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A Long and Weary Way  by Canafinwe

Chapter LXXVI: Glad Company

By the time Aragorn took his leave of Elrond it was mid-afternoon, and he did indeed feel like one who had done a long day’s labour. His heart was drained of the fierce, tumultuous emotion that had been awakened by the cataloguing of his wounds. He was left only with a weary sense of peace and a hazy desire for sleep. Briefly he toyed with the idea of returning to his chamber that he might lie down, but he decided against it. If he did, he would surely sleep long into the night, and deeply. He might yet be wanted, by Gandalf or by the Master of the house, and if he was he had no wish to be groggy with slumber.

Instead he made his slow, meandering way towards the upper gallery with its sheltered alcoves and inviting couches. The house was quiet at this hour of the day, when most of its folk were abroad in the sunshine or occupied with their trades. Aragorn met no one in the shady corridors, nor on the third landing where he stopped to rest in the casement-seat until his lungs eased out of an ominous tightness. The dull and steady pain within them made him reluctant to cough.

As he sat, Aragorn contemplated Elrond’s words of generosity and wisdom. He has spoken rightly, for Aragorn was plagued with shame at the many faults and failings that lay behind: from his terror of the great spider and his unguarded moment before the Morannon to the misjudgment that had kept him from anticipating the bout of mountain sickness. He was ashamed of his blunders, his moments of doubt and weakness, his miscalculations and his ill-placed trust and the failing of his body’s strength.

Yet what cause had he to cast such stern judgement upon his inadequacies? Though he had known fear and the awful intrusion of the Nazgûl, he had pressed on. Though he had despaired of the hunt, he had found his quarry regardless. He had driven himself ot the very border of his strength, but in the end it had proved to be enough. The crucial information had been extracted and they had at last evidence to support suspicions long held. Behind that lay toils that, if unworthy of song or tale, were at least just cause for the belief that he had in each instance given of his very best, diminished though it might have been.

As he rose and mounted the last flight of stairs, another thought came to him. Now that he was at last at the end of this road, it was his duty to make ready for the one to come. He could not dedicate his efforts to that endeavor if weighed down by regret for those things he could never change. He could neither mend nor mar the choices of these last long months, and agonizing over them any further was imprudent and self-indulgent.

So it was with a quiet spirit that Aragorn came to the long gallery. He stopped at a window that he might look out over the gardens and the birch-woods beyond. Those fair trees were alight with young green, and had about them an almost crystalline beauty in the clear spring sunshine. It was beneath their darker splendour of summer that a young man had walked, joy and pride and lofty hopes in his heart and an ancient lay upon his lips. On that night, now so long ago that it seemed almost the memory of a boyish daydream, his course had been set and his fate fixed, wherever it might lead him in the end.

A gentle hand curled into the crook of his elbow, and in the cool air of the hearthless hall he could feel the warmth of a slender body behind him. Aragorn had not heard her approach, for his faculties were not at their keenest and she moved with the silent grace of her people. Nor was there anything in her that might give his instincts cause to be wary.

Arwen rested her head against his shoulder, looking out with him through the glass.

‘As I walked beneath the birches in the midsummer moonlight,’ she murmured; ‘a clarion voice cried out to me: Tinúviel! Tinúviel! I felt as if I had tumbled unwittingly into legend, puzzled and taken quite by surprise.’

Aragorn turned towards her with a tiny chagrined smile. New warmth suffused his chest. It was wondrous enough to have his beloved come upon him while he roamed in that memory. To know she shared it was more than he would have thought to hope.

‘I was a foolish young dreamer,’ he said softly.

‘I was flattered to be thus mistaken,’ said Arwen. She had taken a decorous half-step back so that their eyes might meet with ease. She was tall, granddaughter of Galadriel and heir of Lúthien that she was, but Aragorn was taller. ‘Amongst they who knew her when she walked in Doriath, the comparison is often drawn. Never before that twilit night had a mortal Man done so, comparing me only to the music and the enduring tales. And you were so very young and earnest,’ she added fondly, with a small silver note of amusement.

