The Year 3019 of the Third Age

Caras Galadhon

The sound of laughter awoke Aragorn, and he opened his eyes in slumbered surprise to identify its source: a very joyful Merry, who was playing tug-of-war with Pippin and Boromir. It didn't take a great mind to see that the two youngest of the Hobbits had taken a great liking to the Gondorian, and Boromir seemed to have become quite attached to them too; and he was enjoying the game as much as the little ones did.

Smiling gently, Aragorn sat up and looked at the other members of the Fellowship. He saw Sam and Frodo talking about the beauty of the elanor flowers that sprouted at this time of year, while Legolas and Gimli still eyed each other warily without exchanging a single word. Apparently, it would be a long time yet before those two started getting along.

Still, Aragorn didn't let that kind of thought really dampen his spirit. The peace and tranquillity that existed in the Golden Wood, by the power of the Lady Galadriel, had a soothing effect on them all. It was something that the man himself was quite grateful for, especially after the pain and sorrow he had been through after Gandalf's death.

Gandalf… Aragorn's mind drifted back to the moment the wizard fell from the Bridge of Khazad-dûm and he felt his heart sinking anew. So many misfortunes could have been avoided had things been done differently in the Mines of Moria. If Ceranos had been in the Company, or if Aragorn had remembered the path the elf had shown him, then Gandalf would have still been alive. The way things had turned now, however, it was left to Aragorn to continue leading the Fellowship to Mount Doom. It was a task that he had preferred not to undertake, fearing the corruption of the Ring. The Lady's true words still rang into his ears, warning him. 'The Quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little, and it will fail.'

But no, this wasn't the time to think like that. Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel had offered the Fellowship a place to stay in order to rest and heal, and their people would help in the best way possible, offering provisions to help them carry on with their Quest. Valar knew they'd need all that them in the days to follow.

Indeed, after a month's rest the Fellowship were ready to set off again. The Elves had bestowed them all with gifts both beautiful and useful for their journey, like traveling cloaks, and boats by which they would travel to the Falls of Rauros, the area closest to the borders of Mordor. Three boats were tied on the riverside, all of them filled with lembas and fresh water. In one of them would be Boromir along with Merry and Pippin; Aragorn would be in another one with Sam and Frodo; and in the third one would be Legolas and Gimli. One of them wasn't all that eager to the prospect, though…

"I am not getting into any of these contraptions!" Gimli declared stubbornly, his arms crossed.

"Master Dwarf, you are holding us up!" Boromir said. "Please, get into the boat!"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"It is not safe. It… it might capsize!"

"With an oarsman like Legolas?" Pippin asked, puzzled.

"And this is an Elven-boat, they don't just capsize!" Merry seconded.

"An Elven-boat and an Elf for an oarsman! And you expect me to be comforted now?" cried the Dwarf, exasperated.

Frodo leaned close to Arargorn. "What's wrong with Gimli?" he asked the man softly.

"He is afraid of the water. All the Dwarves are afraid of it, because of what they were created of," Aragorn answered. "If you remember, Frodo, they were made of stone, and water corrodes stone. Gimli will not melt, of course, and he knows it; but the fear is there nonetheless and he prefers to avoid any contact with water if he can help it." He looked up at the Dwarf. "Is it not true, Master Gimli?"

Gimli only turned crimson and refused to answer, but it was enough. Legolas looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"If your kind is so afraid of water, how do you cross rivers or lakes?" he asked in genuine curiosity.

"We build bridges of course! Your kind could make use of those!" Gimli retorted.

Legolas, however, was hardly fazed. He simply laughed. "I fear we cannot afford enough time to wait for you to build a bridge all on your own, Master Dwarf. So, you will have to settle for the boat or travel on foot on the riverside. I hope you will be able to keep up!"

Gimli still remained on the edge of the river, first looking at the water with disgust and then other throwing daggers at the smiling Legolas. In the end though, he made a light jump and quickly landed on the boat.

