pushing her into the pillar. He forced himself back a few inches, resting his forehead on the wood beside her, breathing quickly. “Your arm—did I hurt you? I have been too eager—”

“No, I just realized that I saw this in Galadriel’s mirror! Well, not exactly—you haven’t just come from a battle, so maybe something has changed.”

“You saw this…? And still did not guess my feelings?”

“Hey. I thought it was more about my feelings. And I was afraid this particular scene was more of a… goodbye.”

He raised her hand and entwined his fingers with hers. “It is not a goodbye, oh most cautious of women.”

She stared at their hands. They were both rather brown from the sun and her hands were scratched and worn. His were callused, with short, clean nails. His fingers were much longer than hers.

“When you snatched a branch out of the fire and flung it at a wolf,” he said. “I knew I was in love. When you stitched up Boromir in Moria, I would’ve taken the cut to have your touch and your care. In Lorien—”

She interrupted, “In Lorien, you all but ordered me to go home if Galadriel could do it.”

He brushed his lips over her eyelids, and they fell shut. “In Lorien, I lay in that pavilion every night, with only several hobbit-lengths between us and I wished for—I wished for more. I feared you would be a distraction, a frustration I could not afford to fight.”

“I am a distraction though.”

“No, you are not. You are an inspiration. An encouragement. A grace I did not expect.” He smoothed his hands over her shoulders. “I will not make romantic speeches that are untrue. Even without you, I would do everything I could to save Middle Earth from the threat of Mordor. Even if I lost you today, I would fight for all I was worth, and Elbereth help me, I would win the day. But—” he kissed the corner of her mouth. “I will do it with greater joy and hope if you are here. You are not…a good luck charm or a reward of victory,” he concluded, “but you are everything that makes triumph worthwhile.”

He wondered if his honesty was too much, but Kara nodded. From everything he knew of her, she would appreciate truth and sincerity over empty declarations.

"Will you stay with me?" he asked, one more time.

"Yes," Kara breathed. "As long as you want."

In the interest of not embarrassing her, Aragorn guided them out the front door as others began to enter the hall. She still seemed somewhat dazed, and he was not entirely steady himself. They both collected themselves in the bracing wind.

When Theoden came back up from the stables with Legolas and Gimli, Aragorn greeted them. He kept one arm around Kara’s shoulders.

Theoden’s serious gray eyes noted this, as did Gimli’s twinkling ones and Legolas’s resigned ones.

Aragorn inclined his head. “Before we discuss other matters, congratulate me. Kara and I are betrothed.”

Kara gasped. “We’re what?”

Chapter 30

Chapter Text

When Aragorn declared them betrothed, Kara was shocked—because, heckin’ what—but she covered her first confusion. She really didn’t want to have this conversation with Theoden or Legolas.

“I mean,” she’d quickly recovered, “I—still don’t quite know the customs that you’re all used to. But—I appreciate your—good wishes.”

She hadn’t been this tongue-tied since her first year of clinicals.

This time it was she who took Aragorn to the side. They stood at the top of the stone stairs that led from the upper square to Thedoen’s Hall, but she pulled him as far to the right as they could go, on the other side of the standard that bore the green and gold flag of Rohan. The wind whipped the flag so that the white horse on it seemed to run. The wind also blew wisps of her hair out of her braid and she realized that Aragorn must have loosened it when he—when they were kissing.

The emotional fallout of making out with Aragorn—however briefly—still clouded her head. She firmly smoothed her hair back. There were others going in and out of the hall, so she whispered. “What do you mean we’re betrothed?”

His brow was furrowed, although the corner of his mouth was turned up with humor. “Have I run against another taboo? You never told me your customs were so complicated.”

“My culture is simple! It’s this—this craziness. You haven’t asked me to marry you. We didn’t talk about it at all.”

He really did look confused now, as the wind tugged at his hair. “Then what were we speaking of? Do you mean that you would stay but not marry? Or do you mean that it is not official because I cannot ask for your father or—family’s blessing? We consider it somewhat antiquated to ask for permission, for the elves consider their children their own masters, and among Rangers—”

“I want to hear all about Ranger courtship sometime, I really do, but at present I’m just talking about us. I guess I feel like there has to be an official question and answer to be—betrothed.”

He smiled and tucked another stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Is there a reason you can barely say the word?”

“It’s very—formal.”

“How is the question officially asked?”

“Usually—usually it’s simple, it’s just, ‘Will you marry me?” and he offers a ring. Sometimes he gets down on one knee, in some kind of romantic setting.”

He smiled. “And you say you have no traditions.”

“Shut up. I guess we do. The main point is that you ask me, before you make assumptions.”

“Elves and rangers also exchange rings,” he said. “I understand your hesitation. I wish I had a ring to give you at present.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. My point is we don’t have to rush—”

“Still—”

Suddenly, Kara laughed. She clapped a hand over her mouth and subsided to gasping. “Galadriel, you sneaky, manipulative—”

“What?”

Kara had begun wearing the removable pockets that ladies in Rohan all wore, it was basically a pouch on a string. She reached into it and fetched out the ring that Galadriel had given her when they left Lothlorien. The one they’d used to trick Sauron. “She said I’d know when the time was right, and I thought she meant with Saruman. I still think that, but now I think—from the context of the conversation—she might have meant this, too.”

Kara didn’t mean for Aragorn to propose with it. She was still thinking through Galadriel’s hints and trying not to be distracted by Aragorn’s lips—which she now knew were perfect and hungry—

But he plucked it from her fingers and sank to one knee on the flagstones. “Is this right?”

Kara’s tongue deserted her. Aragorn was kneeling. Kneeling in front of her. The light played across his tousled dark hair and blue eyes. The journey had at times been grim, and he had often been the dourest version of himself with her. This look of freedom and playfulness was new.

By kneeling, he’d blocked half the stairs. Several paused to see what was happening. One of Theoden’s men was coming out of the hall , and he stopped in the doorway.

“Kara, will you do me the honor of marrying me?” Aragorn held up the gold ring.

The sunlight made it gleam. Kara realized the sudden silence in the square wasn’t just in her head. The bustling below had stopped. Perhaps the Rohirrim also knelt to propose.

“I—I mean—” She wasn’t going to say no. She loved Aragorn and everything about him. It was just so darn fast. Wasn’t he the one engaged to Arwen for like—decades? Except this Aragorn had not been engaged to anyone.

A small smile played on his mouth, though a hint of concern began to color his eyes. He began to rise. “Don’t worry. I’ve been precipitate—”

Kara pushed his shoulder to keep him down. She’d give anything to put the joyful, playful look back in his eyes. And she wanted this, didn’t she? She was just scared.

“Yes, I’ll marry you,” Kara said. “I can’t believe—you’re serious. But if you are, then yes. A thousand times, yes.”

Aragorn slid the ring onto her finger. He put it on the pointer finger of her right hand, before she thought to indicate which finger it should go on, but she figured they could talk about ring fingers later.

He stood and held her loosely. “Would a kiss be inappropriate to your custom?”

“No. It would be perfect.”

He bent down to kiss her, and Kara distantly recognized that the crowd in the square was cheering, with whistles and laughter. Aragorn didn’t get carried away, but his kiss promised everything—his love, his determination, his intensity, and a slight edge of possessiveness.

Theoden must have heard the commotion. When Aragorn took a deep breath and moved to kiss her forehead and draw back, Theoden was there beside them.

Aragorn drew her forward, as if by plan, and Theoden put a hand on each of their shoulders and spoke loudly so the crowd could hear. “Aragorn, son of Arathorn, called Estel by the elves, and Thorongil of old, in the place of your foster-father, Lord Elrond, I take leave to bless your oath. May you have loyalty for a lifetime, friends in time of need, and better and brighter days in the future.”

Aragorn dipped his head and Theoden kissed his forehead and then hers.

Kara felt unexpected tears. After her grandmother died, she didn’t have family. This was never the way she would’ve pictured it, but Theoden’s fatherly gesture touched her.

The crowd cheered again. Theoden spoke lowly for Aragorn. “I see you have made it right. It is an education to love a strong woman, even for a king. Perhaps especially for a king.” He smiled slightly, remembering his wife.

And to Kara he said, “I do not know you well, but I see your steadfast care for your friends. I see the small light you returned to my niece Eowyn. I see the strength you offer Aragorn. If in future days you have need of a man and a father, I stand at your call.”

Kara wiped her streaming eyes, completely taken by surprise. “Th-thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“Hmph!” Gimli had appeared at Theoden’s side. His eyes were not precisely dry. “If it’s a question of giving her away, I like to think I have a claim.”

Legolas stood a little farther off. “You may have to fight Merry and Pippin for the honor.”

Theoden embraced Aragorn and then her. “You have stout supporters aplenty, but my pledge remains. I think tonight, a feast!”

As Boromir ate another late meal on the road south, he found himself proud that the baby was soothed by him on the journey, that she quieted for him better than anyone else. It had to be the strangest thing he had ever taken pride in.

His heritage, his country, his men, his strength at arms or his courage in battle, certainly.

But that an infant he could hold against his chest with one hand would snuggle against his shoulder and find comfort—it was the purest interplay of trust and protection that he had ever felt.

When he sat night watch during the midnight hour, he held Rosie as he watched the fields and trees for any sign of orc. She had just eaten, but she would not settle, so he had taken her from Andrea.

He suspected Andrea was still awake, for he felt eyes on him. She often watched while he held the baby, which he did not begrudge. Her daughter was her one treasure in Middle Earth; it was hard to take one’s eyes off their treasure.

Usually Andrea was so tired, she fell asleep quickly, but this time, he heard her stir several times and finally sit up. She wrapped her skirt around her knees and leaned her chin on them, looking at him. The moon illuminated her a little, but mostly he could make out the whites of her eyes, her pale linen dress, and the half-moons of her nails as she gripped her hands together. Her skin was so dark and smooth, it all but disappeared in the darkness.

“Too uncomfortable for sleep?” Boromir spoke softly.

She shrugged. “Partly. Also, it is spring, tax season. Every year I would take on extra work to help my income. We’d work from midnight to 6am, four days a week… “

“An arduous schedule.”

She shrugged again. “You get used to it. What bugs me is that everything I spent years learning is useless here. The only thing I’m good at isn’t even part of this world.”

“There will always be work for those with a talent for organization and order.” He wasn’t quite sure why he told her. She wanted to go home, and that would probably be best for her. Ugh, he was starting to sound like Aragorn. He blinked as he realized the implications of that.

Andrea’s thoughts must have been going the same way. “If Kara stays here with Aragorn… that doesn’t change anything for me, does it? I’ll go back. And I can never tell anyone what happened or they’ll think I’m nuts.” She huffed. “I probably lost my job already.”

“If Kara does remain, I’m sure she would welcome you to stay in Minas Tirith. As a fellow countrywoman, you could have a place with her.”

Andrea wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to be a tag-along. And—no offense—but Minas Tirith doesn’t seem like the most diverse place. I don’t want to stick out for the rest of my life.”

“You look different than us, certainly, but you are of the race of men. You are not an orc or a goblin, or even an elf or a dwarf, who are truly strange to us.”

“Huh. I guess that does help.” She twisted her mouth. “Do you have slaves?”

“No, certainly not!” He quieted his voice as Rosie whimpered, and he patted her on the back rhythmically. “Was that not in the histories? There are families of nobility and those who are not; there are tradesmen who compose a class of the guilds and their members; there are farmers and herders—but they are freeholders or else employed by the steward to provide food for the city.”

“Ah. That helps.”

“I will not say you will not be strange in Minas Tirith, for you will. The people native to this region are generally fair with dark hair, as the people in Rohan are often fair with blonde hair. In the region of Harad, the people are swarthy and dark as you are.” He smiled. “You could pass as a princess of Harad with ease.”

“And are they on your side in this war?”

He hesitated. “They are not.”

Her lip curled, showing a brief glimpse of her white teeth. “Figures. It’s okay, it’s not your fault. I just want to know what I’m walking into.”

“Please trust that I will not allow anyone to treat you with disrespect.”

Andrea almost laughed. As if he could prevent human nature, which was so prone to bias. But he meant well, and she was too tired to argue. “Sure, thanks.” She grinned suddenly. “In fact, you’ll come back to your city with Eowyn and me in your train, and Rosie… They’ll think you’re setting up a harem.”

Boromir almost never lost his composure, but he spluttered a little. “No, I assure you, none will think—and it has not been six months since I left—” Then he saw her grin and huffed. “You’re roasting me! While I act as nursemaid, no less. Very unwise.”

“Eh, you love holding Rosie, you can’t fool me.”

He smirked and ducked his face to kiss Rosie’s head. His sandy hair swung done, almost hiding his face. “Perhaps I do, but still. I may be very sensitive to unkindness for aught you know.”

Andrea couldn’t help snorting. “Right. I’m sure your soldiers would describe you the same way.”

“Mayhap my sensitivity is new-found.” He shook his hair back and scanned their surroundings. Even while he bantered with her, he was on guard, always watching for danger.

Andrea couldn’t help staring. Damn, he was fine. Legolas was too ageless and pretty, Gimli was hairy and tough, Aragorn was too noble and serious.

Boromir, on the other hand, was… just right.

Darn it, she was starting to sound like Goldilocks and the three bears.

He was rough, but handsome; weighed by circ*mstance, but with a casual friendliness; noble, but with an occasional wicked sense of humor. He still wasn’t her type, but… she’d started to enjoy his smile and his gray eyes.

This whole trip must be skewing her mindset. She could also blame hormones. Or maybe it was more like Stockholm syndrome—or no, that would’ve meant she fell for Saruman, and—yuck.

He turned back to her after making sure the night was still safe. “Not that it won’t be interesting when we reach Minas Tirith. Returning with two beautiful women will not be expected of me,” he smiled wryly. “I am known for being wedded to the defense of Gondor, to battle and to glory.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

His rugged grin had a hint of mischief. “They don’t precisely keep one warm at night, but I don’t repine.”

She laughed, though her heartbeat kicked up a notch. “Kara told me you’re a terrible flirt.”

He widened his eyes innocently in the moonlight. “She said the same to me. It is most unfair to tell someone they are terrible at something without explaining.”

“Flirting is just—compliments and teasing and making someone feel…”

Now he was grinning again, and she glared at him. “Jerk. You know what it is.”

“No, please, explain. How do I make you feel?”

“Oh, piss off. I’m not feeding your ego.”

He laughed and his eyes crinkled. “I have perhaps surmised what Kara meant. The elves are very regal in their affection, and dwarves rarely introduce their women to others, but there is a warmth and daring with men and women that is different. With some men, I should say, for Aragorn is too elf-like for his own good. I assume that is what Kara spoke of.”

“Aragorn is certainly less of a pain than you. Speaking of warmth, I’m going back to sleep.” Andrea lay down again on her bedroll, wrapping the blanket around her.

“If you get cold—”

Andrea rolled away to put her back to him.

“I’m here.”

Minas Tirith, or the White City, was breathtaking even across the quilt work of fields they still had to cross.

Andrea was somehow picturing a prop or a set, like a saloon town with a bunch of fake store fronts. But it was a large city, even from this distance, and the mountain was even more impressive.

“Mount Mindolluin,” Boromir said gravely.

The mountain was like one of the Swiss Alps transplanted to a green plain. If she’d seen it online, she’d assume it was an AI splice of two majestic landscapes. A gigantic white spar cut through the city, and the sheer verticality of the cliffs was boggling. It could rival Half Dome in Yosemite, Andrea thought, or Pikes Peak in Colorado.

They were still far from the city, however. They were approaching a long, somewhat battered stone wall that must’ve encircled fifty or sixty square miles of fields in front of the mountain.

“What is this?” Andrea said. “I don’t remember it.”

Boromir raised his brows. “All the strange things that were remembered and yet the wall of Rammas Echor was forgotten? It was built in the time of Denethor I, after Minus Ithil was overrun and became Minas Morgul. It protects the fields, the animals, and the farmers; it is the outer defense of the city.”

