Author notes:  This chapter refers to my stories “When the King Comes Back”, “The Path to Healing”, and “The Vault of Annúminas”.    

STARSHIP

Chapter 8: The Most Famousest of the Hobbits

“Why, to think of it, we're in the same tale still!”  Sam Gamgee, ‘The Stairs of Cirith Ungol’, The Two Towers

The Dwarves had wrought a marvel of a city, using stones from Fornost in the east, the Blue Mountains in the west, and the Shire quarries to the south for the villas, inns, ports, and roads.  Land had been cleared for crops, ancient orchards tamed, and irrigation systems channeled clear water from the northern reaches of the Brandywine.  Men, Dwarves, hobbits, and the occasional Elf came and went, interacting in peace.  Trade was lively in the market square, with the King’s coinage changing hands as easily as barter of goods or services.  More quickly than Aragorn had hoped, his northern capital had attracted farmers, artisans, musicians, merchants, and many others.  The Dúnedain kept the peace, and they assisted the hobbit Bounders in ensuring that there was no trespass into the protected lands of the Shire.

The royal residence, built on the foundation of Elendil’s ancient fortress at a high point on the western shore of Lake Evendim, stood amidst a lush, green park filled with the music of birds and the splashing of ornate fountains.   Aragorn sat comfortably against the trunk of an ancient oak.  Sitting together on a nearby bench were Arwen and her brothers, who were passing back and forth the slim volumes of their mother’s journals that Meneldor had brought them.  He saw tears of joy on their faces as they learned of Celebrían’s experiences in the West and her reunion with their father.  They knew now, without any doubt, that their mother had not regretted her decision... and her children rejoiced in her healing.

The cry of a majestic hawk soaring overhead diverted Aragorn's attention from the letter he was reading.  As he admired the beautiful bird, his thoughts flew back to the events of the previous week.

Meneldor had returned to great fanfare, an unusual but pleasing experience for the solitary bird.  He had politely answered many questions about Eärendil and Sam, but it soon became obvious that he was eager to return to his family.

Aragorn and Arwen had stepped forward and bowed to the Eagle, and Meneldor dipped his head to the King and Queen of Men.

“Go now, with our thanks,” Arwen said softly.  “May the wind under your wings bear you swiftly to your family.”

“Thank you, O Queen,” Meneldor spoke.  “The winds have lifted me to a star, and my desire to be of service to one of the Ring-bearers is achieved.  I am content.  May your journey be a safe one, and your eyrie know only peace.”  And in a moment he was aloft, a mighty cheer following him into the sky.

The party of Men and Elves had travelled northeast to Lake Evendim, to find Annúminas a beehive of activity in preparation for a festival to celebrate the harvest season.

As the hawk flew onward, Aragorn took a deep breath of the clean, crisp autumn air.  The sea voyage had been long, and he looked forward to a time of peace here in the north before returning to Minas Tirith.  In the next few weeks he would walk among his people, visit far-flung towns and farms, and consult with the Dúnedain to ensure that the laws were being obeyed and the people were not in want.

He continued reading from the sheaf of finely-written pages.

...they call it asëa aranion here, the healing plant given to the Númenorians.  I am told that athelas is “a pale remnant” of this original, so I thought you might like to plant these and find out if the healing properties are stronger than what you have there.  I couldn’t imagine what to send you that you don’t already have, so I hope this is a good choice!

Aragorn fingered the tiny packet with delight.  Such a rare and marvelous gift!  There were enough seeds here to grace many gardens, and he would send some to Thain Peregrin with his compliments.

You never knew me without the burden of the Ring, which drained my spirit even after it was destroyed, and so I wonder if you would even recognize me now.  I have recaptured joy in the simple things a hobbit loves so much – good meals, fragrant gardens, a ramble in the hills, feasts and song... even a small adventure now and then.  I hope that you, with all your duties and responsibilities, are able to take the time to embrace the humble pleasures of the smallest flower or a stew well seasoned.  I hope your children live with joy in the peace that we helped to bring our beloved lands, but also appreciation for all that it took to accomplish.  But what a silly thing, to be advising a king in any of these matters!  I remain an impertinent hobbit, whatever my age, as Bilbo would be the first to agree.  He lives still, Aragorn!  What a fortunate hobbit he is, to have found three homes he loved so well.  If I may add one more hope, it is that Bilbo is never forgotten, even if his deeds are someday nothing more than fanciful tales told as bedtime stories.

