Kelly Kragen: Yes, the cliffie does have to do with Aragorn, and, yes, I intended for people to believe that Legolas' presence had something to do with the revival of the bush. You are right that I will have to do something with Erestor and Marta. That story line cries out to be pursued, either in a touching or a humorous fashion (or both!).

Dragonfly: Actually, I can't permit Frodo and Sam to be anywhere in the vicinity of Legolas and Aragorn. In the book, when Frodo arrives at Rivendell, he doesn't know Legolas. And, of course, neither Frodo nor Sam have ever laid eyes on or heard of Aragorn, and they are very suspicious of him when they first encounter him (and for a good while thereafter, in the case of Sam). That's why I sent the two off on an excursion before Legolas shows up at Bag End.

Mystwing: I'm guessing that even an illiterate farmer might have pretty good skills at arithmetic for the purposes of planning and taking stock of animals and produce. Several ancient, pre-literate cultures were pretty good at astronomical calculations for planting reasons, and that requires some arithmetic, too.

Joee: Normally I like to wait to get feedback from five or six people, but, since you sound desperate, here you are. I don't want to drive anyone over the edge of a 'cliffie'.

Chapter 47: An Unfortunate Encounter with Mushrooms

Aragorn's departure from Brandy Hall was every bit as reluctant as Legolas' departure from Bag End. However, the young Ranger was determined to thoroughly acquaint himself with the lands thereabouts. In this he had been encouraged by Gandalf, who seemed convinced that such knowledge would someday prove to be invaluable. So, sighing at the thought of the meals he would forgo, ''Gil' thanked his hosts, shouldered his pack, and returned to the cover of forest and scrub.

The day began uneventfully. The morning was a fine one, and Aragorn covered many miles, working up a hearty appetite as he did so. Noon found him deep in a forest that he had decided to explore to locate likely campsites for future expeditions. As he slung his pack to the ground, he noticed mushrooms growing in the shady, moist soil. They looked like the mushrooms he had collected in the company of Pal'in and Scat'gold, and he gladly gathered a handful. Sitting with his back against a tree trunk, he nibbled one. It did not taste exactly like the ones he had eaten earlier, but it was delicious in its own way, and he had soon polished it off and started on another. Midway through this second one, however, he began to feel sick. At first he felt only a little nauseated. Soon, though, he was sweating and bent over double, clutching at his stomach. He pushed a finger down his throat, forcing himself to vomit, but even so he continued to feel deathly ill. The world was spinning, and the leaves were losing their colors. Everything turned gray, and Aragorn collapsed, curled up into a tight ball.

When consciousness returned to the young Ranger, he did not know how long he had been insensible. He was no longer lying curled up. Instead, he was stretched flat upon his back, with something soft under his head. He felt the cool air upon his chest and knew that his tunic had been removed.

"Someone has found me," he thought with relief. Then he realized that his hands had been crossed before him and bound together with rope. Warily he peered out through half-closed eyes. A Man sat cross-legged regarding him. Aragorn's sword lay across the Man's knees.

"You needn't pretend to be asleep," said the Man. "I seen ye move."

The Man smiled, but Aragorn did not find the expression reassuring. Nevertheless, he opened his eyes completely and stared directly at the Man.

"What I wan'ta know," the Man continued, "is where y'got this here sword."

The Man did not speak like a Ranger, nor was he dressed like one. Aragorn did not think he was an ally of the Elves. Calculating swiftly, the young Dúnadan adopted a bragging tone.

"Took it off an Elf, I did. You shoulda seen his face when I bested him!"

Aragorn spoke the truth. The sword had been the prize in an archery contest, and Elrohir's face had been a study when he realized that his younger brother Estel had defeated him. The youth had spent weeks practicing secretly with Legolas, who had shown him how to shoot two arrows at a throw. Aragorn had thus been able to win a tie-breaking round by sending both arrows simultaneously through the center of the target. Elrohir had protested, but in vain, and had had to satisfy himself with waylaying Legolas after supper that night and rubbing dirt into his hair. Aragorn almost chuckled at the memory, but his reflections were interrupted by a harsh voice.