“Huh. I remember the Battle of Pelennor Fields, but I guess I forgot this part.”

“Pellenor means enclosed,” Boromir explained. He looked grim. “And the fact that the battle took place within them means the wall fell sometime between Helm’s Deep and Faramir’s return...”

The sky was dark this morning when they set out. The heavy clouds in the east obscured the sunrise so that it was still dark when they left. Now it was past midday and finally the sun had passed far enough away from the dark clouds in the east that they had a misty sort of sunlight.

The gate in the wall was guarded by a unit of exhausted soldiers. There was a brief conversation wherein Boromir identified himself, which led to a series of shouts and exclamations. The gate was opened at once, a creaking, slow affair, for a gate that had to be ten feet tall.

Several soldiers flooded out at once to clap Boromir on the shoulder.

“We had heard nothing—we feared the worst!” one of them said. He seemed to be in charge.

“The tale is dire enough, but I am returned. I have news of Saruman’s defeat and the coming invasion. I must get to my father at once. But—” He clutched the man’s shoulder. “Tell me Faramir still lives.”

“Yes, as of three days past. He fought in Osgiliath, but it—it has gone ill there. He made them pay tenfold for every orc that crossed the river, and yet still our numbers were too few.” He shuddered. “He retreated to the Causeway Forts. For the last two days we have heard the shriek of the Nazgul and their fell beasts. I do not know how much longer he can hold the Forts.”

“Nor I; in fact, I would have them move within the city to fortify our position. I must make with all haste to my father.”

Another hour or two passed as they trundled past fields and farms. It was eerily quiet. Every cottage was dark; the sheds had been emptied of animals. One wooden door swung on its hinges as they passed by, moved by a fitful dark wind.

“All resources of the Pelennor have been evacuated into the city,” Boromir explained. “We leave nothing for the enemy if it can be moved.”

They were within a mile of the city when Andrea heard the first shriek of the Nazgul. She hadn’t heard it before, and it was worse than she expected. Rosie began to cry as if she had been poked with a pin. The horses pulling the wagon reared and began to foam at the mouth, jerking at the traces as if they wanted to bolt.

It came again, nearer, and Andrea saw a large shape arc across the sky between them and the city. It was scaly but also tufty, like a pterodactyl had mated with a vulture and had the most disgusting offspring ever.

It wheeled back overhead, and two more joined it, then another. They circled overhead, their shadows moved like sharks across the grass of the fields.

Andrea had never felt so much like prey, or soon-to-be-carrion.

Several archers from the distant walls aimed at them, but they were too far away.

One of the Nazgul suddenly dived toward Andrea. She had no warning except the sudden growing shadow on the field that converged on her wagon.

The driver shouted and the horses plunged and screamed wildly.

Andrea ducked over Rosie, blocking her with her body as best she could, gasping for air. She braced, expecting at any moment to feel talons sunk in the flesh of her back.

Despite her panic and the noise of yelling soldiers, shrieking Nazgûl, terrified horses, and Gandalf yelling some kind of imprecation… Andrea heard another voice, softer and more sibilant. “Is the ring here? Give it to usss.”

A disgusting rush of foul air rushed at her. Throwing caution to the wind, she threw herself flat in the wagon bed, cradling Rosie protectively underneath her.

The snap of talons barely missed her cloak. The shadow swept back up.

Andrea raised her head. The wagon was completely stopped. One of the horses had managed to break a line, and somehow get tangled in the traces.

Eowyn was riding alongside. She threw a leg over her horse’s saddle and leaped into the wagon. “Here, put this on.” She helped Andrea to tie the cloth around herself and Rosie, securing the baby snugly. “We must move quickly.”

The driver was attempting to calm the horses, but it was not going well.

Eowyn somehow re-mounted her own horse in some kind of gymnastic twirl. “Get on my horse, join me,” she told Andrea.

That was a great idea, but Andrea couldn’t do it. The horse’s shoulder was as high as her head. Maybe if she didn’t have Roaie strapped to her… but she did. “I can run for it.”

Boromir was suddenly there, running across the short gap in the field. His hands were on her waist and she was tossed up behind Eowyn, who had shifted forward and stood in her stirrups, giving most of the saddle space to Andrea and the baby.

The Nazgûl shrieked again, and Rosie’s cries became frenzied, making incandescent explosions in Andrea’s brain.

“Go!” shouted Boromir.

Andrea wrapped her arms around Eowyn as best she could, and the horse sprang forward. It was awkward and frightening, but Eowyn somehow knew exactly how much Andrea could handle.

Andrea couldn’t help looking back. Gandalf was doing something with his staff, holding off several Nazgûl. Boromir was back on his horse in a moment, with his sword drawn. One of the Nazgûl fell towards him with a scream. He met it with his sword, and the beast side-swept at the last moment to avoid the blade.

From further away on the green plain, more soldiers were racing toward them. Their horses were arranged like an arrow, and they galloped flat out towards the fight.

But… Boromir and Gandalf made no forward progress.

“They aren’t following us!” Andrea shouted to Eowyn. “We can’t leave them.”

“They strive to give us time!” Eowyn said. “When we reach the city they will come.”

So Andrea tucked her head and committed herself to the rather insane job of holding on for all she was worth.

Boromir had all but levitated off his horse when he saw the Nazgûl fall on the wagon. Only Andrea’s sudden dive into the flatbed of the wagon had kept her from being pierced or even taken.

Now he and Gandalf and the others stood their ground. Boromir kept his eyes on the sky. There were four Nazgûl in this attack. Gandalf held off three. The fourth had dived for him. As long as it did not follow after the women…

Boromir brandished his sword again. “Come for me, servant of Morgoth! Come to your death.”

The fell rider again swooped at him. Boromir waited…waited, and his sword crunched on the outstretched talons of the beast. It screamed and tumbled to the field. Boromir turned his horse to face it, for the thing was barely injured, which made it, if possible, more dangerous.

In his peripheral vision, he saw arrows rise toward the other Nazgul, causing them to shy away higher. Good. Some of the soldiers from the wall must have reached them.

His horse, an excellent beast of Rohan, hardly needed direction. It rammed for the beast and barely needed the pressure of Boromir’s knee to slide to the left, allowing Boromir to rake his sword across the monster.

Unfortunately, he only got in a small slice before the blade of the Nazgul turned his sword aside. Indeed the block was so strong it almost sent the sword tumbling from his hand, but Boromir was too experienced a warrior to lose his weapon in that way. He allowed the horse’s momentum to carry him beyond the rider while he steadied his grip.

A quick glance to the west showed him that Andrea and Eowyn had made it to the city gates. A force of soldiers came toward them from that direction as well.

Despite this slight advantage in their forces, Boromir was still surprised when the downed Nazgul leapt into the air. It and the other three wheeled away into the sky and disappeared back toward the east.

Gandalf lowered his staff, looking weary and old. “I heard their witch king in my mind. They determined we do not have the ring.”

“But why would they think so at all?” Boromir demanded. He resheathed his sword, shaking out his stinging hand.

“It must be Kara and Aragorn’s gambit, perhaps gone slightly awry. I dare say no more here.”

The soldiers of Gondor both those from the outer wall and the city were now converging on their location.

Boromir wiped sweat out of his eyes. A mellow, exasperated voice from behind made him turn his horse about face. Faramir!

“Did I hear my brother challenge a Nazgul to come at him?” Faramir was soot-streaked, splashed with muck and old blood, and exhausted… but he grinned. “You’ve been gone for months. No news. Rumors of your death. And now I find you riding across the Pelennor challenging the enemy to single combat.” He rode forward until he and Boromir could clasp arms from the backs of their horses.

“Where have you been?” Faramir asked, holding tight to his forearm.

“I’ve strayed into many strange places,” Boromir said.

Faramir studied him with eyes that saw much. “And you are… changed.”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” To Boromir’s shock, he felt tears prick his eyes, as he thought about how close he had come to taking the ring, and how close he had come to losing his life at the Battle of the Gap. Then he had feared that he would be too late for Faramir. He had held such a tenuous thread of hope that this moment would ever happen.

Faramir must’ve seen some of it. He nodded slowly. “I must hear of it all, but not now. We have had to retreat from the Causeway Fords. It was—very terrible, but I could not leave my men there to die, no matter what Father—well, we shall see. We must regroup within the city. Did I see some of your party ride on?”

“Yes.” Boromir had control again. “Yes, in fact, there is a lady I most wish to introduce to you.”

“A lady? Indeed.”

“A lady of Rohan, who just took another of our party to safety. She can ride like the wind…”

When they reached the gates, Boromir swung off his horse. He narrowly avoided a groan at his taxed shoulder.

“You’re wounded!” Faramir said.

“It’s old now, on its way to healing.”

“Not so old,” Eowyn broke in. “And you know Kara would have you wrap it again after that strain.”

Faramir dismounted as well, and despite his filth from days of battle at Osgiliath, he bowed as if they were in a great hall. “I am honored to make your acquaintance. Faramir, son of Denethor, at your service.”

Eowyn inclined her head, as a princess to a prince of a foreign land. “The honor is mine. And I hate to beg favors all at once, but our companion is exhausted and I must get her to a quiet place as soon as may be.”

Faramir became aware that a baby was crying nearby, in the midst of the hubbub of soldiers streaming in the gate.

Eowyn held out her hand, and another woman joined her. She was very dark of skin, with long rope-like hair, and wide, bright eyes. She was still shaky from her flight across the Pelennor, poor woman, and the crying infant was with her. She was extracting the babe from the cloth that had bound her up. “You must be Faramir. I’m Andrea—sorry—ouch, just sec.” The baby was angry and inconsolable, and her wiggling limbs were tangling in the cloth and the lady’s hair.

“Here,” Boromir said. “Give her to me.”

Faramir watched in blankest astonishment as his brother gently untangled the baby’s clutching hands and cuddled her expertly against his shoulder. One of his hands spanned the babe’s entire back as he patted her.

Her cries turned to whimpers.

“It’ll do until you can feed her,” he told the other woman.

Faramir was not the only man of Gondor whose mouth hung slack at the sight.

Boromir grunted. “You’ll all catch flies! Have you never seen an infant? Come, let us take the women up to the houses of healing, and then to our father.”

Chapter 31

Chapter Text

Minas Tirith was a lot more formal than Rohan, Andrea found. It was also more grim. Her heart was still pounding from escaping from the Nazgul, and if they’d been living with that kind of threat for several years—well, no wonder they were all a little stern and serious.

Boromir’s return was obviously a big deal though. It was like the president’s son returning unexpectedly when he’d been thought to be MIA or something.

Only the president’s men wore silver helmets and blue-gray tunics and swords. People came out of their stone houses to watch, but there were barely a few half-hearted cheers, even for Boromir. They seemed too weary to do anything but watch.

Gandalf looked around with concern. “There is a dark and grim air on the city—a hopelessness that bodes ill.”

Merry and Pippin now rode in the wagon with her, and she wasn’t sure if it was more for her moral support or theirs. They’d hidden under the wagon during the attack, and she hadn’t even realized. Andrea felt pretty bad about that, but they told her not to worry about it. “You had to get Rose out of danger,” Merry said. “We could crawl under the wagon and hide very well, but you couldn’t.”

Pippin was looking around at the closed off, depressed faces around them and the buildings of white stone. Maybe on a sunny day it would be beautiful, but with the dark clouds coming from the east and the sad air, it felt like bleached bone. Pippin gulped. “We are very far from the Shire now, Merry. I’m glad we’re here together.”

In the wagon, the three of them were mostly blocked from the populace’s sight by the soldiers around them.

Eowyn was on her impressive white-blonde horse from Edoras, and so she sat head and shoulders above the soldiers. She attracted as much notice as Gandalf and Boromir. Andrea heard people speak of the horse lords and the cold lady, but it was impossible to tell if it bothered Eowyn. She sat with her usual perfect posture on her horse and looked calmly straight ahead at Boromir, Faramir, and Gandalf.

It was impressive, Andrea had to admit. Eowyn suddenly looked regal and stern, even though less than 24 hours ago, she’d been making a grass bed for Andrea, laughing with Merry and Pippin, and rinsing Rosie’s cloth diapers in the stream.

They reached the upper levels of the city eventually, and Boromir took them to the “healing halls.”

Boromir felt a little uneasy leaving Andrea and Eowyn abruptly with his old nurse, but he could not delay seeing his father.

Faramir accompanied him to the throne room. Their father was seated in the traditional steward’s chair at the base of the empty throne. Another soldier was before them with the news of Boromir’s return. He saluted with a hand on his breastplate and a bowed head as he retreated.

Denethor was generally not demonstrative, but he rose to embrace Boromir. His hands, though still strong, were shaking as he clasped them around his son. “I thought you to be lost to us—your coming is a light in the midst of the storm.”

Boromir clasped his father tightly. No matter what Kara or Andrea said of Denethor’s future madness—Boromir could not quite believe it. His father was harsh and unfair at times, but he loved his sons. He loved Gondor. Besides, Kara had believed that Boromir would break his oath and attack Frodo for the ring. Boromir had managed to resist; though a cold sweat had stood out on his forehead when he heard Sam and Frodo slip away. He’d heard the ring one last time, promising him anything and everything…. But the hope Kara offered had helped him resist.

Surely, with the hope he could offer his father, Denethor could resist his own temptations.

His father stepped back and clapped his shoulder one last time. “It is good to see you, my son. Very good.”

Boromir’s heart was lifted, but then he saw how his father turned back to his seat without even acknowledging Faramir. Faramir, to be fair, had not been gone for months, but he had been some weeks in Osgiliath fighting the fierce vanguard of the enemy.

Faramir saw Boromir’s troubled countenance and shook his head.

Denethor clapped his hands. “Guards, out! I must speak to my son alone.”

They filed out the doors and there was a ringing silence when the doors were slammed shut again.

Denethor leaned against his chair. “Tell me everything. Do you have it? Do you have the ring?”

“No.”

Denethor sank down into his chair. “But it was found?”

“Yes, sir. I went to Rivendell as we planned, and indeed, the one ring was there. Over the last months, I assisted another in bringing the ring south. The ringbearer—has taken an oath to destroy it if he can.”

Denethor’s sharp black eyes searched him. “You knew what it would mean for Gondor.”

“I did.”

“Yet you gave it away.”

“I became convinced that to do so was Gondor’s best hope. There is a woman—a seer of sorts—who has proven to me that she knows much of the future. There is hope in our current path, Father. If we are true to our cause and fight boldly—we can hold off Sauron’s forces until the ring is destroyed.”

His face gave nothing away. “And who is the ring bearer?”

“A halfling.”

“Not a ranger? A man of dark hair and eyes—a man traveling with your fellowship?”

“You speak of Aragorn. I do have such a companion, but he is not the ringbearer.”

Denethor waited.

Boromir did not want to play this game. “It was Aragorn’s will to destroy the ring, not to keep it. However, he does have command of the palantir from Orthanc, from the hands of the wizard Saruman himself. Aragorn tells me you have one also.”

Faramir, who had stood very quietly until this moment, gave a muffled exclamation of surprise.

“I have.” Denethor’s eyes didn’t leave Boromir. “And a few days past, I saw a man in it—a man bearing a very particular sword. The same day, Sauron grew incandescent with rage. In his wrath and frustration, he was unguarded. He believes that this ranger, this Aragorn, possesses the ring.”

He stood. “Now tell me, my son, pride of my heart, have you truly been swayed against me? Have you brought this man who claims to be king to our doorstep? You will follow Aragorn’s wishes, rather than your father? If so, tell me now that I may know the extent of your treachery.”

“Father,” Faramir broke in, “Boromir has never betrayed Gondor or you—if he was convinced that the ring would bring our doom—”

“Be silent!” Denethor hissed. “If I want a proxy puppet for Gandalf the Gray, I will ask for your opinion. Let your brother speak for himself.”