‘I was impudent, and I am fortunate you did not scorn me utterly from the first,’ said Aragorn, playfully meek.

‘Oh, but that I could not have done!’ said Arwen with a merry glitter in her eyes. ‘It would have been cruel to mock one so sincere and unworldly – like marring a seedling that has just begun its upward growth. I confess I did not then imagine how the image of you beneath my father’s trees would linger in my mind.’

He reached to take her hand, entranced by the loving remembrance misting her eyes. Then swiftly they changed, grey glinting keenly present once more.

‘I went to see the mare,’ she said. ‘Moroch, you named her to the groom?’

Aragorn nodded. ‘She was entrusted to me by the Captain of Thranduil’s guard. He was most attentive to my demands regarding the care of the prisoner, and he offered me some diversion from the dreary business of resting from my road. It was Moroch who bore me – and, for a wonder, Gollum – the last few miles to the Elvenking’s halls. I confess we have grown quite fond of one another, she and I.’

‘I saw as much last evening,’ said Arwen. ‘I may now assure you that she has been well cared for. She is housed in the south pasture, for I understand she is fond of rolling in the clover.’

This sounded precisely like something Moroch would do, and joyously. ‘It was kind of you to look in on her for me,’ Aragorn said.

‘I owed her my thanks for bearing you home swiftly and safely,’ Arwen said earnestly. ‘I brought her the tip of a cone of pale sugar, and she seemed to like it quite well.’

‘I am certain she would,’ said Aragorn. The little smile left his face as he remembered that he owed his beloved an apology. ‘I must ask your forgiveness, my Lady, for failing to come to you as we agreed. I fell to speaking of our findings with Gandalf and your father, and I allowed the time to overtake me.’

‘I surmised as much,’ Arwen said with a knowing and most gracious smile. ‘It is no matter: you can go about with long, ragged tresses for a little longer. Did you learn all that you needed from the creature?’

The question beneath this was plain. She was asking whether the information had been worth the price exacted for it. Even an hour before Aragorn would not have known how to answer. On one side of the scales sat sixteen weary years of intermittent hunting and its consequent burden upon the lieutenants of the Dúnedain; the misery of the long interrogation; the strain upon Gandalf’s spirit and conscience; Aragorn’s own tribulations, bodily and otherwise; and now the pain in the eyes and hearts of those he loved most dearly in all the world. On the other pan teetered the dark and piteous tale of Gollum’s past; the sure knowledge that Bilbo’s Ring had come out of the mouth of Gladden, and the desperate certainty that Sauron knew that the Ring had been found and that he would now be on the hunt himself.

‘Yes,’ Aragorn said. He spoke without hesitation. Though his voice was taut and husky, his heart was certain at last. He looked into Arwen’s heart, trusting that she could see the gratitude in his own. She had invited him to voice this conviction, and now that it was spoken it felt all the more solid, all the more true. ‘Yes. Between Gollum’s words and Gandalf’s discovery in Gondor, we have learned all that we sought to.’

A host of questions rose in her eyes, but Arwen set her lips into a line of firm satisfaction. ‘I am glad of that,’ she said. Then, choosing her words with care, she added; ‘Are the tidings very grave?’

Aragorn studied her fair and sombre countenance. She knew much of these matters: why Gollum had been sought, what was suspected about Bilbo’s Ring, and the vast ramifications if those suspicious bore out. She understood better than most the dreadful consequences should the One Ring return to Sauron’s hand. Yet despite the stake her own dreads and dreams had in these matters she would not press him with questions. She refused to tempt him to reveal what he should not.

‘They are not as grave as we feared,’ said Aragorn; ‘nor as grim as they might so easily have been.’

He looked around the gallery and, taking Arwen by the arm, led the way down its full length. Every alcove was empty, he saw as he went: they were utterly alone. Aragorn moved to sit at the foot of one of the couches. Arwen settled gracefully at its head, turned in towards him so that they sat almost face to face, their knees not quite touching. Aragorn was silent for a few moments, collecting his thoughts and considering carefully his words.

