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And thanks to Cairistiona for the beta.

Chapter 6:  “The Wizard’s Pupil”

 III  2956    Aragorn meets Gandalf and their friendship begins.

The Tale of Years, Appendix B                                                          The Return of the King

~oo0oo~

   Gandalf found the hospitality of the Last Homely House did not disappoint. He was reclining in an extremely comfortable chair in the Hall of Fire, enjoying the delights of Elven music, following a feast the like of which he had not had in a very long while. As he sat back and relaxed, he considered the only short coming on the part of his hosts was their dislike of pipeweed. He really would like to indulge in some of that quite remarkable Longbottom he acquired from the Rangers at Tharbad on his way here. He wondered if anyone would mind if he lit his pipe and indulged in a discreet smoke. Perhaps no one would even notice; the room was very crowded and quite dark, the only light coming from the enormous fire.

   However it was then that he spotted Elrond rise from his chair and walk towards him.

   ‘Ah well, another time perhaps,’ he thought.

   “Gandalf, I wonder if I might have a word with you before you retire for the night,” said Elrond, stooping low so that he practically whispered into the wizard’s ear.

   “Of course, my friend,” Gandalf replied. “I expected there to be something of importance awaiting me upon my return to Eriador. Shall we go now? I must confess to beginning to feel a little drowsy following that very agreeable Dorwinion.”

   Elrond smiled. “Do they not have such vintages in Gondor, or is the Steward not forthcoming with them?”

   “That depends upon which Steward you are referring to,” said Gandalf. “Turgon always showed me lavish hospitality, but then he did not have the cares that his son Ecthelion inherited.”

   “Come, Gandalf,” said Elrond, “let us continue this conversation in my study.”

   Gandalf allowed himself to be helped to his feet; he was rather stiff after spending so many long hours in the saddle. He had arrived at Rivendell late in the afternoon after an arduous journey from the South and, in truth, all he wanted now was to collapse into bed. Dutifully though, he followed Elrond to his private rooms where he was pleased to see another roaring fire awaiting them.

   “I would offer you some more Dorwinion,” said Elrond, as he closed the door behind them. “However I do want your full attention for what I have to say, so forgive me if I offer you nothing more intoxicating than a glass of water.”

   “The pure water of the Bruinen is always most welcome.”

   “Good,” said Elrond, pouring him a glass. He then settled himself down on the opposite side of the fire from his old friend. “Now tell me more of the new Steward of Gondor. Sauron openly declaring himself in Mordor just two years before he took office must be a major trial for him.”

   “It is,” said Gandalf, “but Ecthelion is proving to be a wise leader and open to counsel. He is working hard to strengthen Gondor’s defences and encouraging all men of fighting age to enter his service. But I fear for Gondor, Elrond, as I fear for all Middle-earth. Now that Sauron has completed his fortress, all his evil designs will start to fall into place. Gondor is already feeling the presence of her new neighbour. There is still much to be done there, but I have been away from the North for too long; it was time I returned, at least for a while”

   Gandalf paused and put down his glass. He really could have done with that pipeweed.

   “I return now mainly to seek news of the Dúnedain,” he continued, “and to do all that I can to prepare them for the coming darkness. I have had no real word of them for nearly fifteen years. Arathorn had been slain some ten years then, I seem to remember, and Arador only three before that. Goodness knows who leads them now; they were, of course, as tight lipped as ever over any questions about an heir. I wish I could have spared more time for them when I last returned for the meeting of the White Council, but Gondor even then was very much my main concern. Tell me, Elrond, how do they fare? In spite of all my other cares, they have been much on my mind.”

   “The answer I think, Gandalf, in short, is not well and yet better than they did,” said Elrond. “It was in fact of the Dúnedain that I wished to speak to you and, more specifically, of one young Dúnadan in particular.”

   “Ah!” said Gandalf, giving Elrond a knowing smile, “Might I be so bold as to suggest this could be Isildur’s Heir?”

