Note: This is the last of the ready-to-go chapters. Apologies in advance for the longer break between updates. I'll try to keep them coming in a timely fashion!

Chapter L: Making Ready

The evening meal began as a pleasant affair. There was food aplenty, of course, and Aragorn found that the first stirrings of his appetite had returned to him at last. He managed a modest portion of his bread and a taste of everything else he was offered. There was a rich barley soup, thick with vegetables and redolent with fragrant herbs, and although he could not finish his bowlful he did drink most of the broth and found that it soothed his stomach wonderfully. The little children were making eager plans for building a snow-lodge as soon as the cold abated a little, and Sigbeorn was soon engaged in lecturing them on the principles of construction underlying such structures. He appeared to be in possession of endless anecdotes of successful and disastrously flawed endeavours, and everyone laughed at his comic gesticulations as he illustrated his salient points. Only Baldbeorn was absent, having retreated once more to the bakehouse to oversee the second baking of his waybread.

The mead was being poured and a platter of fresh honey-cakes being passed from hand to hand when Aragorn's eye was drawn by a movement to his right. The baby had apparently tired of exploring the forest of legs beneath the table, for she had struck out across the hall with her sturdy arms crooked and her palms splayed to grip the smooth floor. At once the dogs rose from their various places around the hall and moved to take up sentry-posts by the fire, doubtless to keep the child from tumbling into the sunken hearth and the fire within. Yet Svala appeared to have no interest in the flames, for she moved steadily past and then stopped, sitting back to bounce against her heels and survey the room. Then she started up again, intent upon her chosen destination, whatever it might be.

Aragorn started to turn his attention back to the conversation: the babe's mother and her aunt and her two all-but-grown cousins had all glanced after her and seemed unconcerned with her wandering. Certainly it must have been a regular occurrence if the dogs knew to guard the greatest hazard in the hall. But as he shifted his head a penetrating yellow gleam caught in the corner of his eye and he remembered that the fire was not after all the worst danger in the room. He twisted in his seat and felt his heart grow cold within him. Gollum was crouching in the midst of the coiled cloak, still bound to the post but with room enough to move a little, and his long fingers flexed and curled repeatedly in a ghost of a strangling gesture. His eyes were glittering with malice and avarice, and his gaze was fixed on the small child. Svala, an eager welcoming grin displaying a pearly half-sprouted tooth, was crawling eagerly towards him.

Almost before he realized that he was moving, Aragorn had pushed back the chair. He sprang from it, not even feeling the torment in his feet as they took on his weight. Not even thinking to cry out he ran, long strides bearing him swiftly past the startled hounds. He swooped and caught the child beneath her arms, swinging her into the air and onto his shoulder just as Gollum's grasping hands reached out to grab her. With Svala clutched against his chest with his left hand, he brought down his right in a forceful slap that struck the side of Gollum's head with force enough to send it snapping to the side. The sound of the blow was muffled by the bandages on his palm, but he felt the impact up into his elbow. Gollum froze, for a moment stunned into unmoving silence. Then he let out a thin, piercing shriek that bit into Aragorn's ears and seemed to fill the whole hall.

Svala, who had taken the sudden seizing with a small playful gurgle, now buried her face against Aragorn's tunic and burst into frightened tears. At the table the children were clapping hands to their ears, and the adults were rising startled to their feet. Aragorn let his right foot swing, threatening a sharp kick.

'Silence!' he commanded, thrusting all of his will into the word. With a gasp and a deep, throaty hiccough Gollum obeyed, cowering in his nest of wool and scrabbling at his head with his wretched hands. Aragorn stepped swiftly away from him, letting his right hand rest on the baby's heaving back as he jiggled her small body. 'Hush, hush little one,' he murmured soothingly, humming a snatch of an Elven lullaby.

Beneath his touch she calmed almost at once, turning her head to look up at him with brimming brown eyes. Her small hand patted his chest, and then she straightened her back and reached to grab his beard. Finding his whiskers considerably more sparse than those of her own men, she abandoned the effort and snatched at his hair instead. She waved her entangled fist and laughed effervescently.

Clothilde was at his elbow now, arms outstretched for her child. Aragorn bent to hand her off, and then reached to gently loosen her grip on his hair. She went peaceably enough, babbling excitedly as her mother held her close.

