Note: The popularity of Norse, well, everything around here has never been more useful. Who would have thought? Together we conquer after all.

Chapter XLVI: The Baker and the Ferryman

The heat of the shop had still not quite penetrated the first layer of pernicious cold that clung to Aragorn's flesh and bones and very heart, but the scent of the bread was almost more than he could bear. It tantalized his nose and it tormented his tongue and it seemed likely to be the downfall of his pinched stomach. Further, it kept encroaching on his thoughts – which were already muddled enough by cold and weariness and the overwhelming sensations of being inside a dwelling of Men for the first time in many, many months. The stone walls were at once confining and comforting. There was a sense of togetherness here, in this place where a family lived and worked and laughed together, that both eased and redoubled the ache of his heart. In the addled moments after the ungracious question had been uttered, Aragorn seemed to notice a dozen small details of the workroom all at once. There was firewood neatly stacked to either side of the great bake-oven: enough to burn for many days, and to fuel small campfires for weeks or months. Huge barrels of flour and sugar stood near at hand, along with a pair of large earthenware pots surely filled with milk, jugs of honey and a neatly organized spice-box. The baker's sleeves were rolled high above his elbows, and his strong forearms were dusted with flour. Even staring at the incomers as he was, his hands kept working the dough with the skill that only long daily practice can bring. There was a little desk with a set of counters and a money-box near the back of the room, and on the floor beside it – forgotten, perhaps, in its owner's eagerness to hurry out into the fresh snow after three days' confinement in the storm – was a rag doll wearing a trailing red gown.

The baker, Kvigir if the boy in the square had spoken rightly, was still watching Aragorn with hard, suspicious eyes. Trying to drive the distractions from his mind, the Ranger coughed shallowly in hopes of clearing his cold-stiffened throat.

'Forgive me, good sir,' he said. His voice was still hoarse, coarsened by the chill and by much disuse. He swallowed painfully against the resolute flow of spittle brought on by the alien aromas of wholesome, nourishing food. 'A young man without directed me here in hopes of something to eat.'

'Did he, now?' Kvigir said cautiously. 'What young man would that be, then?'

'I did not ask his name,' said Aragorn. 'He was a tall youth, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and a new beard.'

A guarded chuckle came from the baker's lips as he punched down the dough and turned it again. 'That description would fit half the young men in the countryside,' he said. 'The other half are fair or coppery. I'm afraid that recommendation will serve you little. Still, if you've coin to buy then I'm happy to sell. Can't be too choosey in dark times like these: more folk than ever taking the westward road, but fewer each month with money to spend, it seems.' His tone implied that he thought, and rightly enough, that this traveller looked like one of that undesirable sort.

When a man went a-begging, Aragorn had long ago discovered, it was best to be both forthright and brief. 'Alas, I have no money,' he said. 'My companion and I have travelled long by hard and lonely roads, and we have not eaten since the first dawn of the storm that has just passed. I had hoped perhaps you might have some old bread that you would see fit to give us in pity's name.'

Kvigir's heavy black brows furrowed perplexedly. 'You've a silver tongue for a beggar, man,' he said. 'And those boots have seen better days, but they've a fit you didn't take from a corpse or buy from a cobbler. Tell me who you are, and what sort of a creature that is you're leading, and we'll see if there's any old bread going. I'll save my pity for my own people, thank you, but for a good tale on a cold day I might find a crust to spare.'

'A tale I can give you,' said Aragorn. His voice was faltering, for now at last the warmth was starting to find its way through his rags and deep warning tremors had started in his chest. In another few minutes he would be quaking uncontrollably, teeth chattering and hands shaking as his chilled blood began to move again. 'But not that one. I am a stranger born beyond the mountains, and my companion is my affair. As you have rightly said these are dark times, and I cannot be free with my name.'

The look of intrigued puzzlement darkened into a deep, resentful scowl. 'So that's how it is,' the baker grumbled. 'I'm to be generous with my hearth and my wares, while you keep your secrets and give nothing in return. I think you'll find them that has to grovel for their daily fare are more successful when they don't act as if they're the ones doling out favours!'

