A/N: Hey, I'm so sorry you guys. I wanted to update sooner, but my
computer hates me and it took me a week to fix it.
Daylight, Inyx, and Jolopy, thanks so much for your reviews! I'm glad you
liked it thus far.
I own nothing.
Ok, after I wrote this, I went in search of little Aragorn stories, and discovered, to my horror, that this has been done ten thousand times before...so I'm doing it again.
When I thought this story up, I promised myself that I'd avoid fluff like the plague. So, naturally, here's some fluff.
Age equivalency: I know that, because of his lineage, Aragorn lives a long time, but I thought it would just be easier to have him aging like a normal human child. Therefore, eleven= eleven.
*********************************************************************
"Lousy wind," grumbled the dwarf as he struck the flint rocks together in hope of a spark. "What I wouldn't give for the shelter of a cave!"
Shaking his head, Legolas walked over to the center of the clearing. "Give me those," he said with great annoyance, taking the flint from Gimli's hands. Carefully, shielding the wood with his body, he knocked the two rocks together a few times until he produced sparks significant enough to start the wood burning. "It's all in the wrist, Master Dwarf," he said, tossing the flint pieces back to Gimli. Snarling, the dwarf muttered something under his breath not often heard in polite company.
The Fellowship quickly gathered around the fire for light and warmth. During the day, a cold wind had blown down from the mountaintops, and there wasn't a member of the group who wasn't chilled to the bones. Breathing into his hands in an attempt to warm them up, Boromir ransacked the contents of his pack for the third time, and then a fourth. Finally, with great frustration he turned the pack over, spilling the contents all over the campsite.
"Alright!" he yelled. "Which one of you stole my blanket?"
"Merry has it!" Pippin yelled back with great glee. He quickly received a sharp punch in the shoulder from his older cousin. "Pippin! Honestly, I thought we had an agreement. You don't say anything and we can share it."
"Aw, it's not fair to let Boromir go cold, even if he does have the best blanket in the Fellowship," Pip said.
"Quite right, little one," Boromir remarked as he snatched back his fur-lined blanket. "And I best not catch you with this again, Merry."
Pippin was about to object to the phrase 'little one' when Gandalf announced, "Anyone who wants to hear a story, stay around the fire. Anyone who doesn't can go sit over there in the cold." He pointed off toward a big rock.
No one seemed too thrilled with the idea of relinquishing their warm spot by the fire in favor of a cold rock in the dark, so Gandalf momentarily had all of their attention.
"Gandalf," Pippin said with a grin, "Tell the one about--"
"-Now wait a minute, Pippin," Gandalf broke in. "We've already heard a story about hobbits acting foolish." He looked at Aragorn with great amusement. "I would like to tell a story about Aragorn acting foolish."
Aragorn broke out into a grin. "Gandalf, when was the last time I did * anything * foolish?"
"Not for a long while, I'll admit," claimed Gandalf. "But if I remember correctly, a few stories from your childhood are still being told in Rivendell."
"You knew Strider when he was a boy?" Frodo asked.
"Of course," he answered. "There's not a one of you I haven't known since you were born. I was even present at most of the parties celebrating your coming into the world."
"Well, it doesn't matter * how * long you've known me," Aragorn said. "You must be mistaken. I was never the disobedient type at any age."
Gandalf looked at him wryly, the sarcasm in his eyes all too evident. "Oh, really."
* * * * * * * * * * *
"Estel, hurry UP!" Meneldaion called down to the boy.
Suspended in a sea of green leaves, Aragorn scaled the tree, working his way up to the branch where two elven brothers waiting impatiently. Sweat poured down his eleven year old brow as he grunted from the strain of pulling his body weight up onto the next limb. "Almost there," he muttered to himself.
From above the elder of the two young elves looked down with disgust. "ESTEL! I said get up here!" Meneldaion shouted. He turned to his younger brother Benethion. "Why do you always bring him along, anyway?" he said, making no attempt to quiet his voice to spare Aragorn's feelings.
"Oh, you know Mother makes me play with him because he's Elrond's son." Smirking, the elf added, "In a matter of speaking."
Below, a mixture of anger and harsh defeat crossed Aragorn's young face. None of the elves ever wanted to play with him because he couldn't run as fast or climb as high as they could, and they often told him that he was slowing down their games, so could he please leave? He stood on the branch and allowed himself a moment of self-pity before hardening his face. He was never one to admit defeat.
