Chapter 389: A Horror Story
"The Paths of the Dead."
"The valley in the highlands is not a peaceful place. Countless people have tried to pass through it, and none returned."
"Among them was even a prince of Rohan."
On the night before Rohan's host set out, Aragorn looked toward the direction of Dunharrow and recalled the history bound to that place.
Behind him, Legolas, Gimli, Boromir, and Halbarad were fully armed and ready. They would ride with Aragorn into that perilous land.
"Lord Aragorn!"
A clear, gentle voice came from behind.
"Éowyn."
Aragorn turned, uncertain why the princess had come.
"You cannot go, Lord Aragorn." Éowyn looked at him with deep feeling as she spoke. "That place is far too dangerous. You may never return. Please stay, for the sake of those who believe in you, and those who love you."
Aragorn shook his head. "It is for that very reason that I must go."
"Go back, Éowyn. This is not where you should be. Rohan has need of you elsewhere."
With that, Aragorn turned away and called to his companions to move.
Éowyn turned as well, as if his words had finally reached her.
Yet just as Aragorn's party was about to depart, she came back.
This time, she wore armor, a sword at her waist. She dropped to one knee.
"If you must go to that dangerous place, then take me with you."
Aragorn looked at the princess, proud and unbending as she had always been, and for a moment, he had no words.
He helped Éowyn up gently. Meeting her wet eyes, he fell silent for a time, then said quietly:
"What you love is only a shadow and a longing. What you seek, I cannot give."
"May you find peace and joy, Éowyn."
He refused her love plainly and turned away without hesitation.
Éowyn stood where she was and at last understood.
From beginning to end, Aragorn had felt for her only the care and protectiveness of an elder toward one younger, and nothing more.
And the feeling she had dreamed of belonged elsewhere.
"Isn't that a bit cruel?" Gimli muttered as they rode into the valley leading toward the Paths of the Dead. Watching it all, he shook his head, thinking humans were complicated creatures indeed.
Aragorn did not agree.
"Leaving someone with a hope that can never be fulfilled is the crueler thing."
"Now we should focus on what's ahead."
As he spoke, they rode hard along the narrow track.
Before long, they reached a ravine that was bleak and lifeless, steeped in something cold and wrong.
Ahead stood a gate of stone, and beyond it, nothing but blackness. No hint of what lay within.
"I feel like the blood in my veins is freezing," Gimli grumbled, his eyes darting everywhere, nerves stretched tight.
They came up to the dark stone doorway.
Staring into that place of bones and lingering evil, Aragorn drew a breath and led the way in first.
Legolas followed close behind. Elves did not see the world as Dwarves or Men did. Ghosts did not frighten them.
Seeing Legolas step in without a single flicker of doubt, Gimli bristled.
"If an Elf dares to go in, and a Dwarf doesn't, I'll never hear the end of it," he muttered.
"No. Not happening."
So Gimli hurried after them.
Behind, Boromir and Halbarad exchanged a look and a brief smile, then went in as well, without turning back.
"I see many shapes," Legolas said partway in, suddenly speaking in that maddeningly casual tone of his. "And the shadows of horses. They're here..."
"Where?" Gimli whispered, sweating now, peering left and right.
The Elf had to be doing this on purpose.
"Hey!"
A hand dropped onto Gimli's shoulder from behind.
"Aah!" Gimli bellowed, throwing up his axe.
Then he realized the owner of the hand was not some horror clawing out of the dark.
"Boromir," Gimli hissed, "did no one ever tell you it's rude to grab someone's shoulder from behind without warning?"
"Oh, sorry," Boromir said. "I only meant to tell you, you should watch your footing."
Gimli looked down.
"Aah!"
He jumped again.
A skeleton lay sprawled across the ground, its death twisted into something savage.
Aragorn was drawn to the remains. He stepped closer and studied them.
"He's wearing armor of Rohan. And this armor... the style, and the sword as well, it's not ordinary."
Gimli edged closer to take a look.
"Not ordinary, no. Look at that blade. It's nicked and rolled. He must've been hacking at something hard as stone."
Aragorn spoke slowly. "I've heard the tale. They say Baldor, son of Brego, the second King of Rohan, walked the Paths of the Dead and never returned."