‘The Ring that eventually came to Bilbo was found by Gollum in the mud of Anduin, upon the very verge of the Gladden Fields,’ he said. ‘There can be little doubt that it is the One, lost when Isildur was slain at the dawn of the Age. For my part, I have no doubt at all.’

Arwen kept steady eyes upon him, and her exquisite features did not alter from there tranquil lines. Yet in her lap her hands were twisted about one another in a desperate, grappling grasp, and there was a whisper of her racing pulse up the length of her white throat.

‘Has it been decided what must be done?’ she breathed at length.

Aragorn shook his head. ‘We wait upon the word of Elrond,’ he said. ‘Gandalf and I have carried this knowledge with us for weeks, and still we do not know what should be done with it. Your father must have time at least to consider his position before we can enter into any debate. All I know is that for now, we are keeping close our counsels.’

Arwen inclined her head in accord with the wisdom of these choices. Then clear thought gave way to gentle concern. ‘Has Master Baggins been told?’ she asked. ‘He has spent much care upon the outcome of your hunt, and more than ever when neither you nor Gandalf returned with the snows.’

‘I do not think he has,’ said Aragorn. ‘No doubt Gandalf will wish to be the one to explain. Word will have to be sent to my men to double the watch on the Shire yet again. Are your brothers in the valley?’

‘No.’ Arwen smiled faintly. ‘They are, in truth, riding guard around the Shire – or so they intended when they road out with winter’s last days. In your absence they have done all they can to aid and strengthen the Rangers. It is an act of love as much as one of duty, for if they could not aid you in your labours at least they could take your place in that.’

‘Threefold over,’ Aragorn murmured, overcome again with the deep and wondrous sense of being cherished and sustained by those he loved. So often in the course of his quest he had felt most bitterly alone. To feel such encompassing care was a gift beyond telling. ‘I will have to send a messenger. It will be some time yet before I will be returning to the Wild.’

Arwen smiled triumphantly. ‘Well!’ she exclaimed, dusting her hands before draping one arm along the back of the couch. ‘You have spared me a quarrel there, for I should have locked you in the bell tower sooner than let you travel before your strength is restored to you.’

‘I hope I may always do what I can to spare you quarrels,’ said Aragorn quietly, aware of the unspoken hope in those words and its timorous fragility.

Her eyes widened at this also, as surprised as he at the speaking of this dearest of longings. Seldom indeed did they talk of it. Seldom even did Aragorn allow himself to think of it, and though he could not speak to her private thoughts when he was far away he was sure the same held true for Arwen. It was too beautiful, too terrible, so nearly miraculous in nature that at times it seemed impossible. Between this present of hidden hopes and stolen moments lay a gulph of darkness beyond which even Elrond himself could not see. It was better not to let themselves imagine what they hoped might lie beyond, when that which they feared more than flame or Shadow seemed so much more probable.

Arwen smoothed her skirts and her countenance. ‘I am pleased to hear it,’ she said as lightly as she was able. ‘For I should hate to waste these days of your homecoming in petty disputes. I will not let you forget that you have pledged to yield to me in the matter of your hair, either, Estel.’

He smiled, as much relieved by the passing of a perilous moment as he was amused by her tender teasing. ‘Shall we go at once, if you are so eager?’ he asked.

‘Nay, for I fear you have had your fill of being poked and prodded today,’ said Arwen, no longer quite so jocund. With a sympathetic arc to her lips, she added; ‘Father has seen to your wounds, has he not?’

‘Such as they are,’ said Aragorn, trying to sound unaffected. Doubtless it was a comfort to his lady to know he was thus tended, but it was not a matter that he yearned to discuss at any length. ‘The worst of it is behind me. All that remains are the pleasures of convalescence: good food, a warm bed, and glad company.’

‘The bed and the food others shall furnish,’ said Arwen. ‘As for the company, she will be as glad as she is able. Certainly she knows nothing but joy that you have come at last.’ She studied him with thoughtful eyes. ‘What do you most desire to tell me of your road?’

