Chapter LXX: Anduin Again

When Aragorn awoke, alone in the rustic comfort of Sigbeorn’s bed, the Sun was already high into the morning sky. He rose and bathed his face, ran his hands through his tousled and overgrown hair, and dressed swiftly. It was a simple pleasure to don well-fitted garments in the dappled warmth of a quiet room, and he spared a moment to look out from the high window upon the holdings of his host. He did not linger long, however, for he was anxious to see how Freya fared.

It was Una who answered his quiet knock with the spry, tireless airiness that was the sole province of the very young. She was clad in fresh garments, her overdress of a cheery madder hue, and her riotous curls were tamed into a fat plait. She was smiling radiantly. She said no word in greeting as she opened wide the door and drew him in by the arm. Aragorn smiled in return, but it was fitting that he should speak first to his patient. He moved swiftly to the bed.

Freya was lying on her back, much as he had left her the night before. She was awake, and had been petting the flank of tiny Inga. The baby was sleeping belly-down upon the woman’s front, one hand curled against her dainty chin. Freya moved her hand to the small of the infant’s back, and raised her eyes to Aragorn.

‘How do you fare this morning, lady?’ he asked kindly, keeping his voice low and musical so as not to disturb the slumbering child. He let his eyes travel subtly over her face. Her colour was no better and her eyes were deeply shadowed, but the lines of care were softened to the ordinary contours of early middle age. Someone had brushed her hair and fixed it into two braids that peeked out from beneath her cap, and there was about her and about the bed a freshness, a wholesomeness, that had not been there the night before.

‘I am tired, though I cannot sleep any longer,’ she said. ‘Yet my strength will come back to me, so Eira says. Now that the bleeding has ceased…’ She gestured with her fingertips, not raising her palm from Inga’s back.

‘The bleeding has ceased?’ Aragorn said, and he turned to Una for confirmation of this remarkable claim.

‘So Grandmother has said,’ Una reported, her smile still resplendent. ‘There is still a showing on the cloths, but this morning it was scarcely necessary to change them after four hours – though I am told that is best, lest she take an infection?’

‘Your grandmother knows her craft well,’ said Aragorn with heartfelt admiration. To Freya he explained; ‘You will continue to show blood throughout the day, and perhaps into tomorrow. Your body is cleansing itself of what has already been shed, but if the flow has slowed then we may take it as a sign that your travails last night were not in vain. All that remains is to keep watchful while you regain your strength.’

Freya closed her eyes. Her lips trembled, and she pressed them tightly together. Her other hand, too, found her child and held Inga close. ‘Oh, Lord of the West,’ she sighed. ‘Blessed was the night you stumbled to our door.’

‘It was blest for me also, lady,’ Aragorn murmured. Then he smiled gently and asked; ‘Do you feel able to eat? It would be best to break your fast, if you can stomach it.’

Una laughed and Freya was surprised into a lovely grin. ‘In truth, I feel I could eat a breakfast worthy of Father Grimbeorn himself,’ she said. ‘I suppose you will have strict instructions as to what foods are forbidden me?’

Aragorn shook his head. ‘No. Choose whatever you most desire, for your body will yearn for what it needs. Do not fear gluttony: eat your fill. All that I would advise is that you dine liberally on black walnuts to strengthen your blood. I know they grow upon your land.’

Una stifled a giggle. ‘Because Sigbeorn threw them at you?’

Aragorn schooled his amusement. ‘He was very young at the time,’ he said.

‘Hmm. He’s not that much more sensible now,’ she said dryly. Then she looked at the door. ‘Will you stay with her while I fetch some breakfast?’

‘Of course,’ said Aragorn. Una slipped out, and he turned his attention back to Freya.

She was smiling ruefully. ‘She’s right, but it isn’t very polite of her to say it,’ she said with the indulgent air of a mother now appreciating her children afresh after fearing to be taken from them.

‘Truth must sometimes supersede good manners,’ said Aragorn. He came to the end of the bed again, but did not sit. That was no longer appropriate, now that the situation was no longer dire. ‘Have you any questions about your care? You have so patiently accepted all that I have done.’

‘I was right to accept it,’ said Freya. ‘I will be well again because of it, will I not?’

