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Prologue
A merry camp fire gleamed on a beach, not far from the shimmering city lights of Dol Amroth. Around that fire gathered the Prince of Dol Amroth, Imrahil son of Adrahil, and his son, grandson, nephew, and nephew's family.
"I told you that boat would swamp." Prince Alphros merrily teased his friend Eldarion, the Crown Prince of Gondor and Arnor, looking to his grandfather Prince Imrahil for confirmation, "Didn't I tell him that the boat would swamp, Daerada?"
Eldarion laughed cheerfully at himself, as his honorary uncle the Prince of Dol Amroth dryly agreed, "Yes, you told him, Alphros daerion-nin. And at great volume. You also told him about purple mermaids who chew through hulls, and fire-breathing seagulls. Perhaps Eldarion is wise to take some of your advice with a bit of salt."
Alphros grinned, and Eldarion's betrothed, pretty Jalila of Umbar, teased, "It is just as well. Otherwise Eldarion might have won the race, and that would not do, as he is not a graduate of your...your wavy school."
"Navy school." Faramir, Eldarion's older half brother, the Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien, corrected gently, at the same time that Imrahil, his son and heir Elphir, and Alphros all corrected, "Naval academy."
"You were close, 'Lila." Eldarion assured his future bride, before turning to ask his uncle, "I'm twenty, this year. That's three years older than seventeen."
Imrahil, momentarily taken aback, said only, "Hmm."
Amused, Faramir asked, "And what did Uncle Imrahil promise you at seventeen, muindor-laes, that you have now waited long enough for Theodwyn and Elboron to also hear?' Faramir's two oldest children perked up, and looked with interest to their uncle and friend Eldarion, and their great-uncle Imrahil.
Eldarion grinned, "Stories of how Uncle Imrahil and Ada sailed together to Jalila's homeland, back before the ring was destroyed."
"Oh, do tell, Ada-by-law." Eomer-King of Rohan encouraged Prince Imrahil, one arm around the shoulders of his brother-by-law Faramir.
"Ah," Imrahil said with a slightly self-conscious smile, "It was a long time ago.."
The children groaned, and Faramir offered with a well-hidden smile, "Well, we could always ask Ada Aragorn..."
Giving Faramir an irritated look, Imrahil reluctantly agreed. "Although before I get to that part," he warned, "I must needs tell you how Aragorn came to be in Gondor, and how he and Denethor became friends, and had a falling out. Otherwise, I am not sure if we could have taken Aragorn from the side of Denethor my brother-by-law."
Third Age Year 2989, Gondor
Aragorn had fallen asleep in a cold camp with Denethor's men, nearly a full day's ride from Minas Tirith. He was quite sure of that. Somehow, Isildur's heir now found himself back in Imladris, where he had spent a happy childhood. Outside, on the beautiful grounds, with their quiet grottos and lovely waterfalls. Specifically, where he and Arwen had first spoken of their love for one another. Before he had lost the love of his father, and his beloved older twin foster-brothers, for his love of their sister.
Oh, he knew they had told him otherwise. More, that they still greeted him gladly when they saw him amongst the Dunedain, that they still guarded his life as assiduously as they ever had when the elven riders and the Dunedain fought together against the forces of darkness.
But, Lord Elrond, who had once been his adar, no longer looked at Aragorn without sadness in his eyes. And it was not just the sadness of a father, mourning for a son's dread fate. No, it seemed to Aragorn the sorrow of a father whose daughter had fallen in love with a man unworthy of her.
And Lords Elrohir and Elladan, who had been his older brothers, who had watched over him when he was a child, and teased him as a teenager, who had become his loving and sometime-stern comrades-in-arms. They no longer rearranged their schedules to ride on his patrols amongst the Dunedain, nor did they linger as long among his people, to teach him new skills and share old stories of his long-ago ancestor Elros, and his many and varied human descendants, of whom only Aragorn remained in the direct line.
