A/N: This chapter is a bit shorter than the last, but it was a good point for a break. Enjoy.

(Translations: Mae (S) artuile (Q), mellon nin- Good morning, my friend)

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Chapter 2: On The Road Again

It was the doleful hooting of doves that woke Aragorn from his deep sleep, and when he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see the room bathed in shadowy light that filtered in through the curtains before the window. In the bright light that sneaked in through the fabric, he could see the dust dance in the air, almost like grey smoke.

Frowning, he sat up slowly, on hand braced against his wound. A dull ache spread from the injury, but it was bearable, and Aragorn sat up the whole way, glancing around. Halbarad was not in the room; his bed was made, his sword and weapons gone, but his pack was still laying on the small table.

Confused as to the lateness of the day and the absence of his friend, Aragorn swung his legs over the edge of the bed and was just to get to his feet, when he heard soft footsteps coming towards his room and then the door opened with a creaking sound.

"Aragorn! You should not be awake yet." Halbarad entered the room and let his eyes quickly scan his friend's condition.

"Well, I should have been awake some hours ago. Why did you not wake me?"

Smiling slightly, Halbarad moved towards the window and threw back the curtains. Bright sunlight streamed into the room, seemingly to crawl into every nook and cranny. Aragorn averted his face and blinked his eyes against the sudden onslaught of light, but he had not forgotten his question.

"Halbarad?"

Sighing, Halbarad turned around, but Aragorn noticed that his friend stayed well out of his reach. Leaning against the window pane, Halbarad crossed his arms before his chest and shrugged, "You needed your sleep. You lost quite an amount of blood and I thought it best to let you rest."

Aragorn lifted an eyebrow, "But we had planned to leave today. Early today. You should have woken me."

Waving his hand dismissively, Halbarad retorted, "Ah, do you know how grumpy you are when you are tired? Nah, I was loath to risk that."

Aragorn snorted softly, "That does not give you the right to let me sleep till…" Aragorn gazed out the window, "…almost midday! Halbarad!" His voice had taken on a reprimanding tone. They had planned to leave Bree early today to make good on the days they had lost through the winter storm. Some of the goods they had bought were perishable, and they could not tarry.

Turning serious, Halbarad locked his eyes with Aragorn, "Trust me, Aragorn. You needed your rest. Seldom before have I seen you sleep so soundly, and not even the appearance of Butterbur could wake you. You needed your rest, and if you ask me you still need rest."

"But you know as well as I do that we need to return to the village with the goods."

"Aye." Halbarad pushed away from the window pane and slowly made his way over to his pack, turning his back on Aragorn. "That is why I send the three youngsters along with the cart and the goods."

A tense silence filled the room, and when Aragorn broke it, his voice was soft and stern, "You did what?"

Cringing, but glad that Aragorn could not see his face, Halbarad repeated, "I send the three back home. With the horses, the cart and the goods."

Aragorn tilted his head to the side and tried to find out whether his friend was joking or not. Had he truly send the three young rangers home? All alone and with all their winter provisions? Without their protection?

"Halbarad, if you are joking with me, I do not appreciate it."

Turning around and finally facing his friend, Halbarad took a deep breath. He had thought that Aragorn would not like this, but he stood to his decision. "It was a good idea to send them alone. They are old enough to be safe, they can protect themselves. And I think it is a good chance for them to be in the wild on their own."

Shaking his head, Aragorn released his breath slowly, "When did they leave?"

"Before dawn."

Aragorn grimaced in dismay. He knew that they would not be able to catch up with the youngsters before nightfall, and to travel in the Wild during the night, especially in winter, was perilous to horse and rider.

Halbarad, seeing his friend's dismay, said gently, "They will be fine, Aragorn. Trust me. Nothing will happen to them. We will leave early tomorrow and if we travel fast and with little rest, we should catch up to them before they even reach Weathertop. The cart will slow them enough to do so. You know that."