For an instant Aragorn was caught unguarded, wondering frantically what he might possibly say that would not wound her. Then he remembered that he had formulated a plan for this moment.

‘I drove Gollum north by way of western Rhovanion, anxious to avoid the perils of southern Mirkwood,’ he said. ‘We passed through Eastemnet, which is a holding of Rohan. It was difficult to move in daylight, for Gollum despised it and feared the Sun. Yellow Face, he called her, and he would send up a mighty protest if I walked long by her light. Therefore in daylight I would try to seek shelter: a copse of trees, or a hedge, or the shadow of a standing stone, anything to quiet him. One day I came to the edge of a little dell, and looking down I saw some hayricks about what I took to be an abandoned cottage. It seemed a pleasant place to rest until dusk, for clean hay makes fine bedding for a traveller, and Gollum could burrow within and hide himself from his hated Yellow Face.’

Arwen looked perplexed, no wonder trying to understand Gollum’s queer imbalance of childlike appellations and monstrous leanings. There were many harmless creatures that preferred night to day and had little truck with the Sun, but to truly despise it was a mark of evil. Aragorn did not wish to expound too much upon this.

‘Down we went into the hollow of the land,’ he went on instead. ‘But where I expected Gollum to be eager to go, he balked. It was then that I saw I was mistaken. The cottage was not a ruin, nor was it uninhabited. There was no smoke from the chimney, which was strange upon a cold morning, but subtler signs of habitation were all about the place. As my eyes sought them out, I heard the squall of a babe, and voices from inside the little house.’

He went on, telling the tale of Osbehrt and Annis, and their courageous young mother with her scythe. He described the children as vividly as he was able, and Arwen laughed when he came to the little girl’s insistence that it was a mouse, not a man, in the hay. She feigned a grimace of dismay at the mention of the small boy trying to carry his infant brother, and she shook her head wonderingly as Aragorn told how the tension had been eased by his fond watching of the children.

‘The woman was kind enough to let me make use of their well ere I took my leave,’ he said, eschewing her edict about his future unwelcome. He would not tell her of Gollum’s attempt to steal the egg, either, for that led on to much darker trespasses. ‘As I led my captive up and away from the little home, I spied shadows far off to the East of the dell: a herd and their keeper. I was glad of that, for I had half feared the children’s father a feint to drive off a wild man. It was welcome to know that I was not leaving so young a mother alone with three small ones to care for.’

‘Three!’ Arwen sighed, and for a brief instant a longing flashed in her eyes. ‘And she so very young, you say?’

‘Not yet near five and twenty, by my guess,’ agreed Aragorn. ‘The Rohirrim wed younger than the Dúnedain, but even so…’ He offered a small shrug of his shoulders. ‘The children were well fed and well kept, though Osbehrt was a trifle grubby. I understand it is difficult to keep a child of that age clean even for an hour.’

‘So I, too, have heard,’ Arwen said, with a teasing twinkle of the eye that made Aragorn wonder what tales she might have heard of a Man-child of not-quite-three. She would not have had such stories from he who stood as father to both of them, but it was certainly not beyond Glorfindel’s remit to brighten a night of worry with such a yarn.

‘The were the first of my kind I had spoken with in many months,’ said Aragorn; ‘and the last I saw before I came to the Town at Carrock. I shall carry the memory fondly all my days.’

‘How far from Eastemnet to the Carrock?’ asked Arwen, a calculating and uneasy look in her eyes.

‘I cannot say,’ Aragorn admitted. ‘It may well be close upon two hundred leagues. But I was not without company, you must remember. I had my withered travelling companion, and I passed two pleasant nights on the marches of Lothlórien. Lord Celeborn himself came to welcome me, though with such a creature in my care I could not walk far into that lovely realm.’

‘That is a pity,’ said Arwen. ‘You might have found rest and succour in Caras Galadhon, and my grandmother could have given you gifts to speed your journey and provide for your comfort.’