Aragorn's tired mind was struggling to find the words for a fitting apology that would not place him under any obligation to betray himself when the door to the shop opened and a pair of little girls came tumbling in. They were dressed in warm woollen kirtles and the short sleeveless overdresses that the women of this land favoured, and over these they had thick hoods and capes lined with wolf-fur – for the Beornings as a rule hunted only those beasts that meant harm to them or their flocks. One had red mittens and the other yellow, and despite their matching mufflers their cheeks were rosy from the cold. They were perhaps a year and a half apart in age: Aragorn would have made them six and not-quite-eight.

Suddenly the room was aflood with laughter and eager gabbling as the girls stamped the snow from their sturdy felted shoes and unwrapped one another's scarves and tossed their little capes in a heap by the door. Kvigir gathered his dough into a mound and covered it with a damp napkin, then brushed his floury hands and rounded the table so that he could kneel and take a girl in each large arm.

'Is that so, now?' he asked, speaking in response to something the younger one had said over her sister's happy prattle. 'And did you tell him how he ought to be using it?'

The child giggled and bobbed her head so that her unruly black curls danced. Her sister donned an impish smile and leaned forward to whisper in the baker's ear. He frowned thoughtfully for a moment, clearly playing upon her anticipation, and then nodded.

'Aye, go on, then,' he said. 'But don't tell your mother or she'll think I've put you off your supper.'

'Don't be silly, Da,' the girl laughed. 'I'm hungry enough to eat a wagon.'

'She means a dragon,' said the smaller one. 'I said that: I said "I'm hungry enough to eat a dragon!".'

'I do not either mean "dragon",' said her sister. 'I mean "wagon", hitching-pins and all! I'm hungrier than you are because I'm older.'

'I'm hungrier than you are because I'm littler! I've got a smaller tum, now haven't I?' the other contradicted. Their father laughed and got to his feet, one broad hand upon each small head.

'Now, now,' he said; 'after tumbling all afternoon in the snow I should think you're both near as hungry as this saucy fellow, and you had best start quarrelling before your mother comes down and insists you wait for your meal!'

When he said this he jerked his head in Aragorn's direction, and the girls seemed to notice the stranger for the first time. They both looked up at him, brown eyes wide as millstones. Then the older one looked down at Gollum and shrieked.

'What is it, Da?' she cried. 'Oh, what is it, what is it? It's horrid!' She bolted like a startled hare and hid herself behind the money-desk, peering out from around it with one frightened eye.

The younger girl wrinkled her nose and smoothed her skirts primly. 'It stinks,' she said in a very matter-of-fact tone.

Gollum, who had been tense and wary since Aragorn had first drawn near the town, now glowered fiercely and bared his sparse teeth at the child. Affronted, she planted her hands on her hips in a gesture oddly reminiscent of the young man in the square, and stuck out her tongue at him. Gollum goggled at her, utterly taken aback by the girl's temerity.

'Now, Dryffa, that's not a comely face for a maiden to put on,' her father scolded fondly. 'It's true that it does stink, and it's certainly not welcome here, but you must remember your manners anyhow. Now go and fetch a cake for yourself and one for your sister, and you can go back into the storeroom and eat them before you go upstairs.'

'Yes, Da,' little Dryffa said sweetly. She stood up on the tips of her toes and Kvigir leaned down for a kiss, then tickled her cheeks with his whiskers and sent her trotting towards the shelves of wares with a gentle tap in the small of her back. With tremendous solemnity and almost exaggerated care, she took two sticky-looking honey-cakes from a tray heaped high with them, and rounded the desk to offer one to her sister. Then the pair of them retreated through a door in the wall to the left of the entrance and the two men – and Gollum – were left alone in the front of the shop.

'You have b-beautiful children,' Aragorn said, softly and with all his heart. His teeth were starting to click now as the shivering began in earnest, and he tried with what was left of his strength to keep from shuddering visibly.

Where a similar remark to the lady of the Rohirrim had softened her eyes, it seemed here to harden those of the bearded baker. The kindliness he had offered his daughters vanished entirely and he glared at the Ranger.

