Title: The Two Grey Wanderers
Disclaimer: Aragorn and Gandalf are both Tolkein's characters, not mine.
Summary: There is absolutely no plot, just a little conversation between two friends one night, sitting at a fire. Takes place about 25 years before the whole Lord of the Ring thing, not that it really matters.
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The embers of a small fire were burning on the ground, enclosed in a circle of gathered rocks, causing smoke to trail off into the dusk air. A man sat beside the fire, his legs bent at the knees and held close by his arms. He was dressed in dark, filthy clothes of green, brown and grey, his raven hair was a long, tangled mess, and stubbly whiskers covered his chin. His silvery grey eyes stared into the glowing ashes. He was a Ranger. Beside him sat another man, older. He was dressed in all grey, and had long grey hair and a beard to match it. A pointed hat - also grey - was at his side, on the ground next to a large, gnarled staff.
"Heavy thoughts, Aragorn?" he asked, after a long minute of observing the younger man silently with discerning eyes. Aragorn sighed and smiled wryly, his eyes not leaving the fire. The older grunted in response to his elusiveness and puffed at his pipe. "And you say I keep things to myself."
"'Tis nothing of importance, Gandalf," said Aragorn, shaking his head with a slight chuckle. Gandalf raised an eyebrow and turned his gaze back to him.
"It is often those things you might call unimportant that are, in fact, the most important. It may have nothing to do with our business or the rest of the world, but all the same, it troubles you. Wouldn't it ease your mind to tell me?" The man made no reply. Gandalf sighed and raised his pipe to his lips again. "Stubborn as usual."
Aragorn smiled. "If you must know, Gandalf, I was merely thinking about. her." He looked up from his boots and turned his head to face the wizard. "Arwen."
He let out a heavy sigh and placed a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "I understand." He looked at Aragorn with concern. "I must admit, despite my long years in Middle-Earth and all that I have seen and felt, I have never experienced such heartache or loneliness firsthand, but I have known many who have suffered from it. It must be very hard for you."
"Well, it's not so bad, really. There is much to be done before any personal indulgences can be made.," he said, feeling a little awkward. "Sometimes. It just seems the day when we can be together will never come." He turned his head upward to watch the stars. After a moment he went on. "To be perfectly honest, I sometimes do not know if I want to be king if not only to have her by my side at last. To have and love her, and to have her love in return is all I have ever wanted; it is the only wish I have ever truly desired. The only personal wish that is. For my desire for the deliverance of Middle-Earth comes before even that," he added.
A few minutes passed in silence, as the wizard puffed thoughtfully at his pipe, watching Aragorn with some sympathy. Finally, Aragorn's gaze broke away from the stars. He fumbled into his pack and brought out a pipe of his own and some pipe-weed, slightly embarrassed at having said so much. Soon, they both sat by the fire, smoking contentedly, enjoying the calm night air.
"Go home, Aragorn," said Gandalf suddenly, breaking the silence. The man looked up at him, his brow furrowed.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean," answered Gandalf. "That you have been wandering the wild and living selflessly for far too long now. I appreciate all the help you've given me very much, as I always have, and always will. But every man has his limits, and I feel that you should return home for a while." Aragorn chuckled softly at the wizard's concern and shook his head. "I mean it, Aragorn," he repeated. "Go home."
"Home," whispered the ranger, becoming serious. He turned his silver eyes on the wizard. "Where is that?" His eyes lingered on the old man beside him for a moment, beseeching him to somehow find an answer to that question. But it lasted for only a moment, and then he resigned and his eyes fell downward, his eyebrows and jaw relaxed slightly as his expression became neutral. "There is no place in Middle-Earth that I have spent more time in than another, lest you count the road. I'm always a visitor, no matter where I go." He silently chided himself for self-pity and reminded himself aloud, "But so my duty requires." He raised his eyes up to look into the fire, determination glinting in them.
"Yet it need not always be that way," said Gandalf. "Your day will come, Aragorn, when you may settle down at last and live the life you always wanted. have a family."
