For alex_quine: Ascension (Thorongil/Halbarad, Ecthelion II; G)
Title: Ascension
Author: Galadriel (caras_galadhon)
Pairing: Thorongil/Halbarad, Ecthelion II
Rating: G
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Disclaimer: I have a vivid fantasy life, but I do not pretend to be JRR Tolkien, nor do I pretend to own his characters.
Summary: Mount Mindolluin would provide Thorongil and Halbarad with the views needed to advise Ecthelion on better strengthening the defences of the White City.
Notes: Written for alex_quine for lotr_sesa. She asked for "a journey that begins without a purpose and gets one, or diverts from the original one." I wanted to write something that went beyond a literal journey, and I hope I've managed that here. My fingers are crossed that what I've offered up is what you're was hoping for, Alex! Happy Holidays!
Also, many, many thanks to savageseraph and empy for incredibly helpful brainstorming, ideas, advice and betaing! Thank you, ladies! You're worth your weight in dragon's gold.
Ascension
By Galadriel
The climb would be a difficult one, although that was not wholly unexpected. What was unexpected was the ease with which Ecthelion had allowed them access to the Stone Steps, a measure of the esteem he held Thorongil in, for only those closest to the Steward were permitted to view its true location. Ecthelion himself had led them there in the early morning hours, when the White City still lingered in the grey twilight of sleep.
Carrying naught but small packs of necessities, thin bedrolls and the weapons they could not do without, Thorongil and Halbarad waited for Ecthelion in the Court of the Fountain, beneath the White Tree. Its bare branches spread above them, and glancing up at the sky through their reaching fingers, Thorongil shuddered. They seemed to claw at the air as a drowning man claws at water, a sad reminder of the failure of his own line. Only the Stewards could keep Gondor afloat now, and Thorongil took heart in that, as so long as Ecthelion's issue remained as wise and strong as he, the White City and the lands it watched over would surely beat back the spreading stain of the Shadow.
His fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and touch the smooth, pale bark of the Tree, but he did not fancy courting the Tower Guard's disapproval, all four sentinels standing watchful through all hours of the day and night, and certainly watching him now. Instead, he leaned towards Halbarad, letting their shoulders brush one against the other, luxuriating in the companionable smile the contact drew from the other man.
Once Ecthelion arrived and the appropriate greetings had been exchanged, Thorongil and Halbarad shouldered their packs and followed the Steward behind the Citadel to Fen Hollin, pausing as he requested entrance to the Tombs. After lighting a torch and holding it aloft, Ecthelion guided them down the winding way that led through the mountain itself to Rath Dínen, the Silent Street below. Thorongil suspected that the torch was meant more for their benefit than Ecthelion's, so sure were his steps towards the Hallows.
The Street truly earned its name, as the weight of memory and the history of those who had gone before pressed down as heavily as if they had been given physical form, dampening all noise. Instinctively, Thorongil lightened his steps, moving as soundlessly as he ever had, not wishing to disturb the sleep of his ancestors. He was at once torn by the desire to linger here, to learn their lives through his fingertips upon their engraved epithets, as he was to pass by as quickly as possible, to slip the noose of guilt and weakness that threatened to tighten around his neck. He noticed that Ecthelion and Halbarad had fallen silent as well, no longer passing the time in idle conversation; clearly, the Silent Street had such an effect on all who walked it.
Ecthelion stopped where the Hallows met Mount Mindolluin itself, beckoning Thorongil and Halbarad to a short space of wall just behind the House of the Stewards. In the guttering torch flame, Thorongil saw little evidence of a door, and certainly no trace at all of keyhole or handhold, but at a slight touch from Ecthelion, the stones shifted and moved, opening a small rectangle of light hardly bigger than the height of a man.
"Beyond you will find the Stone Steps," he murmured, voice pitched low in deference to all those who eternally slumbered so close by. "I will instruct the porter to descend and wait here for your return. Knock thrice and announce yourselves, and he will come for me so that I may escort you out again."
Halbarad nodded, reaching for Ecthelion's hand and clasping it between both of his own. "Thank you, my lord. We are both grateful for this indulgence, and promise to return with a proper survey of Minas Tirith's defences."
