This chapter references “Quarantined” chapter 9, “Force of Nature” chapter 14, and “Reflections of the Past” chapters 4 and 5.

WHEN THE KING COMES BACK

Chapter Eleven – A Breath of Fresh Air

“Perhaps you just need a few days off; a bit of a vacation, as it were.” 

Aragorn spent a great deal of time over the next two days thinking about what Bilbo had so casually said, especially as his memories began to return -- first in a trickle and then a torrent.  He remembered being given the shards of Narsil to guard, and from which to draw inspiration and strength.  Lord Elrond had given him back his true name at age 20, and he had worked hard to gain the respect of the Dúnedain.  He had grown from a Chieftain by tradition, to a Chieftain in truth.  Over long years of travel over much of Middle-earth, nearly always in disguise or under assumed names, he had learned and watched, becoming familiar with many lands and peoples.  He had learned to serve, and watch, and wait.  He was a warrior, a healer, and a leader of Men.

What he had not yet regained was... the feeling of who he was.  He did not feel like a leader, or one whose destiny was different than that of any other man.  He could not feel the blood of his legendary ancestors in his veins, or spirit, or connect to them in his heart.  He did not...

“Here you are!” Frodo’s bright voice penetrated his thoughts, and he looked up to see the young hobbit coming toward him.

“What are you doing out of bed, little one?” Aragorn asked, putting down his pipe.

“Everyone’s being so fussy,” Frodo said in frustration.  "I’m tired of resting and sleeping."  He was dressed in a loose shirt and breeches, and holding a blanket in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other.  Suddenly his eyes sparkled with glee.  “I escaped when no one was looking.”

Aragorn lifted the boy gently up onto the bench beside him.  This bench near Bag End fit Big Folk comfortably, which was exactly why Bilbo had it built.  This retreat under a sheltering tree, and several beds larger than the usual hobbit-sized, made Bag End even more hospitable for its frequent visitors – Man or Wizard.

“Sam will be frantic with worry when he discovers you missing,” Aragorn smiled.

“He’s in the vegetable garden, showing Scamp what plants are proper to dig up, and which aren’t,” Frodo grinned.  “I snuck right past them.  Well, I think Scamp saw me, but she won’t tell.”

“How is your chest?”

“That bruise has turned so many colors, I can’t name them all!  I still feel like I was run over by a pony cart, but not such a large one anymore.”  Frodo scratched absently at his left arm.

“Try not to do that,” Aragorn advised.  “Skin itches a bit while it heals, but you do not want to disturb the sutures.”

“Gilly says it’ll be a week before she can remove them,” Frodo sighed.  “I don’t like the thought of being stitched up like a garment.”

“Nor do I,” Aragorn chuckled.  “I’ve had several gashes over the years that required suturing, and it certainly is never that pleasant.”

“This is pleasant,” Frodo sighed blissfully, breathing in the crisp autumn air.  “I love it out here.  The trees make such a lovely swishing sound.”  He looked up at the Ranger.  “You’re starting to remember everything, aren’t you?”

“I am.  How did you know that?”

“Over the past few days you’ve been so relaxed, more so than usual.  Helping in the garden, trying to bake, reading, riding Arthad... but today you seem a bit more serious.”

Aragorn smiled ruefully.  “Bilbo was correct, then.  Perhaps I just needed a brief vacation from certain knowledge and responsibilities.”

“Don’t worry; you can come back to visit anytime you need another vacation,” Frodo said.  “When do you suppose Halbarad will return?”

“It is conceivable that he could arrive as soon as this evening, but more likely tomorrow,” Aragorn said, thinking about the distance between Hobbiton and Lake Evendim.  “I hope everything has gone well for him.”

“It has,” Frodo said confidently.  “Bilbo told him everything he needed to know, after all.”

“I have no doubt that Bilbo’s assistance has been invaluable.”

“Have you seen all the notes and gifts?  Everyone’s very grateful for what you did.”