‘There was no time,’ said Aragorn. ‘I feared pursuit out of Mordor, even with the river to shield me from the Nine. And I could not very well leave my hard-won charge in the care of the Marchwardens, for Gollum is swift and he is sly, and he looks far less of a threat than he is. They would have underestimated his malice and his strength, and he would surely have escaped them. Yet I was glad of the rest I was able to take, and of the provisions and supplies they were able to provide. The leader of this company was Aithron; surely you know him.’

Arwen nodded. ‘He is strong-willed and fiercely loyal,’ she said. ‘He is well suited to patrolling such a hostile border, for he is little swayed by considerations of the heart.’ She smiled in sudden surprise. ‘But then you will have met Calmiel, for she serves in that company!’

‘She does,’ said Aragorn. ‘She was most gracious to me. She dwelt once in Imladris? It must have been long ago: I do not remember her.’

‘Not so very long ago,’ Arwen said. ‘She is sister to Faliel, whose clever hands coax forth such healthy herbs and blend them into tinctures and medicines. Calmiel rode south with my father in the year the White Council broke the gates of Dol Guldur and drove forth the Necromancer. You would have been a young boy they, unless I am mistaken.’

Aragorn nodded. ‘I was ten,’ he said. ‘I am sorry I do not remember her, and sorrier still that I did not know her then. She has kept the flavour of Rivendell’s hospitality, though it does not endear her to her Captain when plied upon his border.’

‘Lothlórien is more vulnerable than Imladris,’ said Arwen. ‘It is natural that her guardians should be more cautious.’

‘I agree, and they wield that caution well. Lord Celeborn desired me to bring you his love and that of the Lady Galadriel,’ Aragorn said. ‘He spoke most dearly of you, whom he treasures.’

After that, they spent many languid minutes in quiet conversation, talking of mercifully inconsequential things. Arwen told him of recent happenings in Imladris, and Aragorn told her the tale of the shrewd and determined tailor – foregoing any mention of the encounter with the ferryman. Nor did he have to elucidate how desperately he had needed to be fitted for new garments. It was natural to replace wayworn raiment at the close of a hard journey, and if Arwen wondered why he had been unable to wait a few weeks more for that relief, she said nothing.

‘What of the boots?’ she asked instead. ‘I have never known you to go thus shod, though it is not unbecoming.’

‘The cordwainder mistook me,’ said Aragorn with a bare glint of amusement. ‘They proved well-suited to riding, though I know not what is to be done with them now.’

‘They are quite becoming,’ Arwen said coyly. ‘Perhaps one day you shall have occasion to wear them again.’

Aragorn’s heart could not but quicken for a few rapid beats at these words. Was she too alluding to that distant and improbable future? But her expression was easy and pleasant, and her eyes simply merry. They passed again into quiet talk, and whiled away another blissful hour in one another’s company. Often the conversation would lapse into a gentle silence as intimate and beautiful as any love-talk. It was enough merely to savour one another’s treasured presence after so long a separation. When at last they rose and went down together tot ake their tender leave on the threshold of Aragorn’s rooms, their parting was sweetened by the knowledge of the next meeting’s glorious nearness.

lar

That night was an uneventful affair for Aragorn. He supped quietly in his antechamber, partaking of as much of the wholesome food as he felt able, and he was abed ere the shadows grew long. It was a delicious sensation to stretch out in the spacious bed with its familiar hangings. The plump feather tick was in his mind the very paragon of comfort. It was this bed in its every detail that came to his mind when the cold and stony ground began to wear upon his endurance. These small luxuries of home made want and hardship easier to bear.

Still he did not relish the opulence of his position long that evening, for sleep found him swiftly. No dreams of dark or broken things visited him all that restful night, and Aragorn awoke the next morning feeling far better for his slumber.