Then, Gandalf the Gray, whom Aragorn had met not long after he and Arwen had declared their love, mentioned that it might be beneficial to Isildur's heir to travel amongst his people of Gondor, and to learn their ways. Having spent the better part of a decade establishing himself as their Chieftain, Aragorn knew well that the Dunedain could govern themselves well enough without him. Oh, their young leader had taken seriously the organization of their patrols, and the protection of their villages. Aragorn had implemented some effective changes, and the Dunedain were glad to have him, but they could go on much as they had before without him.
Feeling that his elven foster family no longer cared what befell him, the young Cheiftain of the Dunedain did not bother to ask their opinion on his plans. Aragorn instead took counsel with his senior captains of the Dunedain, and it was agreed amongst them that a sojourn in Gondor and Rohan might be a good investment of their young Cheiftain's time. If this was truly the time of prophecy approaching, then Aragorn might well need to learn how to lead larger armies than the Dunedain had at their disposal. And that, he could learn in Rohan and Gondor.
But his Dunedain Captains insisted that Aragorn not go alone. The northern Dunedain had only one heir of Isildur; and they were fond of that young man apart from his lofty heritage. So the veteran Captain Magordan and several other hand-picked warriors went with Thorongil on his travels to Rohan. After proving themselves in battle and feast, Aragorn (under another name) and his men were accepted and honored amongst the warriors of Thengel King, whom they served in Rohan for some years. As a valued young warrior in the service of Thengel King, Aragorn was introduced to Denethor, the visiting heir of Gondor's Lord Steward Ecthelion. Ecthelion's father the Lord Steward Turgon had sheltered Thegel King of Rohan in his youth, so Thengel had good reason to look kindly on the patrician Denethor.
Aragorn felt an immediate kinship with Denethor that he had felt with few other men, nearly the same instant bond of friendship that he had found with the Prince Legolas, and the future Dunedain spymaster Ethiron. An instant bonhomie that Denethor, normally a solemn, cheerless soldier, seemed to feel as well, choosing to spend his days near the side of Thorongil, as their duties permitted. It was hard to say what drew these two young soldiers together. Aragorn would struggle to do so, in later years. Perhaps it was merely that they had both come to adulthood with a great doom upon them.
Both were tasked with opposing and defeating an evil that their many-times grandfathers, and all who had come before them, had failed to defeat. Perhaps it was that both Aragorn and Denethor were Numenoreans, and manifested that heritage strongly. Though a small number of the humans on Middle Earth, including many of Aragorn's Dunedain and a fair number of Gondor's nobility, were also of Numenorean descent, Aragorn and Denethor were more like their distant ancestors than any humans Gandalf had seen in a hundred
of their generations. Both Aragorn and Denethor seemed to the ancient Ithron be throwbacks to almost the first generation of Elendil's children who had made Middle Earth their home, and opposed the dark one.
For Gandalf, this heritage that Aragorn and Denethor bore so clearly was a good thing. It gave the wizard hope that the humans might not be so badly outmatched against the dark one as he had feared. For Aragorn, and even more for Denethor, the characteristics that set them apart from other men were, at best, a mixed blessing.
All Numenoreans must deal with the alienation that comes from being mostly like human, but not exactly like, and a little like elves, but not enough like. For Aragorn and Denethor, it was more than that. They might have been at home in Elendil's court, the better part of three thousand years ago, before the Lord Elrond had married and become a father. But the blood of men had diminished since then, and neither had ever met another human who could read a man's soul just by looking into his eyes, as they often could. For all of their lives, when among humans, they had been forced to hide some of what they were, and could do, in order not to frighten their fellows. It was a vast relief to finally meet another who understood.
If Aragorn had not taken so strictly to heart the secrets that his life required of him, he would have gladly told Denethor of his love for Arwen, and the anguish it caused him knowing their marriage would end her life so prematurely. But Aragorn was mindful of his secrets, and Denethor of his, though he did tell his friend of the lady he had fallen in love with. Finduilas, a swan Princess of Dol Amroth, who was like unto he and Aragorn, but not. Finduilas, who could look upon a sunny morn, and could sometimes tell whether the noon would bring storm, and from what quarter.