  “Yes, you might,” said Elrond; the terseness of his voice betraying his annoyance at the wizard’s easy assumption. “I might have known it would be impossible to conceal his existence from you.” Then the Elf-lord sighed and added: “And I hope you forgive me for trying, but I did not want it known to all those dwarves you brought here that time that there was a Man child living in this house. How did you guess?”

   “Oh, that was the easy part,” chuckled Gandalf, not at all repentant. “School books left in the library, wooden soldiers obviously pushed in a hurry into the most unlikely places. And of course the fact that no one would speak of the state of affairs among the Dúnedain. No, Elrond, my friend, I do not blame you for keeping him secret, even from me; they can ill afford to attract the attentions of Sauron, let alone lose another Chieftain.”

   He paused for a moment as he considered this news. “He must have been very young coming to live here,” he said. “Arathorn had only been married a few years when he died, had he not?”

   “Yes, his son was little more that a baby,” replied Elrond. “He was just two years old. His mother came with him, of course. In fact you met her tonight – the Lady Gilraen, a brave and noble woman if ever there was one.”

   “Ah yes, of course,” said Gandalf. “I noticed her immediately. And her son; is he here also?”

   “No, he has been gone some five years now,” said Elrond. “I have not seen him since he left this house, but Elladan and Elrohir still ride with the Dúnedain, and more so than ever now that Estel has joined them.”

   “Estel?” asked Gandalf. “An interesting choice of name; what became of the royal prefix?”

   “It remains, fear not,” said Elrond. “His true name is Aragorn, but when we hid his identify from the world outside, we also hid it from him. He was twenty years old before he knew who he really was. In all those years he was simply called Estel, Hope, for do not doubt, Gandalf, Hope is what he will have to be for his people. I see a long and difficult road ahead of him, although much of my foresight fails me where he is concerned. And yet of one thing I am certain; this Age will end in his lifetime. It will fall to him to either restore the fortunes of his house or see it descend into a darkness from which it may never return.”

   “You are sure of this?” asked Gandalf. “And does he know this?”

   “I am as sure as I can be given the ill chances that plague the lives of Men and their freedom to make their own choices. Estel knows there is a great expectation upon him, but it is still too remote to be a burden to him. We have trained him and prepared him in every way we can, but I fear, Gandalf, but it will not be enough. He still needs someone to guide him and teach him about all of Middle-earth, all its peoples and customs, not just the lore and skills that he has learned here.”

   Elrond looked Gandalf in the eye and hoped his voice did not sound too pleading when he asked his next question.

   “Please, my friend, will you find him and be that guide for him?”

   “Of course, of course I will. It will be a pleasure,” said Gandalf without the slightest hesitation. “But first, do tell me more about him.”

   Elrond smiled his gratitude. “Thank you, Gandalf. You have greatly eased my mind. You will like him, I think. He is an eager pupil and learns quickly. Elladan and Elrohir have taught him all they can of war and hunting, and he is well versed in the lore of Elves and Men. He has grown strong and fair and there is a light in his eyes that speaks of his inner nobility. He is patient and good-hearted and listens to counsel. Truly you will like him.” As Elrond spoke, Gandalf noticed the warmth in his voice and he smiled to himself.

   “I am pleased to learn he has such promising attributes if I am to spend so much time in his company,” said Gandalf with a grin. “But I fear, Elrond, you have not told me everything, have you?”

   Elrond looked at the wizard quizzically.

   “We have known each other for nearly two thousand years, my dear friend,” said Gandalf gently. “You can not hope to hide some things from me. You have not mentioned for instance how much you love this boy, have you?”

   Elrond sighed and smiled at Gandalf.

   “You are right, Estel is as a son to me. He may not be a child of my body, but he is a child of my heart. Elladan and Elrohir both call him brother.” Then he laughed suddenly: “We none of us realized the peril we were all in when he came to live with us. I have fostered fourteen heirs of my brother’s line before him. I have been fond of most of them, but, I confess, this is the only one that I have taken as my own.”