"I hate the water, I hate getting wet, and I hate you," he growled slowly, and he sat down with a huff.

Legolas shook his head in an amused manner. "Dwarves…" he said under his breath.

"Elves!" Gimli snapped, hearing Legolas quite clearly.

Aragorn chuckled before he could help it, yet he made sure Gimli didn't notice him. But, even as he laughed, he realized that he could take Gimli with him when he would visit Ceranos. The man was quite certain that Gimli would take a liking to him.

"Is something the matter, Strider?" Sam asked, noticing the Man in thought.

"No, my good Sam," the man assured him kindly. "Just memories of old." And with that, he gave the signal to start rowing away.

The Year 3021 of the Third Age

Thundering hooves made all birds and creatures jump out of the cantering horses' path as a team of knights rode on, following their king across the country side on a quest to visit all the realms of Middle-earth and thus renew the alliances between them and Gondor. It was a notion that advisors had been against all along, reasoning that the king could send emissaries to speak on his behalf, but Aragorn himself wouldn't have it. He wanted to wander Middle-earth very much like the way he used to in his days as a simple Ranger, when he was unburdened by the responsibilities of a kingdom on his shoulders. Moreover, he meant to keep a promise he had given a friend more than seventy years ago. Gimli was with him for that very reason, since the Dwarf expressed a wish to meet the strange Elf that Aragorn had told him about. On the other hand, Legolas, to both their regret, couldn't accompany them; he had already declared that he wanted to visit Mirkwood and his father, aware that the woodland realm had also been under attack during the War of the Ring. Nevertheless, all three Hunters intended to meet on their way to Gondor once their visits were over.

Gimli leaned sideways to have a look ahead - sitting behind Aragorn on the same horse certainly had its disadvantages – and grinned broadly when he recognized the rocky slopes in the distance.

"The Blue Mountains, at last!"

"Yes, indeed, Master Gimli," Aragorn replied with a smile. "We will camp as soon as nightfall settles and, should our pace be good, we'll reach the gates of Nogrod by tomorrow."

"Rest first?" Gimli echoed, and then nodded. "Good. My back is killing me after so many hours of riding."

"So is mine, and I am sure Brego will be more than happy to rid the saddle for a while," Aragorn said and he patted the horse's neck kindly.

Brego snorted slightly in response, appreciating the gesture.

"I hope this Ceranos will remember you, otherwise we would have suffered all this riding for nothing," Gimli said thoughtfully in that moment. "Seventy years is a long time."

"Not to an Elf; though I have changed after all this time."

"Is that why you have the pipe with you?"

"Yes. I will show it to him so he will recognize me."

Gimli shook his head. "You can't be all that different. Who knows, he will probably recognise you right away and give you quite the welcome. Now that will be a nice reunion."

"Yes, it will," Aragorn admitted. After all, seventy-two years might have been little for for an Elf, but it was quite a long one for a man like him, and he couldn't help wondering what Ceranos had been up to all these years. He just hoped he would get his answers soon…

The next day, Aragorn and Gimli set out for the Dwarven city on their own, fearing that a large number of soldiers would alarm the Dwarves. They found them quite easily, for Gimli knew the city's whereabouts and, besides, the doors were wide open.

The two spear-wielding sentries that stood guard by the doors put their weapons forward at the sight of the newcomers, forcing them to halt. "Stand and proclaim yourselves!" one of them commanded sternly.

"I am Gimli, son of Glóin from the Mountain Erebor, at your service," Gimli stating at once. "You know my father as one of Thorin Oakenshield's companions."

"I am Thran, son of Fali, at your service and your family's," replied the guard, answering Gimli's greeting courteously. "And aye, the names of Thorin Oakenshield and Glóin are well known to us. Everyone in this city has heard of their victory over Smaug in order to reclaim the fair kingdom of the Lonely Mountain." His gaze drifted in Aragorn's direction. "Can you answer for the Man that accompanies you?"

