The King
The old forest road struggled on for a while, winding this way and that over the western slopes of the Eilenach and back into the dense dark Drúadan forest. When finally there was not a single cobble to be found, and they had found the last milestone lying face down amongst the ferns a long way back, Aragorn decided it was time to turn north and find the Great West Road.
They walked in shifting shadows and patterns of sunlight, over a soft floor of dusty leaves and wriggling roots that muffled all sounds. Ancient oaks and slender book-trees, rustling aspen and wide-armed elms; the hazels and sallows were just about to burst into green, pale trunks yearning for the rare spears of light that came through the branches above. Legolas said their voices were strong and Gimli said the ground was old and firm.
Most of the places they passed had never been trodden by Men before. The streams came tumbling down through the mountains in spring-flooded hurry, knowing there would be neither dams nor water-wheels hindering them on their way. The trees had never heard the strokes of axes, nor the tramp of woods-men's feet. The air whispered in the thimbleweed and laughed and moaned in the branches, breathed by no Man. And the night after they left Eilenach, when they camped in the shelter of some boulders thrice as tall as Aragorn, covered in lichen and sunken into the moss, they thought they saw the drúedain, the wildmen of the woods. But not even the elves were sure. It could have been their own shadows dancing in the fire-light, or tricks played by the mist rising white in the dusk.
On the second day they found another road, but this one was new - barely more than a pair of wheel-tracks in the grass, but the boards laid over a stream for a bridge were fresh and newly used.
"Shall we follow it?" Elladan asked. "It must be leading to a settlement or something. Settlers in the wild don't usually like elves."
"Nor dwarves," said Gimli, "and not rangers either, I've understood."
"But we have no bread left," Legolas put in. "Barely any meat, unless we want to hunt, and I don't know what the drúedain would think about that."
They looked at Aragorn. They had promised that he should be the one to decide, and so when they couldn't agree the others let him have the last word so they could blame him if something went wrong.
Aragorn looked down the road. It seemed peacuful, with a ribbon of grass and coltsfoots in the middle, and the tracks of worn-down shoes and sturdy horse hooves imprinted in the earth after the last rain. He guessed the settlement would not lie in the forest itself, because it belonged to the drúedain. This was probsbly a short-cut from the Great West Road to some place near the edge of it.
"We'll follow it," he decided, and tugged at Roheryn's reins. Tender green leaves waved above their heads as they walked along. Spring had truly come at last, and the world was no longer grey.
Soon they saw green grasslands where the forest thinned out, and sun shining brightly between the trunks of the last trees. Morning fog rose from the grass and lay like veils in the valleys. On the hills the brisk wind had already blown it away. Some early stands of blue-bells bowed in the fringe of the forest. They came out of the forest blinking in the sun, and the first thing they found was a low fence and a wooden gate, sheep grazing on the hills behind it.
"This used to be wilderness, didn't it?" Legolas asked as he led Arod through the gate.
"I would say it still is," Aragorn replied. "But no one has lived here before - not ever, I think. It's all the soldiers from the war who have retired and need someplace to live. And those who have left the cities, now that they don't need walls to feel safe."
Gimli gave a laugh. "No walls to feel safe! Can you imagine. I thought that day would never come."
As they followed the dusty road between the hills and copses of oaks and elms, Aragorn hoped the people living out here at the very edge of the wild were right to feel safe. It was close to the mountains, and there were wargs left up there in meager isolated forests, and maybe even goblins in unexplored caves. No lord presided over Anórien but him, and he had never thought to send soldiers here. He had thought the wild would prefer to be left to itself, so long as the Great West Road was safe for travellers. For hungry wolves and homeless goblins and all the wretched creatures who had lost their purpose when the Enemy fell, the sight of so many sheep so easy to steal would be irresistable.
The sheep followed them as they walked, some keeping their distance, others coming very close and baaing at the elves in wonder. When they came down into a valley where another bridge crossed a stream, they saw two girls and one little boy watching them from the crest of a hill, slings in hand. Aragorn waved. The children turned and ran down the hill. When Aragorn and the others came to the very same crest, they saw the settlement below, and the children running towards it.
There were three houses huddled close together, already grey and weathered though they could not have stood for more than a year. Barns and storage houses surrounded them, and there were little gardens in between, and clothes lines with laundry drying and hens pecking and a pen all dug up where some swine rested in the mud. There was another stream nearby with a water-wheel creaking in the rushing water, and a paddock where four horses went, about to lose their winter-coat, one carrying a foal. Three rowing boats were drawn up on the beach, and nets hung from wooden poles to dry.
As he saw it, Aragorn was filled with a sudden pride. It surprised him greatly because what he should feel, or what he would have thought he would feel, was sadness - sadness because that which had always been wilderness was wilderness no longer, and the world he loved, the untamed world of songs and stories, was shrinking. But all he saw was how prosperous this tiny village looked, how well-fed the sheep were even this early in spring, how startingly white the laundry was, and how good it must be for the families living here to have found such a perfect spot to live.
"Come," he said, and tugged once more at Roheryn's reins to make him follow, but the others hesitated.
"Maybe you should go alone," Elrohir said uncertainly. "Just go down and see if they can spare anything, and then come back. I think that's better. Then they won't know we're not Men."
"People aren't as afraid of elves as they used to be," Aragorn said. "Nor of dwarves. They know what you did in the war."
