Chapter 8 - I Would Never Look

Aragorn was still worried about his Mettarë gifts. For two days they waited out the storm, then on the third evening, the winds died and the snow lessened and by morning, a weak sun broke through the clouds. By mid-day the temperature had risen sufficiently to make the icicles along the eaves drip and crash to the ground, and by the morning after, Aragorn and his men were astride their horses, heading north with their spirits high and their hearts light. Once out on the open lands north of Chetwood, the wind had scoured away much of the snow, and the riding was surprisingly easy. They made good time the first day of travel, and now on this second day, as they drew closer to home with every stride, Aragorn’s mind could not rest.

What if Denlad had seen the boots and the sword? The surprise would be utterly lost. But did it really matter? The gift itself was the important thing, after all. But Aragorn selfishly wanted to see the look on Denlad’s face when he handed him the boots and the sword. And it went without saying that the entire settlement should be present when he received his pin.

"I hope it’s good quality," Halbarad said as he pulled up beside him.

"Hmm?"

"This wool you’ve been gathering. You’ve enough to knit me a dozen pairs of socks, and after this little misadventure in the snow, I need more socks."

"Oh. Yes." Aragorn pulled his thoughts together. "I simply have much to be thankful for."

"Your ability to lie is pitiful. That is not the look of a thankful man. That is the look of a boy who is afraid someone will find his secret stash of pipeweed."

"Nothing so devious," Aragorn laughed. "I am simply worried that Denlad may have found his gifts while I was gone. I did not have time to hide them."

"I don’t know Denlad well, but he does not seem to me to be the type to go snooping about in someone’s house when he’s not there."

"No, he seems an honest one, through and through."

"Well then. No reason to worry."

"But what if Dirhael went in for some reason? Or Ivorwen? Denlad may not be a sneak, but our grandmother is. She’s forever slipping into my house and leaving me gifts to find on my return. What if Denlad went with her? All his gifts are in plain sight, on my table."

"I think you need to put it out of your mind. If he sees them, he sees them. He likely won’t realize they’re for him anyway."

"That may be true," Aragorn admitted.

"Of course it is. Unless you’ve written ‘For Denlad’ in bold strokes on all of them, he will assume they are all your own belongings."

Feeling better, as he often did after hearing Halbarad’s sensible counsel, he changed the subject. "What of you and your gifts? What did you do with them?"

"Where I stash my gifts to everyone is my own affair."

"Come now, you can tell me."

"No, I can’t. What sort of friend would I be to lay such temptation at the feet of my Chieftain?"

"I would never look."

"You say as your eyes dance with mischief. Nay, I know you well enough, Aragorn son of Arathorn. You would be rooting around looking for your gift the moment my back was turned."

Aragorn grinned. "Which is also why Elladan and Elrohir never told me where they hid gifts for me when I was a child."

"Your brothers are wise. And I am certain they would agree when I say, in that regard, you have yet to grow up." Halbarad craned around in his saddle. "Speaking of, where did they go?"

"They’re off hunting. Elladan said they would meet us at the settlement in a week or so."

"Little chance of them finding anything. Those wolves likely stripped all the game from this area."

"If there is ought to be found, they’ll find it," Aragorn said, unconcerned. But there was something that did concern him. "How are your feet?"

"Sore."

"Is this cold affecting them? Your toes have fairly serious patches of frostbite."

"Last night they ached terribly but today is warmer and so it is bearable, just. But as soon as we’re home, I’m going to sit by the fire with my feet in a nice warm pan of water. Or," he said, his eyes gleaming in a way that had Aragorn suddenly on edge. "I could put them between Miriel’s–"

"Put them in a pan of water," Aragorn interrupted. He had absolutely no desire to hear where else Halbarad had in mind to stick his feet.

"Ah, but it would be far more fun to put them–"

"Halbarad," Aragorn growled. He glared at him with the full strength of will of one who is descended from the line of Kings.

"Very well. But if you would just allow yourself to listen, you will have no end of tricks up your sleeve when you do finally wed your beloved Arwen."

"I am sure I will manage just fine left to my own devices."

"‘Tis a shame she is not here to rub your shoulder. Which, I might add, would be far more comfortable if you still kept it in a sling.  How fares it this morning?"

"Like your toes. Sore.  I did use the sling, at first, but I think now I can get by without it, although I will have to be careful not to overdo it." He tried to lift his arm but stopped less than halfway. "It will be some time before it fully heals, I fear."

"Let us hope then that it is a quiet winter and you need not do more than lift a tankard as you read books and rest."

Aragorn smiled. "And when has such a winter ever been our good fortune?"