"I can answer for myself, Master Thran," Aragorn replied. "I am Lord Elessar of the House of Telcontar, King of the Realm of Gondor and Arnor."

Thran had apparently heard of the name before, for he instantly bowed low.

"Forgive me, Lord Elessar. Had I known it was you, I wouldn't have shown such disrespect."

"I was not offended, I assure you," Aragorn said with a smile. "May we enter the city?"

"Aye, my lord. But you should state the nature of your business first."

"We have come to see one of the dwellers of Nogrod," answered Gimli. "The Elf who is known as Ceranos Orcbane."

Thran's eyes widened at the mention of the name. "It is a wonder to me how you have come to know of him. His outings to the surface were few and only whenever there was great need."

"I know him," Aragorn said. "We met seventy years ago and I have considered him a friend from then since then. Tell me, Thran, how does he fare?"

There was a small pause of silence before Thran finally answered, slowly clearly hesitant.

"My lord… Ceranos perished during the War of the Ring, almost a year ago."

Aragorn felt his heart contracting violently at those words.

"How did he die?" he asked softly.

"Honourably. Fighting with his brothers-in-arms against the charging armies of Sauron."

Both Aragorn and Gimli bowed their heads solemnly, for they realized Thran was talking about the Men of the East that attacked Erebor, the Dwarven Realm closest to Sauron's lands. Moreover, they both knew that the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains had sent reinforcements to help their fellow clans as soon as they heard news of the impending attack.

"Were you with him when…?" Aragorn started asking, even though the sea of emotions that were raging within him made things difficult.

"No, my lord," Thran answered with a shake of his head. "But you might want to talk to Nôm, son of Nali. He's from Thrir's clan, so he was always close to Ceranos – and he was also the one to have last seen him alive."

"Where can we find him?" Gimli asked.

"At his home. If you ask around, somebody will surely take you to him."

"Thank you kindly, Master Thran. Good fortune to you."

"And to you, Master Gimli. I bid you farewell, Lord Elessar," replied the guard, bowing low.

"Farewell," the Man whispered. His mind still lingered on the news he had heard only a few moments ago, and as his heart was heavy with grief, he let Gimli inquire about the whereabouts of the Dwarf they were searching for.

One look at Nôm was enough indication that the particular Dwarf had seen his own share of the War of the Ring, just like Gimli and Aragorn had. He held a sturdy staff that helped his faulty walking and his left eye was missing, replaced by a deep scar that started from his eyebrow and ended close to his beard. But those sorts of wounds only made him seem older than he actually. In fact, he was still a strong Dwarf, and his good eye sparkled with vitality he looked at the two warriors before him.

"I am told you wanted to see me about one of the members of my clan," he said after the customary courteous bows and greetings, and he beckoned them to sit on two chairs.

"Aye, about Ceranos Orcbane," Gimli answered, sitting down. Aragorn, on the other hand, only nodded.

"Ach… Rakhâs-Ûdrig," Nôm said, his tone and expression wistful. "That is a name I have not heard in quite some time and yet my heart still grieves for him. He was a brave and kind lad… or perhaps not so much a lad." He chuckled softly, almost sadly. "He had already been part of Thrir's clan for almost six hundred years when I was born." In the next moment, he darted his gaze at Aragorn. "I'm told you had met him."

"I did," admitted the Man.

"Might I ask when?"

Aragorn nodded and told Nôm everything, from their meeting to their risky venture across Moria, and finally ending with their parting of ways. For the duration of the narrative, Nôm listened intently along with Gimli – this was the first time he had heard the full tale told.

When the king had finished, Nôm shook his head sadly. "Yes, I remember the particular festivities very well, for he told us of that tale upon his return. It was the last journey to lead him far from home before war broke out." Nôm lit his pipe, the small spark flame from his match disappearing as quickly as it had sprung to life. "Ceranos always meant to return to the city of Khazad-dûm one day. That is what always told Náin, his foster brother, even though the latter would hear none of it; he feared for his kin's safety. For had loved that place from the first time he set his eyes upon it."