Boromir clasped his hands behind his back, as a soldier standing at attention. “You have my sword and my heart, as ever, Father. However, I—believe in Aragorn’s claim. It is proven many times over. He is the heir of Isildur. He can wield Anduril, smithed from the shards of Narsil. He has the hands of a healer, as the prophecy says. He is also… a good man, a valiant warrior, and a loyal friend. He will be king in Gondor.”

There was silence in the lofty room.

“King,” Denethor repeated.

“I also was skeptical, I assure you. I all but spit in his face when we were first acquainted. But I am certain now that he is the future of Gondor—and that does not have to mean the end of the stewards! But is this not what we’ve striven for, all these generations? We have the chance to fulfill what many have long desired to see. We have the chance to usher in a new golden age of Gondor.”

Denethor stared at him. “A golden age? Perhaps it is not treachery but madness that has overtaken you.” He pointed sharp nails toward the eastern windows. “We are on the brink of doom! Sauron’s fires are unquenchable, his forces unnumbered. This unproven ranger is a distraction at best, a calamity at worst! If I wanted a pack of prophetic drivel, I would have sent Faramir to Rivendell!”

His rage brought him out of the chair. He paced with fury.

“It is a shock, I grant you. Take time for reflection; Aragorn is not yet here. He has assured me he will not enter the city without invitation. He is not coming to conquer us, but to save us.”

“To save us?” Denethor sneered. “With what resources? With what army?”

“As a matter of fact, we should prepare our troops for a shock. He takes the Paths of the Dead.” Boromir grimaced. “If we can hold until he comes, he will bring an army of the dead.”

#

Kara stared at the crack in the cliff faces. It led to a pitch dark tunnel into the White Mountains, and they were going to take that path as soon as it was morning.

There were Stonehenge-type stones in a double row that created a kind of creepy path up to the “door” of the dead. They had runes carved in them and were altogether creepy. But they had nothing on the feeling of fear and dread that emanated from the tunnel into the mountains.

“Ghosts aren’t real,” Kara chanted to herself, watching a stray twirl of mist snake its way into the path and disappear around the corner. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

Gimli came up next to her. “What do you mean, lass? Of course, they’re real!”

Legolas strode up next to him. “It is so; otherwise this would be a waste, would it not?”

“No, I know but like—they’re not really ghosts. These people are trapped as spirits because they broke their oath or something, right? That’s not quite the same thing.”

“That is precisely what a ghost is—”

She raised a hand to stop him. “Please don’t. I’ve lived really happily for 33 years not believing in ghosts, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Gimli snorted. “What a silly thing, not believing in ghosts. Nazgul are all in your head, are they? I suppose barrow-wights are just a nasty daydream?”

Kara crossed her arms over her chest. “I never said I was entirely consistent, okay? Somehow the idea of regular ghosts creeps me out more than spirit-beings or whatever those other things are.”

Aragorn approached from the other side. “We are ready, and the sun rises.”

“She doesn’t believe in ghosts!” Gimli said.

“They fight with fear,” Legolas told her, “But you do not need to be afraid. The ghosts of men can do little—” he broke off.

“Little to elves, you mean,” Gimli finished for him. “The rest of us are a wee bit more vulnerable.”

Aragorn drew Kara away from the crack and away from the standing stones. “Let us not discuss it in the midst of the rocks. They increase every trepidation.”

The others followed. Kara did feel better as they left the gothic Stonehenge situation behind. Their large encampment was nearby. That was another thing that had surprised her. In addition to Theoden and Eomer gathering a whole bunch of soldiers, forty-some rangers had also come. They were led by Aragorn’s friend Halbarad, and also Elrond’s twin sons. The all wore gray cloaks and silver stars, and she vaguely remembered something about the Gray Company from the books, but it had been too long.

Apparently they were all set to accompany Aragorn through the Paths of the Dead. If she was going to fall apart, she really didn’t want to do it in front of forty somber rangers.

She took a deep breath of the cool air in the woods. “Maybe I shouldn’t go with you. I could stay with Theoden.”

Aragorn nodded slowly. “If you wish to do so, I agree. I can’t deny a desire—an instinct—to have you with us, but the Paths of the Dead are onerous. None should walk them but by choice.” He touched her hand, where the ring now rested on the fourth finger of her left hand. “I believe that the duty the ghosts owe to the heir of Isildur will flow to you as my betrothed, even more than to my companions. However, there is no shame in avoiding that ominous chasm. Many brave men cannot even approach it.”

“That is true,” Legolas concurred. “I doubt a woman has ever considered treading that path.”

Kara knew he didn’t mean it as a challenge, but she couldn’t help taking it that way, a little. And Aragorn was sure she would be fine as his betrothed—her brain still locked up at the word just as much as her mouth did—so it was partly a question of whether she trusted him.

That sent her brain down an important but distracting path that she trod about every ninety seconds: she was engaged. To Aragorn. That was gonna take more than a hot minute to wrap her mind around. Ever since the feast that night when he proposed, there had been so much to do, there was hardly any time for her to grapple with the idea.

Kara took a deep breath. “I can do it. I trust your judgement.”

Aragorn smiled, just a brief tightening of his lips. “Thank you.”

Soon they were all mounted. Kara had her own horse for now, which was kind of a new thing. The women of Rohan were horrified that she didn’t know how to ride, so that had been part of her training the last busy few days. It had actually gone super well, but she suspected that was because the horses of Rohan were so well-bred and well-trained as to be almost sentient. If her horse suddenly talked to her like Bree to Shasta, she wouldn’t be that surprised.

Aragorn rode first, she came next, then Gimli and Legolas and the rest of the Gray Company. They were all tall men, some big and wide, some lean and wiry. Elrond’s sons had black hair and pale skin and somehow struck her as more intimidating than Legolas. Probably that was just because she was used to Legolas. They had been scrupulously polite to her—the whole Gray Company was. She couldn’t help wondering what they really thought of Aragorn’s sudden engagement to her.

The horses made it through the stones, but they were uneasy. At the mouth of the tunnel itself, Aragorn’s horse threw up its head. It shied a few steps to the side.

Kara could feel her own horse twitching. He turned his head to look back at her, and his expression was clear. Kara imagined it was something like, “Dude, I’ve had a good attitude about this whole thing, but seriously? Let’s not be stupid.”

Kara was pretty sure the horses wouldn’t go in the Paths to the Dead. Hadn’t they been on foot? She’d told them so, but Aragorn had wanted to try it. “It will take us far longer to reach Pelargir once we leave the mountains. I cannot imagine we did it on foot.”

Aragorn smoothed his hands over his horse’s neck. “Courage, Brego, courage.”

Legolas began to hum and then to sing a strange elvish song. The words of elvish were so strange to her, she could not even make out syllables, but the voice of the elf calmed the horses somewhat. Elladan and Elrohir joined in after a moment, and the song became a sort of melodic elven chant as they entered the tunnel.

It was absolutely terrifying, but also—now that she was in it—not as bad as she’d feared. Aragorn looked back at her after a few moments. Somehow they’d left the dawn behind, and it was almost pitch black as the horses picked their way forward over weedy rocks. There were whispers all around them, and Kara wished she could clap her hands over her ears or else holler, “Speak up already!”

The path was wide enough to go two abreast, so he fell back to ride next to her. “Are you well, Kara?”

“Sure; it’s not as bad as I thought.”

He raised his eyes. “You are very brave.”

“Thanks, but, I mean it’s not quite as bad as looking into the palantir at Sauron, so that’s a point in its favor right away. And instead of having Saruman at my back, I’ve got you and a bunch of rangers and elves. So… taking it as a package, I give it a solid two stars. Like I wouldn’t recommend the Paths of the Dead to my friends, but I wouldn’t flame it with a one-star review either.” She took a breath. “Sorry, I’m anxiety-babbling. The Gray Company are going to think I’m an idiot.”

He reached across to squeeze her hand. “I don’t know why stars are involved at all, but you are, as always, a ray of light in a dark place.”

Yeah, he just says this kind of thing now, throwing out these beautiful compliments as if it doesn’t render her a speechless mess.

They came across a skeleton next, which did dampen the mood a bit.

Aragorn wondered if Kara realized that her mere presence on the Paths of the Dead impressed the rangers significantly. Halbarad had tasked him with it the previous night. “She’ll travel with the Rohirrim, surely?”

“I will give her the option, but I believe she will accompany us.”

He raised a brow. “She has the heart of a Dunedain, then… But not the look of it?”

“Because she is not. She is from… elsewhere.”

“If it’s Harad, just say so. You can trust us; it is not like you to circumlocute.”

“Harad would be simple compared to the truth.”

Halbarad wiped the extra oil from his bow. “I’ll anticipate learning more of your lady in time, then.”

Aragorn felt the spirits grow around them as they wound toward the center of the Paths. The tunnel widened out to a canyon, a crack in the Dwimorberg itself.

“There are dead following,” Legolas said. “I see shapes of men and horses and see pale banners like whisps of fog.”

“The come to the Stone of Erech,” Aragorn said. “Hear me, men of the White Mountains, oathbreakers! The heir of Isildur calls you to the Stone of Erech!”

The canyon widened out the valley of Harrowdale, which was one of the only flat places within the White Mountains until you reached the far side. And in the center of the valley was a stone, and on the stone were runes, and on the runes was a prophecy. He knew from Kara that this venture should succeed, but it did not change that the dead of Dunharrow were a dangerous and ill-fated lot.

But Aragorn felt more settled and more at peace now that he knew Kara wasn’t biding her time to return to her world. Occasionally he felt a qualm at what she was giving up. There was an entire world and future that he could not imagine, and therefore losses that he also did not understand…but she had made her choice, and he would not treat her as a child who did not know her own mind.

No, Kara did the things she said she would, and the knowledge of her love was a flame in his soul that wavered at no external gale.

As Aragorn led the Grey Company and the army of the dead, he was unutterably thankful for that personal peace, even if all else was to be death and chaos.

The presence of the ghosts became more palpable as they went on; a taste of iron on the tongue, the sound of a cold blade being drawn, the glimmer of bone-white faces, and a forest of insubstantial spears.

When they reached the Stone of Erech, which stood twice as high as Aragorn, he drew his sword. Kara was off to one side with Legolas and Gimli. The Grey Company formed a triple row behind him.

“There was a prophecy,” Aragorn called. “Over the land there lies a long shadow, westward-reaching wings of darkness. The Dead awaken; for the hour is come for the Oathbreakers: at theStone of Erech, they shall stand again and hear there a horn in the hills ringing. Whose shall the horn be? Who shall call them from the grey twilight, the forgotten people? The heir of him to whom the oath they swore. From the North shall he come, need shall drive him: he shall pass the Door to the Paths of the Dead.” He placed the point of Anduril against the stone. “Today this is come to pass. Fulfill your oath and be free! If you fight for me, I will hold your oath fulfilled.”

Kara watched with bated breath. In the movie, the ghosts—er, spirits— hadn’t agreed right away, but in the book, they seemed to accept Aragorn’s claim without question.

She felt a cold touch on her ankle, then another on her neck. She shivered once, violently. Gimli looked thoroughly ill-at-ease, and even the Rangers shifted and twitched on their horses.

One form began to appear rather more substantial than the others. He carried a spear and a shield and yet his face was a skull. He stood across from Aragorn and thumped his spear soundlessly against the ground. “I am the King of the Dead. Who calls us?”

“I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur. You owe me your allegiance.”

Suddenly a ghostly sword arced toward Aragorn’s head.

Kara gasped and flung a hand out—

But Aragorn’s sword flashed to meet it and the two met with a metallic clang and a cold explosion of sparks. “This is Anduril, flame of the West. Fulfill your oath and be free.”

There was a ghostly ripple of shock. Then came the sound of the King of the Dead laughing. It chilled Kara from toes to her fingertips.

“We will fulfill our oath. We will follow where you lead.”

She slumped in relief, and she wasn’t the only one.

Aragorn turned his horse at once to continue through the valley. “Let us make with all speed for Lamedon and from there to Pelargir and the river.”

The valley felt even more packed now. Kara felt like ghosts were jostling her elbows and bumping her horse and tugging on her cloak. Anytime they touched her, it sent a shot of fear and adrenaline through her. She told herself it was not malicious, but it didn’t help.

Kara was so much more uncomfortable after an hour of traveling with the ghosts, that she felt like crawling out of her skin.

There were so many brushes and bumps with the invisible, each one leaving her colder. Her gasps and twitches at each touch had turned to full on flinching. The whispering continued, and sometimes became a little more explicable. Some of it made sense.

“The heir at last.”

“Our oath complete…”

“Peace is at hand…”

But a couple times it was something else.

“A woman? Why…?”

“She is no warrior…”

Her shoulder was jostled again, sending her arm numb. Kara turned to Gimli. “How do you stand this?”

He looked a little uneasy, but not nearly as miserable as she felt. Every jolt was accompanied by another jolt of fright, which she could not control. It was giving her both a pounding headache and a serious case of the chills.

“Aye, they work with fear,” Gimli said, “but if you fix your mind on something else—I’m picturing those orcs facing down the dead—“

Kara flinched again as her foot was knocked to the side.

Gimli stared at her as her braid was tugged. Then her horse shied away from something immaterial. “Why—! Legolas, look here. The ghosts are tormenting Kara. Why didn’t you say something, lass?”

They pulled up to a stop and Kara did so too. “It’s not exactly tormenting—aren’t they bumping into you at all?”

Legolas frowned. “No, they are not. I wonder why—“

Kara flinched and shuddered as another ghost seemed to shoulder past her roughly.

Kara had a sinking realization. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I think they don’t respect me because I’m a woman and not a warrior.” She grimaced. Why was she surprised? It wasn’t like the ghosts got into this situation by being great people. “Stupid sexist spirits,” she muttered.

“Aragorn!” Legolas called.

Aragorn had gotten a few more lengths ahead of them, and several of the Grey Company had passed them as well. Aragorn wheeled his horse around and trotted back as he saw them fallen behind.

“What’s wrong?”

“The ghosts keep…bumping into me.” Of course, now that Aragorn was watching, not a single ghost so much as breathed on her. She felt kind of stupid, but Gimli spoke up.

“Giving her a hard time, they are. I watched ‘em knocking her about, pulling and pushing at her.”

“I saw it also,” Legolas said.

Kara laughed uncertainly. “I think the ghosts are a little—contemptuous? I’m obviously not a warrior. I can handle it for now, but how long until we are out of the mountains?”

Aragorn glowered at the glimmering, nearly invisible dead around them. “Is this how you fulfill your oath? By disrespecting those with me?”

There was a stubborn ghostly silence.

“This lady has faced wargs, orcs, Nazgul, and even a balrog. She’s survived treacherous attacks in the north, a wizard’s ire in Isengard, and pitched battle in Rohan. You will treat her—and all my companions!—with the respect you show your brothers in battle.” He glared about him.

Kara heard no response from the ghosts, but her sense of cold claustrophobia began to ease a little.

“Ride with me,” Aragorn said. “I think they will listen—but they are dangerous.”

Kara followed, though she was contemplative.

“What is it?” Aragorn asked when they were at the head of the line. “You ponder something.”

“I really appreciate you defending me like that.”

He frowned again. “It is the least I could do; I failed to realize you were being mistreated.”

“No, I just expected you to say something else… like, ‘Knock it off, she’s mine.’”

His eyes flared slightly at her words and his knuckles whitened around the reins. He shook it off with a low laugh. “That is an oddly savage way of putting it, but their disrespect was better answered with your excellence, not my… claim.”

“I don’t think of myself that way—the way you described to them. Half the time I just… you know, survived. I was rarely fighting and pretty much never winning.”

“You fought when you could, ran when you must, and endured all with courage. That is the most anyone can do, and more than some.”

“Well, thanks.”

“Still—if you wish me to tell the ghosts that you are mine, I could do so.”

