Part Two

As the Snow Falls

or

 Blunders in Bathing

Rohan

White Mountains near Helm’s Deep

Year 11, 4th Age

Winter

Aragorn shifted so that his hands were more firmly pressed into his armpits, and still his fingers felt numb. This was *no* way to spend Yule, but what else could they do?

He tried to peer into the obliterating whiteness to no avail. The snow continued to fall, drifting down at an unbelievable rate, making visibility almost impossible. Even so near to their destination, they could not continue. Even the two elves could not see clearly to determine the track

Bending his head, Aragorn rubbed his nose against his shoulder. “So, that is how the holly came to be around the Last Homely House? I always wondered why the gardeners had chosen them.”

Glorfindel frowned at him, which puzzled Aragorn, but then nodded. “Yes, I confess, it was all my doing. But it worked! Elrond ceased to be so troubled by the pollen. And I did not have to suffer— Aragorn! Stop that! Here…”

The elf-lord dug around in the pack beside him and withdrew a handkerchief. “Erestor left me with enough of these so that I carry at least a couple with me everywhere. Use it instead of your clothing, please! It is most unbecoming for the King of the Reunified Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor to use his clothing to wipe his nose.”

“Oh, go fall down a snow bank.” Aragorn sniffed in as dignified a manner as he could manage whilst he sat freezing his arse off, and ignored Legolas’s chuckles from beside him on the large log where they had taken refuge.

Glorfindel shook the cloth at him, and Aragorn shook his head. It is cold, Glorfindel! I do not wish to remove my fingers from my cloak.” He sniffed again, but it was not enough to stop the dripping from his nose.

The handkerchief landed in his lap. “Use it anyway.”

“Yes, please!” Legolas added with unveiled amusement. “I tire of watching it drip from the tip of your nose.”

Aragorn rolled his eyes, and turned away from the two of them to use the handkerchief. Ah, it felt much nicer than his rough cloak. He tucked it under the mantle with him, and glanced back at Glorfindel. “Well, that was not much of a confession to my mind. It barely fit the rules of the game!”

Glorfindel’s lips twitched, but that was the only sign of any emotion on his face. Then in an amused voice that brooked no argument, he said, “Ah, but I was naked. You did not specify it had to have anything to do with my confession. Now, who is next?”

Aragorn glanced at Legolas just as Legolas looked his way. Aragorn raised a brow as if waiting, but Legolas shook his head. “I went before you the last time we were stuck in some bizarre situation. It is your turn.”

“But…”

“No, I will not confess to a thing until you have given your confession.”

Sighing heavily, Aragorn gave up, and thought about what he could tell them that was not too embarrassing.  “Very well. As I must share something neither of you knows about, there was this time in the wilds during a terrible autumn storm….”

— o —

Northern Eriador

Year 2954, 3^rd Age

Autumn

Aragorn shivered. The downpour had soaked him through, but he kept moving. He needed to find shelter and fast. The weather had turned so quickly, the temperature plummeting with the storm. If it continued to fall, the rain would turn to sleet or even snow, and in his drenched clothing, he would be at risk of freezing to death.

He topped a rise of ground, and to his joy saw a plume of smoke rising from a couple of hills further north. It had to be the dúnedain settlement of Barforod, the one furthest to the north. Sniffling, he trudged on, pulling his sodden cloak more tightly around himself. Traveling in the wilds was nothing new for him — his brothers had seen to that — but since he had come of age, he did so more and more on his own.

As a small child he had known he was not an elf, but a Man of the line of the dúnedain. His mother had not budged on that part of his upbringing, though to her credit, she never once hinted at the identity of his true father. Sometimes, as a child, one Man or another would visit Imladris and bring news to Gilraen, and during those times Aragorn, then known only as Estel, had soaked in the stories of the Rangers of the North.

He even once declared to Elrond that he was leaving to join them after being punished for disobeying his foster father’s command. He could not have been older than six at the time.

A smile tugged at Aragorn’s mouth, even as he slipped down the other side of the rise.

—

Imladris

2937 Third Age

“I am going! I do not want to live here anymore!”

Elrond sighed and looked down at the youngster. He loved this boy as if he were one of his own children, and it pained him greatly to do what must be done.

“Very well, I will miss you, my son.”

He moved to open the wardrobe and pulled out a small pack made for Estel when he went into the ‘wilds’ with his brothers, which consisted of the small patch of trees a hundred yards from the house.

“What shall you take with you? You will need a change or two of clothes…”

Ignoring the look of panic in Gilraen’s eyes, Elrond proceeded to help the boy pack for a journey, but not without a half choked sob from the lady. She would never interfere in front of Estel, allowing him to play the true part of father, but he was sure to get an earful later, especially if this did not go the way it had with Elladan and Elrohir.