As Aragorn was enjoying Denethor's company, and at Magordan's prompting that they had spent enough years in Rohan, Aragorn accepted his new friend's invitation to travel back to Gondor, and offer his service to the Lord Steward Ecthelion. Thengel King was sad to lose Thorongil and his men, but understood that such an invitation was not be refused. More, Gondor's armies could well use this
talented young warrior and his stalwart companions, beset as they were by the forces of darkness.
Thengel King assembled an eored to act as honor guard to see the son of his friend and ally, and his honored new friend Thorongil, safely through the White Mountains. Aragorn was mildly taken aback to see Denethor take this honor merely as his due. Denethor, like Aragorn, thought nothing of sharing his soldiers' watch and the humblest of their chores while in the field. Unlike Aragorn, Denethor was accustomed to receiving a certain level of courtesy and deference as the heir to the Lord Steward of Gondor. It was Aragorn's first real exposure to the level of power the Stewards had wielded in Gondor over the past centuries, and it took him a bit by surprise.
Denethor did not put on airs about being the Lord Steward's heir; he simply knew his place in society. It made Aragorn realize that his life as the young Chieftain of the Dunedain had been far less dictated by formality than his new friend's life as the son of the Ruling Steward. That had been a good thing, in that the young Aragorn was given the responsibilities and authority befitting an intelligent and gifted young warrior, but no more. His captains had listened to him respectfully at first for his position, and his foster-brothers' strong endorsement of his skills, and then, as they grew to know him, for his own sense and cleverness. However, they had not expected him to be some sort of living icon. He was already that, in that he was their hope. But Magordan and his other Captains amongst the Dunedain had recognized that ARagorn was also just a smart, scared, youth, no different in many ways than dozens of others they had trained.
In retrospect, Aragorn was glad that he had been scolded and punished for his youthful foolishness and impetuosity in an appropriate manner by his senior captains, though he had not necessarily appreciated it at the time. He was more grateful, and had been even at twenty, that being Isildur's heir had not magically made his northern Dunedain accept his word for anything when it countered their own experience.
Poor Denethor did not seem to have the room to fall back upon the excuse of inexperience, nor anyone to scold him, should he act out of youthful foolishness. Aragorn hoped Denethor had not been required to act at all times like the future Steward of Gondor - that would have been a burden that could well have broken a lesser man. Aragorn worried for his friend, that Denethor might not have learned to ask the opinion of others, because he had learned that the Steward must never seem uncertain.
Magordan, for his part, worried how the proud, capable future Steward of Gondor,his Chieftain's new friend, would take being displaced by Aragorn, should that day come. But Aragorn did not worry about that, at least not on a conscious level. The thought of being King, to him, was a very distant one. First came the safe-guarding of the realms, the defeat of Sauron. If that could be accomplished, he was certain he and the brave, intelligent, Denethor could work something out. Aragorn, even in his younger days, recognized that the Stewards
had by and large been excellent custodians for Gondor.
The Rohirric honor guard and the soldiers of Gondor were ambushed in the White Mountains as the sun set, by a large number of orcs, mounted on wargs. Amongst the enemies' number were even a few trolls, which were still rare to see in the lands of Men, though the dread sight would grow more frequent as the Ring War approached.
Though stalwart warriors, the Riders of Rohan and men of Gondor were overcome by this onslaught, and would have fled, but for the calm, steady voices of Denethor and Thorongil, rallying their men to stand fast. Both young commanders were excellent strategists, and did not allow their surprise to stop them from perceiving that they had the advantage in numbers, and more, for the horses of Rohan fought more fiercely for their riders than did the wargs. The forces of Sauron counted on the miasma of fear that rode their misbegotten forms like the stench of dead bodies in midsummer. Aragorn and Denethor could see past that fear, and with their brave example, their men held firm as well.