Grimbeorn snapped his fingers and pointed at Gollum. 'Guard him!' he said sternly. Aragorn was about to assure him that he would when the dogs trotted away from the hearth and closed in around the creature. Gollum's eyes grew enormous with alarm and he sat stiffly, limbs close-tucked and body wary. The lord of the house reached to grip Aragorn's shoulder, smiling reassuringly. 'Surely he would not have harmed her,' he said cheerfully. 'I expect she thought he was a new friend to play with.'

'He would have,' Aragorn said breathlessly. Now that the moment of crisis was passed he was once more feeling the hurts of his body. 'He would surely have harmed her, given half the chance.' He shook his head, trying to clear it of the giddiness that came from wariness and weariness and pain. 'I should never have brought him hither. I should not have allowed him to shelter in your home. He is dangerous, he is deadly.' He whirled despite the bracing hand still holding him, and he cast anguished eyes on Eira, who was on her feet now and watching him intently. 'Give me the rest of my clothing, dear lady, and we will be gone. I will… I must…'

She shook her head and hushed him, and such was his bewildered dismay that he obeyed her without thought. 'You cannot,' she said, nodding to her husband and helping him to guide Aragorn to the nearest chair. 'You are in no fit state to be travelling at night, and certainly not on a night such as this!'

She looked down the table and Aragorn followed her gaze. Halla and Ufrún and the smaller boys sat pale and frightened in their places. Harlbeorn stood with his young shoulders squared, though he looked terrified. Urdbeorn was as straight and wary as his uncles, while Una was watching her grandparents and the agitated guest with concern. Freya wife of Baldbeorn was sitting stiffly, almost regally, in her chair, green eyes pensive. But Clothilde, her baby on her hip and gripping Otkana's hand, had retreated to the door that led up to the sleeping quarters. She looked only an unwary breath from panic. It was Randbeorn who broke the silence, scrubbing at his beard with one strong hand.

'It is my fault: I should have stayed near it,' he said. 'It was my turn to watch it, and I should never have left its side.' He moved to leave the table, but his younger brother held out a hand to stay him.

'I will guard it now,' he said. 'You go to your wife: she has need of you.'

The two men moved off in opposite directions, and Clothilde was led away with her daughters. Sigbeorn sat down upon the platform that ran the length of the hall. He fixed a cold stare on Gollum, who was still eyeing the dogs with fearful apprehension.

'There, you see?' said Eira, brushing her hands on her overgown and nodding at Aragorn. 'No harm done. It's the strain you're under that makes it seem a calamity, that's all.'

'No,' Aragorn said woodenly. His eyes were fixed on Gollum and he feared to take them away, but take them away he must if he was to explain himself. There was a trickle above his lip: his right nostril, bleeding again. Dabbing at it with the edge of the bandage about his wrist, he forced himself to look up at Grimbeorn. 'It is best we do not bide tonight in the house,' he said. 'He is a danger to the children.'

'The children have sense enough to stay well away from him,' Grimbeorn assured him, looking down the table towards young heads that bobbed their fervent accord. 'It is only the baby who doesn't know better, and she'll be up in her cradle already. We shall see that someone is at the creature's side at all times, as we should have done this evening. You warned us of the risk, but perhaps we did not take heed enough.' He motioned broadly at the family. 'Sit down and finish your meal,' he said. 'The thing can do no harm with Sigbeorn sitting almost on top of him.'

Freya smiled a little, and smoothed her skirts as she sat. The boys followed her example, but Una remained standing. 'Grandmother, shall I fetch anything?' she asked, concerned eyes still upon Aragorn. He wondered how ghastly he must look in the wake of his flight, to worry the maiden so.

'No, child: sit and finish your meal,' said Eira. She reached across the table and picked up Aragorn's mug. 'Have a draught, my lord; it will lend you strength and put some warmth in your chest.'