"I can do anything as well as any elf," he whispered to himself as he began to climb once again.
"Listen to him talk," laughed Benethion from high in the tree.
Aragorn cursed the all-hearing ears of the elves and continued. "I can do anything as well as any elf," he said again, cheering himself on. "I can do anything--" His face twisted with the effort as he hoisted himself up another limb.
Branch by branch, he pulled himself up the tree, straining all his muscles, digging his feet into the rough bark. "I can do this as well as* you * can," he growled through gritted teeth at the elf watching him from above. "I can--" Aragorn pulled himself up onto the final branch and sat beside Meneldaion, his muscles going limp with exhaustion.
"If you can do this as well as I can," Meneldaion snapped, "Then why did it take me less than one minute to reach the top when you took nearly ten?"
Aragorn was rather dumbfounded by his question. He had not meant for it to be an insult to the elf, but his own motivational cheer.
"Either way, I accept your challenge," the elf child continued.
"Sorry-what?"
"Your challenge," Meneldaion answered him. "You claimed you could do anything as well as any elf. That sounds like a challenge to my people and I must accept in defense of all elves. And since you said anything, I get to choose. We shall have an archery contest. Each of us gets three arrows to shoot from beside the tree to the target we will set up over there." He pointed to a spot near a long, high wall of bushes at least 50 yards away. "The one with the most points wins. Meet me back here tomorrow at midday, when the sun is high." With that, the two elves quickly scaled down the tree, leaving a very confused Aragorn behind.
The sun was low in the sky that day before Aragorn got the chance to practice his archery. Dragging the heavy target to the agreed location of the shrub wall, he wondered how he had managed to get himself into this.
Drawing an arrow from the quiver strapped to his back, Aragorn placed it in the bow and drew back his arm, stretching the bowstring to its capacity. He let it go with a twang and watched the arrow sail through the air before meeting its mark on the edge of the target.
Aragorn closed his eyes in frustration. Not good enough. He had been taking archery lessons for some time now, but he had always been considerably closer to the target than this. He didn't suppose it mattered much anyway. Meneldaion was one of the archery champions back when he played in the contests. Naturally, he eventually got too good even for lessons, as all the elves do, and he hadn't taken one in about 150 years. It was endlessly embarrassing for Aragorn, still taking classes with the elf children who, despite being at least a hundred years older than him, still looked so much younger.
Concentrating on the bull's-eye, he drew and shot another arrow. Better he thought when he saw that the arrow had pierced the target not far from the bull's-eye. Better, but still not good enough. It was never good enough. Even if he hit the bull's-eye every time without fail, even if he won every race and could climb every tree, the elves would still look down on him because he was not elf. He was man and he hated it. He heard the other children when they talked about him-they made no attempt to conceal their voices. "Elrond's charity case," they called him. "Elrond felt sorry for the boy and took him in, played father to him." Why couldn't I be an elf? Aragorn thought with tears in his eyes. Why can't I be Elrond's real son?
Recklessly, he grasped an arrow and shot it as fast as he could. It missed the target by several feet, flying over the wall and landing in the grass beyond it. Aragorn lowered his bow. It wouldn't do him any good, this anger against the elves. He needed to stay focused. Choosing an arrow, slowly this time, he aimed and shot, using all of his skill. "Bull's-eye," he whispered, quite pleased. He practiced his aim until the sinking sun made the target little more than a silhouette in the distance.
Aragorn walked slowly through the field, dragging his feet. The sun shone hot directly above him as he made his way to the tree. Under it waited Meneldaion, along with about ten other elf boys. Aragorn's stomach felt as if it had dropped in his abdomen. This wasn't fair. It wasn't enough for Meneldaion to simply defeat him. He seemed to want to humiliate him in front of everyone.
"Hey, Estel!" the elf called. "I was wondering when you'd show up. Ready to lose?"
"First you shoot, then you can talk, Meneldaion," Aragorn said back.
"Great. I'll go first." The elf child moved gracefully into his stance and pulled an arrow from his quiver. Without hesitation, he released his first arrow, then his second, and then his third. He took no pause in between shots and all his arrows met their mark.
"Three bull's-eyes," he announced triumphantly. Stepping aside, he turned to Aragorn. "Well, Estel, you can't beat me, but you can tie me. Go ahead."
