Religion
By Dwimordene 
dwimmer_laik@yahoo.com


Summary :Religion: from Latin re-ligare, "to bind again." Friendship is religion 
in that sense. This short fic features a very young Halbarad and Aragorn as they 
come to grips with a changing friendship and new identities. 



Dedication/Explanation: Originally, this was slated to appear as a flashback 
sequence in "'Til Death Do Us Part" but it just didn't fit. I kept it, though, 
and I thought I'd publish it as sort of a companion piece to the other story, to 
satisfy any who might be curious about "[Halbarad and Aragorn's] first journey, 
and nearly their first misadventure." So, to all those who find Ranger tales 
irresistible, enjoy!

***

 

Fire crackled loudly in the night, and over the low flames Halbarad cast a 
surreptitious look at his companion. Five years we have known each other, he 
thought miserably, and yet it feels as though we met only tonight, perhaps only 
a few minutes ago, though we have walked together for ten days now. For always 
before he had called his friend Estel. 'Aragorn' was still a new name, attached 
to a familiar face, and as the two of them crouched by their small fire in the 
shadows of the Barrow Downs, there was a more than a touch of awkwardness in 
their silence—an awkwardness exacerbated by the uncomfortable surroundings. The 
wind blew chill all about them, clearing out the skies so that the stars shone 
knife-sharp against the velvet darkness, though the mist refused to dispel. The 
grass was damp beneath them as they sat huddled in their cloaks, listening to 
the night noises, and their hearing was the more acute for the knowledge that 
they were utterly alone for the first time. And yet they spoke not, feeling that 
recent revelations lay still between them somehow, though neither could quite 
understand why.

"I never meant to deceive you," Aragorn said of a sudden, and though his voice 
was pitched low, it seemed excruciatingly loud to a startled Halbarad.

"I never thought that you did," he replied quickly—too quickly!— uncertain of 
how to respond. He hesitated, groping for more to say, to reassure his friend 
who was now also his lord, however young. But the words would not come, and so 
he sighed softly and simply stared across the fire at Aragorn. The other's face 
showed no sign of his thoughts, but Halbarad thought he saw a flicker of 
disappointment in those silver eyes, a betrayal quickly veiled by dark lashes as 
Aragorn lowered his gaze. "Truly, I did not think any such thing, Est—Aragorn!" 
Halbarad closed his eyes in pain, cursing that slip, wishing he had his father's 
gift for words. But there the legacy of Númenór had passed him by, much to his 
regret. It needed time for him to find just the right words—or indeed, any 
words—and in moments like this one, he despaired of his clumsy speech and 
seemingly damning silences. Actions came to him far more readily, but as of yet, 
there had been no chance for him to prove his friendship anew to Aragorn. And 
because of that, he could not show beyond doubt that there was no need for the 
other to ask forgiveness.

Would Estel have read the truth in my words? He found himself wondering, and 
instantly tried to reject the thought. Estel is Aragorn, and Aragorn is Estel 
and my lord and it does neither of us good if I insist on separating them! But 
there he touched upon the crux of the matter, for he still suffered a certain 
confusion, an inability to reconcile Estel, whom he loved, with Aragorn, who was 
Isildur's Heir and a stranger yet. Doubtless that undercurrent of conflicted 
confusion had infected all of his words, and Aragorn, perceiving it but ignorant 
of its source, naturally would feel repulsed by the seeming lie. Halbarad 
slouched, feeling dejected and disgusted with himself as he gazed wearily out at 
the darkness. The down rose high before him, and he watched the stars wheel 
slowly about the hill's lofty head. The Heron, Elwing, had risen, chasing ever 
after the Mariner, reminder of the immortal love that had birthed Númenór in the 
deep past. Strange to think that I sit now with one of Eärendil's descendents! 
Did his friend ever look with misgiving upon those stars, wondering what his 
place was in that line of heroes? Halbarad darted a furtive look at Aragorn, 
sitting silently and watching the shadows at Halbarad's back, and decided that 
he was not above such doubt.

He opened his mouth, intending to try to draw the other out upon that subject, 
when something registered at the edge of his vision, and he paused, squinting 
into the night. "What is it?" Aragorn asked, seeing him lean forward.

"I do not know," Halbarad replied softly. "I thought I saw something move." 
Aragorn rose to one knee and turned to face the hill, hand going to the long 
knife at his belt. "To your left, there, where the shade is deepest," Halbarad 
directed. Minutes trickled by, and nothing showed itself, but he felt his 
hackles rise nonetheless. "There is something watching us."

"Be hush and listen!" Aragorn whispered, and Halbarad strained his ears but in 
the end he heard nothing but the sound of his own breathing rasping in the 
night. Aragorn rose slowly to his feet, and the rustle of his clothes and the 
sound of leather creaking were too loud, seeming to puncture the silence 
sharply, disjointedly. Yet his friend's movements were dream-like—too smooth and 
slow even for Aragorn's grace of carriage, and Halbarad found that he had 
difficulty moving himself. Am I trapped in a nightmare? It was as if the air had 
grown suddenly too thick to breathe, and he staggered to his feet, feeling an 
edge of panic work its way into his breast. What is happening? Why do I feel 
light-headed? Blinking against the haze that encroached upon his vision, he 
glanced at Aragorn again, and saw that the other had taken a few steps onto the 
slope, and was now disappearing into the darkness above. But though he longed to 
call out, his mouth was dry, and his tongue seemed cloven to the roof of his 
mouth.

