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And thanks to Cairistiona for the beta.

Chapter 17: Gandalf’s Request

   “…I called for the help of the Dunedain, and their watch was doubled; and I opened my heart to Aragorn, the heir of Isildur.”

The Council of Elrond                                                                The Fellowship of the Ring

~oo0oo~

 “I do not cheat,” said Halbarad,

   “I never implied that you did,” replied Aragorn, looking suitably hurt that his friend could even think such a thing of him. “I merely commented that you had an extraordinarily long run of good fortune. That is all. There was no need to be so affronted.”

   “I know perfectly well what you were implying and good fortune had nothing to do with it.”

   Aragorn shook his head.  Halbarad had kept up his niggling for much of their long walk back from Bree. This must be the fourth or was it the fifth time he had raised the matter. But whatever humour Aragorn had found in their banter at the beginning of their journey had long since ceased to be amusing. He had never imagined that Halbarad would take the incident quite so much to heart. He was clearly still not in any no mood to be reasonable or forgiving.

   It was just a pity he was quite so skilled with the dice. Although he, himself, might believe with all his heart that his right-hand man was as honest as the day is long, it had been his task to try and convince the Breelander who had foolishly wagered, and lost, his week’s pay of this fact.

   “Halbarad, that man must have been related to every Appledore and Heathertoes in the whole of Breeland. It would have been unwise for either of us to remain to labour the point.” The situation had very nearly got out of hand and it had taken all Aragorn’s diplomatic skills to extricate them both from The Prancing Pony without a battle breaking out with the man’s entire family. 

  “That point which you refused to labour was nothing of any consequence, of course; only the small matter of my honour. I expected better of you, that is all.”

   He could well understand Halbarad’s frustration. They had both been on duty patrolling the eastern border of the Shire for months now and the long watch was beginning to take its toll on their otherwise good humoured friendship. Neither did it ever raise any Ranger’s spirits to have his integrity questioned by the very people they were protecting. Worse still, this man was known to be a less than savoury character. But he was a native Breelander, unlike ‘them Rangers’, so his word held weight while Halbarad’s did not. It had ever been thus and Halbarad usually handled the suspicion and dark glances with the same resigned good grace they all did. Inevitably, the strain got to them all at times; Aragorn could not blame him for once in a while finding the derision too much to bear.

    “And as for demanding I return the money, what clearer sign could you give that I am but a common thief? I still can not believe you could shame me in that way!”

   Aragorn wished Halbarad would leave the incident alone; he was already feeling miserable enough that he had been unable to offer him the whole hearted support he knew he deserved. He had tried apologising almost to the point of grovelling, but that had so far not appeased him in the slightest. He made one last effort.

   “That was never my intention, you must know that. Be reasonable, Hal; I could not risk us being barred from the inn. The place is far too important a source of information. Surely you can see that?”

   “I see only that loyalty should be given as whole-heartedly as it is received. I saw precious little of that from you today.”

   Had it been anyone else, Aragorn would probably have taken him to task for his insolence. But Halbarad had a valid point and it grieved him that expediency should make such sacrifices necessary. He sighed and decided to remain silent and allow Halbarad time to acknowledge the complexities of the situation for himself. It was perhaps just as well that they would be at Sarn Ford before the end of the day and Halbarad would have the opportunity to bend someone else’s ear about his chieftain’s short-comings.

~oo0oo~

   It was raining lightly now; that soft rain that was more than mist but not quite drizzle. Both rangers pulled their hoods over their heads and trudged on in silence. They had put many miles behind them already that day and were confident of reaching their destination well before dusk. They were now following the course of the ever widening Baranduin, which was becoming a mighty river as it made its way towards the sea. At last they reached a familiar looking band of willows where they stopped and waited. Sure enough, there was the bird call. Halbarad replied and they continued on their way. After a few minutes, they walked into the Ranger post at Sarn Ford.

