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And thanks to Cairistiona for the beta.

Chapter 24: Strider

   “..It was the Elven-folk of Gildor that told me this; and later they told me that you had left your home; but there was no news of your leaving Buckland. I have been watching the East Road anxiously.”

 Strider                                                                                        The Fellowship of the Ring

~oo0oo~

     ‘Oh Roheryn, would that you were with me now,’ thought Aragorn as he broke into a jog. This was no time for his horse to be languishing in a stall in Rivendell. He needed him now like he never had before. In all his years journeying the length and breadth of Middle-earth, he could not remember ever having more need of haste than he did on this particular September night.

   He must find a hobbit called Frodo Baggins; and quickly at that. But hobbits could be almost as elusive as Elves when they chose and every bit as impossible to find on a dark night if they did not wish for their movements to be noted. Frodo and his companions could be holed up, hiding, under any hedge or tree and he would never know if he had passed them or not. He strained his eyes as he peered into every black hole that bordered the path, but there was no sign. And it was not only hobbits whose movements he sought that evening. As he ran, he constantly kept an ear cocked in fear of catching the sound of hoof-beats approaching fast behind him. He certainly did not relish been caught on the road in the depths of the night by a Ringwraith.

   Earlier that evening, he had learned from the Elves that Frodo Baggins had left his home in Hobbiton and was now somewhere in the wilds with only his kinsmen for company. He had been totally dismayed at these tidings as he was quite sure that whatever Gandalf had intended for the hobbit, it was not this. Twice now, in a matter of days, Aragorn had met the Elven-folk of Gildor. Both times the news had been ill. He first encountered their Company in the Green Hills as he cut through the Shire on his way to Sarn Ford. The news then, that Gandalf was missing and black horsemen had been seen in the Shire, was disturbing enough. But it was potentially disastrous that Frodo was abroad without guidance.

  He had been fanatically searching for further news of both Gandalf and the Black Riders when he had come upon Gildor and the Elves once again as they emerged from the trees above Woodhall.

  “Hail, Dúnadan,” said Gildor as the company halted and waited for the jogging ranger to catch up with them. “The good people of Bree should have named you Trotter not Strider. What a pace you are setting this night. Will you not walk with us a while; I have tidings you should hear.”

   Aragorn smiled grimly. “I no longer have the leisure to stride, Gildor, but gladly will I walk with you awhile and hear your tidings, though I hope you bring me more cheer than at our last meeting. Might I dare hope that you have heard something of Gandalf?”

   “No, I fear we have not,” replied Gildor. “I was rather hoping you might have been bringing word from him yourself.”

   His hopes dashed, Aragorn shook his head. “No, I have heard nothing either.”

   “This must surely bode ill,” said Gildor, a frown marring his fair face. “And I fear I must further add to your troubles. Two nights ago, Aragorn, we encountered three hobbits on the road. They were wandering alone without a guide of any sort, trying to make their way to Bree. One of them may be known to you, or at the very least, I deem you know his kinsmen. Frodo Baggins was his name and he was carrying a great burden.”

   “What! This is ill tidings indeed! And with Black Riders about as well! Which way were they heading, Gildor?  I must find them at once.” 

   “They were intending to make their way towards Buckland when we left them.”

   “Then I must set off after them at once,” said Aragorn as his mind raced through the implications of this latest development. “If you would aid me further, Glidor, could I ask you to send messages to my men? They should be told of this.”

   “Fear not, messages have already been sent to the Wandering Companies. If they can be found, they will learn of this.”

   “Thank you,” said Aragorn, who was still feeling utterly dismayed by this news. “You have been a great help, but now I must be on my way at once. Valar willing, we may yet all meet again at Imladris.”

   With that, he was gone, moving swiftly into the night. 

   After so many years of watching and waiting and seemingly achieving very little, events were suddenly moving very fast indeed. Too fast; the danger from the Black Riders could not be greater. He shuddered at the thought of those creatures wandering at will among the defenceless hobbits. Frodo would have no chance if they found him. How many had entered the Shire, he wondered. Were all nine here already? He had so far been unable to trace all their movements. Nor did he know how they had passed over the border. He had Rangers stationed at both the Brandywine Bridge and Sarn Ford. The Bucklebury Ferry was the only other means of crossing the river.