‘I truly believe that,’ Aragorn told her, and she smiled delightedly. ‘I would have you keep to your bed as much as possible today, though if you wish to be propped up for a time I do not think it will be dangerous. The most important thing is that you rest. If you wish to pass the time with any of your other children to entertain you, they may be brought – but only one at a time. Too much stimulation will make your heart beat hard and fast, which can open fragile wounds. And it is a wound, lady; deep within you. You must be patient while it mends.’

‘I will be,’ Freya said. ‘Mother Eira told me that I am to keep on feeding Inga. Is it true? May I? If I do not, I fear I will lose my milk. Clothilde could take on that duty if need be, but…’ Again she gestured vaguely, not quite able to explain.

‘But it is you who are Inga’s mother, and it would be a sad thing to forego this most motherly of tasks,’ Aragorn finished for her. She nodded, swallowing hard. He smiled. ‘Fear not, lady. I would beg you to do it if you were at all reluctant. It will do you more good than anything else I can prescribe.’

The gratitude in Freya’s eyes made him feel rather self-conscious.

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When his patient was sitting up in bed, eating heartily from the tray her daughter had brought, Aragorn took his leave. Downstairs he found Gandalf and Grimbeorn sitting in chairs drawn near the hearth, deep in earnest conversation. Ufrún sat cross-legged on one of the platforms around the edge of the main room, brow furrowed with concentration as she stitched something that was of a size to be meant for the baby. At twelve she was still a novice sempstress and even Aragorn could see that she was not plying her needle very smoothly, but the effort was extremely endearing. Of the other children and the sons of Beorn there was no sign, but Randbeorn’s wife was sweeping the room briskly with a willow broom. She looked up as Aragorn came down and smiled.

‘What would you fancy for breakfast, my lord?’ she asked. ‘You’ve missed the family meal, but we did not like to wake you. Gandalf said you would not be wanting to move on today anyhow.’

Aragorn glanced up the room to the wizard, who nodded knowingly. ‘He is correct,’ the Ranger said. ‘I wish to see Lady Freya at least a full day on her path to recovery, promising though her state may be. As for breakfast, a share of whatever is left from the table will be quite satisfactory; particularly if there is a honey-cake or two.’

‘Oh, there are always honey-cakes!’ Clothilde said, and she slipped gracefully from the room.

‘Come hither, Aragorn,’ said Grimbeorn, motioning to another of the chairs near the fire. It seemed that on nights they did not have a vagrant sleeping on their hearth, the elders of the family gathered here after the children were abed. Aragorn crossed the long room easily, remembering how difficult those few steps had been scant weeks before. He sat, and at once his host was leaning forward intently.

‘My wife tells me that there would have been no hope for Freya without your ministrations. You have my gratitude and that of my whole house. She is a dear daughter to me and the finest of mothers, the sweetest of wives. Between your house and mine we have forged a bond of blood that can never be broken.’ Grimbeorn reached out to clasp arms with Aragorn.

‘We have, lord,’ said Aragorn solemnly. ‘For my part it shall never be forgotten.’

Gandalf cleared his throat. ‘All this is very well,’ he said; ‘and I am the first to be pleased by your amity. Yet we must decide how long we will tarry here, and what implications it may have on our errand.’

Grimbeorn chuckled. ‘I understood your errand to be complete,’ he said. ‘Have you found some other wretched thing to hunt?’

‘It is more a matter of what may soon be hunting us and those under our protection,’ Gandalf said grimly, stroking at his beard. ‘But no: this errand is that of the message-runner. We have tidings for Elrond of Rivendell that cannot long wait.’

‘If all is well with the wife of Baldbeorn, we can depart tomorrow,’ Aragorn said. ‘She is in the most capable of hands with Lady Eira. All that I would be assured of is that the bleeding truly has ceased. We have little enough need to resupply,’ he added with a wry smile at Grimbeorn. ‘We have been but six days out of Thranduil’s halls, and the wood-elves left us well provided-for. Yet I would be glad if we might fill the vacant corners of my baggage with your waybread, lest the crossing of the mountains be slow.’