Feeling a little sick to his stomach, Aragorn got into position. As he took an arrow from his quiver, he noticed with dismay that his hands were shaking. Concentrate, Estel. Pretend they are not even here, he thought. Hearing the bowstrings creak under the pressure of his drawback, he aimed and released the arrow.
"A bull's-eye!" an elf yelled.
Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Relax, he told himself. Taking care to be precise with his aim, he tightened the bowstrings once more. You can do this. He let the arrow fly.
"Two bull's-eyes!" the elf yelled again.
Aragorn was * really * anxious now. A drop of sweat dripped from his temple, tickling behind his ear as he prepared the next arrow.
Meneldaion began to look nervous. His elven honor was at stake and he wasn't about to loose it to this-this non-elf, this mortal. "Barely a bull's-eye," he taunted. "I find it hard to believe that this is the charity case who thinks himself good enough to call Lord Elrond father."
Aragorn felt nearly blind with rage. He quickly shot his arrow into the air, just to avoid aiming it at the young elf. Same as yesterday, it sailed over the shrub wall, a good four feet above the target. Different from yesterday, however, was the cry of pain that followed.
"AAAAAHHHHHHHH!"
* * * * * * * * * * *
"You SHOT someone?!" Pippin cried out in shock, turning to Aragorn.
"Don't worry, Pippin, no one was * seriously * hurt," Gandalf said. "But you haven't heard the best part yet." The old wizard looked at the ranger. "Go on and tell them who you shot, Aragorn."
Blushing a deep crimson, Aragorn hid his face in his hands. "Lord Elrond," he said softly.
"WHAT?" all four hobbits cried.
"You shot your own father?" Boromir added in disbelief.
"It was purely by accident!" Aragorn said in his defense.
"Oh, but you * still * haven't heard the best part," Gandalf interrupted. "Go on and tell them * where * you shot him."
Both sighing and laughing at the same time, Aragorn told them. "Well, Elrond was taking a walk through his gardens and, as the Valor would have it, he dropped something. So as I shot the arrow, he happened to be bending over--"
"No!" cried Sam in a fit of giggles. "Aragorn, you didn't!"
Aragorn nodded. "I did. Dead center of his left cheek."
The company was quiet for about two seconds. As usual, Pippin took it upon himself to break the silence. "Bull's-eye," he said.
The Fellowship's laughter rang out for miles.
Aragorn had first watch that night. Wrapping his cloak tightly around his shoulders, he stared out into the distance, lost in his thought. He was, in fact, so lost in them that he didn't even notice the small form settling itself beside him until it spoke.
"I couldn't sleep," Frodo said, causing Aragorn to jump.
"You startled me, little one," he said, and then smiled. "Although, I suppose I'm not a very good watchman if a hobbit can sneak up on me, unnoticed."
"You'd be surprised. Us hobbits can be quite stealthy when we put our minds to it. It comes from years of stealing food." Frodo cleared his throat. "I was thinking about that story Gandalf told. I was wondering if you ever did make friends with any of the elves."
Aragorn lit his pipe and took a puff before he answered. "No. There were those who would let me play with them on occasion, but no one who I would call a friend."
"I'm sorry," Frodo answered, not sure what to say to that.
"Don't be, Frodo. I had two older brothers who treated me as family." He inhaled the smoke once again. "They taught me to hunt and to shoot and never excluded me, even though I was different from them. I also had a father, and it matters not to me what cruel children said to me long ago, he cared for me and loved me as his own."
Frodo nodded. "Someone once made fun of me because I was adopted." He sighed. "They told me that Bilbo didn't care for me as he would a real son. I don't think I was ever so upset in my life, except for when my parents died."
Aragorn placed a sympathetic hand on Frodo's shoulder.
Frodo looked up at him and smiled. "It's ok, Aragorn. I spoke with Bilbo about it later that day, and he told me that he loves me as much as he could ever love any son." Frodo blushed a little.
Aragorn smiled back. "I'm sure he does. No one should ever listen to cruel children."
"Sorry?"
"No one should--- what the hobbit child said to you, it was cruel."
"Oh!" Frodo said, understanding. "It wasn't a child. It was my aunt and uncle, the Sackvile-Bagginses."
Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "Your aunt and uncle told you Bilbo didn't like you?" he asked, scarcely believing it.
Frodo chuckled. "Well, they really hated me. You see they would be Bilbo's heirs if not for me."
Aragorn shook his head in disbelief. "Still---. Anyway, you should get to bed, little one. We have much work to do tomorrow." Frodo nodded and left Aragorn with his thoughts once again. He puffed his pipe, rather amused by the fact that he and the little hobbit Frodo Baggins might have something in common.