   It was well concealed; only the sharp-eyed would spot the wooden huts well back in the trees. Half a dozen, perhaps more, horses grazed near the river. An assortment of gear hung from a make-shift washing line between two sturdy oaks. There were few men to be seen. One was sitting on a tree stump, cleaning his sword, another was soaping down his saddle, two were preparing supper; the usual happenings in a Ranger camp. Nods and smiles acknowledged their arrival and Halbarad immediately left Aragorn’s side to take a closer look at what was cooking in the pot above the fire.

   Aragorn glanced around him, his eyes searching for whoever was in charge of the post. The sun had come out now so he took off his cloak and shook it vigorously.He would be glad for the chance to remove his sodden boots as well. A tall man approaching him with his hand out stretched.

   “Welcome, Aragorn. I trust you and Halbarad are well?”

   Aragorn clasped his hand. “Yes, Radhruin, we are well enough. A little weary and foot sore perhaps, nothing more.”

    “Good, I am relieved to hear it, and I hope your watch around the Shire has been more peaceful than the Minhiriath one.”

   Before Aragorn could ask him exactly what he meant by that, Halbarad, his curiosity satisfied, strode across to greet Radhruin as well, clapping his childhood friend heartily on the back. He was smiling cheerfully, his earlier sullenness gone, though Aragorn immediately detected the forced gaiety in his voice.

   “So what exciting tales have you for our entertainment tonight?” he asked. “Is Minhiriath over run with orcs, are the Dunlendlings about to invade Bree, have the Rohirrim declared war on Gondor; don’t tell me hostilities have broken out between Rivendell and Lothlórien?”

   Radhruin shook his head and laughed. “If you jest so, my friend, am I to assume your watch has been a peaceful one?”

   “On the contrary, the Battle of Bree was only narrowly averted thanks to the slick, mithril tongue of our captain, here.”

   Aragorn ignored him. “Tell me the news from the East Watch, Radhruin. It sounds as if there been trouble afoot.”

    “Yes, the report is not good, I fear. That patrol has had no end of skirmishes with orcs and some of them quite close to the Greenway at that. A couple of the men received injuries. Beldir was quite bad for a time, though he is on the mend now. Quite what the meaning of it all is, I wouldn’t like to say.”

   “This does not bode well,” said Aragorn. “We have seen no orcs in the Shire; perish the day when we do, but there have been more than the usual suspicious-looking Dunlendings about. The men have certainly been kept busier than I would have expected. Fortunately, other than that, the Shire seems to be ticking along much as it always has.”

   “Well, that is something, I suppose,” said Radhruin. “It will be a foul day indeed if orcs ever enter that peaceful land.”

   “Quite so, and I pray we may continue to ensure that day never comes. Now, is there anything else I should know about before I speak to the men?” Aragorn smiled ruefully. “Do you have any welcome news, perhaps?”

   “Well, Gandalf is here, so that might be good news, although more likely it is not,” said Radhruin. “He’s been waiting for you these last three days, so it must be something fairly important, not that he’s giving anything away, of course.”

   Aragorn cast his eyes around the camp again, this time spotting the grey cloaked figure who was sitting so still beside the riverbank he could easily be mistaken for a stone. Immediately Aragorn took his leave of Halbarad and Radhruin and went across to speak to him.

   “Gandalf!” he said, holding out his hand as he approached, “what a pleasant surprise. I am sorry you have had to wait for me so long. Radhruin says you have been here three days already.”

   “Ah Aragorn, my dear fellow,” said Gandalf, getting to his feet and taking Aragorn’s hand. “There is no need to apologise; the rest has done me good, I’m sure, and I always find that having nothing to do is wonderful for freeing the mind for thinking. And, believe me, I have needed to do plenty of that of late.”

   Aragorn frowned. The wizard looked tired and careworn even by his standards. And he knew only too well from long experience that when Gandalf had thinking to do, it would in due course almost certainly mean trouble for him.

   “Might I be correct in assuming that all this thought and contemplation is going to involve me at some stage?”

   “Of course; doesn’t everything?” said Gandalf with that glint in his eye that always left Aragorn certain as to the true meaning of his words. “But tell me of the Shire first. Is all well there?”

