Grumpy: I will try to maneuver Aragorn into Dorwinia so that we can find out exactly what sort of trouble he would be capable of getting into in that setting!
Farflung, Kelly Kragen, Joee, and MystwingI was afraid that I was going a bit too far over the top with the 'knock-knock' jokes, so thanks for mentioning that you liked the language in the previous chapter. I'm sure every culture, even an elven one, must have its equivalent of such jokes.
Dragonfly: Kind of like watching a child move beyond your ever-present reach by departing for school, right?
Beta reader: Dragonfly: While she was away, I had no way to check my confusion between 'weigh' and 'weight', but now she is back I no longer have to wait for her to weigh in. Phew! That's a great weight off my shoulders.
Thanks to all these reviewers who are starting to reappear after summer vacation. A couple of chapters, there, I was ready to mope!
Chapter 41: Face to Face with the Enemy
"Are you sure Glorfindel meant us to come this way?" grunted Legolas, swatting frantically at the midges that swarmed about his head and crept into his ears, eyes, nose, and mouth.
"Yes," replied Aragorn, equally miserable and trying to pull his boot from the patch of mud into which it had sunk. "Oooof!"
Aragorn's foot had come free of the boot, and he had tumbled over backward, landing on a soggy patch of ground. He stared balefully at the boot and then scrambled back to tug it free of the muck.
"You are certain?" repeated Legolas.
"Yes!" exclaimed Aragorn, exasperated. "That hill must surely have been Weathertop, and we have followed every step of his directions from that point on."
"I agree that the hill was Weathertop—I visited it once long ago when I was an elfling—but I do not remember coming through this marsh. When I went to Bree with Glorfindel, we traveled along the Great East Road. Why did Glorfindel not send us that way?"
"I do not know," began Aragorn, but then he stopped and began to laugh.
"What," demanded Legolas, "is so funny about being eaten alive by midges!?"
"Glorfindel," explained Aragorn, "meant us to come this way, but not because it was the best route!"
"Not because it was the best route?" repeated Legolas, a little more confused than was his wont. No doubt the irksome insects had tormented him to the point at which he was incapable of thinking clearly.
"Don't you see?" explained Aragorn patiently. "Glorfindel knew about this wretched marsh and sent us into it on purpose, as a sort of joke."
"Some joke," grumbled Legolas.
"An initiation then. A warrior's way of welcoming us into his world."
"Less alliteration and more sense, if you please."
"I am making sense," protested Aragorn. "It's just a fond gesture from Glorfindel."
"Fond!? Fond!? I hope he never develops any greater affection for me, or I shall surely perish!"
"Do cheer up, Legolas. We are uncomfortable, but I doubt we are in danger. A few more days of slogging through this slop, and we will climb back out onto dry land."
"What's left of us," muttered Legolas under his breath.
Aragorn was of course right. Three days after that conversation, the two friends stood on dry ground. Legolas heaved a truly enormous sigh of relief.
"Many things I can confront with equanimity—Trolls, Orcs, giant spiders—but midges, I must confess, I cannot abide."
Aragorn looked him up and down and grinned.
"It looks as if you will have to abide them a bit longer."
"What!?"
"Your braids are full of them."
Legolas swore some particularly colorful oaths and insisted that they not take another step until he had undone his braids, combed out his hair, and done them up again. Aragorn didn't mind the delay, for it allowed him to spread out his things to dry. Still, he could not forebear twitting Legolas.
"You might want to clean and file your nails while you're at it," he said with a great show of mock solicitude.
Legolas glared at him but said nothing.
"Is that a spot of dirt on your nose? Would you like me to get it for you?"
Still Legolas said nothing.
"I could pluck your eyebrows, too," Aragorn offered.
Suddenly Aragorn found himself thrown face down upon the ground so abruptly that he hardly knew how he had arrived there. After rubbing the Ranger's face and hair into the dirt, the Elf let him up. Each arose to his feet, and the two stood facing each other. It was Legolas' turn to look Aragorn up and down.
"You look terrible," he announced cheerfully.
Aragorn stared at him in surprise for a moment but then embraced the humor of the situation.
"Thank you for touching up my camouflage," he said with a grin.
"Anytime," replied Legolas, also grinning. The two friends resumed their trek, one comfortably dirty, the other comfortably clean.