"But still," Elrohir persisted, and the others nodded in agreement. "They'll ask questions."
"Which we don't have to answer."
But they had already made up their minds, and Aragorn knew elves and dwarves well enough to not try to change them. He swept the cloak about him, because the wind on the hill was cold, and left Roheryn with the others. When he came to the foot of the hill he turned, and saw only the horses. The others had sat down in the tall grass and not even he could see them. It was as though they had never been there.
Sadly Aragorn thought that of the five of them, he was the only one who had won the War. He was the only one who would remain and be remembered. Well, Elessar would - Strider would not make it into the chronicles or the history books or the essays of the learned, and his years as a ranger would be mentioned only briefly in the annals of the Kings of Gondor as if they had been of no importance at all.
Perhaps it was a sad thing, and perhaps it was not. Strider was after all a legend, and legends don't always do well to be written. He was part of the old world, where strangers waited around the corner and adventure knocked on your door and dragged you away without handkerchiefs, where elves sang in the woods and dwarves sang in the mountains and dragons roared and breathed fire. That world would not last, and if the world wasn't there, Strider could not be there either. Perhaps it ought to be just a memory, a story told by trees and streams and stars on quiet nights when no other sounds were heard.
"Can I help you, m'lord?"
Aragorn jumped, startled from his thoughts. A sturdy woman with a child on her arm, and one of the herdgirls clinging to her skirts, had left the village and watched him warily from a few paces away. Behind her, among the houses, some other villagers had paused in their chores and looked on.
"Ah - yes, you can. Forgive me. My name is Strider," he said; it was the first thing that came to mind. The woman cocked her head slightly at the odd name, but she did not look unkind, so he went on. "My friends and I are just passing through, but we've run out of supplies. Do you have anything to spare?"
"I thought as much," the woman said. "I'm sorry, but we don't have very much. Well, salted fish we've got lots of, and maybe some bread."
It surprised him, because neither the woman nor her children seemed to be starving, and the winter had after all been mild. "Forgive me," he said, "I don't mean to doubt you, but how comes it you have so little in the way of supplies?"
"Don't stand here gawping," the woman said, looking at the little girl. "Go back to the sheep, and take Luth with you. I see what you mean," she said, turning to Aragorn again, as the girl left them. "We haven't gone hungry all through the winter - not an ounce of bark did I have to put in the bread - and we had lots of food left until yesterday. Then the nobles came by."
"What nobles?"
"How should I know? They'd been to the Glílenn family first - they live across those hills - but didn't get all they wanted there, so they went to us, and now they've gone to the upstreams village too. How could any of us possibly feed a whole long line of riders and horses and cattle and whatnot?" The woman looked grim, but not exactly upset, as if it was only to be expected. "My name's Lhinn, by the way, if that's of any interest."
"Certainly," Aragorn said, and meant it. "And the village? What is it called?"
"We call it Little Ropemaker Street, because we used to live at the Ropemaker Street in Minas Tirith. And the village downstream we call the Mudhole, but they call it Whale-town, like it was a town. They're from the coast, so they're quite odd, but decent enough."
"And the Glílenn family?"
"Yes? From Osgiliath originally, I think, but then they lived in Minas Tirith."
Aragorn had had no idea so many lived here. "You seem to be faring well, when there are no nobles around."
Lhinn nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Sure are. Well, it's harsh sometimes, and this winter a couple of sheep were taken by who-knows-what - sounded like wolves, but no wolf ever was that big and fierce as those we saw on the hills that night. But we manage."
"At least you pay no taxes," Aragorn said. It had been decided that those who wanted to try their luck at building farms in the wilderness wouldn't pay any taxes for the first ten years. But Lhinn shook her head.
"I'd happily pay taxes if the King sent soldiers to protect us. And if he could protect us from the nobles. I wouldn't think it of any other king or steward I ever heard of, but King Elessar, I think he would tell the nobles not to take so much, if only he knew how much they take."
"But I... The King's Law states that it is not allowed to take more food or supplies than anyone is willing to spare. Did those nobles steal from you?"
"There's no lord here," Lhinn said, shrugging, "and so there is no law. They did not threaten us, but they demanded and then we obeyed. Maybe they didn't know how much we would need for ourselves. Though more likely they did not care."
How much he had missed, never having been out to see things for himself. The emissaries he had sent out to look over the kingdom, the lords and mayors he had asked, had never told him about anything like this. Perhaps they did not know. Perhaps the emissaries in their royal uniforms, with noble horses and proud words, looked too much like the lords they represented, so that no one would dare to complain in front of them.
Lhinn shook her head again, then smiled. "Never you mind that! Spring's come, and soon there'll be plenty of food again. Last autumn we made offerings to the drúedain and they let us hunt in the forest, not much, just as much as we needed. Let me get you some bread and cheese and some salted fish. That we can spare. They took all our ale, though."
He followed her into the village and to a storage house that did not look older than half a year. It was indeed rather empty, but some things she found and gave to him, and he noted that the bread loaves were generously large, as if the one who baked them were sure the flour would last for many more, and there was plenty of large salmon and trout that revealed the river was good for fishing. Lhinn wrapped three fishes in a cloth, as well as roll of cheese and two loaves of bread. Aragorn realised it must be more than she could spare without risking hunger herself by the end of the month, but he would pay her back - yes he would.