Aragorn smiled sadly at his friend. "I hope so." Another long minute passed as the two men sat in companionable silence, listening to the comforting sounds of the night and blowing smoke-rings, watching as the fire slowly dwindled. "What about you, Gandalf?"
"Hmm?" said Gandalf, pipe still in mouth. "What about me?"
"If I deserve a break, than you certainly must."
Gandalf smiled. "I suppose you're right. One cannot live on the road at all times, you know."
"And where do you go then?" asked Aragorn. "Where does a Wizard go when he tires of the road?"
"The same as a Ranger," answered Gandalf. "Home. I know you think you have no home but I think you will find that is not so. Home's location may change from time to time, but I think you will know where to find it. It has been said, that home is where the heart resides, and I find that sound advice indeed. Vagabonds such as you and I had best live by it." He smiled and thought for a moment, as Aragorn pondered these words. "You know, Aragorn, you and I are not so very different." The Dunadan looked up at him with interest. "Both our fates are not our own to master. We live and fight to save Middle-Earth but our own lives come second. Neither of us have any real home, and we both fit the description, 'Grey Wanderer', I think," he said with a smile, his eyes twinkling. "Grim, and with a tendency to keep things to oneself, burdened with knowledge beyond that of others. You often remind me of something of a younger me. though I was never young. If I had been young, I imagine I would have been very much like you."
"That is indeed, a great compliment, Gandalf," said Aragorn, smiling broadly, then he added, eyes twinkling, "Though. I am hardly young."
"Ha!" laughed the wizard. "Hardly young! You just wait till you look like me and then you remember saying that!"
Aragorn joined in laughing, but persisted in saying, "Nay, I mean it. Sixty- three years is considered elderly by most men."
"Not for your race. As a Numenorean, you should live at least twice that length. Perhaps thrice that length! Nay, you're still a youth, Aragorn. Besides," he added with a smile. "You'll always be young to me."
The ranger laughed and shook his head, giving up, and put away his pipe. "I'll take first watch then, shall I?" The grey old man nodded appreciatively and prepared to get some sleep. "Goodnight, Gandalf."
"Goodnight, my dear boy."
Disclaimer: Aragorn and Gandalf are both Tolkein's characters, not mine.
Summary: There is absolutely no plot, just a little conversation between two friends one night, sitting at a fire. Takes place about 25 years before the whole Lord of the Ring thing, not that it really matters.
________________________________________________________________________
The embers of a small fire were burning on the ground, enclosed in a circle of gathered rocks, causing smoke to trail off into the dusk air. A man sat beside the fire, his legs bent at the knees and held close by his arms. He was dressed in dark, filthy clothes of green, brown and grey, his raven hair was a long, tangled mess, and stubbly whiskers covered his chin. His silvery grey eyes stared into the glowing ashes. He was a Ranger. Beside him sat another man, older. He was dressed in all grey, and had long grey hair and a beard to match it. A pointed hat - also grey - was at his side, on the ground next to a large, gnarled staff.
"Heavy thoughts, Aragorn?" he asked, after a long minute of observing the younger man silently with discerning eyes. Aragorn sighed and smiled wryly, his eyes not leaving the fire. The older grunted in response to his elusiveness and puffed at his pipe. "And you say I keep things to myself."
"'Tis nothing of importance, Gandalf," said Aragorn, shaking his head with a slight chuckle. Gandalf raised an eyebrow and turned his gaze back to him.
"It is often those things you might call unimportant that are, in fact, the most important. It may have nothing to do with our business or the rest of the world, but all the same, it troubles you. Wouldn't it ease your mind to tell me?" The man made no reply. Gandalf sighed and raised his pipe to his lips again. "Stubborn as usual."
Aragorn smiled. "If you must know, Gandalf, I was merely thinking about. her." He looked up from his boots and turned his head to face the wizard. "Arwen."
He let out a heavy sigh and placed a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "I understand." He looked at Aragorn with concern. "I must admit, despite my long years in Middle-Earth and all that I have seen and felt, I have never experienced such heartache or loneliness firsthand, but I have known many who have suffered from it. It must be very hard for you."