Another long breath left Aragorn's lips, and when he looked up at Halbarad, his eyes were serious. "Aye, I know that. But I also know that the road is not safe this time of year. Winter has reached these lands and the vagabonds and cutthroats become more bold now that the game and food has become scarce."

"They will be safe. They are grown and they are rangers. They will hold their own. After all, they were trained by the best."

Aragorn could not help the small smile that tugged at his lips, "Are you trying to flatter me, ranger?"

"Perhaps." Halbarad grinned openly. He knew his friend well enough to tell that Aragorn had accepted his decision to send the youngsters ahead. Time to move on to other issues.

"How is your side?"

Aragorn took another moment to glare at Halbarad, but his surrender could easily be read in his eyes.

"It is tender, but I feel no fever. I will live."

"Oh, good. Well, now that that is settled, I have only come back to get some coins."

And with that said, Halbarad turned back to his pack and began to rummage through it. Lifting a small leather satchel out of it, he pocketed it and turned towards the door.

"Hal?"

"Rest, Aragorn. I will lock the door from the outside. A second key lies on the table, if you need to get out. But you should use the time and rest."

"And what are you going to do with your time, my friend?"

A mischievous grin spread over Halbarad's face; a grin that Aragorn only knew too well.

"I? Now that we have a bit of free time on our hands, I am planning to do some shopping of my own. Anything you need, Aragorn?"

"Nay. Don't get lost like the last time, Hal."

Throwing Aragorn a glare but grinning at the same time, Halbarad left the room and a moment later the key clicked in the lock, telling Aragorn that he was safe. Halbarad's footsteps drew away from the room and a few moments later, silence settled over the room, with only the pigeons hooting outside.

Sinking back down onto the straw filled mattress and stretching out his long legs, Aragorn gazed out of the window. The storm of the last days had left the air clean and fresh, and the sky was of a brilliant blue; a blue that could only be seen in winter, and Aragorn knew that it had to be cold outside. With no clouds during the night, the coming morning would be frosty.

Snuggling deeper into the blankets, Aragorn closed his eyes tiredly. Halbarad was right, there was nothing he could not now but rest. And tomorrow, they would leave Bree and hurry after the youngsters. He knew that they were grown and in principle capable of dealing with trouble, but still, Aragorn felt responsible for them and he wanted to make sure that they would return from their first real trip unscathed.

For a few more minutes he relished in the warmth of the bed and listened to the hooting of the doves, before he drifted off to sleep.

°°°°°°°°°°

"Aragorn? The horses are tacked and I already paid good Butterbur. We can move out as soon as you are ready."

Glancing over his shoulder at Halbarad, Aragorn closed the catch on his cloak before he answered, "In a moment."

Nodding, Halbarad left the room again and made his way to the stables and their waiting horses. Sighing, Aragorn sat down on the bed, pulling his boots close to him. The wound he had received hurt him still, more then he had let on, and inwardly he was not looking forward to sitting on a horse all day. He had wrapped the wound tightly in heavy bandages to support it during the journey, and he hoped that it would not reopen. Now in hindsight, Halbarad's decision to let him rest had been a wise one. Although, Aragorn would never tell his friend so.

Grinning slightly, he pulled on his boots, but grimaced in pain when he had to bend over to lace them. Aragorn took a few deep breath to battle the pain, before he got to his feet, picked up his weapons and pack and left the room.

Butterbur bid him farewell as soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs, and Aragorn simply nodded at the inn owner and made his way to the stable where they had left their horses. Perhaps, someday Butterbur would be more happy to see them enter the inn than leave it. Perhaps. He was never unfriendly, and Aragorn knew that the presence of the rangers caused many people to come to the inn only to see them, but still. Generally, rangers meant trouble, and Butterbur was no exception when it came to the protection of his reputation. A ranger murdered at his inn, how horrible!

With a wry grin Aragorn reached his horse, patted its neck and then scratched its long forehead.

"Mae artuile, mellon nin."