   “Yes, I suppose so; there is nothing in particular to report, expect that there have been some strange outsiders hovering around the Brandywine Bridge. We sent them on their way, but no doubt they will attempt to enter the Shire again at some stage. I have left instructions for the guard on the Bridge to be extra vigilant.”

   Gandalf rubbed his chin. “Umm. And Radhruin tells me there is trouble afoot elsewhere also. Come, and sit yonder with me. I do not wish for this conversation to be overheard.”

   Aragorn’s ears pricked up at that. Anything he could not share with his men was invariably bad news. Unquestioningly, he followed Gandalf to the edge of the ford. Here the shallow water babbled noisily over its stony bed. They settled on the grass bank beside the crossing where no one would overhear their conversation. Gandalf produced his pouch of pipeweed and offered some to Aragorn who gladly accepted. As he filled his pipe, he noticed how good it smelt and he wondered idly for a moment how it was that the wizard always seemed to have better weed in his possession than he did.

   As the two of them smoked their pipes, Gandalf began to explain, though he was initially as mysterious as ever.

   “Tell me what you know of Isildur.”

   Aragorn stared at him in disbelief; a dozen questions whirling through his mind at the meaning of this unusual request. But he knew that eventually Gandalf would get to the point, and there always was a point, so he dredged his mind for memories of his long ago history lessons. In his mind’s eye, he pictured the library at Rivendell and could almost smell that slight mustiness that accompanied the many ancient leather-bound tomes  that lined the shelves. He could hear his father placing up and down, with infinite patience, while he struggled to complete some exercise he had been given. It had been many years since he had given any thought to Isildur. When he dwelt in Gondor, he had become accustomed to seeing his image bearing down on him as he walked the length of the Great Hall in the citadel of Minas Tirith, but there had been no need otherwise for him to consider his forefather at all.

   “Isildur,” he said at last. “Well, as a child, he was quite a hero of mine. I remember thinking that daring solo raid of his to save a fruit of Nimloth from the court of Armenelos, an act which nearly cost him his life, raised him almost to the status of Beren as a hero in my childish understanding. He later shared the rule of Gondor with his brother Anárion and he built Minas Ithil where he dwelt. I believe he was a noble king, who fought bravely at the Daglorlad and the siege of Barad-dûr. He is best remembered, of course, for striking a blow to Sauron and so cutting his ring from his hand. But, Gandalf, surely you know all this?”

   “I do, but tell me of his death; what did Elrond teach you of the disaster at the Gladden Fields.”

   Aragorn sighed, wishing Gandalf would simply tell him what this was about. He drew on his pipe and gazed blankly at the busy water of the ford with unfocused eyes as he tried to remember. The massacre of two hundred Dúnedain warriors was a tragic tale that had always greatly moved him even before he knew that those were his own people who had been so brutally butchered.

   “Very little is known of that terrible slaughter as only three men ever returned to Rivendell to tell of it. Ohtar and his companion, were charged by Isildur to flee with the Shards of Narsil and so it was that they left the battle before Isildur fell. But Elendur’s squire was later found injured beneath his master’s body, and it is recorded that it was he who heard the last words spoken between the king and his heir. Thus it is known that it was Elendur who urged his father to attempt to save himself by putting on the ring and fleeing the battle. The Dúnedain were vastly out numbered and clearly doomed. Estelmo told how, in the end, Isildur reluctantly agreed when all hope was lost. I seem to recall it is also said that, later, all Isildur’s gear was found beside the riverbank by woodmen and so it is has long been assumed that this was where he perished. The loss of the king and his three elder sons was a terrible tragedy and it was a crippling blow to the North Kingdom that so many fine men never returned to Eriador.”

   “Yes, it was a great tragedy,” said Gandalf. “I understand the Dúnedain never recovered from this loss. After the War, Valandil did not even have enough men left to people all the places that Elendil had built.”

   For a moment, Man and Maia stared at the water flowing swiftly past their feet as they contemplated this first step in the long, sad decline of the Dúnedain of Arnor.

