Chapter Text
Map of Southern Westeros, the year 260 Ac, after the arrival of Gondor (Grey)
in the Southern Stormlands (Yellow),
as well as a small part of Rohan (Between Yellow and Grey))
Aragorn had not wanted to return to the White City. Not yet, at least. As the Gondorian fleet had left the burning corsair ships at Umbar, he had known in his heart, that his path did not lie in Gondor for many more years. Yet as they reached Pelargir and the celebrations within, a messenger had run up to Aragorn.
At first, he had believed the man to be sent by the Steward, Ecthelion, yet the note in his hand said otherwise.
Therefore, with great haste, he had left Pelargir with a few dozen men at dawn, at the urgent request of Gandalf the Grey, and now found himself at the gates of Minas Tirith. On this day, the walls were not merely manned by guards, for amongst them were commoners too, and behold! The banner of Gondor flew proudly on the walls, as every man, woman, and child in the city cheered for their beloved general.
Aragorn slowed down, to greet the people, and accept their gratitude. He knew that to do otherwise would be foolish. As he rode, old women and little girls would approach him with flowers, which he happily accepted. And then the singing began. It seemed to have originated with one of his companions, Bregon if Aragorn had to guess, yet soon all sang.
Gondor! Gondor, between the Mountains and the Sea!
West Wind blew there; the light upon the Silver Tree
Fell like bright rain in gardens of the Kings of old.
O proud walls! White towers! O winged crown and throne of gold!
O Gondor, Gondor! Shall Men behold the Silver Tree,
Or West Wind blow again between the Mountains and the Sea?
All the way to the tower, he could hear the people sing the songs of old around him, and for once in decades, the Gondorians felt hope. The hope was magnified by the apparent disappearance of the darkness to the east, for no matter how hard the people looked, none could see the shadow of Mordor any longer.
As Aragorn entered the throne room, he found that hope and joy had been replaced by grim faces. He knelt in front of the steward and unsheathed his sword.
"My sword is yours, my Lord," said Aragorn, as he handed it to Ecthelion the Second.
"Stand, my friend. We have need of your council, not your sword," said Ecthelion, with a kind smile. Aragorn looked up at the man he served. Ecthelion looked every part a king of yore, although age had taken its toll on his wise and noble face. He was tall and proud, with hard yet warm eyes. On his chest was emblazoned the white tree of Gondor. As Aragorn stood, he looked at the men around him. Right behind the Steward stood a great table, with a map of Gondor on it, as well as her neighbors. Around the table, stood men of Gondor, whom Aragorn admired greatly. First, he saw Denethor, the Steward's son, on the right hand of his father's seat. Although he looked as kingly as his father, the young man's face was made hideous to behold, by the clear jealousy and mistrust in his eyes. Aragorn looked somberly at the heir and bowed. Although many in Gondor believed the two to be rivals, Aragorn could never see Denethor as anything resembling a rival. It pained him to cause so much jealousy, when all he wanted to do, was to be of service to Gondor.
On Denethor's right, sat Prince Adrahil of Dol Amroth, as well as his young son, Imrahil. Furthermore, there was Angborn the Fearless, and Forlong, the fat yet brave lord of Lossarnach.
On the Steward's left, a seat was empty - Aragorn's seat, he knew - yet besides it sat Gandalf, Golasgil, Hirluin, Duinhir, and Dervorin, the captain of the Rangers of Ithilien. Aragorn greeted them all, before helping the Steward to his seat.
"I apologize for the hasty summons, Thorongil," said Gandalf suddenly, with a glint in his eye as he said Aragorn's undercover name, "Yet the matter is very urgent."
"You need not apologize, my friend, yet I would like to hear the reason for this... council."
"And you shall!" cried Ecthelion, with a strength that seemed beyond his 94 years, "For we will no doubt have need of you."
With that, he turned towards the guards, and yelled: "Send in the messenger."
Aragorn looked on as the guards obeyed their lord's command. As the doors opened, a small man came strolling in. He seemed worried as if he might become a victim of some gruesome attack at any moment. He did not look like a man of Gondor, and nor did he look like a blonde-haired rider of Rohan. If Aragorn did not know any better, he would have assumed that the man was from Bree, or perhaps Dale to the East? Yet he wore an orange coat, with a white sun-and-chevron emblazoned on his chest, a sigil Aragorn had never in his life seen. Then the nervous man spoke.