The presence of Thorongil amongst their number had turned the tide, and Denethor was thankful for that. If it had been his voice alone crying the rally, they might not have been able to turn the tide of the skirmish from a frantic retreat by Gondor and Rohan, into a rout of their enemies. Denethor quickly had little time to be grateful, for the fleeing orcs, wargs, and trolls had only one apparent goal in mind; his death.
Swinging and parrying, the Steward's heir was hard-pressed, his men overcome, their quivers spent. Out of nowhere, from the opposite side of the engagement, came Thorongil, and his men Magordan and Orohael. Moving like a dancer through the fray, seemingly one being with his nimble gray horse, Thorongil outpaced his comrades. Just as Denethor's horse was slain beneath him, Thorongil's hand was there, pulling the young Captain of Gondor up behind him on the gray. For a moment Denethor thought the north-man's bravery would be for naught, that they would both die under the weight of the retreating horde, then other swords came to their aid, and they were safe.
Safe, but not sound, in Thorongil's case. He began to issue orders to his men, and to consult with Eorlas and Denethor on how the eored should best be deployed in conjunction with Gondorian soldiers. Thorongil's men were viewing him with annoyed concern, as if too accustomed to his reckless valor to object, or as if saving their comments for when they got their young leader alone. It was
Denethor who first noticed a spot of blood on Thorongil's dark blue woolen surcoat. Thorongil insisted he was fine, even as the Steward's heir called out authoritatively for a healer. Magordan was moving towards his young leader to keep the youth still, but it was Denethor who caught Thorongil when his feet suddenly gave out on him. And it was Denethor who fiercely ordered the young, stuttering healer, "Treat this man as if he were my brother, another son of the Lord Steward my father."
The healer did his best, and his best was very good, for he was the young Healer Del, who would later be elected by his fellows as Warden of the Houses of Healing. But the unfortunate Thorongil had caught an orc's poisoned dagger in the gut, and it would be no easy recovery, should he even survive the trip to Minas Tirith. Magordan, who knew his young Cheiftain well, tersely explained to the shattered Denethor that Thorongil was a trained healer. Denethor and Magordan then coaxed and bullied the hallucinating Aragorn until he had told
them the local herbs to search for, in order to draw the poison out on the march.
Magordan, Orohael, Eorlas, Del, and Denethor himself took it in turns to wrap cold, wet blankets around the sweating, feverish, Thorongil, throughout the long forced march to Minas Tirith. Their vigilance, and Thorongil's native stubbornness, paid off. He was still alive, and the wound not soured, when they arrived at the Houses of Healing. Denethor, for the first time in his life, prolonged his return and obeisance to his father the Steward in order to see to the care and comfort of the new friend who had nearly died in his defense.
The Lord Steward Ecthelion did not begrudge this delay. In fact, he came to join his son at the Houses of Healing, and thanked the slender, gray-eyed man who had saved his Denethor's life. Ecthelion became immediately fond of this soft-spoken, valorous north-man with the somber demeanor, leavened by his rare smiles. Those who knew the old Steward were heard to say that he changed during
those days, when he learned he might have lost his only son, but for the impetuous rescue by this stranger who looked like enough unto his son to be Denethor's brother.
True it was that Ecthelion the Steward and Denethor his heir welcomed Thorongil into their house. When Thorongil protested their kind welcome and solicitous care during his long recovery, Ecthelion rejected his offer to seek lodgings in the city out of hand. "No." The Steward said simply. "You saved my son's life, and have been gravely injured in my service 'ere you even swore oath to me."
When Thorongil, reluctant in some ways to risk the later rejection of yet another father figure, with Lord Elrond's coldness following his pledge to Arwen still in mind, would have departed from his opulent quarters in the Steward's wing of the citadel with polite protestations, 'twas Denethor who persuaded him not to.
"Stay, Thorongil." The Steward's heir had not-quite-ordered, following the command with a softer plea. "With you here, I've someone who actually UNDERSTANDS what needs to be done to restructure our defenses such that they may actually resist Sauron, rather than prove an uninteresting repeat of the last time he tried to conquer Gondor. I would be...lonely, without you. And frustrated."