The horse snorted softly and nuzzled his hand. For a moment the animal swished its tail agitatedly and stomped its hooves, and Aragorn smiled. "Impatient, huh? We'll be on the road soon."

And with that, he began to fasten his pack and bow to the saddle. His sword would stay at his side, as was his wont. Halbarad, who had already finished his preparations, sidled up to him and then gazed out at the street that wound through Bree.

"The ground is frozen, but we should make good progress today. If the weather holds, we could cover ten leagues today." He glanced questioningly at Aragorn over his shoulder.

"Aye, let us go then." Aragorn took his horse's reins and gently steered his mount out of the stable and into the street. Halbarad followed him and soon they were caught in the morning buzz of the town.

Farmers herded their sheep through to the market to sell them, oxen pulled the traders' carts along, some geese hurried through the narrow streets and a few dogs chased after them, barking loudly. When the two rangers passed by the public bakery building, where most of the towns bread was baked to prevent fires that could destroy Bree, a young maiden smiled at them and winked, much to Halbarad's amusement.

"You are married, my friend." Aragorn reminded him good naturedly.

"I know, does not mean I cannot look."

"Hal, really. Sometimes I ask myself how old you are." Aragorn said sternly, but his eyes glimmered merrily.

Grinning right back, Halbarad retorted smugly, "Look who is speaking. Why don't you look sometimes, my friend? It is time you find someone."

Aragorn averted his eyes and was glad that a passing farmer with grunting pigs prevented him from answering. That was truly a question he would rather not answer now, and not while they were in Bree.

When the pigs had passed them by, Halbarad was busily trying to convince a young lad who sold wrinkled apples that he had no need, and Aragorn sighed inwardly in relief. He had never told Halbarad of Arwen, there had simply been no opportunity, and he was glad that his friend could not press the matter now.

On their way to the gates they passed more and more citizens as the town awoke, and when they finally exited Bree and left the narrow streets behind them, both of them sighed openly in relief. Rangers were simply not made for town life. The villages of the rangers were never that loud and busy, not even in summer, when most of the life took place outside.

Mounting their horses, Aragorn and Halbarad rode down the Old East Road and soon Bree vanished behind them. Only the grey smoke that drifted slowly into the blue sky gave away the location of the settlement.

During the morning, they met many farmers with their cattle on the road; the men brought their animals to town after letting the animals graze on the open plains during the summer and fall. A few traders passed them by wordlessly, eyeing them suspiciously, so as if they would steal the traders' goods.

The farther East they rode, the fewer the other travellers became, and when the sun sank down behind the horizon early in the afternoon, Aragorn and Halbarad were the only riders left on the road as far as their keen eyes could see.

They set up camp near the road but far away in the surrounding fields and trees that their fire would not be spotted. As soon as the sun had disappeared completely, an almost black darkness bathed the lands in shadows, and the stars were hidden by thin clouds that had spread over the sky during the day.

The fire crackled merrily and the warmth it provided eased the pain in Aragorn's side. Riding and sitting in the saddle for the whole day with little rest had done his injury no good. From what he could tell it had not started bleeding again, but it was throbbing, and from now and then a sharp pain would lance through his side. The injury was not life threatening in any way, but it hampered him and that fact annoyed Aragorn.

Shifting his weight and arching his back a little to take some of the strain off of his side, Aragorn sighed inwardly. This injury was truly a nuisance.

"Are you hungry?"

Startled out of his thoughts by Halbarad's question, Aragorn frowned a moment before he answered, "Aye. What do we have? Most of our provisions are with the cart and the youngsters."

"Ah, but here you err, Strider." Halbarad gave him a smug smile. He reached behind him, pulled his pack close, and then took out a cloth wrapped package.

Aragorn lifted an eyebrow and watched how his friend slowly peeled away the cloth, as if the food he held was a treasure worth of a kingdom. Smiling with amusement at Halbarad' antics, Aragorn asked, "Don't tell me you convinced Butterbur to sell you some of his tarts."

