Chapter XLIX: The Wanderer's Tales

With his bandaged fingers, Aragorn was obliged to wriggle awkwardly into his shirt, which someone had taken the trouble to wash for him. His cote had been aired and dried, and with great care he eased his arm into the dangling left sleeve, tugging with his thumbs until the cloth on both sides of the rent was settled into place. He reached into the right sleeve with less trouble, but with his burning hands wrapped he could not lace the garment, and fastening his belt was impossible. He settled the cloth low about his hips and drew his legs out of the cosy cover of the blankets that he might study his feet. The skin was a raw and livid red to well above each ankle (at least where it was not dark with bruises) and there were open sores on the joints of each toe that stung and tingled fiercely, but there was no sign of deep frostbite and no infection in the wounds. With some fumbling he donned the soft felt shoes, and then sat with his legs half-crossed and his hands in his lap, fighting the urge to sink back down against the comfort of the straw mattress and drift off to sleep again.

The floorboards creaked as Randbeorn came to crouch beside him. 'If you have need of an arm to bear you up, I am happy to offer mine,' he said.

Aragorn shook his head. 'I can stand on my own, I think.' He paused, reluctant, then sighed and gestured with his restricted hands. 'If you would consent to buckle my belt I would be grateful,' he murmured.

The other man nodded and fixed the length of leather about the Ranger's waist, buckling it more loosely than Aragorn himself would have done, but snugly enough to keep his clothing in place. With a soft word of thanks Aragorn curled his legs and got up onto one knee. His left foot he planted on the floor at the side of the mattress, and the two dogs who had slept so faithfully at his back shifted to give him room to manoeuvre. Carefully and steadily he transferred his weight onto his foot, breathing into the pain of putting pressure upon the tender thawed sole. His right thigh straightened, straining a little along the scar-line, and when he reached the tipping-point of his weight he managed to rise almost smoothly, his head reeling only a little. He stood unmoving for a moment, both to let the dizziness pass and so that he could arrange his shirt and cote to cover himself more decently. The lacing-edges of his tunic, meant to meet with only a little ease, lapped over one another from the base of his breastbone to well below his waist, and though the ragged lower edge provided little modesty the shirt beneath was whole and long, reaching well down his thighs. It was not an elegant mode of dress – indeed he fancied he looked quite foolish with his gangling legs bare beneath the fine linen hem and the fringe of cut and fraying wool – but it would serve until he had the opportunity to ask what had been done with his hose.

'Are you well? Should I help you to—'

'I am well,' Aragorn sighed. He had not realized how long he had been staring down at his body. He raised his head and tried to straighten his back out of its lingering sag of weariness, and fixed his gaze upon the long table perhaps ten strides from where he stood. Cautiously but with firm resolve he took the first tortured step. Jolts of cold fire shot up into the muscles of his calf and along the bones and up towards his hip, dispersing there into fine tendrils of harmonic prickling. The second step was just as miserable, with his other leg responding as its mate had done, and then after that he found that he could bear it after all and he hobbled onward.

Randbeorn hurried ahead, pulling his father's great chair aside. Aragorn shook his head.

'Not there,' he breathed, surprised to find how shallowly his breath was coming. He drew in a deeper lungful and tried to beat back the pain. 'Not in the place of the master of the house: it is not fitting.'

'Take my brother's place, then,' the man said, moving to shift the chair in which Grimbeorn had sat the night before; third in precedence and more suitable for a guest, however honoured. 'He will not be dining with the rest of us.'

Gratefully Aragorn eased himself off of his protesting feet, bracing his elbows against the armrests as he shifted into an almost comfortable position. Below the sharp, brilliant anguish from his lately-frozen extremities he could feel the low sawing protest of a hundred aches in his limbs and his back and his chest and in the loop of muscle that worked his jaw. Even the root of his tongue was sore.

'I trust he has gone to his rest?' he asked, trying as much to distract himself as to hide his misery from his host. 'Even a single night of guarding my captive is a wearisome chore.'

'I've scarcely had three hours of it, and I agree,' said Randbeorn; 'but no; my brother is not sleeping. Having given his word he would not lay by his charge for anything so petty. He has gone to bake the travel-cakes to send with you when you are well enough to move on. The making of them is our grandsire's great secret, and of all the family Baldbeorn has the largest measure of his talent. He will dine in the bakehouse sooner than leave them unattended.'