"My lords, I am Ser Randyll Meadows, an emissary of Lord Andrew Ashford... of Ashford. His lordship has sent me to inquire into who you are, and what you're doing on his land. As I have already been told, this is the Kingdom of Gondor, yet I have not been told what evil sorcery you have used to come here, and what you want. I can assure you, that Lord Ashford's liege lord, the Lord Luthor Tyrell of Highgarden, possesses a vast amount of wealth and warriors. Furthermore, Lord Ormund Baratheon, the hand of King Jaehaerys Targaryen, is in command of 10.000 men at Summerhal and has already sent word to the capital. Ser Jason Lannister commands 11.000 men further west from there as well. The Northmen are bringing down thousands of men too, and they have joined together with the forces of the Vale and the Riverlands. If it is a war you wish, 400.000 Warriors of Westeros shall soon descend upon you, led by the great dragon himself, and w-"
"Thank you, Ser Randyll..." Ecthelion interrupted, "We have no need of threats, for we are not here to wage war against anyone." At this, Aragorn could not contain himself any longer.
"Here? What do you mean, my lord? What has happened?"
Ecthelion sighed and looked to Gandalf for guidance. The wizard nodded, and the strength returned to Ecthelion.
"Our scouts report that all land north of the Argonath, and all land east - no, west, I suppose - of Ithilien... Has disappeared. It has been replaced by a new, strange land, this 'Westeros'. The new king of Rohan, Theoden, is enraged, for he has lost nearly all his land, with exception of all land south of Edoras. To think, the pressure that the Valar have placed upon his shoulders... Atlas, it would seem our enemies have not come with us. At least, this man claims he has never heard of orcs before, isn't that right?" he asked the envoy. The man merely nodded. "We have no 'Orcs', or grumpkins and snarks," he chuckled, "although I'm sure the Starks of Winterfell would love you and your tales."
If Aragorn heard the envoy's response, he did not show. His majestic face has gone pale, and all warmth had left his eyes. His once calm demeanor had collapsed, to be replaced by what could only be described as fear and sorrow. His thoughts dwelt on Arwen, Elrond, his mother - whom he was not certain would survive the loss of her son-, Elladan and Elrohir, and on his kinsmen of the north. His beautiful Arwen, Luthiel come again, whom he would never see again. The last time he had seen her, he had hardly said a proper farewell. She trusted his abilities as a warrior and knew that he would come home again. Yet they had been wrong, and now they would never see each other again. He tried to speak but found that he could utter no words. Ecthelion noticed.
"Have some wine brought to Lord Thorongil..." he said sympathetically. As Aragorn drank, Gandalf took the word.
"Whether this is the work of the enemy or the Valar, we cannot know. It may even be that Eru himself has done this. If so, we may have a purpose here, one we must fulfill before we can return home." said Gandalf, although Aragorn could sense that he was uncertain about this.
"A purpose?" asked Adrahil, "My lord Gandalf, the enemy has not come with us! There are no orcs here, nor any other fell servants of Morgoth. Had this been the work of the enemy, would he not have sent orcs with us? Someone, to torment us?"
"I concur," said Hirluin, "My lords, this is a gift! We have been saved from Sauron by Eru, and he has brought us to his land!"
Golasgil and Duinhir nodded in agreement, yet Aragorn was furious.
"A gift, my lord?" he asked, barely getting the words out behind his clenched teeth, "You forget that we have not only been removed from Sauron but also the rest of the free people of Middle Earth!" he nearly shouted
Hirluin looked taken aback by his anger, as did the rest of the council, "My Lord Thorongil, please, I meant no harm! Yet surely you will not disagree when I say, that I'd rather not meet any elves or dwarves again if it meant being saved from Sauron!"
His attempt at diplomacy did not work as well as he may have hoped, yet it allowed Aragorn to control his anger, and stop himself before he exploded.
"And tell me, Lord Hirluin; What shall the rest of Middle Earth do, when we are gone? Ever has Gondor been the shield that guarded the North against Sauron's forces, and now it is no more. Middle Earth shall be run over end, while we feast in our new comfort!"
Denethor scuffed. "Tell me Lord Thorongil, why we should continue being their shield when they do nothing to support us? The elves and dwarves have left us alone, yet they no doubt still have some strength left to use. They shall not be run over end, although I understand your worry. You're from there yourself after all, are you not?"