"I still remember his face when he looked on Moria for the first time," said Aragorn with a small smile. "He seemed like a pilgrim visiting a holy land."

"Aye, that sounds like Ceranos," the one-eyed Dwarf said, chuckling. "He was an Elf and yet his love for the darkness of the caves could only be compared to a Dwarf's!" Yet he soon sobered, his face becoming quite grave. "Most of the Dwarves that live today have known Rakhâs-Ûdrig since they could remember. Some had even associated him with the Blue Mountains themselves, myself icluded. We believed that the world could come to its end, but the Mountains and he would still be around, the only truly immortal remnants of a time long gone. How little did we know."

Mournful silence filled the room, and it seemed none of the three present in the room were willing to break it. In the end, though, Gimli decided to speak.

"The guard, Thran, told us that you were with him when he was slain."

"Nay, I was not with him when he died, more like I was the last to have seen him alive. But perhaps I should tell you my story from the beginning, so you will understand.

"Before the War of the Ring broke out, Sauron had sent his vile servants to the Dwarves of Erebor more than once, seeking an alliance with them and promising them Rings of Power and even the kingdom of Khazad-dûm. Two times the Dark Lord's messengers went to King Dáin Ironfoot, offering him one out of two choices: to offer his services to the Enemy or die. Both times King Dáin answered naught, wishing to gain some time while he sent word to us and our brothers at the Iron Hills to come to his aid as swiftly as possible.

"From our part, we had already heard of Men from the East becoming bolder and an army of them approaching dangerously close to the borders of Dale, the Men's neighbouring city. And so, before the year ended, about the time that we knew the dark messenger would seek an answer from King Dáin for a third time, a thousand Nogrod Dwarves marched toward Erebor by our king's order, each clan led by its own patriarch. Náin was in command of our clan, along with Rakhâs-Ûdrig."

The surprised looks on both Aragorn and Gimli's faces made Nôm nod in assurance.

"Yes, Ceranos was a patriarch. He had been one ever since Thrir's death. Thrir himself placed his foster son in that rank as he was still lying on his death bed."

"Even if Ceranos was no Dwarf?" Gimli asked dubiously.

"Yes," Nôm replied. "The patriarchal right goes either to the lord's firstborn son or, should there not be any, to a clan-member of the lord's own choice. Ceranos was adopted before Náin was born and, despite his race, he was still considered Thrir's firstborn child."

"But he did not take up this position, did he?" Aragorn asked at that point After all, only one answer could explain how come Ceranos had gone on an errand such as mining out stones when he had first met him.

"No, my lord, he did not. Not until much later," Nôm answered, verifying the Man's suspicion. "He realised that, at the time Thrir chose him as patriarch, a lot of dwarves from other clans, even the King himself, would frown upon such an arrangement and, if things became heated enough, the harsh words would be soon replaced by the spilling of blood. So, even though he knew he was going against his foster father's wish, he placed Náin in his stead until the time would come that all the Dwarves accepted him as part of Nogrod. Náin and all of us that belonged to the clan were disappointed, admittedly; we knew that Ceranos would make a good ruler. Still, we understood our comrade's hesitation. And by the look on your face, I think you understand too, my lord."

Aragorn nodded solemnly. Yes, he understood Ceranos's decision. Hadn't he himself chosen to become a Ranger and denied his kingship for similar reasons more than seventy years ago?

"However, all this changed during the War. Náin's aged body couldn't keep up with his stout heart, while his son, Lóin, was too young and inexperienced as a leader," Nôm continued. "Because of this, Ceranos was the one who assumed the command and led our march to Erebor. Náin marched by our side despite his age, wishing to fight too, but also because we had decided not to reveal that Ceranos had taken up his rank yet, not wanting to cause any discomfort to the other Dwarves at such news. Thus, while everyone else believed Náin was still the patriarch of our clan, we, as a clan, knew better.