Kara grinned, briefly. “No, that’s okay. I haven’t felt even a shiver since you spoke up.”

“Good.”

They rode hard and soon they were flooding out of the White Mountains and into a flatter area of mixed woodlands and fields. From above, Kara could see that there were numerous villages and farms and what she’d even term castles or estates. Dirt-colored roadways criss-crossed the greenery in lines and curves, and further away, she could see that there were many wagons and horses on the roads, everyone traveling away as fast as they could.

“Where are they going? Is something happening?”

Aragorn looked back over his shoulder as the dead fanned out behind them. “Yes, there is something happening. The dead are coming.”

Chapter 32

Chapter Text

Boromir shucked off his hauberk and tunic, standing in his bedchamber with only his breeches and the bandage around his shoulder. His wound had gotten stretched pretty badly during the Nazgul’s attack. He didn’t see blood soaking through the bandage, however, and that cheered him.

It ached like the dickens, but it didn’t have the distinctive burn of freshly ripped sutures or torn muscle, so perhaps he had not set back his recovery.

There was a large basin on a stand, and he poured water from the pitcher into it. He splashed his face and rubbed his arms, but they were so dirty from days of travel that it was more like smearing mud around. All of him was begrimed, in fact. Tomorrow he would go to the baths that served the sixth and seventh circle, but tonight he just wanted to rest in his bed.

He rubbed his face and head again, moving down to his neck and torso and arms, washing carefully around his bandage. He rubbed himself with a white linen towel that was less white when he was done, but at least the dust of travel was gone.

He changed into a pair of clean small clothes and a fresh tunic. He did not begrudge dirt, but it was pleasant to be cleaner.

His meeting with his father had been uglier than expected. Denethor had been shocked and incensed by Boromir’s allegiance to Aragorn, and the surprise had only fed his feeling of betrayal. Boromir had eventually pled exhaustion and simply left the matter where it was. His father needed time to calm himself and see the future impartially.

Boromir had checked in on Andrea and Eowyn, and they had been installed in rooms on the western edge of the White Tower, and nearest to the Houses of Healing. The White Tower was appropriate for them as guests of the Lord Steward, but the tunnel out of the Citadel took them directly to the lawns and trees of the Houses of Healing.

He rubbed the towel one last time over his damp hair and beard, then sank onto his bed in thankfulness.

He snuffed out the candle at his bedside, and he fell asleep nearly at once.

He was disoriented when a strong knock came at his door, unsure if he’d slept for minutes or hours.

With a groan, he rolled off his feather mattress and went to answer it. He unbolted it and swung it open to see Eowyn. Boromir wasn’t sure who he expected, but it wasn’t until she glanced down at his bare knees that he realized he was less than fully clothed.

“A moment,” he said. He shut the door and pulled on the breeches he’d left on the floor. The candle, he realized, still had wet wax around the base. He must have barely closed his eyes.

More appropriately dressed, he opened the door again to Eowyn’s amused face.

“I regret disturbing you this evening,” Eowyn said. “However, Rosie will not settle. Andrea forbid me to fetch you, but it strikes me as foolish that she should stay up all night for such a reason.”

“No, of course.” He rubbed his eyes and followed Eowyn to the other side of the White Tower. His bedchamber was on the bottom floor where the Tower Guard were housed. They went up a stair and down another to where the sound of crying emanated.

He heard Merry and Pippin arguing as they reached the door.

“No, Pip—it is warm whiskey for a sick child, not a crying infant! I think it is molasses for a crying baby.”

Andrea sighed wearily, bouncing on her toes as she tried to calm Rosie. “Don’t come near my baby with anything sticky—you’ll choke her.”

Merry looked cast down. Then his face cleared. “Castor oil!”

“No!”

Andrea turned to the door and stopped bouncing when she saw Eowyn and Boromir. “Why—you rank liar,” she said to Eowyn. “You said you were going to “get a breath of air.”

“I did get a breath of air as I walked,” Eowyn said serenely. “Now do, please, hand Rosie over so that she will go to sleep.”

Andrea passed her over. “She’s eaten, she’s clean, she’s burped… she’s too young to be teething, but she’s been crying for several hours no matter what I try. I don’t know what is the matter.”

Pippin yawned widely. “Maybe she is too tired to sleep.”

“Probably she is, but—I don’t know how to fix that.” Andrea’s voice wavered.

Boromir cradled Rosie against his good shoulder and rubbed her back. “It is strange that she was happy enough on the road but inconsolable in a fine place with a soft bed.”

Andrea sank down onto the edge of her own bed. “Oh, kill me now. I’ve conditioned my baby to love camping.”

Merry laughed. “Maybe you should move the cradle to the balcony.”

The small balcony of this room that overlooked the sixth circle of the city. He stepped outside into the cool, dry night air. The stars were mostly hidden by the clouds that hung over Mordor, but a few were visible above them. A slight breeze swept over his cheeks and made Rosie’s tufty hair move. Her dark cheeks were red with her crying and her little body quivered.

The night air did seem to calm her, however, and when Boromir began to hum, she gave a few gasps and subsided. She still was not asleep, but she seemed to be more peaceful. Her black eyes, so large in her small face, looked up at him. He kept humming the song. He wondered if perhaps the Nazgul attack lingered with her. She was an infant and couldn’t understand what had happened—but the shadow of evil that came with the Nazgul was not a thing that was conveyed with words or ideas. It was indeed a shadow—a lack of light and hope—that he supposed could be felt by anyone.

Rosie fought sleep, and did indeed begin to cry several more times, but eventually, she finally fell into a deep sleep. Her head became wobbly and her body limp.

Boromir put her in the cradle as carefully as he could. Merry and Pippin had slipped away to their own room, and Eowyn rested in a chair by the fire. Andrea held her breath as he lay Rosie down.

To everyone’s relief, Rosie did not stir.

Andrea slumped with relief; she looked so tired. Boromir put a hand on her shoulder. “You can rest now.”

She looked around the room like she’d forgotten where she was supposed to sleep. The days of travel had been hard on her, when she was already weak from having a baby and weeks of incarceration before that. Boromir gently pushed her toward her own bed until she stopped next to an indentation that showed where she’d lain down before.

Without warning, she started to cry.

Boromir was startled. He had seen Andrea have a baby after being thrown off a tower. He’d seen her meet kings and soldiers with calm. She’d avoided the claws of a Nazgul’s beast and then entered a strange city with reserve and dignity.

But now her eyes welled up and she wiped her cheeks as tears fell. “I don’t know what I’m doing with her. I shouldn’t even be in this world. What if there’s something wrong with her—is it the Nazgul or just colic? What the hell am I doing?”

Her words broke on sobs. Boromir reacted on instinct, for it felt wrong to merely stand and watch a strong woman weep. He drew her into an embrace. She stood stiffly against him, still sobbing. “I’m s—sorry. It’s probably the hormones talking, but I feel so—useless. And scared. I’m going to get Rosie hurt and I’m a terrible mom.”

“You are not useless, nor are you a poor mother. Rather you are a good mother in very bad circ*mstances.”

She sniffled. “I hope so. Thank you.” She shifted suddenly and clung to his waist, pressing her face against his chest with a new onslaught of tears. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

Boromir held her close. “You do not need to apologize.”

She clung to him for a few moments more, but soon her weeping subsided.

“You are exhausted, with good reason,” Boromir said.

“I know. I need to sleep this off.”

“Yes, you should sleep.”

He was surprisingly reluctant when Andrea pulled herself away from him, but he knew it was for the best. He held up her coverlet and she sat down and rolled to her side. He put the blanket over her and brought it up to her shoulders. “Goodnight.”

He wasn’t sure she heard him, for her eyes were already shut.

He let himself out of the room, and Eowyn followed him into the hall. “Thank you for coming. You are kind.”

Boromir ran a hand through his hair. “I’d have to be a regular brute not to help the child.”

He headed back to his own bedchamber, and to his surprise, Eowyn walked beside him. She was silent for some time. She must have bathed at some point, for she wore a clean gown, and her hair was braided and damp. “Do you have much experience of childbirth and mothers?”

“Need you ask?”

“Yes, I do need. You are quite adept with the babe. When first you arrived in Meduseld, I thought perhaps you were already a father, for you were so confident.”

“Ah, no, I am not a father. Circ*mstances led me to learn quickly and…” He smirked. “I do everything with confidence.”

She smiled. “Indeed.”

He’d reached his bedchamber, and she hesitated outside of the door with him. “Your confidence has stood you in good stead, however, take care with Andrea. A woman is vulnerable after childbirth, and I do not mean merely her body. She is alone, without a natural protector, without even her kin or countrymen. Be kind, but do not let your kindness make more promises than you can fulfill.”

Boromir nodded. “I don’t think I have—but, only a fool would argue with a wise woman about another woman. I will ponder.”

“That is all I ask.”

He opened his door, but suddenly Eowyn grasped his wrist with bruising strength. “Someone is within.”

The large room was only partially visible, lit by a few coals in the fireplace and the dim starlight from the open window. His bedclothes were still in disarray, and his dirty tunic and other things were laid on a side table.

Before he could even look, Eowyn darted into his room and snatched up his long knife that he’d lain aside next to his sword. With a flurry of skirts and the ring of metal, she spun to the window and backed a tall figure up against a tapestry. The knife rested at his throat before Boromir could take more than a step into the room.

Her forearm was braced against his breast-bone, though he was significantly taller. The knife did not shake. “Speak,” Eowyn commanded. “Why do you lie in wait?”

Boromir choked between a gasp and a laugh. “Eowyn—it is my brother!” He would recognize his brother’s profile anywhere, and it was a common evening when Faramir was a boy that saw him slipping into his brother’s room. Today, had Boromir not been so profoundly tired, he would have considered it likely that Faramir would come. They had not gotten to talk alone after Denethor’s explosive anger.

Boromir thrust a taper into the coals of the fire and used the taper to relight the candle.

Eowyn’s face shifted. She seemed to doubt, but then to realize that he must be certain. She gracefully stepped back and lowered the knife. “I mistook you in the dark; I apologize.”

Faramir bowed. “There is nothing to forgive; I am sorry I startled you, my lady. I did not—er—expect to encounter anyone other than my brother.”

Eowyn was not embarrassed. “Nor would you have, had you not moved his things a trifle and opened the window more fully. You do not care for candles, sir?”

Faramir began to smile a little. “I was looking at the stars.”

She narrowed her eyes, as if she suspected him of mocking her. “A common past-time in another person’s bedchamber.”

“I enjoy stargazing,” he said mildly. “And when I realized Boromir was not here, I decided to wait.”

Boromir straightened his bedclothes briskly. “I was settling Rosie, so that the ladies might sleep.”

“Ah. Naturally.”

“You mock your brother?” She replaced the knife on the table.

“Not at all, my lady, although if I did, it would only be fair turnabout.” Faramir rubbed his neck where the blade had been. “You are wondrous fast. I am glad to know my brother has had such a champion while he journeyed here.”

Boromir fixed him with a gimlet eye.

“I have some skill with the sword, but I make no claim to be a warrior such as yourself or your brother,” Eowyn said. “If I have any advantage, it is in going unnoticed or under-estimated until the blow lands.”

Faramir bowed. “I had no time to form an estimate of you, but I feel sure you are right.” He smiled a little. “And if that is not enough, you may also distract an opponent with your beauty.”

Boromir coughed, and Eowyn only raised a brow. “In all his stories, and your brother had much to say of you, he failed to mention a silver tongue.”

Faramir chuckled. “More so than my brother, at any rate, for he has not known women exist until recently—I am glad you do not hold that against him.”

Her face flickered in confusion. “Why would I?”

Boromir discovered that Rosie had spit up on him, and he used his dirty towel from before to clean the spots on his tunic.

Faramir watched with a fascinated eye. “You really must explain this turn to domesticity.” He raised his hands. “Do not give me that sardonic look! I do not judge you, but it would be less surprising had you come back married.” He face flashed to concern. “In fact, I would counsel you not to present Lady Andrea to our father for the present. He has heard of her arrival and your—intimacy with the child. Some think she is yours.”

Boromir scoffed. “I have not been gone so long as that. Has everyone forgotten how to count to nine?”

“Stranger things have happened when wizards and magic are involved.”

“Some in Rohan also made that assumption,” Eowyn said.

Boromir raised a brow at Faramir. “Are you questioning me?”

Faramir glanced at Eowyn. “I admit myself confused, but—Lady Eowyn implies that is not the case.”

“Boromir is not Rose’s father, Andrea has assured me.” Eowyn seemed to recollect herself. “I should not linger here—I do not know what I am thinking.” She curtseyed slightly. “Goodnight to you both.”

When the door was closed behind her, Faramir sat crosswise on a chair by the fireplace and rested his arms across the back. “That lady is sharp as a sword herself. Who is she?”

“I told you, did I not? She is the niece to Theoden, King of Rohan. Her brother stands to be king in turn, for Theoden’s own son was recently lost in battle.”

“Ah. That would be a strategic alliance, then.”

Boromir sat on the other chair. “It would, indeed, but it is not for that reason—but all of that is for later. You must tell me everything.”

Faramir’s face fell from its teasing cast. “It is ill news indeed.”

“Do not castigate yourself for the loss of Osgiliath; it was inevitable. There will be further dark days, but the tide will turn.”

“Before I speak, you must tell me something. You left Gondor with barely concealed desperation and our eventual doom lay heavy on your heart. It was undeniable. Yet you return—with curious company!—and an unshakeable hope in our victory. Please tell me why, that I might share your optimism.”

Boromir studied Faramir and saw that beneath his teasing, he was drawn and weary. There were grooves in his face that had not been there before. His brow was wrinkled from constant concern, and he was thinner as well. Faramir was five years younger than Boromir, but at the moment, he could pass as older.

“Some of it you heard as I told our father. The heir of Isildur is at last come. You know the prophecies better than I, but even I can recognize the signs. Even now, he will be leading the dead army of Dunharrow down to Pelargir. He saw through a seeing stone that the Corsairs of Umbar are on the point of coming up the Great River to attack us. The Southrons of Harad are also coming, as well as the forces of Mordor. Three arms of the enemy seeking to encircle us. Aragorn seeks to destroy the Corsairs, thus cutting off one of them. He will also, if he can, bring the good men of Lamedon to fight with us, when they are no longer assailed from the south.”

“But the forces of Mordor will reach us.”

“Yes, but… that brings me to another of my companions.”

“The seer?”

“She is not truly a seer, but someone, we believe, who lived many generations in the future. Saruman brough her here using the power of Sauron. She and Andrea also.”

Faramir opened his mouth, paused, and shut it again, waiting.

“They both claim that there are books about this war. They claim they are not history books, but it seems that many details were recorded in some fashion. Kara knew of you and our father before I told her; she knew of Aragorn and the halflings and Saruman’s betrayal.” Boromir slowed. “She knew that I died—and she saved me.”

“It sounds a dreadful burden.”

“Yes, it is. However, tell me of what has occurred here.”

Faramir sighed and told him of the fighting, the losses, the current numbers of men, the retreat from Osgiliath—and several mutual friends who were lost. “The city is half empty,” he said. “We can raise three thousand at most for an onslaught.” Faramir licked his lips. “There is another thing. Gandalf has already heard this portion of my story, but I encountered your hobbits in Ithilien.”

“Frodo and Sam! Tell me.”

“They were well when I found them. They make for the Stair at Minas Morgul, though I strenuously urged them to reconsider.”

“They cannot; that is their path. Was there another—a strange, gangly creature?”

“Yes. Your tale has explained some strange things about them. They seemed almost to wait for us. They warned us that there was a unit of Southrons nearby, and we engaged them directly. The warning was helpful. Frodo and Sam seemed weary, but—resolved. They had warned their companion about the Sacred Pool, and they were quite perturbed that he might be separated from them and mistreated.”

“You did not?” Boromir asked eagerly. “You did not tie him up, blindfold them, separate them?”