"No, better my friend. Much better." And with that Halbarad lifted the last layer of cloth from the package, lifted the food to his nose and breathed in deeply.

"Ah, fresh basgorn. And from the smell of it, one of better quality."

"Basgorn? Where did you get that?" Aragorn eyed the loaf of bread in Halbarad's hand with wide eyes. Basgorn was an old Hobbit meal, only rarely made outside of The Shire. Principally it was a loaf of bread which was filled with herbs, mushrooms, meat and small pieces of potatoes. It was eaten at festivals, but only few could make it in these days, as the recipe was quite old and a secret that was not shared with outsiders. Many had tried to bake the basgorn, but none had succeeded in making a real tasty one.

Halbarad grinned and took out his knife to prepare their meal. "That is a very good question, Strider. While you slept the whole day, I met that fine lass in, a Hobbit from the East Farthing. She works for the local tailor."

Placing a slice of bread on Aragorn's small wooden plate and handing it to him, Halbarad continued, "I helped her out of a tricky situation and as a reward she gave me the basgorn. Well, I could not reject that offer, now could I?"

Halbarad took a huge bite from the bread and closed his eyes while chewing. "'Tis as good as it smells."

Shaking his head, Aragorn took a bite from his bread and had to agree. This basgorn was truly good and obviously Hobbit made. The herbs in it blended in with the mushrooms and the potatoes, and the meat that had been used was tender and delicious.

Swallowing and taking a sip of his tea, Aragorn inquired, "You helped her, in what way?"

"Mh?" Halbarad wiped his fingers on his trousers and then proceeded to cut another slice of bread.

"You said you helped the lass out of a tricky situation. What happened?"

"Oh." Grinning, Halbarad rolled his eyes. "The tailor had ordered her to finish a cloak for a customer, but she could not reach it, for the tailor had placed it high on a shelf. Really, a stupid thing. But she was happy for my help, because she had only recently joined the tailor and was afraid to lose her work."

Shaking his head and taking another bite of the bread while Halbarad started on his second slice, Aragorn pondered what his friend had told him.

"Why have you been at the tailor's?" Aragorn asked curiously.

A slight red blush crept up Halbarad's cheeks and Aragorn snickered.

"Ah, I see." Aragorn said knowingly and laughed lightly. As it seemed, Halbarad's wife would receive a new dress or scarf.

Swallowing, Halbarad turned to his friend, "But I also bought something for Shannon."

Putting down his plate, Aragorn took a sip from his cup. "What did you buy for your daughter?"

Smiling a bit sheepishly, Halbarad told him, "Honey. A full glass of clover-honey. She loves honey and as there are no clover fields near the village, I thought it would be a nice present for her."

"I am sure she will be delighted, Halbarad." Aragorn said sincerely, but then he added in an afterthought, "Just don't let her eat it all at once." And he wriggled his nose as if remembering an incident long past.

Now it was Halbarad's turn to lift an eyebrow, "Is there something I should know?"

"Hu? Oh, no, nothing."

"Strider…" Halbarad said, his tone probing.

Sighing in mock surrender, Aragorn told him how he had eaten almost the whole stock of honey in the kitchens of Imladris when he had been a small child, and how his mother had lectured him afterwards. But her lecture had been cut short by his aching stomach, and Aragorn could still remember the horrible night he had had, when the honey had made him sick.

Halbarad laughed loudly, clapping his thighs, and before long Aragorn joined him in his merriment. It was good to remember times long past. They were sometimes definitely better than the future.

Aragorn took the first watch, and after his friend had fallen asleep, snoring softly, he turned his eyes heavenwards. The thin clouds had not moved on, and the stars could not be seen. But Aragorn needed not to see the stars to know where to find Gil-Estel. His eyes locked on the place where the star was twinkling in the sky, veiled by the clouds, and Aragorn's thoughts wandered.