Magordan, listening to this exchange, had muttered "Wonderful, ANOTHER young idiot who views superior officers as future subordinates. EXACTLY what any military needs..."
When the incensed Denethor had asked Thorongil's loyal follower to repeat that statement, Aragorn had been forced to agree to stay, if only to distract the Steward's heir from entering into an open brawl with Magordan.
In time, Aragorn came to be very glad that he dwelled in the house of Ecthelion. For Denethor was eager to show him all of Minas Tirith, and to make up for his savior's ignominious first entry into the city on a pallet slung between two horses, unable to admire the grandeur of Elendil's last great standing city.
Aragorn came to love Minas Tirith, and Gondor, as a traveler comes to love a foreign place when he suddenly realizes that bizarre land has become another home to him. It was in Gondor that Aragorn came into his own, a prized Captain of Gondor's army, a valued adviser to the Steward, and a dear friend of his heir's.
Denethor was a serious young man, more so even than Aragorn. Making Denethor laugh was hard work, but very rewarding. It was a challenge Aragorn welcomed, and Magordan smiled to see his young Chieftain meet a young man who was his match in war and strategy, as well as dourness of personality. For both young men, it was a grimness enforced by circumstances rather than nature. It made
Magordan regret again that young Ethiron had been apprenticed to the Lord Elrond, and could not have accompanied their group to Rohan. This despite Margordan's earlier resolution not to have the future spymaster and Aragorn together again in a group he was in anyway responsible for, so far from home and help.
Denethor and Aragorn worked together very well, and Sauron had more than one occasion on which to curse their collaborations in the field. Aragorn (or Thorongil, as he was known) had a gift of being in absolutely the wrong place at the wrong time, at least from the dark
lord's perspective. Though Ecthelion had quickly promoted the young northerner to the rank of Captain, Aragorn continued to serve as one of his company's own scouts. Once, when Thorongil's men were patrolling together with Denethor's, Aragorn risked his life following the track of one of Sauron's spies through a fantastic rain storm, and through a swamp.
The spy had been carrying plans for the poisoning of wells in the settlements just south of Ithilien's borders. Knowing the plans, and knowing the land, Denethor was able to thwart them. Still, it had been an anxious night for Magordan and Denethor, before their patrols had at last brought word that Aragorn and Orohael were safe. Denethor had scolded his friend and junior captain Thorongil quite fiercely.
When their joint patrol returned to the city, Ecthelion had done more than just scold his newest Captain. Aragorn, who had already been soundly birched by Magordan for the incident, found himself over the Lord Steward's knee as well. His protests that following the spy had been necessary swayed the worried Ecthelion not at all. "So I would treat my son, had he left his duties as Captain to follow possible spy in a dangerous storm," The Steward had reproved, "and so I would treat any Captain of mine who behaved thusly."
So Denethor and the north-man called Thorongil lived much as brothers for a number of years. They fought together, they improved the defenses of Gondor together, and they celebrated together. When Aragorn learned the reason for the stillness of the Steward's quarters before his arrival, he was very glad he had agreed to stay, and continued to bide in the Citadel with Denethor's family for all of his time in Minas Tirith.
Thorongil learned of this from his friend Ethiron, who had taken up the duties of the spymaster of the Northern Dunedain, and had slipped a number of northmen into the city, in one capacity or another. Ethiron's men reported that the House of Hurin had suffered an astonishing run of ill-luck in recent years, beginning even before Turgon's generation. Many scions of the house fell in battle, as if targets had been painted on their backs. Ladies and small children who were related by blood to the Steward died in fires, or floods, or simply disappeared.
Thorongil, as well as Magordan and his other men, became very protective of Denethor and his few surviving nephews and cousins. Thorongil, with his listening manner, made many friends, who became friends with Denethor as well. Laughter and young,
happy voices returned to the private rooms of the Steward of Gondor in Thorongil's wake. When Denethor prepared to marry, he asked Thorongil to stand by his side.
