'Forward, friends, to the stone of Erech!’ Aragorn exclaimed and the Grey Company followed him to the Path of the Dead. They were walking through a deep mountain maze, in the corridors of which darkness reigned, so black that it absorbed the light of eyes and souls. The horses trembled slightly and walked forward only because of their boundless devotion to their masters, and the people because of their boundless devotion to their king. No one saw fear on Aragorn's face or in his heart. Long thoughts about this road bothered him before, but when he set foot on the path intended for him, Aragorn left them behind. He was running not from fear, but to hope. And he believed that with black and silver banners he would bring hope to the White City. Songs, ancient prophecies, words of sages — all this does not matter. The greatest feats are performed not for the sake of songs, but in the name of one look. Aragorn was now led by such a look — grey eyes with a greenish tinge, like an elven beryl. These eyes look to the east, where Anduin casts steel in the gathering darkness. Dawn will not come, but a stubborn man will not take his eyes off the horizon until the very darkness of death closes his eyes. This means that ships under the banner of the king must pass through Anduin.

‘The dead are coming for us,’ Legolas said in amazement. ‘They heeded the call.’

Behind the backs of Aragorn and his friends, the fog and darkness swayed, thousands of voices sounded in it — the distant clang of weapons came muffled, as if from the bottom of a gorge, and in the dim light of the grey day, fragments of banners could be discerned. The oathbreakers went to the very place where they once swore an oath to the king to answer for their crime. Aragorn asked for nothing but the fulfilment of an old oath.

After leaving the gorge and riding into the valley, Aragorn ordered the banners to be unfurled and the horses to be spurred. In the gathering dusk, the banners looked black, but as soon as the moon appeared, the stars, the crown and the great tree, embroidered with elven silver, sparkled on the black velvet. The stars embroidered by the hand of Arwen Undómiel were now the only ones in heaven and on earth—all the others were swallowed up by the darkness spreading from Mordor. The ruined lands of Gondor, burned villages and desecrated shrines appeared before the eyes of Dúnedain. Mordor has surrounded Gondor for a long time, and now the ring has closed, in a few terrible days it has narrowed to the walls of Minas Tirith.

Horses and men needed to conserve their strength for battle. After a few hours of walking to the piers, they stopped. They waited for the dawn, but it never came. Only the sky brightened a little, turning the night into a joyless twilight, and in the south, where the black clouds were still torn apart by an uncontrollable wind, a black column of smoke rose.

‘Minas Tirith is on fire,’ Halbarad said.

The city was not visible from here, it was still a couple of dozen leagues along the river and even more along the road. But it seemed to Aragorn that this smoke did not just rise to the edge of heaven, but penetrated his chest, cut his eyes and made him suffocate. Théoden was still on the way, Dúnedain was just waiting for the ships and Gondor was fighting alone. In Aragorn's mind's eye, the forest at the foot of Amon Hen appeared again, the thick and low sound of a horn, hordes of orcs— Gondor was fighting alone.

‘Our sister asked me to give you something,’ said Elladan, one of Elrond's twin sons.

They found Aragorn at the edge of the hill, from where they could clearly see the river and the shipyards, and sat down on either side of him. The name of their sister Arwen echoed in Aragorn's heart with the same intense pain as the name and bright image of White Lady of Rohan.

‘She said this banner was her parting gift,’ Ellohir finished for his brother.

‘A parting gift?’ Aragorn frowned. ‘Why?’

‘She made the decision to go overseas. Together with us and our father.’

Aragorn could not immediately find the words to answer. He wished Arwen with all his heart peace and happiness away from this cursed shore. That meant far, far away from him. Far from the unreasonable changeable heart, from the love that causes suffering, from the promise of bitter separation. His own heart separated Aragorn for a long time from the one to whom he swore allegiance before death did it. But he would never dare betray her, especially after she remained loyal to him. This union would make two people unhappy at once, and the greater the suffering, the more loyal and honest those who enter into it. But Arwen is also wise. She believed the innocent heart of a twenty-year-old boy, but she also knew that seventy years later, this heart would not remain the same. Now she has freed the greying Strider from the vows of young Estel.

‘We didn't want to tell you before,’ Ellohir added, looking intently at Aragorn. ‘It's not good to tread the Path of the Dead with a broken heart. But my sister assured me that your heart no longer belongs to her.’

‘Really?’ Aragorn asked as if in a dream. He still couldn't figure out what he was feeling right now. His love and gratitude for the elf maiden were stronger now than ever before, but they were mixed with guilt and already incipient longing. That must have been how Gimli felt when he received Galadriel's gift. ‘Is she leaving soon?’

