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The Riddle of Strider  by Mirach

Again I thank Cairistiona for being a great beta reader correcting my mistakes in English. This story taught me that I’m at a stage of my life when I really shouldn’t start posting a multi-chaptered story without finishing it first. I started writing this one six years ago! I wonder if there is anyone here who has read the first chapters back then? But my daughter is a year old now and this story is finally finished – here is the last chapter:


8. The crownless again shall be king

The flames in the hearth were dancers in a performance - a story told by the wondrous glowing shapes that wood takes on before becoming embers and ash.

Bilbo watched it idly, murmuring something to himself: "I sit beside the fire and think of all that I have seen... seen... green? Of meadow flowers and butterflies and of the forests green?... been? I sit beside the fire and think of all that I have seen, of meadow flowers and butterflies in summers that have been..."

"That's nice... I like the second one better," said another weak voice in the room.

Bilbo turned, a little startled. "Oh, Dúnadan... I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"No, don't worry," Aragorn smiled faintly. "I think I slept through most of the day, didn't I? It must be quite late. Did Elrond ask you to watch over me this long? I really don't need it anymore, you shouldn't have bothered."

"Yes, I see you are better," Bilbo nodded. "How is the shoulder? Elrond didn't ask me anything. He just allowed me to stay for the company. But if mine bothers you, I will go."

"It's... manageable," Aragorn said, making it clear that he doesn't want any more painkiller. "And you can stay, of course, but... for the company? I have been mostly asleep... as far as I'm aware of..."

"Well, yes. I enjoyed the peace and quiet. I know, I can have it in my room too, but there I feel a bit lonely, you know?"

"Yes, I think I do," Aragorn said softly. "I can remain quiet if you want."

"Only if you feel too tired to talk. I am not right now. That's one of those strange little things about being old, you see? You get tired quickly, and take a nap here and there, and then when it comes the time for proper sleep, you can't get more than a few hours."

"That sounds a bit similar to recovering from an injury," Aragorn remarked. 

"It does, I guess. It also hurts to move, but not as much, and only when the weather is bad... I think old age finally caught up with me. I used to feel stretched thin like a butter on a too big slice of bread, but now I just feel plainly old. And I prefer to chronicle adventures instead of being an active participant."

"Is that what the poem was about?"

"Well... yes, in a way, I guess. It was just a momentary inspiration. I don't know if I will continue it. There are too many other things I need to write or translate."

"It would be pity if you didn't finish it."

"You think so?" Bilbo blushed a little. "I think I could, then. Do you like poetry?"

"I am well versed in it, but I don't have much time to write it, if you mean that. I enjoy listening to it, though."

"Perfect!" Bilbo exclaimed enthusiastically, but then he blushed again. "Uh... I mean... I was hoping to find someone who could listen to a few silly verses of mine, and help me improve them... if you wouldn't mind."

"Not at all," Aragorn smiled a bit wonderingly at the request. "If you could just hand me a glass of water, I will be at your disposal."

"Of course, I should have thought of that sooner!" Bilbo said and filled the glass for him, helping him drink without moving his shoulder.

After Aragorn finished drinking, Bilbo asked, like in an afterthought: "By the way, being raised here, you also speak Elvish, right? Both Sindarin and Quenya?" 

"Yes, fluently."

"Oh my boy, you are a treasure!"

"Why? If you need a lesson, you can ask anyone here..."

"But not for help with translation into Common speech," Bilbo lowered his voice. "It feels a bit like sacrilege, to translate those beautiful words into something so mundane. But there is so much knowledge in the library that no Hobbit has touched before! We are simple folk that don’t remember much history or speak many languages, but we are a part of this world. It would do us good if we knew at least a bit about its struggles and victories."

"I don't think many in the Shire would appreciate that effort, but maybe a few will," Aragorn said thoughtfully. "You are right, knowledge shouldn't be limited only to those who know a certain language."