   Then he grew serious: “This one is different Gandalf. Of all the Heir’s of Isildur, he is the most like to Elendil himself. I see greatness within him even though he is still very young.”

   “Now you do have me intrigued,” said Gandalf. “I will make him my top priority. I take it he has gone to live with his people.”

   “Yes, he has,” said Elrond. “When he left here he went to take up his duties as Chieftain. I hear that he has settled into his new life remarkably well, though I confess to having been concerned for him at first. Discovering his true identity was quite a shock for him. Also,” he added with a grin, “a lonely camp fire on a winter’s night is a far cry from the comfort of Imladris.”

   Gandalf laughed and then he found himself yawning. His long ride was catching up with him and he felt sleep would soon overwhelm him. He made his excuses to Elrond and eagerly sought the room that was always made available to him on his visits to Rivendell. But as he made his way down the corridors, he was surprised to find he felt as if a great weight had been lifted from him suddenly.

   ‘So an heir of Isildur still lives,’ he thought to himself. ‘Well, well, that would certainly give the Dark Lord something to think about, should he get to hear of it. And Elrond named him Hope at that.’

   He was going to enjoy meeting this young man very much indeed.

~oo0oo~

   Gandalf stayed at Rivendell for a week, resting from his journeys and taking counsel with Elrond. They did not speak of Estel again until the night before Gandalf was due to depart. They were sitting once more in the Hall of Fire.

   “I have been giving some thought to the question of your young Dúnadan,” said Gandalf, shifting himself in his seat to face the full warmth of the flames. “When we meet, I think I should encourage him to travel with me for a bit; see a little more of the world. I agree with you, he can not learn all he must from among his own people alone. He needs to understand all men, the good as well as the evil. Also I think it would be beneficial for him to serve a foreign lord so he may learn to command larger numbers of men in battle if needs must. The Dúnedain are too few, and I expect too well disposed towards him, to give him that kind of experience. Do you not think so, Elrond?”

   Elrond was rather taken by surprise at this and so was silent for a while. The thought of his child leading a host to war chilled his heart. He shuddered slightly as he wondered to what end that army would beheading. Grown though he may be, the boy was still as a child to him. But he knew Estel had to follow the path that fate had chosen for him; he could not keep him safe at Rivendell, any more than he could prevent his own sons from pursuing their own doom.

   “You are right, Gandalf,” he said. “He needs experience beyond that which being Chieftain of the Dúnedain can provide. Where would you propose to take him? Gondor”

   “No, not at first,” said Gandalf. “I thought to make life a little easier for him than that. Perhaps Rohan would be a better place to start. The Rohirrim live more simply than the Gondorians; I think the adjustment needed would be less great. Also Thengel King is a kind man and he may be more forgiving of mistakes made in his service than perhaps would be so in Ecthelion’s more regimented host.”

   “You have a point, I am sure,” said Elrond, “though I hope we taught him better than to make too many mistakes.”

   “I am sure you have,” chuckled Gandalf, “but the boy is still very young. I think we can make the occasional allowance for that.”

   Elrond looked at Gandalf, the gratitude showing in his eyes, “I am very glad, Gandalf, that I asked this of you. You reassure me that you are the right person to guide him now.”

   Gandalf lent across to Elrond and placed his hand on his arm. “I will take good care of him, I promise,” he said softly.

   “Le hannon, mellon nîn,” said Elrond.

~oo0oo~

   Gandalf left early the next morning, bidding farewell to all who came to wave him off from the Last Homely House. The twin sons of Elrond had told him the most likely places where he would find Aragorn at this time of the year, so he made his way west into the empty lands of Eriador. He travelled the East Road to Weathertop and then turned north towards the ruins of Fornost. There was a permanent Ranger base to the north of the Weather Hills and Elladan had been quite certain that Aragorn would come this way soon as he had been visiting villages around the North Downs for the past couple of months.