“I like to think I would not mistreat so miserable a creature under any circ*mstances, but no. None of those things were necessary. I cannot like their companion, however. A frog-like spider of a person… but Frodo claims he is under their protection.”

“Yes. It is a dangerous situation, but he is pivotal to their success. They must make it to Mt. Doom. That is why Aragorn confronted Sauron and claimed the ring—we must at all costs distract from the hobbits.”

Faramir sighed. “And in addition to Sauron, this Aragorn confronted our father.”

“Yes. Although now…” Boromir blanched. “Now our father knows the truth.” He stood. “I had not considered. He may inadvertently reveal that the ring is not coming here! I must go.” He swept up his knife and sword, securing them in place.

“You cannot think he would betray our plans to Sauron. He would not, neither by intention nor mistake—he is canny and wise.”

“But he is also angry and despairing. The palantiri are treacherous and they serve the will of Sauron before all else.”

“I will come,” Faramir said.

They ran up the stairs, around the edge of the tower and up to the top floor. This was the highest point in Minas Tirith. From a window up here, they could see down on the withered white tree and the seven circles of the city stretched out below.

“Kara said the palantir was somewhere in the White Tower…” There were fewer rooms on this level.

Boromir burst in door after door.

“He must have sought his bed,” Faramir offered.

“I cannot risk it. I feel that I have erred—”

He threw open another door, and Denethor shouted. He threw a cloth over pedestal and flaming stone, and his brows drew low over his eyes. “What brings my sons here at this time of night? Have you come to overthrow the Steward in secret?”

“No, of course not,” Faramir said.

Boromir felt dread in his soul. He stalked out of the room, gesturing impatiently for his father and brother to join him. He shut the door on the stone.

“What have you seen this night?” Boromir asked. “Who has seen you? All our hope rests on Sauron believing that Aragorn possesses the ring.”

“That has nothing to do with me,” Denethor spat. “I would have had the ring brought to Gondor.”

“But do you not see,” Boromir said, “if your anger and discontent over the fate of the ring become known to Sauron, he will begin to suspect that we have lied.”

“I am not a fool,” Denethor said. “I show him nothing, nor do I have a weak will. I see what I choose in the stone. I have not become a slave like Saruman. The white wizard—pah—he was the weak wizard.”

“I fear the stone is less secure than you believe—not through your weakness!” Boromir explained, “but through the nature of the stones. You must not attempt to see the halflings, for that also could betray them.”

“I shall not betray your precious halflings. I hope Gondor still stands when you realize your folly.” Denethor stalked away from them, his robes billowing around him.

Boromir felt his heart sink. Perhaps the hobbits were not yet betrayed, but the danger of his father’s madness and despair remained strong. Boromir rubbed his beard in frustration, wishing he could find a path back into his father’s trust. “You must listen to me. It is vital.”

“Do, please, school me in your great wisdom.” Denethor had almost reached the stair.

“If all goes as foreseen; you’ll die.”

Denethor stopped.

“Before the last battle, and before we defeat Mordor.”

Denethor still faced away. “All the better for your king.”

“Simpler, perhaps, but not better. You have a fund of knowledge of Gondor and its strengths and weaknesses that would be invaluable to a king. You have the respect of the nobility. You have…” Boromir’s voice cracked. “You have two sons who love you and wish you to live.”

Denethor stood for some time, facing the window at the top of the stair that looked out towards the Pellennor Fields. Boromir could almost see the struggle within him. Eventually, Denethor turned his head to one side, giving them only his profile. “I will live or die by my own hand, and I will let none—least of all my sons—use death to control me.”

Chapter 33

Chapter Text

Andrea blessed her luck (and Boromir) that she got six unbroken hours of sleep that night. It was glorious. She felt more like a person than she had since before she had a baby. Maybe since before she was kidnapped by Saruman.

She sat with Merry, Pippin and Gandalf at breakfast. It was rather meager, at least by hobbit standards, and Boromir apologized when he joined them, explaining the rationing in the city.

It was enough for Andrea, who never felt that hungry in the morning anyway. The hobbits politely disclaimed, “It’s fine! We’ll feast when this is over.”

Merry and Pippin were still buzzing with the news that Frodo and Sam had met Faramir. “Why, they are making good time,” Merry said. “And perhaps if Gollum does not turn against them, he will help them with the spider Kara described.”

Pippin shuddered. “At the very least, they know about the spider. That must help.”

Gandalf nodded his head. “I am hopeful that without interference, Gollum’s strange friendship with Frodo will carry them further into Mordor than Kara guessed. Perhaps as far as Mt. Doom, although I cannot imagine Gollum to be capable of standing by while the ring is destroyed. Perhaps it will be for the best if he does leave them before that.”

Andrea watched them with a little confusion. “Um—didn’t Kara tell you guys what happens at the end? With Frodo’s finger?”

They looked to her. Pippin spread his small hand on the fine tablecloth. “What about his finger?”

“Well, I keep getting in trouble for blurting things out, and I’m actually trying to respect the narrative now, so maybe I shouldn’t say.”

Gandalf sighed. “There is nothing we can change with Sam and Frodo now. Please tell us.”

“Well—at the end, Frodo can’t bear to destroy the ring either.”

The hobbits sucked air, and their eyes grew huge. Boromir looked stricken.

“But,” Andrea rushed on, “Gollum attacks him and bites his finger off and falls into the lava. It’s sort of a twist ending.”

The hobbits’ faces were twisted now, they looked pretty sick, actually. “Sorry!” Andrea said. “You did want to know. It’s like a whole thing about how Bilbo’s compassion on Gollum in the first book actually saved Frodo’s life.” She pointed to Gandalf. “Pretty sure you said that.”

“It’s the kind of tiresome moral I would make,” he agreed.

Andrea sipped the hot tea she’d been given. “So— they’re both kinda pivotal to the plot, and I don’t know how it’ll change if they’re still all friendly at the end. But like you said, nothing we can do from here.”

Gandalf sighed heavily. “If I have ever wished for the gift of prophecy, I hereby fully renounce it. Knowing the future is a horrible burden.”

“Agreed,” Andrea said. She looked at Boromir. “How are things with your father?”

He scowled. “Not ideal.”

“I spoke with him briefly yesterday, but today he flatly refused an audience,” Gandalf grumbled. “He is tormented by the threat of a king just as greatly as the threat of Mordor.”

Boromir’s head sank. “I have always been proud of my father—if I could just get him to see the possibilities, he might understand.”

Gandalf snorted. “I am sorry, Boromir, but your father does not want to see any other future. Without himself—or you—as Steward and Lord of Gondor, there is no future in his mind.”

“He would not sacrifice Gondor for his own pride. He would not.”

There was an uneasy silence. No one contradicted Boromir, but no one was sure he was right. It didn’t even sound as if Boromir himself was sure.

The dining hall of the Citadel looked out over the city, and unfortunately, the windows gave a perfect view of the black clouds massing in the east over Mordor. The morning sun was a flat red ball behind the clouds.

“We have a few days at most before the forces of Mordor reach us, protected by that black cloud,” Gandalf said. “Boromir, you and Faramir must ready the garrison and arm as many men as you can. We must last until Aragorn arrives.”

Andrea had no intention of bringing herself to Denethor’s notice, but that afternoon when Boromir and Faramir were gone, a summons came from the Steward.

The messenger waited at her door.

“Right now?” Andrea asked. “The baby is sleeping.”

“I am to show you the way,” he answered.

“I’ll—uh—need to find Eowyn to watch the baby.” But it turned out Eowyn had gone with Boromir and Faramir in order to see to the horses and—Andrea suspected—evaluate the fortifications on the lowest circle. Pippin and Merry were somewhere else in the city with Gandalf.

Andrea instead found the lady Boromir had introduced her to, his old nurse, who solemnly agreed to watch the baby. “You must not keep the Steward waiting,” she said.

“Yeah, well, if he’d given me some warning, I’d’ve done better.”

Andrea followed the messenger to the throne room, and it was very much like she’d expected. Denethor somehow looked older than Gandalf—and just as bitter and angry as she pictured..

She wasn’t really sure what to do, so she gave an awkward bow.

He examined her without speaking.

That got old real fast. “You wanted to see me? My baby won’t nap forever, so I’ve got like a half hour tops.”

He steepled his fingers. “Mithrandir tells me you are kin to the seer who joined the fellowship of the ring.”

“Sort of. We’re from the same—er—place.”

“And you also know what is to come.”

She shifted her weight. “Some of it, kinda.”

“Do not prevaricate. Yes or no.”

Andrea glared. “Fine. Yes.”

“What of Boromir and Faramir?”

She was surprised he didn’t ask about himself. Maybe there was a small spark of fatherly love in there after all. “Boromir should already be dead. I think Kara prevented that by sending them a different way. Faramir gets terribly injured in a last stand-type thing in Osgiliath, which you send him on, and then…” She shrugged. He asked for it. “You lose your mind and almost kill him.”

He did not move.

“But Faramir lives, and you die. Then he welcomes Aragorn into the city later, when the war is over.”

Denethor still only watched her, no expression.

“So, was that all?” Andrea asked. “I’ll lay it all out if you want to know. Kara is the considerate one, not me. You’re at war, so I figure hurt feelings are the least of your worries.”

“Tell me of Boromir’s death.”

“He fought off a horde of Saruman’s Uruk-hai that were trying to take the hobbits. He killed a lot of them singlehandedly, but he was shot three times with black arrows. He died asking Aragorn to save Gondor.” She paused. “And Aragorn does save Gondor, in case I didn’t make that clear. You’re gonna have to get with the program, pops.”

“Your disrespect will not distract me. I ask myself, what have you to gain by spreading these tales and turning father against son?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re doing that all on your own.”

“Your tone is offensive.”

“Your whole vibe is pretty offensive, so I suppose that’s fair. And whether you believe me or not is your problem. I didn’t ask to be here.”

“No, you did not. Yet most who are forced into the Lord Steward's presence are respectful bordering on reverent, whereas you have sought to offend from the moment you entered the room.”

Andrea shrugged. “I don’t know how to curtsey; chalk it up to cultural differences.”

“Or you are confident you have a champion. Tell me—what spell have you used on my son?”

Andrea blinked several times. “Excuse me? I don’t cast spells.”

“Boromir is not himself. He has turned against me, against his heritage, and against his very nature. I dislike Mithrandir, but his power is in influence and suggestion, not witchcraft. The halflings are not credited with such things. The women of Rohan are skilled in some things, yet they abhor witchcraft even more than those of Gondor. Of Boromir’s five companions, that leaves you.”

“Oh my gosh, so the black woman is the witch. Just when you think you see it coming, blam, it hits you from the other direction.” She squared her shoulders. “Let me be very clear. I am not a witch. I have put no spell on Boromir or Faramir or anyone. The only power I have is not being intimidated by selfish old men who like to throw their weight around.”

“And his obsession with you?”

“His what?”

“Did Boromir not visit your bedchamber last night?”

“Yeah, he did, with about half the tower. I couldn’t get Rosie to sleep.”

“A changeling child, I do not doubt, contributing to his ensorcellment.”

“Do not talk about my baby.”

Denethor raised a hand to his guards. “Take her.”

“Excuse me? Take me where?” Andrea backed away from the whole throne situation, but several guards in the blue-gray tunic with the tree on the front surrounded her. Two took her arms, and more hemmed her in.

“You’ll have to come with us, miss.”

Andrea dug in her heels as they began to march her toward the other exit to the room. “I don’t think so—where are we going?”

“I must save my son,” Denethor said. “His mind is not his own.”

Andrea felt a real prick of fear. “You sick old man, you don’t drown witches here, do you?”

Denethor cackled. “Is that what your world does? Who would know that but a witch?”

“Anybody who’s read European history, that’s who! And Boromir is perfectly in his right mind, he just doesn’t agree with you.”

Andrea tried to go limp, but the soldiers half-carried her to the stairs. They didn’t go down, but up, which reassured her a little. There weren’t any bodies of water up here. This sucked, majorly, but she wasn’t as friendless as she’d been when Saruman had her. Gandalf knew she was here. Merry and Pippin and Eowyn and Boromir—they wouldn’t just let her disappear.

Andrea began to stumble up the stairs. The guards looked none too happy either. “Hey—you know this isn’t right,” she said. “You work for Faramir, don’t you? He’s captain of the guard and all? Send somebody—he and Boromir would not be okay with this. Really really not okay.”

The guards looked apologetic, she thought, but that didn’t do her much good.

“If you are a witch, you are a servant of Sauron,” Denethor said. “And I will let him deal with you.”

“I’m not a servant of Sauron,” Andrea said. “But I’m starting to wonder about you.”

They threw open the doors to an upper room, and Andrea saw another round table covered with an embroidered cloth. A spherical stone was outlined by the cloth.

“Oh, hell no. This is the same set up Saruman had. You think Boromir is mad at you now? Wait until he finds out you tortured me with that thing.” She shook her hair out of her face. “How do I keep ending up with these stupid, arrogant bastards?”

Denethor slapped her. Andrea’s head whipped to the side and her lip stung. The two soldiers held her up. She licked it gingerly, sucking the injury. Then she spat blood on Denethor’s patterned robe. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

“Let us see what Sauron makes of his failed servant,” Denethor said.

He really was crazy, Andrea decided. He was convinced that only a dark evil could turn Boromir against him. What kind of narcissistic psychopath mistreated a woman thinking it would turn his son back to him?

Andrea forced herself not to cringe as Denethor put his hand on the cloth to pull it back. This was bad, yes, but her friends knew she was here. She had only to survive a little longer. If Kara could endure this, Andrea would do it, too.

Denethor finally smiled. “Ah. You are afraid now. Good. I will break your power over my son or die trying. One more chance. Remove your ensorcellment on Boromir, and I will not reveal your failure to your master.”

“Get bent.”

He pulled the cloth off, and Andrea couldn’t help squeezing her eyes shut. It was the same instinct to avoid touching hot oil or jerking her foot out of the way if she dropped a knife.

But then Denethor made a strange, choking noise, and she cracked her eyes open. On the dais, nicely centered, was a large, round, red apple. It looked like those that had come in barrel with them from Rohan.

Andrea laughed; it bubbled up from within her and she couldn’t help it.

Denethor turned to her in rage. “Did you do this?” he shouted. “Where is it, thief?”

“I’m not a witch or a thief so, no, I didn’t do this. But I wish I had.”

A banging at the door to the room distracted Denethor. He jerked his heard to the guards. “Get rid of it.”

Several peeled off to the door, but when it was opened the guards opened it wide to allow Boromir and Faramir to enter. They were breathing heavily, as if they had run quite a distance to be here. Several other guards in dark tunics with the white tree flooded into the room with them.

Boromir shoved a hand through his sandy hair, aghast at what he saw. “Why is Andrea here? What were you trying to do?”

Faramir looked less shocked, but just as pained.

Two of her guards exhaled in relief at their entrance. Maybe they had sent someone to fetch Boromir and Faramir after all.

Denethor was controlled and stern. “I do all for the good of Gondor and of you, Boromir. This woman has spelled you, and she has stolen the palantir. She is the enemy.”

Boromir’s face was painful to watch. His anger was twisted with the horror of betrayal and disillusionment. He looked to be in deeper pain than when Kara had jerked an arrow out of his chest. “This truly is what you are come to. Gandalf was right.” He slashed a hand at the guards. “Release her at once.”

The did so, and Andrea backed away from Denethor. She rubbed her arms. The guards hadn’t tried to hurt her, she’d give them that, but there was no gentle way to restrain someone against their will.

“Would you trust her over your own father?” Denethor said. “Listen to reason, my son. A powerful witch can turn the heart of the strongest man. They turn sons against fathers. They turn kingdoms into ashes. They can manipulate both matter and spirit—”

“You’re wrong.” Boromir took in Andrea’s split lip, and reached for her hand, drawing her behind him, asway from his father. He eyed the apple resting on the table. “I myself took the palantir last night. I hoped that you would listen to me, that you would not test your strength against it after I begged you to be cautious. Instead, you waited a scant hour after I left the citadel. And, far worse—you turned your evil suspicions against an innocent woman.”