"Well, it's not so bad, really. There is much to be done before any personal indulgences can be made.," he said, feeling a little awkward. "Sometimes. It just seems the day when we can be together will never come." He turned his head upward to watch the stars. After a moment he went on. "To be perfectly honest, I sometimes do not know if I want to be king if not only to have her by my side at last. To have and love her, and to have her love in return is all I have ever wanted; it is the only wish I have ever truly desired. The only personal wish that is. For my desire for the deliverance of Middle-Earth comes before even that," he added.
A few minutes passed in silence, as the wizard puffed thoughtfully at his pipe, watching Aragorn with some sympathy. Finally, Aragorn's gaze broke away from the stars. He fumbled into his pack and brought out a pipe of his own and some pipe-weed, slightly embarrassed at having said so much. Soon, they both sat by the fire, smoking contentedly, enjoying the calm night air.
"Go home, Aragorn," said Gandalf suddenly, breaking the silence. The man looked up at him, his brow furrowed.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean," answered Gandalf. "That you have been wandering the wild and living selflessly for far too long now. I appreciate all the help you've given me very much, as I always have, and always will. But every man has his limits, and I feel that you should return home for a while." Aragorn chuckled softly at the wizard's concern and shook his head. "I mean it, Aragorn," he repeated. "Go home."
"Home," whispered the ranger, becoming serious. He turned his silver eyes on the wizard. "Where is that?" His eyes lingered on the old man beside him for a moment, beseeching him to somehow find an answer to that question. But it lasted for only a moment, and then he resigned and his eyes fell downward, his eyebrows and jaw relaxed slightly as his expression became neutral. "There is no place in Middle-Earth that I have spent more time in than another, lest you count the road. I'm always a visitor, no matter where I go." He silently chided himself for self-pity and reminded himself aloud, "But so my duty requires." He raised his eyes up to look into the fire, determination glinting in them.
"Yet it need not always be that way," said Gandalf. "Your day will come, Aragorn, when you may settle down at last and live the life you always wanted. have a family."
Aragorn smiled sadly at his friend. "I hope so." Another long minute passed as the two men sat in companionable silence, listening to the comforting sounds of the night and blowing smoke-rings, watching as the fire slowly dwindled. "What about you, Gandalf?"
"Hmm?" said Gandalf, pipe still in mouth. "What about me?"
"If I deserve a break, than you certainly must."
Gandalf smiled. "I suppose you're right. One cannot live on the road at all times, you know."
"And where do you go then?" asked Aragorn. "Where does a Wizard go when he tires of the road?"
"The same as a Ranger," answered Gandalf. "Home. I know you think you have no home but I think you will find that is not so. Home's location may change from time to time, but I think you will know where to find it. It has been said, that home is where the heart resides, and I find that sound advice indeed. Vagabonds such as you and I had best live by it." He smiled and thought for a moment, as Aragorn pondered these words. "You know, Aragorn, you and I are not so very different." The Dunadan looked up at him with interest. "Both our fates are not our own to master. We live and fight to save Middle-Earth but our own lives come second. Neither of us have any real home, and we both fit the description, 'Grey Wanderer', I think," he said with a smile, his eyes twinkling. "Grim, and with a tendency to keep things to oneself, burdened with knowledge beyond that of others. You often remind me of something of a younger me. though I was never young. If I had been young, I imagine I would have been very much like you."
"That is indeed, a great compliment, Gandalf," said Aragorn, smiling broadly, then he added, eyes twinkling, "Though. I am hardly young."
"Ha!" laughed the wizard. "Hardly young! You just wait till you look like me and then you remember saying that!"
Aragorn joined in laughing, but persisted in saying, "Nay, I mean it. Sixty- three years is considered elderly by most men."
"Not for your race. As a Numenorean, you should live at least twice that length. Perhaps thrice that length! Nay, you're still a youth, Aragorn. Besides," he added with a smile. "You'll always be young to me."
The ranger laughed and shook his head, giving up, and put away his pipe. "I'll take first watch then, shall I?" The grey old man nodded appreciatively and prepared to get some sleep. "Goodnight, Gandalf."
"Goodnight, my dear boy."