'See here,' he said. 'You've come into my shop without means to buy anything, wasting my time and putting on airs about your name, and that I can just about excuse because a man's not himself when he's starved and I can see you've not had much to be going on with for some time now. But that thing you've got with you has frightened my Katrín, and that I can't abide. What's more it's putting a reek in the air, and you're not so fair-smelling yourself. Day-old loaves are a copper each, and two-day bread's three for a penny. If you haven't got a penny that's none of my affair: anything left beyond two days I give to old Einarr's widow and her little grandsons, whose father was killed by bandits three years back. I'm not taking food from the mouths of my own folk just to give it to a worthless vagabond, so I suggest you get on your way before I lose my patience and turf you out!'

Aragorn's back straightened by several degrees more than he would have thought possible five minutes before, but it was not the stern words or the refusal of his ignominious request that made him do so. He felt more ashamed now than he had at any time since the terrible day when he had despaired of the hunt and turned defeated eyes to the north. He lowered his eyes and bowed his head.

'Your pardon, good sir,' he said softly. 'Whatever my need I would not take that which was meant for a poor woman and the orphans in her care. I thank you for your courtesy and for the warmth of your fire, and I bid you good day. May your daughters grow in health and beauty, and your shop always prosper even in dark times.'

He turned, rather awkwardly because Gollum seemed reluctant to shift, and hobbled on feet that were still numb and frozen for the door. His clumsy chilled fingers fumbled with the latch, but he managed somehow to get it open and tried not to flinch as the bitter air struck his face and a core that had only just begun to warm a little.

'Wait—' Kvigir barked, and Aragorn looked back over his shoulder. Strange, muddled emotions were warring on the baker's face as he stared at the intruder as though he had only just truly seen him. No doubt he had expected angry words and fierce imprecations to follow his refusal of alms, and when they had not come he seemed at a loss. But at last he shook his head and wafted an uneasy hand and said gruffly; 'Go on, begone, and take that wretched thing with you.'

Aragorn nodded quietly and stepped back out into the ache of the winter evening.

lar

Not wishing to force the man to drive him away again, Aragorn stumbled down the two stone steps before the shop and shuffled away to the mouth of the alley beside it. There was a barrel here, positioned to catch the rain from the eaves in more clement months but now half-filled with ice. He bent his weary knees so that he could brace himself against its rim and take some of his weight off of his legs. Those few minutes in the heat of the bakehouse had been worse than no warmth at all, for the parts of him that had begun to thaw now rebelled with all their might against the cold to which they had almost become accustomed. His eyes, all but used to being rimmed in fine ice, watered afresh and stung him cruelly. The tremors in the muscles of his chest and the deep ache in his ribs redoubled so that he had to clutch himself not only to keep the blanket in place, but to maintain an upright position. The tip of his nose was tingling fiercely, as were his lips and the lobes of his ears. And the little rivulets of melt-water from his hair and his beard began to freeze again, tugging at the skin of his face and neck.

At his feet, Gollum seemed to be undergoing similar torments. He squatted so that only his toes and the balls of his feet were in the snow, and he wrapped the twigs of his arms around bony legs so that the great knobs of his knees were drawn up over his chin. He rocked there at the end of his lead, muttering miserably to himself. Though he did not want to listen, Aragorn found himself picking out the words anyhow.

'… nice eggses, precious, all in a row and wanted by no one. But does we get them, gollum? Does we take them and break them and suck out their insides? No, no, we're tied and we're trapped and we're hungry, preciousss. We works so hard, walking in the snow and the ice and the cold, and nothing to show for it, no, nothing at all. Nothing but cold toeses and cold noses and poor cold handses, pretty handses, gollum, all blue and hurting. Stupid great manses, takes us away into the cold again, curse him. Nothing to eat and nowhere to sleep and no nice dark holes to hide in. Nothing but snowses and Yellow Face and poor empty bellies, gollum. Nothing, nothing at all…'