Aragorn found himself unable to speak. He had no claim upon the aid of these good folk, and yet it seemed their generosity was without measure. He bowed his head and struggled to find the words that might serve to express his gratitude. Yet ere he could do so firm footfalls approached and he raised his eyes as Eira wife of Grimbeorn rounded behind him and sat in her husband's chair. She had a basin of water balanced on one hip, and the other arm held towels, fresh rolls of bandages, and a little earthware crock with a waxed linen cover. She smiled earnestly as she arranged her tools and spread one of the towels over the corner of the table, which was covered now with a beautiful cloth embroidered with brightly-coloured animals.

'Time to have a look at your hands, Aragorn,' she said. She glanced up at her son and nodded towards the kitchen door. 'Go and tell them we will be ready to dine in a quarter of an hour.'

The man moved off and Aragorn laid his hands upon the towel. With careful practiced movements the lady unwrapped the lengths that bound his right thumb, tugging gently when she came to a place where the cloth was pasted to the skin with the pale crust of a chilblain. When it did not come away of its own accord she lifted his wrist and eased his hand into the water. It was very warm and as it soaked through the bandages the fire in Aragorn's nerves began anew. He screwed his eyes tightly closed against the urge to moan, but forced himself to look again as the last of the wrappings came away.

His hand looked much as it had the night before, save that the sores were crusting over and two of the blisters had broken. He tried to move his fingers, and found that the knuckles were so swollen that he could not make a tight fist. The motion caused fresh cracks to open up in the brittle skin and a little pink cloud of blood came up from one of them.

'Easy, now,' said Eira. 'They'll heal in good time, provided you keep them warm and dry.' She lifted his hand with care and skimmed her thumbnail lightly along each fingertip in turn. 'Can you feel that?'

Aragorn nodded. She started to pinch them instead, blanching the nails and watching as the blood rushed back. 'You know well your craft, my lady,' he said in honest approval. He shied from the thought of what might have befallen him without such a capable caregiver.

She clicked her tongue against her teeth. 'You're not the first such sufferer I've treated; it's a hard life in these lands, and the weather can turn swift as a diving falcon. Though I meant what I said last evening about you being the most uncomplaining. You've suffered through this before, haven't you?'

'Once or twice.' Aragorn's breath caught in his throat as his left hand slid into the water. 'Never quite so dramatically.'

Eira rolled one shoulder in a ghost of a shrug. 'The longer we live, the more life surprises. But how long have you been out in the cold with nothing to cover them?'

'I first met snowfall three days' south of the River Gladden,' Aragorn said, equivocating a little. The truth was that he did not remember quite when his hands had first begun to trouble him, but he thought it was almost immediately out of Lórien. 'That was… a little over a fortnight ago, I believe.'

'Too long,' said Eira mournfully. 'Far, far too long. You've a fire in your blood, and no mistake: by rights you ought to have lost a finger or two.'

'Good fortune has found me, then,' said Aragorn. She looked questioningly at him as she tested each finger, and he nodded. 'I can feel them. The third finger spikes sharply, but that should mend with time.'

'Will you give it time?' she asked him, fixing him with a firm insistent eye. 'You are welcome to tarry as long as you wish: will you stay until you are healed?'

The temptation was terrible. To rest here three days, or four – perhaps even a week – until his hurts were eased and his weariness salved and his belly grown used to plentiful wholesome foods seemed a boon scarcely to be imagined. Yet he had come so far in such dreadful haste, and he was now once more on the east bank of Anduin. Here he had to fear not only the ordinary risks of the Wilderland, but the watchers of Dol Guldur who might well be seeking for the craven little captive that had escaped, or been allowed to escape, from the dungeons of Sauron himself. The last leg of the road was brief but perilous, and the longer he lingered the greater the risks.

'I cannot,' he said. 'I must press on: time is a luxury I can ill afford. I have slept; when I have eaten again I will see what can be done to prepare myself for the road ahead, and then I must depart.'

'There is no question of departing today!' Eira exclaimed. In her fierce expression Aragorn could see the woman who was the equal of Beorn's renowned son. 'The cold is worse than yesterday, and if you chill these hands again so soon then you are bound to lose fingers.' She put her hand on his right forearm, feeling the hard lean muscles of a swordsman. 'How shall you wield a blade then?'