“I am honored to have the trust of some of your folk,” Aragorn said softly.  “It is a rare experience.”

Frodo leaned comfortably against the Ranger.  “You took the bandage off.”

Aragorn touched his right wrist and nodded.  “The swelling is down, and it feels nearly well again.”

“You heal quickly, Estel,” Frodo observed.  “Merry sprained his wrist once, and it was sore for weeks.  How did poor Beren endure losing a whole hand?  It’s so frightening to think about what happened to him.  I like to go down there and look at the carvings, sometimes.  Lúthien is so beautiful, and Beren so handsome.  Your folk were taller then, weren’t they?  Sometimes I dream about people who...”

Aragorn stared straight ahead of him, startled.  He had forgotten about the exquisite and ancient carvings, hidden behind the stone in Bag End’s cold cellar.  Beren.  Something strange stirred within him when he thought of his illustrious forebear, who had lived and died so long ago, he could barely conceive of it.  Beren.  Lúthien.

“Frodo,” he said slowly, “I cannot explain why, but I need to see those carvings again.  Right now.  You and Bilbo never closed up the opening?”

“No,” Frodo shook his head.  “We slid a heavy box in front of it so Scamp can’t get lost in there again, but didn’t wall it up.  The lanterns are still down there.”  He looked at the Ranger curiously.  “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Aragorn assured him.  “Come, I will take you back to--”

“Please don’t,” Frodo begged.  “It’s so nice to be out in the fresh air.  Merry and his family and Pip and other folks sent letters, and I’d like to just sit out here and read them.”

“Very well.”  Aragorn stood up, then wrapped Frodo in the blanket he had brought with him.  “Do not stay out long enough to get chilled.”

“I won’t,” Frodo said.  He unfolded a piece of paper from the top of the stack.  “This is from Pip.  And those must be ducks.  I wonder why they’re wearing hats?”  He studied the brightly-colored drawing more closely while Aragorn made his way back to Bag End.

“Hullo, Mr. Estel!” Sam greeted the Ranger.  “Did Mr. Frodo find you all right?”

“So you saw him, did you?” Aragorn chuckled.  “He thought he made a clean escape.”

Sam grinned and shook his head, then went back to his weeding.  He checked on Frodo a bit later, and smiled to see that his friend had fallen sound asleep on the bench, wrapped in the blanket, with the sheaf of letters under his head for a pillow.

*~*~*~*~*

The late afternoon sun was low in the sky when Sam shook Frodo awake.

“Mr. Frodo!” Sam said urgently, “I think Scamp’s ready, sir!  She started whimperin’ and actin’ strange, and--”

“Where is she?” Frodo gasped.  He sat up a bit stiffly, and Sam helped him down from the high bench.

“I carried her to your room, and put her in the basket.  I built up the fire in the hearth, then came right out to get you.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo said gratefully.  He and Sam hurried into Bag End, walking as fast as Frodo’s bruised ribs would allow. They reached his bedroom, and Frodo dropped painfully to his knees beside the fleece-lined basket.  Scamp was lying on her side, panting heavily.

“Where’s Mr. Bilbo?” Sam asked.

“He went to Bywater this morning to talk to Mr. Oldbottom,” Frodo said, stroking Scamp gently.  “He should have been back by now.  And Estel is... Sam, Estel said he was going down in the cellar where the carvings are – but that must have been hours ago.  Would you see if he’s still down there?  And then maybe put some water on to boil, I think we’re supposed to do that for some reason.  Your family might want to know where you are, too.  And... and...”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Frodo,” Sam urged.  “I’ll go tell my family, then find Mr. Estel.”

"Thank you, Sam."

“Just stay calm, sir; she’ll be all right.  Mama animals have babies all the time.  But as I told you before, it’s a mite messy, and--”

Frodo nodded, his heart hammering in his chest.  He reached for a stack of thick towels, and slid one carefully beneath Scamp.