‘I have already asked about that,’ said Gandalf. ‘By the labours of Grimbeorn’s men, the High Pass is still clear of goblins and the like, and the stone giants have yet to awaken from their winter’s slumber. Our greatest dangers will be the weather, which is unpredictable this time of year, and the melt, which as you know is equally changeable. The Elven horses should prove light-footed enough for the trail, though not always perhaps with two-footed burdens astride. Are you confident in your legs, Strider?’

‘Confident enough,’ said Aragorn, not without a twinge of unease. He had known the mountains would not likely be perfectly passable, but he had given that little thought. Happily the wizard’s remarks raised a more pleasant questions. ‘Have our horses been seen to? The mare I ride is very dear to her master, and I have promised to care for her as if she is my very own.’

‘Sigbeorn is our horse-master,’ said Grimbeorn. ‘He would treat a dilapidated mine-pony like his very own, never mind a beautiful steed like yours. They have been thoroughly curried and their hooves checked, and I understand they are getting along splendidly with their stable-mates. I imagine the littler lasses are out there feeding them chunks of apple as we speak.’

Clothilde came back shortly with a breakfast tray: honey-cakes in abundance, and new bread with butter or honey or jam, and dried blackberries in a sweet syrup, and crisply fried vegetables with savoury herbs. There was a jug of milk and a pot of tea, and a smaller jug of cream. Aragorn mixed himself his usual convalescent’s drink with the first and the last, and drank it down before touching anything else. Once he began to eat, he did so eagerly – almost greedily, he thought with some chagrin. But the honey-cakes that had seemed so overwhelmingly sweet to a mouth fed on squirrel and pine bark were scrumptious now, and all the rest was equally wonderful. When he had eaten his fill he found himself pleasantly sluggish and only too happy to settle back down by the fire and listen idly to Gandalf and Grimbeorn talking of old times.

He might well have drifted off into another one of those naps. The novelty of that still had its shine. Not so long ago, a couple of hours’ sleep in the middle of the afternoon was not a restorative little interlude, but a ration of wary rest that often had to suffice for days. But just when Aragorn’s eyelids were beginning to grow heavy, there was a clamour of laughing voices and stamping feet as the other children trooped into the hall with Urdbeorn herding them from behind. Eager cries went up when they saw their favoured guest abroad, and the tall boy had to spring into action to keep them from tracking their muddy feet all over the floor.

‘Here, now, off with those shoes first!’ he laughed, kicking off his own so that he could dance around to the innermost arc of the happy crowd. ‘Delbeorn, take off your cap and sit on the bench: I’ll help you in a moment. Halla, don’t drop your cloak on the floor! Now I know you’re excited, Otkala my pet, but you need to stand still a moment so that I can unfasten your… there!’

Gandalf had stopped his talk and was now watching in amusement as a chaotic gavotte began in the entryway. After only a few minutes’ wrangling, Urdbeorn had all his young charges shed of their outdoor things and the wet shoes lined up in their proper pairs under the bench by the door. The cloaks found their pegs, and caps and scarves were heaped into a basket. Rosy-cheeked from the chilly spring morning and the exertions of their play, the children came hurrying to crowd among the three seated men. Halla went first to kiss her father’s bewhiskered cheek, and Urdbeorn stood back and watched his herd with proprietary amusement. All the others, however, crowded around Aragorn.

‘Oh, you’re awake! Is Mother going to be well again?’ asked Ufrún. She had abandoned her sewing to join her peers. ‘Grandmother says she will.’

‘Yes,’ said Aragorn, meeting the girl’s eyes. ‘I earnestly believe she will be well again quite soon.’

‘Thank you!’ Ufrún breathed. Delbeorn frowned at her.

‘Mother’s not well?’ he asked, a worried finger plucking at his bottom lip.

‘Not as well as she could be,’ Grimbeorn said. ‘But you heard Lord Aragorn: she’ll soon be strong again. It’s a tiring thing, bringing a baby into the world.’

Delbeorn nodded wisely, as if he was very much a man of the world well acquainted with such matters. Then Otkala, clearly feeling that if he was allowed a question she was also, looked up at the Ranger and said; ‘Will you tell us a story?’

‘Yes, yes!’ Halla cried, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet and clapping our hands. ‘Tell the one about Beren and the lady again: Sigbeorn can’t tell it right!’