She was wise, and yet Aragorn found himself chafing against the delay. He looked down the hall to where Gollum was still curled in a tight ball with his head tucked under one brittle arm. Another night's rest would do them both good, and he could be on his way in the morning. Even if he might have braved the chance of pursuit and remain here longer, he could not ask his hosts to continue to harbour such a sly and dangerous creature in their home – among their children. One more night, to allow the inflammation in his hands to ease a little and his feet to regain some of their strength, and then onward in the last rapid push to Thranduil's halls.

'I will stay tonight, if you will have me,' he said. 'Longer than that I do not dare. My errand is a pressing one and not without peril. I have travelled many hundreds of miles to bring my charge this far, and I am so near the end of my journey that I dare not delay.'

'Then I do what I can for you,' said Eira. She took the cover off of her little dish and took up a fingerful of a smooth golden salve. She held it out so that Aragorn could catch the scent of it: fennel and lavender, honey and the rich warm scent of beeswax. 'Thinned with beechnut oil,' she told him, doubtless noting the calculating look in his eyes. 'It will soothe the sores and ease the ache, and it will keep the water in your skin while sealing out the damp. You ought to rub a little on your lips as well; the cold wind has done them no favours.' She spread the balm over the first two fingers of each hand and then began to rub it gently into his left palm.

Aragorn took a little with his right forefinger and dabbed it against the rough riven surface of his lower lip. There was an initial burst of stinging discomfort that dimmed almost at once into quiet relief. He pressed his lips together to spread the unguent and then felt with his small fingers to find the places where his face had been burned by the bitter air, that he might cover them also. He finished just as Eira did, and allowed her to minister to his right hand in its turn. Then she bandaged his hands again, winding the wrappings tightly to ease the swelling but leaving his fingers separate and their tips bare. Then she cleared away the cloths and the basin and called out into the kitchen that it was time for the noon meal.

The dishes had been laid, and bearing out the food was a swift task for the many members of the family. Soon they were sitting as they had the night before, save that Grimbeorn had his rightful place again and Aragorn sat on his left. Again Una filled a plate for him, and again she heaped it with generous portions of each sumptuous dish. Again he ate but little, nibbling slowly at first one thing and then another as he tried to keep his disused stomach from protesting against the food. Having slept, he was better able to drink in the joyous amity of this charming family. The children were merry, laughing and chattering and teasing one another playfully. Freya and Clothilde kept the conversation shifting pleasantly among the adults and the older youths. And on the floor under the table baby Svala crawled amid the shifting feet, now and then planting a plump little hand on someone's leg or tugging at the hem of a kirtle. Her burbling laugh could be heard from time to time, as though the very floor of the house was rapt with innocent mirth. All this Aragorn attended in rapturous silence, his wayworn spirit feeding upon the warmth and love of this wonderful place.

He realized presently that Torbeorn was speaking to him, leaning forward over the table and gesturing eagerly with his spoon. '… and in Beorn's day there were hounds that walked on two legs to lay the tables and light the lamps!' he said. 'Our hounds are clever enough, but they can't do that now.'

'No, indeed,' said Grimbeorn with a chuckle. 'For I lack Beorn's gift of knowing their speech, and his skill in teaching them. In any case your grandmother was not fond of such servants.'

'I've no objection to the dogs!' his wife protested. 'And goodness knows they can be useful, but waiting at table? Such things may be well enough for a man dwelling alone, but there's no need for it when we've a whole family to share the work! Besides which, the table was far too short for comfort in those days. You'll appreciate that when you grow into those feet of yours, my lad.'

'Did you know Beorn?' asked the boy, still focused on Aragorn. 'Did he dwell here when you last stayed with us?'

'I met him once, long ago,' said Aragorn, reaching for his mug and taking a small sip of the rich warm mead within. The brew was strong and the heat of the liquor on his tongue was at once bracing and painful, as it stung in the fine scratches on his palate. 'He was as noble and courageous a man as any I have ever known.'

Randbeorn frowned. 'I do not remember such a visit,' he said. 'When was this?'

'When you were no bigger than Svala is now,' said Grimbeorn. 'And when last Lord Aragorn rested here, it was Una who played amongst our feet, and Sigbeorn was an impudent lad of seven asking endless questions and perching in the walnut tree to toss its green fruit at a rather disgruntled wizard.'

Aragorn found himself smiling at the memory, his lips softened enough by Eira's salve that they protested only a little against the stretch. Sigbeorn flushed to the tips of his ears and took a long draught from his jar while his brother roared with laughter and slapped him between the shoulder blades. 'Now, that I do recall!' he chortled. 'Gandalf threatened to roast you if you took another shot.'