A low hiss, as of a sighing breath, gusted in the deadly stillness, and a cold 
sweat sprang up upon his brow and along the back of his neck, though he knew not 
why. He had enough wits to grab one of the brands from their fire before he 
stumbled after Aragorn, intent upon dragging the other back, away from whatever 
it was—the barrow-wight?—into the relative safety of their camp. But the light 
seemed dimmed as he clambered up the hill, and Halbarad found it increasingly 
difficult to stay upon his feet. He soon lost sight of Aragorn completely, and 
when he paused to listen, he heard nothing moving in the darkness. But now those 
hissing breaths sounded loud all about, and he realized after a time that they 
were laughter. Suddenly he felt utterly bereft, and he turned about, seeing 
nothing at all in the darkness, nor even a hint of their camp fire.

Where am I? Halbarad paused then, trying to quell his panic, and he shut his 
eyes tightly in spite of the danger. Fighting the cloying, stupefying mists, he 
thought of clean sun upon the glades of the Angle, and of his sister, Dírlas, 
and of the elven princes Elladan and Elrohir who had first introduced him to his 
friend. "This is our brother," Elladan had said, and Halbarad had first looked 
upon the elven-bright eyes of Estel of Imladris, and fallen instantly under 
their spell…

Estel! Aragorn! "Shine for me now, oh my friend," he whispered, and swallowed 
hard as slowly, haltingly, he spoke, though he knew not what wellspring of his 
soul inspired the words. He knew only that as he held the memory of that first 
meeting in his mind, the lines came: "Shine forth and guide me in this night/ 
for now mine eyes are blind!/ Leave me not beneath this shade/ but blazon forth 
now, be my light!" It was perhaps a poor verse, painfully composed, but about 
him a dead silence fell, and he felt something withdraw from him. He opened his 
eyes again and gasped, seeing the pale, slinking forms all about him. With a 
cry, he thrust the brand into the face of the nearest wight, and it shrieked. 
Tendrils of foul smoke went up from its translucent hide, growing thicker, and 
then the creature seemed to shrivel, crumbling into ashes as the others 
scattered, leaving Halbarad to choke on the fumes.

"Halbarad!" He whirled at the sound of Aragorn's voice, and suddenly, the heir 
of Isildur leapt to his side from the slope above. His knife was drawn, and 
there was a whitish slime upon its keen blade. The wights fell back still 
further, then slunk away, leaving the defenders standing back to back upon the 
hill. The wind blew softly over the Downs and teased at their hair and clothes, 
and to Halbarad it seemed that the night itself sighed, grateful that it had 
been released from the terror that nested within it. He felt the tension drain 
out of him all at once, and he sat down heavily upon the hillside. Aragorn 
remained standing a moment longer before he eased down on his haunches, facing 
him. He reached out and laid a hand upon Halbarad's shoulder and said in a low 
voice, "I thought I had lost you."

"I did lose you," Halbarad replied, chagrined, "I could not see where you had 
gone!"

"Nay, you misunderstand," said the other, shaking his head, "Had I not heard 
your voice, I would have strayed to who knows what fate under the hill," and he 
pointed upward, using the knife tip to indicate the stone-framed door built into 
the side of the slope. Halbarad blinked, wondering how he could have missed it, 
even under the spell of the wights.

"I thought of you," Halbarad confessed, feeling his cheeks flush hotly. "I 
suppose I called to you… A poor rhyme—it ill suits you—but it was all that came 
to me."

He raised his eyes to Aragorn's, and saw in that hawk-eyed regard a great 
tenderness, though a bemused expression played about the other's face. For a 
moment, neither spoke. Then: "I thought it was beautiful," Estel said simply, 
and then reached out to give him a hand up. With a sense of wonderment, and no 
little joy that the barrier between them had crumbled, Halbarad grasped it, and 
was pulled to his feet. That brief contact—his hand caught within his friend's 
firm, comforting grip—incited in him a strange reassurance that mingled with 
dread, and yet was the sweeter for that touch of bitter. I will never lose him 
again! The knowledge came with such certainty and power that he could not deny 
it, and though he saw his death nestled within that premonition he felt himself 
vaulted to the heavens upon the tide of relief.

And so he followed Aragorn back down the slippery descent to their camp, and 
though they watched the darkness in turns in case the wights should return, 
Halbarad felt no fear. The night passed without further incident, and as the sun 
rose, so too did they. Aragorn greeted him with a wordless smile that outshone 
the dawn, one that recalled all the others they had shared when he was still 
Estel. Thus bound anew to each other, they began afresh and together faced the 
darkness with good hearts.




The End