‘Don’t be so unforgiving, my dear!’ Sigbeorn laughed from the other end of the hall, striding towards the children and snagging a chair as he went. ‘I only heard it the once, the same as the rest of you. Mayhap Urdbeorn can listen, too: then between us we’ll surely get it straight next time. Always provided you don’t mind a second telling, Aragorn?’

‘I do not.’ The Ranger smiled and looked around at the eager young faces. ‘Go and fetch your stools, children, and I shall gladly tell it.’

The middle ranks tore off at great speed for the table. Ufrún and Harlbeorn walked more sedately, conscious of their dignity as ones who had taken their chairs at the family board. Urdbeorn loped after them, grinning. But Otkala lingered behind and, realizing she was not following the others, Delbeorn rounded back to join her.

‘Help me up?’ the little girl asked, putting out her arms to Aragorn.

‘Now, Otkala,’ said Grimbeorn. ‘Be a good lass and fetch your stool like the others. Lord Aragorn doesn’t need a lapful of little Beornings.’

‘Yes, he does!’ Aragorn declared gladly, leaning forward and lifting Otkala onto one knee. Delbeorn’s little chin quivered, but only for a moment. Aragorn slapped his other thigh, and the boy came hurrying. The two little ones cuddled up comfortably, each against one of Aragorn’s shoulders with their feet sticking out straight off the ends of his knees. Otkala was smirking proudly as the bigger children came back and began to gather in a loose, vaguely semicircular group before and beside the Ranger. Urdbeorn, who was last to come, set his chair near Gandalf’s and glanced at the wizard as if for permission before settling in it. Gandalf’s eyes were sparkling with amusement and good cheer.

‘Tell it! Please tell it!’ Halla begged.

‘Yes, tell it!’ said Otkala.

‘Tell it,’ agreed Delbeorn.

Only Torbeorn seemed glum, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. ‘He promised he’d tell about the spider,’ he muttered to no one in particular.

‘That’s so: I did,’ Aragorn said, surprising the boy into a straight back and a wide-eyed look of hope. ‘I shall tell the tale of the spider, first, for it is the shorter. Then we may travel together to the woods of Doriath in an Age long ago. How does that sound?’

There was a chorus of approving voices, Torbeorn’s loudest of all. Gandalf stretched his neck languidly and settled back in his chair, head tilted to one side. Clearly he too wanted to hear this story, even gentled as it must be for tender ears.

‘When I last left your marvellous home, I was bound for Mirkwood,’ Aragorn said. ‘I reached the eaves of the forest without incident, and travelled for the better part of four days unharried. I came upon a wild boar and her piglets, but she saw me as more irritant than threat and she did me no harm. Remember that in the wild you must never touch or pet or otherwise interfere with a young animal. Odds are that their mother is somewhere at hand, and she will fight you for the sake of her offspring.’

‘We know that!’ scoffed Halla. ‘The barn cats are just the same. Until the kittens open their eyes, they’ll scratch you if you come close.’

‘Precisely,’ said Aragorn. ‘But a bear or a boar will do far worse than scratch you. Always have a care.’ He looked around at his audience, last of all at the two in his lap. They seemed to be taking this warning to heart, and Grimbeorn was nodding approvingly. Stories were made for teaching, after all, and this was an important lesson. Satisfied, Aragorn went on. ‘I crossed over the enchanted stream, the waters of which a traveller must never touch lest he fall into a sleep of many days. That was on the fourth day, and I was already in spider-country. I was wary, and my companion skittish.’

‘He stank,’ Delbeorn announced.

‘Indeed he did,’ Aragorn said, not without a degree of sourness. ‘And he was sly. He had warned me in time to avoid the piglets, and when he sounded another warning I was fool enough to heed him. Off the path we ran and into the underbrush—’

‘If ever you travel to Mirkwood, children, never leave the path!’ Grimbeorn said sternly. ‘Lord Aragorn is a mighty huntsman and an experienced wanderer. He may make such choices, but ordinary folk must not.’

It seemed strange to hear the bonny descendants of Beorn the Skin-Changer described as ordinary, but Aragorn knew that Grimbeorn was trying to impress a point upon the children. ‘As your grandsire says,’ he affirmed seriously; ‘it is very dangerous to leave the path if you cannot be sure of your skill in finding it again. Even I, who had no difficulty in that quarter, fell into trouble when I abandoned the road: for we two came crashing out into a clearing, and something plucked at my cloak. It was a length of spider-silk. At once I looked around, and lo! there was one of the great spiders hanging in her web.’

