T.A. 2533, Twenty-three years later

The innkeeper led him to a corner table.  Grey haired and road weary, he eased his lean frame down into the chair.  A tankard of ale was quietly delivered. 

He had returned from Aldburg, paying a visit to Eorl, now king of newly named Rohan in his fortress town in the middle of the Folde.  The king was a hale and vigorous 48 years.  The once empty Calenardhon province of Gondor was thriving with expanding farms, pastures and open range.  Eorl had been granted these lands by Cirion for saving the Steward, his army and perhaps Gondor itself from the Balchoth nearly a quarter century past.

Eorl had done well with them.  His people prospered.  Many of those who made the fateful ride from far Framsburg to the Field of the Celebrant still lived.  Their sons were now reaching manhood. 

Aragost had spent some weeks with Eorl after an absence of over ten years.  Eorl had taken him out into the countryside to witness the growth and progress of his people.  Memories of their time together years ago were shared over ale and roast beef. 

Now he was back, expecting a visitor. 

At the far corner of the room the door opened.  A tall figure clad in a heavy grey cloak entered, took off his blue pointy hat and made way towards Aragost’s table.  The innkeeper swept by and left a tankard of ale and a plate of fruit and sausages.

The old man settled into a chair across from Aragost.  He had not changed in the over 100 years he had known him.  The same long gray hair joined a beard mixed with streaks of white, his bushy eyebrows framing keen eyes that saw through every veil.  Gandalf had arrived for tidings from the lands of the Rohirrim. 

“It is not often that men of the north, even a chieftain of the Dunedain, make such a journey to the kingdom of Rohan.  But if memory serves me, it is not your first encounter with its king, Eorl.”

The old fox, Aragost thought to himself, taking a sip of ale.  He had never uttered a word of his ride with Eorl that fateful year.  But he suspected that the old wizard knew somehow or harbored thoughts which he had long been eager to validate with an admission.  For years, Aragost had decided that the knowledge of his ride was neither of benefit nor relevance to anyone.

And, to tell the truth, he felt a small sense of satisfaction in withholding the information.  Wizards, elves, and others had their own special powers.  This bit of information he had held for many years was his.  It was time to let it go.

“No, it is not.”  Aragost replied minimally, savoring the last moments, trying not to smile.

He could sense Gandalf’s impatience. 

“You know I first met Eorl the year he led the entire eohere to the Field of the Celebrant.  Buteor had tracked me down.  Eorl himself wrote a message in reply that he was coming to Gondor’s rescue.”

“That’s not what I meant” Gandalf replied with slight exasperation.

“And the next time I met him was over ten years past, a long journey to Aldburg to renew our friendship and the contact between his people and the lands of the north”

“The two of you seem to have developed quite a bond, based on your brief visit to him in Framsburg over twenty years past.  I say brief because little was seen of you for many weeks.  You must have patrolled half of Eriador after your visit before returning to Bree and the Shire!”

Gandalf was getting testy.  Aragost finally relented.

“No, Gandalf it was not brief. I listened to Borondir’s message, the plea from Cirion, the Steward, and rode with Eorl and seven thousand horsemen to Gondor’s aid.  I provided such counsel as could benefit but was just one sword among many and sent many howling wildmen to their own vision of eternity.”

Gandalf sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“You could have been killed.  The line of kings is a slender thread indeed.”

“Do not think that I went unaware of that and simply cast it aside.  No, there was a powerful draw calling me back to protect the Dunedain legacy and resume my tasks in the Shire, around Bree and lands south.  And yet I felt an obligation to Gondor.  Gondor came to the aid of Arthedain when Angmar attacked near six hundred years past.  I had no armies no fleets as they did in routing the Witch King, just my sword and what counsel I could give.  To have turned my back on Gondor in its hour of need, no matter how modest my contribution…

“Would have been unkingly.”  Gandalf replied softly.

“Yes.  And I could not abide that.”  Aragost replied

Gandalf paused for a moment, taking out his long pipe, packing a pinch of Longbottom leaf and lighting it, sensing that Aragost was not done, needed just a bit more time. 

“And there is more.  After the years of training in my fostering at Rivendell, the long days and nights patrolling the Shire, Bree and the lost lands of Arnor, did I have the mettle to join in battle and great events as did my ancestors centuries past.  Or am I just a link in a chain, preserving a lineage that has lost its strength and  purpose.”

“Did you find your answer?”  Gandalf replied.

“I did.  As will my son Aravorn and all who follow.  All will have the strength they need.  It is in our training and in our blood.”

“Yet you kept all this secret all this time” Gandalf prompted

“In the telling I might be setting myself apart somehow from those before me and those yet to come.  I would not have my son Aravorn thinking that he would need a similar chance to match such a deed when he becomes chieftain.  He must find satisfaction in the bounds and chance encounters of his own life.”

“And as to telling wizards or high elves, it seems you are also chary with your words, at least up to now” Gandalf was smiling.

“Well, I always assumed you somehow knew, as you seem to know all that occurs in Middle Earth.”  Aragost replied with a slight smirk

“Yes, well what a wizard knows or doesn’t know is ultimately the province of wizards, Aragost.  And since we both now know something, I declare the matter settled.  Will you join me in carving up some of our Inkeeper’s fine sausages?”

“As along as you agree to another round of ales for us.”

“Done!”