"You defeat an Elf? Hah! But it don' matter whether ye did or ye didn'. If you did, you'll be useful. If ye didn', then you stole it—and you'll be useful. Fighter 'r thief, it don' matter—long as yer useful. And if you hain't neither, well, there's other ways a body kin be useful."

The Man laughed, and Aragorn didn't like his laugh any better than his smile. The Man sheathed Aragorn's sword and fastened the scabbard across his own pack. Then he untied Aragorn and allowed him to pull on his tunic. Once the young Ranger was dressed, the Man tied him again, this time with his hands behind his back. Next he fastened a rope around Aragorn's neck. Holding the end of the cord in his hand, the Man led Aragorn deeper into the forest.

They had walked for perhaps an hour when Aragorn heard boisterous laughter.

"The fools," growled his captor. "I tol' 'em to be quiet. They'll bring enemies down upon us. Now you, ye hain't said a word. You know when t'keep yer mouth shut, you do. I like that in a Man. If you keep on as you've begun, you'll do well, I don' doubt."

Since he'd praised been for saying nothing, Aragorn decided it would be would be wise to continue to do so.

They arrived at the camp, and Aragorn was shocked to see the size of it. There were at least fifty Men clustered around campfires and perhaps as many as seventy-five.

"Whacher got there, Chief?" shouted one of the Men.

"Goin' blind, Saul? A new recruit, you idiot. Here. You show 'im the ropes."

The Chief handed Saul the cord. The other Men found this to be immensely funny and roared with laughter. Saul scowled. He turned his anger upon Aragorn, yanking the rope so hard that he stumbled forward.

"You'd better be worth the trouble, boy. What's yer name?"

"'Gil, sir."

"Whose spawn do you be?"

"I have no father, sir.

"Happen yer a bastard, then?"

Aragorn controlled his anger.

"My father is dead. I am an orphan. Sir"

"Oh, very likely," scoffed Saul. "That's what they all say."

Aragorn said nothing.

"Proud, are we?" sneered Saul. "Have to deal with that. See that cauldron there? I want it scrubbed so bright I kin see me handsome face init."

At least, thought Aragorn, his hands would have to be untied for him to accomplish this task. No doubt he would need to be quiet and biddable for several days, but when the opportunity for escape came, he would seize it with both hands.

Saul did untie his hands, and he removed the rope from his neck as well. Eager to impress his captors with his submissiveness, Aragorn went to work with a will, scrubbing at the cauldron with scouring rushes until it was no shiny that Saul could have indeed seen his handsome face—if he had had one, that is.

After Aragorn had finished scouring the cauldron, Saul handed him his boots.

"I want these boots polished so bright I kin see me handsome face in 'em," he chortled.

Patiently, Aragorn knocked the mud from the boots and rubbed at them with an oil-soaked rag until they did indeed shine.

When he had finished, Saul handed him his shield. Aragorn sighed.

"Let me guess—you want this shield polished so bright you can see your handsome face in it."

Saul slapped him so hard that he was knocked off his feet. Blinking up at his tormenter, Aragorn tasted blood.

"You give me any lip, boy, I take it out on your lip."

"Yes, sir," mumbled Aragorn.

"An' you give me cause, I'll do worse. Don' you doubt it! Cut a boy's throat not so long ago. Brat didn' know when to shut up, I fixed it so's he'd never speak no more. You feel tempted to mouth off, you remember that."

"Yes, sir," said Aragorn. Blood trailed from the side of his mouth.

"Now," Saul smirked, "I want this shield polished so bright I kin see me handsome face init."

"Yes, sir," said Aragorn wearily. Clearly, he was going to have to make a great show of being docile, not only so that he might eventually escape but also to keep his skin intact. He did not doubt for a minute that Saul had indeed cut a boy's throat, and for no cause other than that the boy had angered the Man with his speech.

Fortunately, Saul considered himself satisfied when Aragorn had at last finished polishing the shield. In fact, he seemed almost jovial.

"There now, 'Gil, that warn't so bad, now, polishin' an item 'r' two."

He clapped Aragorn on the shoulder, and Aragorn steeled himself so as not to flinch.

"No, sir."

"You do as yer told, an' no harm'll come to you."