Yellow Face at least was sinking: the square was stained in hues of gold and orange and crimson, and the shopkeepers were beginning to shutter their windows for the night. Aragorn watched these simple, homey chores because he dreaded to think about anything else. He was too exhausted to face his troubles, and yet face them he must. With dark coming on he had no chance of meeting the ferry that day, which meant he would have to spend the night in the village. He did not expect any of the other merchants would take more kindly to him than the baker had, and he in any case he was not of a mind to try. The mention of the old woman and her grandsons had struck him deeply: it was as well that the man had proved suspicious and reluctant, for Aragorn would never have wished to deprive her of her bread. Though his need was great there were others with greater needs and more pressing responsibilities. He might be obliged to feed his belligerent prisoner, but that was nothing to the duty and the worry of keeping small children fed and healthy.

Still, he thought, begging for little boys was surely easier than begging with Gollum. Alone he might have gone in search of the inn. He had known a landlord or two willing to give a hungry traveller the leavings from the plates of paying customers, particularly in exchange for performing some hard or menial task they did not want to bully their own workers into doing. On a cold night such as this there were surely such chores in abundance: drawing water or hewing wood, mucking out the stalls of the stables or climbing the roof to put right a leaking slate. But with Gollum in tow Aragorn was not much use as a labourer, and he would certainly not be welcome in the chimney-corner of a cheerful common-room. He might try knocking at the back doors of the more prosperous homes in the town, but though his chance of a crust or a helping of pottage would be slightly better there than at the inn, the chance of a warm place to rest would be less. And it was warmth he needed more urgently than food, or he might not last the night penned up in the town walls with nowhere to walk to keep himself from freezing.

Above him a shutter in the upper story of the bakehouse came flying open with a bang. He did not trouble to look up, but he could not help but hear the effervescent laughter from within and the low hum of a chiding voice.

'But Mam, it's so hot in here!' Dryffa's merry tongue protested. 'The oven makes it ever so hot!'

'That's as may be, but close the window and come and sit!' a woman argued with loving impatience. 'Letting in the night air is all very well when it's not likely to freeze the water in the washbasin, but tonight—'

The sound was cut off abruptly as the shutter was pulled closed again, but Aragorn had heard what he needed. He was a fool for sitting here, stupid with the cold, on the wrong wall of the bakehouse. If he was going to loiter about grappling with his troubles, he might at least do so in a better spot. He dragged himself back onto his unfeeling feet and took a hamfisted hold on the rope again.

'Come along,' he mumbled, though he knew his words were wasted on Gollum. Then he turned his back on the little town square and started down into the gloom of the alley.

The snow had drifted against the wall of the building, and Aragorn walked where it was shallowest. He rounded the corner and had to fight the urge to sink to his knees in abject relief. The stone façade of the building was broken by a large dome of brick that protruded out from the rest of the wall and rose into a fat, towering chimney. It was the back of the baker's oven and the stack that vented its lower chamber where the wood-fire was laid. All about it was a ring of bare packed earth where the snow could not take hold because of the heat that bled through the brick day and night.

Aragorn moved to where stone and brick met, and lowered his weary body to the ground with the aid of the wall. He drew into the corner as snugly as he could and he twisted his body so that he could press his shoulder and his flank and the whole length of his right leg against the rough surface. The oven was well-made and doubtless insulated with a double layer of brick, but the embers within burned so hot that it could not help but radiate some measure off the warmth within. Aragorn felt exhausted muscles releasing a little as his body curled instinctively around the wall of the kiln. He turned his face inward that he might rest his brow and his right cheek against it. The blanket he tugged as close about his exposed left side as he could manage, and then let himself rest, sheltered from the faint twilight wind and warmed a little at last. He longed to press his frozen palms to the bricks, but his hands were curled into blue cold-stiffened talons and try as he might he could not quite force his fingers to uncurl enough to allow it. So he set his knuckles to the wall instead and felt the awful numbness retreat a pace or two.

