Title: A Traveller Returning Home

Summary: A brief and happy interlude. Set after Aragorn's first time in the Lothlorien, but still many years before the war of the ring. The Road is full of dangers, but you can't always be unlucky. This is, strangely enough, about a time when our poor tortured ranger runs into good luck and chocolate cake, not orcs.

Rating: K

Disclaimer: If I owned Lord of The Rings I would write stories like this full-time, not just for fun and procrastination. I don't, enough said.

Reviews: Please review, even if all you have to say is: This story was okay. It's really nice when people take the extra few seconds it takes to write something. Constructive critisism welcome, and appreciated.

Author's Notes: This is a slightly different style from what I normally write. I think it works, but please tell me if it doesn't.

Once upon a time a weary traveller walked down a dust-covered road. It was midsummer and this traveller was nearing the bottom of the paths through the mountains. He was heading home after almost twenty years elsewhere. Years he had seen, serving kings of men in distant lands. He had ridden into battle from atop mighty stallions, led an Eored under Thengel-King, honed his healing talents, become a captain of Gondor and befriended the country's steward. But it was not his fate to serve them forever. There had come a time when he knew he had to leave. It was not his time yet to take the throne, and no higher honour could be accorded to him. He had left, travelling into the wasteland across the river. For almost a year he had toiled. His white skin had set him out, branded him as an enemy, a tark they called him. Much he learned of the Haradrim though he dared not show his face in Umbar after the defeat he had dealt them. Then the traveller, weary, yet with a goal in mind, headed deeper into the land of shadow. Into mordor he crept, bent of finding what information he could. The nazgul he faced, a memory that would scar him for years to come. And then, half dead on his feet, battered, bruised, and pushed nearly beyond his endurance, this traveller stumbled out of the land of shadow, and into the golden woods. Before long he was found by the matchwarden of Lothlorien, Haldir, and his group, and took up refuge in the city of the elves. For nearly two months he dwelled in the fair forest, and met once more the lady Arwen. Her beauty and companionship healed his weary heart, and when, upon the eve of his departure she told him she would abandon her immortality and cleave herself to him, he was happy beyond compare.

Yet he was also happy to now be trodding a dust-covered road on the west side of the misty mountains. For though he had found much solace in the golden wood his heart yearned still for his childhood home. The sun beat down upon his back, and as he was not in a hurry he decided to wait out the midday heat in the shade of a lone olive tree by the side of the road.

LOTRLOTRLOTRLOTRLOTRLOTRLOTR

An old cart came along, the driver seeming in no way hurried. As he drew closer he reigned in his beige horse, and chuckled to himself.

"After all this time…"

The man had fallen asleep, his dark locks falling in front of his face, his hand curled around something on his chest. The old man in the cart remembered a time, nearly 40 years past, where he had come to Rivendell only to find a small child leaning up against a tree, in nearly the same position, a smile on his face. He had carried the boy to Elrond, only to find that the entire household had in fact been searching for the little escapee. Oh Estel… though the old man.

Loath though he was to wake the man up, he reasoned that an experienced ranger oughtn't to fall asleep travelling alone either. He knocked his staff against the ground, and cleared his throat.

Estel woke with a start. How had he been careless enough to fall asleep? Anyone could be there. But before he could get up a familiar voice spoke.

"Well I didn't imagine I'd come across you of all people fast asleep. Getting old?" He teased

"Gandalf! Well met. I uh… well it was warm, I would have woken up if anyone came near!" Estel protested, realising the futility of his argument. Gandalf had, of course, been able to walk right up to the tree without him noticing. Gandalf just chuckled.

"Have you just come to mock me, or would you like to join me for a midday meal?" Estel asked.

"Of course, my friend. I will supply the food, I doubt I want to eat whatever's been sitting in your bag for the past few weeks." Said the Maia

Estel was grateful for this; for as soon as his invitation had left his mouth, he realised he didn't have enough food for two, not if he wanted to have enough to reach Rivendell. He was sure Gandalf knew how careful he was to carry exactly what he would need, and no more, and that was the reason for his offer, but he humored the wizard.

"And you do?" Asked Estel "Where do you get your food, that it would be any better than mine?"

"I, my dear boy, have just stopped in the shire." Estel's eyes lit up at this pronouncement.

"The shire?" He asked. "I assume that your hobbit friends have loaded you with all manner of treats then!"

A good meal sounded like the next best thing to seeing his family, home and friends after all the hardships he had been through. And he was not disappointed. Gandalf brought out a veritable feast, complete with chocolate cake and beer for good measure. The food of Lothlorien was good indeed, but the elves did not have such food, and Estel had missed this. He said as much to Gandalf.

"The food of hobbits truly is beyond compare," Agreed Gandalf, "Though I would not oppose some elven wine or lembas. How came you to pass through the Golden Woods?"

"Tis a long story."

"Well do tell, we have time."

And so Estel told of his adventures in Harad, Umbar and Mordor, and of his time in the Golden Woods, and the two chatted together in the shade of the tree. Soon it was far past midday, they had chatted and eaten for far longer than either would have done by themselves, but neither minded.

"We can talk as we pack up. I'm hoping to reach Rivendell before the Midsummer celebrations."

"How fortunate, Rivendell is my destination also. We can walk together." Said the old Istari. "And if you're a good boy I might be able to do a few fireworks for the celebration."

Estel chuckled. He remembered when he would eagerly await the wizard's coming as a child, anticipating the fireworks as much as the wizard himself. He had really grown too old for such things now, but well, fireworks were still pretty as an adult.

And so the man and the istari walked alongside the cart chatting like the old friends they were. A close observer might note that the man's hands lingered near his sword, and a keen eye might see the flash of a silver sword concealed within the wizard's long robes, but to most they looked two beings walking in the sunshine with nary a care in the world.

They walked slowly. Neither of them had anywhere they truly needed to be, there was work to be done of course, but it could, and would, wait. Soon Estel would continue to worry about Lord Elrond's reaction to his betrothal with Arwen, soon he would become Aragorn again, instead of Estel, as he returned to his people and became chieftain of the Dunedain once more. Too soon he would again feel the cares of the world on his shoulders, but for now he tossed berries into his mouth, and anticipated meeting his brothers after so many years, and now he was happy.

Remember this day little one, said the old man to the weary traveller, the weary traveller who was in fact much less weary now. The traveller who was but ordinary peasant of a king, a man with a light heart, a soldier who had enjoyed a good meal, a boy called Estel, a traveller returning home.