He had enjoyed his talk with Halbarad, he always did, but his friend's remark from the morning had not left him yet. Indeed, he had aged. He was not the young, careless man anymore, who had his whole life still before him. Who was ready to find his limits and push them, who jumped into every fray and who embraced danger with open arms.

No, he had seen his share of fighting, danger and death, and although he still got up every morning to battle against the darkness, he slowly but surely wished for all the fighting to end. For years he had now toiled against the forces of evil, and with every year that passed, the minions of darkness grew bolder, the battles harder and the losses among the Dunedain greater.

And Halbarad…he had found a wife, had an adorable child. His life was stable and controlled, despite the dangers he faced on patrols and missions. When he returned from a patrol, he knew that a warm hearth and a loving family would await him with loving arms. A home to return to.

But for him? Aragorn knew that he would never truly have a home to return to as long as the darkness lasted. Imladris was always open to him, but it was not home any longer. Not after the tension that lay between him and Lord Elrond. And the Dunedain villages…they were some kind of home, but not the home he wished for. And, he knew it was only temporary.

How long would he stay this time? A few months? A year? Two? He did not know, but he had the distinct feeling that his years of travelling were not yet over, and that sooner or later he would set out again, leaving the Dunedain behind until he would be able to return once more.

Aragorn gazed into the surrounding darkness, the fire beside him slowly burning low. Would he ever be able to come home and be embraced by his wife, buy presents for his children? The thought nearly physically hurt him.

Shaking his head, Aragorn got to his feet soundlessly. To dwell on these thoughts would not help him, and he knew that there was nothing he could do to change his fate. But, he could make sure that the area was still safe and that nothing would disturb them tonight, and so he shouldered his bow and moved to the edge of the fire light to patrol the area around the camp.

°°°°°°°°°°

That the rangers had split up made his task even simpler, and the assassin had actually rubbed his hands in happiness. To attack a ranger was always a dangerous thing, but to attack a whole group of rangers outside of a town, that was even more dangerous. If not quite suicidal.

In the Wilds, rangers were in their element; he had heard stories of rangers living in forests for moths without ever meeting other humans or beings, of rangers who could track an eagle with their eyes to its nest high up the mountains, of rangers who were as skilled in tracking and hunting as the elves, and of rangers who were able to kill orcs with their bare hands.

Given, he did not believe all of the rumours, but he knew enough about the rangers to know that they were special. And the rangers that he had the pleasure to kill so far had been hard to kill.

The assassin had followed the two older rangers out of the town, but he knew that he could not follow them on the road; the East Road snaked through open terrain with few bends and little cover alongside the road. He would be spotted immediately, should one of the rangers look over his shoulder.

So, the assassin had taken to the surrounding fields, following the riders while hiding in the bushes and long grass. As long as the rangers stayed on the road, he would have no problem following them, and as soon as they headed North or South, it would be even easier to blend in with nature.

When darkness settled around him, the tall assassin bound his horse to a tree and then settled down behind some boulders. He knew the rangers would rest as well, especially with the one called Strider being wounded.

Oh yes, he had heard of the incident, and for a moment he had felt almost disappointed. He had waited in Bree for weeks for the ranger to make an appearance. The man could not die in a tavern brawl, just like that! But after hearing that the ranger had survived and was relatively well, the assassin had felt reassured that his mark had not died yet.

Would he be paid if the ranger died not by his hand? Well, he could always tell his client that it was his doing, but he doubted his client would believe him. He had learned long ago that his client seemed to know everything that happened West of the Misty Mountains. It was almost magical how well informed his client sometimes was.

Tightening his cloak around his shoulders and stretching his legs out before him, the assassin drifted off into a light slumber, letting the nightly sounds lull him to sleep. Tomorrow, he would follow the rangers and perhaps he could even make his first move. Perhaps…

°°°°°°°°°°

The next two days passed uneventfully for Aragorn and Halbarad, and to their dismay and surprise, they had not yet caught up with the youngsters. The tracks of the cart were easy enough to follow, but the three young rangers seemed to press their steeds and to rest little. Aragorn and Halbarad passed by Weatherhill and then left the road and turned to the South. They had decided to enter The Angle not from the North but West, for that would shorten their trip.