Several days later, the two neared Bree-land.
"Before we enter Bree proper," Aragorn told Legolas, "Gandalf wants us to explore the woods thereabouts. He said there may come a day when I need to know where I may take cover on short notice. He also said that there is a Watcher in the woods, from whom I should gather news in order to report back to him."
Elf and Man were on the Great East Road by now but turned off it, heading north. Gandalf had described to Aragorn several places that he knew to be used by Rangers, and one by one they searched for these campsites. Again and again they came to likely spots but found them abandoned, any traces that they had been used hidden so carefully that only an Elf—or another Ranger—would realize that they were campsites at all. At last, however, they arrived at one where a campfire crackled loudly, although no one was about. This surprised them. First, the fire was built higher than was the usual custom of the cautious and frugal Rangers. Second, it had been left unattended, also atypical behavior for a Dúnadan. Moreover, although they saw clothing and weapons that were characteristic of Rangers, these objects were scattered about in a most untidy fashion.
"A Ranger has been here," said Aragorn thoughtfully, "but something is not right."
"I agree," said Legolas, carefully scanning the margins of the glade. "I am going in that direction to reconnoiter a bit."
"And I will go this way, toward that rise."
The two separated and began their search. A short while later, Legolas returned to the campsite, his face troubled. He sounded a bird call. Soon the Ranger rejoined him.
"Aragorn, I have something to show you," the Elf said gravely.
Aragorn followed him into the forest. Several hundred yards in, he found the Elf standing somberly by the side of a Man who lay face down in the leaf litter. The back of his tunic was slashed and bloody.
"He is garbed like a Ranger," said the Elf.
Aragorn knelt beside the body and turned it over.
"Aye," he said, "he is one of the Dúnedain. I have seen him in the company of Halbarad."
"He has been dead for several hours, but the fire was but newly mended," observed Legolas. "His assassin is somewhere hereabouts and plans to return to the campsite."
"Where he will receive a most vigorous welcome," said Aragorn grimly. He brushed several insects from the face of the murdered Ranger and then covered the dead Man with his bloodied cloak. He rose to his feet.
"Shall we burn or bury his body?" he asked.
"We must bury him," said Legolas, "for we do not wish to create a plume of smoke. But," he added, "we must wait until we have dealt with his murderer."
Legolas checked the tautness of his bowstring.
"No," said Aragorn, loosening the sword in his sheath. "I will deal with him—and I want him to see my face."
Legolas kept his own face impassive.
"Very well, Aragorn, but you must permit me to second you."
"No. This is my fight."
"You are a warrior who seeks the necessary destruction of a dangerous enemy—not a child engaged in a grudge match who will suffer no worse than a bloody nose if his strength does not prove the equal of his courage."
"But if you second me that will be two against one. That is not an honorable way to fight."
"This Ranger," Legolas pointed out dispassionately, "was stabbed in the back. His murderer has forfeited any claim he may have had upon your honor and fairness."
"Very well," conceded Aragorn after some hesitation, "but do not intervene unless you must."
"I shall position myself in the forest and will not shoot unless you are in imminent danger," Legolas promised. He then vanished from sight. As for Aragorn, he seated himself by the fire to await the return of the murderer. He did not have long to wait before he heard footsteps and a Man broke from the bushes. He looked momentarily taken aback at seeing Aragorn in the camp, but recovered his countenance quickly. Aragorn saw from his manner of dress that he was a Southron. This did not surprise him.
The Southron was carrying a deer over his shoulder, which accounted for his absence from the camp. Casually, he slung it onto the ground.
"Ah," said the Southron, "a visitor to my campsite."
"Your campsite?" retorted Aragorn. "This is the campsite of one of my kinsmen—and you are not he."
"Mayhap it was once his campsite," sneered the Southron, "but it is no longer. Still, I will do you a favor: I will take you to where he now lies."
He drew his sword with a flourish.
Undaunted, Aragorn arose and drew his.
The Southron looked at the young Ranger and smirked.
"So you mean to afford me a little exercise before dinner. I thank you."
Confidently, he swung at the young Man. Aragorn sidestepped the blow but did not return it.