Ok, after I wrote this, I went in search of little Aragorn stories, and discovered, to my horror, that this has been done ten thousand times before...so I'm doing it again.
When I thought this story up, I promised myself that I'd avoid fluff like the plague. So, naturally, here's some fluff.
Age equivalency: I know that, because of his lineage, Aragorn lives a long time, but I thought it would just be easier to have him aging like a normal human child. Therefore, eleven= eleven.
*********************************************************************
"Lousy wind," grumbled the dwarf as he struck the flint rocks together in hope of a spark. "What I wouldn't give for the shelter of a cave!"
Shaking his head, Legolas walked over to the center of the clearing. "Give me those," he said with great annoyance, taking the flint from Gimli's hands. Carefully, shielding the wood with his body, he knocked the two rocks together a few times until he produced sparks significant enough to start the wood burning. "It's all in the wrist, Master Dwarf," he said, tossing the flint pieces back to Gimli. Snarling, the dwarf muttered something under his breath not often heard in polite company.
The Fellowship quickly gathered around the fire for light and warmth. During the day, a cold wind had blown down from the mountaintops, and there wasn't a member of the group who wasn't chilled to the bones. Breathing into his hands in an attempt to warm them up, Boromir ransacked the contents of his pack for the third time, and then a fourth. Finally, with great frustration he turned the pack over, spilling the contents all over the campsite.
"Alright!" he yelled. "Which one of you stole my blanket?"
"Merry has it!" Pippin yelled back with great glee. He quickly received a sharp punch in the shoulder from his older cousin. "Pippin! Honestly, I thought we had an agreement. You don't say anything and we can share it."
"Aw, it's not fair to let Boromir go cold, even if he does have the best blanket in the Fellowship," Pip said.
"Quite right, little one," Boromir remarked as he snatched back his fur-lined blanket. "And I best not catch you with this again, Merry."
Pippin was about to object to the phrase 'little one' when Gandalf announced, "Anyone who wants to hear a story, stay around the fire. Anyone who doesn't can go sit over there in the cold." He pointed off toward a big rock.
No one seemed too thrilled with the idea of relinquishing their warm spot by the fire in favor of a cold rock in the dark, so Gandalf momentarily had all of their attention.
"Gandalf," Pippin said with a grin, "Tell the one about--"
"-Now wait a minute, Pippin," Gandalf broke in. "We've already heard a story about hobbits acting foolish." He looked at Aragorn with great amusement. "I would like to tell a story about Aragorn acting foolish."
Aragorn broke out into a grin. "Gandalf, when was the last time I did * anything * foolish?"
"Not for a long while, I'll admit," claimed Gandalf. "But if I remember correctly, a few stories from your childhood are still being told in Rivendell."
"You knew Strider when he was a boy?" Frodo asked.
"Of course," he answered. "There's not a one of you I haven't known since you were born. I was even present at most of the parties celebrating your coming into the world."
"Well, it doesn't matter * how * long you've known me," Aragorn said. "You must be mistaken. I was never the disobedient type at any age."
Gandalf looked at him wryly, the sarcasm in his eyes all too evident. "Oh, really."
* * * * * * * * * * *
"Estel, hurry UP!" Meneldaion called down to the boy.
Suspended in a sea of green leaves, Aragorn scaled the tree, working his way up to the branch where two elven brothers waiting impatiently. Sweat poured down his eleven year old brow as he grunted from the strain of pulling his body weight up onto the next limb. "Almost there," he muttered to himself.
From above the elder of the two young elves looked down with disgust. "ESTEL! I said get up here!" Meneldaion shouted. He turned to his younger brother Benethion. "Why do you always bring him along, anyway?" he said, making no attempt to quiet his voice to spare Aragorn's feelings.
"Oh, you know Mother makes me play with him because he's Elrond's son." Smirking, the elf added, "In a matter of speaking."
Below, a mixture of anger and harsh defeat crossed Aragorn's young face. None of the elves ever wanted to play with him because he couldn't run as fast or climb as high as they could, and they often told him that he was slowing down their games, so could he please leave? He stood on the branch and allowed himself a moment of self-pity before hardening his face. He was never one to admit defeat.
"I can do anything as well as any elf," he whispered to himself as he began to climb once again.
"Listen to him talk," laughed Benethion from high in the tree.
