The Man

Aragorn walked with a pronounced limp as he traversed through the wood. It seemed his body did not heal quite like it used to back when he had wandered the wilds of the world. A lock of hair fell over his brow. As he moved his hand to brush it back, Aragorn noted the silvery grey streaking the once black strands and grinned to himself. He supposed he was getting old, though he still felt quite young inside. Too old to hunt alone, or so Eldarion insisted. Since his son had had reached the age of fifty, he had gotten strange notions of what the king could and could not do. After the incident with the boar back in the Spring, Aragorn conceded that Eldarion's thoughts of having a hunting lodge built for the family would give him a much better way of taking his leisure than tramping about the woods alone. The long recuperation from his injury had been enough for him to accept that his son was correct.

Many weeks had passed since that notorious hunting trip, which could have ended tragically if not for Legolas.

Aragorn smiled as the sound of elven song reached his ears. He halted a moment, his hand automatically reaching down to rub his sore knee as he listened to the lovely sound of the voices harmonizing with wind. Then he resumed walking, quickening his pace to catch up with Saelon, his guide.

A faint odor reached him, and he sniffed at the air. It was not the most pleasant smell, but neither was it offensive. The sound of mallets and saws complemented the song filling the cool Autumn air, causing Aragorn to feel alive and free.

"Just a little further," Saelon commented without turning back to look at him.

"Lead on," Aragorn said, stepping over a broken limb.

A few minutes later, they could see many elves singing and moving about at work. At first, Aragorn had no idea what he was seeing, then slowly, it dawned on him.

The tree.

The oak that had saved his life had been cut down several feet above the opening to the hollow Aragorn had slept in a couple months ago. The trunk was now covered with a platform of some sort, built of planks shaped and fitted together. The smell, much stronger here, came from a bubbling cauldron over a cheery fire, being stirred by an elf Aragorn recognized, but whose name escaped him. Others came to dip buckets into the goopy mix, before taking it to the tree and brushing it on the tree and platform.

"Preservative," Saelon told him. "To keep the tree from decaying further." He gestured towards a familiar figure standing with his back to them, then moved off to join in the work.

The tall, golden form of Legolas stood watching the work. His arms were crossed against his chest, his clothing a mess. Clearly, the lord did not hesitate to get his hands dirty alongside his people. Aragorn loved his friend for it, as did the elves of Ithilien, who had sworn allegiance to the son of Thranduil.

Legolas must have sensed him, for he turned with a smile. "Come," he called over the singing and rapping of mallets and saws.

Aragorn walked closer, wondering what Legolas could possibly have in mind for such a place. "What are you making?" He pushed back a lock of hair that had come loose from his braid. "Better yet, whyare you making it?"

Legolas grinned at him. "You said you needed a retreat in Ithilien, did you not?"

Aragorn glanced back at the hole in the tree covered with the strange roof. He pointed at it and said adamantly, "I am notstaying in that again."

Legolas threw him a hurt glance. "I would not expect you to!"

Aragorn blinked. "Then what…" He paused. "Legolas what are you up to?"

The elf threw back his head and laughed, the merry sound eliciting many birds to chirp back at him. He placed a hand over his belly, chuckling and then pointed at Aragorn. "You should have seen your face!"

Aragorn narrowed his eyes and frowned. "Legolas," he said in a warning tone.

"All right," Legolas relented. He waved to Saelon and motioned for the elf to do something, then pulled Aragorn through the trees to a clearing. On a rise, stakes had been driven into the ground, marking the site of a new building. "There shall be your retreat. Once Gimli arrives, the dwarves will join our efforts and build you a fine hunting lodge of both wood and stone." He motioned with his head over his shoulder, "Back there shall be your kennel and falconry."

"The tree?"

Legolas nodded. "The oak loved this wood, Estel. It wanted only to be alive and to give shelter to those in need. Now that it has returned its spirit to the world, I thought it should be preserved. We are using all the wood we can from the tree itself to build the falconry above the hollow. The hollow itself will serve as one of the shelters for the hounds. We're building more."

"An unusual set up."

"It will work," Legolas reassured him with a smile. "I'll make it work."

Aragorn grinned. "I'm sure you will."

"And I'll call it Dorombar," Legolas said as he walked back down the path towards the work.

"I don't get to name my own hunting lodge?" Aragorn called after him.

"No."

He grinned again, not minding in the least.

Dorombar – Sindarin. 'Oak Home'