"Just as we had expected, Ceranos turned out to be a prudent commander, dividing our rations wisely and with care, organizing every Dwarf to his appropriate task and position so everyone would offer the most efficient service possible. It was through Ceranos's careful planning that we marched on without setbacks. In fact, our pace was so good that we would arrive in Erebor much earlier than we had believed at first.

Yet it was when we reached the borders of the Woodland Realm that Ceranos Ceranos proved himself as both a good a leader and a great diplomat."

"How so?" asked Aragorn.

"I think I know. Because of the Elves," Gimli said. "They didn't suffer thirteen Dwarves to pass through Mirkwood, why should they allow a whole army?"

"You are right, Gimli, Glóin's son," said Nôm. "We had reached the woods when the Elven march wardens forbade us to go any further at the king's command. I suppose Lord Thranduil had to face his own share of enemies from the East and he did not wish to worry about Dwarves trampling in his realm as well. After all, there is not much love between the Firstborn and us, even though an Elf did grow among Dwarves, earning a place in our hearts.

"But I stray. For one reason or other, we were not allowed to enter Mirkwood. Then Ceranos stepped out and asked the march wardens to lead him to Lord Thranduil, for he wished to speak with him. I don't know at what the Elves wondered most, at the boldness of that request or that there was actually an Elf among the Dwarves and even acted as one of them. Nevertheless, they didn't deny his request. Ceranos was taken to the city, while we all remained behind, hoping that he would convince Lord Thranduil to let us march through the forest.

"A whole day passed and then it was morning again, but Ceranos didn't come back. Then night fell again, and we started getting nervous, fearing for our patriarch's fate. It was on the dawn of the third day, when the first whispers of worry that Thranduil had imprisoned Ceranos had sounded throughout the camp, that our lord came back. His face looked tired, clearly showing everyone that he had not slept much, if at all; but there was a strange glint in his eyes and a remarkable vigour in his movements as he stepped on a rock and addressed us.

"'Dwarves of Nogrod!' he cried out. 'Lord Thranduil has listened to what I had to say about the predicament our brothers are in and what will happen should Erebor fall because we were not able to go and aid them. We both agreed that at these dark times there is only one enemy, and it is neither the Elves nor the Dwarves. It is Sauron!' and at that moment his voice boomed with loathing at that foul name. 'He who cares nothing but for the domination and corruption of all the peoples of Middle-earth. The only one who takes pleasure in the hate between Ilúvatar and Aulë's creations. But he does not know that no matter how much hate exists between the two races, it can be easily surpassed by the love they both share for their freedom! We shall make him understand that!'

"As soon as these words were uttered, a great number of armed Elves came out of the shadows and stood behind Ceranos.

"'These warriors,' continued our patriarch, 'were sent by Lord Thranduil to join forces with us and fight on our side, for the Elvenking is aware that our disadvantage lies in ranged combat. I would have some of us join the Elves in their own battle against Sauron and cover their own disadvantage, but Lord Thranduil said that none of the Dwarves is obliged to do so if they don't wish it. You know how I stand in this… What say you? What do the other patriarchs say?'

"There was silence for many long moments, and then one of us stepped forward.

"'I am Thrond, son of Bain,' he cried out for all to hear, 'and my clan is ready to offer its services to the Mirkwood Elves!'

"'I am Darin, son of Druin,' cried out another patriarch, 'and aye, my men and I are ready to help as well!'

"'And I am Omi, son of Nami, and my kinsmen's axes are on the Elves' side too!'

"Ceranos looked at all three patriarchs and bowed low to them, thanking them for their offer and then he turned to the commander of the Elves. "'You heard our answer. What will you say to that, Master Eregdos?'