‘Father would like to,’ Elladan shrugged, ‘but she doesn't want to run away secretly and doesn't believe in bad omens. She also knows how to look into the future. Only the father sees the danger, and Arwen notices the light in the darkness. She looked into your future and saw something there. Believe me, she wouldn't have left you if she wasn't sure you'd be happy.’

‘When everything is over, you will accompany her to the ship,’ Ellohir added. ‘She will keep your love in the immortal lands, and the memory of Evenstar will remain among people with you.’

Aragorn had nothing to say in reply. Arwen would be waiting for him in the Grey Havens. But first they needed to defeat the Enemy.

‘The ships ahead!’ Legolas exclaimed.

Boats appeared on the river under black ragged banners. Aragorn gave the order.

The battle was short, the ships were pressed to the shore and cleared of pirates and traitors in the shortest possible time. People from the shore and ships fled by themselves when they saw the approaching army of the dead. But there were those who stayed. When the slaves were shackled, almost all of them remained in their places. And it was not fear that prevented them from moving, but a desire to serve the country and the king. Everyone who could hold a weapon got swords. The banners of the king, now flying from the masts, revived long-dead hopes in people. Aragorn freed the army of the dead, and in its place immediately came the army of the living. Rejecting despair and death, they were eager to fight, and for this they did not need oaths.

‘Minas Tirith has been under siege for the second day,’ they told Aragorn and his friends. ‘We heard the pirates saying that the city had already fallen. But this is not true, they would not be in such a hurry if only the ashes of the city were waiting for them. They also said that the steward was dead like one of his sons. Another one was seriously injured. They said that with the darkness came horror, a winged horror that drives everyone crazy in this city.’

‘Then we must hurry to save Minas Tirith,’ said Aragorn.

By his order, the freed slaves sat down at the oars again. Not trusting the wind, Aragorn ordered them to row as fast as they could. And the people, accustomed to obey the lashes, carried out this order as the most passionate desire of their own soul. Dúnedain and Aragorn himself, as well as Gimli, who perked up after getting rid of the neighbourhood of the dead, replaced the tired rowers, worked until their muscles ached. And Legolas and the sons of Elrond tirelessly peered at the horizon from the bow of the ships. But even without the elven vision, the column of black smoke was visible. He was approaching fast, the wind carried ash and the smell of blood across the decks. And when night came, even darker than day, the sky in the south lit up with fire — the reflections of a raging flame.

Aragorn, exhausted by his labours and thoughts, dozed off, wrapped in a cloak on the bow of the ship. The dream was short and disturbing. Legolas woke him up when the string of ships turned a bend. From here, Osgiliath was already visible as a dark spot in the distance. So, in a couple of hours they will reach Minas Tirith. Aragorn was afraid of what he would see.

‘Dawn is coming,’ Legolas said.

‘The sun will not rise,’ Halbarad replied. ‘People say that the darkness came from behind the Black Gate. Five days have passed since the Pelennor Fields were covered with snow, and since then the sun has not been seen here.’

‘Another trick of the Enemy,’ sighed Aragorn.

‘The Enemy can’t stop the sun,’ Legolas replied, ‘and forbid the roosters to crow.’

As if in response to these words, somewhere far away, in that very valley, hidden by darkness, a cock crowed. This cry despised the darkness and welcomed the morning that had come, despite all the tricks of the enemy. The rooster was echoed by the sonorous horn of Rohan.

Aragorn jumped up. With a wave of his hand, he ordered all his companions to be silent. Even the rowers stopped for a minute. The wind carried the song of the horns of Théoden's army, which was already standing at the walls of Minas Tirith. But the city remained deaf to the voice of hope. Is it really over? For one long, agonizing minute, a dead silence reigned around. And then the hollow echo of the Gondor horn cut through him.

Aragorn did not notice how tears flowed down his cheeks. The wind immediately dried them. This wind filled the sails and unfurled the banners. The men pulled at the oars. The barely audible noise of the battle approached and turned into a deafening roar of iron and stones. The winged Nazgûl were already flying over their heads, but their own terror and disbelief could be heard in their cry. And when the ships rounded the protruding cape and entered the Pelennor Fields, Aragorn and his companions saw a black sea of spears waving against the walls of Minas Tirith. Its high white walls were blackened with soot and blood, columns of ash were already rising from both the second and third tiers. The city should have been dead a long time ago! But they forgot to tell his defenders about it, like birds on destroyed farms, that the sun would not rise. On the high spire of the tower of Ecthelion, the same wind that drove the royal ships waved the white and gold banner of the Steward.