Author's Note: The subject matter has been on my mind of late. Plus, I just watched a rerun of House and was craving some light hurt/comfort for once.
Time
Smoke fumed into the air with the furor of a brush fire and threatened to spark the dry grass about their ankles.
Haldir leaned over, plucked the pipe stem from betwixt Aragorn's fingers and availed himself of a more peaceful draw, letting the smoke slip easily into his lungs. He held it just enough to feel the tightening burn before loosing it. A corner of his lips curved upward as Aragorn huffed indignantly and flicked his fingers before his own nose.
"What dark thoughts ail you tonight, my friend, that you must occlude them with such a fog?" Haldir asked, allowing the Man to reclaim his pipe.
"Aside from the plague of your company?" he returned, lightly though.
Haldir watched him in silence, waiting. When nothing came, he ventured forth, cautious, beating at the subject the way a hunter beats the grass to flush his quarry. "Was it not your begetting day sometime around now?"
More smoke.
"Yesterday."
"Aha. Many happy returns."
"One less every year." A beat. "You would not understand."
"Yes, naturally, how can one who has lived some thousands of years understand what it is to grow old and watch his world change. Estel-"
"Do not do that. I am no child. You think because I am mortal I know nothing of the march of years? That these grey hairs are the mark of a man in his prime?"
"No, Dúnadan. Long-lived, you may be, but in your summer years, you are not."
"You are calling me 'aged?'"
"We are long in fang and claw, you and I. We have seen things…done things…in our considerable years other men cannot claim. Time passes."
"Time passes."
"As it always has. What else is there to do but endure it?"
A sigh. The pipe had gone out, but Aragorn made no move to rekindle it. "Naught. But you must forgive this aged fool who has not learned wisdom with his years if, from time to time, such thoughts preoccupy him."
"Granted."