It was in the afternoon of the fourth day, when Halbarad suddenly spoke up, disturbing Aragorn's musings, "I bet the three make haste to the village to tell them what happened to you. It makes a good horror story."

Grimacing at the thought, Aragorn unconsciously touched his side. The wound had not become infected and the stitches held, but that did not mean that it did not hurt him to sit on a horse all day. But, as a ranger Aragorn had learned to live with every kind of pain, and this was nothing he could not handle.

"They will exaggerate to the point of it being a fairy tale." He answered in dismay.

A barking laugh was Halbarad's answer. "Indeed, they will. They will let it sound as if you barely escaped with your life. The great Chieftain of the Dunedain of the North, brought to his knees by Bob the drunken farmer!"

"Hal…" Aragorn's voice had taken on a long suffering tone. But he knew his friend well enough to know that Halbarad was not yet finished.

"Defeated by Toby the pig breeder!"

Aragorn sighed and rolled his eyes; he would never live this down. Now that they both knew that he would live and that the wound was not serious enough to cause him much trouble, Halbarad found the whole affair amusing. And deep inside, even Aragorn could not deny the fact that it was ridiculous.

For the next half hour Halbarad amused them both with further versions of the story, snickering and laughing. In the end, Aragorn grinned as well, and when they reached the top of a hill and stopped to look down into the valley, Halbarad sighed deeply.

"Ah my friend, this story will be passed down to our grandchildren. You'll see."

"I'd rather not." Aragorn answered, but Halbarad could easily read the mirth in his friend's eyes.

The valley that spread out in front of them as far as their eyes could see was here and there dotted with clusters of trees, a small brook meandered through it from West to East, and in the West they could see outcroppings of the South Downs. The long grass swayed in the cold winter breeze, and on the horizon the two rangers could see dark clouds that slowly moved their way.

"It is going to rain or snow tomorrow. Or the day after that." Halbarad pointed out and Aragorn nodded. Already the wind that blew into their faces smelled of rain, and they both hoped to find a suitable shelter should it indeed start to storm again.

"Then let us not tarry my friend, but make haste down the hill and towards home." Aragorn said and gently nudged his horse forwards and then down the rolling hill.

Halbarad nodded and followed his friend, keeping a distance of a few yards to give the horses more space to manoeuvre down the steep, grassy hill.

°°°°°°°°°°

The assassin crouched down in the long grass and spied at the two riders. The rangers had stopped their horses on the crest of the hill and were overlooking the valley below. This was a perfect opportunity to strike, and so the assassin soundlessly edged closer to the riders.

The long grass swayed in the breeze, hiding his approach, and in only a few moments the assassin had reached a suitable cluster of bushes. Unslinging his bow from his shoulder, the man nocked an arrow and aimed carefully at the tall, dark haired ranger named Strider.

Just as he was about to let the arrow fly, the ranger nudged his horse and then guided it down the hill and out of sight. Cursing under his breath, the assassin lowered his bow, but he would not let this opportunity pass unused. The other ranger followed the first, and the assassin was tempted to kill this ranger, too, but he would not be paid for this man's death; there was no reason to waste an arrow on him just yet.

The assassin quickly made his way to the right, until he was able to peer over the top of the hill. There, a few dozen yards to his left, the rangers were making their way down the hill, keeping their horses calm and as straightforward-moving as possible. It would not do to ride parallel to the hill, as it was steep, the grass long and wet and the ground littered with lose gravel. One misstep and the horses could falter and crash down.

Grinning, the assassin nocked his arrow one more time, sighted and then let it fly.

To be continued…

Any comments? I would love to hear what you think.