Otkana and Ufrún gasped, and Torbeorn’s eager eyes grew still wider. The little ones’ mouths formed silent rings of awe. Pleased to have so captivated his listeners, Aragorn went on; ‘I was looking for danger, for my companion had shrieked, and I had my knife already in my hand. It was well that I did, for the spider was trying to entrap me and I had to cut her lines. But though spiders are swift on their legs, their silk can only fly so fast, and I proved faster.’

Torbeorn’s fist swung tightly in his lap, triumph in his grin. Urdbeorn looked quietly impressed. The others were all listening breathlessly, even the consciously aloof Harlbeorn. ‘Another thing to remember about spiders,’ said Aragorn; ‘is that they are very vain. It is easy to provoke one to anger with a few well-placed insults, for they understand the speech of Men very well and they can mimic it themselves – though not in a way that does not torment the ears. So I fell to taunting her. “Attercop!” I cried. “Come for me if you dare!”. And the spider came.

‘Once she was down upon the ground, I had the advantage. She was about the size of a pony-colt, and she was lean and wasted: not much of a huntress. She was also alone, which is as unusual as it was fortunate. I might have fared far worse against half a dozen of her kindred.’ Aragorn paused to consider. He would say nothing of Gollum’s treachery, he decided, for the wretch had been in these children’s home. He did not want to afflict them with nightmares. ‘For a while we danced,’ he said. ‘She trying to trap me in her silk, and I leaping out of the way or whirling to cut a cord that caught my clothing. Sigbeorn’s cloak was a great help to me, for it was distracting to her. The smaller the spider, the less clever it will be.

‘I carried no weapon but this knife,’ he said, drawing it from his belt with care so as not to disturb Otkala. He held it out so the children could see, hilt and the first few inches of blade resting in his palm. The Elven steel glittered, and the young eyes widened still further. ‘It is not a very useful thing against such a foe, for spider-legs are far longer and tipped with claws. So I caught up a fallen branch and used that to goad her, all the while keeping her back at a distance. I tell you, children, at no time in all my journey did I wish for my sword as fervently as in that moment.’

‘Then you do have a sword!’ Torbeorn cried triumphantly. ‘Where is it?’

‘I have two,’ said Aragorn with a lopsided smile; ‘though one is more practical than the other. Both are now in the Last Homely House in Rivendell on the far side of the mountains. A sword is a heavy thing to carry, and can be at times more of a hindrance than a help to a traveller. My errand was not one of war but of discovery, so I left my sword at home.’

Torbeorn was dissatisfied with this answer. ‘If I had a sword, I should carry it always,’ he declared. Then he pointed at Gandalf. ‘He has his sword.’

‘Yes,’ said Aragorn dryly. ‘But I have been doing far more climbing, and sneaking, and swimming than he.’

Gandalf snorted, but with laughter or annoyance it was impossible to say. When Aragorn glanced at him he merely pursed his lips in apology and wafted a hand to indicate that the story should go on.

‘Without a sword, I had to take the chance of the spider drawing near so that I could finish her with my knife,’ Aragorn said. He was keeping his voice light and playful, as if telling of a merry mischance instead of a hardscrabble struggle against a foe that had proven only just inferior after all. ‘I tried for her eyes with my knife, but now it was she who was too quick. It was just about then that I fell.’

‘You fell!’ Otkala cried. ‘Did the spider jump on you?’

‘To be sure she did,’ Aragorn said, jogging his leg a little so that she bounced. He smiled sunnily to be sure she understood that all this was amusing instead of frightening. ‘And a good thing, too. For when she tried to come after me with her fangs I feinted right. She sunk one into my shoulder, but the other missed entirely, and because she was atop me I was able to get my knife up into her belly and finish her. And that was an end to the spider!’

Halla laughed aloud, more in relief than mirth, and Ufrún clapped her hands. Harlbeorn made a savage little nod as if to say serves the beast right. Torbeorn looked as though he had just been given the greatest of gifts. Otkala seemed satisfied, but Delbeorn twisted in Aragorn’s lap and looked worriedly at him. ‘Did it hurt?’ he asked. ‘When the spider bit you?’