Before Aragorn could respond, Gandalf cut in, "My Lord Denethor, I can assure you that everyone else has not sat idly by. Or have you heard nothing from the world outside Gondor? 40 years ago, the men of Dale, the dwarves of the Iron Hills, and the elves of Mirkwood, all rallied together to defeat a large goblin horde, as well as a dragon, an anc-"
"Enough, all of you!" Ecthelion shouted, "We do not know who sent us here, and nor do we know how to return, that is if we even want to. Therefore, I believe it is foolish of us to discuss such things."
Now Angborn spoke up, "I couldn't agree more my lord. Before I say more, however, I should like to have this envoy removed."
As the guards removed the envoy at the order of the steward, all looked to Angborn, beckoning for him to continue. The man wiped away a bead of sweat from his forehead. Despite having recently cut off his massive lock of black hair, he still wore his full armor to the meeting, as the only one amongst them.
"My lords, I do not doubt that this man exaggerates the strength of this kingdom, as well as their being led by a dragon. Nevertheless, we should not believe his words to be too far off from the truth. If I had to guess, I would say we face 100.000 men. Yet as the envoy said, 10.000 of their men are isolated at Summerhal. If we led a surprise attack, we could wipe out this force, with minimal losses on our side. Furthermore, it would seem the people of Westeros are not as tall as the Gondorians. Every one of our men is worth at least 5 of theirs! My Lord Ecthelion, give me command of this army, and I would bring you certain victory!"
"You would start a war with other men?" spoke Imrahil, son of Adrahil. The man was only 25, yet already wiser and more mature than many in the room, Aragorn thought. If only all Gondorians were like the Dol Amrothians... Might be Gondor would never have fallen into decline...
"What else, Lord Imrahil?" asked Angborn
"What else, you ask? Well, diplomacy for one! We do not even know these people yet, and you council war?" He turned to the steward, "My Lord Ecthelion, give me leave to travel to Summerhal with a hundred men, and I shall personally negotiate with these people, with your blessings."
"Lord Imrahil speaks the truth. With your permission, I would participate in these negotiations, for I much desire to know where we are," said Aragorn then, having decided he would not sit idly by here, while people he loved were in danger at home. Perhaps if he completed whatever task Eru had in store for him, he could return home.
Ecthelion looked at the two for a few minutes. His face was thoughtful, and it seemed as if an inner conflict raged within him. Then it settled, and he spoke,
"Envoys shall be sent to Summerhal. You may travel in this retinue, but it shall be led by my son, Denethor, who shall speak with my voice,"
Denethor seemed satisfied with the decision, judging by his grateful smile.
"We shall send this ser Randyll back to Summerhal, to warn them of our arrival. He shall instruct them to send guides, who shall accompany my son and his followers. Denethor, you shall pick your retinue yourself, although all who want to join are welcome to. Make sure that your followers are people who represent the beauty and might of Gondor. Pick the tallest, strongest, and most honorable men. I will not have any envoys of Gondor misbehave. You hear me?"
"Yes, my lord, I hear you. I shall not disappoint you, father." his ever dutiful son responded. The response seemed to sadden the old man, yet he said nothing. Angborn did, however.
"While I understand the wish for diplomacy... somewhat... it seems foolish to me, to risk the heir to Gondor on such a dangerous mission. What guarantee do we have, that they will not harm our envoys?"
"If it is of any comfort to you, my Lord Angborn," said Gandalf, "I shall travel with the envoys myself."
"And what comfort would that be?" asked Denethor. Aragorn looked to the steward's son. "My lord, do not mistake Mithrandir as some conjurer of cheap tricks. I for one would feel far safer if the grey wanderer went with us."
And so it was...
The next morning, the envoy from Ashford had left for Summerhal, ahorse on a great Gondorian mount. He had left with great gifts, as was the custom in Gondor, to the loud cheers of Minas Tirith. As he rode, Ecthelion had leaned in towards Aragorn,
"I do not trust that man. He was arrogant, yet insecure. Never have I met a man like that, not even in Harad. If this kingdom is full of men like him..." he had trailed off.
"I wouldn't worry, my lord," Aragorn had said, kindly, "He was worried, as would I have been. He seemed arrogant and standoffish, yes, but perhaps he thought it necessary, to scare us off. After all, it might seem like we were an invading force. He might have a family he does not wish to see die. No, I do not think these are all bad men, yet my heart tells me that this kingdom has faced much war in the past, and the many horrors that accompany it."