"Not only knowledge," Bilbo murmured. "I also meant the beauty of the poems. I know my translation can't compare with the original, but it's at least something, you know? Seeing a reflection of beauty is better than not seeing it at all..."

"Well said. And you are a treasure among Hobbits." Aragorn smiled a little.

 "Oh, not at all. I am well versed in Sindarin, but I have gaps in my Quenya."

Aragorn smirked. "You know I didn't mean that, but I can help you with it. What are you translating now?"

"The short version of the tale if Beren and Lúthien. I would like to translate the whole Lay of Leithian, but it seems a bit too ambitious, especially for someone my age. I somehow doubt I would be able to finish it..."

"Not finishing is always better than not starting. But the short version is close to my heart, too. Let me hear what you have."

"Uh, alright then... but it's still a bit raw..." Bilbo said, gathering his papers.

"That's what I am here for, isn't it?"

"Actually, yes. I just don't want you to judge my skill by it... it's poor anyways, compared with the minstrels here."

"I think they have had a few more centuries to hone it. Don't worry. I know it's hard to live up to all expectations when you are being compared to someone great. You can just do your best and improve that every day."

Bilbo cheered up a little. "Then let's improve this," he said and started to read.

"The leaves were long, the grass was green,

The hemlock umbels tall and fair..."

Aragorn listened quietly, seemingly lost in thoughts. He asked Bilbo to read the poem again, and only after that he contributed his thoughts about it, improving some of the verses and expressions. 

It was long after midnight when both of them felt too tired to continue and Bilbo returned to his room to get some rest. 

He returned again in the next day, and the day after it, and the next one, too. Dúnadan was indeed well versed in poetry, and the verses they made together were getting quite good, despite the struggle to capture some of the beauty of Elven languages in Common speech. But as the papers filled with verses in Bilbo's spidery script were growing in number, Aragorn's shoulder was healing too. Once he was not confined to his bed, he was harder to get a hold of, as there always seemed to be some messages from his people to read and send, scouts with their reports, and last but not least, Glorfindel. In his recovery, Aragorn spent a lot of time with him, exercising his hurt hand carefully at first, and later also sparring with him. It was easier to get a hold of Bilbo, though, and so Aragorn started to come to the old Hobbit instead of the other way round when he had some time. 

One day, when he joined Bilbo in a quiet corner in the Hall of Fire, he looked apologetic as he sat down on the cushions. "I have to leave tomorrow," he said.

"Ah..." Bilbo murmured, not knowing what else to say as he was taking it in. "You will return soon, though? Not that I would want to urge you or change your plans, of course, not because of me..."

"I hope for it," Aragorn said softly. "But I do not know."

"It's winter, though. It's not good to travel in winter. Very cold and uncomfortable. Not speaking about the other dangers that lurk in the wilderness... are you well enough for that?"

"I am now recovered fully, and my people need me."

"I don't understand. I thought Elrond is your family? Adopted, I mean..."

"Both adopted and real," Aragorn smiled a little. "He took the place of my father, when my sire was killed, but my folk are the Dúnedain and I am their Chieftain. You might know them as Rangers."

"Wait wait wait... both adopted and real?" Bilbo raised his eyebrows. "I have just been reading about that. Genealogy of Númenor. Elrond had a brother who became the first king of the realm... and then there was Elendil, and Gondor and Arnor... but that's not possible, the line of kings ended long ago..."

"You are very observant, my dear Bilbo," Aragorn smiled. "Yes, the line of kings in the North ended when there was no kingdom to rule. It continued, though, in the line of the Chieftains of the Dúnedain." 

There was a humble note in his voice as he spoke, but Bilbo's eyes widened. "Of course! Why haven't I thought of that before? Dúnadan! Dún-adan, a Man of the West! But not West of Middle-earth... West like Númenor!" He leaned back and looked at the Man again carefully, as if seeing him for the first time. 