Ecthelion smiled. "I trust you both to deliver nothing less." Releasing Halbarad's hand, he clasped Thorongil's. "You remain one of my best captains, and my faith in your strength and that of your kinsman does not falter."
"Thank you." Ecthelion's smile was infectious; Thorongil could feel the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "I will endeavour to be worthy of such trust."
After a gentle squeeze of fingers, Ecthelion released Thorongil's hand and stepped back, holding the torch to illuminate the door as Thorongil and Halbarad readjusted their belongings and prepared to leave. "Take care not to lose your bearings. If you stray too far from the Steps, you may not find your way back, and it is a very long way down Mindolluin."
Both Thorongil and Halbarad murmured their assent, and with that, they slipped through the doorway, toward the stairs. The stone door shut firmly behind them, only the slightest of grinding noises betraying its movement.
The stairs were certainly well-named. Sheer cliffs rose on either side of them, a long, narrow flight of rough-hewn steps ascending to meet the strengthening light of dawn. There was no way to climb them while standing abreast of one another, and so Thorongil let Halbarad lead, reasoning that the sway of cloth and muscles put to good use on a good man would be a far more pleasant sight than a seemingly endless stair.
Even so, as each step passed beneath Thorongil's feet, he began to feel lighter, bit by bit, stride by stride, as if the obligations of his life, both those he accepted and those he turned from, did not sit so heavily on his shoulders. He felt a little as he had when he carried only the name Estel, a small measure of the promise and pleasure of his younger self resurfacing as he gained altitude.
They climbed in silence for a while, Thorongil and Halbarad both, until Halbarad finally spoke. "You know some call this the Coward's Path, do you not?"
"Hmm?" Thorongil blinked. "No. I had no idea."
Halbarad paused, leaning back against the rock wall as he half-turned towards Thorongil. He nodded. "There is a notion amongst the Guard that it exists to serve as an escape route for the Lords of the City. That if the City is to fall, rather than falling with it, a weak ruler will make for the secret path and abandon his people."
Thorongil chuckled. "Yet the path ascends. Unless there is some secret shelter up the mountain, it is a poor plan." He sighed, shifting until his own body aligned with Halbarad's, side pressed to side.
"Indeed." The stairs interfered with their true heights, so Halbarad had to lean down slightly to brush a kiss across Thorongil's temple. "It is nothing more than rumour, and even at their weakest, the Line of Kings has never abandoned its people in their greatest hours of need."
Thorongil frowned. "You know that is not true."
"But it is, my lord." Halbarad slid an arm around Thorongil's shoulders, pulling him closer. "Even Isildur did not turn from duty, not even while in the grip of his own obsessions."
When Halbarad spoke such words, Thorongil could almost believe them. For a time, he laid his head on Halbarad's shoulder, luxuriating in the warmth and soft breaths of his man, but as the light that filtered down the stairs grew stronger, Thorongil knew that to make best use of the day, they must carry on.
Thorongil estimated, by the shifting of the sun, that it took them another hour before they broke free of the long flight of stairs. Finally, they stood in full light, the lack of a dirt track or worn path at their feet testament to the Steps' isolation and disuse. The mountain slopes eased somewhat as they rose, allowing for greater movement than the sheer cliffs below. Looking out from Mindolluin, Thorongil could see the tops of the surrounding mountains, and a view of the City and Pelennor partially obscured by the rock formation that hid the entry to the Steps.
"We continue upwards." Halbarad smiled kindly at Thorongil, anticipating his question before he could even speak it aloud. "Up until we can see Minas Tirith in all her glory, unimpeded by any rock or tree."
Clasping the pommel of his sword, Thorongil sighed and nodded. If they were to do a proper survey, then upwards they must go.
This time, he led the way.
They climbed until almost midday, past tree and hillock, rock and rubble, sometimes picking their way over slick stone and fallen logs, sometimes almost bent double while gripping at jagged handholds and elusive footholds lest they slip and tumble to an accidental end. They saw not a scrap of evidence of other men where they walked, not a footprint or fresh broken twig, and their own voices seemed harsh and unnatural against the background of naught but birdsong and rustling foliage. From time to time they would happen upon a nest or den, the tracks of a hare or fox, but this high up above all did not lend itself readily to lumbering predators such as themselves.
