18. Palantír: Traveller

Aragorn was shaken by the picture of Númenor's fall – the truth touching him more than any illusion Sauron could convey in the palantír. He could not erase the memory he saw, but he could continue the thought…

On the wings of the storm, out of the great wave, nine ships flew on the wings of wind. The Faithful, who did not fall into the King's folly, Elendil and his sons.

Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta… So Gondor and Arnor arise, and it were days of building and renewal, days of golden stories and open roads.

Aragorn smiled slightly, his heart eased, and before Sauron could summon the next pictures – the ones he knew will follow after the golden days, pictures of battles and destruction – he turned to his own memories, the warm and happy ones…

The fire was cracking merrily in the common room of Faramir's and Éowyn's house in Emyn Arnen. Ithilien, the land that thrived under the shadow of Mordor and the attack of Haradrim for so long, was beautiful again under the rule of the King and the Prince. Aragorn and Faramir were sitting in a soft chair before the hearth, sipping mulled wine.

It was late summer, and in the morning the sun shone and flowers smelled sweetly under the cypresses. But in the afternoon the weather changed, and a strong rain came with the cold wind from the North. It still rained outside, but they enjoyed the quiet evening together. It was not often that the King and Steward could get away from their duties for a few days. Éowyn joined them after she put her little daughter to bed.

"Will you tell us about your journeys, my lord?" she turned to Aragorn as she sat down.

Aragorn smiled slightly. The Rohirrim never travelled far beyond their own borders, but Éowyn had great interest in the far lands. "The world is broad and alien. What journey would you like to hear about?"

Éowyn thought for a moment. "Where is the farthest that you have been?"

Aragorn took his time to reply. "It depends where from," he said finally. "If you measure the distance from Rivendell, it was far Harad to the south, or Hyarmen as the Elves call it, but from here, probably distant Rhûn to the East… "

"That far?" Éowyn looked surprised.

Aragorn smiled slightly, looking modestly at his feet. "Your brother didn't call me Wingfoot without a reason."

"Have you seen Oliphaunts there?" she asked.

"In Harad, yes," he nodded.

"And what about the Were-worms of the Last Desert?" she continued the questions.

Aragorn's pride diminished slightly. "Were… worms? No, I'm afraid I haven't seen such a thing. Maybe I haven't been far enough…"

"How is it there?" Faramir asked suddenly, interest in his face as he came to his lord's help. "In Rhûn, I mean…"

"In Rhûn? Um… what I remember most clearly is the food. It gave me quite a stomach ache…" he chuckled. "Otherwise, the people are like everywhere else – they have their joys and their troubles. It was just me who was a stranger, and did not understand much of their life. And they can make almost as good fireworks as Gandalf did, they fill them with something called 'gunpowder''.

Éowyn was quiet for some time, thinking about it. But then, she couldn't miss the opportunity to ask another question. "And what are their horses like?" - the horse breeder spoke from her.

Both Faramir and Aragorn hid a smile. Aragorn tried to remember, for he didn't pay that much attention to horses in that time. "Well… They are mostly smaller than the horses of Rohan, but light-footed and quick. In statue they are similar to Éomer's steed Firefoot." He looked at Éowyn to see if he answered the question to her satisfaction. It seemed he did.

For the rest of the evening, Faramir with Éowyn asked him about the distant lands, and Aragorn spoke about his travels, and that strange delight of exploring high mountains and deep canyons, speaking with different people...

He almost forgot about that evening already when several weeks later, Faramir handed him a manuscript, bound in leather.

"What is it?" he asked as he looked at the cover.

Faramir smiled. "I have written down you're the tales of your travels," Faramir smiled. "You would never get to it…"

Aragorn shook his head. "In that, you are right, my friend…" he said, admiring the pages filled with neat handwriting.