~ by Vanessa Parry-Elwen
“Hold!” The word flies from his lips before I can even draw breath to shout it, and my men obey him without question. Who is this bedraggled man who can command elves, dwarves, and men? This dirty youth who even has my sister’s daughter besotted?
He bowed his knee to me outside the Hall, but he does not talk to me as subject to king, but as my equal. And yet… I find myself listening to him… as an equal. Oh, I tried to put him down once, but my head told me that there was some wisdom in his words, even as my pride spoke out against them. I look out upon the carapaced swarm of our enemy and see the truth in his warning now. This can only be described as “open war.” We are trapped here, outnumbered, under-provisioned, and with our best fighting force leagues away… unless Gandalf is able to keep his word. I doubt that he will. Even a wizard such as he has some limitations… he cannot lift an army from one part of Middle-earth to another in the blink of an eye. No… we must make do with what we have.
Even there, Aragorn has had some influence. The Deeping wall now boasts a troop of elven archers. It is strange to see a lank-haired, dirty young man commanding these tall, silent, folk as though he were one of them. Their leader, Haldir, accepts him as his commander… almost as he would a king. He has the air of a king… but of what is he king?
They tell me that he said he would die as one of us if necessary. I hope it will not come to that… but our enemy carpets the ground from cliff to cliff across the valley before us, lightening flaring off their wet armour. He has earned the respect of my men with that comment. He could have fled – I think the elf was considering it – but he stayed, and because he stayed, so did the elf and the dwarf. Do my people still trust me in the same way? I am no longer sure.
His companions tell me that Aragorn lived in Rivendell for many years. That elven influence would give him a certain confidence in his manner, but there is something more… a fire that is not of the elves… they are all ice and glass. He has a passion about him and a strength of soul that I lost long ago. Where did I lose that flame?
That is why Saruman and Grima found it so easy to overcome me, I think. I have lost that passion. But it burns strong in him yet, even though he tries to hide it. He holds it in check, in deference to me, but….
My son is gone… but my people will be safe in Aragorn’s hands… if I should die here.
There is the roar… they come.
“Give them a volley!”