One last thing he promised before he left, his arms full of food.
"Keep being respectful to the drúedain, and I will make sure the King's Law will always be followed even out here."
Lhinn smiled, as if she thought it was kind words but nothing more, and waved goodbye. Aragorn smiled too, because he knew he would keep the promise.
When? he wondered, as he walked up the hill to where the Gimli and the elves were waiting. I can do nothing out here. When will I go back?
Soon, he promised, and found it did not sound as bad as he would have thought. A part of him had always missed the warmth and comfort of his bedchamber, and perhaps it was more to it than that.
"If the nobles, whoever they are, went upstream," Elrohir said, "then the logical thing to do is to go downstream. Right?"
"I want to know who they are," Aragorn replied. "I bet they don't even realise it, but they have broken the law, and when I get back I want them to know it."
"And how are you going to explain how you know they have broken the law?" Elladan asked. "You're supposed to be severely ill back in Minas Tirith. They will want to know."
"I'll find a way," Aragorn said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. The immediate problem was to find out who the noblemen were, and since none of the villagers were sure about the colours of their banners - some said they had been red and yellow, others green and blue, or was it grey? - he had to go and see them for himself. Aragorn suspected there might be more than one lord. He supposed they were on a leisure hunt, or possibly on their way to Rohan for some reason, and in any case there might well be a lot of them.
"Look," Aragorn said, "they have taken food from the villagers so that they may have to go hungry. If the crops go wrong or if for any reason they don't get any fish, they might starve, and they have nowhere to go if that happens. We have to help them, but we also have to make sure it does not happen again, and then we have to know who did it."
"He is right," Legolas said suddenly. "It's not actually about what we want. And it's not like they will see us, not if we don't want it."
"Well I am not scared," Gimli said. That settled the matter. If it came to a question of courage, the twins were always quick to take the risk.
They rounded the foot of the hill, took the long way around the village and climbed over the fence at a place where a broken board allowed the horses to step over it, the sheep baaing farewell to the elves behind them. The three children that had first seen them watched them at safe distance as they left, slings still in hand. The wild was a hard place to live, Aragorn thought, and supposed even the children were used to it.
When the village was lost to sight behind the hills, they walked back to the river and followed close to it. Some trees protected them from the wind here, but the sun came slanting down from another angle, and it soon became so warm Aragorn and Gimli took off their warm woolen tunics and fastened them to the saddle bags. The cloaks they kept, in case they met someone they wanted to hide from.
It was late afternoon when they found the Whale-town, or the Mudhole - the latter name was perhaps more fitting - but no nobles. Aragorn went down alone again. The nobles had indeed been there, but it did not bother the inhabitants of the Mudhole so much, because the fine lords had promised to take care of a couple of bandits that had come very close to the village the previous night.
"You're sure?" Aragorn asked. "Bandits?" There had been very few bandits in Gondor since peace came, and those few there were kept to far-off roads where merchants went but not many soldiers, such as the Great West Road. But the road was now miles to the north. A bandit would not gain much from attacking a village, and if it was true as the villagers said, and there were only two of them, it was rather likely they would be chased off before they could steal anything at all.
"We only saw them at distance, of course," the man he was talking to said, "but they looked suspicious, that much I know."
"Suspicious how?" Aragorn asked. "What did they look like?"
"Cloaked," the man said. "Cloaked and hooded. Rather tall, I should think, and at least one of them had a sword. The other had a quiver. Come to think of it, rather like you."
"And where did they go?"
"They came from the east," the man said, "from the forest. Then they crossed the river at the ford, and then we lost them. But those lords that were here, they promised to take care of them. They said that was what they were here for. They'd been following them for days."
"So the lords have crossed the ford?"
The man nodded. Aragorn thanked him, went back to the others, and together they waded through the swift stream and found the tracks of horses in the mud on the other side. Horses and cart-wheels, and lots of them. They followed the tracks westward.
Truly they were rangers again, Aragorn mused, as they walked as quiet as shadows through the grass in the reddening afternoon light. Mist was rising from the river behind them, and the eastern side of the mountains to their right was already black with night. A breeze rustled in the grass and they swept their cloaks about them.
The sun sank at last behind the dark contour of the Firien wood in front of them. For a few minutes it glowed red between the outer trees; then it was gone, and there was only a faint grey light left to guide them. The grasslands turned a bluish grey. When Aragorn glanced at the others there was a pale shimmer about them. Gimli had pulled up his hood to ward off the cold, and the stars gleamed in the others' hair. They looked wild, like creatures out of an old story.
Elladan stopped some paces ahead, and sank into a crouch in the grass.
"There are two sets of tracks leading away from the others," he said, scanning the trampled dew-strewn ground. "Two men have been walking."
"Running," Elrohir corrected him. He had already passed his brother and was searching the ground further away from the main track of the lord's retinue. "About here they started running."
Aragorn gave Roheryn's reins to Legolas, who was no tracker, and crouched down to search for tracks even further from the place where Elrohir stood. The shallow imprints in the earth told him there had been two men, either very heavy or carrying something heavy. They had been running but not panicking, and one of them had a bad leg that made his stride uneven. They could have come from the retinue of the lords, or they could have passed just before it, or after; the grass they had trampled down had not straightened yet, so it could not be more than a few hours ago.
"Maybe those nobles sent out scouts?" Gimli suggested.