   “Elrond once told me you reminded him greatly of Elendur; did you know that?” asked Gandalf. “Apparently he was long considered the fairest of Elendil’s seed and would no doubt have made a very fine king.”

   Aragorn nodded. “Elrond told me that too. It was a few years ago, on a time when I returned to Rivendell laden with too many cares. I think he was trying to bolster my belief in myself.” He smiled suddenly. “I’m not sure it worked. I remember thinking it was a heavy expectation to live up to. But, Gandalf, you have still not told me what this is all about.”

   “Patience, my dear boy,” said Gandalf. “I was just coming to that. But I have not yet asked all my questions. Now, Aragorn, do you know what became of Isildur’s ring? Did Elrond tell you anything about that?”

   “I believe he said it was assumed to have been lost with him, most probably in the Anduin.”

   “That is my thought also,” said Gandalf. “At the last meeting of the White Council, Saruman was insistent that the ring had been washed out to sea, but, when pressed, he was unable to support this claim with any proof.”

   Gandalf suddenly fell silent, as if his attention was turned elsewhere and he appeared to be no longer aware of the presence of his companion or anything else about him. His thoughts had taken him deep into some other place and Aragorn could only wonder at what was passing through his mind. He sat and waited patiently for him to come back to him, all the while watching him closely. It was at moments like this that he was reminded that his friend was not the kindly, aged mortal man he so often seemed, but a  Maia of great power, a power the magnitude of which Aragorn had only ever really guessed at, so rare and fleeting were the moments when Gandalf revealed anything of his true self.

   At last Gandalf spoke. “As a child, did you ever hear the story of the hobbit and the thirteen dwarves?”

  Aragorn laughed out loud and then shook his head in disbelief. Whatever he was expecting the wizard to say, it was not that. “Ever do you speak in riddles, my friend. But, yes, it was one of my favourite bedtime stories. I never tired of hearing it.”

   “I wonder if the version Elrond told you included mention of the hobbit’s ring.”

   “Why yes, of course,” said Aragorn. “It was a crucial part of the tale, as I recall; the whole venture to bring about the demise of the dragon would not have come about without it.”

   “Umm, that is true,” said Gandalf. “Strange are the workings of Eä. But have you ever wondered about that ring, Aragorn; where it came from or how Gollum happened to have it in his possession?”

   “No, I confess I have not, though now that you mention it, and in almost the same breath as you speak of Isildur at that, such questions seem obvious.”

   Gandalf smiled at him. “Your mind has lost none of its sharpness, I see. I have spent many an hour in the last sixty years pondering such things. You may think I speak in riddles, but really, Aragorn, is that not a wonder as riddles are ever my lot. And this riddle has been much on my mind. I can’t help but wonder about this ring. It is so plain and simple in appearance and yet it confers invisibility upon its wearer. That is no small feat. The rings made by Celebrimbor were the greatest rings made by the Elves and yet none of these had such an effect. Those given to the dwarves did little more than enhance their lust for gold. Of the Three, it is suffice to say that they do not render their keepers invisible, and the Nine only conferred invisibility upon those who wore them after many years as they were gradually drawn further into the Shadow World. Theirs was certainly not the immediate, instantaneous invisibility that occurs with Bilbo’s ring. No, Aragorn, I sense Sauron in this. This is my fear. This may not be any ordinary ring of power made by the Elves, but THE Ring of Power, made by the Dark Lord himself.” Gandalf spoke those last words so quietly, Aragorn almost had to ask him to repeat them, so great was his shock that he could hardly believe what he was hearing.

   “But if you are right, what would this mean for those of us who oppose him? The Ring of Power is a terrible thing in the hand of its maker. Should he find it, what hope would there be?”

   “None, Aragorn, there would be none.”

   Aragorn’s heart was racing in time with his thoughts. He knew very little about the rings of power, even the Three. Elrond had once shown him Vilya and he had long ago guessed that Galadriel was the keeper of Nenya. He did not know who was the bearer of Narya, though he had his suspicions. He had seen for himself the force for good that could come of such rings when wielded by the hands of the Wise. And the Ring of Sauron would hold a power beyond any of them

   “If this is so, would there be no hope of using the Dark Lord’s own weapon against him? If its power is so much greater than the Three, might not some good come out of this if we could use it to our own advantage?”