"The Elf looked at all of us for a while, and then he faced Rakhâs-Ûdrig again. "'On behalf of our king, we accept your help gladly,' he said.

It was something that made all of us cheer, while it brought a broad smile to Ceranos's face. "'So be it," he said softly and the two Elves clasped each other's arms, sealing the agreement before Ceranos faced us once more.

"'Even though these two days have not been wasted, there is no point losing any more time. Thrond, Darin and Omi will stay with their men in Mirkwood, but we must press on to Erebor, where King Dáin still awaits our help. We must keep marching till we reach the Lonely Mountain without any more stops, so to ensure that we will arrive in time. I know that what I ask is difficult, but bear in mind what our forefathers used to say: a warrior knows true rest once he's dead! To Erebor!'

"'To Erebor!' we all shouted in one voice, our blood boiling with the urge to rush to our brothers' side. In less than a half hour we had already set off, and Ceranos was marching by Náin and Lóin once more, his tall form standing out among the Dwarves, while the Elves marched close behind us, their bows at hand.

"'You have done well, my brother,' I heard Náin say to his foster kin, his eyes shining in admiration.

"'But there is something troubling you,' Ceranos said, obviously noticing some other feelings mingled in Náin's face. "You think I should not have accepted Lord Thranduil's help?'

"'No, no, far from that,' Náin assured him. 'I am merely not sure how Dáin will react to that.'

"'If the situation is as bleak as I fear it will be, neither the King under the Mountain nor indeed the King of the Iron Hills will object to the Elves' presence,' Ceranos murmured wryly.

"'What makes you say that?'

"'King Thranduil." With that, Ceranos lowered his head to make sure that only those he trusted would hear him. 'Some of his scouts noticed armies of the Men of the East marching toward Dale and Erebor. They are many, Náin… Too many.'

"'You mean…?'

"'Aye," Ceranos sighed, his face saddened.

Náin's eyes opened wide, frightened at the realisation.

"'Great Mahal… we're marching to our deaths.'

"'All of us. 'Elves and Dwarves. Thranduil is not sure he will be able to last against his own foes either.'

Náin remained silent for a few moments, clearly pondering on the situation.

"'Once we fall, nothing will stop Sauron from sweeping everything in his path, taking all Middle-earth as his own. But you know something, my friend and kin?' he finally said. 'I will welcome death if it means that I died for my freedom.'

"'And I will welcome it on my family's side as well,' Ceranos said, his hand resting on the old Dwarf's shoulder.

"'I know you will, brother… I know you will,' whispered Náin kindly, looking at the Elf's eyes."

Nôm brushed off the tear that had flowed down his cheek with the back of his hand, while Aragorn and Gimli felt the lump that had formed in their throats almost choking them now.

"So it happened. We reached Erebor in time, and the Eastern Men were many indeed, but we did not lose heart. For five days we fought desperately, killing foes till our axes and hands were soaked in blood, the Elves always by our side with their bows and arrows. However, all of us knew the horrible truth, even though none of us dared utter it: we were becoming fewer in numbers with each passing day, while the Easterlings only grew more.

"It was on the dawn of the sixth day that our enemies struck the hardest, forcing us to retreat toward the Mountain. I chanced to be fighting just a little farther away from Ceranos, Náin and Lóin on that day, and I could clearly see them all taking out their foes one by one. Our patriarch was deadly as he proved swift, and Lóin's axe claimed the lives of many Easterlings also. But Náin's age was catching up with him and he could only defend himself for that long. When he was not careful enough, an enemy arrow struck him on the chest.

"Ceranos was the first to react. He shouted to all that were closest to him to come to his side and cover him while he tried to carry Náin away to safety. All of us responded to that call and fought fiercely to defend them both. The Easterlings tried to grab the body and claim it for their prize, but Lóin and I drew them off quickly, giving time for Ceranos to reach Náin. Ceranos quickly cradled his foster brother's body close to him, trying to help him somehow. But it was to no avail: Thrir's son was already dead. All Dwarves, Elves and Easterlings froze momentarily to hear the cry that cut through the air like a knife, easily drowning the battle cries and the clash of armour; for it was the scream of anguish for a loved one now gone.