"I can dream of such a thing, though," Halbarad sighed. Sorrow shadowed his eyes. "Aye, I can dream."

~~~

An hour later, Halbarad grunted as he walked gingerly alongside his horse. Aragorn watched with sympathy. He had had frostbite before and knew fully well the lingering pain that came with it. He wished they had not had to camp along the way last night, but it had been too far to ride straight through, weary as the men and horses still were from enduring the storm. He glanced at the hills to the north, blue with distance but moving ever closer. Another hour and they would be home and Halbarad could put his feet in warm water. Or wherever else he wished.

"So," Halbarad said. "Denlad. What exactly shall we do with the lad?"

"Let him do as he wishes, for the most part. He is a man grown, after all. I cannot force him to do anything against his will."

"Yet you will give him a pin of the Dúnedain."

"I will offer him a pin of the Dúnedain, and tell him of its full import. He need not take it."

"Yet I see from your eyes that it would grieve you if he did not."

Aragorn said nothing.

"For ten years, we have watched that boy, from afar. You read the hearts of men as well as anyone, and far better than I. Yet I worry that you may have misread this boy’s. We only saw him once a year. ‘Tis a hard thing to read the heart of a growing boy when you see him so seldom."

"And yet I have read his heart. And I see courage there, and a true spirit."

"And what of his parentage? There will be those even among our settlement who will doubt. Who will whisper. Are you sure he has the strength to overcome that?"

"No," Aragorn admitted. "No one knows a man’s strength, not even the man himself. Only time and Denlad himself can answer that question, Halbarad."

"He seems an able lad. Moves with a grace that will serve him well with the sword and bow. And all those years on the farm, doing the work himself for the most part, has left him strong in arm, leg and back. Whether he is as strong in mind or spirit..." He shrugged. "As you say. Time will tell. But one thing I do know: until such time as he proves himself worthy, I will not allow him to be in a position where his failing will endanger you."

Aragorn nodded. "That is fair enough. I would that you undertake his training, though. That you be his mentor."

"Aye, I’ll train the lad. I will be as hard on him as I was on you."

"Then we will know his strength sooner rather than later," Aragorn laughed.

"He may not last a day under my gentle tutelage."

"Gentle is not a word that comes to my mind when I think back on those days."

"When did I not treat you with tenderness and love?"

Aragorn snorted. "Archery. The first day."

"You missed the target completely!"

"Because you knocked my bow just as I fired!"

"A good archer never lets distractions interfere with his aim."

"A good archer does not let his kinsman stand so close. That much I did learn that day. That, and where your weak point lies."

"Your reaction was uncalled for. I still have a scar on my instep from your boot heel, I’ll have you know."

"I had to do something to get you to move away."

Halbarad grinned. "And it worked. That was the moment I knew we had ourselves a man who would make a wise and wily King."

"I thought you knew that the first day we met, when Elladan and Elrohir brought me to your door and you did all that bowing and scraping and vowing allegiance to the end of Arda or whatever it was you said."

"Surely you haven’t forgotten?"

"No, I haven’t," Aragorn smiled. "‘If by my life or death I might serve you, my sword is yours.’ The pledge of the Dúnedain, after all."

"Aye. And I’ve never regretted saying it, for the most part."

"For the most part?"

"Well, there was that incident when I had to fish you out of the Branduin after that orc slapped you silly and you fell in. I am still not certain my oath extends to drowning in stagnant, muddy waters."

"You dried out."

"I came up with leeches clinging all over me!"

"But you lived."

"I hate leeches."

"But you lived."

Halbarad gave him a sour look without replying. He swung himself once more atop his horse and looked to the approaching hills with a sigh of contentment. "Always warms the heart to see home on the horizon."

"Your children will be happy to see you."

"Halbaron will be pestering me immediately for that wolf’s head I promised him. I doubt he will be happy to hear that he cannot don it immediately."

"You could always wash his hair after."

"Miriel would skin me if I let Halbaron put on a fresh wolf’s head. No, he will have to learn patience and wait until it has cured. The real question is," Halbarad added, looking at Aragorn’s shoulder, "how do you propose to hide from Ivorwen the fact that you have injured yourself yet again?"

Aragorn grimaced. "I do not want to spend the next month lying in their cottage, having her wait on me hand and foot."

"See now, that is what I do not understand about you. If I were so injured, I would hie myself to her doorstep and prostrate myself on the ground, groaning and crying. And then I would happily lie about and let her feed me her excellent cooking."

"Is that what you do to Miriel?"

"No. Miriel is not as good a cook."

"Oh ho! I shall tell her you said that!"

"Don’t you dare!"

Aragorn smiled and said nothing.

"You would not... you can’t... she would..."

"Peace, Halbarad. Stop your spluttering. You know I would say nothing."

"I know nothing of the sort! It would be just like you to exercise your evil streak in such a way."

"Evil streak! Do not even jest about such a thing."

Halbard was immediately contrite. "You are right, of course. I apologize."

"Accepted." Aragorn shot him a peeved look. "‘Evil streak’. If I had such, I would have had you hanged for such a remark."

Halbarad grinned. "Which only proves you are good to the core."

"I don’t know if I am as perfect as all that, but I try not to be evil."

"Denlad would attest to that. Not many would take in an orphaned waif."

"He is not a waif nor am I taking him in."

"What then would you call him, and what you’re doing?"

"I call him as I did earlier: a man grown. And I am merely lending a hand."

"A very generous hand."

"And why not?"

Halbarad shrugged. "No reason other than we do not really know him."

"It keeps coming back to that. You will see, Halbarad. My judgment will not fail."

"And I suppose if it does, I will be there to protect you."

"As always," Aragorn smiled.

"As always."

TBC