The glades and fragrant trees of Ithilien were practically bliss after the slag hills before the Morannon, Aragorn thought, and it seemed that the other men agreed with him. The official camp was set up in the Field of Cormallen, but the returning army had spread out around it, creating a rough circle of tents a half-mile across. Just outside the screen of picket guards, the forest had a muted quality about it that relaxed his long-tensed muscles and allowed him to finally let down his guard.
The battle was over, the Ring destroyed, his people free. It almost felt like a dream, like at any moment he would find himself in the blood-splattered warzone that Eriador had become over the last decade again. With a contented sigh, he leaned back against an oak and took a deep breath. There were duties he had to attend to, he knew, and soon people would come looking for him, but all of that could wait an hour, at the least, while he finally took a break from the utter havoc of the last year.
Has it only been a year? He thought with wonder. Less, even. We set out from Bree in September. He shook his head, amazed at the massive changes in his life in just those few months.
Light footsteps approaching from the north caught his attention, and he smiled. Only a DĂșnadan could walk that lightly, and he knew that gait. Aragorn didn't look up when the other man sat down beside him, leaning back against the tree with a contented sigh to match Aragorn's.
"Enjoying your day off?" Halbarad asked, smiling slightly.
"Immensely," he replied, not bothering to summon the effort needed to turn to face his friend. "Everyone settled?"
"Just about. Gandalf sends word that the Ring-bearers are sleeping peacefully and requests for supplies have been sent to Minas Tirith, hopefully to return within the week." The host's desperate march to the Morannon had been one borne by speed and hope, with little thought given to supplies, and so what little they had was being rationed carefully until more could arrive. Of course, as most hadn't thought there'd be a return, there were few complaints.
"Did Gandalf say anything about Frodo's finger?" The missing appendage was gone for good, Aragorn knew, but the placement of the injury and the cloying smoke the pair had so recently been exposed to had contrived to make infection a very present danger.
"No, but he was chatting rather gailly with Gimli, of all people, when I left, so he can't be too worried. Master Samwise-"
"He prefers Sam."
"-Sam, then- Master Sam's condition has much improved and his breathing is rapidly clearing, Master Frodo not far behind."
Halbarad sounded more than a bit amazed as he said this, and with good reason. The billowing cloud of choking smoke Orodruin had spewed as it erupted had been visible for miles, and even from the slag hills there was a sour taste to the air. To have been right in the thick of it and yet escape with no permanent lung damage was a miracle indeed.
"And the Company?" There were scores of companies ensconced in the Host of the West, but they both knew which Aragorn spoke of.
"They're helping with relief efforts- apparently they've gotten what sleep they can bear and went right back to work. Though Dagoras is busy verbally eviscerating Amarion right now, along with another half-dozen for an audience. Lothrandir is looking much better as well, Isengard's effects fading at last."
Aragorn hummed in acknowledgement for just a second before Halbarad's words fully penetrated his tired mind.
"Amarion?"
Halbarad laughed, a bright, happy sound erasing the after-echoes of screams and warcries.
"Amarion indeed. It seems our friend has had quite the adventure this past month, and I have heard but snatchs of it. We'll hear the whole tale tonight, I guess. Though what state he'll be in once Dagoras is through with him is yet to be seen."
Yet another strand of tension gone, Aragorn leaned back against the tree. The two shared a companionable silence, content to rest until they were needed.