‘A little at first,’ Aragorn answered truthfully. ‘But very quickly such a bite is numbed by the spider’s venom, and I had gotten just enough of a dose that my arm went dead for many hours but I did not fall into slumber. It was very much like when your foot is asleep and you can pinch your toes and never sense it. By the time feeling came back, the wound was already healing.’

‘That’s good,’ the little boy sighed, satisfied.

‘Quite the tale, Aragorn son of Arathorn,’ Grimbeorn said respectfully. ‘I see your reputation is well-deserved, if indeed I had ever had any doubt.’

‘It was not a very elegant encounter, I’m afraid,’ said Aragorn. ‘Certainly no more than a foolish story now.’

‘I think it’s wonderful!’ Torbeorn sighed worshipfully. ‘When I’m grown, I shall be a warrior and a traveller and a spider-hunter.’

Halla snorted. ‘Last week you wanted to be a beekeeper.’

‘That was last week!’ Torbeorn said indignantly. ‘Besides, you can be a beekeeper and an adventurer!’

‘So long as your beekeeping is not a lone venture, you certainly can,’ Aragorn said. ‘I have a friend who keeps bees on his farmholding. When he is wandering abroad, his wife cares for them very well.’

‘The story’s over now,’ Halla said pointedly. ‘Will you tell us about the lady with the long, long hair? I couldn’t remember her name, and Sigbeorn doesn’t know.’ She shot an annoyed look at her uncle.

‘Her name was Lúthien,’ Aragorn began. ‘And she dwelt long ago in the hidden realm of Doriath…’

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In the dark before dawn the two travellers rose and dressed by candlelight. Aragorn made the bed while Gandalf was combing his beard, and they descended quietly to the hall. It had been decided by universal accord that it would be best to be up and gone before the children were abroad. It would only mean delays and chaos and noise. Aragorn had said his farewells to all the young ones the night before, soothing the parting with one last story for them to take to their beds. It was no tale of spider-slaying or high legend, but an amusing little hobbit yarn about three strange spinners and a poor farmer’s daughter who went on to be a queen. Each of them had thanked him and given him a tight hug as they trooped off to their rooms; even Harlbeorn.

Now at the table were Grimbeorn and Eira, Baldbeorn and Una and no one else. Urdbeorn and Sigbeorn were outside preparing the horses, and all the others were still abed. A plentiful breakfast, hot and wholesome, had been laid, and the two travellers ate their fill. There was still a sheen of freshness about that, too, and Aragorn savoured it.

Then there were quiet words and pledges of mutual support and respect, and earnest thanks from both sides. Eira hugged Aragorn tightly, much to Gandalf’s amusement. And Una swung her hips playfully and teased them both. It was Aragorn’s turn to be amused, for while he had grown accustomed to her manner the wizard was not. Gandalf huffed and puffed in surprised discomfiture until Grimbeorn laughed and slapped him on the back and told him to bear up and be brave. This narrowed the wizard’s eyes to slits, and brought a cool but peaceably meant retort.

At last they were out in the courtyard, checking the straps and girdings on the baggage and tack. It was not that they did not trust Grimbeorn’s youngest son and eldest grandson: it was simply a sound practice for any experienced horseman. With a last farewell to their valiant host, they mounted up and were swift away. The Elven steeds trotted smoothly along the rutted road while the sky grew rosy behind.

‘It was most illuminating to see you with the children,’ Gandalf said presently. ‘They seem to enjoy your company immensely.’

Aragorn could not help grinning. ‘So they do,’ he said contentedly. Even the little pang of regret that came from departing a place so filled with love and fellowship could not dampen his spirits. The spring air was cold and sweet, and the land budding with new life all around them, and he was with his dearest friend on the homeward road. A traveller could ask no more.

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Ten miles. It was a torturously endless distance when frozen and limping and famine-struck. It was an easy walk when well-fed and rested. It was scarcely a dalliance when mounted upon an eager Elven mare who rejoiced to be running under the open sky. Midmorning was scarcely upon them when the travellers caught their first glimpse of the Carrock, and it was not yet ten o’clock by Aragorn’s guess when they reached the stones of the easterly ford.