"He was an unfortunate man."
"So this skeleton..." Gimli began.
"Yes," Aragorn said, stopping him as he moved to examine more closely. "Do not disturb the dead."
He went down on one knee before Baldor's bones in respect.
Only after a moment did he rise and motion for them to continue.
Soon they reached a massive black stone, the very vessel of the oath and curse laid upon the Men of the Mountains.
Whoosh.
A sickly green spirit appeared, and all of them tensed.
Its face was wretched and dreadful, a crown set upon its head.
The King of the Dead, the last ruler of his people.
He looked upon them and said, "The Paths of the Dead do not permit the living to pass."
"But you will permit me," Aragorn answered, stepping forward.
"Ha, ha, ha, ha!"
The King of the Dead laughed, and with that laughter the host of the Dead rose into being, filling the passage ahead and sealing the way behind.
"This road was built for the dead, and it is guarded by the dead," the King of the Dead said.
He drew his sword. "To pass, you must die."
But how could the dead truly kill the living?
Whoosh.
Sensing the intent behind that spectral blade, Legolas loosed an arrow at once.
It did nothing. Like the Nazgûl, these spirits were immune to ordinary blows.
The King of the Dead swung his phantom sword, and in the next moment Aragorn met it, blocking the strike.
"Impossible," the King of the Dead snarled. "That bloodline has long been broken..."
"Whether it is broken is not for you to decide."
Boromir could not bear it any longer. He drew his iron sword and stepped in, forcing the ghostly blade away.
"What?" The King of the Dead faltered.
Even Aragorn looked faintly surprised, but when his eyes fell on the sword in Boromir's hand, he understood at once.
Then it was no wonder. No wonder at all.
Boromir drove his blade to the King's throat, forcing him back, back, until the spirit could retreat no further. Then he roared:
"This is the one you must swear to, wraith!"
The force in his voice made even the Dead hesitate. The spirits wavered, uncertain whether to surge forward and rescue their king.
"Is he always this brave?" Even Gimli, who feared ghosts most, felt his blood lift at the sight.
"As you can see," Legolas replied, head tilted, concise as ever.
Halbarad stepped forward then as well.
He unfurled the royal banner Aragorn had entrusted to him and held it up behind Aragorn.
"Behold the heir of Isildur," he declared. "You will heed his command and fulfill your oath!"
Aragorn glanced left, then right. He opened his mouth, then shut it again.
They had already said all the words he might have spoken. There was nothing left to add.
So he raised Andúril.
"Fight for us. Reclaim your honor, and when your oath is fulfilled, I will release you from your endless torment. I swear it."
He looked into the terrible, crown-lit face.
"What say you?"
That day, the Paths of the Dead rang like a drum, and tens of thousands of spirits laughed without restraint.
After that wild, maddened laughter, they slipped into a world no mortal could see, gathering around Aragorn, surrounding him as they followed.
The King of the Dead gave his answer.
"We go to war."
...
Dust burst from the exit of the Paths of the Dead, roaring up into the sky from the mountain's crown.
The spectacle was so immense that even far out in the Bay of Belfalas, one could glimpse it.
"It looks like they're finished over there too. We'll meet soon," Levi said with a smile.
He stood on the foremost Expedition-class flagship.
"Who?" Pippin asked at his side, curious.
"Aragorn," Levi said. "They went to the Paths of the Dead to summon the army of the Dead. Their goal should be the same as ours."
He glanced at Pippin. "Are you afraid of ghosts, Pippin?"
"Ghosts?"
"Yeah. The kind that, when you're asleep, suddenly presses its rotting, horrible face against your window. Dead eyes staring at you until your whole body goes stiff, and even your dreams turn into nightmares."
"When you open your eyes, it vanishes. And when you finally, suspicious and exhausted, fall asleep again..."
"It shows up at the window and watches me again?" Pippin guessed, quick as ever.
"No."
Levi shook his head at just the right moment, voice dropping into something darker.
"This time it floats into your house. It hides under your bed, and then..."
"And then...?" Pippin's voice went thin.
"And then it grabs the foot you left sticking out from under your blanket!"
"Ah!" Pippin shuddered violently.
From that day on, there was one more hobbit in the world who never dared sleep with his feet uncovered again.