Suddenly Aragorn began to chuckle quietly.  For some time, he had been aware of a group of children quietly (or so they thought) drawing closer to where he sat, and he turned his head to see many small faces peeking around the trees.

“Come, my friends,” Aragorn called out.  With a great deal of giggling and excitement, the children came to where he was sitting, and grouped around him.  The eldest boy in the group – a hobbit, son of a farmer from Oatbarton – bowed deeply, and others followed suit with bows or curtseys.

“Will you and the Queen be here for the festival, sir?” one of the lads asked shyly.  He looked over to where Arwen sat.  She met his gaze, and he ducked his head and blushed.

“We will be visiting for some weeks,” Aragorn said.  “My lady and I wish we could visit the north more often.”

“So do we,” said another lad, the son of a local stonecutter.  The King’s last visit had been before any of them were born, and they all gazed at Aragorn curiously.  A young girl ran forward suddenly, reached up to touch the shining gem on the King’s brow, then ran back behind her sister’s skirts, giggling.  The children looked horrified at this bold move, but Aragorn just smiled.

“Do your parents know where you are, little ones?” he asked gently, and a dozen heads bobbed up and down.

“Wlll you tell us a tale, King Elessar?” one of the older girls asked eagerly.

“I would be happy to,” Aragorn said, motioning for the children to sit.  He held up the letter.  “This was written by Frodo Baggins,” he began, and the children gasped.  “I see you have heard of him.”

“’Course we have,” a small girl said.  She beamed at the hobbit lad next to her.  “He was a hobbit who saved the whole world with his servant, Samwise.”

“He is a hobbit,” Aragorn corrected gently.  “He lives still, with Samwise and his Uncle Bilbo, in the Blessed Realm across the Sea.”

“They’re still alive?” one boy asked, wide-eyed.  “Bilbo Baggins and Frodo of the Nine Fingers?  Truly?”

“Yes,” Aragorn said.  “And now Samwise has joined them across the Sea; I saw him taken to the ship with my own eyes.  The Tale goes on, and we are a part of it.  Why, I first met Bilbo Baggins when I was ten years old.  That was a very, very long time ago.  I had never seen a hobbit before, can you believe it?  Bilbo came with Gandalf and--”

“Gandalf is a wizard!” a tiny girl cried out happily.  “He has grey clothes and white clothes and rides a big horse!”

“Yes, he does,” Aragorn chuckled.  “Gandalf is very wise, and he knew that Bilbo, Frodo, and Samwise were very special.”  He looked around at the children.  “If someone, someday, tells you that it is all just a story, and that what we did was not at all dangerous or important, I need you to remember that once upon a time you sat with your king, and he entrusted you with the great task of remembering.  I hope that for all your lives you will be grateful for the peace and plenty that we enjoy because of the courage of those who risked everything to keep the Enemy away from those they loved.”  The younger children looked confused, but the older ones were listening carefully.

“Gandalf,” Aragorn continued, “arrived in Rivendell with Bilbo and the Dwarves wearing his grey clothes.”  The children laughed.  “That was the beginning of Bilbo Baggins’ grand Adventure... one that should never be forgotten.”

“We won’t, sir,” the hobbit lad spoke up, and the others nodded solemnly.

“I am glad,” the King said softly.  “Very, very glad indeed.” 

After the storytelling, the children thanked Aragorn many times before departing.  At last, Aragorn turned to the last page of the letter.

And now I must finish writing and prepare for Sam’s arrival!  Leave it to hobbits, as Gandalf says, to bring unexpected events to such a peaceful land as this.  I am sure Sam will answer my questions until their number drive him out to the gardens for some peace and quiet.  How wonderful it will be to see him.  And how wonderful to have this chance to send a letter to you, and anticipate you reading it.  I do not worry about you, as I occasionally walk the streets of your city in my dreams.  And so, you must not worry about me, my dear friend.  Like Bilbo, I, too, am home, and do not regret anything that has happened.

I do not suppose that other mortals will ever again come here, but who can say what the future will bring?  I, for one, no longer fear the future, but embrace it... as I embrace each day.  I hope you are well, and that all your choices have brought you joy.

“Thank you, Frodo,” Aragorn whispered.  He looked up to see Arwen smiling radiantly at him.  “They have.” 

** TBC **