When Denethor wed Finduilas, Aragorn consulted with his men, and offered to take over Denethor's patrols, that the young bridegroom might have time with his bride. In Finduilas, Thorongil found a sister, and in young Imrahil of Dol Amroth, he and Denethor both had found a younger brother. They watched Imrahil grow from an earnest, reckless puppy of a squire into a well-trained, if untried, knight. Finduilas, together with Imrahil and others of the young Lords and soldiers of Gondor, and their ladies, had been enough to persuade even solemn Denethor and Thorongil to relax. The great hall of the Citadel rang with laughter, and faces shone with hope, as they had not for many a year, so much in Mordor's shadow was poor Gondor.
Those had been happy days, before more of Denethor's young cousins and nephews fell in battle, or suffered mysterious accidents. These days Denethor looked even at Thorongil with suspicion. Especially at Thorongil, it seemed, though the two had been the best of friends. The Steward's heir and the northern Captain had begun to argue over the best course of action to protect Gondor from Mordor.
Thorongil had been invited to join the Council of Gondor, ostensibly as one of Gondor's youngest senior Captains, but really because he was Denethor's friend. There, Thorongil strongly spoke his opiniong that Gondor's best chance lay with cooperating with Gandalf the Gray, and their elven allies of old. Denethor held out that the days of their alliance with the elves were over, and that Gondor's salvation lay in strength of arms, not magic cures.
Still, despite their arguments, when Denethor's wife Finduilas, now like a younger sister to Aragorn, had a difficult time with the birth of her first child, Aragorn offered again to take over the Steward's heir's duties in the field, that he might be with his young family. Denethor, prompted by worry over his wife and awe over his new son Boromir, had accepted.
That was where Aragorn had been, last he recalled. Leading a patrol of Denethor's men, with only Magordan, of those who knew his true identity, at his side. How he came to be in Imladris, in this spot of which he had such fond memories, the human Captain and Dunedain Chieftain-in-hiding knew not.
Arwen, suddenly present at his side, smiled at him, and stroked his cheek. "Do not fear, meleth. All will be well." The lovely elleth said, her tone soothing and heartening, like a warm meal on a cold day. Suddenly, despite his arguments with Denethor, despite his fears for their future, Aragorn felt stronger and more hopeful. Arwen would never lie to him. If she said all would be well, there was some hope.
"Thornogil?" A voice and a familiar hand on his shoulder interrupted Aragorn's dreams, dragging him reluctantly back to reality.
Reality was cold and wet. The rain that had been plaguing the border between Gondor and Mordor over the last weeks seemed to be following their patrol home. None in the group, even the most fastidious, remained in possession of clothing which was actually dry, as opposed to varying states of moist. Aragorn, who normally enjoyed being out on patrol, compared to the routine of training and
administration that composed the life of an officer in the city, was afraid some of his belongings were sprouting mold. The young Chieftain of the Dunedain sighed and arose to take his turn at watch.
"You know, Captain," Aragorn's fellow Dunedain Captain and sometime mentor, Captain Magordan, currently serving as Lieutenant Magordan, an officer of Captain Thorongil, scolded mildly, "you don't have to take a turn on watch. It might be better for you to be well-rested, as we ride back to Minas Tirith on the morrow." Magordan was obliquely referring to Denethor's rising suspicions and antagonism. While Aragorn knew his men would never complain, many of them were anxious to return to their homes and families, particularly if they were no longer welcome in Gondor.
Aragorn gave his friend a tired smile. "If it were a battle tomorrow where I must command, and I were not well-slept, then I might take your advice. As it is, I will take the same pains as my men."