At first Gollum had been staring at the Ranger as if he had at last taken leave of his senses. Then, when he recognized what the Man was doing he too came near and curled against the bricks. So they sat as night gathered. Soon Aragorn was shivering violently and incessantly, and the waste-heat of the bakery was not enough to do more for him than that. But he could feel the ache in his hands again, and that meant they had thawed at least a little, and the numbness below his knees retreated almost to his ankles.

He meant to rouse himself, truly he did: to solve the problems of food and shelter and to seek out some better place to pass the night. But after so long in the cold emptiness of the wild this simple warm wall was too much comfort to abandon merely so that he could wander out into dark and friendless streets. So he huddled there, drifting in and out of half-waking dreams filled with the laughter of children – not the dauntless merry children of the Beornings, but small grey-eyed darlings all his own; little daughters with their mother's silken hair and her graceful dancing limbs, one tall maiden with wise and knowing eyes and the smile of her grandsire, and a strong and noble son with the courage of his kindred.

lar

Daylight came at last and found the pair of strange beggars still sheltered in the alley, gleaning the warmth of the bake-oven. It was torture to force his sore limbs to lift him and to tear his body away from that blessed heat, but somehow Aragorn managed it. His stomach was snarling wrathfully, egged on by the scent of the morning's loaves upon the cold air, but he did his utmost to ignore it. Another day's hunger would not be his death, and today he had harder labours to see to than begging for food. Somehow or other, he had to talk his way across to the Carrock, when he had no more coin to pay the ferryman than he had had to spend on bread the night before.

Gollum snarled when Aragorn began to walk, just as reluctant as his escort to abandon the small comfort of the wall, but he came before the rope could draw too tight. The morning's business was just commencing in the square, and Aragorn waylaid a prosperous-looking man in a heavy fringed coat to ask for directions to the water-gate.

'Just down that street; follow it all the way to its end,' the man said, looking from Aragorn to Gollum and back. 'But he'll not be abroad at this hour, and in any case he'll be wanting to know you can pay for his services.'

'Yes, of course,' said Aragorn with far more confidence than he felt. 'I thank you.'

It was not a long walk, and the water-gate was open. Like the other entrance to the town it was flanked by two little wooden towers, and the lower door of one was braced ajar. Inside, a gangly man with a long brown beard was sitting by a brazier with a mug of ale. He did not even look up as the travellers passed him and moved under the arch of the gate.

It opened on a narrow way carved between the cliffs over Anduin. The path wound down to the river's narrow shore, where a sturdy wooden pier had been built, and upstream of it a cofferdam to break Anduin's current and prolong the life of the pilings. In the calm of this barrier the ferry was moored: a shallow-bottomed vessel with a deck of planks and only a low rim about it to keep the worst of the water away. Oarlocks were set on two sides, and there was a rudder, but it was a simple boat indeed, and light. It was meant for men and perhaps a horse or two: any who travelled with wains or caravans or large quantities of livestock had to cross away south at the Old Ford, which the Beornings also tended. But this was the simple way, the quieter way, and the way least likely to be watched if the servants of the Enemy waited on Anduin's far bank. It was also the way that brought Aragorn nearest to the gates of Mirkwood where the Elf-road cut the swiftest path to the haven of Thranduil's halls through otherwise debatable country.

The ferryman lived in a sturdy stone cottage perched up on the cliff overlooking his dock. There was smoke in the chimney and candlelight behind the costly glass windows, but Aragorn did not venture up the path to rouse the man to his labours. He would find it difficult enough to gain passage: he did not want to begin that negotiation by dragging his needed patron away from his breakfast. So he descended the rocky steps that led to the dock, and sat upon the edge of the pier. It had been cleaned of its snow the night before, and though there were patches of ice where wet feet had trod he was able to find a dry place to settle himself. At another time he might have let his legs swing out over the water, but his feet were still numb and his knees ached, and so he brought his legs up near his chest and drew his blanket around them and shivered until the chill settled deep in his bones and his limbs resigned themselves again to the calm, cruel cold.

For once Gollum was uncomplaining. He lay down on his belly with his head and shoulders out over the water, hands gripping the edge of the peer while his fingers grasped and released and greedy eyes searched the waters below. Aragorn supposed that he was looking for fish, but how he hoped to catch one if he saw them the Ranger could not imagine.