Aragorn drank, but only a little. His stomach was churning and he felt the purged fatigue that he ordinarily associated with the most desperate of battles. He twisted in the chair so that he might watch his prisoner out of the corner of his eye. He had grown too incautious, resting among these good people. Gollum was a craven wretch with murder in his heart. He could not be trusted, even trussed to a post in a home where he had been sheltered and fed and treated with far more courtesy than he deserved. What pity he still felt for his hateful captive was buried now in loathing, and Aragorn's only wish was to be done with this odious duty at last.

lar

Aragorn slept little. Despite his perpetual anxious imprecations that he should sleep, that he must sleep, that this might well be his last chance of sleep before he reached Thranduil's halls, he did no more than drift in and out of a shallow uneasy slumber. In part it was the torment in his hands and feet; the perpetual prickling, painful itch that his desperate exhaustion had dulled the previous evening. In part it was the crawling feel of Gollum's eyes upon his back that neither the comforting presence of the dogs nor the knowledge that the wretch was guarded – at first by Grimbeorn himself – could wholly disperse. Each time the watch changed he woke with a start and had to settle his quickened heart before he could even attempt to rest again. His spine ached despite the soft malleable surface of the mattress beneath him, and he longed to take his teeth to the fresh bandages that covered his fingers and tear them away that he might scratch at his blistered hands until they bled. When the first faint grey light began to show in the smoke-hole above, he tunnelled out of the cosy bedding and turned his gaze on Gollum.

'Would you like something to drink?' a quiet voice asked. It was Sigbeorn, leaning forward over his lap in the chair by the support-post. He had his head in one hand and was obviously fighting off sleep. 'Or if you need…'

'No,' said Aragorn. He slid from the mattress onto the floor, and one of the dogs raise a drowsy head to look at him. 'It is time for me to make ready. My road awaits, and it has been calling to me all through the night.'

'You did seem restless,' the youth admitted. His shadowy shape shifted as he looked down at Gollum. 'I do not think your charge slept at all.'

'That is his choice,' said Aragorn. He lifted his right hand to his mouth and found the knot in the dressing with his teeth. He unwound it carefully, scarcely heeding the sharp tearing discomfort when it parted from the weeping sores. Baring his left hand was quicker work, and then he moved on his knees to the small heap of inadequate garment that lay beside his boots. He dressed with care, lacing his cote tightly and tying his hose as neatly as he could. He had recovered the laces that he had used to make the sling, for he did not think he would need that particular tool again. Still he kept the pierced strip of wool and the small stones: he could always reassemble it at need. It was a dreadful task to ram his feet, still inflamed, into his stiffened boots – dragging upon them with fingers that ached to the bone, covered in skin so chapped and brittle that it cracked with the force of hauling on the leather. He fastened his belt to the third of the notches he had made in Lothlórien. He had only one left. His knife settled against his side, and his pouch at his back. He shifted it around to the other flank where it would be more easily accessible. His drinking-bottle and the blanket lay lonely on the floor now. The former he would fill afresh and slip inside his tunic before he departed. The latter he would don as he left the house. It was warm enough here that he had no need of it, and in any case he knew that it only served to make him look even more the pauper.

Thus arrayed he rose, rocking each foot to test the repairs he had made to his boots. His toes burned and his bruised heels protested, but he was certain that they would carry him where he needed to go. Almost certain, anyhow.

Sigbeorn left his chair, drawing back from Gollum as though the creature sickened him. 'Can I turn him over to you, then?' asked the young man. 'Since you seem determined to set out on your journey before the Sun begins hers.'

'She has begun it already,' said Aragorn. 'Hours ago she rose over distant wilderness and strange cities and men who speak in unknown tongues. I cannot wait for her to overtake me. Yet I thank you for guarding my captive, and I release you from your duty.'

Sigbeorn nodded and padded barefoot across the room, disappearing into the shadows at the far end of the hall. Aragorn drew near to Gollum, and the noisome stink that still clung to him despite river-crossings and snow and long leagues of travel in free lands rose upon the air. He had stiffened as the Ranger approached, and the pale eyes glinted as they shifted evasively to one side. Aragorn sighed, flexing the fingers of his left hand to loosen the joints. The torn flesh of his wrist tugged and stung beneath the bandage that still wrapped it. The prospect of binding the coarse rope over those hurts again put a weight on his heart. Two nights of freedom from his constant companion made the burden heavier to bear.