He rose and lingered indolently over his morning toilette. Today he dared to study himself in the looking glass, and he was not disheartened by what he saw. The bones of his face were still painfully prominent, but the shadows beneath his eyes were much reduced and his lips, though coarse, were no longer blotched with scabs and crevices. His colour was much recovered, and his eyes were clear. He saw, too, why Arwen had shown such an interest in trimming his hair. It was rough with careless combing, where he had torn through in his haste to rid himself of nests of tangles and foul debris, and long though it was there were many places where it had been carelessly cut in the same pursuit. He looked even more shaggy and bedraggled than was his wont, even clean and brushed. 

He bound back the unsightly mass with a cord. It made the slender strands of grey stand out more noticeably at brow and temple, and he regarded them curiously. He had not paused to think of how he had aged in recent years. Some of the wearing was the result of recent privations, but not all. Time had been kinder to him than to those of lesser race, but its incursions were immutable whatever their pace. In this land of timeless faces, no doubt these changes were all too obvious. He could not help but wonder, however briefly, what Arwen made of the fine lines at the corners of his eyes and the pale flecking of his dark head. Their love went far beyond such considerations, but all the same she had plighted her troth with a young man in the full flower of his strength and comeliness. On this occasion she had been met instead by a hard-worn invalid coming into his middle years.

Determined to lay by such self-doubts, at least for a time, he returned to the business of preparing for the day. Such a hasty business in the Wild, it was remarkably time-consuming in a cultured setting. He cleaned his teeth and rinsed his mouth with the hyssop elixir furnished him for that purpose. He felt his neck and jaw to assure himself that they were still smooth. Then he traded his nightclothes for fresh linen and went to the clothespress.

There he stood for rather too many minutes, confronted with what seemed an overwhelming variety of choice. His assortment of garments, most many years old but worn so seldom that they appeared almost new, was modest – even meagre, by the standards of this household – but he was not accustomed even to having a full change of clothing. On his wanderings even a change of undergarments was an extravagant possession, and the variety of stuffs and colours before him gave Aragorn pause. In the end he chose a bilaut that had been cut to be close-fitting and hence did not hang quite so loosely upon his frame. It was of a dark and dignified blue that made a welcome change from his usual palette of drab woodland hues.

He considered his small selection of colourful sashes and handsomely dyed leathers before returning to his old and trusted belt, which he fastened more loosely than he had been wearing it on the road. He left his knife. Though it was a strange thing to go unarmed, it was also a welcome change. Aragorn hoped that it might help him to feel more removed from the unrelenting wariness of the wilderness. He donned half-hose and his supple leather shoes and affixed his star upon his breast, and he was dressed for his day.

As the morning was still young and he felt equal to broader social contact, Aragorn descended to the dining hall in search of his breakfast. As he had expected, he was greeted gladly. Few knew where he had been bound when last he took his leave of the valley, and fewer still knew why he had gone thither. Yet most were aware he had been travelling with Gandalf, and all knew that he had been gone for many months. Aragorn returned each salutation, and exchanged some lengthier words with those he knew well. Soon enough he was seated at one of the mid-ranking tables among a cheerful throng, all of whom were happy to bring him food and offer him all manner of cheerful conversation. Not one among them watched each mouthful he took, nor cast worried eyes over his frame. It was quite pleasant, much though he valued the care he had received from those he most loved. For about three-quarters of an hour Aragorn enjoyed the glad throng, before he began to feel crowded and tired.

Happily all that was needed was a soft word of farewell and a promise that he would soon join the household at board again. The Elves let Aragorn depart with neither question nor worry, for it was well known that he had only so much fondness for such gatherings, however merry; most of all when he first came out of the Wild and was still growing used to the vibrant life of the valley. When seeking solitude there were many places where one might retreat, for Elves valued their quiet contemplation just as much as road-weary Chieftains. The gallery was one but the Hall of Fire was another, still more peaceful and less often visited by those of raucous disposition. It was there Aragorn went now.

The warmth of the dim chamber was welcome upon his hands and face as he entered, for his garments were lighter than those of yesterday and his bones seemed more sensitive to the cold than was their wont. Aragorn made a swift survey of the room with his sharp eyes, and was pleased to see that it was almost empty. When he saw the identity of the lone occupant he was still more glad, for near the fire with his feet crossed upon a low stool and his chin on his breast sat Master Bilbo Baggins himself.