When they stopped, it was in a barren little space, just below the tree line, but it was space enough to stand upright without fear of falling, to sit comfortably and rest. It was there that they sat together, hip to hip, sharing the light provisions they had packed. Hard cheese, bread, a little cured meat and a flask of honeyed water tasted all the sweeter up here, melting on the tongue like snow in sunlight. From here, they could look out at the whole of the valleys and fields, all the way to the Anduin, and further still.
"Beautiful," Thorongil murmured, and Halbarad turned his head and smiled.
"I was hoping you would find it so."
Thorongil chuckled. "Of course I do. It's stunning. How could I not?"
Halbarad shrugged, looking out towards the sea. Gently, he said, "I know how draining you find the bustle of the City. I know how you long for the green of the wilds when you spend too long in houses of wood and stone. And yet..." He trailed off, wetting his lips, leaning forward as if trying to shift ever so slightly closer to the scene below.
"And yet...?" Thorongil felt his brow furrow.
"Mark this place well, Estel, for one day it may be yours to rule. I would rather you served it out of love than duty." Halbarad brushed his fingertips over the back of Thorongil's hand, once again gazing at his features as if searching for something there. "You are made to lead with love; I know this deep in my bones. I have seen it." He smiled at Thorongil, then, and the openness of his expression made Thorongil shiver almost as much as the invocation of his long-ago name.
Yet his tongue laid heavy in his mouth, refusing to move, refusing to twist into an answer, so Thorongil simply nodded, turning his hand palm-upward to grip Halbarad's own. They sat in companionable silence for a long while, letting the sun slip past its zenith before either one deigned to recall their purpose in coming up the mountain.
Eventually, the notebooks came out, and each man took his time recording the area below, taking down details and plotting strategies, weighing potential weak spots and advantages, getting to know the White City from an angle very rarely available, but so very advantageous when considering how best to defend both people and kingdom.
So intent on looking without, Thorongil barely noticed when his boot dislodged a small rock, sending it clattering a short ways away. Distracted by the noise, he glanced down, intending to avoid scattering any more loose stones.
Instead, he found himself a hair's breadth from stepping on the only tiny shoot of life visible within the barren clearing. Tucking his notebook away, he squatted down on his haunches beside it, examining the sprout. It was a pretty little thing, not much substance to it, just a tiny twig with one small leaf unfurling above. Tender green it was, not yet darkened with maturity, and the sprout it clung to still pale in its youth. Thorongil ran a finger lightly over the leaf, bending it slightly down before letting it flick back up, and he smiled at the flash of furred silver underneath.
Surely he had spent more than enough time taking note of the battlements and buttresses of Minas Tirith, had sketched enough landmarks that he had time now to sketch this little plant. It would certainly be worthwhile to record it for later identification, for he had seen nothing like it, and it would be wise to understand what such young growth would become. He drew out his notebook once again, turning to a clean page, and just as he was to put down the first line, Halbarad called his name.
"If you are done, we should start back." Halbarad beckoned from the edge of the clearing. "The shadows are lengthening, and it will take us some time to descend." He looked down, surveying the way they came. "There are far fewer places to stop and make camp than I had hoped, but if we leave now, we may very well make it back to the entrance to the Steps before nightfall."
Sighing, Thorongil stood. He closed his notebook, stowing it once again, the wisdom in Halbarad's plan apparent. "Lead on. Better that we find ourselves further down Mindolluin before the day cools." He glanced back at the tiny shoot, a pang of disappointment pricking at his chest. With all their talk of pasts and futures, of hopes and fears, he would have liked to record the little plant's potential, no matter how insignificant it might be.
He joined Halbarad, first making sure they had left nothing behind, and as they departed the little hollow, Thorongil could not help but glance back. The shoot was too small to see from more than a few feet away, but as he turned his attention to the long descent ahead, Thorongil was certain he saw, out of the corner of his eye, the faintest glimmer of silvery green.