   “No, Aragorn, I can think of nothing good that could possibly occur as a result of this, unless the ring could be destroyed, but that is a hope beyond hope. Remember this: although Isildur probably never attempted to master the ring, he was not able to wield it at need to defeat even an army of orcs from the Misty Mountains, much less the full might of Sauron. And the lasting effects that doing this might have upon its bearer are another matter again. I can not yet be entirely sure that this is the One Ring, but I think our best policy for now is secrecy. Fortunately Bilbo has kept his magic ring a secret all these years. Its presence in the Shire is known only to himself and his nephew, Frodo Baggins. We must continue to keep it secure and safe while I try and find some answers to these riddles. It is for this that I have need of your help, Aragorn. You and your kin already do a sterling job protecting the Shire, but I would be happier if the guard could be even more vigilant from now on. If you can possibly spare the men, twice as many on watch along the borders would ease my heart greatly.”

   Aragorn nodded thoughtfully. Guarding the Shire was not generally considered the most demanding of postings. The problem was usually more one of boredom on the part of his men and the fact that it diverted them from other, more dangerous watches. Fulfilling this request of Gandalf’s would place an even greater strain upon them. They were stretched too thinly as it was. The simple fact was there were just not enough of them to effectively patrol Eriador and keep evil at bay indefinitely. And if this conversation was to remain private, he anticipated there might be difficulties in convincing the men of the importance of this sudden need. Yet somehow it would have to be done.

   “It will not be easy, but it can be arranged,” he said at last.

   “Good. And thank you, my friend. My heart is eased enormously just in sharing this burden with you. I just wish I knew for certain how Gollum came by the ring.”

   “I suppose asking him is out of the question? What do you imagine became of him?”

   “He is probably dead, but if he is not, I suppose it is possible he might still be hunting for it. Quite how the ring’s power works, I do not yet know. I desperately need to learn more about it. My fear is that, if it is the One Ring, Sauron also will seek it. He must not find it, Aragorn. I can not stress that enough. You do understand, don’t you?”

   “I do. I realise all hope would be gone forever if this came to pass. But, surely, he could not know it is in the Shire?” Aragorn paused to think about this. “If Bilbo has kept it hidden, Sauron’s spies are very unlikely to have learned of this, so how would he possibly know it is there?”

   “He could not… unless…unless. Bilbo told Gollum his name! Aragorn, that creature knows who Bilbo is and where he lives.” Gandalf’s face coloured in alarm.

   “If he tries to reach the Shire, the Rangers will catch him, fear not.” Aragorn forced a reassurance he did not feel. Gandalf’s evident panic was frightening.

   “But what if he himself is captured by the enemy? Imagine what he could reveal. He could bring the Dark Lord’s servants straight here, straight to the Shire.”

   “Then we must find him. It is the only way. If he still lives, we must search for him and keep him secure from Sauron’s grasp. And I will help you in this, Gandalf. It is, after all, only through the folly of my ancestor that the ring survived when it should not. I am Isildur’s heir, it is only right that I should labour to repair the harm his choice may yet cause.”

   “No, Aragorn, you have no need to blame yourself for that moment of weakness of Isildur’s and you will be needed here. I can not drag you off on such a possibly fruitless hunt. The creature could be anywhere in all Middle-earth.”

   “Perhaps, but I would accompany you all the same. It would be safer if we do this together. My people can manage without me for a time. Please Gandalf, I feel I must insist on it.”

   Gandalf sighed. “Very well, my good fellow, as you wish. I confess I would be glad of your companionship, to say nothing of your hunting and tracking skills which I happily concede surpass my own. If you are sure of this, we might as well make a start in the morning.”

   “So be it, and I will speak with Halbarad at once as it will now fall to him to organise the additional patrols.”