"Yes, sir."

The message was clear. "If I am properly subservient," thought Aragon bitterly, "I will be rewarded by my master. Masters," he corrected, looking around at the encampment. He saw the Chief approaching.

"How is our new recruit gettin' on, Saul?"

"Fair, Chief, fair. He was a little too free in his speech at first, but I cured 'im o' that."

The Chief studied Aragorn's bruised face.

"Thought you was a quiet one. Don' prove me wrong," he warned.

"No, sir."

"Found out the boy's n'orphan," Saul said.

"Good. Kinless boys make good recruits. Gen'r'ly hain't got nowhere else to go." He addressed Aragorn.

"We'll be yer family, boy. Unnerstand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." He turned back to Saul. "Better tie 'im up tonight, Saul. Do that fer awhile till yer sure he's put down roots."

"That I will, Chief."

Once again Aragorn's hands were bound behind his back. For good measure, Saul tied his legs at the ankles. Lying uncomfortably on his side, Aragorn at first found it difficult to sleep. However, not for nothing had he been raised by Elves. Aragorn reminded himself that he needed to be strong, and lying sleepless would drain him, body and soul. He closed his eyes and took slow, even breaths. He felt his body relaxing, and soon he was sleeping soundly. In fact, so deeply did he sleep that Saul had to kick him twice the next morning before he was awake enough to remember where he was.

"Get up, slug," shouted Saul impatiently as Aragorn stared at him confusedly.

"I can't get up; I'm tied."

"You mouthin' off at me?" snarled Saul.

"No, sir," said Aragorn hastily. "But I am tied. Sir."

Muttering, Saul untied him and then thrust a camp kettle at him.

"Yonder's a stream. Fill this. And mind you: yer within bowshot the entire distance, so don' be thinkin' of runnin' off."

"No, sir."

Aragorn joined a procession of bedraggled, defeated-looking boys on their way to the stream. Most were ill clad and shivered in the cold morning air. Aragorn suddenly wondered if Saul had once been one of these boys, ill-used and bereft of kin. If that had been so, he could almost feel sorry for the Man.

When Aragorn had returned to the campfire, however, it did not take long for Saul to drive away any feeling of pity that the young Ranger might have nursed on the Man's behalf. Saul seemed to feel that no command was complete unless it was accompanied by at least one term of abuse. Still, Aragorn managed to avoid being slapped or kicked for the remainder of the day.

That night, Aragorn again slept well, but the next day he managed to wake himself before Saul arose. As he lay waiting to be untied, he amused himself by listening to the morning songs of the birds. Suddenly he realized that one of the songs was all wrong: it was the call of a bird that did not frequent these parts. Instead, the bird's dwelling place was in Lothlórien. Aragorn hid his smile, and when Saul untied him, he was careful not to move too quickly when it came time to fetch water from the stream. As he knelt down to fill the kettle, a voice spoke softly from a tree limb above him.

"Aragorn, I do believe you have managed to take up with Men who are even scruffier than you are."

"Thank you, Legolas. I think."

"I suppose you expect me to create a diversion so that you can run off without taking an arrow to the back."

"That would be nice—but, wait, not yet."

Now that Legolas was there, Aragorn no longer felt concerned about his prospects for escaping.

"I think," he said slowly, "that I ought to remain with them for awhile. I may be able to discover something about their plans. Why, Legolas, is such a large group of foreigners camped in the vicinity of the Shire? They are not here on a trading mission, that's certain!"

"So you wish to remain in the camp as a spy," said Legolas doubtfully. "But your face is bruised. That Man has already done you an injury, and I fear lest he do you more harm."

Just at that moment the Man in question shouted after Aragorn, demanding to know why it was taking him so long to fill the kettle. Aragorn leaped to his feet.

"Don't worry, Legolas. He won't hurt me very badly because then I won't be of any use to them. You'll see!"

Legolas was not at all reassured, but he had no choice but to watch as Aragorn hurried back to Saul's campfire. The Elf settled himself in the tree to wait, using his time to check the fletching of each and every one of his arrows.

"If that Man hurts Estel," he muttered fiercely to himself, "then he'd better watch his back."