"Could be," Aragorn said, "but it would make more sense to send out scouts towards the mountains. Besides, even if there might have been wolves or even goblins down here, a retinue this size would scare them off long before they saw them. They would never be in any danger."
"Can you see if the retinue has been following a path already made?" Legolas asked. "Because if they did, those bandits could have walked there before them, and the nobles followed."
Elladan nodded eagerly. "I see what you mean. The bandits saw they were being followed and left the path, but the nobles didn't notice, because they aren't rangers, so they kept to the path."
"That could be it," Elrohir said. "There's no telling if there has been a path here or not, but even if it hasn't, the nobles could just have kept going in the same direction, or maybe they thought the bandits were heading for the forest."
"Whoever made these tracks," Aragorn said, straightening, "knew how to walk through grass without leaving much trace. They did not want to be followed."
"So," Gimli said, "we might have found the bandits, but do we follow them or the nobles?"
"The bandits," Aragorn said. "If they truly are bandits, then they are a more pressing matter."
So they set off again, very slowly now, bent over the tracks. The darkness grew deeper, the shadows blacker, but the night sky shimmered with stars. After a while Aragorn had to leave the tracking to the twins, for it was too dark for him to see anything. Yet it was Gimli who found what they were looking for.
"There's a fire, over there! Could it be them?"
They all sank down in the grass, and Legolas whispered to the horses to stay still and quiet. On top of a hill not very far from them, almost hidden behind a copse of trees nearly the size of a forest, there was the red glow of a small camp-fire. There was the shadow of one sitting beside it, and undoubtedly there was at least one more there.
Legolas unfastened his bow from Arod's saddle and strung it. "I'll stay here with the horses. Go carefully."
"Better if I stay," Gimli said. "You are quieter than me."
"Stay both of you," Elladan whispered, "in case there are more of them, and they see you."
As quickly and quietly as they could, they took their weapons, and Legolas led the horses down into a valley where they would not be seen, Gimli beside him. Aragorn and the twins crept down the other side of the hill, hurrying between bushes and large stones, keeping to shadows where they could. Through the valley they walked, hidden in the grass, and through a stand of slender elms, and up on the next hill. When they neared the top they lay down flat in the grass and crept on so slowly even the trees barely noticed.
There was the fire, a small but cheerful one, skillfully made so that it would smoke as little as possible. Four men sat around, clad in dark brown and green cloaks, with their hoods pulled over their faces. Some bundles and packs were stacked at the foot of a tree, and they had just taken a pot from the fire and were eating in silence from wooden bowls that had seen much use. Aragorn couldn't see any of their faces, but he saw their weathered scarred hands, their worn-out boots, their ragged cloaks and travel-stained packs. One set his bowl aside, brought out a short, crooked pipe and stuffed it. When he leaned towards the fire searching a burning stick to light it with, the warm glow fell on his face.
With a yelp, Aragorn flew up from his hiding place, and the twins did the same beside him.
"Aegas! Aegas!"
"Rhovalinn!" Elrohir exclaimed, as one of the other men turned.
"Aragorn!"
Aegas climbed to his feet and almost jumped right over the fire in his eagerness to reach them. Rhovalinn rose too, while Ast and Dínendu simply stared in surprise. Then they began to laugh, and once they had begun, they could not stop.
"Indeed you know how to show up when least expected!" Aegas said, grabbing Aragorn by the shoulders and beaming at him. "Since when do you not sit in that blasted citadel and write laws about cattle-keeping?"
"And you? Are you always going to live like this, out on the roads like a vagabond?" Aragorn grinned and squirmed out of his grip, only to be caught in a rib-crushing bear hug by Dínendu. "You should be arrested for loitering, all of you."
"Nah, not me," Dínendu said. "I´m a respectable man now, as you know. Rhovalinn too, I mean, as respectable as the bastard gets."
Rhovalinn grinned and limped back to sit by the fire. The leg had been troubling him since a warg bit him when he was still a boy, but it had not hindered him from being a ranger like the others. He was married now, and lived in Minas Tirith as a carpenter.
"The respectable life is nothing for me," Aegas said, searching the ground for his pipe, which he had dropped in the commotion. "I tried, you know, but I just can't stand to be in one place for so long. Call me a vagabond if you want, I don't mind."
"I never would," Aragorn said. "I understand you more than you'll ever know."
Elrohir went back to fetch Legolas and Gimli - it was a bit too far to shout, and they did not want to do it anyway, for Dínendu said the nobles had been following him and Rhovalinn for a couple of days now and were probably still near. The others sat down around the fire, Aegas sharing his pipe with Aragorn while Elladan demonstratively coughed.
"So we decided with Aegas and Ast long ago to meet here in spring," Dínendu said, stretching out his long broad legs and leaning so heavily on a young elm it bent backwards. "Some sort of reunion-journey or whatever. I suppose that's what you're doing too, huh?"
Aragorn nodded. "I haven't been out like this since - well, since I became king."
"Valar forbid," Aegas said and shuddered. "I would die if I was stuck like that, really, I would. Right, Ast?"
"Uh huh," Ast said. He was not exactly a man of words.
"We're on the way to Rohan," Rhovalinn said. "Though we'll go north when we come to the Gap, head for the mountains, if they're passable. You'll come with us, right?"
"Sure!" Elladan said, at the same time as Aragorn shook his head.