They had been sitting for nearly an hour when the door of the cottage above opened at last, and the ferryman and his sons came down. All three were broad-shouldered and thick with muscle. They wore stout leather boots and thick woollen garments under layers of oilcloth. The two younger men went straight past Aragorn to the shed at the end of the pier, and began unloading oars and poles and coils of heavy rope. The ferryman himself stopped short of the strangers and looked down upon them with a critical eye.

'You're abroad early on a cold morning, aren't you?' he asked, then clapped each hand to the opposite arm and gave an exaggerated shiver. 'Colder even than yesterday, and like to be colder tomorrow. Do you suppose spring will ever come?'

'The Sun must rise, and spring must come,' said Aragorn, unfolding his limbs and struggling to stand up with dignity; 'and each shall do it in their own time. The Sun has risen at least, and that should cheer us.'

'Should it, indeed?' the ferryman grunted. 'Well, you'd know more about it than I. Riding for Carrock, I suppose?'

'Yes,' said Aragorn; 'unless your boat can bear me all the way to Lake-town, over the dells and through the forest.' He had no wish to travel so far, of course, and in any case it was not a journey that could be made by water alone, but he could not take the same tone here as he had with the baker. To begin, he had better chance of swaying watermen if they thought him jolly company, and for another his efforts with the baker had failed.

As he had hoped, the ferryman laughed. 'Would that I could, for then I should be the richest man in all these lands. Folk would pay any price to be spared that road. Is that where you're bound, then?'

'Away in that direction,' said Aragorn; 'but this morning I will be content if you can take me as far as the Carrock. I might have crossed yesterday, save that I came too late to the town and tarried too long.'

The ferryman chuckled. 'Afvald and his ale, no doubt. It's a wonder you're not sporting a sore head.'

'Sore enough,' said Aragorn, putting on a rueful face. If his head ached it was from hunger and the constant stream of frigid air he had to draw in through his nostrils. 'But tell me, what are your sailing times?'

'In autumn I sail every hour,' said the man; 'more often if I've a full load waiting. In summer, every two, wither or no. In a few weeks' time, if only this cold will break, I shall sail as I can – not at all on some days, if the river's too high. But in winter I sail when I have me a fare: if you're ready to go I can take you as soon as the lads have her trimmed. Here, lads! Hurry it up: this good man wants to be on his way!'

The two young men were down on the ferry now, setting posts into holes in her bulwarks and stringing rope between them. One straightened his back and grinned, waving affably to his father in a gesture of assent. The older man grunted again, more contentedly this time, and turned his attention back to Aragorn.

'Have you much for baggage? Any horses?' he asked.

Aragorn shook his head. 'No baggage and no steeds: only my companion and I. Perhaps we ought to wait until you have more passengers.'

'You might wait an hour, or you might wait a week,' the ferryman said, plucking at his beard with the air of a shrewd businessman mourning the slowness of the season. 'Not many abroad this time of year. The roads are dangerous, and the mountain passes deadly. You'll not be well-travelled, I suppose, if you don't know that.'

'Oh, I am quite well-travelled,' Aragorn said simply; 'though I do not often come this way. I rode your ferry once before, sixteen years past, though I'm sure you've had too many passengers over the years to remember one such as me.'

'There you're right, I'm afraid,' the man said, squinting to study the Ranger's face. 'Though if you looked much like this last time you passed through, it's a wonder I don't. You'll forgive me for asking, but you've not got the wasting sickness, have you?'

'No,' Aragorn assured him. 'But I have had a hard journey and I am weary.'

'Hard journeys are one thing, but you've a… that is… well…' The man jabbed one gloved hand under his own nose and made an awkward grimace.

Understanding at last, Aragorn brought his arm out from the shelter of the blanket and blotted at his right nostril with the side of his hand. It came away streaked with dark half-frozen blood. 'I took a blow to it,' he said, once again striving to sound full of good-natured regret. And it was true, but the blow he had taken twelve days ago, and it should not still be causing his nose to bleed even with the added strain of the bitter winter air. He swallowed the flutter of worry, for there was naught to be done about it.