By then the sun was warm, and both had their cloaks flung back from their shoulders to bare their sleeves and the front of their garments. They dismounted, though it was doubtful that the horses needed such guidance. They would have to get down to lead them onto the ferry anyhow, and there was no cause to show off. As they rounded the side of the towering monolith of ageless stone, the ferry could be seen mid-river, drifting down towards them. The river was running swiftly, and the sunlight glittered off its crests and eddies.

‘Thranduil gave you coin?’ Aragorn said. It was only just a question. They would be taking the toll-road into the mountains: Gandalf would not have forgotten to account for it in his preparations.

‘The dowry of a prince’s daughter,’ Gandalf said archly, pulling from his robes a tooled pouch so burgeoning with coin that it did not even jingle. ‘The fare is still a silver penny for a man and three for a horse?’

‘A silver penny for a man, aye,’ said Aragorn, still watching the low raft as it drew near. There were several passengers and what looked to be a pack-mule. Yet even at this distance his keen eyes could pick out the cloaks and bearing of the ferryman and his eldest son. Without taking his eyes away, Aragorn held an outstretched palm to Gandalf. ‘Give me a gold piece,’ he said. ‘And ten pennies for the fare, in case it has risen since last you rode this way.’

‘A gold piece?’ the wizard said doubtfully, but he obeyed. As the coins clattered into Aragorn’s palm he at last looked down, hefting them experimentally. Here was a strange feeling: the weight of money in his hand, and the knowledge of the ease and comfort it could buy. He thought of huddling on the far dock in the freezing air, waiting wretchedly in the hope that some paying customer would come along that day that he too might cross. He quirked his lip. Not this time.

The ferry drew first to the pier with its ladder, so that most of the passengers could disembark with no danger of wet feet. Then Makan and his brother dug in their poles and their father steered the ferry around to a low place where the rock came almost to the level of the water and there was an outcropping just below the surface. Here the mule and his driver disembarked, splashing clumsily and very nearly slipping on the slick stone. Aragorn guided Moroch nearer to Gandalf’s mount so that the man could pass with ease, and as he went he doffed his cap and murmured humble thanks.

The ferryman was on the shore now, smiling welcomingly. ‘Good morrow, my lords!’ he said. ‘Bound for the town, are you? Handsome steeds you’ve got there. A silver penny a man, three each for the horses.’

Gandalf gave Aragorn a sidelong look, and the Ranger stepped forward, Moroch’s reins in his hand. He had done off with the mittens as the day began to warm, and he plucked up the eight coins nimbly and gave them to the ferryman. The Beorning closed his fist around them and wagged it appreciatively in the air. ‘On you get, my beauties,’ he said to the two horses. ‘I’ve cloths to blind their eyes if they don’t like water.’

‘No need for that,’ Gandalf said. With a soft word in the ear of the Lórien-mount, he clicked his tongue. The horse trotted placidly across the stony face, placed one hoof delicately in the water, and stepped up onto the deck of the ferry. The two younger men watched flabbergasted, and the ferryman’s eyes widened in awe.

‘Go on, fair one,’ Aragorn murmured to Moroch, using the Elven tongue. ‘I shall come after in a moment.’

The mare bobbed her head, nickering her acknowledgement. Aragorn hooked the reins across her withers, and she danced daintily after the other horse.

‘I’ve never seen the like!’ the ferryman said as Gandalf brushed past.

The wizard lifted the hems of his robe and took a long step up onto the deck, foregoing the water entirely. He cast a brief look and a nod to the ferryman’s sons, and went to stand comfortably at the shoulder of his gelding. Aragorn and the ferryman were left alone on the Carrock.

‘And you, my lord?’ the man said, pleasant but clearly without any recognition. ‘Are you coming along? You’ve overpaid if you aren’t.’

‘I am coming,’ Aragorn said. Then earnestly he went on. ‘When last you bore me, I said that it was my hope that I might one day be able to repay your kindness. Coin is no fair exchange for mercy, but perhaps it will do a little to defray the labour exerted on my behalf.’ He held out the gold piece.

The ferryman goggled at it. It was as much as he might earn in a very busy day, if even then. He looked at Aragorn and shook his head. ‘Forgive me, lord: I don’t know you. I have no idea what you’re speaking of.’

