Request: Aragorn/Halbarad, rating-any, Third Age, pre-Ring War angst

Summary: Halbarad has a premonition.

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He had seen Gandalf in many guises, the kindly maker of fire magic for wide-eyed children, the grave counsellor walking the corridors of Rivendell, and one pale dawn as a warrior, when the sword Glamdring, sang through the air and the orcs fled before the frail old man who had felled their leader, cloven him through from helm to belt buckle. Never before had he seen in the wizard�s eyes such wildness and a glitter that had looked so much like fever that he half expected this Gandalf who now grasped his arm tightly above the elbow, to babble his message.

The wizard had drifted in to their rain-sodden camp in the half-light, pushing past a shaken sentry who would go to his deathbed swearing that he had not stinted his watch. He was whipping his head from side to side to shake the water from the long hair plastered to his skull in dark locks. The hem of his cloak was mud-spattered, and had Halbarad not heard some bustle in their horse-lines, he would have thought that the wizard had tramped through the mire.

Now he was dragging Halbarad away from the circle of the fire towards a more private spot where they would not be overheard. Halbarad waited respectfully for Gandalf to speak, but in truth he was faintly troubled by the way that the wizard pawed at his arm and then clumsily patted his hair. He saw Gandalf take a steadying breath before he spoke.

�I need a horse Captain, mine is spent.�

�We have good horses�you may choose any that suit.�

The wizard�s hand stilled on his hair, to clasp Halbarad behind the neck and draw Halbarad towards him, before murmuring, ��and what news of the border, Captain?�

Halbarad would not dissemble, would make an honest report, but in truth he was hard-pressed to find the words that would convey to the wizard his sense of unease. There was a chill in the wind blowing about the Shire and whilst his years of service meant that he knew full well they were being tested, distracted even, by the raiding parties that he and the Grey Company were repelling almost daily, he could not guess at what it might be he was not seeing. Halbarad only knew that in the watches of the night his sleep was troubled and more than once he thought he had heard the distant sound of a blacksmith�s hammer as a horseshoe was forged, the hiss of steam as the red metal was plunged into water to turn black again.

Gandalf�s eyes, so close to his own, made his vision swim. Then the grip on his neck slackened and the wizard pulled him down to sit beside him on a rock. It was wet, the mossy top almost to slime, but the wizard did not seem to feel the cold that was seeping in to his bones.

�I have talked with Aragorn,� he said, half turned so he could speak into Halbarad�s ear and yet keep watch over the scene. �He must meet up with travellers from the Shire, in Bree, and go thence on a path that only you and I will know of. I must another way, to seek for answers and can not protect the party.�

His breath came hot on Halbarad�s ear, ��and you may not travel with them either, Halbarad. See him safe to Bree if needs be, but then you must leave him. The Grey Pilgrim would have the Grey Company take the battle to the enemy. Go out further from the borders of your charge than you have been wont to do. Bring down fire upon them, Halbarad; let them not have a moment to gaze upon the ground, to track Aragorn. He must not fail.�

Halbarad nodded, grim-faced, and shrugged off Gandalf�s hold upon him, beckoning over a Ranger to order food for their guest.

�I thank you, Captain,� said Gandalf, seeming to come to himself then, smoothing back the wet hair from his brow, �but I can not stay. A cup of wine and some bread or meat in my saddlebag will see me right.�

�We can provide both, Mithrandir,� Halbarad answered and would have risen, but Gandalf pulled him back for a moment.

Now his gaze was searching but so mild that the Ranger was taken aback. His mother�s eyes had not looked on him with more gentle pity and it awoke in him a feeling that he was as a child again and that was a fearful thing, to be so helpless.

�You do not use your gift, Halbarad,� said Gandalf quietly, �your long-sight is your birthright. Let it guide you,� and he paused, before adding, �Not all that you see is carved in stone.�

Just then a taste of ashes flooded Halbarad�s mouth and a chill stole over his heart. �I will die beside him, Mithrandir,� he said and the wizard thought he should never be proof against the sorrow of men.

�Not all things come to pass, Halbarad�but if Aragorn should fall, the way is dark indeed.�

-0-

By the edge of the Brandywine river in a welter of blood, spattered across the shingle, the ground churned up by many hoofs, they had found the bodies of three of their fellows, rangers left to guard that part of the way in to the Shire. They had straightened the limbs as best they could and Halbarad had closed their eyes. Then they buried the corpses near enough that they might be lulled by the sound of the water, but high enough to escape flood. Their names would be remembered.

They had met up with Aragorn a few days later, at a rare point where the lazy stream gushed between narrow rocks, foaming in pools and rapids. The noise came thundering in their ears, so that when Aragorn faced Halbarad and told him something of the horror that was awoken in Middle Earth again, the Rangers who passed within ten feet of them, leading the pack animals, heard not a word. One or two might have thought their captain paled, but they moved past unhurried � Aragorn, son of Arathorn, would know what best to do.