'And so you took to throwing them at the other guest instead,' said Grimbeorn. 'He proved considerably more patient, and when several true strikes failed to raise any reaction you grew bored and went off to worry their horses.'

The reminiscences continued, punctuated now and again by questions from the children, until the diners were satiated and the time came to clear away the meal. Again the family made swift work of this, though Baldbeorn's wife hesitated before taking Aragorn's plate.

'You have eaten so little, lord,' she murmured, low enough that only he – and perhaps Eira, who was watching him intently – could hear. 'Does our fare not agree with you?'

'It is wonderful,' Aragorn assured her with another small but earnest smile. 'It is only that my capacity is somewhat reduced. I have not eaten so well in many a day, and I am beholden to you for the chance to do so now. I thank you.'

She returned the smile, eyes warm with compassion, and took his dish. But when the table was cleared and the cloth whisked away she brought a small platter with half a dozen honey-cakes upon it and set it near him. 'In case your capacity should return to you,' she said.

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'What is to be done about your boots?' asked Sigbeorn presently. The family had dispersed, leaving only the two younger sons of Grimbeorn in the hall with the guests. Randbeorn had taken out a handsome box of carving-tools, and was working on a small piece of beautiful wood that seemed to be shaping itself into a wondrously detailed ram. His brother was relishing another mug of mead and looking at Aragorn thoughtfully. 'I had a look at them this morning, and they're not fit to be worn as they are. You've got a hole in the left sole, and the leather's so worn and cracked I don't see how they can keep the snow out.'

'They cannot,' said Aragorn. 'Or not very well. I had hoped they would keep in better condition than this, but they were soaked and then frozen, and that has taken its toll.'

'I could ride for the cordwainder and see if he has anything on hand that might fit you,' said Sigbeorn. 'Though we do not slaughter our own cattle he does a lively trade with the tanners in Dale, and his work is as good as any you'll find. Unless you can wait for a week there's no chance of having something made to order, of course, but just about anything would be better than you have now.'

Aragorn shook his head. He did not fancy trying to break in new boots with his feet in their present state, for even the exquisitely-fitted ones furnished for him by the shoemakers of Imladris could raise a blister or two at first wearing. Shop-window boots made to another man's last would be many times worse. 'The final leg of a journey is not the time to be changing boots,' he said.

'The cobbler, then,' said Randbeorn. 'He might be able to re-sole them, and at least he could fit you with clumps. That shouldn't delay you more than a day.'

This was a better suggestion, and a skilled cobbler if hurried could likely patch a pair of soles in an evening. But Aragorn had no means to pay for such services, and while it was one thing for the lord of the land to feed and shelter a traveller who could give nothing in return a simple craftsman with a family to feed could not be expected to labour without remuneration. 'It is unnecessary,' he said, hoping to keep the regret from his voice. 'If you will spare me some pitch and a length of strong thread I can mend them myself. It is not the first pair of boots I have worn through in the course of my life.'

So it was that some time later he found himself sitting cross-legged on the floor by the hearth, a pitch-pot hung from one of the iron hooks over the fire and his boots in his lap. Sigbeorn had found him a sturdy needle and a skein of heavy linen thread, along with an awl and a tooling-knife and a small piece of aged but well-oiled leather for patching. He had brought a dish of beechnut oil, which though not as viscous as tallow would serve well enough. There was even a lump of coad with which to wax the string.

Aragorn did not dare to try turning the boots, and so he set about repairing the stitches from the outside. It was hard work for sore fingers, but he knew it would help to loosen his stiff knuckles. He did have to curl the thread about his fourth finger when it came time to tug, in order to avoid sawing through one of his many blisters, but he managed well enough. Sigbeorn had taken up the post beside Gollum, and though he watched with interest he seemed content to let the visitor work in silence. Aragorn did so for some time, until he realized that other observers had crept upon him as he laboured.

Otkana and Delbeorn were crouched by the far corner of his side of the hearth, studying his every movement avidly. A little behind them was Torbeorn, his young face fairly bursting with questions that he did not quite dare to ask. Halla stood past him, hands behind her back, and beyond her – making every effort to appear aloof and quite incidentally present – were Harlbeorn and Ufrún. Taking in this straggled parade of curious onlookers, Aragorn could not help but smile.

This was all the invitation the little ones needed. They hopped up and scurried forward, planting themselves just past the border formed by the small row of tools. They sat with their knees turned in and their ankles on either side of their hips; save for the colour of their eyes and the fashion of their garb as like as two dishes made to the same pattern. They wore identical expressions of eager expectation.