At least he could wait a little longer. His hosts were not yet abroad from their beds, and the provisions they had promised him had not been laid out the night before. Aragorn was inexpressibly grateful for the offer of travel-fare. Without it he had little chance of reaching his destination at all, much less in the five days he had allotted himself. Having taken this road before he had thought the estimate a reasonable one, but with his tender feet and his strained constitution he wondered now whether he had not been overly optimistic. It might be wiser, he thought, to linger here a little longer so that he might regain some greater measure of his vigour. He would travel with greater ease then, and likely with somewhat greater speed – though of course there would still be Gollum's reluctant pace to contend with.

He closed his mind against the temptation. It would certainly be better for him, if he chose to delay, but it would not be better for his generous hosts. The previous night's conflagration weighed heavy in his heart, and although no harm had been done he could not quite keep his mind from the terrible image of Gollum's wiry hands, strong as pincers, reaching out with eager fingers for the baby's plump little throat. No, they would be gone this day if it meant a fortnight's limping journey through Mirkwood.

There were footsteps at the far end of the hall, and he looked up to find a glow of candles. Grimbeorn's two eldest sons and his four eldest grandchildren were coming through the door. All but Una were dressed in heavy outer garments, tugging on mittens and wrapping woollen scarves about their necks. The young lady drew away from the others and went to light a hooded lantern, which she handed to Ufrún. The girl led the way out the door that opened on the broad back porch, letting in a swirl of snow as her followers trooped after her.

Una set about lighting the candles in the hall, pausing when she had enough light to see the traveller's face. She smiled. 'Up and eager to be gone already?' she asked with a teasing tilt of her head. 'Has our company proved so onerous?'

Aragorn stepped away from Gollum, his feet protesting much less violently than he had expected. He shook his head. 'Surely after what transpired last evening you can see that I cannot linger here. I must be gone with what haste I may.'

'What I can see is that the thing you lead must be gone,' said Una, resuming her round of the room. The long taper flared as a drop of wax fell from it. 'As I suppose you are unlikely to simply let it go its own way, then you must go with it. What is it, may I ask? I have never seen such an ugly thing. I know that is hardly a gracious way to put it, but as there's no one else to hear perhaps you'll forgive my rudeness.'

Aragorn cast a weary look over his shoulder. Gollum was watching the young woman closely, resentful indignation on his face. 'I do not know, precisely;' he said. 'Yet I think that whatever he is, or was, he has been so twisted by evil and long torment that he little resembles the form to which he was born. It is enough to know that he is a danger, and must be secured.'

'In Dale?' asked Una. 'Or perhaps deep within the Lonely Mountain? I have heard the Dwarven-king has great vaults in which to lock his treasure. They might serve to secure a prisoner.'

'They might,' said Aragorn. She was moving towards the door that opened on the courtyard now, still lighting the sconces hung where once there had been brackets for torches. Taking the surest, firmest steps he could Aragorn moved to the table. The pot of salve had been left for him with a pitcher of water, a basin and a towel. He bathed his hands carefully, jaw set against the spiking stings, and then anointed them liberally with Eira's unguent. It was indeed soothing, and it left a thin faintly oily film that he knew would protect his harried skin and help it to heal. As he worked he studied the sores on his knuckles and the blisters where the flesh had frozen, but he saw little enough to concern him. Of far greater moment was the worry of how he was going to keep the appendages warm and dry.

'Poor hands,' a voice at his shoulder said, and for a moment he stiffened. It was one of Gollum's favourite weeping imprecations, wanting only an echo on the closing sibilant. Only when Una reached out to smooth a blot of the salve across one of the worst cracks did he fully realize it was she who had spoken. 'Are your feet any better today?'

'They are,' said Aragorn, lifting his left heel and then pressing it down again. Only the dull deep ache and a flurry of fresh itches accompanied the motion: no sharp lancing anguish or fierce fiery pain. 'I must thank you for that, lady: it was you who bathed them for me.'

'Well, dried them,' said Una. 'They can't have been too far gone: I'm only learning, and Grandmother still sets me the easiest tasks. You seem to know a thing or two about leechcraft yourself. Was your mother a healer?'

'Nay, my father;' said Aragorn, sparing her the longer explanation of his relationship to the one who had taught him his art. 'I have some small measure of his talent. You seem to be learning well. Keep on with it, and press your grandmother to challenge you. In dark times there is always need of healers.'

Una laughed. 'You sound like my aunt Heidra's husband. He never does anything but moan about dark times and lost custom. Yet the Sun still rises, and the cows give milk, and the children are healthy. We shall manage to thrive however many bandits walk the roads!'