Aragorn approached on noiseless feet, not wishing to disturb the old hobbit’s repose. Bilbo had a cushioned chair suited perfectly to his stature, and Aragorn settled in a low-backed seat well-matched to his own. He stretched his long legs towards the hearth, feeling its heat through the soft soles of his shoes. He was just considering whether or not he ought to try to steal a little nap himself when Bilbo snorted and jerked his head, eyes still closed.

‘Have you come back to pick at my metre, Lindir?’ he asked. ‘A cracked foot may not be an Elvish convention, but there are others among the world’s poets who think it offers an interesting cadence.’

‘So I too have found,’ Aragorn said placidly, enjoying the moment when Bilbo’s eyes flew open at the sound of his voice.

The hobbit’s round, amiable face was instantly alight with joy. ‘Dúnadan!’ he cried. ‘What a lovely thing to see you again! I am so glad you’ve come home safely – though Gandalf says you’re not well, and I see what he means. You’re skinny as a bean-pole, and dreadfully pale even in this light.’

‘You cannot expect to see me plump and brown with winter only just behind us, surely,’ Aragorn laughed. Bilbo’s cheerfully frank speech was always a delight. ‘Has Gandalf been to tell you of our adventures?’

A shadow crossed the hobbit’s face, but he nodded. ‘Yes, he has,’ he said. ‘You’ve found him at last, that nasty bit of baggage. And…’ He looked around the room and shook his head. ‘It seems foolish to be so cautious in Rivendell, but Gandalf has said I’m not to speak of the rest of it where others might hear.’

‘That is sound advice,’ said Aragorn. ‘It is not that we distrust any of the inhabitants of this house, but rather that our counsels are in their infancy and it would be best to keep them close for now. If you wish to speak of these things, we might remove to your room.’

‘Yes, that would be best, I think,’ said Bilbo. ‘Gandalf has a very brisk way of getting to the point, but he’s not much of a one to entertain questions and I do have a few, you know.’

‘Naturally,’ said Aragorn, smiling to show that he was neither surprised nor troubled by this prospect. ‘Why don’t you go on ahead? There is something I would like to fetch.’

‘Is there? How curious!’ Bilbo said delightedly. He got to his feet a little stiffly, not with the jaunty little hop he had always employed in his early years in Imladris. The years were telling on him as well, and with far more telling results. ‘Do give me your hand, Aragorn! It has been far too long.’

Aragorn obliged, and Bilbo shook his hand stoutly, then patted it with his other. ‘Hurry up, now. I won’t be able to wait forever to satisfy my curiosity! And I’ve been fretting, too, as no doubt you’ve guessed. Poor Frodo: it seems I’ve left him in something of a sticky situation, though I certainly didn’t intend it.’

‘Of course you did not,’ Aragorn assured him. ‘And there is hope that the situation may not be so very sticky in the end. I will come very shortly, I promise.’

They parted ways at the door, and Aragorn took the stairs as swiftly as he could, earning a series of shallow, wet coughs for his efforts. He entered his rooms, seeing at once that someone had been in to straighten up, and he quickly found his belt-pouch. Palming the object he sought, he reversed his course and made his way down to the hobbit’s homey room with its suitably-sized furnishings and the door that opened out into the gardens. Often in clement weather the door stood ajar, but when his knock was answered and he entered the Ranger saw at once that it was closed tightly. The windows were as well: Bilbo had taken measures to guard them from accidental eavesdroppers.

He settled himself on a stool near the fire, eschewing the Man-sized chair that Bilbo kept for guests. The hobbit was in his own favourite seat, rummaging about in a basket that sat on the small table beside it.

‘I know it’s here somewhere,’ he said distractedly, not pausing to look up. ‘Just give me half a minute, Dúnadan, unless you’ve just now been up to fetch your own and have hidden it up your sleeve.’