Once the sack contained clothing, the boy’s wooden knife and a bundle of food from the kitchen, Elrond led the small boy by the hand to the river, carrying the pack for Estel. Facing the boy towards the ford and kneeling behind his charge, he slipped the straps over Estel’s shoulders and then turned the child back around to face him.

Fighting back tears, for this tore greatly at his heart, Elrond said the words he had said to the twins when they were little older than the determined child standing before him. “I will miss you, my son. Remember, your mother, brothers and I love you very much. You will always be welcome back here to visit or even live, provided you submit to the rules I lay down.”

Elrond placed a kiss on the child’s forehead and stood, giving him a soft push towards the ford. “Off with you now if you are so determined to go. If you stay on the path, you will eventually find a settlement of Men. It should not take more than one, maybe two weeks.”

Then he did one of the hardest things any parent could do, he turned around and walked back towards the Last Homely House. Ahead he could see Gilraen, staring at him with such anger and hurt in her eyes. But they had made an agreement and to her credit, she had held her tongue. That would change if Estel actually tried to leave.

He gulped, but kept on, knowing he had to be as determined as his small son.

Evening was approaching, and the shadows were lengthening. A last glance over his shoulder revealed Estel had crossed the shallow ford and now stood still, staring at the large, dark wood ahead of him. Elrond turned his face away and strode on.

“ADA!”

Elrond turned back in time to see Estel splash back across the stream. In moments, he nearly stumbled as small arms clutched at his legs. Full of love he looked  down at the small child pleading to be allowed to stay and bear his punishment.

  —

Near Barforod

2954 Third Age

Aragorn chuckled as he crossed a narrow footbridge over a raging torrent.  Elrond had known he would never get very far. It was only when he returned to his room to suffer for his disobedience that he learned Elladan and Elrohir had done the same.

Now, he was grown and was travelling to a village of his people. Ever since reaching his majority at twenty years of age and learning of his true heritage, he had begun to become more acquainted with his people as their Chieftain. In his pack was a letter of introduction from Halbarad for the village Elder, who should invite Aragorn to stay with him for a few days.

He looked forward to a warm fire and getting out of his wet clothing. A hot meal in good company would also not be amiss. Mouth watering, he topped the last rise and looked down into a small dell.

Scattered about were meager, simple homes, numbering no more than seven. It surprised him. All the other villages had been larger.

He made haste going down the hill and approached the closest home. All the cabins looked the same to him, with no distinguishing marks to help him determine where the Elderlived. He ran a hand through his drenched hair in an effort to look more presentable, but realized there was not much he could do to change his appearance at this point.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.

He could hear movement inside and after a moment, the door creaked open, spilling warmth and the smell of cooking meat and vegetables. The smell made his stomach growl, and the heat called to him.

A matronly woman with graying hair pulled back from her face stood in the doorway, a puzzled look on her face. She blinked, looked him up and down, and before Aragorn could say a word of greeting, shook her head and placed her hands on her abundant hips.

“You are a sorry sight, child. Get yourself in here and out of those wet things before you catch your death!” She stepped back to allow him entrance, but Aragorn just stood there, spluttering.

“B-but, ma’am, I-I am Ar –

“Time for introductions later. Come on, in with you now! ‘Fore you get sick, and I am forced to nurse you back to health.”

Hesitantly, he stepped over the threshold and found himself pushed forward so the woman could close the door behind him. Before he could say anything further, the woman pulled his cloak from his shoulders and hung it from a hook beside the door.

“Just get out of the rest of those clothes, and I will put some hot water in a basin and you can wash. Good thing I had some heating over the fire already. I do not have a tub, but I have a warm quilt you can wrap yourself up in after you have bathed.”

Aragorn just stood there in shock as she moved to the fireplace across the room and began dipping water from a large pot into a basin. A quick glance around the single room revealed humble, if adequate living quarters, but no separate place for privacy to bathe.

“Well, what are you waiting for, child? You must be chilled to the bone! And you are dripping all over my floor.” She glanced in the direction of his feet with disapproval.

Looking down, Aragorn cringed at the puddle collecting around his feet. He peeked up through the wet hair plastered to his face at the woman waiting expectantly for him to remove his clothing.

“Um...your pardon, ma’am, but I hardly think it appropriate…”

“Oh pish posh, child. Raised myself four boys your age. You do not have anything I have not seen before. So, off with your clothing before you make a bigger mess or get sick.”

There did not seem to be much he could say to that, and the thought of getting warm and possibly fed overcame his hesitance.

Still, it was with much embarrassment, he began removing his clothes. Being raised in Imladris as he had, he had never undressed in front of a woman before, except his mother and that not since he was a lad. The elves of Imladris were rather…

Well, he would not call them prudes, but they had rather strong ideas about modesty in mixed company. He had heard the woodelves saw things differently, but Legolas would not confirm nor deny whether such were true.