Aragorn remembered the man's smile as he rode northwards, alongside Gandalf. It had been a week since the envoy left. A week full of waiting for news, waiting to see if Angborn may have been in the right. A week full of doubt amongst the lords of Gondor. Yet it had all been for nothing, for on Tuesday the 17. of march, banners had been spotted in the distance from Rammas Echor. A yellow flag with a great black stag on it had flowed freely alongside a banner that had sent chills down Aragorn's spine. A red three-headed dragon breathing flames on a black field. It seemed more like a banner of Mordor than a banner of the free peoples. Aragorn had ridden at once to the wall, alongside Denethor's retinue.
The Westerosi retinue was led by another knight, the brother of some great lord. His name was Ser Jason Lannister, the very same the envoy had warned them off, and not even during his service in Rohan, had Aragorn seen such blonde hair. The man rode alongside Denethor and Imrahil, while Aragorn himself and Gandalf rode alongside a young knight from the Stormlands, a Ser Barristan Selmy. The knight was the heir to a castle that now lay on the border between Gondor and the Stormlands.
As they rode, they spoke of Gondor, and of Westeros. The Kingdom was ruled by house Targaryen, a people said to have purple eyes and silver hair. When Barristan had told him that just a hundred years ago, the Targaryens had ridden dragons into war, Aragorn had at first not believed him. Yet the more they talked, the more he came to see Barristan's honesty and honor. Even Gandalf had seemed surprised when he heard of the dragons and had immediately questioned if there were any left, and how the Targaryens had managed to control such intelligent yet evil beasts. Barristan had answered the first question easily but had been at a loss for the second one. They had learned from the man, that dragons were not as intelligent in this world, and that they could not even speak. That had seemingly relieved Gandalf, yet it did not do so to Aragorn. Had there been any dragons, any servants of Morgoth, in this world, Aragorn would have known that these were his enemies and that his purpose here was to defeat them. Yet now there was nothing. There was no magic in this world, according to Barristan, and even the notion had made the young knight laugh, not unkindly.
And so, they rode onwards, while Aragorn considered his purpose.
They did not stop until they reached ser Barristan's home of Harvest Hall, where they spent the night.
Harvest hall was a humble castle, with 1000 inhabitants, yet it had a certain charm to it - it reminded Aragorn of the Dunedain holdfasts in the north. Every time he walked around a corner, he expected Halbarad to appear, with his laugh. Yet it was not to be.
He had been discussing this new world with Gandalf when the young Ser Barristan walked over to them.
"Well met, ser Barristan. Would you care to join us?" asked Gandalf.
"Well met to you too, Lord Gandalf. It would be my honor, yet I'm afraid that is not why I am here." he turned to Aragorn, "Lord Thorongil, the Gondorians tell me of your success in an attack on a pirate lair, where you slew their captain. The story intrigued me and is why I am here. I wish to challenge you to a fight." he said boldly, without any hesitation. His courage impressed Aragorn. He was a young man, who had decided to challenge a supposedly renowned Gondorian lord, who was not only more experienced than him, but also taller. Of course, Ser Barristan could not know of Aragorn's Dunedain blood, or he surely would've not dared to fight. Aragorn smiled.
"If you are sure that that is what you want, then yes, I shall fight you. With blunted swords I assume?" he asked, to which Barristan nodded, "Well, I hope your home has one, for I am afraid I have not brought mine."
The challenge drew much attention from both camps and already they were betting with each other. Aragorn did not like it, and nor did he like fighting for entertainment. Yet he was an envoy, and to not participate in their customs and traditions, would surely reflect poorly on Gondor as a whole. He would not do such a thing to his land, and nor would he do it to Ecthelion. And so he found himself putting on his armor. It was not what he would've preferred wearing. He felt more free wearing his ranger clothes, yet that was not a good idea when he did not know Barristan's skill. Even then, the Gondorian armor was not as he wanted. On it was only the white tree and not the full sigil of the house of Elendil, yet he wore it with pride.
Ser Barristan wore a simple set of armor. His chainmail above his gambeson was old and used, and the tunic he wore with the sigil of house Selmy, seemed like something that had been passed on from father to son for many generations, ever since the days when dragons roamed Westeros. Around his neck, he wore an old gorget, and on his head was a chain mail hood and a Broe helmet, that looked surprisingly new.
His sword, however, was what caught everyone's attention. For a moment, Aragorn wondered if this was the famed westerosi "Valyrian Steel", and decided to ask.
"Your sword, ser Barristan, seems to be of high quality. Is this the valyrian steel you were telling me about?"