"There's no time," he explained. "I cannot be away for too long. I was thinking about turning back at the border, just by the Mering Stream, and if we keep going at this pace that will be perfect. You knew that, Elladan," he said, as his brother started to protest.
"But I did not," Aegas said firmly, "and I say that's ridiculous. You're the King, aren't you? You do what you want!"
"I do not," Aragorn said, "and I will not. Listen, I don't want to explain it all over again..."
"But I don't see the problem!" Rhovalinn straightened and looked at him eagerly. "No one knows, right? I mean, they don't know you're here. And those nobles - you don't have to worry about them, they'll never find us, we've been tricking them for days; got them to try ride across a swamp once, you should have heard them cursing. Worse than goblins on a sunny day, I'm telling..."
"Now you're rambling," Dínendu said warmly. "As always. Aragorn, old friend..."
"No," Aragorn said, with a sigh that was apologetic but not regretful. "No, Dínendu. I will not. I cannot."
"Yes you can," Ast said softly. "It would be very simple."
Ast was right, of course, as always, because Ast never took notice of what was right or wrong or what would happen afterwards. Yes, he could: he could keep walking. But could he return to Minas Tirith in summer and pretend like nothing had happened? No, he could not, and that was that.
Just then Elrohir returned with Legolas and Gimli and the horses, a welcome diversion, as Legolas knew some of the rangers and Gimli had met Rhovalinn, and Aegas forgot all about Aragorn when he saw that Roheryn was there and wanted to be cuddled with.
"I've got to tell you this, though," Rhovalinn said when they were settled again by the fire, all but Aegas, who had loved Roheryn ever since he was three years old and Aragorn let him sit on the horse's back for the first time. "I didn't believe it actually was you, but you haven't gone wholly unnoticed."
"What do you mean?" Aragorn asked, and felt the hair at the back of his neck rise.
"Rumours," Rhovalinn said in a low whisper, his eyes gleaming in the firelight. "We must have been behind you for some time, and then taken a short cut or something, because we heard them all. They say in the villages the King has been there. They think you are going about in secret asking the peasants if the lords treat them well and such, and if they aren't, then you'll make justice. They truly believe it about you, the villagers. The Wanderer King, they call you."
"The Wanderer King," Aragorn repeated. For some reason it sent a shiver down his back, but it was not a shiver of fear. He liked the name. He liked the sound of it. He liked to think that he belonged to it.
"To be honest," Legolas said, "that's about what we're doing. Not that it was planned. It just sort of happened."
"It's like they say," Elladan smiled. "Sometimes truth becomes legend, and sometimes legend becomes truth.
"In this case," Aragorn said, "I'm afraid it will only be a little true. Yes, we'll make sure the people of Anorien have the justice they deserve, but in the other villages we have passed things seemed fine, and this is a one-time journey. It will not happen again."
The others burst into fierce protests.
"There's no reason!"
"What good will come of that?"
"You're a ranger like you always were!"
Aragorn shook his head. Over the past days he had made up his mind, and strangely, he did not feel so bad about it. Well, he would miss the mountains, and the silence, and the loneliness of the wild. Most of all he'd miss the wild itself. But everything else he had.
It had come to him very slowly. First he had thought of how horrible it was to sleep on the ground, and how comfortable his bed in the citadel was. Then he had thought of how pleasant it was to be served food, always warm and well-made, seldom late, never less than he wanted. And then, to his surprise, he had realised that he missed not only Arwen (that was granted) but others too. He missed Master Ninquon's subtle humour, and counsellor Beren's down-to-earth explanation of philosophies that Aragorn, who had never come that far in his education before he left Imladris, would never have understood otherwise. He missed some of his body-guards, who had become his friends, and he missed Master Narion. He even missed Arwen's maid Maew, who could spend a whole breakfast droning on about the latest fashion, and painting up vivid pictures of how Arwen would look in this or that colour with this or that neckline.
That he missed them was not the reason he would not go on more journeys like this. He still wanted it with all his heart; he would always want it. But that he missed them made it possible. And if it was possible, then he would do it, for it still felt too risky. If people he had spoken to on the road, villagers he had thought had never seen him, had recognized him, then that settled the matter. It was too dangerous.
At long last the protests died out again.
"Have some food," Dínendu said and put the cold pot back over the fire. "Barley, just like the old days. Skillfully overcooked by Aegas, as usual."
"Spare your barley, we have bread, cheese and fish," Elrohir grinned, and walked over to Roheryn to fetch their provisions from the saddle bags. "Aragorn charmed some villagers. Just like the old days!"
That made them all laugh. Then Ast dug into his pack and found three bottles of Dorwinion wine (why didn't you say anything earlier? Aegas burst out, to which Ast only smiled) and that soon had them laughing even more. The retinue of the lords was forgotten by the time the third bottle had been opened.
Well into the night they sat by the fire with the trees rustling around them, and Elladan told the long and adventurous story of His and Elrohir's First Journey to Bree. Aragorn had heard it a billion times but he never tired of it, since Elladan always added new details, such as the chieftain of the wildmen wielding a flaming sword, the wolves being thirty and not three, or Barliman chasing them three times around the Prancing Pony with an axe and not a peel.