An earnest smile, tempered only a little by the knowledge that the days would only grow darker, found its way to Aragorn's sore lips. 'That I do not doubt,' he said. 'Remember to carry that dauntless spirit with you, whatever comes to pass.'

Una laughed and gathered up the towel. 'Are you finished with the water?' she asked. 'I've got to go and stir up the fire for breakfast: they'll be a crowd of hungry bears by the time they've finished with the chores.'

'I am finished: I thank you,' Aragorn said. As she bore away the dishes he took the chair to the left of Grimbeorn's place, turning it so that he could look headlong at Gollum. What he could not cure he must endure, and there was no use in pretending that he could forget his duty. He wished wretchedly that he had not had the need to strike his prisoner the night before. Undoubtedly there would be a reckoning for that as soon as Gollum could contrive it: the next bitter blow in their long battle.

He did not languish long in dark thoughts, for there were feet on the stairs again and Eira came into the hall with her elder daughter-in-law. Freya set a bundle of folded cloth upon the table before disappearing into the kitchen to aid Una in laying on the breakfast. The mistress of the house stood for a moment or two with her arms crossed thoughtfully, then moved to clap Aragorn on the back.

'There now, dressed already?' she asked. 'Are those rags warm enough, do you think, to keep you from freezing on the road?'

'They will serve, my lady,' said Aragorn, trying to keep the heaviness from his voice. 'They will have to.'

'Indeed they will not,' said Eira. She took the first piece of heavy wool and shook it out. Turning in the chair, Aragorn could see it was a tunic: faded from its original walnut brown and left long between shearings, but thick and warm and whole. 'It'll be a bit broad,' the lady said with a regretful shrug. 'You're not as thick in the chest as Grimbeorn, and even if you were there's not a scrap of fat on those bones. Still, no harm if the shoulders droop a little: the sleeves are bound to be a touch too short for your arms, so it will help the cuffs to meet your wrists. Stand up, now, and let me have a look.'

Aragorn stood, but in a hasty deprecating way. 'Mistress, it is most—'

She cut him off with a sharp wag of one finger, holding up the garment to his front and judging it with a critical eye. 'Don't you start to tell me that it's most generous, but you cannot possibly accept,' she scolded. 'You can't go back out into the cold and the wind wearing naught but those rags: you'll freeze yourself again in no time at all. It's an old coat and Grimbeorn was never fond of it even when new. Still it's warm and it has a good flannel lining as well. Are you going to put it on yourself, or shall I dress you as I do Delbeorn?'

Meekly Aragorn took the tunic and hung it over his arm while he removed his belt. He settled the heavy garment over his cote, settling the unravaged hem below his knees. It was indeed too broad in the shoulders, and much too large through the body, but he gathered the fullness into pinched folds across his front and belted it in. The reassuring weight of the wool across his back seemed to lighten the burden of his worries. His palm settled upon his breastbone. He exhaled slowly. 'I thank you,' he murmured. 'I am more grateful than I can hope to express. After the care you have given me, such a gift is… it is princely, my lady. I thank you.'

She laughed, but reached up to pat her hand to his cheek. 'You're welcome to it,' she said. 'The girls and I had a merry adventure sorting through the chests to find suitable things for you. I think Freya would have liked to make you something new, for she's been seized with the stitching spirit now her time's drawing close, but of course the hurry is too great. She did whip these together, though.'

She handed him a pair of soft flannel mitts, cut in two halves and stitched all around in blue yarn. They were light, rather than warm, and looked to be cut of cloth intended for a baby's clouts. 'They'll keep your hands clean and dry, and they'll prevent the salve from smearing all over these.'

Eira picked up something else and swung it into Aragorn's hand: a ball of something knitted in the fashion of the Beornings. Uncurling it he found a pair of heavier mittens, made of thick worsted looped and knotted into shape. He felt the ache in his knuckles as if for the first time, and he could not remember how many times since leaving Lothlórien he had wished for precisely such a gift. 'Thank you,' he whispered.

There was also a cap, made in the same fashion, and a long woven muffler with thick tassels on the ends. These both looked well-worn, which eased Aragorn's conscience a little. Still his wonder at the generosity of these good people mounted. Having sheltered him so willingly they now seemed determined to send him off outfitted with the same care with which they would have dressed one of their own men.