The ferryman chuckled. 'Afvald and his ale,' he said again. 'Who did you run afoul of?'

'I cannot say,' said Aragorn, honestly enough. Beside him Gollum was shifting from one foot to another.

The planks of the pier shook a little as the taller of the two young men hopped up onto the ladder and came to join his father. 'We're ready to sail,' he said, then stopped as he got a good look at Aragorn and the creature on the end of the rope. He frowned in bewilderment. 'Da…' he mumbled uneasily.

If the ferryman heard, he gave no indication. Instead he gave a little sweeping bow and flung out his arm towards the vessel. 'This way, sir: your proud ship awaits! Ordinarily I ask a silver piece a passenger this time o' the year, but seeing as your friend there is such a small one I'll let him ride free.'

'That is most generous,' said Aragorn. The moment was upon him at last, and he could only hope that what rapport he had been able to build with the man would be enough to win him a favour. 'Yet I fear I must trespass a little further on your generosity, for I have no silver to give you. No coin at all, in fact. I am on an urgent errand and I must cross the river, but I have not the means to pay.'

'That's all right,' the ferryman said cheerfully. 'I take payment in kind as well. Cloth, chickens, jewels, goods. Why, I once carried an Elf who left me a strand of his hair. Sold it at market for a gold piece, I did. Good-luck talisman, you know. What d'you have to trade?'

Though Aragorn knew the answer he could not help but run through the meagre catalogue of his possessions. There were his garments: shirt, braies, cote, two ragged pairs of hose. The blanket and his boots and his belt. His knife and its sheath, his pouch, a handful of stones and an improvised sling, flint and steel, and the orc-rope. And there was Gollum, of course, but even if he might have parted with him surely no one would be mad enough to want him.

'I have nothing,' he said, drawing back the edge of the blanket to show his tattered tunic. 'I am destitute, and I must cross the river. Would you have me swim it?'

'That's a fine looking little blade,' the ferryman said, nodding to the knife. 'Let me see it: it might do.'

'I cannot be parted from my knife,' Aragorn said. 'I carry no other weapon, and if I am to walk through Mirkwood I cannot go unarmed.'

'Seems near enough to unarmed to me,' the man said. 'I'd not walk that way without a stout yew bow and a brace of sell-swords to guard me! But I take your point. What about that pin?'

Aragorn's hand crept up to his throat to the ring-brooch that Aithron had given him. He had all but forgotten it, but now he remembered the labour of clutching an unclasped cloak to him after his escape from the orcs in Ithilien. Were his frozen fingers even capable of such a task? If he could not keep the blanket snug about his neck then he had no means to guard his throat from taking a chill in the bitter air. Yet here Anduin flowed swift and deep, and in such fearsome cold as this he would not live long enough to light a fire even if he reached the far bank.

Fumbling, he freed the little fold of wool. The blanket slithered off of his shoulders and his left hand caught it before it could fall to the planks. He held out the little piece of jewellery.

The ferryman took it and turned it over in his hand. He frowned. 'Why, it's only brass,' he said, sounding very disappointed. 'Light brass, at that. Strong, though?' he asked hopefully.

'Sufficiently strong for its duty,' said Aragorn. The muscles of his back were beginning to jump and twitch in the cold, and he struggled to arrange the blanket over his shoulders again. He tried to pinch the edges together at his throat, but had to settle for taking a clumsy fistful further down his chest.

'Pretty, though, with these vines cast into it,' the man mused. He handed it to his son. 'What d'you suppose it might get us?'

The younger man did not seem to think much of the work of the goldwrights of Lothlórien, for he shrugged and said, 'Its weight when melted? And that's not much. Might be enough of a fare for one among a crowd, but for a whole run on its own, and in this cold? I say no.'

The ferryman took it back and sighed in exasperation. 'Have you nothing else?' he asked.

'Nothing,' said Aragorn, but before they would believe him he had to turn out the contents of his pouch. The ferryman's son seemed enamoured of the ornately shaped firesteel, but his father shook his head.