"Won't stand and fight, eh, boy," taunted the Southron. Aragorn remained impassive. He turned his sword point upward before his face, as if he would bestow a benediction upon it or sought one himself. Watching, Legolas was alarmed. This was not the position for parrying thrusts. Suddenly, however, at a speed that even the Elf could scarcely follow, Aragorn pivoted the sword and thrust forward. The Southron barely succeeded in leaping clear. Surprise showed on his face, and he was momentarily cowed. But he recovered quickly and closed with Aragorn, although his manner was not as casual as it had been only minutes earlier. Soon the forest was filled with the sound of clashing swords.
It was quickly apparent to Legolas that Aragorn, for all his youth, was the better swordsman. Glorfindel had taught him with great diligence, and the youth had paid careful attention to the Elf's lessons. Still, the Southron, a Man in his prime, had the advantage of weight and muscle. He was able to put great power into each blow, and Aragorn could not hope to match him in strength. Nor did he seek to, choosing instead to leap lightly aside, thus transforming each of the Southron's blows into a glancing one. With each swing, Aragorn's foe expended much energy; Aragorn husbanded his. The Southron grew more and more frustrated; Aragorn remained calm. Well before the end of the battle, Legolas had relaxed his grip on his bow, for he could foresee the outcome.
At last the tired and angry Southron both overextended his sword arm and swung too far to the side. Without a moment's hesitation, Aragorn slid his sword into the Southron's belly and jerked sideways as he yanked it back again. The Southron stood stupefied for a moment, staring in disbelief at his abdomen, from which his intestines now protruded. Then his knees gave way, and he crumpled to the ground. Aragorn kicked the sword from his hand to be sure of him, although the gesture hardly seemed necessary. Then he looked up as Legolas emerged from the forest. The Elf walked over to the fallen Southron and studied him.
"He is still breathing, Aragorn."
"I know," Aragorn replied shortly.
"You are not an Orc, Aragorn. Cut his throat swiftly so that he does not linger in pain."
"He deserves to," retorted Aragorn.
"That's not the point, Aragorn, and you know it."
Aragorn relented. He knelt beside his fallen foe, tilted back his head, and cut his throat as cleanly and quickly as he could. To his surprise, the Southron smiled weakly but gratefully at him just as he drove the knife into his neck. Reflecting later upon this incident, Aragorn felt glad that he had listened to Legolas.
The murdered Ranger had been avenged, and a dangerous spy had been eliminated from the environs of Bree-land, not to mention the Shire that lay but a short journey beyond Bree. It now remained to deal with the aftermath. Aragorn dug a grave for the murdered Ranger. Legolas went some distance away and dug a pit for the Southron. Before they lowered the Ranger into his grave, they shrouded him carefully in his cloak so that his face was protected as they filled in the grave. The Southron they left uncovered. They simply placed him in the pit and hastily shoveled dirt upon him. They would never torment a living foe, but they did not feel called upon to take especial care in disposing of a dead one.
After burying the bodies, they returned to the campsite and carefully obliterated any signs that the spot had ever been used by a Ranger. This would allow other Dúnedain to make use of the camp in the future with some hope that no one knew it to be a place that they frequented. Aragorn, though, suspected that he would never feel comfortable camping there.
Legolas, too, was not inclined to remain in the vicinity of the murder and attendant graves. The two were in mutual agreement that it would be best to push on that night to Bree, even though they would arrive at a very late hour.
Even Legolas was weary when they at last walked up to the gates of Bree. He was, however, alert enough to remember to pull up his hood to hide his elven ears. Aragorn, of course, did all the talking.
Even though the night was so far gone that it was in truth closer to dawn than to dusk, the people of Bree still felt reasonably secure in their little town, so the gate-keeper admitted them in spite of the lateness of the hour. Aragorn asked after the Plodding Ploughhorse.
"You mean the Prancing Pony, lad. Now that the Butterbur family owns the inn outright, the name's been changed."
The gate-keeper gave them directions, and Aragorn politely thanked him. Then he and Legolas hastened toward the inn. Plodding Ploughhorse or Prancing Pony, Gandalf had assured the Ranger that the beds were comfortable, the food plentiful, and the ale strong. "You should also," the wizard added, "be able to lay your hands on some very fine pipeweed. Pray bring some back for me."
They had to knock several times upon the door of the inn, but at last a sleepy-faced boy opened it.
"The master's abed," he yawned, "but I'm to show to rooms any gen'l'men wot have coins in their purses."