Aragorn let him take a good look with a bit of amusement, knowing that there was nothing new to see. Bilbo seemed to think otherwise though, but it weren't the looks that interested him.

"There is no kingdom in Arnor anymore, but in Gondor there is a kingdom without a king," he said slowly. "Are you telling me that for all this time... I have been spinning rhymes with the rightful king of Gondor?"

"Rightful? Maybe," Aragorn said softly. "But right is not the same as deed, and coming to Gondor and claiming the crown would not be right without the deeds worthy of that claim."

"That sounds a bit too complicated for me..." Bilbo murmured. "But I would like to hear more about yourself, since you already started. You have been quite secretive in that area."

"Have I? It's a long-term habit, I'm afraid. But I am among friends here, and I can amend that. What would you like to know?"

They spent a few hours talking together, Bilbo's question often overcoming Dúnadan's hesitancy to speak about his achievements. But as the time passed, Bilbo was getting a bit sad and thoughtful.

"What's the matter, Bilbo?" Aragorn asked him. "Is something wrong?"

Bilbo shook his head. "No, not really... Or maybe... I don't know. I'm just having a feeling that it's happening again."

"Again? What is happening again, Bilbo?"

"I'm sorry, it's just a silly feeling... like I know that story... A king without a crown has to overcome dangers and do great deeds to reclaim his kingdom... meets a Hobbit and befriends him...."

"...and dies," Aragorn finished quietly. "You are speaking about Thorin Oakenshield, aren't you?"

Bilbo nodded. 

"Do you miss him?"

"A lot..." Bilbo sighed. "I still feel bad for having to betray him. Not that I would imply that I would betray you, or something."

"As Gandalf was telling the tale, you did not betray him. You remained true to him when he had lost himself."

"He told it like that?" Bilbo asked with surprise.

"No. I understood it like that. Gandalf told about what the dragon's gold did to Thorin's mind of a Dwarf, and how he regretted it at the end and apologized to you."

"He was a true king, at the end, even without a crown..." Bilbo whispered, lost in thought.

"He had been tested hard, but at the end, he passed. I understand your bad feeling, Bilbo. I foresee that before the end, I will be tested too, and if I will pass, and at what cost, I cannot say," Aragorn sighed.

"Oh, I did not mean to make you doubt yourself!"

"You didn't make me think anything that wasn’t already in my mind, dear Bilbo," Aragorn smiled faintly. "I'm just afraid that I can't promise you that the history won't repeat itself. I can only assure you that I will do everything that's in my power to avoid that."

"That's enough. And let me tell you, I cared for Thorin more than for the whole Dwarven treasure. It doesn't matter to me if you are a king or just a Ranger. I'm glad to have a friend here, and I will be looking forward to your coming back."

"I'm always looking forward to coming back here, but now I have one more reason. Goodbye, dear Bilbo. I will say it now, as I will be leaving at dawn and don't want to disturb your sleep."

"Goodbye," the Hobbit replied. 

But at dawn, as Aragorn said goodbyes to Elrond and Arwen, he was there. He approached shyly and bit tiredly - it seemed that he didn't sleep at all. "I wrote something for you..." he said, giving Aragorn a little envelope. "It’s not as good as I would wish, but I hope it helps… in case doubts should start bothering you again..."

 

***

October 25, 3018 T.A.

Frodo felt Bilbo stir impatiently at his side. Evidently he was annoyed on his friend’s behalf. Standing suddenly up he burst out:

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken:
The crownless again shall be king. 

“Not very good perhaps, but to the point – if you need more beyond the word of Elrond. If that was worth a journey of a hundred and ten days to hear, you had best listen to it.” He sat down with a snort.

“I made that up myself,” he whispered to Frodo, “for the Dúnadan, a long time ago when he first told me about himself. I almost wish that my adventures were not over, and that I could go with him when his day comes.”

(J.R.R.Tolkien: The Fellowship of the Ring, The Council of Elrond)

 

 

 





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