END
(December 2013)
Author: Galadriel (caras_galadhon)
Pairing: Thorongil/Halbarad, Ecthelion II
Rating: G
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Disclaimer: I have a vivid fantasy life, but I do not pretend to be JRR Tolkien, nor do I pretend to own his characters.
Summary: Mount Mindolluin would provide Thorongil and Halbarad with the views needed to advise Ecthelion on better strengthening the defences of the White City.
Notes: Written for alex_quine for lotr_sesa. She asked for "a journey that begins without a purpose and gets one, or diverts from the original one." I wanted to write something that went beyond a literal journey, and I hope I've managed that here. My fingers are crossed that what I've offered up is what you're was hoping for, Alex! Happy Holidays!
Also, many, many thanks to savageseraph and empy for incredibly helpful brainstorming, ideas, advice and betaing! Thank you, ladies! You're worth your weight in dragon's gold.
Ascension
By Galadriel
The climb would be a difficult one, although that was not wholly unexpected. What was unexpected was the ease with which Ecthelion had allowed them access to the Stone Steps, a measure of the esteem he held Thorongil in, for only those closest to the Steward were permitted to view its true location. Ecthelion himself had led them there in the early morning hours, when the White City still lingered in the grey twilight of sleep.
Carrying naught but small packs of necessities, thin bedrolls and the weapons they could not do without, Thorongil and Halbarad waited for Ecthelion in the Court of the Fountain, beneath the White Tree. Its bare branches spread above them, and glancing up at the sky through their reaching fingers, Thorongil shuddered. They seemed to claw at the air as a drowning man claws at water, a sad reminder of the failure of his own line. Only the Stewards could keep Gondor afloat now, and Thorongil took heart in that, as so long as Ecthelion's issue remained as wise and strong as he, the White City and the lands it watched over would surely beat back the spreading stain of the Shadow.
His fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and touch the smooth, pale bark of the Tree, but he did not fancy courting the Tower Guard's disapproval, all four sentinels standing watchful through all hours of the day and night, and certainly watching him now. Instead, he leaned towards Halbarad, letting their shoulders brush one against the other, luxuriating in the companionable smile the contact drew from the other man.
Once Ecthelion arrived and the appropriate greetings had been exchanged, Thorongil and Halbarad shouldered their packs and followed the Steward behind the Citadel to Fen Hollin, pausing as he requested entrance to the Tombs. After lighting a torch and holding it aloft, Ecthelion guided them down the winding way that led through the mountain itself to Rath Dínen, the Silent Street below. Thorongil suspected that the torch was meant more for their benefit than Ecthelion's, so sure were his steps towards the Hallows.
The Street truly earned its name, as the weight of memory and the history of those who had gone before pressed down as heavily as if they had been given physical form, dampening all noise. Instinctively, Thorongil lightened his steps, moving as soundlessly as he ever had, not wishing to disturb the sleep of his ancestors. He was at once torn by the desire to linger here, to learn their lives through his fingertips upon their engraved epithets, as he was to pass by as quickly as possible, to slip the noose of guilt and weakness that threatened to tighten around his neck. He noticed that Ecthelion and Halbarad had fallen silent as well, no longer passing the time in idle conversation; clearly, the Silent Street had such an effect on all who walked it.
Ecthelion stopped where the Hallows met Mount Mindolluin itself, beckoning Thorongil and Halbarad to a short space of wall just behind the House of the Stewards. In the guttering torch flame, Thorongil saw little evidence of a door, and certainly no trace at all of keyhole or handhold, but at a slight touch from Ecthelion, the stones shifted and moved, opening a small rectangle of light hardly bigger than the height of a man.
"Beyond you will find the Stone Steps," he murmured, voice pitched low in deference to all those who eternally slumbered so close by. "I will instruct the porter to descend and wait here for your return. Knock thrice and announce yourselves, and he will come for me so that I may escort you out again."
Halbarad nodded, reaching for Ecthelion's hand and clasping it between both of his own. "Thank you, my lord. We are both grateful for this indulgence, and promise to return with a proper survey of Minas Tirith's defences."
