"Where in Middle-earth are we?" Aldamir heard Gimli inquire behind him.
Elladan answered: "We have descended from the uprising of the Morthond, the long chill river that flows at last to the sea that washes the walls of Dol Amroth. You will not need to ask hereafter how comes its name: Blackroot men call it."
Aldamir gazed down at the valley. It was a wide and expansive; its steep slopes were covered with long, waving grass, but all seemed grey then, for the sun was gone. Lights twinkled like small glowing eyes in all the houses and villages, small lamps to ward off the coming darkness.
Without turning, Aragorn called to his company. "Friends, forget your weariness! Ride now, ride! We must come to the Stone of Erech ere this day passes, and long still is the way."
Without a glance backwards, they spurred their horses and rode down into the valley like the west wind with the Dead in their wake. As they rode through it, screams and shouts went up; folk fled before them as they came, crying out that the King of the Dead was upon them. Lights went out as they swept past; shivering with fear, folk cowered in their houses, hiding their faces from the grey terror. But the company spared them not a glance; ever onwards they rode, never slacking their pace.
Soon they left the valley behind them and rode far into the night, never pausing, while the wind whipped through their hair and left their throats dry and aching for water. Still onwards they went, hooves pounding insistently beneath them, mingling with the pounding of their hearts, until the horses were stumbling with exhaustion and their riders swayed wearily in their saddle.
At last they came to the Stone of Erech where it stood upon a great, silent hill; a hill which none dared to approach because of the rumours and tales of it being a meeting place for the Dead. Night still lay upon the land, and the inky, complete darkness pressed upon them, black as a cave. On the top of that hill lay a great stone, black as the night and round as a globe. It was as tall as a man, and lay half-embedded in the ground, where it had lain for centuries. It was weird and unearthly, smooth and round as it was, and some said that it had fallen from the sky. Others, who still remembered the lore of the West, said that Isildur had brought it from the burning ruins of Numenor and placed it there.
The company, still mounted, gathered in a half-circle around the Stone. The gleam of their torches was partially reflected in the Stone�s surface, casting a forbidding red glow on its cold stony blackness. Aldamir gazed at it in wonder.
Elrohir drew forth a silver horn and gave it to Aragorn, who, lifting it to his lips, blew a great blast upon it. The note echoed and came back to them, seemed to Aldamir to come from under the earth.
A soft rustling came to his ears; he looked about and saw the ghostly army assembling by the stone. They stood tall, grey, and silent, staring at Aragorn. A chill wind like a deathly breath blew over Aldamir; he felt cold, and shivered slightly.
Aragorn dismounted and stood by the Stone of Erech. "Oathbreakers, why have ye come?"
Aldamir saw the chieftan of the Dead answer him; the great, cold voice sounded as if it came from the stone of the mountains; from some vast cavern far away.
"To fulfil our Oath and have peace."
"The hour is come at last," Aragorn answered him. "Now I go to Pelargir upon Anduin, and ye shall come after me. And when all this land is clean of the servants of Sauron, I will hold the oath fulfilled, and ye shall have peace and depart forever. For I am Elessar, Isildur�s heir of Gondor."
In a low voice he spoke to Halbarad, who stood at his side. The Ranger unfurled the standard he had carried throughout the journey, and Aldamir saw that it was a wide, rippling black banner, but as yet, in the night�s darkness, he could see no sign upon it. It seemed but a solid piece of the darkness as yet.
Silence fell, utter and complete.
Aldamir did not know how long he stood there, gazing at the great black standard, the black sphere of the Stone, and grey, swaying army of the Dead, thinking and wondering......
The Company camped that night by the Stone, but few slept, and if they did it was but little. The fear of the Dead hung over them all, like a oppressing dark fog, depriving them of real rest.
Aldamir did not sleep, tired as he was. Throughout the night he stood silent at the edge of the hill, his back to the Stone, gazing out into the night. He watched the solid dark mountains slowly outline themselves against the sky as it grew slightly lighter. Streaks appeared in the cloudy sky, barely distinguishable at first and then slowly growing lighter.
His thoughts that night were of L�rien, and Uruviel, lying somewhere behind him as he went forward on this long, dark journey of which none could foresee the end. His heart filled with intense longing as he thought of the tall, stately mallorns, standing like peaceful sentinels in the Golden Wood, stars twinkling above them like so many heavenly lamps. He thought to of Uruviel, walking among the trees, her hair floating behind her in a golden cloud. So long... it had been so long since he had looked into her eyes, and his heart wrenched to think of the sadness that must fill them now.
Would he ever return? It was a thought that preyed upon him often these days, troubling his sleeping and waking hours. When he had left the mallorns to fight at Helm�s Deep, he had not foreseen this.... yet who could foresee what would happen during the next hour in these times?....
When dawn finally came completely to the Hill of Erech, chilly cold with long streaks of pale light, Aragorn rose at once and summoned the company. They saddled their mounts, and he led them forth on a long journey of which none could have guessed the end of. They were weary as they rode, and it was only Aragorn�s strength which urged the Rangers on. No other race of Men could have endured the journey that entailed; none but the D�nedain of the North and the Elves and Dwarf who rode with them.
For a day they rode hard, and rested that night. Rising early the next day, they pressed onwards, the Dead following ever like a mist driven before the wind.
But when they passed through Tarlang� Neck and onto the uplands of Lamedon, a region of Gondor on the slopes of the White Mountains, the ghostly army swept up behind them and was suddenly on all sides of them. They sought to pass the company, but Aragorn forbid them, and at his command they fell back. Aldamir marveled. Even the hosts of the Dead obeyed him; here indeed was Isildur�s heir!
Still they rode on through Lamedon, and late that day they came to Ciril and the town of Calembel. It had been a mighty city once, rich from the river-trade, but now it was quiet and empty, for most of the men had gone to the wars. And when Aragorn came to the city with his company, those left in it fled to the hills, shrieking that the King of the Dead was upon them. They crossed the fords of the Ciril, and rested that night on the opposite bank from the city.
Aldamir threw himself to the ground and sought to sleep. He was weary, and the wounds he received in the battle of Helm�s Deep were taking their toll. They no longer bled, and they were healing, but the stress of riding so far and so hard with the wounds was beginning to wear on him. Now, as darkness fell once again upon the weary company, he closed his eyes and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.