Aragorn cursed the all-hearing ears of the elves and continued. "I can do anything as well as any elf," he said again, cheering himself on. "I can do anything--" His face twisted with the effort as he hoisted himself up another limb.
Branch by branch, he pulled himself up the tree, straining all his muscles, digging his feet into the rough bark. "I can do this as well as* you * can," he growled through gritted teeth at the elf watching him from above. "I can--" Aragorn pulled himself up onto the final branch and sat beside Meneldaion, his muscles going limp with exhaustion.
"If you can do this as well as I can," Meneldaion snapped, "Then why did it take me less than one minute to reach the top when you took nearly ten?"
Aragorn was rather dumbfounded by his question. He had not meant for it to be an insult to the elf, but his own motivational cheer.
"Either way, I accept your challenge," the elf child continued.
"Sorry-what?"
"Your challenge," Meneldaion answered him. "You claimed you could do anything as well as any elf. That sounds like a challenge to my people and I must accept in defense of all elves. And since you said anything, I get to choose. We shall have an archery contest. Each of us gets three arrows to shoot from beside the tree to the target we will set up over there." He pointed to a spot near a long, high wall of bushes at least 50 yards away. "The one with the most points wins. Meet me back here tomorrow at midday, when the sun is high." With that, the two elves quickly scaled down the tree, leaving a very confused Aragorn behind.
The sun was low in the sky that day before Aragorn got the chance to practice his archery. Dragging the heavy target to the agreed location of the shrub wall, he wondered how he had managed to get himself into this.
Drawing an arrow from the quiver strapped to his back, Aragorn placed it in the bow and drew back his arm, stretching the bowstring to its capacity. He let it go with a twang and watched the arrow sail through the air before meeting its mark on the edge of the target.
Aragorn closed his eyes in frustration. Not good enough. He had been taking archery lessons for some time now, but he had always been considerably closer to the target than this. He didn't suppose it mattered much anyway. Meneldaion was one of the archery champions back when he played in the contests. Naturally, he eventually got too good even for lessons, as all the elves do, and he hadn't taken one in about 150 years. It was endlessly embarrassing for Aragorn, still taking classes with the elf children who, despite being at least a hundred years older than him, still looked so much younger.
Concentrating on the bull's-eye, he drew and shot another arrow. Better he thought when he saw that the arrow had pierced the target not far from the bull's-eye. Better, but still not good enough. It was never good enough. Even if he hit the bull's-eye every time without fail, even if he won every race and could climb every tree, the elves would still look down on him because he was not elf. He was man and he hated it. He heard the other children when they talked about him-they made no attempt to conceal their voices. "Elrond's charity case," they called him. "Elrond felt sorry for the boy and took him in, played father to him." Why couldn't I be an elf? Aragorn thought with tears in his eyes. Why can't I be Elrond's real son?
Recklessly, he grasped an arrow and shot it as fast as he could. It missed the target by several feet, flying over the wall and landing in the grass beyond it. Aragorn lowered his bow. It wouldn't do him any good, this anger against the elves. He needed to stay focused. Choosing an arrow, slowly this time, he aimed and shot, using all of his skill. "Bull's-eye," he whispered, quite pleased. He practiced his aim until the sinking sun made the target little more than a silhouette in the distance.
Aragorn walked slowly through the field, dragging his feet. The sun shone hot directly above him as he made his way to the tree. Under it waited Meneldaion, along with about ten other elf boys. Aragorn's stomach felt as if it had dropped in his abdomen. This wasn't fair. It wasn't enough for Meneldaion to simply defeat him. He seemed to want to humiliate him in front of everyone.
"Hey, Estel!" the elf called. "I was wondering when you'd show up. Ready to lose?"
"First you shoot, then you can talk, Meneldaion," Aragorn said back.
"Great. I'll go first." The elf child moved gracefully into his stance and pulled an arrow from his quiver. Without hesitation, he released his first arrow, then his second, and then his third. He took no pause in between shots and all his arrows met their mark.
"Three bull's-eyes," he announced triumphantly. Stepping aside, he turned to Aragorn. "Well, Estel, you can't beat me, but you can tie me. Go ahead."
Feeling a little sick to his stomach, Aragorn got into position. As he took an arrow from his quiver, he noticed with dismay that his hands were shaking. Concentrate, Estel. Pretend they are not even here, he thought. Hearing the bowstrings creak under the pressure of his drawback, he aimed and released the arrow.