“You are bewitched! Where is the stone?”

Boromir felt as if part of his own identity shattered as he looked at his father. “Would you trust it rather than your own son? Can you not let it be?”

His father’s eyes were obsessively bright, his mouth sneering, his hand twitching. If anyone was not in their right mind, it was he. “I alone can see the truth in the palantir—I alone lead Gondor!”

In the silence, Boromir braced himself. “Then I relieve you of that duty.”

It was subtle, but the Tower guard reoriented themselves slightly—facing toward Boromir. They were ready for his orders. He had feared that perhaps his father’s ranting would infect them as well, but he should not have doubted them.

Boromir gestured to the nearest guards. “My father in unwell. Please secure him in his own bedchamber. No visitors except myself or Captain Faramir. Ten guards at all times.”

“I am still Steward in Gondor!” Denethor shouted, spittle flying. “Do not dare lay hands on me.”

From the corner of his eye, Boromir saw his brother escorting Andrea out of the room.

“Faramir is in it with her,” Denethor hissed. “It must be. Gandalf would have us kill each other so that his king will be unopposed. She said herself that only Faramir should remain.”

“You are raving,” Boromir said. “Maintain your dignity and go with the guard.”

He wished that none of the men saw his father in this state, but they stood ready to do Boromir’s bidding.

Denethor spat at their feet. “Traitors, all of you! I am the Steward!”

“You are no steward when you abuse and mistreat a woman in guise of wisdom. You would even reveal our plans to the enemy through your stubbornness.” Boromir gestured to where the palantir should sit. “If you had succeeded in revealing Andrea to Sauron—he could have ripped our entire plan out of her mind. You have betrayed us.”

His father was beside himself. If there had been a window present, Boromir feared he would have thrown himself out. As it was, he began to deflate. His shouts gave way to mutters and mumbling. His bright eyes began to cloud.

The guards averted their gazes as they grasped his trembling arms and walked him out and away to his bedchamber.

Boromir stood alone in the room, questioning not only his father but his own judgement. How long had he made excuses for his father? He described his father as stern and eccentric, but truer words might be cruel and irrational. Boromir had been a fool to leave the Citadel knowing his father might come to this room. Boromir had expected, however, that his father would think of the confrontation the previous night and send for himself or Faramir. If Boromir had thought of protecting anyone, it had been Faramir—he’d thought it possible that his father would blame him, so Boromir had decided not to let Faramir out of his sight today.

Even in his worst prognostication, Boromir had never considered that Denethor would blame Andrea.

Boromir found Andrea and the others in a small, empty antechamber of the throne room. Andrea was seated, but Faramir, Eowyn, and Gandalf stood nearby. Andrea held a bit of white cotton to her mouth, and someone had poured her a measure of wine. When Boromir entered, she lowered her hand. Her upper lip had stopped bleeding, though it was swollen on one side. “I really must get back to Rosie. I told Faramir and Gandalf what happened—in case you need the details.”

Faramir’s jaw was clenched, and his eyes showed almost as much pain as Boromir felt. He bowed to her. “Of course. You have been most forbearing of my questions, Lady Andrea. Again, I offer my humblest apology.”

Andrea raised one shoulder. “No harm, no foul.”

He furrowed his brow, “But there was harm—”

“It means I don’t hold it against you. It could’ve been much worse.”

Gandalf leaned heavily on his staff. “Indeed, it could. Much harm was averted today.” He looked to Boromir. “Is the palantir hidden well?”

“Yes, it is.”

Andrea sighed. “Yeah, it really could’ve been worse.”

She said that to make them feel better, but it made Boromir’s heart clench. “I also beg your forgiveness.” Boromir took Andrea’s hand, reassuring himself that she was well. “I knew he would be angry, but I never dreamed he would fix his anger on you, whom he had not even met. I have rarely made such a deep miscalculation—how many years have I blinded myself!”

Andrea gripped his hand in return. “Hey, we all do that. Toxic parents, denial—don’t beat yourself up about it. Maybe just—make sure your father can’t get to where I am? I’m pretty sure he still thinks I’m controlling you.”

“Absolutely. He will be under lock and key, and I will assign guards to your room as well.”

“I had the same thought,” Gandalf said. “Perhaps separated from the palantir, Denethor will regain his right mind—but I do not want to offer false hope. He must be closely guarded.”

Andrea squeezed Boromir’s hand. “It’s going to be okay. You go do whatever you need to do now that you’re the Steward… I know it sucks, but it’s probably better sooner than later.”

Boromir raised her hand to his lips. “I promise I will make this right.”

#

Kara somehow pictured them getting the army of the dead to the river and then to Minas Tirith in, like, a day. Or as she was calling them, the Army of Sexist Oathbreakers™.

But it was lot longer than a day. “They seriously telescoped this stuff in the movie,” she told Gimli and Legolas, while Aragorn was conferring with Halbarad. “I’m pretty sure even the book was pretty vague about how long this part took.”

They had pushed through another night and part of the next day with only a few short rests, but Aragorn had decided to halt for some hours before continuing on to reach Pelargir at first light. The ghosts could go forever, but the men—and particularly Kara—couldn’t. “I feel bad that we’re basically stopping for me.”

“The horses couldn’t go on forever, lass,” Gimli said. “And I am precious ready for a bite and kip myself.”

The valley was empty now as the people completely fled in fear of the dead army. The Grey Company had made several campfires because there was not much danger. Kara huddled near one with Gimli. Although the Sexist Oathbreakers had been leaving her alone since Aragorn told them off, they still made everything a little colder and more frightening. (And wow, Kara thought as she sipped some soup, Sexist Oathbreakers would be a pretty funny band name.)

“That’s better,” Gimli said. “You look less pasty already.”

They were not going to set up tents, but the Rangers were stretching out bedrolls or just flat out laying on rocks as they began to rest.

Aragorn and Halbarad came to their fire and crouched to join them, ladling some soup into their wooden cups.

Halbarad nodded kindly to her. “I hear your hobbit friends went on ahead to Minas Tirith.”

“Yes… but I’m surprised you call them hobbits. It seems everybody down here knows them as halflings.”

Aragorn rocked back on his heels with his soup. “Halbarad and I have worked for many years to protect the Shire. He is familiar with them.”

“A little people, but of great worth are the Shire-folk,” Halbarad agreed. “Little do they know of our long labor for the safekeeping of their borders, but I don’t grudge it.”

“I wish I could go there someday,” Kara said.

“We shall, if you wish it,” Aragorn said.

“Oh, right.” Kara’s stomach flipped. “I forgot I was—staying.”

Halbarad looked curious, but Kara didn’t enlighten him. She was in love with Aragorn, without question, but it seemed that every facet of the decision had to be added to her brain sequentially. She didn’t forget that they were engaged, but somehow she still forgot that meant an entire life in Middle Earth.

Aragorn was looking at her with what she thought of as his resting concerned face. She reached out to squeeze his wrist gently. “It’s fine. It’s good. I just forgot.”

Part of her struggle to internalize the change in her future was her fault, but part of it was the circ*mstances. In some ways, her relationship with Aragorn was entirely different now that she knew he loved her. Now that they’d made promises. But on the other hand, not much had changed at all. There was still a war to fight, they were never alone, and Aragorn was busy.

She wiped her mouth. “In that case, I want to go to all the places. Do you think we could ever make it to the Lonely Mountain? That’d be so cool.”

“You must!” Gimli said.

Aragorn smiled. “We could, although I cannot promise when.”

Halbarad looked even more intensely curious. “You are so confident we will prevail.”

Aragorn moved his shoulders. “I have hope, rather.”

“Clearly. Where do you hail from, Lady Kara? Aragorn will not say.”

“A long way away—in a large city by the Gulf of Mexico. Houston.” She knew the words would mean nothing to him, but, hey—she hadn’t said them in a while. It felt good. “In the state of Texas. In the United States of America.”

“I have never heard of these places. Aragorn was correct; Harad would be simpler.”

“It would. And you?”

“Eregion, at birth, though I have traveled widely. Most lately from Rivendell.”

“Oh—right!” Kara suddenly remembered something. “You were supposed to bring a banner and a message from Arwen.”

He co*cked his head. “I’d be troubled to do that as she’s—”

“Gone into the West, I know,” Kara said. “But there’s supposed to be a banner. It’s kind of a big deal.” She turned to Aragorn. “You know—White Tree, stars, crown—announcing the kings return to Gondor.”

“Ah.”

“But, uh, unfortunately I can’t volunteer, I don’t know how to sew.”

He chuckled. “On the contrary, I’ve seen you sew up many a wound with tidy stitches.”

“That is not the same as embroidery or quiltwork or whatever the heck you need to make a banner.”

“If we prevail,” Aragorn said, “there will be plenty of time to commission such a thing.”

“I guess.”

Legolas was eating at the next fire with Elladan and Elrohir, and Kara could hear their beautiful, otherworldly voices speaking in their language.

Gimli glanced their way and shook his head. He turned back to the fire.

Kara scooted closer to him. “Don’t worry; he’s still your friend.”

“Aye, I know. If my brethren appeared from the north, I’d be the same.” He shrugged. “And my friends would have as much ill to say of elves as they do of dwarves.”

“That’s a shame.”

“It is what it is, lass, there is too much history between us. I’ve only come to—er—tolerate Legolas after months of being forced into his company.”

Kara grinned. “So we just need to send pairs of dwarves and elves on daring, cross-country adventures and we could end the prejudice.”

Gimli laughed. “Good luck of that venture.”

When their pots and cups were rinsed, Kara spread out her own bedroll near the dying fire. She’d been traveling outdoors with the followship for months, so she was used to cold, but it was worse with the ghosts. Still, she was exhausted and barely keeping her eyes open. She’d sleep and then she’d forget how cold she was. She lay down on her side and faced the coals. She’d smell like smoke, but what else was new?

She heard Halbarad and Aragorn speaking softly, while she dozed in and out of cold dreams. At some point Halbarad pointed at the sky. “Rest, Aragorn. I’ll wake you when needed.”

He must’ve hesitated.

Halbarad coughed. “Your lady shivers. Rest.”

She must’ve closed her eyes again, but she startled when a blanket settled on the grass behind her. Aragorn lay down, and Kara—while she might’ve checked with him under normal circ*mstances—scooted immediately and gratefully into his warmth.

“I’m sorry I woke you.” His hand settled on her waist. “Is this all right?”

She pulled his arm further around her, so that she was fully spooned. It was the first time she’d felt really warm in hours. Maybe days. “Absolutely. Like Lorien.”

The rise and fall of his chest hitched against her back. “Lorien?” he whispered. “I thought you were sleeping.”

That night on the flet in the trees, Aragorn had unconsciously pulled her close. Maybe she should’ve realized something then. “I thought you were sleeping,” she replied.

“I was,” he said against her hair, “but I woke up. Like this.” He kissed the back of her head. “And Haldir knew I was already in love with you.”

“Did he?” Kara mumbled. “That’s weird.”

Aragorn moved slightly to put his other arm under her head, so she was fully wrapped in his embrace. “You can sleep, Kara.”

She couldn’t help it, though she really wanted to stay awake and enjoy his fingers stroking a pattern on her hand.

Aragorn woke to a friendly toe in his back. Halbarad said softly. “It’s time.”

Aragorn came awake at once, his ranger reflexes assured it. Unlike usual, he lingered, reluctant to move. He released his sigh gently, wanting to give Kara a few more minutes. It was still dark, but they wanted to travel the last few hours to Pelargir before morn. If anything, he’d tugged Kara even closer in the night. She fit perfectly in his arms, and it was a struggle to leave her.

Still, he slipped away and righted himself quickly. Then it was dousing fires, packing saddlebags, and saddling horses.

The Grey Company was efficient, and the next time he looked at Kara, she was up and waiting by her horse. She was still sleepy and yawning, and utterly irresistible. Aragorn strode over to her before he mounted.

She covered another yawn. “Is something wrong—”

Aragorn sank his hand in her hair and turned her face up so that he could kiss her. She was a queen among women, for certain, and she was his. The ghosts might as well know that, too.

Chapter 34

Chapter Text

Boromir was overwhelmed at taking over the Stewardship of Gondor, but it had to be done. Two days passed in a blur. He made decision after decision, yet each moment was weighed by the knowledge that his father alternately raged and gibbered in his locked room.

Furthermore, his mind raced with the knowledge that the army of Mordor would arrive soon whether he was ready or not.

In years past, when he thought about succeeding his father, he had never expected to do it like this. After a long absence. Against his father’s wishes. Under imminent attack.

What was it Kara said? Three strikes and you’re out.

Picking up the threads of leadership was eased by Faramir, who was also a Captain of the White Tower, as well as being captain of the Rangers of Ithilien. He was abreast of current lines of command and took charge of informing the military of what had occurred.

Gandalf advised them to break the news slowly. “Give it out that the Steward has been unwell, and that Boromir is now Co-Steward. There is precedent for that in the co-regencies of Dol Amroth.”

Two heralds were designated to inform the rest of the city of this. Separate messages went to the Houses of Healing, the Causeway Forts, the Council of Nobles, and various scribes and overseers of city resources who were accustomed to sending their inventories and requests to the Steward himself.

It was exhausting, and Boromir was sure there were several things he had forgotten. Generally, the funeral of the previous Steward was an integral part of the appointment of the next. He canceled all of the ceremonies related to his appointment.

Pippin was a surprisingly good scribe, with good penmanship. He trotted after Boromir morning and afternoon and morning again, taking notes as Boromir recalled people he ought to speak to or messages he ought to send.

When Boromir looked at the list as the sun began to set on the second day, he exhaled slowly. “This is well-done, Pippin. It is far more organized than the scattered thoughts I have been throwing out between other tasks.”

“It feels good to be useful. With that black cloud growing in the east, it don’t seem right to lay about. Besides, I once assisted my uncle when he was moving his shop to Hobbiton, and he was exactly this distracted!”

Boromir smiled. The hobbits were good at reminding him that simple and good things still existed in the world.

Faramir met them for supper with Merry trailing after him. Pippin sped around the table to thump Merry on the back. “I’ve hardly seen you for two days, Merry!” He looked about. “Let’s sit at this end of the table; we’ll let Boromir and Faramir have some privacy.”

Merry scooped up an apple and took a big bite. “Fine by me! I’m famished.”

“What you have you been doing all day?” Pippin asked, piling his plate with a husky bread roll, thigh of fowl, and boiled greens. “I have been making myself very useful.”

Merry raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Usually that means you rearranged your mother’s sewing room or mixed the salt and sugar.”

“Well, it doesn’t mean that anymore! How could it, with that storm coming towards us with all those orcs?”

“Sorry, Pip! I’m sure you have been useful. I’ve been making myself helpful, too. I’ve taking a real liking to Faramir. He’s got Aragorn’s quiet sense of purpose, but he’s more—princely, isn’t he? It’s almost a shame he’s not going to be king.” He swallowed a large bite. “Not that I don’t want Strider to have it. Obviously he’ll do a bang-up job. I only hope he and Kara will work things out; he looks at her just the same way Sam looks at Rosie Cotton.”

Pippin grinned. “And then we can say we found the Queen of Gondor in the woods!”

Merry laughed. “That we could.”

Pippin shook out his right hand. “My hand aches like the dickens. I’ve been taking dictation from Boromir, and I filled so much parchment it could’ve been another chapter in Bilbo’s book.”

“That’s got to be a new experience for you.”

Pippin smacked his arm, causing Merry to bobble the half-eaten apple before snatching it out of the air.

Gandalf joined them and sat heavily between the hobbits and the men.