Ecthelion smiled. "I trust you both to deliver nothing less." Releasing Halbarad's hand, he clasped Thorongil's. "You remain one of my best captains, and my faith in your strength and that of your kinsman does not falter."
"Thank you." Ecthelion's smile was infectious; Thorongil could feel the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "I will endeavour to be worthy of such trust."
After a gentle squeeze of fingers, Ecthelion released Thorongil's hand and stepped back, holding the torch to illuminate the door as Thorongil and Halbarad readjusted their belongings and prepared to leave. "Take care not to lose your bearings. If you stray too far from the Steps, you may not find your way back, and it is a very long way down Mindolluin."
Both Thorongil and Halbarad murmured their assent, and with that, they slipped through the doorway, toward the stairs. The stone door shut firmly behind them, only the slightest of grinding noises betraying its movement.
The stairs were certainly well-named. Sheer cliffs rose on either side of them, a long, narrow flight of rough-hewn steps ascending to meet the strengthening light of dawn. There was no way to climb them while standing abreast of one another, and so Thorongil let Halbarad lead, reasoning that the sway of cloth and muscles put to good use on a good man would be a far more pleasant sight than a seemingly endless stair.
Even so, as each step passed beneath Thorongil's feet, he began to feel lighter, bit by bit, stride by stride, as if the obligations of his life, both those he accepted and those he turned from, did not sit so heavily on his shoulders. He felt a little as he had when he carried only the name Estel, a small measure of the promise and pleasure of his younger self resurfacing as he gained altitude.
They climbed in silence for a while, Thorongil and Halbarad both, until Halbarad finally spoke. "You know some call this the Coward's Path, do you not?"
"Hmm?" Thorongil blinked. "No. I had no idea."
Halbarad paused, leaning back against the rock wall as he half-turned towards Thorongil. He nodded. "There is a notion amongst the Guard that it exists to serve as an escape route for the Lords of the City. That if the City is to fall, rather than falling with it, a weak ruler will make for the secret path and abandon his people."
Thorongil chuckled. "Yet the path ascends. Unless there is some secret shelter up the mountain, it is a poor plan." He sighed, shifting until his own body aligned with Halbarad's, side pressed to side.
"Indeed." The stairs interfered with their true heights, so Halbarad had to lean down slightly to brush a kiss across Thorongil's temple. "It is nothing more than rumour, and even at their weakest, the Line of Kings has never abandoned its people in their greatest hours of need."
Thorongil frowned. "You know that is not true."
"But it is, my lord." Halbarad slid an arm around Thorongil's shoulders, pulling him closer. "Even Isildur did not turn from duty, not even while in the grip of his own obsessions."
When Halbarad spoke such words, Thorongil could almost believe them. For a time, he laid his head on Halbarad's shoulder, luxuriating in the warmth and soft breaths of his man, but as the light that filtered down the stairs grew stronger, Thorongil knew that to make best use of the day, they must carry on.
Thorongil estimated, by the shifting of the sun, that it took them another hour before they broke free of the long flight of stairs. Finally, they stood in full light, the lack of a dirt track or worn path at their feet testament to the Steps' isolation and disuse. The mountain slopes eased somewhat as they rose, allowing for greater movement than the sheer cliffs below. Looking out from Mindolluin, Thorongil could see the tops of the surrounding mountains, and a view of the City and Pelennor partially obscured by the rock formation that hid the entry to the Steps.
"We continue upwards." Halbarad smiled kindly at Thorongil, anticipating his question before he could even speak it aloud. "Up until we can see Minas Tirith in all her glory, unimpeded by any rock or tree."
Clasping the pommel of his sword, Thorongil sighed and nodded. If they were to do a proper survey, then upwards they must go.
This time, he led the way.
They climbed until almost midday, past tree and hillock, rock and rubble, sometimes picking their way over slick stone and fallen logs, sometimes almost bent double while gripping at jagged handholds and elusive footholds lest they slip and tumble to an accidental end. They saw not a scrap of evidence of other men where they walked, not a footprint or fresh broken twig, and their own voices seemed harsh and unnatural against the background of naught but birdsong and rustling foliage. From time to time they would happen upon a nest or den, the tracks of a hare or fox, but this high up above all did not lend itself readily to lumbering predators such as themselves.