'Good day to you,' Aragorn said, nodding his head to each of them in turn. 'Have you ever watched a man mend a boot before?'

They shook their heads. Behind them the older ones, encouraged it seemed by the fact that he made no move to chase the children away, began to inch nearer.

'I am putting right the stitching,' he explained as he drove the needle carefully through an old hole and drew the thread snug. 'It is careful work, for if I do not put the new ones in precisely the right place it will change the fit of the boot and my foot will suffer for it.'

Harlbeorn seemed interested in this, but Otkana certainly was not. Her eyes glazed a little with boredom as he spoke and the moment he finished she burst out with; 'Tell us a story!'

Delbeorn nodded, and Halla said; 'Oh, yes!' before she could catch herself. Torbeorn scurried up and sat behind his young cousin and the oldest pair inched nearer.

'A story?' asked Aragorn. He laced back the thread and drew it through an old stitch before cutting it loose.

'Yes!" insisted Delbeorn. 'Uncle says you told stories when last you came. He says they were marvellous.'

Aragorn cast a querying look over his shoulder at Sigbeorn, who was suddenly much occupied in studying the roof-beams high above. He found himself smiling again as he turned back to the eager young faces before him. 'Very well, then,' he said. 'I am happy enough to pay for my lodgings with a tale or two. What manner of story would you like to hear?'

'A tale about a warrior!' said Torbeorn. 'A mighty man and brave!'

'About a maiden,' argued Halla. 'Beautiful and strong and clever and wise.'

'And a wicked king!' said Delbeorn. 'With monsters to guard him.'

'A wolf,' said Otkana breathlessly, shivering with delicious dread at the very thought.

'A tale of lands far away over the mountains,' said Ufrún, coming to join the others. Harlbeorn hung back, but his eyes were just as avid as any of the others'.

'Have you no request, young master?' Aragorn asked him kindly.

The boy coloured a little and shook his head. Then he said; 'A story with a hopeful ending.'

Aragorn nodded solemnly, though he wanted to laugh with delight at the task laid before him. There was only one tale he knew that would meet the demands of each of his listeners, and it was one that he cherished above all others. Turning his right boot carefully to the next worn place, he looked from face to face and began.

'This is a tale of lands far away indeed,' he said. 'Not only beyond the Misty Mountains, but away beyond the Ered Luin in a time long ago when they stretched north to south on an inland way and the lands beyond them had not yet sunk into the seas. In those lands, now lost to time, there was a forest laid under the enchantment of a mighty Elven lord. And there dwelt the fairest maiden ever to walk upon the earth, and she was beautiful indeed, and strong, and clever and wise, and she sang like the nightingales of the slumbering woods, and she danced with the grace of starlight on the water. Lúthien was her name…'

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He told them the tale, or as much of it as was fitting for small children to hear, and they listened enraptured. When he spoke of the rescue of Beren from Tol-in-Gaurhoth, Halla let out a great cheer, and when he came at last to the battle of Huan and Carcharoth six pairs of eyes grew wide with breathless wonder. Then because he had promised a hopeful ending, and such things were accounted differently by children, he said nothing of Beren's departure to Mandos, nor of Lúthien's quest to follow him, and skipped forward in the tale. 'So Lúthien and Beren were wedded at last,' he said; 'and in joy they dwelt in Doriath, and a son was born to them. Dior the Fair he was, the first of the Half-elven to walk benath the stars. There are those descended from Beren and Lúthien still living in Middle-earth.'

'Where?' asked Ufrún breathlessly, as the spell of the story broke and the children began to shift out of their entranced poses.

'Here and there,' Aragorn said simply. He had his hand deep inside his left boot, holding the patch of leather in place while the pitch with which he had painted it cooled and hardened. With his ragged clothing and his bare legs and their grandsire's shoes upon his feet he did not suppose he looked much like an heir to the heroes the children were envisioning. He watched their shining eyes, imaginations running blithely through the fertile fields off story and song, and he felt his heart grow lighter. It had been too long since he had been able to forget, even for an hour, the burden of his journey and the brooding malice of his prisoner. To lay that by, however briefly, was a blessing unlooked-for.

'Now you had all best run along, and leave the man in peace,' said Sigbeorn, who until that moment had been listening just as raptly as any of his brothers' offspring. 'And what do we say to one who has been so generous with his storytelling?'