"Then Ceranos arose, wielding his axe with such fury as I hadn't seen before and threw himself against our enemies. His madness was so frightening that none of the Easterlings dared to withstand it. We, however, took a new strength of heart and it seemed for a moment that the attackers had become the attacked.

"But that did not last long. For in that moment, a barrage of flaming orbs started falling among us, bringing us all to disarray. At that moment I felt it was only I that stood his ground and I turned around, trying to look for any of our own comrades, when my eyes fell on Lóin and Ceranos's forms. At that instant, one such orb hit the elf, knocking the helmet off his head and stunning him enough to fall on the ground. Lóin immediately rushed to his side and I tried to fight my way to them to help them; but more Easterlings came and pushed me even further away. And when the patriarchs shouted at us to retreat behind the walls of Erebor, there was no choice for me but to leave them behind.

"For three days we stayed under siege in Erebor, each day seeming blacker than the previous one. Finally, when it all seemed lost, the joyous news came that Sauron was destroyed and the Easterlings retreated, frightened. We didn't know how that came to pass but we did not care; for what mattered to us was that Middle-earth had won its freedom.

"Still, it was a bitter victory that we had earned, for everybody in the clan still remembered those who had died fighting, Dwarves and Elves alike. Even Dáin had died in battle, along with the King of the Iron Hills; so all we could do was smile bitterly and collect the dead that were still lying in the battlefield in order to give them a proper burial in the place they fell. That is where Náin is buried too."

"And Ceranos?" Aragorn asked hoarsely.

"I tried to look for him and Lóin personally, but neither of them was anywhere to be seen. I fear the Easterlings grabbed them and defiled them by stripping them off their armour and beheading them. Such were the Easterlings' foul ways, curse them!" Nôm said. "Several of the Dwarves and Elves that died during the battle had a similar fate, so I was not able even to recognise them among the bodies. The only thing that I was able to find of Ceranos was this," he added, rising and going to a corner of the room. When he returned, he was holding in his hands a great double-headed axe, too big to be wielded by a Dwarf, and he handed to the Man sitting before him.

"You recognise it," he said, noticing Aragorn's eyes shining.

"I do," the king said replied, holding the weapon reverently. "He had made it himself."

Nôm smiled a bit and then, after a small consideration, pushed it gently towards his guest.

"It is yours."

Aragorn looked at Nôm in shock. "This should stay with the clan," he said, attempting to give the axe back; but Nôm stopped him.

"It should stay with a friend and I am sure he would like you to have it. Take it and think of him from time to time."

The Man sighed in defeat and clenched his hands around the weapon, placing it at his side.

"Thank you," he said, and he stood back on his feet.

"You are welcome. I only wish I had better news to tell you then of his death. Farewell, Lord Elessar. And farewell to you too, Master Gimli."

Both king and Dwarf inclined their heads in courtesy and then left. It was with a heavy heart that they walked out of the gates of Nogrod to find Brego, who was grazing nearby. Gimli stood by the horse, ready to set out, but Aragorn didn't wish to leave just yet. Having the axe still in his hands, he turned to face the rocky slopes of the Blue Mountains.

"I kept my promise, my friend. But it seems the Valar have decided otherwise," he murmured with a sigh. He turned away, and both Man and Dwarf settled on Brego and set off to find the king's escort, Gimli sitting behind Aragorn. Even though he couldn't see it, Gimli was aware that his friend was shedding tears as they were riding.

The End.

Footnotes:

Rakhâs-Ûdrig: Orcbane (Khuzdul)

A/n: Before people kill me for killing off Ceranos, I should point out that there's a reason his body wasn't found. But that's another story. ;)