   He was desperately afraid for his men. If there were Black Riders in the Shire, then there was every likelihood that some of them had already succumbed to the Wraith’s evil power. And if the Rangers had been confronted by all nine, could they possibly have held any of them back? He knew the terror of facing even one of these things. He doubted he had enough men stationed at either post to mount a sufficiently strong defence to repel any of the Wraiths if they were determined to enter. 

   He quickened his pace. He was heading for the Brandywine Bridge, where, if his men were still at their posts, hopefully he would receive news. But, with a heavy heart, he realised that at that moment there was nothing he could do for the Rangers at Sarn Ford. He had to concentrate his all efforts on finding these hobbits.

~oo0oo~

   He ran as lightly as he could, making his way quietly through Buckland in the dead of night. He wondered once again whatever could have befallen Gandalf. That he was missing was most troubling. He had never known the wizard to disappear without leaving word somewhere. It could at times be difficult to find him, and he had spent many a frustrating day struggling to do just that, but Gandalf was never gone completely for long.  

   They had travelled west together from Mirkwood in the spring, but he had not seen him since they parted company at Sarn Ford at the beginning of May. Gandalf had been staying with Bilbo’s nephew and had interrupted his visit to meet him there. He seemed happy enough with the state of affairs in the Shire then. So much so, that Aragorn had taken the opportunity to journey north to visit his people. He had only returned a few days ago to be greeted by Gildor and his ill news. Now he very much regretted not having stayed close to the Shire all summer; he should have guessed Gandalf might have had need of him.

   For the moment, he pushed the wild thoughts of what might have become of his friend out of his mind. His only concern now was finding Frodo Baggins and keeping him from harm.

   No one stirred in Buckland. All seemed quiet and peaceful, as it ever was. And as he approached the Bridge, it appeared deserted. Nonetheless he crossed cautiously. This may be the Shire but these were queer times. He had not gone far when, to his relief, he was challenged.

   “Halt, and speak your name.” A commanding voice rang out from behind the trees ahead.

   “It is I, Aragorn,” he whispered in reply, loud enough for the sentry to hear, but not, he hoped, anyone else who may be lurking nearby.

   “Captain?” a quiet voice answered him, and a dark figure emerged from the cover of the trees.

   “Yes, but tell me quickly what passes here?” asked Aragorn, as two more men appeared out of the shadows. His trained eye spotted the three others who remained at their posts. In his haste, questions tumbled from his lips. “Have any strangers come this way in the last few days; have black horsemen tried to enter the Shire? And hobbits; have any left Buckland?”

  “No one has crossed the bridge,” replied the Ranger without any hesitation. “Nor have we seen anything out of the ordinary and we have not left this post in many days.”

   His solid reply gave Aragorn hope. If the Black Riders had not come this way then there was a chance Frodo could reach the bridge before them, though it troubled him that he had not yet done so.

   “Well, all may not yet be lost,” he said, more to himself than to the Rangers who stood looking at him rather bemusedly. He chose not burden his men with his fears for the safety of their kinsmen at Sarn Ford.

   But where was Frodo? He really should have been here by now.

   A thought suddenly struck him. What if Frodo had been forced off the road and had taken cover in the Old Forest? It was not a very comforting thought, but it was the only explanation, beyond the unthinkable, to explain the hobbit’s disappearance. He knew it would be hopeless to pursue him through the menacing trees. He himself had ventured into the forest’s dark depths but rarely and he could not help fearing how a hobbit might fare in such a place, even one that he had been led to believe was as tenacious as Frodo Baggins.

   His train of thought was interrupted by a welcome offer of supper. “Will you not have something to eat, Captain? I’m sure you could do with it,” asked the Ranger, a seasoned campaigner in his late fifties called Brandir.

   “I can not stop long,” said Aragorn. “But I will gladly take a bite with me to eat on the road.”

   Brandir gestured to one of the men to fetch something for their chieftain from their campsite.

   “I wish I could stay and help you defend the Bridge,” said Aragorn, “but I must find three hobbits who were last seen wandering towards Buckland. What has become of them I do not know, but if by chance they come this way, then I beseeched you to aid them all you can and protect them from every danger.”