   Gandalf approached the ruins of what had once been a thriving village at dusk on the fifth day since he left Rivendell. He rode forward with caution, ready to be challenged at any moment if there were Rangers in the camp. Sure enough, he had not got within a mile of the ruins when he was commanded to stop. He did as he was instructed and raised his hands away from his weapons.

   A voice from somewhere in the hills above him told him to dismount. Gandalf sighed, none too pleased. The voice sounded very young. This was not what he needed after a long day in the saddle. However he did not wish to fall foul of a raw recruit who was no doubt only too eager to earn his Star.

   “Very well, my young fellow,” he called out as he slowly swung his leg over the saddle, doubting as he did so if he would be able to mount again even if this young Ranger permitted it. He stood waiting for what seemed like an age before the voice spoke again. He was too tired for this; his patience was beginning to wear. He was well known among the Dúnedain and only expected to acknowledge the sentry and then be on his way.

   “What is your business here?” said the voice. It did not sound the same, as if its owner had moved his position, but Gandalf could not begin to guess where that position might be.

   “I have business with the Rangers,” said Gandalf rather stiffly, “the exact nature of which I am not about to reveal out here in the open.”

   Again there was a long pause. This really was too much.

   “Drop your weapons.” The voice spoke again.

   Gandalf bristled, but he did not care for the authoritative tone of this young man so he decided not to argue. He placed his sword and arrows on the ground.

   “You may continue on foot,” said the voice.

   “What of my weapons?” asked Gandalf.

   “I will take care of them and return them to you in the morning,” was the reply.

   Gandalf just nodded, thinking he would have a few words with this whelp when he did so.

   It was nearly dark when he approached the Ranger camp. Fortunately for him, he was recognised by the next person to challenge him. He was welcomed to the fire where supper was being prepared; the smell of something enticing, boiling in the pot, doing much to mellow his mood. It soon became apparent to him that he had timed his arrival well. The Rangers had only just arrived themselves and were not planning on staying long. They had had a difficult patrol in the north where wolves and orcs had become a big problem. However they were satisfied that most of these had been dealt with and they would soon be on their way to the borders of the Shire, for what they hoped would be an easier posting.

   There were maybe eighteen or nineteen men that Gandalf could see, so there would be another four or five on watch; a large patrol then. He turned to the man who had welcomed him, an older Ranger called Gunthor.

   “Tell me Gunthor, where is your captain for I very much wished to speak with him?” said Gandalf.

   “Oh, I’m afraid it’s the captain’s turn to be on watch,” replied Gunthor. “I should get some sleep if I were you as it will be hours before he returns.” Then he quickly added, “that is, of course, unless it is urgent, Gandalf; in which case I will send someone to relieve him right away.”

   “No, no, my good man,” said Gandalf, “There is no need for that. Tomorrow will be soon enough.” He did not mention to Gunthor the reason for his visit; the Dúnedain had not kept their chieftain a secret all these years only to have him the subject of camp fire gossip. Gandalf soon took his leave of the Rangers and settled himself down for the night in one of the old derelict houses which still worked well enough as a shelter.

~oo0oo~

   The morning dawned bright and fair, though this far north there was a keen bite to the wind. Gandalf pulled his blanket a little tighter around himself and waited until he could hear the sounds of breakfast being prepared before making a move. Slowly he emerged from his bed roll but, as he wrapped up his pack, he suddenly became aware of a tall young man standing in the broken doorway, scrutinizing him through keen grey eyes. Gandalf straightened, leaving his packing. There was something in the sharpness of that gaze that caught his attention. The young men smiled and bowed his head courteously.

  “Good morning sir,” he said, “I trust you are rested from your journey?” It was that voice again, though this time it was friendly and the question sincere, but, Gandalf noticed, that tone was still there.

