The King's Braid
Chapter Eight
Aragorn sat straight and tall on his horse, peering ahead into the gathering darkness. It was nearly time to halt for the night, but up ahead he thought he could descry a group of twinkling lights nestled against the side of a hill. The place was familiar to him, and for the first time in four months he felt a smile twitch at his lips.
Aragorn was on his way north with his entourage to visit Fornost, the former capital of the North-kingdom that was now being resurrected and renovated so it could fulfil its function once more. The work had been going on for eight months now but, with so much to take care of in Gondor, Aragorn had not been able to visit Fornost in person to inspect the progress being made. Until now. The most inopportune time imaginable. But of course it had not been his idea. No, it was Marin who had made this decision, as he did every other one that affected the kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor, and Aragorn's reign over them as King.
Aragorn knew very well why it was that he was taking this trip now. Over the past four months the situation in Gondor had become unbearable. Rumour and confusion abounded amongst the people of that land. Why, they asked, was Minas Tirith overrun with Southrons? They were a cruel race, and they did not bring any benefits to the city as far as the people could see. Indeed, they seemed intent on making life as miserable as possible: starting fights, stealing, and generally acting like they owned the place. And the King, instead of preventing them from coming, actually welcomed them! The change in their ruler was apparent to everybody. He was as cold and harsh now as the Southrons he had allied himself with. And the disappearance of the Lord Boromir had not gone unnoticed either. It was whispered that he had been disposed of because he was in opposition to the King's plans. Which, with what seemed like cruel irony to Aragorn, was not too far from the truth.
And now the King had left, leaving one of his councillors in charge. Aragorn knew the people would see it as the final betrayal, the King departing when they were under such oppression from outsiders, even though he probably would not have done a thing about it. 'And I wouldn't,' Aragorn thought miserably. 'I wouldn't have been able to do a thing about it.'
But now, seeing those twinkling lights in the distance, Aragorn felt something akin to peace wash over him. But it was tinged with sadness, for Aragorn knew it to be a superficial feeling. Yonder was a place that he had spent much time in during his wanderings as a Ranger. The village of Bree. During that time he had wanted nothing more than to escape from that life and fulfil his destiny to become King and restore harmony to Middle-earth. And now, ironically, he desperately wished he could go back to that uncomplicated, if wearying, existence. But he knew that he couldn't, and that his happiness on seeing this place was limited. He was determined, however, to preserve the feeling for as long as he could.
Abruptly, Aragorn reigned in his horse. His guard came to a confused and messy halt around him, all of them eyeing him somewhat suspiciously. It was clear to Aragorn that the members of his bodyguard were all in the pay of Marin, but that did not mean they would not protect him. On the contrary, Marin's plans depended on him staying alive, at least for the present.
Before long, the sound of hooves from behind warned Aragorn of the approach of Marin. He smiled again, but this time grimly. He knew that Marin would not be amused by the delay. He was proved correct when the councillor's horse broke through the ring of guards and pulled up right next to Aragorn's mount.
"What is the meaning of this?" he hissed angrily.
Aragorn ignored him, raising his voice to address his whole entourage. "We will halt there tonight," he announced, pointing towards Bree. "It is long since many of you slept in proper beds, and although we are now not far from Fornost, I see no sense in wasting this opportunity." Aragorn knew that this act of kingship was fooling nobody – most of the people he was addressing knew that he was not really the one in charge here. Seeing that Marin was about to speak he continued, but in a tone of voice that only the councillor could hear. "I will brook no refusal in this." Aragorn refused to ask permission. He was determined that for once he would be the one doing the telling. And he knew that he had won when he saw Marin shut his mouth and incline his head slightly. However, it was but a shallow victory, one that would mean little in the long run.
Half-an-hour later they had reached Bree, the horses had been stabled, and Aragorn was standing in front of the Prancing Pony inn. Taking a deep breath, he stepped over the threshold, instantly struck by the familiarity of the place. However, he could not fail to notice the cold stares he was getting from some of the customers – even this far north his reputation was sullied; by yet more agents of Marin, Aragorn did not doubt. But he did his best to ignore them, instead gazing around at the interior of the inn. Everything was as he remembered it – the roaring fire, the crowds of laughing men and hobbits. Even the landlord Barliman Butterbur hadn't changed a bit. And, he thought wryly, it seems as if even I am still here. For, glancing over at the dark corner where he had been wont to sit, Aragorn perceived that his place had been filled by yet another scruffy stranger sitting quietly behind his drink, his face overshadowed by his hood.