“Shhh, it’s all right,” Frodo murmured to Scamp, trying to calm himself down.  “You’re having half-Baggins, half-Took pups!  They’ll be beautiful, and everything will be fine, and... Sam, what should I do while you’re gone?” he asked in a sudden panic.

“Just don’t let her have those pups without me,” Sam begged.  “Not that she will.  I mean, it’ll probably take hours, but I don’t want to miss...”  He rushed out of the room.

*~*~*~*~*

As Bilbo walked up the lane, his stomach informed him that it must be nearly suppertime.  He heard a call from behind him, and turned.

“Halbarad!” Bilbo called out.  He waved as the mounted Ranger approached, looking tired but triumphant.  “Welcome back!”

“Thank you, Bilbo,” Halbarad smiled.  “I have much to tell all of you.  How do Frodo and Aragorn fare?”

“They are mending well.  I believe that...”  Bilbo frowned as, up ahead, he saw Sam emerge from Bagshot Row and run up the lane toward Bag End – followed, more slowly, by his father.

“Bilbo, give me your hand,” Halbarad said quickly.  He reached down and pulled the hobbit up in front of him, then urged his horse into a gallop.

Hamfast looked up, startled, as the huge horse drew abreast of him.  Halbarad dismounted and lifted Bilbo down.

“What is it?” Bilbo asked the Gaffer anxiously.  “What’s happened?”

“The pups are near to comin’, Mr. Bilbo!” Hamfast replied joyously.  “Sam just came and told us.”

Bilbo sagged against his friend in relief.  “I thought something dreadful had happened to Frodo, or Estel.”

Halbarad grinned.  “Bilbo, I will join you as soon as I can.  Gwindor needs to be tended after our long ride.”  He began to lead his horse back down to the field where Arthad was tethered.

As the two hobbits continued on toward Bag End, Bilbo was delighted to realize how excited the Gaffer was.

"Hamfast,” he said casually, “Frodo and I have been trying to figure out what to do with the pups.  Tom Cotton and Estel are almost certain there will be three, you know.”

“Is that right?” Hamfast said.

“Indeed.  Halbarad has asked to have one, as a gift for someone.  But that leaves two, assuming all goes well.  And Frodo and I have been wondering...”

“Yes, sir?” Hamfast turned to his employer, a curiously hopeful expression on his face.

“Your family has been so very good to us,” Bilbo said fervently.  “Truly, Hamfast, I don’t know what I would have done without all of you, particularly during this week.”

“It weren’t nothin’, sir,” Hamfast said humbly.  “We think the world of you and Mr. Frodo.”

“Hamfast, would you consider...” Bilbo stopped walking for a moment.  He needed to word this perfectly.  “Might we begin to repay your family with... one of the pups?  Frodo would be so relieved to know that another has found a loving home, and one so close to Bag End.”

The Gaffer’s face lit up.  “You’d trust us with one of the pups?  What I mean is...”  He tried to look serious.  “That’s very generous of you, sir.  I’d have to think on it, of course.”

“Thank you, my friend.  Do let us know what you decide.”

“Mr. Bilbo,” Hamfast said a moment later, “I’m sure I could talk my family into it.  As a matter of fact, it would near break Sam’s heart to be parted from those pups.  I mean, from one of those pups.”

“You are welcome to two, if it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition.”  Bilbo grinned and clasped his gardener by the arm.  “Knowing the pups have a loving and close home would be quite a relief to us.  It would certainly help relieve our debt to your family, but I know how you feel about dogs.  Think about it.”

“I’ll do that, sir.”  They continued up the lane, Hamfast’s head spinning with amazement.  He knew that pups needed to stay with their mother for many weeks, and had considered asking to purchase one as a Yule gift for Sam -- if it wasn’t more than they could afford.  But for the Master to give them one of the pups... or even two!  Under ordinary circumstances, it just wouldn’t be proper... but Mr. Bilbo himself had suggested it, and it didn’t get much more proper than that.

** TBC **