   “I slept well enough, thank you,” he replied briskly. He wondered what, if anything, this young man would say about yesterday evening.

   “I am glad,” said the young man before holding out the sword and quiver he was carrying. “I have your weapons for you. I hope you will find them in order.”

   Gandalf raised his hands and took the proffered items without a word. He inspected them closely. The sword had been cleaned and oiled and the fletching repaired on several of the arrows.

   Gandalf grunted.  “Well I see you were true to your word. But tell me, do you make all your guests walk to their supper?”

   The young man flushed slightly, but the gaze remained level.

   “I am sorry,” he said, “I have yet to make the acquaintance of all our allies and I’m afraid caution must always prevail, but I am truly sorry to have treated you thus. I hope you will forgive me.” The boy was so genuinely guileless, Gandalf felt himself thaw towards him.

   “Think nothing of it,” he said with a smile. “You did what you had to.”

   The young man visibly relaxed. “Thank you,” he said, with just a trace of shyness in his voice. Then he straightened and said: “Gunthor tells me you wished to speak with me. How may I be of assistance to you?”

   Gandalf frowned in confusion. He was sure he had not mentioned his irritation with the guard to Gunthor, but he remembered he had asked to speak to their captain. But surely this lad could not be he? Even as the thought invaded Gandalf’s mind, he looked again at the young man, seeing him properly for the first time. He carried himself with an easy confidence and he was taller than any of the other men, and fairer; indeed he looked more like an Elf than any Man Gandalf had seen in a long time. And then there were those intense grey eyes that Gandalf was sure missed nothing. But he was very young. The Dúnedain were so few now that he thought he knew all their children, but Gandalf could not place this one. He had definitely been away too long.

   “Perhaps we could break our fast together,” he heard the young man say. “I would welcome hearing your news. Come, you have not yet eaten.”

   There was that tone again; scrupulously polite, courteous and yet totally in command. Suddenly realisation dawned on Gandalf and he beamed the lad a smile.

   “Thank you, my good fellow. I should like that very much indeed.”

~oo0oo~

   Aragorn leant back against the boulder and stretched out his long legs in front of him. He would be glad when his watch was over and he could return to the camp. After the day he had had his fingers longed to reach for his pipe but he did not dare light up on this exposed hill. Instead he attempted to chew on a piece of tasteless bread that he assumed must once have been edible but now had all the allure of the rock he lent against. There was a chill to the air that night; autumn had arrived and he had noticed how the nights were already drawing in. He shivered slightly and wrapped his cloak more tightly around him.

  He allowed himself to take his eyes away from the pass through the hills for a moment to gaze up at the stars. They always brought him comfort. He was very relieved to have brought his patrol through the winter without the loss of a single man. The summer had been a nightmare. The northern settlements had been plagued by orc attacks for months and his Rangers had been hard pressed to rout all the invaders. He was now as sure as he could be that the North Downs were free of them. That is, he thought ruefully, until the next time they invade from Mount Gundabad. He sighed in resignation. He had long ago learnt that he could only deal with the problems as they arose; he did not have enough men to achieve anything more.

   Although this patrol was over, when he returned to camp he would have to decide which of the men were to be sent back to their families and which would still have to be away for another couple of months on duty around the Shire. He planned to go there himself as he did not have a wife to disappoint and he could not in all good conscience ask this of his men if he was not prepared to go himself. The patrol would, hopefully, be a less arduous one, with no orcs or wolves to fight and there was always the possibility of a night at ‘The Prancing Pony’ when their travels took them near Bree.

   It would be November before he returned to the Angle and hopefully he would see his Elven brothers then; he knew they would be interested in all that had happened in the Downs. Certainly he felt Elrond should be told of the increase in orc numbers. A moment’s homesickness washed over him as he thought of his family. It was at times like this that he felt it most keenly; at the end of a patrol when the others were looking forward to going home. He was made very welcome whereever he stayed but it was not home. Arwen was not there.