"As Denethor's men," Magordan observed lightly. "I mean it as no criticism, sir, but we've been in the field for nearly six months straight, between the Captains who were lost in the last engagement and taking Captain the Lord Denethor's last two patrols." The increasing difficulties with Denethor were a toll on Magordan as well as Aragorn, for Magordan had become quite fond of Denethor after their difficult start. All of Gondor found the tension between the Captains Denethor and Thorongil strange, as the two had been so close. The old Steward didn't know what to make of it either. Aragorn himself, Magordan knew, was greatly pained by it. The senior Dunedain Captain, Aragorn's old mentor, knew what few others did, that Aragorn felt abandoned by his elven foster family. Magordan feared for his
young Lord, should Aragorn suffer a similar perceived abandonment by Denethor. Meanwhile, in Magordan's eyes, Aragorn was fighting hard to preserve the friendship, possibly too hard.
"You could have stayed in Minas Tirith." Aragorn pointed out patiently to Magordan. "I am well past the age when I need a child-minder, Lieutenant."
Magordan, who had helped the young Aragorn through his first years as Chieftain of the Dunedain, snorted. "If those dark circles under your eyes aren't gone before your next deployment, Captain Thorongil, you'll find yourself grounded. And I'll get Lord Ecthelion's support before I pin you down, such that you'll not dare disobey."
Aragorn sighed again. Magordan did not make idle threats. "Yes, I'll be sure to rest this time. Denethor has written that Finduilas fares much better, and the babe Boromir thrives, so there should be no question of doubled patrols for us in the near future, my friend."
Magordan sighed as well. His Lord ever had excellent intentions, but some quirk of Aragorn's personality – whether it be knowledge of his fate as Isildur's heir, or some excessive responsibility unique to Aragorn's nature which would have manifested despite that heritage- always led him to assume more than his own share of the blame and the work in any given situation. Oh, his young Lord was
never lying when he promised he would rest, Magoradan admitted. But nonetheless, when the time came to "rest," Aragorn had always found something else more deserving of his time. And granted, the heir of Isildur had learned much, taking on so many and varied duties during his sojourns amongst the Rohirrim and men of Gondor. But the time would come when even his young Lord's Numenorean constitution failed him. Magordan only hoped he could persuade Aragorn to see sense and rest before that day came.
But it would not be this day, the Dunedain captain realized, as Aragorn walked out of his sight, toward their sentry line. Minutes later, the young Gondorian soldier whose place Aragorn had taken at watch returned. "Lieutenant Magordan," the young man greeted, going to his bedroll. Magordan nodded in greeting, still preoccupied with his worries over his Lord.
"Do not worry, Lieutenant." The young soldier, barely twenty if he was a day, urged. "When our Captain Denethor sees how wearied your Captain has become, he will insist Captain Thorongil take a long furlough `ere returning to patrol. Captain Denethor has few commanders of Thorongil's quality, let alone men he considers friends."
Magordan hid a smile at how well Denethor's soldiers had grown to read him, over their past few weeks together. "Sleep well, Lad." Magordan thanked the youth.
Magordan admitted that Denethor also a good leader. More, despite their quarrels, the Steward's heir was still protective of Thorongil. Denethor's men had learned to work well with Thorongil, though they had been stand-offish during their first deployment together. Thorongil had a way about him that won men to his side with little effort. Magordan did not begrudge him that, for he knew the young Lord well, what a hard worker Aragorn was, and that he had worked hard indeed to become the kind of listener and commander who could lead men to deliver better than their previous best. Denethor was a different kind of leader; did not have Aragorn's easy way of quickly inspiring confidence. Denethor was, however, honest, hard-working, and dutiful to a fault, and while Gondor's armies as a whole did not idolize him as they did Thorongil, Denethor's own men would follow him into Mordor itself if their Captain led them there, and would
rather follow no other.
Magordan shrugged. The morrow would take care of itself. At least they would be back to the comparative luxury of Minas Tirith, and out of the wet. Perhaps Aragorn would decide to accept Imrahil's invitation to visit Dol Amroth again, now that Finduilas fared better. Some sunshine would be nice. More, Magordan suspected the old Sea Fox, the Prince Adrahil, still had a trick or two to teach that might be worth knowing. Now, whether the clannish old sailor would be willing to take on Magordan's young Lord as a pupil again, that would be the question.