When they stopped, it was in a barren little space, just below the tree line, but it was space enough to stand upright without fear of falling, to sit comfortably and rest. It was there that they sat together, hip to hip, sharing the light provisions they had packed. Hard cheese, bread, a little cured meat and a flask of honeyed water tasted all the sweeter up here, melting on the tongue like snow in sunlight. From here, they could look out at the whole of the valleys and fields, all the way to the Anduin, and further still.
"Beautiful," Thorongil murmured, and Halbarad turned his head and smiled.
"I was hoping you would find it so."
Thorongil chuckled. "Of course I do. It's stunning. How could I not?"
Halbarad shrugged, looking out towards the sea. Gently, he said, "I know how draining you find the bustle of the City. I know how you long for the green of the wilds when you spend too long in houses of wood and stone. And yet..." He trailed off, wetting his lips, leaning forward as if trying to shift ever so slightly closer to the scene below.
"And yet...?" Thorongil felt his brow furrow.
"Mark this place well, Estel, for one day it may be yours to rule. I would rather you served it out of love than duty." Halbarad brushed his fingertips over the back of Thorongil's hand, once again gazing at his features as if searching for something there. "You are made to lead with love; I know this deep in my bones. I have seen it." He smiled at Thorongil, then, and the openness of his expression made Thorongil shiver almost as much as the invocation of his long-ago name.
Yet his tongue laid heavy in his mouth, refusing to move, refusing to twist into an answer, so Thorongil simply nodded, turning his hand palm-upward to grip Halbarad's own. They sat in companionable silence for a long while, letting the sun slip past its zenith before either one deigned to recall their purpose in coming up the mountain.
Eventually, the notebooks came out, and each man took his time recording the area below, taking down details and plotting strategies, weighing potential weak spots and advantages, getting to know the White City from an angle very rarely available, but so very advantageous when considering how best to defend both people and kingdom.
So intent on looking without, Thorongil barely noticed when his boot dislodged a small rock, sending it clattering a short ways away. Distracted by the noise, he glanced down, intending to avoid scattering any more loose stones.
Instead, he found himself a hair's breadth from stepping on the only tiny shoot of life visible within the barren clearing. Tucking his notebook away, he squatted down on his haunches beside it, examining the sprout. It was a pretty little thing, not much substance to it, just a tiny twig with one small leaf unfurling above. Tender green it was, not yet darkened with maturity, and the sprout it clung to still pale in its youth. Thorongil ran a finger lightly over the leaf, bending it slightly down before letting it flick back up, and he smiled at the flash of furred silver underneath.
Surely he had spent more than enough time taking note of the battlements and buttresses of Minas Tirith, had sketched enough landmarks that he had time now to sketch this little plant. It would certainly be worthwhile to record it for later identification, for he had seen nothing like it, and it would be wise to understand what such young growth would become. He drew out his notebook once again, turning to a clean page, and just as he was to put down the first line, Halbarad called his name.
"If you are done, we should start back." Halbarad beckoned from the edge of the clearing. "The shadows are lengthening, and it will take us some time to descend." He looked down, surveying the way they came. "There are far fewer places to stop and make camp than I had hoped, but if we leave now, we may very well make it back to the entrance to the Steps before nightfall."
Sighing, Thorongil stood. He closed his notebook, stowing it once again, the wisdom in Halbarad's plan apparent. "Lead on. Better that we find ourselves further down Mindolluin before the day cools." He glanced back at the tiny shoot, a pang of disappointment pricking at his chest. With all their talk of pasts and futures, of hopes and fears, he would have liked to record the little plant's potential, no matter how insignificant it might be.
He joined Halbarad, first making sure they had left nothing behind, and as they departed the little hollow, Thorongil could not help but glance back. The shoot was too small to see from more than a few feet away, but as he turned his attention to the long descent ahead, Thorongil was certain he saw, out of the corner of his eye, the faintest glimmer of silvery green.
END
(December 2013)