The sky was velvet black by the time the twins were safely back in Imladris again, the stars were glowing, and the moon was up. Aragorn always wondered how it looked to Ëarendïl, if, when he stood on his ship among the stars and looked down, he saw the dark earth like a mirror of the sky, with the lights of houses and the camp-fires of the wilderness glowing like stars. In that case he thought Minas Tirith would be the moon, great and white, though never dark.
Gimli began to sing, and for a while his voice was the only thing Aragorn had to think of. The trees went silent to listen. He lay down on his back in the tall green grass and saw the branches move above his head, and felt the warmth of the fire and the breath of a faint wind on his face. The eyes of the elves shone like stars. Stars in their eyes, a fire in his; or so people used to say - and maybe they were just mirrors of each other.
But when the fires of earth grew stronger, the stars faded. Aragorn thought of that though he tried not to, and it made him angry and sad, and worst of all it made him doubt, again - because meeting the rangers here and hearing them begging him to stay had awakened something inside him. A wish.
It was not fair that he would have to go back to the citadel. After all he had done for Gondor, it was not fair. He wished Elessar could have been without him, that he could have taken that part of himself and put it down on the ground and told it to go home and be king.
But then there was Arwen.
No, he corrected himself, he did not wish not to be Elessar. A week ago that was how he felt, but in truth he had confused being king with being held in place: what he could not stand was not the citadel itself, but being unable to leave it on his own terms even for a short time.
Aragorn groaned and sat up, restless. There was nothing he was so genuinely tired of as his own thoughts.
"Where are you going?" Legolas asked when he rose, shaking some life into his legs.
"Nowhere special," Aragorn replied. "Don't worry, I won't go far. And I will come back," he promised, when the elf still looked anxious. Indeed it must have been a hard time for all of those close to him. He had noted how his friends sometimes treated him like something very fragile, likely to explode if handled too roughly.
He left the fire and the clearing and walked in among the dark trees. Their trunks were tinted with silver, and mist floated in and out between them. An owl rose like a shadow and sped towards the stars on silent wings.
It was good to walk. Roots lay hidden beneath the cover of last year's leaves, and in the darkness he had to watch carefully where he put his feet, but it was better to think of that than of what would happen when he came home. The trees whispered to each other. When he looked back, the glow of the fire was just a dot in the dark, a star, and all around him there was darkness.
At the very edge of the copse an oak grew by itself, and Aragorn sat down with his back to it, nestled betweem the mighty roots. He was cold, the grass was a little damp, and so he tugged the cloak of Lorien close and pulled up the hood. The grasslands spread out before him like a sea of silver and shadows, rolling hills and bowing grass and mist tumbling into valleys. From behind came the sound of elves singing, and a deep dwarven voice humming the melody. The earth breathed spring.
Aragorn closed his eyes and imagined it all gone, all lost to anything but memory. He could not. It was like imagining the sun would not rise in the morning, or winter would not turn to spring. Sometime when the moon lit up the Misty Mountains far to the north, he fell asleep.
Aragorn did not know what woke him. Perhaps it was the oak moaning, sensing the presense of something unknown. Perhaps it was a bird leaving its branches with a warning cry. Perhaps it was the soft rattle of chainmail, or the clink of a scabbard against an armoured leg.
He sat up straighter and warily looked around. Nothing moved through the grasses. Nothing stirred between the dark trees behind him. It could have all been a dream, but Aragorn had learnt long ago never to take that chance.
He pulled the cloak around him and crept in behind the oak, and huddled in its shadow he looked out again over the valley. From the clearing where he had left his friends came loud voices, singing and laughing. From the valley came nothing for a long while; then a twig snapped, a clear hard sound that rang through the stillness of the night, and was followed by a low curse. Aragorn held his breath. He pressed closer to the oak.
The first rider came up the slope of the hill.
He had no torch, and was visible only as a shadow in the grass. The horse's hooves were bound with cloth, so that they touched the ground with barely a sound, and over his polished breastplate he wore a dark cloak so that it would not gleam. Aragorn could not see his face, nor the device on his tunic; but he was a soldier of Gondor, a proud and prosperous one. A captain, surely, for a rich and powerful lord. After him came more soldiers, and more soldiers, and more soldiers, a long silent line of them.
They spread out. Whoever they were - and Aragorn thought he could guess - their aim was this very hill, and those that were on it. The captain rode around the copse and out of sight, but behind him he left enough soldiers to guard every inch of the slope. Aragorn shrank back further into the shadows. Soon they would be around the whole copse, if they weren't already. There was no way to escape.
Aragorn climbed to his feet. For the moment the soldiers seemed to stay where they were, waiting for orders, or for anyone trying to escape. They had not drawn their swords. Perhaps the nobles weren't so sure that it truly was bandits they were chasing, and would ask first and strike after. But there they stood, grim and silent, and they could just as well have been a wall of stone. From the clearing there came no longer any song. Perhaps the others had finally noticed.
Aragorn slunk into the woods. He kept to the shadows of the trees, and held the cloak of Lorien close. It shifted colour from moonlit bark to dark earth and lichen-covered branches as he moved, and all the time he watched his step so that not a single twig broke beneath his feet, not a single leaf shifted place. Hide me, he asked the trees, and though he was not a wood-elf, it seemed that they heard. When the glow of the fire grew out of the darkness around him, he let out a sigh of relief. It was always better to be many and together, than few and spread out.
"In the name of Gondor and King Elessar the First! A hundred soldiers are watching you. Put down your weapons and step into the light!"