'Can't take that any more than we could take the knife. Weather like this you'd die without a fire at night.' He exhaled heavily and scrubbed a hand through his beard, looking Aragorn over from head to toe and lingering overlong at the loose fit of his threadbare cote. 'I'll tell you what,' he said, handing the brooch back. 'If you'll wait until we've another passenger – a paying passenger – then we'll carry you and that curious pet of yours if you'll trade your steel for Makan's, since he's taken such a fancy to it.'

Aragorn did not want to wait, but he knew this was the best bargain he would be able to strike and he was lucky indeed to strike it. Still he would not agree until he saw the steel that he was to change for his own. Though it was an ugly thing in comparison to the one made in Imladris by the Noldorin smiths who delighted to bring beauty to even their humblest creations, it was whole and sound and it produced a strong spark. He consented, and the ferryman offered a hand to shake on the agreement. Then there was nothing to do but sit back down on the bare wood of the pier and try to keep from freezing while he waited, hoping that more custom would pass this way soon.

While he sat he struggled to fasten his makeshift cloak again. The ferryman and his sons spent some time sorting through the contents of their little shed, and then went off to a place near the foot of their homeward path where there were signs of frequent fires. They built one and sat around it on broad flat boulders, holding their hands to the heat and laughing together. Aragorn longed to get up and beg leave to join them, but he knew that he was pressing their good graces as it was. He got up to pace instead, hoping to warm himself a little, but all that he achieved was to send his hips throbbing again. The day grew colder as the Sun climbed higher, and a thick mist began to rise from the water. It was coming on to noontide, and Aragorn was beginning to fear that no one might come to use the ferry that day when he heard a sound of whistling on the descent from the water-gate.

He scrambled to his feet again, and closed his fist about Gollum's rope. The ferrymen, too, rose at the noise and Makan banked the embers of their fire. Down onto the pier came a man with a bundle strapped to his back, a covered basket over one arm, and a bolt of cloth balanced on the opposite shoulder. As he drew nearer Aragorn recognized the youth he had met in the square the day before.

The boy cried out greetings to the ferryman and his boys, and they relieved him of his bundle and the cloth. While the younger son and the youth walked together, talking eagerly like two old friends who seldom meet, Makan beckoned to Aragorn and held out his ungainly firesteel.

'He always pays well, and so we'll turn a good profit even with you to carry,' he said grudgingly as Aragorn handed off his own tool and tucked the other into his pouch in its place. 'Don't you pester him: he's worth more than you and all your longfathers put together. My old da may take a liking to any jesting traveller, but I know a beggar when I see one. And keep that thing—' Here he jabbed a disgusted thumb at Gollum. '—by your boot where it belongs. Any trouble and I'll tip you both into the river.'

'I understand,' said Aragorn humbly. 'I am grateful for your generosity. I will not abuse it.'

'See that you don't!' the man snapped.

He led the way down to the ladder. His father, his brother, and the prosperous passenger were already on the ferry, with the baggage settled on a raised platform near its centre. Makan went first and Aragorn hurried after. He had feared that there would be trouble in getting Gollum to descend, but there was not. He scuttled down the ladder like an accomplished sailor and leaned against the low bulwark, watching the water intently.

The ferryman took the rudder, and his sons loosed the moorings. Makan took a great, heavy pole and dug it deep into the riverbed, pushing off out of the shelter of the cofferdam. The current caught the vessel and drew them out into Anduin's swift-flowing breadth. There was no work for the two apprentices after that: only the ferryman worked, guiding the rudder to keep them on a true course. For the upstream journey there were heavy oars laid by: then the two young men would have hard rowing. Instead they stood amidship with their favoured passenger, while Aragorn stayed near the prow with Gollum by his side. The cold was less terrible here, where the relative warmth of the river water rose in misty tendrils. Grateful for that small grace, Aragorn kept his eyes fixed ahead upon the rapidly-nearing mass of the Carrock. The long western leg of his journey was over. The last and perhaps most perilous road lay ahead.