‘My own what?’ asked Aragorn, even as Bilbo gave a triumphant little cry.

‘Here it is!’ he said, lifting a slender velvet pouch out of the assortment of small items in the basket. There were letter-openers, two pen-knifes, spent quills and stubs of Dwarf-made pencils and a string of brightly coloured porcelain beads. But the hobbit was interested only in the little sack, which he passed now to Aragorn.

‘I like to keep a spare on hand, just in case I have a guest who comes unprepared,’ he said. ‘But of course most of my visitors don’t partake, and Gandalf never forgets his. Fill up, Dúnadan, and you can fetch us both a light. With those long arms of yours you won’t even need to rise.’

Realizing what it was he held, Aragorn grinned and parted the drawstring. He drew out a long-stemmed pipe with a prettily carved bowl. Bilbo was already offering him a crock half-filled with very fine-smelling pipeweed. Aragorn took a pinch and began to pack the bowl with care.

‘You are indeed a gracious host!’ he said earnestly. ‘It has been… let me think, now. At least eight months since last I had the pleasure: quite likely longer.’

‘Eight months! I don’t know how you do it,’ said Bilbo. He was filling his own pipe now. ‘My day just wouldn’t be complete without a pleasant little puff, though some of the Elves will put on airs about my habits.’

Aragorn took a taper from the cup on the table and reached to light it from the fire. As prophesied, he did not need to stand. He held the flame while Bilbo drew a smooth column of air through the pipe to coax it in. Then he lit his own and blew out the taper. Not pausing for speech, he drew upon the stem of the borrowed pipe and tasted the fragrant smoke as it filled his mouth. Tipping his head back a little, he sent out a thin column and watched it rise. In a few minutes he might experiment to see whether he had kept the knack for blowing smoke-rings, but these first puffs were too delicious not to be afforded his full attention.

He had not realized how much he had missed this simple comfort. How many winter nights would have been made just a little more bearable by a quiet smoke? He took another long inhalation and savoured the crisp, faintly spiced sunshine scent of the pipeweed.

‘Thank you, my friend,’ he said to Bilbo. Seated on so low a stool, he was nearly at Bilbo’s eye level. It made for more comfortable conversation, especially when grave matters had to be discussed. ‘This is a rare pleasure, and one that I relish most of all when shared.’

Bilbo nodded his agreement at this. ‘Smoking alone is never quite the same,’ he said. ‘Unless you’re busy with a good book or working through a difficult song. Gandalf said I ought to think about composing a piece about your hunt and triumph, but you’ll have to tell me about it first.’

Aragorn restrained the urge to groan. ‘Gandalf ought to let that idea lie,’ he said ruefully, speaking around the stem of the pipe before puffing again. This time he did blow a smoke ring after all, and it rose and expanded just as he wished it. The skill was still with him, it seemed. ‘It was not a journey that would make an uplifting song, however successful at the last.'

‘No, I suppose it wouldn’t have been,’ said Bilbo. ‘That horrid little wretch! How ever did you bear his company?’

‘It was not easy,’ Aragorn admitted, with less discomfort than he had yet. Bilbo had that particular magic about him: he was such a sympathetic listener that he made it painless to admit to even the most uncomfortable of things. ‘I can say with impunity that he did not care for mine, either. You said you have questions about what Gandalf told you. I will be glad to answer them if I can, though we are all adrift amid more questions than there are answers to be had.’

‘Yes,’ said Bilbo. ‘Still it would be good to have what answers there are, and for the rest even a flat “I don’t know, dear silly hobbit!” would be better than no reply at all. Gandalf is a capital fellow, but he’s very private in his thoughts.’

Aragorn made a half-smile at this, for of course it was true and at times a source of frustration for him as well – though he could give as good as he got in that respect. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘All that I may answer, I will. For the rest, I will give you your “I don’t knows” and my “I cannot speak to thats", if that will satisfy you awhile.’

‘It will, Dúnadan, and thank you!’ Bilbo said stoutly. Then with another long draught on his pipe, he began.





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