   Aragorn stood up and pulled himself back to the present. He could not look back and it was not as if life was not treating him well. He felt at ease now in his position; that his command was earned and not merely granted him by virtue of his birth. He had from the day he returned to his people been a better swordsman than any of his men and none could best him in tracking and woodcraft. But most importantly of all now, he felt his people trusted him to make sound judgements and they accepted his commands unquestioningly, confident that his decisions were good. His status had not been easily won; there had been many moments when the problems threatened to overwhelm him, but he had always had the goodwill of the Dúnedain behind him and this had succoured him through those difficult times.

   Gazing ahead, Aragorn suddenly spotted a lone horse and rider, still far away and approaching slowly. The light was fading as he quickly scanned the horizon looking for more riders, but there were none. He silently moved to a better position lower down the hill and patiently awaited the stranger. As he drew nearer, Aragorn looked upon him in utter amazement; he had never since anyone like this before in his life. It was an old man who rode into view. He was wearing a grey cloak over long grey robes and on his head was a tall, pointed blue hat. He had thick bushy eyebrows and a beard that appeared to reach to his waist.

   Before he drew level with him, Aragorn called to the man to stop and when he did, he told him to dismount. This he did without question, but Aragorn was uneasy. He had some strange sense that this man was not all that he seemed; he wanted a closer look. Without a sound he moved nearer. He could tell the stranger was impatient to be on his way, but Aragorn was fascinated. He doubted the man posed much of a threat, although he was well armed. He decided to take his weapons. This would give him an opportunity to speak to the man in the morning without the need to directly confront him. A sentry could take liberties that a genial host could not.

   Once the stranger had been sent on his way and was out of sight, Aragorn scuttled down the hill and retrieved the sword and quiver. Returning to his hide-out, he examined them as best he could in the fading light. They were of Elvish make and design, he was sure and yet they were unlike anything he had seen before. Unable to solve the riddle, he carefully stowed them away while he finished his watch.

   Several hours later he returned to the camp having been relieved at his post. The remains of the stew congealing in the pot was only marginally more edible than the bread he had earlier, but it was hot and welcome. Gunthor, who was always left in charge of the camp when Aragorn took his turn on watch, came to sit with him while he ate. They talked of matters concerning the men and Aragorn assured Gunthor he would make all announcements on postings tomorrow. He was too tired tonight to face the protests and arguments that such details would inevitably bring; that could wait until morning. Finally he was able to ask the question he really wanted answered.

   “Gunthor, that old man who rode in here earlier this evening; where is he now?”

   “Sleeping,” said Gunthor. “He turned in about an hour ago. I think he went into that cot over there.” He gestured with his head towards the ruin where Gandalf had settled for the night.

   “What did he want?” asked Aragorn. “Did he say?”

   Gunthor, laughed. He was a man in his seventies and had met Gandalf several times.

   “When does Gandalf ever say what he wants? He did ask to speak to the captain, but he said it was not urgent.”

   Aragorn was shocked at the mention of the name ‘Gandalf’, but managed to hide it from Gunthor. Elrond had spoken of him, but somehow in his child’s mind, Aragorn had managed to place him as a figure from some distant legend, as remote as any that he learned about in his lessons. It shook him a little to think that he was here tonight in his camp.

  When he had finished his meal, he fetched the weapons he had taken from the old man and looked at them more closely. The blade of the sword was dull and there was fletching missing on several of the arrows in the quiver. By the last light of the fire that night, he carefully restored the arrows and oiled the blade, all the while trying to remember everything he had ever been taught about this Gandalf. He muttered to himself as he worked and fragments of memory came to him.

   ‘Olórin, a maia from Valinor; one of the five Istari sent to Middle-earth two thousand years ago: is considered great among the Wise and is a member of the White Council; is  known as Gandalf in the North,  Mithrandir by the Elves, Tharkûn by the Dwarves and Incánus in the South.’