'I would have given you a set of wrappings for your calves, but I don't think they'd fit under the boots and they're no use over them,' said Eira. She picked up the pair of soft felt shoes he had worn the previous day and wagged them at him. 'Though I'm sending these with you, and I want you to pull them on at night, even if you don't take your own off. You need to take care of those feet, for all they're not as badly off as your hands. She shifted a satchel stitched of heavy wool and lifted the last large garment. This too she shook out: a cloak of dark blue.

Aragorn shook his head. The colour was deep and the nap still rich. The edges still had the roundness of the turning where they had been stitched, and there was very little wear at the hood or the hem. It was almost new. 'That I cannot take,' he said.

'Nonsense,' said Eira. 'You can't go on with a blanket over your shoulders and nothing to cover your head! You'll take it: you need it. We've plenty to spare.'

'No,' said Aragorn. 'That is not an old garment unearthed from a chest. That was made this autumn, and it has been worn only gently and not even for a full season. The dyes alone are worth more than all the rest together. It is too costly a gift to offer a stranger, though it is a testament to your grace that you do so. These other things will suit me well enough; far better than anything I might have hoped for. I will not take your husband's cloak.'

This last had been mere guesswork on his part, having seen Baldbeorn and his brother dressed for the weather only a little while before, but from the look in Eira's eye he knew that he had guessed aright. She hesitated for a moment, no doubt rousing herself to another firm gainsaying speech, but she was interrupted when Sigbeorn came into the room.

'Then take mine,' he said. 'If you don't I'll only burn it. That thing has been lying on it for two nights now: it will stink of him forever.' He grinned and embraced his mother. 'I said he wouldn't take it.'

Eira looked most displeased, but she turned her eyes back on Aragorn anyhow. 'Will you have his, then?' she asked. 'If you can endure the smell of that little creature, that is.'

'I can endure it,' Aragorn said grimly. He had, after all, borne it with little surcease for many weeks. 'That gift I can gladly accept, for I fear you are right, Sigbeorn son of Grimbeorn. It will smell of him always. In the winter air it should be bearable, and I will be glad of the warmth.'

This satisfied Eira, and she took the satchel and went off into the kitchen. Aragorn folded the blue cloak with care and laid it upon one of the platforms that bordered the hall. Then he sat, slipping on the mittens and testing the dexterity of his hands when so clothed. He was able to move with reasonable ease, though not quite withour pain, and to draw and grip his knife. Such coverings always hindered the fingers a little, but the protection they provided from the cold outweighed the inconvenience. They were quick enough to tug off if something went amiss.

The children began to trickle down into the hall, some alert and excited and others sluggish and drowsy. Grimbeorn himself came in with Otkana seated upon his shoulders, hands slapping the crown of his head as if it were a drum. She cried out eager greetings when she saw Aragorn, and pleaded to be let down. As soon as her feet hit the floor she was running, skidding across the floor and climbing up into Aragorn's lap before anyone could do a thing about it.

'Will you tell me a story?' she asked. She looked over her shoulder and said in a confidential and very grave tone; 'He tells wonderful stories, Grandfather.'

'I know that he does, my poppet,' said Grimbeorn with equal solemnity; 'but he has a long road ahead of him and he must rest while he can.'

Her face fell, but Aragorn had already made up his mind. Her little weight upon his knee and the way in which she was tucked in the crook of his arm were such a simple delight. 'I can tell you one more tale,' he promised. 'But not such a long one as I told yesterday: it will be time to break our fast soon, and then I must be gone.'

Hurriedly the other children gathered, even sleepy-headed Halla perking up considerably. This time Aragorn told an old hobbit fable about a fox and a fieldmouse, raising his voice for the latter into a shrill falsetto that sent his audience laughing. Even Grimbeorn, seated now in his dark chair, roared with mirth and slapped his hand to his knee. The ladies came out to lay the table and bring the food, casting curious glances at the spectacle but not lingering long enough to hear much. He had just come to the end of it when the others came in from the morning's chores, laden with milk jugs and stamping the snow from their feet.

'The weather has broken,' Randbeorn said. His scarf, so tightly wound when he had departed, now hung loosely draped over his shoulders, and there was only the faintest frost in his beard. 'Still cold enough to keep the troughs frozen, but it won't steal the fight right out of a man.'