‘Do you not?’ Aragorn said. He made his head snap forward, chin to his chest so that his hair whipped down to obscure his face. He let his back stoop and his shoulders hunch, and he fixed unseeing eyes upon the ferryman. It was as near as he could come to aping the miserable aspect he had presented on his last crossing.

The man frowned, brows deeply furrowed. He squinted. He leaned nearer. He glanced at his sons, who had given up staring at the horses. The younger one had come to the edge of the deck, clearly curious. At his oar Makan was suddenly very rigid – quicker than his father, it seemed.

‘No…’ said the ferryman. He shook his head uncomprehendingly and then scoffed out a half-laugh. ‘No, not the ragged fellow with the twisted naked thing at his heel!’

‘Even so,’ Aragorn said lightly, straightening his spine and raking his hair back from his face. ‘You gave me your pity when most I had need, and spared me a swim that no man should make. I shall always be grateful. Please, take the coin – in earnest of the fare of the next passenger who cannot pay, if nothing else.’

The ferryman took it, stricken speechless. Aragorn nodded his approval and cupped the man’s shoulder briefly before turning to the vessel. ‘Shall we away?’ he asked, looking back at the empty road. ‘It does not look like any further custom is near.’

‘Yes, my lord! Right away, my lord!’ the ferryman gasped. He scurried to the waterside and held out his arm to hand Aragorn up.

‘That is not necessary: I thank you,’ Aragorn said, springing up onto the deck with his off-foot first so that he landed not on his fragile ankle. The elegantly tooled Elven boots sang upon the planking.

The ferryman hurried up after him and took the tiller again. ‘Shove us off, son,’ he said to Makan.

But the ferryman’s eldest son was frozen, looking Aragorn up and down as if his head were that of a fuller’s hammer rising and falling in a proscribed rhythm that could be stopped for nothing. He was taking in the boots, the fine wool of the tunic and its exquisite embellishments. At this distance, every detail of the cavorting animals, the vines and the leaves could be seen. The silk thread had an unmistakable sheen despite its drab colours. Sigbeorn’s thick cloak showed only the faintest of stains from the blood that had soaked it, and those could not be seen with the garment thrust back. The silver star could, however, glinting proudly in the sunlight. Makan saw the clean hands, the knife now polished to its proper state, the face that – if still with hollow temples and too-prominent cheekbones – was no longer pinched with hunger and misery, and the clean hair brushed out to its full length, and he trembled.

‘My lord… good sir… that is… I did not…’ he stammered.

Aragorn fixed him with cold eyes and a dispassionate countenance. ‘You did not think there was anything about me with the least bit of worth,’ he said coolly.

‘I am… forgive me!’ Makan yelped, drawing back a pace and clutching at his oar as if his very life depended on its anchorage. ‘I am but a simple man… we see so many beggars that… I did not know!’

‘Of course you did not: how could you?’ Aragorn asked. He softened his eyes to pitying patience and tilted his head as the lofty lines of his face settled into a less daunting configuration. ‘But that is my point. Any beggar who passes this way may be a man of worth or wealth, or a lord, or even a king. If you will not treat each one as though he were, at least show them that same simple courtesy you would show a farmer or a woodsman with a silver penny to spare. I am not angry with you, nor do I begrudge my harsh treatment at your hands. But if you do not mend your ways, Makan, your life will be much diminished for it.’

Makan’s lips moved wordlessly, his face contorting in acrobatics of dismay and misery and shame. He seemed unable to speak. With his thumb Aragorn hooked the left edge of his cloak and tugged it down to cover one half of the splendid tunic Thranduil’s tailor had made him in jest. He did the same with the other side, masking his own inner glory again as he did so. Still it was not until he turned away to take his place by Moroch’s head that the ferryman’s son found his voice.

‘I will,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I promise I will. I… will you forgive me, my lord, for striking you? For my hard words? I did not know.’

Aragorn cast his gaze back over his shoulder and offered the man a small, sad smile. ‘But I have already forgiven you,’ he said softly. ‘I told you thus that day. Do you not remember?’

Digging in his pole, the younger son pushed the ferry off into open water. Makan had to close his hanging mouth and tear away his wide, wondering eyes in order to attend to his oar.