Barristan laughed, not unkindly. "I wish it was, Lord Thorongil, I wish it was. Yet this is but a normal blade. It was given to me by Prince Duncan Targaryen, 8 years ago. I assure you, it is but crucible steel, despite its looks. You may hold it if you wish." said the young knight. Aragorn took him up on his offer and grabbed the blade. It was slightly lighter than a normal sword, and the handle was easier on the hand, yet it was nothing compared to Narsil.
"I am happy that you shall not be wielding this in our fight," said Aragorn with a smile, as he handed it to Barristan, who put it away.
"So far, it has only been used on bandits. I yearn for the day when I can use it on a worthy enemy."
"Then I shall do my best to remain your friend," said Aragorn, before putting on his helmet that covered his face.
Barristan unsheathed his blunted blade and approached Aragorn.
He was not sure whether Barristan meant to attack already, yet he went on the defensive. It was not to be, however, as Barristan began circling him. Aragorn reciprocated the gesture. When no attack came from Barristan, Aragorn decided to go on the offensive. He slashed at Barristan's left shoulder, which Barristan quickly blocked, yet Aragorn's strength shocked Barristan, who staggered back. Aragorn pushed onwards, taking advantage of his initiative. Again and again, he slashed at Barristan, like the waves upon the cliffs, yet again and again, Barristan parried his strikes. Never before had Aragorn fought a man who could match his speed, yet here he now was. Yet the signs of weariness were visible in Barristan. He had started breathing through his mouth, and his sword went downwards after every parry. Believing victory was his, Aragorn relaxed more, seeking mainly to disarm Barristan. Yet suddenly, with incredible speed, Barristan dodged Aragorn's strike and went on the offensive. He stabbed upwards at Aragorn's sword arm, pushing it backward. The stab was followed by an attack on Aragorn's exposed left, which Aragorn only barely parried before he was kicked in the chest. He staggered backward and prepared himself for the onslaught. Had Aragorn been a normal man, Barristan would've won now. His offensive was too much to handle for most and would've exhausted the opponent, allowing Barristan to deliver a killing blow.
Yet Aragorn was of the Dunedain. The blood of Fingolfin, Elros, Beren, Isildur, and the maiar Melian flowed in his veins. He would not be defeated by a normal man.
It would seem that Barristan had begun to realize this too. Where he had before been confident, he now realized, that no matter how hard he pushed, he would exhaust no one but himself. Having spent all his energy, Barristan disengaged and retreated. Aragorn allowed him to catch his breath. All around them, the men were cheering. Shouts of "Thorongil" and "Barristan" could be heard. Aragorn looked up to the sun, and there, flying above them, was a great eagle. A great sign, Aragorn believed. He closed his eyes, and whispered a prayer in Sindarin, before attacking Barristan once more. This time around, Barristan was not as Bold as previously. He stood entirely on the defensive, attempting mainly to avoid engagement. It worked, for Aragorn could not hit him, and was wasting energy. He disengaged and looked for an opportunity. He looked all over Barristan's body, searching for an opening.
With a quick thrust, he stabbed at Barristan's knee, which Barristan dodged with ease. Yet he had fallen into Aragorn's trap, for the thrust was bait, and before it had even gone halfway towards its goal, he pulled his sword back, and in a wide movement, directed it towards Barristan's head. This time, the blow landed. His head no doubt ringing, Barristan instinctively put his hand on his head, which allowed Aragorn to attack unopposed. He landed a heavy blow at Barristan's stomach, knocking the air out of him, before smashing at his blade, disarming the young knight. Having Aragorn's blade at his throat, the knight looked at Aragorn with disbelief in his eyes.
"Yield?" asked Aragorn.
"Who... Who are you?" Barristan stuttered between breaths.
"They call us the Dunedain," he said, low enough that only Barristan could hear him, "Descendants of a great people of old. We are blessed with long life, and, as you can see, great strength and endurance," he said.
"Long life?" asked Barristan, "...How old are you, Lord Thorongil?" he asked, seemingly not wanting to know the answer.
Aragorn smiled. "I am 49. I am young by my people's account, that it has been many generations since any of my forefathers died of old age, so I cannot know for certain how old I shall grow. perhaps 200? I know not. I hope you can keep this between us, for the time being?"
Barristan did not respond for a while. Yet eventually, he regained his sense.
"You have my word, my friend," he said with a smile. He then turned to the crowd and grasped Aragorn's hand before raising it high. The Westerosi, who had been shocked into silence by Aragorn's speech, cheered loudly for the two knights, one of whom they now viewed as the greatest in all of Westeros.