'There you are,' said Grimbeorn, cuffing Aragorn's elbow and grinning. 'It's as well you didn't set out yesterday. You'll go in more comfort, and leave us all with less worry.'

'Far more comfort, thank you,' Aragorn said. Otkana twisted in his lap and then slid down onto the floor, running off to beg a taste of the new milk before it was carried into the dairy pantry. 'When I came to your door I hoped only for pity in my greatest need. Instead you have given me all the bounty of your home. I can do nothing in return but thank you.'

'Thank us and fight on, as no doubt you must,' said Grimbeorn, and his smile was tinged now with sorrow.

lar

When breakfast was eaten Baldbeorn brought out the satchel that Eira had taken. It was packed now with the travel-cakes, cut into blocks and wrapped in linen. It was made with honey, dense and twice-baked so that it would last a long while unspoiled. There was also a bag of beechnuts and another of walnuts, a small earthenware jar of dried fruit, and half a dozen eggs hard-boiled. These last he could not have carried far at any other time of the year, but while the weather was still cold they would keep for a few days.

'He seems to eat little else, that creature,' said Baldbeorn. Gollum had taken the eggs offered to him that morning, but left his honey-cake and his jar of milk untouched. 'You shall have to feed him something.'

'Verily I shall,' said Aragorn, and thanked him. All through the preparations to depart he uttered his thanks, time and again and to each member of the family. Una brought him rolls of fresh bandages and a new pot of her grandmother's salve. Urdbeorn put together a little book of needles and linen thread on an acorn-cap winder. Randbeorn had fresh tinder to give him, and Ufrún and Harlbeorn were set the task of wrapping the ends of a length of new rope (far less coarse than the orc-stuff Aragorn had carried with him from Ithilien) with rags. From this Aragorn fashioned a new halter for his prisoner, knotting the free end over the dressings on his own wrist. With the protection of the linen he hoped it would not chafe, but there was nothing to be done about the far more terrible discomfort that came from being once more bound to Gollum.

Then he put on the warm outer garments, covering his head and wrapping his throat, tucking the Lórien blanket around his shoulders and using the brass brooch to hold Sigbeorn's cloak in place. It did indeed smell strongly of Gollum, but Aragorn knew that he would be grateful for its protection soon enough. The satchel he settled at his left hip, where it would not impede him. He had the elven bottle tucked away under his tunic, and Halla had brought him a light wooden vessel, also filled, to sling across the other shoulder.

'You might want these,' said Torbeorn, offering a little bundle. Aragorn took it and discovered within several short and rather irregular little candles. The boy beamed proudly up at him. 'I dipped them myself,' he announced.

'I thank you,' said Aragorn with all his courtly courtesy. 'A candle is a precious thing indeed in the wild, and I do not doubt these will serve me well in the gloom of Mirkwood.'

Through all these preparations, Otkana and Delbeorn had been hanging off to one side, half-hidden by one of the great wooden pillars. Now they darted out together, each with one small hand held up to the Ranger. As they did Aragorn took a firm hold of Gollum's rope just before the knot about his neck. This earned him a vile glare, but the creature made no move as the children drew near. They each had a little glass bead on an upturned palm: hers bright blue with curlicues of white, and his deep green with speckles of yellow.

'For you,' said Otkana.

'For luck,' said Delbeorn.

Aragorn tugged off his right mitts and picked up the beads, studying them solemnly. 'I shall treasure them,' he said. 'I thank you.' Then he tucked them carefully into his pouch, gripped each small shoulder in turn, and rose.

Eira took the mittens from him and slipped them on again. 'Keep dry and warm,' she said. 'You may be in a hurry, but be sure to take your rest. And when you come to the forest, don't leave the path.'

Aragorn smiled and nodded. 'Yes, my lady,' he said.

Grimbeorn pulled him into a hearty embrace. 'I hope you will grace my hall again when next you pass this way, Aragorn son of Arathorn. In need or in danger, you are always welcome.'

At the door Baldbeorn offered his hand. 'Good fortune go with you,' he said soberly. He did not smile.

Once more Aragorn thanked them, each one by name. Then he set his resolve and laid his hand upon the door, and stepped out into the mists of a hoarfrosted morning.