   Surely he could remember more than that. No, it was too late and he was too tired; it would have to wait until morning.Putting aside the arrows, he wrapped himself in a blanket and cast himself upon the ground. But sleep did not come easily.

~oo0oo~

   Aragorn was up at dawn. The sun had not yet peaked over the hills and the camp was bathed in the dull grey of early morning. The Rangers were beginning to stir and it was time for the watch to be changed. Horses snorted in the picket lines as their feed bags were brought to them and someone was kindling the fire, ready to start breakfast. Today was to be a day of rest for the patrol. They had only set up camp yesterday afternoon and Aragorn had decided they all needed a quiet day for such mundane tasks as the repairing and cleaning of their kit. A number of the men had injuries, mostly not serious, but this was their first chance to get some proper rest. Also he knew the horses would benefit enormously from a day’s break.

   He went around the men now speaking to each in turn; some received the welcome news that they would soon be heading home, others that they still had a long patrol to face. He dealt with the thanks and the complaints equally, but all accepted his decisions. The Dúnedain were long used to unrewarded labour and they knew their captain pushed himself harder than anyone.

   Before he joined the men gathering around the fire, Aragorn sought out his guest, who, he noticed, had not yet emerged. Picking up the weapons, he walked over to the shelter and stood for a moment in the doorway watching as the old man rolled up his pack. He was somewhat embarrassed at not having known who he was; it had become apparent that everyone else on the patrol was well acquainted with him. It was, therefore, a rather nervous chieftain that wished the wizard a good morning. He could tell the old man was still irritated with him, though he hoped the restored weapons might placate him a little; he had no wish to get off on the wrong foot with him. Gandalf was, after all, not only a friend of his adar, but also a wise and respected ally of the Dúnedain. Aragorn would welcome his counsel.

   As the wizard offered his forgiveness, Aragorn’s relief was almost tangible and the warmth of the old man’s smile encouraged him enormously. Aragorn led the way to the fire and to breakfast which was a very meagre affair as supplies were fast running out. He motioned to Gandalf to sit a little apart from the others so they could talk privately.

   “It seems Gandalf that all my men have the advantage on me where you are concerned,” said Aragorn. “They all know you well. I hope I too shall soon have that privilege.”

   “As do I, as do I,” replied Gandalf, chewing slowly. The bread was quite tasteless and the dried meat unrecognizable. In his pack he still had succulent supplies brought from Rivendell which, he thought somewhat resignedly, he really should offer to these men for their next meal.

   “You said you wished to speak with me?” asked Aragorn, hugely curious as to why the wizard had come here.

  “Yes, now let me see, there were two things of importance,” said Gandalf. “First, I am eager for news of the Dúnedain. I have been away in the South for a long time and have heard very little for many years. I expect you can tell me what passes in Eriador as well as anyone.”

   Aragorn opened his mouth to reply but the wizard continued before he could speak.

   “However, I imagine that may be a very long conversation, so perhaps we could discuss my second reason first.” Aragorn just nodded.

   “I have come here directly from Imladris.” Gandalf noticed how the young man stiffened. “Master Elrond is a very dear friend of mine and we had much to discuss, but he had one piece of news which interested me more than any other. It is in truth the main reason I have ridden all this way. I came here hoping to meet you, young man. Does that surprise you?”

   “Yes and no,” said Aragorn when he had had a moment to consider the question. “If you have been to Rivendell, then it is perhaps no surprise that Master Elrond has spoken to you about me, but I am surprised and not a little concerned that you should need to find me with such haste. Is all well there; my family….?”

   “No, no! Do not concern yourself. I did not mean to alarm you; your family is well. Both your mother and Elrond send you their love. No, the haste was all down to my own curiosity, I’m afraid, such was my joy at finding that you even existed.”