As they camped that night the two men talked low and fast, exchanging news, assessing gains and losses. It seemed to Halbarad that his kinsman had somehow grown in stature since last they had met. There was no arrogance in him; he took his turn at heaving a pack through some boulders too narrow for a laden pack-horse and yet, his eye seemed keener, his mind sharper and there was about him an air, of �nobility� perhaps, at odds with the plain gear, the worn leather glove on his sword hand.

When finally their business was done, Aragorn had brought out a couple of long pipes from his gear and then a pouch of the Shire pipe-weed from the breast of his tunic. As he passed the packet, warm from his touch, to Halbarad, their hands brushed together and Halbarad felt the pads of Aragorn�s fingers linger on his skin. He smiled briefly but ducked his head, to concentrate on filling the pipe and then to light it, before tossing the pouch back to Aragorn, who caught it, one-handed, and tilted his head to look at Halbarad, but said nothing before tucking it away.

Halbarad inwardly cursed himself for a coward. They had been close, had shared a soldier�s comfort between them, but now Halbarad felt himself drawn apart, as though the recent knowledge that he would die with Aragorn some day, held him back from embracing the moment.

With the morning light, Halbarad left his command in his lieutenant�s care and set out for Bree with Aragorn. They went on foot, travelling light and as they went found rumour run ahead of them and suspicion too. Barliman Butterbur had known the Rangers for long enough that he had passed no more than a nod to them across the bustle of a crowded taproom, gesturing to the pot-man to hand them their usual key.

Once into the darkened chamber, Aragorn would not light the lamps, but busied himself at the grate, coaxing the embers into a snapping, crackling blaze. Halbarad had stripped off his gloves, laid aside his gear and returned to the bar-room, waiting until he was handed a jug of ale and tankards before he climbed the stairs again.

Aragorn was sat in a high-backed chair before the fire, legs stretched out. As he poured ale into Aragorn�s mug, both men could hear the noise of the crowd below, seeping up through the floorboards to compete with the spitting of the logs on the fire.

�You will stay the night, cousin.� Aragorn�s voice was low and sweet, but there was no doubt that this was a command from his chieftain. Halbarad watched the dark liquid flowing from the jug to the tankard, clear, good ale that would sustain and cheer. He remembered a day, long ago, walking through a wheat-field at harvest. The grain grew towards the sun, ears heavy and ripe and it stretched before him a golden sea of plenty. He wondered if it knew when the sickle fell.

Bound up in his vision, he would have over-filled the mug, but Aragorn caught at his hand and took the flagon from him to set it down at the side of the fire. Then he rose to stand before Halbarad, raised his tankard to touch its rim in salute and they drank, watching one another.

Halbarad breathed out a sigh as he drained the mug, for once letting the strong liquor begin to wreath about his brain, letting his guard down. So many months they had been patrolling the Shire�s borders, tracking, spying, killing almost without let. He had lost good men, gained a few untried recruits that he must train anew so that they would live so long. Now he thought he might fall if Aragorn should breathe on him.

Aragorn lifted a hand to Halbarad�s cheek. There were calluses marring the skin and there was grime about the fingernails, but the gentleness in his touch shook Halbarad, so that he dare not try to speak, lest he weep. For too long gentleness had been for a frightened horse, an injured man�and as Aragorn let his thumb trace the edge of Halbarad�s lower lip, he knew that he would die, when his time came, �for� this man, if that was what was asked of him.

He lifted his gaze to Aragorn�s face and saw recognition and then dark mischief and hunger. Almost unbidden, the corners of his mouth crept upwards and he let the tip of his tongue flick out to taste the thumb. Aragorn smiled slowly back, and with a snarl and a lunge he had sent Halbarad staggering back against the wall and followed him, planting his hands on either side of Halbarad�s face. The firelight was flickering along the sharp planes of Aragorn�s cheekbones. He was so close; pressing Halbarad against the wooden panelling, leaning into him, heavy, his breath coming short on Halbarad�s skin.

�Too long, cousin,� he growled and brought his mouth down hard on Halbarad�s, who had barely time to part his lips before the long, hot tongue was thrusting into his mouth. The scratch of beard on his skin was a balance to the slick tongue that swept his mouth, claimed him. Breathless with want, Halbarad reached out blindly and grabbed handfuls of clothing, pulling Aragorn hard up against him. He could taste ale and pipeweed and Aragorn was moaning low in his throat as he ground himself against Halbarad�s hip. A hand dug itself into his aching groin, heel rubbing hard against the vein running along his straining cock, long fingers clawing at his heavy balls through the rough material and he heard the cry in his throat, felt his body heave upward in welcome.

Halbarad thought he would come in his breeches like an untried boy, wrenched his mouth from Aragorn�s and buried his face into the neck of his shirt, licking, nipping at the skin. When he set his teeth on the bone and would have bitten through to blood, Aragorn hissed and pulled back far enough to gaze at him for a long moment through a curtain of dark hair, before the men began to pull at one another�s clothing. Boots were cast aside, tunics, belts, shirts peeled back, hose stripped from strong legs�and then they stood�naked before one another for a moment in the firelight, before Aragorn opened his arms and Halbarad stepped joyously into his chieftain�s embrace.

-oo0oo-