There was a chorus of thanks and the children rose, the girls following Ufrún's lead and dipping little curtseys, and the boys bowing neatly before scampering away. Aragorn watched as they scattered, disappearing through the various doors. Then he let out a soft sigh and turned back to his work, dipping a rag in the oil and rubbing it into the old, worn leather of the boot.

'That was a remarkable story,' said Sigbeorn. 'Did you contrive it yourself?'

Aragorn shook his head. 'The tale is a true one. There are those among the Elvenkind who knew the beauty of Lúthien when she danced in Doriath long ago, and still the Firstborn mourn her, who took the Gift of Men for love and passed forever from the circles of the world.' He knew that his gaze was drifting far away, and the curls that his fingers traced as they worked became mere echoes of the first as he began to slip into his own cherished memories of dancing feet and hair like a shadow in the twilight.

Then there was an ugly snort and a series of gollums, and he was jerked back into the present by the unhappy realization that his prisoner was awake. He turned to look as Gollum raised his great heavy head and pawed curiously at the cloak on which he lay. For a moment his expression was one of guileless bewilderment, almost like a child who wakes after being borne in his sleep to some strange place. Then his eyes flashed and his face hardened into a scowl and he glowered first at Sigbeorn and then at his captor sitting some distance away.

'Hateful manses,' he spat, curling his arms about his knees and crouching. 'Nasty wooden walls and great noisy brats, houndses and wicked old women, gollum.'

'Be silent,' Aragorn said sternly. He would not suffer the creature to insult his gracious hostess, and having wandered a little while in happier thoughts he found himself cross and rather embittered to be dragged back to his tiresome labours. Gollum shot him a look of scathing hatred, but he fell silent, watching warily as one of the dogs padded across the room and paused to stare at him.

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There was a lull in the household during the hour before the evening meal. Some of the family was in the kitchen, preparing the night's feast. Others went out, warmly bundled in layers of thick woollen clothes, to see to the evening's chores. The youngest ones were upstairs resting after a hard afternoon of chasing one another throughout the house, playing at Beren and Lúthien. Aragorn had long since finished his repairs, last of all painting the sole and vamp and heel of each boot with a thin layer of pitch. This was not considered to be a clever way to mend one's footwear, for it would ruin the leather completely, but the boots had been beyond salvaging since their mistreatment at Gladden. He hoped that this simple waterproofing would hold long enough to get him dry-footed through Mirkwood. After that he would have to contrive something else to bear him home, but the truth was that he could not think so far into the future. He would rest tonight, and on the morrow he would strike out again. He had perhaps a hundred and twenty miles left upon this road, and he meant to put them behind him as swiftly as he could.

He was alone now with Gollum, who was curled up again with a corner of Sigbeorn's cloak drawn up over his face. Whether he slept Aragorn could not say and did not in truth care. It was enough that his huge haunting eyes were not fixed upon him. He stared into the fire, lost in indistinct ponderings of the road behind and the labour ahead, and might have sat there until the ladies came to lay the table had not the far door of the hall swung open to admit Grimbeorn and his eldest son.

Careless of the pleas of his troubled feet Aragorn rose, fumbling with fingers now wrapped in resin-smeared bandages to arrange the skirts of his cote. He wanted to stand to greet gracefully his hosts, who had treated him with honour from the moment he staggered to their door. But his head reeled and his sight blurred and he felt himself swaying, and then Grimbeorn had a firm hold on his elbow and was leading him to the tall dark chair at the head of the table. Aragorn sank heavily down upon the woven rush seat and braced his arm upon the board, fighting the fit of dizziness and cursing his traitorous body.

Grimbeorn sat next to him, and Baldbeorn took the chair on the other side. His expression held none of his father's kindly concern, and Aragorn found him far easier to look at as his vision grew clear and the worst of the weariness passed. Grimbeorn's hold on his arm was withdrawn at last and the master of the house said; 'I had hoped to hear your tale while the rest of the household is occupied, but I see perhaps that is too much to ask of you now.'

Aragorn shook his head, trying to swallow against a throat gone dry. Baldbeorn reached out for a pitcher set upon a tray of jars, and he poured out a measure of milk before setting the vessel by the Ranger's hand. Murmuring hoarse thanks Aragorn lifted it, his wrist trembling a little as he tipped the mug to his lips and drank. It was sweet and rich and wholesome, and he took a long draught before setting it down.