   He looked from one to the other of his men. “And with your lives if needs must,” he added gravely.

   The men nodded. They had long since become resigned to not understanding their lengthy guardianship of this seemingly irrelevant folk.

  “Aye, captain, but where should we take them for safe keeping if they do come to the Bridge?” asked Brandir.

   Aragorn thought for a moment. He little liked the idea of leading them from the relative safety of the Shire into the empty lands surrounding Bree, but clearly the Ring could not now remain here. Somehow, it and the hobbits must be got to Rivendell. With Gandalf missing, Elrond was his only hope.

   “Should they come here, then I would bid you accompany them along the East Road towards Bree,” he said at last. “I’m going to watch for them there in case, by some chance, they’ve found another way out of the Shire. This is all a most wretched business, Brandir. Take the greatest care all of you. These Black Riders are more dangerous than they appear.”

   As Aragorn was speaking, one of the men thrust a cup of hot broth into his hand and offered him a slice of bread and dried meat which Aragorn gratefully accepted. He downed the broth in one swig and, handing the cup back to the Ranger, he bid them a hasty farewell.

   He set off on the road to Bree where he hoped he might yet encounter the hobbits if they had indeed left the Shire by the Old Forest. He pace was slower as his guard was raised. He had not gone far when it began to rain heavily. Aragorn wrapped his cloak tightly round himself as he sought shelter under a clump of hawthorns. The rain persisted all night and for much of the next day. Aragorn began to wish he had remained with the Rangers as he was achieving nothing cooped up like this, sheltering against the weather. But the next day, the sun broke through the clouds and the rain stopped. The air smelt fresh and clean and Aragorn was swiftly on his way again.

  The rain had turned the road to mud and he splashed through many puddles as he made his way steadily along the East Road. But he was becoming ever more anxious with each day that passed and there was still no sign of the hobbits. At last he came within sight of Bree, so he settled himself down under a hedge on the outskirts of the village and waited. There was nothing else he could do. He could only hope that his men had encountered the hobbits after all. He peered anxiously down the East Road, hoping beyond hope that any moment he would see Brandir and his men approaching, bringing the hobbits along the road towards him. But he saw nothing except the empty road, stretching away into the distance.

    He had no idea if he was even doing the right thing by waiting here. How long should he continue to sit here idly, he wondered. If the hobbits did not appear soon, he would have to resume has search. But where; what if they were enmeshed in some peril within the forest? How could he hope to find them in there? He knew beyond any doubt that if the Riders found them first then it was all over; there would be nothing he or anyone else could do. The Ring would be on its way back to Sauron and any chance they might have had of a victory would be gone. He tried hard not to dwell on such a thought as he sat huddled beside the road, keeping his lonely vigil.

    But at last his patience was rewarded and, to his joy, four hobbits rode into view, accompanied by Tom Bombadil of all people. Aragorn marvelled at the good fortune that had led them to chance upon the Master, but that mattered little know. He listened carefully to their parting words. With great relief, he heard the name Baggins mentioned; these were the hobbits he was waiting for.

   “Fare thee well now with good heart and ride on ‘til dark without halting [1],” Aragorn heard Tom say to them as they made their farewells.

   Tom turned to mount his pony and as he did so, he caught Aragorn’s eye. The Master’s face broke into a broad grin as he spotted the Ranger crouched behind the hedge, but he said nothing. He simply tossed his hat onto his head and leaped onto his pony’s back before riding away up the bank, singing as he went. The hobbits scrabbled up after him and stood watching until he had disappeared from their sight.

   When they at last set off down the road to Bree, Aragorn followed them at a discrete distance. He remained hidden, watching them intently, ready to spring to their defence at any moment as they sought admittance to the village through the West Gate. As the gate opened and the hobbits disappeared through it, he crept forward and jumped over unseen behind them before disappearing into the shadows and quietly following them to the Prancing Pony….

~oo0oo~

   “Few now remember them,” Tom murmured, “yet still some go wandering, sons of forgotten kings walking in loneliness, guarding from evil things folk that are heedless.”

Fog on the Barrow Downs                                                          The Fellowship of the Ring

[1] Fog on the Barrow Downs                                                   The Fellowship of the Ring