   Aragorn looked at him in surprise.

   “I knew Arathorn well,” said Gandalf, lowering his voice. “I both liked and admired him. I was delighted to find that his son lived. You look very like him you know.”

   “So I have heard,” said Aragorn. In the five years since he had returned to the Dúnedain, he had lost count of the number of people who had spoken to him of the father he never knew, but he never grew tired of hearing about him. Each story made him a little more real in his mind; was a piece of the picture that to him was Arathorn.

   “I did not see him again after your grandfather died,” continued Gandalf, “but over the years we had talked together many times. I hoped I was able to ease his cares now and then. His life, like yours, I suspect, could be a lonely one at times. I have seen many things in my long years, Aragorn. I may not have all the answers, but I am always willing to share such wisdom as I have with those who are not too proud to listen.”

   Aragorn, sitting next to this extraordinary, ancient being, had gone very quiet. He realised he was being offered a great gift. Here was one of the Istari prepared to listen to his concerns and give him the benefit of his vast experience and wisdom. And yes, if he admitted it, his life could be lonely, even when surrounded by his men. They were all loyal to him, some of them he called friend, but he was always their Chieftain and that would forever set him apart.

  “I do not feel worthy of such an honour,” he said at last. Gandalf looked at him closely. He saw no false modesty; he was beginning to realise the boy always spoke from the heart.

   “Do not under estimate yourself,” said Gandalf. “You have achieved much already.” He put down his plate and cup and stood up. “Come, walk with me a little; this old man needs to stretch his legs. You can tell me all about this latest patrol of yours. It sounds as if evil stirs in the North as well as the South. There the state of affairs is perilous and I have much to tell you, but I would rather hear your news first.”

   Aragorn followed him out of the camp and up into the hills. There they spent most of the day in conversation, as they walked the gentle slopes of the North Downs. Gandalf found the young man to be everything Elrond said he would be. Meeting him lightened his heart no end. He could see that as Aragorn grew and matured he would become a valuable ally. He was most struck by his humility which was strangely at odds with the inner strength that he so obviously possessed. The North was already a stronger place under his influence.

   Aragorn, for his part, was hesitant at first. Secrecy had become such a way of life for him that talking to anyone was difficult. However, this strange old man made him feel safe, even as Elrond did, and once he started to speak, he found the trickle of words soon became a torrent. Gandalf offered gentle encouragement when he faltered and listened without judgement.

   But it was what Gandalf had to say to him that affected Aragorn most that day. As Gandalf spoke, he began to feel the weight of his destiny growing upon him. He began to see that being Chieftain of the Dúnedain was only a part of what it meant to be Isildur’s Heir. He had never given much thought to the lands beyond those that concerned his leadership, but he realised now he could ignore the wider world no longer. Somehow he knew that a new phase was about to begin in his life and that this meeting would prove to be a watershed. The prospect both frightened and excited him.

~oo0oo~

   The next day the Rangers broke camp to go their separate ways, some east to their homes, others south to the Shire. Gandalf was going south with Aragorn who, he discovered, had never actually met a hobbit. This Gandalf decided he would rectify at the earliest opportunity. He felt he should at least know something of the little people that he guarded so diligently. It would be the first step in introducing him to the other races of Middle-earth of whom, Gandalf thought, Aragorn’s knowledge was definitely lacking.

   The day dawned fair, and an hour after first light the Rangers were ready to leave. Farewells were said to kinsmen who would not be seen again for several months, and then two groups of horseman departed from the derelict village.

   As they rode out of the camp, Gandalf could not help but smile to himself at the prospect of Aragorn’s first encounter with the Shirefolk. He thought perhaps it was time to see if this earnest young man had a sense of humour and, as he turned to speak to Aragorn, there was a glint in his eye.

   “There really are one or two things I should warn you about before we reach the Shire,” he said in his most authoritative voice. “Now, concerning hobbits….”