Pippin realized he had been ignoring an important conversation as Faramir turned to him. “What do you think, Gandalf? The sudden cessation of fighting at the Outer Wall has confused us all. It must be a feint or a ploy of some sort, but Boromir and I can make no sense of it. They must know they outnumber us.”

Gandalf looked grim. “A strange start, indeed.”

Faramir grunted. “They could’ve overrun the outer wall today with the numbers that have arrived even in the last six hours. They could’ve advanced the fight through the Pelennor to the gates of Minas Tirith. Instead, they retreated.”

Gandalf leaned back in his chair. His bright blue eyes were shadowed. “I am not certain, but I do not like it. It is certainly nothing that Kara predicted, nor do I know the mind of the enemy. I fear very greatly that—” he broke off, looking with pain toward Merry and Pippin. “I fear he has realized that the ring is being carried into Mordor.”

Pippin felt a slow curl of horror. “You think he’s pulling the orcs back to hunt for Sam and Frodo?”

“I hope not, but it is a possibility. There are other interpretations. Perhaps they seek to draw out Gondor’s forces.”

Faramir ran a hand through his dark hair. “Surely they know we would not leave the city undefended? Nor would we fight on ground of their choosing. Here we have walls within walls… It gives our ravaged forces at least a chance.”

Boromir hit a fist on the bench. “But they have siege engines, catapults, trolls, and oliphaunts. They have an army built for the sole purpose of crushing Minas Tirith. Why do they pull it back?”

A feminine voice drew Pippin’s head around. Eowyn and Andrea had entered the dining room, and they had drawn close without anyone noticing. Eowyn spoke, “What of the Nazgul? Mithrandir, can you speak to their movements?”

Boromir and Faramir rose at their presence. Pippin and Merry quickly followed suit.

Gandalf gazed inwardly as Eowyn and Andrea seated themselves. Faramir shifted the trencher of roasted fowl closer to them.

“The Nazgul also have retreated,” Gandalf said eventually. “Last night I could still feel the force of their malevolence focused on the city. At times they swooped high above. Today—their attention is elsewhere.”

“They are the head of the snake,” Eowyn said. “Surely where the head goes, the body will follow.”

Faramir’s eyes widened. “The Nazgul seek the ring above all else. They suspected that Lord Aragorn might have sent the ring to the city with your party; thus they attacked upon your arrival. Perhaps now they have heard of Aragorn’s march to the sea with the Army of the Dead.”

“If that has gone as planned,” Merry put in.

Boromir’s eyes were also wide, making him look very much like his brother. “If Aragorn has indeed succeeded in raising the Dead—and Sauron has spied it in a palantir or through his fell spies—he will be all the more convinced that Aragorn has the ring.”

Andrea hesitantly took a roll of bread. Her lip had scabbed up from where Denethor had hit her, although Boromir still winced as he looked at her lips. She cut into the roll with her knife. “That’s better than Sauron knowing about Sam and Frodo, right? Would he take the army and march against Aragorn?”

Faramir shook his head. “I don’t know. What do you think, Boromir?”

Boromir’s brow was furrowed. “Sauron wants to defeat Gondor and Rohan decisively—and Minas Tirith is the next block he must topple in that campaign. That would make me think he would still direct his forces here, hoping to defeat us before Aragorn or Theoden arrive. But perhaps—having gained information through Saruman,” Boromir dipped his head apologetically toward Andrea, “he knows that is unlikely to work. Perhaps instead, he will march to face Aragorn before he reaches us.”

There was silence as they all contemplated this. Gandalf nodded slowly. “I could see the enemy doing so. He wants at all costs to end the line of Isildur and to capture the ring.”

Faramir looked between them all. “Could the Army of the Dead defeat them?”

Everyone suddenly looked to Andrea, and she dropped her knife. “Oh, me? Right—um—well, the Army of the Dead is used differently in the book and the movie.” At Faramir’s uncomprehending look, she rephrased, “In different versions of the—er—history, the Army of the Dead doesn’t always make it to Minas Tirith. In one version, Aragorn releases them after they take the port city and a bunch of boats—”

“Pelargir,” Boromir supplied.

“Right. He feels like they’ve done enough, I guess, and he releases them and comes in the boats with the Grey Company who are—Rangers, I guess. But not very many of them.”

Faramir’s eyes were alight. “Each member of the Grey Company is a warrior like unto none.”

“I hope so,” Andrea said, “because if he releases the ghosts, that’s all he’ll have to fight off an attack.” There was another brief silence as that horrible image intruded into their minds. Fell warriors or not, forty or fifty rangers could not fight off the forces of Mordor, the Haradrim with their fell beasts, and the Nazgul.

“In another version,” Andrea said, “he brings the Dead Army all the way here, and they swarm into the Battle of Pelennor and defeat the rest of the enemy that you guys and the Rohirrim hadn’t finished off yet.”

Boromir looked thoughtfully at her. “Therefore it took the combined forces of Gondor, Rohan, and Rangers, along with possibly the Ghosts of Dunharrow, to defeat the current army.”

Eowyn said what they all were thinking. “Lord Aragorn cannot do this alone. He will be destroyed if he releases the Army of the Dead at Pelargir.”

The worry lines in Gandalf’s face grew deeper. “And even if we could reach Aragorn in time to help, the Rohirrim certainly could not get so far south. Even if Theoden did exactly as we requested, he would barely arrive here in the next two days, let alone further south.”

“The enemy only just began their retreat,” Eowyn said. “They cannot be more than five or six hours ahead. We at least could be of help to Lord Aragorn.”

“But we cannot follow directly behind the forces of Mordor,” Boromir said. “They will turn and attack us, and we will be decimated in open battle with no defenses of wall or city.”

Eowyn looked a little mulish, as if she would gladly risk traveling five hours behind Sauron’s army, but she inclined her head to acknowledge his point.

Faramir’s mouth was twisted in thought. He rubbed his short beard. “We must also consider that the enemy knows where all our forces are coming from. It is possible that they have split their army. One could go north to destroy the Rohirrim and Theoden before they reach us. Another south to face Aragorn. Both battles would be on terrain of their choosing. Then their combined forces would come against us, confident that no help is coming.”

Gandalf’s jaw clenched. “Divide and conquer. It would be a bold strategy.”

Boromir looked exhausted already. “We certainly cannot divide our forces. We must choose whether to stay and wait for battle here, or to follow after the enemy and to help either Aragorn or Theoden.”

Faramir scowled. “A terrible choice lies before us.”

Andrea put a hand up, as if she was in a classroom. She “So, hang on. A lot of the problem seems to be communication. If Aragorn knew he needed to hang onto the Dead Army and be ready for battle, he’d be in pretty good hands. If Theoden knew the army was coming for him… well, that’s harder, but he could at least avoid an ambush.”

“You suggest that we send scouts with the news,” Boromir said. “You are right, undoubtedly, but whether they could make it faster than the army and get through undetected is unlikely. The enemy will be alert for such a thing. You are right, however, the attempt must be made. I’ll give orders tonight.”

“Actually… I was thinking about other means of communication. We have a palantir, for instance, and so does Aragorn. Or, and this is a subject of major controversy in my world, can’t we ask the eagles for help?”

A ring of furrowed brows graced the table. “The eagles?” Pippin said.

“Yeah.” Andrea looked to Gandalf, who was nodding.

“I will see how quickly they can be recalled,” he said. “I asked them to fly out and give us word of Aragorn’s coming, but they have not yet returned.”

“So, you gotta answer this for me,” Andrea said. “Why couldn’t you just ask them to fly Frodo and Sam to Mt. Doom? Pretty much everybody has thoughts about that.”

Gandalf scoffed. “And alert Sauron and the Nazgul of their exact location? It is not a quick thing, you understand, flying four hundred miles or more while fighting off an attack. No, it would only doom our friends and the ring.”

“But at the end—they save Sam and Frodo from the lava. It couldn’t take that long to get there.”

“But where were they flying from?” Gandalf asked.

It was Andrea’s turn to knit her brow. “I guess they were with you all at the Black Gate.”

Faramir’s eyes were liable to pop out of his head. “Why were we at the Black Gate?”

Gandalf waved a hand to put off the question. “Kara, the Black Gate is nearer to Mt. Doom, and I assume the forces of Mordor were a bit put off by the destruction of the ring.” He grumped, “And I’m greatly disgruntled to know future generations are second-guessing my decisions as if I’ve no more experience than these two!” He gestured to Merry and Pippin.

“Hey!” Pippin said.

“No, he’s right, Pip.”

“Fair,” Pippin admitted.

“So… maybe go find a butterfly to whisper to?” Andrea prompted.

“Moths are more reliable,” Gandalf said with dignity. He shook his head as he rose, muttering, “To think I shall live to be remembered as a butterfly-wielding fool who sent his friends into dread danger for no good reason— I shudder for your generation!” he shot back at Andrea.

“They also remember your fireworks,” Andrea called, unabashed.

He shuddered and shot her a withering look, though the twinkle in his eye had returned, she thought. “Young lady, you are—as the people of Laketown put it—standing on very thin ice.”

He left in a swirl of white robes.

Andrea couldn’t help smiling, despite the dire circ*mstances and her very real worry about Kara and Aragorn.

Boromir grinned at her, the first smile she’d seen from him in days. “Please tell me a butterfly is involved at least once.”

“There’s a good chance,” Andrea said.

Faramir set his forehead in his hands. “I do not understand this at all.” He raised a hand. “And of your pity, Lady Andrea, please do not try to explain it just now. I am a simple man, and I suppose I am in need of simple answers.”

Boromir nodded. “We will prepare to go out to battle. We will await news from the eagles to determine our direction, but we cannot sit behind our walls and wait for death to come to our friends in lieu of ourselves. Whatever our faults, that has never been Gondor’s path and I shall not start now.”

“I agree,” Faramir said. He and Boromir rose from the table, and the others began to rise as well.

Eowyn’s face was bright again as she came around the table. “Indeed, I am sure you are in the right of it, my lords.”

Faramir turned to her, looking guilt-stricken. “I apologize, Lady Eowyn; I have been discussing Theoden’s march as if you have not your whole family at stake.”

She shrugged gracefully. “It is true that the king and my brother are my only family now, but they have ever been in danger, my lord. Such are the times we live in. Even had I no stake in this war, I would rejoice at Lord Boromir’s decision, for it seems to me that both duty and glory lie in matching the enemy’s boldness stroke for stroke.”

Faramir’s gaze warmed, and a bewitched sort of smile tugged at his mouth. He cleared his throat and glanced at Boromir. “Er—well said.”

Andrea didn’t read a lot of romances, and she’d never seen a man actually give heart-eyes, but she was pretty sure that’s what was meant. She shared a glance with Boromir, seeing that he had also clocked his brother’s reaction. His brief flash of satisfaction made her grin.

Boromir lingered behind as Eowyn and the hobbits and Faramir left the dining hall. “Andrea, a moment.”

The room was almost dark now that the evening light was gone, and only a few candles remained lit on the table. She wore a different gown than he’d seen before—someone must have helped her find something that fit better. Distractingly better.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“I—How is Rosie? I regret I couldn’t visit today, particularly as you aren’t comfortable with my old nurse.”

“Oh, no, Nina is amazing. I mean, yes—we both took a hot minute to warm up to each other, but she is my new favorite person. I think she really enjoys changing Rosie’s diapers—she’ll practically fight me for it, and the woman can throw down. She’ll also pace with Rosie for hours. And she found me a rocking chair which I didn’t even know existed in this world.”

He smiled with relief. “I am heartened to hear it."

“She likes to talk about you and Faramir.” Andrea grinned and then winced as the small cut on her lip split. “She acts more like your grandmother than your—servant.”

Boromir couldn’t seem to look away from her lips. He reached out to wipe away the small bead of blood forming over the small scab, and then looked at the blood on his thumb. He took one of the linen napkins from the table and wiped his hand, then pressed it gently to her mouth. She had barely spoken of his father’s accusations, his violence, or his threats. And Boromir had been so overwhelmed by the repercussions of locking his father away, that he had barely seen her. “I am—so sorry,” Boromir said. “I have no excuse, for both you and Kara warned me that my father would not be—amenable to change. That he could be violent, I also knew, but I never thought he would strike a woman and a guest in our city. I saw him this morning, and he is still—raving.”

“That sucks, and I’m sorry. It’s terrible to see somebody you love lose their mind. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.” She raised a hand and put it over his on the cloth. She would’ve taken over, but he didn’t relinquish it.

Her eyes flickered over his face. “I’m fine, though,” she added. “This barely hurts.”

Another candle at the table guttered and died. It caused the shadows to jump and deepen, but somehow Andrea’s eyes still reflected more candlelight. Only the linen cloth separated his fingers from her dark, soft lips.

Boromir was tired, wearier in his soul than he ever recalled being, and perhaps that was some excuse for his broken inhibitions. He brought his other hand up and stroked the unbroken sweep of her lower lip. Maybe it was just that the longing had worn him down.

“You’re—you’re tired.” Andrea said, almost as if she’d heard his thoughts.

“So?” He splayed his hand across her cheek, and stroked his thumb over her lip again. The feeling was heady.

She raised a brow. “I don’t know—I’m not usually in the position to try and protect a guy’s conscience, but I think you’ll feel guilty about this later.”

“Why would I feel guilty? Unless you want me to stop.”

“No, but—” her cheeks darkened a little. “You and Faramir and Aragorn—you’re all uber-honorable. You’ll feel like you’re making some kind of promise, and then you’ll feel guilty when you don’t follow through when all this is over.”

He frowned. “Who says I will not follow through?”

She shivered under his touch and took a step away from him. “It is what it is; that’s not how this works for people like you. I’m trying to respect the narrative, and, you know, be considerate and all that crap.”

“I won’t feel guilty.”

“Yeah, but you’re like—all emotionally wounded. I have to ask, what would Kara say?”

He closed the distance again. “That’s a terrible question. Do you know why?”

Andrea swallowed.

“Because you’re not Kara, and I don’t care what she would say.” He dropped the linen cloth on the floor and touched her split lip again. No blood stained his fingers. “Are you sure this does not hurt?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Boromir kissed her, and her lips were even softer than they’d felt under his thumb. He slid one hand behind her neck, and the other wrapped around her, instinctively pulling her closer. Her neck was so slight under his hand, so vulnerable. He didn’t think of her that way because she had the presence of a drill sergeant at arms, but she was so much more delicate than he. His hand finally found her hip, a curve he’d thought about spanning the whole way from Edoras.

Boromir kissed her chin, her jaw, her neck before going back to her mouth. He might have even stopped there, satisfied, but her tongue ran lightly along his lip. His mind whited out as with lightning when he opened his mouth, and she deepened the kiss.

He knew he groaned, and he knew he sat her up on the table so that she was at his height—but he knew little else.

Andrea finally drew back to breathe, taking a little gasp, and Boromir knew he had better calm down or she would be right and he would regret this. He pressed his forehead to hers, feeling his heart race and the rush of his breath.

“I should—I should get back to Rosie,” she said, after a moment. Her breath puffed against this neck.

“Yes.” He kissed her once more and drew back. If he was not careful, he would start making those promises of love and fidelity, and he could not fulfill those if he died in the coming battle. He would not make promises, indeed, but not for the reasons she thought. It would be kinder to wait.

If he yet lived at the end of this—he would make such declarations then and convince her that he meant them. The thought of such sweet persuasion filled him with yet more warmth, and he shook his head ruefully. “You are a very dangerous person.”

Andrea laughed, a little breathless. “Everybody seems to think so."

"May I walk you back to your room?"

"Nina and probably Pippin will be there with Rosie."

"I assumed so; that is why I dare offer. Also, I really must hold Rosie before we depart."

"Right. I think my ovaries just exploded."

"Your what?"

"Nothing, just a saying."

"Shall we?" He took her hand and kissed it, before tucking it around his arm.

She shook her head. "And you think I'm the dangerous one."

#

Chapter 35

Chapter Text

Previously:

"May I walk you back to your room?" Boromir asked.