As his wet tunic slipped down his arms, Aragorn realized he did not know where to put his soaked garments. The woman solved it for him, however, when she pointed to the bucket she had placed under his cloak.

“Just put them there.” To his relief, she turned her back and continued dipping water into the basin.

With haste, he removed the rest of his clothes, hesitating at his small clothes and biting his lip as he debated whether to remove those as well. The thin linen was also damp from the soaking he had endured, but he could hardly remove them, could he?

“Off with those too. I shall hang them all over here by the fire and they will be dry again before you know it. Hurry now!”

With a heated face, Aragorn removed his undergarment and tossed it into the pail with the rest of his clothes. His pack he had set next to the bucket, and he longed for its presence to cover himself. Then a though occurred to him, and while her back was still turned, he took two quick steps so that the room’s only table now lay between the woman and himself, blocking her eyes from his… Well, his parts that he would rather not reveal to a woman at this time in his life. Especially not one old enough to be his mother!

The woman turned back around with the basin and a cloth in her hands and smiled when she saw where he stood. “Never seen such modesty in a young one before. The boys around here do not care so much about who sees what. But then, you are not from around here, are you child?”

Standing naked in this woman’s home was not the way he wished to introduce himself. He swallowed hard and shook his head. “Nay, I have never been this far north before.”

She nodded and sat the bowl and cloth down on the table, adding a small cake of soap. “I figured as much. Go ahead and wash. I will occupy myself in my chair with some embroidery. Just let me get you that quilt to wrap yourself in when you are finished.”

She fetched it from near the fire and laid it on a roughly hewn stool beside the table, and then sat in a rocking chair, the only luxury item in the room. Her eyes on her work, she hummed and sewed while Aragorn washed. He did not linger.

“So, what brings you so far north, young man? I assume you are a messenger for Halbarad, the rascal. He does not get up here very often.”

Aragorn paused with the washcloth half way to his chest. Oh, by Elbereth. Surely he would not need to explain this now? No, he could not, would not identify himself at this point, though the nagging thought that he would have to sooner or later tugged at the back of his mind.

"Halbarad did send me,” he answered, relieved it was true…in a way. “I carry a letter for the Elder. Mayhap you could tell me where he lives?”

It only now dawned on him that he should have insisted on this information before the woman had him strip. Now he would have to go out in the rain and cold once more. At times like this, he really despised his lack of experience in such matters.

“Well, then, you are in the right place. My husband, Hirvegil, was the Elder, but since he passed on nigh three years ago, I have been the one the people look to. They call me Hisaeleth, although it isn’t the name my papa gave me. He named me Cammiriel. She snorted. "I suppose one of these days, my oldest son, Iorthon, will take on the duties, but for now, it falls on me. Not that I mind it so much, I suppose. Just seems man’s work to me.”

Aragorn agreed, though he was so far impressed by Hisaeleth. He finished up, and wrapped the quilt around his shoulders and body. The hot water and now the warm quilt intensified his hunger and weariness. He moved to retrieve the letter from his pack, but the woman spoke up again.

“Not now, child. You need to eat first. Come, bring that stool over by the fire, and I will make you a plate.”

Aragorn made quick work of the venison stew served to him with a slice of fresh bread. It was delicious, and he praised Hisaeleth openly, causing her to flush and beam at him. When he finished eating, he placed the plate in a bucket containing other dishes needing to be washed.

Moving to the door, he retrieved his pack and brought it near the fire, all the while being careful to keep the quilt tight around him. Rummaging inside the sack, he found what he was seeking and pulled out the oiled-skin wrap protecting the document from the weather.

Warm, dry and full, he sleepily handed the letter to Hisaeleth before sitting back in the chair and gazing dreamily into the fire. It took only moments before he was half asleep.

“Sunken lands!” The woman exclaimed a few moments later, causing Aragorn to jump.

Being half asleep, the quilt slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor, leaving him sitting with nothing covering his lap. He frowned, looking at the material on the floor and then glanced up to see Hisaeleth staring at him. He quickly covered himself with one hand, and grabbed for the quilt with the other, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Hisaeleth stood and curtsied to him clumsily. “My lord! I-I…” The poor lady seemed horrified.

Aragorn at this point, however smiled. “Be at peace, good woman. With as well as you have treated me, I have no fear for any of your people.” Yawning, he knew it was true. These people were in good hands.

“Well, just look at you, Lord Aragorn! Falling asleep on that stool. To the bed with you!” And with motherly concern, she shooed him to a bundle of furs and blankets in one corner. And despite his earlier humiliation, Aragorn slept well.

Within a month, the Dúnadan felt like he had lived there all of his life, and his stay was quite pleasant, despite Hisaeleth’s insistence he bathe regularly. And the village of Barforod became one of his favorite places to visit over the years.

To Be Continued....

Thanks for reading!