"A bull's-eye!" an elf yelled.
Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Relax, he told himself. Taking care to be precise with his aim, he tightened the bowstrings once more. You can do this. He let the arrow fly.
"Two bull's-eyes!" the elf yelled again.
Aragorn was * really * anxious now. A drop of sweat dripped from his temple, tickling behind his ear as he prepared the next arrow.
Meneldaion began to look nervous. His elven honor was at stake and he wasn't about to loose it to this-this non-elf, this mortal. "Barely a bull's-eye," he taunted. "I find it hard to believe that this is the charity case who thinks himself good enough to call Lord Elrond father."
Aragorn felt nearly blind with rage. He quickly shot his arrow into the air, just to avoid aiming it at the young elf. Same as yesterday, it sailed over the shrub wall, a good four feet above the target. Different from yesterday, however, was the cry of pain that followed.
"AAAAAHHHHHHHH!"
* * * * * * * * * * *
"You SHOT someone?!" Pippin cried out in shock, turning to Aragorn.
"Don't worry, Pippin, no one was * seriously * hurt," Gandalf said. "But you haven't heard the best part yet." The old wizard looked at the ranger. "Go on and tell them who you shot, Aragorn."
Blushing a deep crimson, Aragorn hid his face in his hands. "Lord Elrond," he said softly.
"WHAT?" all four hobbits cried.
"You shot your own father?" Boromir added in disbelief.
"It was purely by accident!" Aragorn said in his defense.
"Oh, but you * still * haven't heard the best part," Gandalf interrupted. "Go on and tell them * where * you shot him."
Both sighing and laughing at the same time, Aragorn told them. "Well, Elrond was taking a walk through his gardens and, as the Valor would have it, he dropped something. So as I shot the arrow, he happened to be bending over--"
"No!" cried Sam in a fit of giggles. "Aragorn, you didn't!"
Aragorn nodded. "I did. Dead center of his left cheek."
The company was quiet for about two seconds. As usual, Pippin took it upon himself to break the silence. "Bull's-eye," he said.
The Fellowship's laughter rang out for miles.
Aragorn had first watch that night. Wrapping his cloak tightly around his shoulders, he stared out into the distance, lost in his thought. He was, in fact, so lost in them that he didn't even notice the small form settling itself beside him until it spoke.
"I couldn't sleep," Frodo said, causing Aragorn to jump.
"You startled me, little one," he said, and then smiled. "Although, I suppose I'm not a very good watchman if a hobbit can sneak up on me, unnoticed."
"You'd be surprised. Us hobbits can be quite stealthy when we put our minds to it. It comes from years of stealing food." Frodo cleared his throat. "I was thinking about that story Gandalf told. I was wondering if you ever did make friends with any of the elves."
Aragorn lit his pipe and took a puff before he answered. "No. There were those who would let me play with them on occasion, but no one who I would call a friend."
"I'm sorry," Frodo answered, not sure what to say to that.
"Don't be, Frodo. I had two older brothers who treated me as family." He inhaled the smoke once again. "They taught me to hunt and to shoot and never excluded me, even though I was different from them. I also had a father, and it matters not to me what cruel children said to me long ago, he cared for me and loved me as his own."
Frodo nodded. "Someone once made fun of me because I was adopted." He sighed. "They told me that Bilbo didn't care for me as he would a real son. I don't think I was ever so upset in my life, except for when my parents died."
Aragorn placed a sympathetic hand on Frodo's shoulder.
Frodo looked up at him and smiled. "It's ok, Aragorn. I spoke with Bilbo about it later that day, and he told me that he loves me as much as he could ever love any son." Frodo blushed a little.
Aragorn smiled back. "I'm sure he does. No one should ever listen to cruel children."
"Sorry?"
"No one should--- what the hobbit child said to you, it was cruel."
"Oh!" Frodo said, understanding. "It wasn't a child. It was my aunt and uncle, the Sackvile-Bagginses."
Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "Your aunt and uncle told you Bilbo didn't like you?" he asked, scarcely believing it.
Frodo chuckled. "Well, they really hated me. You see they would be Bilbo's heirs if not for me."
Aragorn shook his head in disbelief. "Still---. Anyway, you should get to bed, little one. We have much work to do tomorrow." Frodo nodded and left Aragorn with his thoughts once again. He puffed his pipe, rather amused by the fact that he and the little hobbit Frodo Baggins might have something in common.