   Aragorn rose from his seat by the ford, his mind in turmoil at all he had heard. The implications could be terrible and yet Aragorn had a growing suspicion that this might just be the key that he had been searching for, his means of unlocking the door to that secret path that could lead him to his destiny, a path that had so eluded him for over twenty years. As his thoughts ran away with him, he felt a mounting excitement at what all this might ultimately mean and yet, along side his hope, there arose also a great dread, for, in a flash of foresight, he saw, with absolute certainty, that this was the very beginning of a journey that would change his life forever. But whether it would be for good or ill, he could not tell.

   He walked back to the camp in a daze. He was not looking forward to breaking this news to his men. He found Halbarad deep in conversation with a group of Rangers who had gathered near the fire in anticipation of their evening meal.

   “Forgive me, gentlemen, but I would speak with you alone, Halbarad, for a moment, if I may,” he said. Halbarad grunted his compliance as Aragorn drew him to one side.

   “Radhruin was right, Hal, Gandalf did not come with good tidings. I’m afraid he and I shall be leaving at first light tomorrow and we may be gone some time.”

   “Why; whatever has happened?” said Halbarad in dismay at this news; his earlier niggling immediately put aside. “Aragorn, I am sorry. This has nothing to do with my being much a grouch the last few days, does it? All those names I called you, I didn’t mean any of them, well, not most of them; you do know that don’t you?”

   Aragorn grinned at him. “I only wish it was that simple. No, Hal, this is no devious plot on my part to escape from your miserable company for a time.”

   A look of relief crossed Halbarad’s face, to be quickly followed by one of resignation. The reasons for his chieftain’s travels were rarely explained; over the years he had come to accept his comings and goings without question.

   “Might I know where I can find you, if needs must?” he asked.

   “East at first, that is all I can say, for I know not myself,” replied Aragorn. “And I fear there is more I must ask of you. I can tell you nothing as to my reasons, but the guard on the Shire must be doubled with immediate effect.” Aragorn could see the incredulity written all too clearly on Halbarad’s face at this order. The Shire was the most peaceable part of their watch; its inhabitants of no interest to anyone but themselves. He almost smiled as he witnessed Halbarad visibly fighting the urge to question this command. But Halbarad resisted, knowing only too well that Aragorn would have his reasons and that he would tell him if he could.

   “Doubling the guard will be difficult,” he said. “The men are pushed to their limits already.”

   “I know, and, believe me, I would not ask this if it was not absolutely necessary, but there is no other way. It is imperative that no one suspicious crosses the borders. The spies must be kept out. I can not stress this too greatly; there is more at stake here than you realise. I’m afraid it will fall to you now to see this done, and done it must be.”

   Halbarad nodded. “I will see to it; I can assure you of that.”

   Aragorn placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry to ask this of you, but in all our years wandering the wilds together, I have never needed your strength and wisdom as much as I do now.  I know I could not leave Eriador in safer hands.” Halbarad, like any of his men, would gladly die for him, if he asked it. Their loyalty was never in doubt, but still he hated to have to keep asking for more and more from them. At that moment he felt the full loneliness of leadership and he wanted nothing more than to reach out to his friend and embrace him, to feel the comfort and strength of another heart beating beside his own. He was already grieving at the thought of leaving the North, of leaving his men, but he could not allow Gandalf to undertake this venture to find Gollum on his own. It might seem an impossible task, but it was one he was certain they should at least attempt.

   Halbarad must have sensed the turmoil within his chieftain for he reached up and pulled his head towards his and for a moment their foreheads touched.

   “Don’t worry about us, we will manage, as we always have,” he said softly. “Just be sure to return to us when you can, that’s all we ask of you.”

   “I will, I promise,” said Aragorn, not even attempting to keep the emotion from of his voice. “But will you promise me something too?”

   “Of course, anything; you have only to ask”

   “When you next visit Bree, stay away from the dice.”

~oo0oo~

   ‘And I,’ said Aragorn, ‘counselled that we should hunt for Gollum, too late though it may seem. And since it seemed fit that Isildur’s heir should labour to repair Isildur’s fault, I went with Gandalf on the long and hopeless search.’

The Council of Elrond                                                               The Fellowship of the Ring