'I will be glad to tell my tale,' he said; 'or as much of it as I dare. You have given me tremendous grace, and you must be puzzled by my state and my choice of companion. I have no coin but the truth to offer in exchange for your hospitality, but that you may have if it is in my power to give it. Ask what you will, and I shall answer.'

Baldbeorn, who had nodded as Aragorn spoke, now crossed his arms upon the table and leaned forward over them. 'The creature,' he said in a low voice that could not likely be heard any more than a few feet away. 'You bade me guard him; you keep him bound. As you passed into sleep you startled as if in fright and calmed only when I assured you he was secure. He is such a little thing, and withered; yet clearly you believe him dangerous. For a man of your measure to fear such a being fills me with unease. What is the threat in him?'

'He is a thing of no small malice,' said Aragorn. 'For all his size he is swift and he is ruthless. When first I came upon him I thought to make an easy capture. This proved not so. We grappled long and violently, and he set his teeth into my arm in a wound that festered for many days afterward. On the marches of Rohan away to the south, I denied him eggs from a poor cotholder's hen; that day as I slept he attempted to strangle me and might well have succeeded, such is the strength in his wasted body. As we crossed over Gladden, creeping on the ice, he scuttled us and very nearly made his escape in the swift-flowing waters. Then too he came near enough to meting out my death. I have cowed him since with fear and with need, for I do not think he would fare well in the winter wastes alone, but I dare not trust to his cooperation and I dare not leave him unwatched.'

For a moment there was silence as Baldbeorn considered his words. Then his father spoke with an uneasy chuckle. 'You fell through the ice at Gladden?' he asked. 'That is a mountain river! You must have the fortune of a widow's son, to survive that.'

'It was there I lost my pack, and such supplies as I had,' said Aragorn. 'I have managed without in the days since, but it has not been easy.'

There was frank respect upon Baldbeorn's face now, but his father frowned. 'I do not understand,' said Grimbeorn. 'What induced you to undertake such a journey with so dangerous a companion? What is his worth to you?'

'Long have Gandalf and I sought him,' said Aragorn. 'We labour, we two, in the long war against the Shadow in the East. We came to believe that the creature bore with him information that might aid us in that fight. What that might be I cannot tell you, for the need for secrecy is great. Few even among the Wise were aware of our search; still fewer of the reasons behind it. When last I was blessed with the comfort of your hall we had only begun our search. Sixteen long years we hunted at whiles, when our other toils would permit. As last winter waned we took up the trail again, following it far into the south. What is your knowledge of the lands beyond Sarn Gebir?'

'Only what I know from old tales and moth-eaten maps,' said Grimbeorn. 'That way lies Rohan, the land of our distant kin who rode south long ago; still we sing of their passing, who left behind many who loved them. Beyond that there is the great kingdom of Men. Gondor it is called, a land of cold warriors and long-dead kings. But the Men of the West are of that kindred: surely you know more of them than I.'

'I do,' said Aragorn. 'I dwelt amongst them once, long ago. Yet on this journey I went in secret, and in secret Gandalf and I passed into the far southern wastes of Gondor; once fair and fertile, now deserted and debatable. It was there the trail led, but it was long cold. Fifteen years and more we had searched then, in those last days of autumn. Gandalf wearied of the hunt and turned his mind to other matters, but I in my folly supposed there was still hope, and so we parted.'

'It cannot have been folly,' said Baldbeorn in a slow and ponderous tone; 'for it seems you have found what you sought.'

'I have, but there was folly enough;' Aragorn told him. 'I walked in dark places and I took many injudicious risks, and in the end my labours weighed too heavy upon me and I despaired of ever retrieving the trail. Northward I turned, and in that moment when my failure seemed most bitter I found at last what I had sought these many years: fresh tracks in the mud. I followed them and I came upon him at last, alone and far from any aid. I took him, though he bit me, and began the long journey back. I have travelled not much less than eight hundred miles since that night, and I draw near at last to the end of this hard road. All the way I have feared pursuit by the servants of the Enemy, for I believe the creature was in their keeping almost until he fell into mine. If he escaped them, which scarcely seems possible, they will want him back. If he did not, but was sent forth on some errand, they will not wish him hindered by me. I have had no sign of watchers in many long leagues, but it seems scarcely possible that my passage has not been marked.'

He looked from one grave face to the next. Grimbeorn looked wary and thoughtful, and Baldbeorn's solemn eyes could not be read. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out under the table.