Aragorn dropped down flat in the grass, the cloak over him. The worst curses anyone had ever taught him went through his mind, and none seemed enough. Of course, if there is one goblin there is a thousand behind him; and a king could not get caught in the wilderness without Lord Cambeleg being the one to catch him.
He moved on as quickly as he dared, and soon he saw the black shapes of horses and riders standing in a wide circle around the clearing with the fire. He stopped behind them and sank to the ground. Through the gap between the two nearest horses he could see his friends, trapped and outnumbered, with their weapons thrown on the ground. Aegas, Elrohir and Dínendu stood tall and defiant with their backs to each other. Behind Dínendu stood Rhovalinn, hiding his face, and though Gimli was still sitting he did not look defeated. Legolas had his back to Aragorn, but he was looking down and away from the riders, afraid to be recognized. Elladan held one hand on his brother's arm as if to hold him back. Ast was as still as a statue, his eyes fierce.
"So here are the bandits," Lord Cambeleg said coldly. "Not exactly what I had expected, I must say."
He towered over his captives on his great white horse, with cobalt blue reins and barding and a dark green cloak draped over the saddle. Behind him the blue and green banner of Pelargir waved slightly on its pole. He was not alone. There was also the stag of Amon Tírad, red on yellow, and before it Lord Rafhtir sat in a wide cloth-of-cold coat and a red plume flying from his horse's head, his wife Lady Hirvelui beside him in a red dress shimmering with gold threads, her hair bound on her head with golden ribbons. Rafthir looked grim and triumphant at the same time, as if this was a task that had to be done and he was glad to have done it. It struck Aragorn how loyal to him these lords were, or at least how loyal they tried to be - robbing villagers of their meager supplies, but wanting to save them from bandits all the same.
Another rider came forth, gazing down on the captives like a raptor watching its prey. The grey eagle of Rhinbar snapped behind her on a sky striped in purple and green.
"Some bandits, huh?" she said, laughing, and released her sword from her gloved hand. "Some of these are friends of the king himself. That one must be Gimli, Gloín's son?"
"He is," Gimli muttered, "and you are Lady Thoreth, who is a friend of Éowyn."
Lady Thoreth, Lord of Rhinbar, smiled down on him as if the whole situation amused her greatly. She wore a cloak made of eagle's feathers, and a circlet of claws and beaks. "Yes," she said, "I suppose I am a friend of Lady Éowyn, though do not think we are the same just because we are both women with swords. What are you doing here? There isn't much to see or do out here in the wilderness, and at least your friends the rangers are not out hunting." Here she looked at Dínendu and Rhovalinn, and they looked back, evenly.
"It is not forbidden to be travelling," Gimli said.
"No," Lord Rafthir said, "it is not. But you are in the company of very suspicious men. Who are these rangers? What are they doing here?"
Aegas spat. "What we are and what we're doing here is none of your business."
"Now, now!" Lord Cambeleg said. "Such words don't speak to your favour, good man. If you have no ill intentions, then there is no reason to not answer us, is there? The villagers around here have been worried. The least you can do, if you mean them no harm, is to asure them of that."
His reasoning was perfectly logical, and not too harsch at all. Aragorn found himself admiring it. Seeing it all from the outside he could understand the lords and why they acted as they did, and why this might not end well as easily as it could have. There was nothing in Aegaäs behaviour, or in the way Elrohir glared at them all or how Legolas hid his face, that seemed honest.
There was silence for a long while after Cambeleg had spoken, then Elladan rose. "We are merely out travelling. As you may know, it used to be our living, and..."
"I know you!" Lord Rafthir burst out. "I know this man, and that one like him too! They're the Queen's brothers. Now what are the Queen's brothers doing out here?"
"Like I said," Elladan said patiently, "we are..."
"Such a scandal this will be," Lady Hirvelui said with a wry smile. "The King's friend, the Queen's brothers, all sneaking around in the wild with bandits..."
"Bandits!" Dínendu said. "My good lady, we're not bandits, never were, never will be, we're just out walking!"
"Ooh, of course, out walking," Lady Hirvelui mocked. "Just a stroll in the garden, of course, of course! Where's the picnic basket and the parasols, I wonder?"
Lord Rafthir burst out laughing, and Cambeleg looked amused. Lady Thoreth said: "Perhaps my dear Hirvelui ougth to watch her tongue. Some do not understand innocent jokes."
"You speak truly," Lord Cambeleg said, though he was still sniggering. "My lords Elrohir and Elladan, we meant no offense. But what are you doing here? And in the company of these men? And who are you?" He looked at Ast, who glared at him. "And you?" Now he looked at Legolas, who said nothing. "I demand to know," Lord Cambeleg said, "for while I trust friends of the King and brothers of the Queen, I may not trust their company."
Crouching behind a small thorny bush, Aragorn closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his temples, thinking hard. Now they were in for it, unless he could think of something very, very quickly. Ast would refuse to say anything, because he despised aristocrats, and so would Aegas. It would make them look very untrustworthy. Dínendu and Rhovalinn could perhaps come up with a lie, for they could not risk their hard-earned reputations - very hard-earned, for even this far south where the dunedain had only been a rumour, they weren't easily trusted. But lies were often seen through, and the lords were looking for proof now that their suspicions had been half confirmed.