"Nina and probably Pippin will be there with Rosie."

"I assumed so; that is why I dare offer. Also, I really must hold Rosie before we depart."

"Hm. I think my ovaries just exploded."

"Your what?"

"Nothing, just a saying."

"Shall we?" He took her hand and kissed it, before tucking it around his arm.

She shook her head. "And you think I'm the dangerous one."

#

Faramir was fairly certain that Lady Eowyn was glancing at him more than usual after they left Boromir and Andrea in the dining hall. He accompanied her through the tunnel that led from the Citadel to the next circle of the city, justifying himself that it was only polite to do so. Merry and Pippin had gone ahead to fetch the baby from Nina, and it was only the two of them.

It was not vanity that led him to think that she was examining him, for he knew they were not admiring glances. She was weighing something in her mind.

“How fast will Sauron’s forces travel?” she asked.

“Orcs can travel upwards of twenty to thirty miles by night… and with the cloud cover of Mordor that is extending over the land, they will travel by day as well.”

“As much as sixty miles a day.” Eowyn sounded dismayed.

“Potentially, but they will not want to arrive exhausted. It is true orcs need little rest, but they cannot keep that pace indefinitely.”

“It is only five or six times that distance from Minas Tirith to Edoras,” Eowyn said. “If my uncle has already traveled part of the way, they could come upon them within the next night and day.”

Faramir sighed. “True.”

Her face—already beautiful—became set and hard. She had made some decision, and it filled Faramir with disquiet. He halted her with a brief touch to her shoulder. “What action you contemplate? Tell me, please.”

She looked at him again, in that measuring way. They had reached the end of the tunnel where it opened up to the green lawns and trees that surrounded the Houses of Healing. There had been torches in the tunnel, but now it was only the faint light of the shadowed moon that lit her pale hair and face between the shadows of the tree branches.

Whatever she found in her study of him, it was not enough. She pasted a submissive expression on her face that in no way reached her eyes. “I contemplate nothing, my lord, except the unavoidable dread of awaiting news from behind these walls.”

“Ah, don’t do that,” Faramir said impulsively. “Don’t lie to me.”

Her eyes snapped. “Then do not ask. You are not my father or my brother or my king to demand answers of me.”

He spread his hands. “I do not demand. But I dare to repeat my question because your safety is important to me. As a—” he forced the rest of it out, “as a brother.”

Her eyes shadowed as she furrowed her brow. “A brother?”

A night wind tossed his hair, and he ran a hand through it. Her blonde hair was blown across her shoulders, but she left it.

“My brother has not stopped speaking of you since he arrived back home,” Faramir said. “Even with the horrible events of the past two days, he speaks of you to me. He is not—a man of soft words, but he is intent on this.”

She looked genuinely surprised. “You are misled then. If anyone, he cares for Andrea and Rosie…”

“Indeed, I wondered that as well, but his particularity in describing you…” Faramir felt himself blush. His brother had never previously discussed women, and suddenly now it was, “Is not Eowyn the picture of beauty? You must see how she can ride. And her skill with a sword—”

“That, at least, I have seen,” Faramir had interrupted, uncomfortable.

Boromir had chuckled and slapped his shoulder. “Extraordinary woman, is she not?”

It was strange, because Boromir did seem closer to Andrea, but Faramir was afraid that perhaps his brother—a stranger to the ways of courting—did not understand the confusing messages he was sending to both ladies. To Faramir, however, it seemed clear that his thoughts lay with Eowyn.

Faramir could not repeat all this to her, but if she contemplated something dangerous, he owed it to Boromir to keep her safe.

“Lord Boromir is kind, but he hardly knows me,” Eowyn said firmly. “If his affections are engaged, I believe it is Andrea and Rosie who have his love, not me.”

“Perhaps I am wrong,” Faramir admitted. “He certainly takes great care of the babe… But I cannot take that chance. Please tell me what you decided just now, lest I take more drastic measures.”

“Do you threaten me?”

“I will if I must.”

“I have only just escaped one prison and I did not think to fall into another. Shall you put a lock on my door? A guard in the hall? Will my horse disappear into another stable?” Her eyes flashed. “I am not a fine lady of Gondor, I am a shieldmaiden of Rohan. And I do not answer to you.”

“You will answer to Boromir, then. As Steward of Gondor, you are under his jurisdiction and protection.”

She tossed her hair back. “Do what you must.”

Her unconcern was worrying. “You plan to be gone before morning,” he realized. He latched onto her wrist before he knew what he was doing. He felt certain if she got out of his sight tonight, she would disappear for good.

“Unhand me.”

“Promise you will not leave the city alone.”

“You said not to lie.”

“What do you think you could do? I cast no doubt on your skill with a sword, but I would not send out a single warrior of any nation or gender! You leave me very few choices.” Short of dragging her back to Boromir, he was at a loss.

“I have no plans to throw my life away, but I will not stay here while death approaches my people unknown and glory and honor pass me by. I have been assured that my place in this story is not so passive, and by all that is holy, I will ensure that it is not.”

“Even if you could get through to warn your uncle—you would only beat the enemy by a few hours.”

This did not daunt her. “Even a few hours preparation can change a battle.”

“And—you would fight with them.”

She did not answer, but she did not have to.

“Would your uncle allow this?” he asked.

She looked down at her wrist. His battle-roughened hand was dark against her white sleeve and slender wrist.

He sighed. “Your brother, Eomer?”

She still did not reply.

“Will you say nothing?” he asked sadly.

She finally exhaled. “Forget this conversation, and I will promise not to leave the city alone.”

Faramir grimaced, but he suspected this was the most he would get from her. He released her arm and brushed his hand up to her shoulder. Think of her as a sister, he reminded himself. He gently gripped her taut shoulders. “Choosing safety is not the same as weakness. Will you blame Andrea if she stays here safely with her child?”

“Of course not.”

“Will you silently censure the other women who remain here? Do you think less of Nina, our nurse, for remaining behind?”

“I doubt she has any skill with a sword.”

His jaw twitched. “It takes great strength to remain behind and preserve what is left. It takes great fortitude to wait for the wounded and care for them when they come. There are other kinds of honor.”

Her shoulder relaxed slightly. “Everything you say is true, but it is not true of me. I have a hunger inside that is not—it is not satisfied by those things, worthy as they are. Call me unmaidenly or unfeminine, but it is who I am. I have cared for my uncle for years as his health failed and his mind was poisoned by Wormtongue. I am not a nursemaid by nature. I hunger to defend my country as fervently as you or your brother do. I do not know why your brother speaks of me, but our commonality is not love, it is a drive to face our enemy with a sword.”

In her conviction, she glowed like a moonbeam in the dark night. Faramir had not known a woman could contain such passion—at least, he had never seen it. He removed his hands, feeling as if he was sullying something too pure to touch. “I will accept your promise then. Not alone.”

She inclined her head, and her inner glow was banked.

Just then, Andrea came out of the tunnel at a run. Boromir was behind her.

“Eowyn?” she called, eyes searching for them among the dark trees. “Is that you? Faramir? I just had an idea to contact Kara.”

Faramir forced himself to turn toward her. “Yes?”

“Yeah. I don’t know if the eagles will get here in time for them, and whatever happens, Aragorn can’t release the ghosts.” She took a deep breath. “So, there’s this thing called Morse Code.”

#

Kara was out of the way as Aragorn, the Gray Company, and the ghosts fell on the Corsairs of Umbar. She still didn’t quite understand who they were—maybe she’d skimmed that part of the book—but she knew the Corsairs were the ship people, and they needed the ships to get up the Anduin to Minas Tirith.

There’d been some discussion of who should stay with her—Gimli or Legolas or perhaps one of the Gray Company, but Kara had put a stop to that. “I solemnly promise I will stay out of the way and not get into any trouble.” She patted the knife she had at her waist now, and the smaller bow that Eowyn had given her. “I can take care of any small problems that come my way, or if I can’t, I can hide like nobody’s business.”

Aragorn had scoffed. “I have yet to see you hide once.”

“I did!” Kara exclaimed, stung. “I hid in that copse of trees at the Battle of Isengard.”

“You did not, I had to search those trees—afraid of finding your limp body behind one of them the whole time.”

“Well, after Boromir found me, I had to get him somewhere safe, and then Andrea was in labor…”

“I do not say you were unjustified, my love, merely that you cannot claim to have hidden for any great length of time.”

Kara was not prepared for this term of affection. It effectively silenced her for a minute. But only a minute. “Okay, first time for everything. Otherwise you’ll have to sacrifice one of your actual corporeal warriors to be my baby-sitter and whoever it is will resent me forever.”

Gimli’s somewhat guilty silence lent weight to her argument.

Aragorn therefore had asked Halbarad to scout out a large manor house on the edge of the port city where Kara might wait in relative safety. He found one as described, on the edge of steep embankment, high above the city. It had a panoramic view of the bay, a million-dollar-view, if it’d been in her time.

Some of their supplies were left there as well, before dawn, as they wanted to go into battle without extra weight. The front of the manor had arched windows that let in air and light as the sun rose, and Kara piled all the bag near the rear of that room. She drug several dusty cushions to the window and sank down on them, rather like a medieval bean-bag.

She wasn’t terribly worried about this battle, for once. The ghost army—sexist jerks though they were—could take these guys on. All the versions of the story agreed on that. As far as she remembered, there weren’t even any casualties.

The view from the windows of the manor house made her feel safely remote, as well. From this distance, she could see ships floating in the bay, and the thin streams of smoke from some morning fires. She was much too far to hear shouting or even to see much as the battle began. The ghosts were too insubstantial from this distance, and the Gray Company, including Aragorn, wore such subdued colors that it was hard to see them in the dim morning light.

Kara didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until she woke up.

She wasn’t sure what woke her, at first. The light had changed, and it must be mid-morning, although dark clouds in the east made the light eerie. A quick glance at the port city did not tell her much. The ships were still there, and she did not see much movement. The house felt very still around her, empty.

Then a flash of light caught her attention. She thought at first it might be lightning teasing the corners of her vision, but there was no thunder. And it happened again, but not from the windows, the flash of light was from the luggage.

She went tentatively to the pile of saddle bags and satchels and packs against the wall. There it was again. Aragorn’s bag was flashing as if a high-powered flashlight inside was turning on and off.

Kara’s heart pounded. The palantir was in there. Was Sauron doing something with it? Could he transmit heat? Would it start a fire?

She carefully tugged Aragorn’s bag free and set it in the middle of the room, far from any cushions or cloth. The floor was smooth flagstone, and it could not burn. She backed away from it like a bomb.

She was so intent on watching the flashes of light seeping between the seams of his bag that a footstep in the doorway caught her completely off guard. She flinched hard, but her knife was in her hand as she spun.

“It’s only I,” Aragorn said. She sagged with relief when she saw him in the arched doorway. He looked none the worse for the battle she’d (failed to) watch from the windows. Perhaps a little worn and sweaty, but there wasn’t even any blood on him.

He moved easily to her, and she hugged him tightly. “You’re okay?”

He kissed her forehead. “Yes, the Army of the Dead drove half away out of pure terror and the rest not far behind. They are finishing a final sweep even now—What is that?” He pulled her further away from his bag, shoving her half behind him.

“I don’t know! I’ve been watching it flash for several minutes at least. It must be the palantir.”

“You did not look into it?”

“No, of course not.”

“Strange,” he said, after a moment of watching. “If it is a working of Sauron, it is strangely innocuous. If he seeks to lure us into looking, he will be disappointed.”

“Maybe it is from Denethor in Minas Tirith? You did say that you saw him for a moment when you used it.”

“Perhaps… but what would be the meaning of this nonsensical pattern of light? Does he think to communicate something?”

“Oh my gosh—it is a pattern. You’re right!”

The light had stopped again for a time, and he looked to her, confused.

“I think I know what this is,” Kara said. “In my country we had a set of signals that could be sent with sound or light called Morse Code.” She grimaced. “The only thing is… I don’t really know Morse Code. I mean, everybody has like a week in elementary school when they get into it, but if I ever knew the alphabet, I’ve definitely forgotten it since then.”

It began again and this time, now that Kara had shifted her mind back to things she knew from her past life, it was clearly a pattern. Three long, three short, three long.

“But who would know this code other than yourself? Andrea?”

“Yeah, and she’s exactly the kind of person who would happen to know it. She loves numbers, and I think she has a crazy good memory.”

The pattern went on once more. Kara nodded. “This pattern I know, because it’s the most common. S.O.S., it means… ‘I’m in trouble. Send help.’”

Aragorn blanched. “I cannot imagine how Andrea came to be using the seeing stone of Minas Anor… Denethor would never allow it. Boromir would surely prevent it, if he could.”

“No, I know… he must have allowed it for some reason.”

“We must make all haste to get there.”

“But… we were already planning to do that.” Kara put a hand on his arm. “Hang on just a second, please, let me think. Andrea is really smart. She knows the palantiri aren’t safe, so she doesn’t expect us to look into it. She’s using the most simple pattern, since she guesses that I don’t know Morse Code. She also knows that we’re planning to get there as fast as we can. She’s warning us about something that can’t wait two days until we get there. Something imminent.”

Aragorn frowned. “You think the warning is for us—we are in imminent danger.”

“But we already know that.”

“And the battle with the Corsairs went better than hoped,” he added.

“And then we get on the ships and go to Minas Tirith with the ghosts?”

“No, I was on the point of releasing the dead, for they have fulfilled their oath to fight for me. Keeping them in close proximity is dangerous. They have made an oath, but as you have seen, they are naturally sullen, rebellious, and untrustworthy.”

Kara’s eyes went wide. “Maybe she’s warning us not to release them.”

The lights flashed one more time, and then it went dark.

“Or perhaps,” Aragorn mused, “that danger is coming our way. It is true that you have said the next confrontation is the Battle of Pelennor Fields, but how if it is now closer? Sauron believes us to have the ring—perhaps he sends his forces to us.”

“Either way, you’d better not release the ghosts.”

“I will not.” He breathed deeply. “Only a few minutes more and I would have. I nearly released them before I came up to you, but Halbarad bid me wait. I did not want to leave you in anxiety any longer than necessary.”

Kara bit her lip. She gestured to the pile of dusty pillows. “I actually fell asleep,” she confessed.

Aragorn’s laugh, which she seldom heard these days, bubbled up.

“I’m sorry!” Kara gave an embarrassed groan. “I was concerned, but it was so comfortable.”

“There is no need for apology; I am glad you rested.” He kissed her forehead again, holding her arms. “I wish you could stay here until this is over. What is that story you told the hobbits—Sleeping Beauty?”

Kara laughed. “I didn’t think you were listening.”

“I was always listening.” He dipped his head to brush his lips against her temple. “And I would be honored to kiss you awake.”

Kara’s stomach swooped as it still did whenever Aragorn got near her, let alone kissed her. “I love you,” she said. “I hope you know that. You are the kindest, strongest, and… purest man I’ve ever met. Every moment we’re together is still such a shocking gift. I can hardly believe it’s not going to end soon.”

“It’s not.” His lips brushed hers as he spoke. “You’ll have me as long as you live.”

Kara sighed. “But we probably need to go down now, don’t we? For Halbarad and the others.”

“Yes.” He cast an odd look to her pile of cushions. “As much as I would love to stay.”

Kara blushed. “Does the king have his mind in the gutter?”

“I am not a king yet, nor am I in any gutter. Your fiancé,” he used the word she had taught him, “may have indulged thoughts too high for him at present.”

Kara laughed and went to scoop up several bags. “You’re also basically a poet; I don’t know how I thought I could resist you.”

“I will remember that.” He hoisted his own pack and several more. “I hope we have interpreted Andrea’s message correctly.”

“Me too,” Kara said. “If there actually is a crisis in Minas Tirith…”

“They could only have arrived a few days ago.”

“Yeah,” Kara agreed. “How much could change in such a short time?”