'I say this not to engender your pity, but so that you may understand the danger I bring with me,' Aragorn said. 'If I am indeed hunted, I may bring the thralls of Dol Guldur to your very doorstep. If by some improbable chance I am not, still I carry with me a being twisted by hatred and long torment. I should never have allowed him to pass beneath your roof, where dwell your children and your grandchildren. Had I been quite in possession of my faculties I would not have done it. I must ask your forgiveness for that, and I must know that you understand the peril I have brought you.'

Grimbeorn made a dismissive noise in his throat. 'What was I to do, leave you to freeze in the dooryard?' he asked. 'You have been commended to me by Gandalf, and that makes you a friend. You labour against the Shadow, and that makes you an ally. Your toils are clearly greater than mine, and that places me and all my folk in your debt. Shelter and victuals are small enough gifts to offer, whatever dangers you bear.'

Aragorn gazed upon him, studying the aged face with its lines set deep in courage and kindness. 'I thank you,' he said, finding his voice at last. 'Would that there were more men of your valour and nobility, Grimbeorn son of Beorn. It is only those such as you that give us any hope at all of prevailing against the Enemy.'

Then Baldbeorn spoke, sombre and pensive. 'This creature,' he said. 'Has he given you what you sought? Was the information he had worth all this bitter labour?'

'I do not know,' sighed Aragorn. At once he felt weighted with an immeasurable burden, and it seemed his shoulders sagged. Certainly his head drooped low, shaking itself slowly from side to side. 'I tried to question him, and more than once. He will not speak to me. I had hoped…' He stilled his tongue. He had hoped that he might prove himself worthy of the creature's trust; had tried to win him first with courtesy, then with coercion and finally with direst need. He had failed in those efforts, and the one triumph left to him was to bear Gollum to the agreed-upon place, that others might strive to do what he could not.'

'And where are you taking him?' asked the younger man at length. 'Not to the Dwarves, surely, and if your quest is a secret one you will find little confidentiality in Dale.'

'To the Elven-king in Mirkwood,' Aragorn said. 'Long ago that too was arranged. It is there Gandalf will come when he learns the wretch has been found. I have come so far and the last leg of my journey lies before me. By the straightest road I judge I might reach the halls of Thranduil in five days' time.'

'Five days? I think not,' said Grimbeorn. 'Through Mirkwood, and on foot? And those feet so hurtful that you can scarcely cross a room without paling from the pain?'

'They will be less painful tomorrow,' Aragorn said, colour rising sharply to his cheeks. He had thought he had managed to hide his discomfort better than that. 'If, that is, you will still permit me shelter after what you have heard. If you will not I understand, and I shall bear you nothing but goodwill for the grace you have given to me. Yet I would esteem it a mercy if you would let me rest at least in your stables or cattle-bier with my prisoner if you would not have us in the house..'

Grimbeorn chuckled, and the sound seemed to disperse some of the grim atmosphere that had gathered about the three men. 'My wife would beat me with her distaff if I sent you out to bed down with the animals!' he said. 'And there is no question of denying you shelter. You shall indeed bide here tonight; I would gladly house you for many nights more if you wished it. We can put you up in a proper bed for one night at least. A pallet on the floor is little enough comfort for a great lord of men, but we did not think you had the strength to mount the stairs last evening.'

'That I had not,' agreed Aragorn, a little rueful; 'but the bed by the fire suited me wondrously well. Rarely may I rest in such comfort and such rich warmth. I shall rest there again, and gladly. I would as lief remain within sight of my charge in any case, and I would not have him upstairs amongst the children.'

'We shall set a watch over him again, then,' said Grimbeorn. 'There are men enough among us that it should not prove too great a labour, though my son took it upon himself to sit through last night.' He smiled with fatherly pride at Baldbeorn, who made a small deprecating gesture.

'Five days, say you?' he asked. Aragorn nodded firmly and Baldbeorn jerked his chin in tacit agreement. 'I have baked cakes enough for eight, if both will eat it. More than that I think would weigh a walker down. No doubt my mother will have other provisions to send with you, and I think it wise to take more than you look to need. Unexpected things befall travellers walking the road you have chosen.'

'I have had little but the unexpected since parting from Gandalf,' said Aragorn. 'And the richness of your generosity not the least. I thank you. I cannot hope to repay your many kindnesses, but know that you may ever call upon my aid.'

Baldbeorn met his eyes and nodded briefly. Grimbeorn clapped a companionable hand on his forearm. And off on the far side of the hall Gollum sat, watching them with cold loathing in his pale glinting eyes.