Aragorn opened the pouch that hung at his belt and pulled out a coin.
"Will this do?"
The boy's eyes widened. The coin was more valuable than any that he assumed a Ranger would carry.
"Aye, master, but ye'd best break that coin as soon as ye may. 'Tis not the sort of thing ye'd want to wave about before some folk wot frequent Bree. Most hereabouts be respec'able people, but there do be a few scoundrels. Well, be it as may, I'll show ye to your rooms now, an' it please ye."
It did please them, and they gladly followed the boy, who told them his name was Rob. He led them up the stairs and gave them the key to a comfortable pair of rooms, one chamber for sitting, the other for sleeping.
"There be no hot food on hand, masters, for the cook has been abed these several hours, but I can bring ye several nice cold dishes and I can draw two flagons o'ale. Or," he grinned, glancing out the window, where a glow could be seen in the east, "ye could just stay up a bit longer an' the cook'll arise to start breakfast!"
Aragorn and Legolas opted for the cold refreshments, and Rob hurried off, quickly returning with cheese, several cuts of meat, bread, and two generous slices of pie. Oh, yes, and two foamy flagons of ale, which, if not especially to Legolas' taste, were very much to Aragorn's. Not standing on ceremony, the two friends devoured these viands, kicked off their boots, and crawled into bed. Legolas, in point of fact, did not even bother washing, something that should have been entered into the annals, so uncommon an occurrence that was. The Elf also for once was totally oblivious to the peculiar aroma that clung to the young human, whether clean or dirty. It is possible that Legolas would have slept soundly that night even if his bedfellow had been an Orc! (Although a Troll would probably have been too much for him to bear, as those creatures do snore so dreadfully.)
It was late afternoon before the Elf and the Ranger awoke. Aragorn would have slept longer, but Legolas, upon waking, began to amuse himself by singing, much to the distress of the human.
"Must you make such a racket, Legolas," the young Man protested into the pillow.
"I'm an Elf," said Legolas gaily. "Singing is what an Elf does."
"And must you be so cheerful!" groaned Aragorn.
"I'm an Elf. Would you rather I were a sullen Dwarf?"
"At the moment, yes!"
"Some bread, meat, and cheese yet remain upon the table in the sitting room. As you prefer to sleep, you no doubt will not mind if I break fast upon these morsels."
Aragorn abruptly sat up and threw aside the covers.
"I'm hungry, too! Leave me something, will you!"
"Never fails," teased Legolas. "Don't you remember that you didn't leave so much as a crumb last night? But at least now you're up."
Aragorn aimed a pillow at the Elf, who easily evaded the soft missile.
"You win, Greenleaf. I am well and truly awake."
"Good. Then let us go down to dine in the common room."
Aragorn looked dubiously at him.
"Shouldn't I ask that some food be sent up instead? 'Twould look odd if you kept your hood up now 'tis daylight, but it wouldn't do for anyone to see your ears. We don't want to attract attention, and an Elf in Bree surely would."
"I will let my hair fall free so that it covers my ears."
"It will then be plain that you wear your hair much longer than most Men do hereabouts."
"Not if I am careful to keep the ends of my hair on the inside of the cloak so that no one is able to see precisely how long it is."
This plan was agreeable to Aragorn, and the two friends descended to the ground floor. Young Rob was nowhere to be seen, but his place had apparently been taken by a lad named Hob, who ushered Aragorn and Legolas to a table in the common room. As they neared it, however, a sneering Man stuck out his leg and tripped Aragorn. His companions laughed. Encouraged, the Man began to taunt the young Ranger.
"You should watch those lanky legs o'yourn, Longshanks. You don' wanter stick 'em in places where they don' belong."
"Or where they in't wanted," shouted another Man. "And since ye be one o'those gangrel Rangers, that'd be most places!"
More laughter.
Aragorn rose silently to his feet, his hands clenched, but he relaxed them when he felt Legolas' warning touch upon his shoulder. Silently, he took a seat with the Elf at their table, and Hob, apologizing for the rudeness of the Man and his friends, hastened to bring them food and drink. After he had served them, Aragorn softly inquired about the Man who had tripped him.
"That one? That's a Ferny. There's always been a Ferny about as long as anyone kin remember, and he's always been a bad un. There's been a William Ferny 'n a Willy Ferny 'n a Billy Ferny 'n a Will Ferny 'n a Bill Ferny."
"Which one is this one?"
"That's Big Bill Ferny. And yonder is his lad, Little Bill Ferny."
Sure enough, an ill-favored urchin was lounging about in the company of Big Bill Ferny and his friends, all of whom looked rather like ruffians.
"Meanin' no disrespect, master," Hob continued, "but our Rob says ye carry a coin wot a Ferny would find en-ti-cing. Ye ought to change it as soon as ever ye may."
"We will change it this very night," Aragorn promised, "in payment for the lodging and food that we have enjoyed thus far."
"Very good, master," replied Hob, who, satisfied, quickly hurried off to wait on other customers.
Aragorn and Legolas now enjoyed their second meal at the Prancing Pony, which was even better than the first for it included several hot dishes. When they had finished, they arose and went to seek out the proprietor to settle up their bill. This worthy individual was of course Butterbur, and the two friends were surprised that he did not melt from the heat of his exertions as he bustled about his establishment. Patiently the Ranger and the Elf waited by the counter near the front of the inn until Butterbur could spare them a moment.
Suddenly Legolas felt a tug upon the small coin pouch that hung upon his belt. Whirling about, he seized the wrist of the youngest Ferny. Keeping a firm grip on the urchin, he slipped out the door of the inn before the boy could cry out for his father. Aragorn followed hard on his heels, and once they were safely in the shadows to the side of the inn, Legolas searched the young rascal.
"Ah hah," he chortled after a minute, handing Aragorn his pouch. "I wonder how long it would have been before you missed it, O vigilant Ranger!"
Aragorn scowled, partly at Legolas, partly at the thief.
Legolas found a quite a few additional pouches on the person of the urchin.
"We'd best give these other ones to Butterbur," he said when he was finished searching the boy. "No doubt he'll be able to reunite them with their owners. Now as for you," he said to the urchin, "should we hand you over with the purses?"
The boy began to blubber.
"No, master, please, no!" he sniveled. "I'll never trouble you again, I swear!"
Aragorn and Legolas exchanged glances. They both doubted that the boy had enough honor to make any oath of his worth more than the weight of the air with which he uttered it. Still, what could they do but let him go? If they handed him over to Butterbur, it was altogether possible that the urchin would receive a beating at the hands of each and every one of the Men whose purses he had stolen. Aragorn shrugged, and Legolas let go of the boy, who immediately scuttled away without a backward glance.
"I wish we could say that we'd seen the last of Little Bill Ferny," said Aragorn, "but somehow I do not think that will be the case. Come. Let us return the purses to Butterbur."
"I will," said Legolas. "It is plain that some Men hereabouts look darkly upon you. If these purses were found upon you, I wouldn't put it past some of them to accuse you of being the one who had stolen them."
Aragorn kept watch while Legolas begged a private word with Butterbur. They disappeared into a side room. When they emerged, Butterbur looked flustered.
"In my own ee-stab-lish-ment!" he kept exclaiming. "In my own ee-stab-lish-ment!"
Then he went from table to table returning the purses and wallets to their owners, provoking shouts that were variously humorous or indignant, depending upon each speaker's character and state of inebriation.
"Hey, Butterbur!" shouted one. "Is that old conjurer about, that our wallets should disappear and reappear so magically?"
"Old conjurer indeed!" thought Legolas indignantly. This was not a respectful way to refer to Mithrandir!
Aragorn looked at him and grinned, shaking his head.
"Not the place to mount a defense of the honor of our friend," he whispered.
"True," Legolas whispered back, "but it seems hard that they show so little respect for someone who guards the safety of their little town."
Aragorn made a wry face.
"I believe that is to be my fate as well, Legolas."
"What do you mean, Aragorn?"
"Novice though I may be, I am still a Ranger. I have heard from Halbarad and now I learn for myself that many a day a Ranger will turn back enemies of Bree-land only to be mocked that same night by the very Men he safeguards."
"Someday," said Legolas stoutly, "the Dúnedain shall receive the credit due them."
"Perhaps," said Aragorn noncommittally. "But I fear that when the accolades do come, many shall no longer be in a position to appreciate them."
Legolas thought sadly of the slain Ranger in the forest and knew that Aragorn's words were all too likely to prove true.