If the lords did indeed deem the rangers untrustworthy, probably criminal, and decided to bring them before justice, then that would put both Arwen and himself in a very delicate situation. Neither Elladan nor Elrohir nor Gimli would care much about their reputation in Gondor, but as brothers and friends of the royal couple, their reputation was as important as the king and queen's themselves. As for Legolas, he was not only a friend of the king but a prince - and a lord of Gondor in his own right. Not that the elves of Ithilien saw themselves as inhabitants of Gondor, but they lived and thrived there and were already regarded with suspicion.
"You do not answer," he heard Lady Thoreth say, interrupting his thoughts. "What are you afraid of? Why will you not show your face, you there? I can see only one reason. You do not want me to recognize you, do you?"
Aragorn looked up again. Between the two horses in front of him, two of Lord Cambeleg's soldiers, he saw Lady Thoreth urge her horse forward.
"You do understand, I suppose," she said, "that if I want to see your face I will see it."
"Lady Thoreth..." Lord Rafthir began, but before he could finish Legolas gave an angry growl and rose, pushing the hood back.
"There," he snapped. "There you go. You know very well who I am. And you would do well not to threaten me again, my lady, for my father is the King of Eryn Lasgalen, and he will not look kindly upon it."
It was the first time Aragorn had heard him use the new name of his father's kingdom, but it made sense. It was after all the correct name, and also proof of how much king Thranduil loved his son - at least if it was true that the forest was named after Legolas, but as far as Aragorn knew Legolas had never got a clear answer on that matter.
Lady Thoreth was not scared, but she let her horse take a respectful step back from the elf. Then she looked at Rafthir, and smiled again. "What were you afraid of, my lord? That it would be a werewolf hiding beneath the hood? Or perhaps something so horrendously ugly I could never recover from the sight? Either way you were wrong, I promise."
"No," Lord Rafthir said quickly, but he had gone very pale. "I was just thinking... well, here we have a lot of the king's friends - Lord Legolas too - and the king is back in Minas Tirith, very ill, and we haven't seen him since the queen left..."
"Yes?"
"Well," Lord Rafthir said, "I was thinking that what if it was... well... then it would be very, very bad to threaten him."
Lady Thoreth stared at him confusedly for a while, and then she burst out laughing. Lord Cambeleg fell in with her too. They laughed so hard they seemed likely to fall off their horses any second.
"It's not funny!" Lord Rafthir persisted. "What if it had been? Remember that the king has been a ranger too, and old habits die hard, they say!"
"I find it hard to imagine the king in this place, and with this company," Lord Cambeleg said, brushing tears from his eyes. "He is always so proper."
"You think?" Lady Thoreth said in surprise. "I do not. Oh, he keeps up a pretty good facade, but it's all lies, I'm telling you. You heard what they called him in the villages."
"Oh, true enough," Lord Cambeleg agreed. "He is not like the stern kings of old."
"No indeed! You should have seen the snow-ball fights they had around the citadel last winter. You weren't there, you wouldn't know, but oh how I wished I could have joined them."
"Well, why didn't you?" Rafthir muttered, still rather annoyed at being laughed at.
Lady Thoreth shook her head. "I do not know him so well, and I was not invited. Shame, really. He is an interesting man."
Lord Cambeleg smiled. "A legend, truly."
Before Aragorn knew it, he stood up. The next moment he was flat on the ground again, heart pounding madly, but he could not forget the first crystal clear image of what he ought to do. It was simple, truly. It was the answer to everything.
Is it? he asked himself, frightened. Is that what you consider a good plan? Is that what you consider sensible thinking?
Not sensible, no. It was total madness. It was against every sense of reason. Not even the twins would have come up with that idea.
And at the same time it was not madness. When he thought of snowball fights outside the citadel, and planting gardens with Éowyn, and hiding in secret passages, it was not madness. When he thought of Arwen jumping in puddles and giggling when the court ladies gasped, or himself sparring with the Master of Arms at Dol Amroth and being soundly defeated for the first time in many years, it was not madness.
And he thought of Ninquon and Narion and Counsellor Beren, who would not judge him, not ever. He thought of Éowyn riding off without trying to hide, without trying to be someone she wasn't. He thought of Arwen, how lonely she had been when she came at first to the citadel, how many had feared her, and how she had gained trust and respect and friends just by being herself. He thought of what Faramir had told him about Lady Thoreth, how she had struggled to win respect when the lord of Rhinbar died and left her as his only heir, a sixteen-year-old girl who liked sewing and singing and daydreaming of knights on white horses, and how strong and secure she looked now, and how her men would follow her into a dragon's lair if she asked them - but how her sewing and singing were reputed far beyond Gondor's borders, because she had not changed, she had proved herself worthy just the way she was.
And he thought that when Lord Cambeleg said a legend, truly, he had no idea the King heard, and knew no special favours would come of his saying it.
And he thought of the villagers being robbed of their food, and he thought of the Wanderer King, and how he liked the sound of it, and how he liked to think that he belonged to it.
And he thought of his friends trapped at the hands of these lords who were only being loyal to the king, and how this might be the only way to save them from trouble.
So he rose again, determinded. He pushed back the hood. He straightened.
Then he stepped into the circle of horses, into the light of the fire.
The day comes when the Great West Road turns south and leads up the crest of a hill, and he sees Minas Tirith again.
It is a brilliant day with a bright warm sun in a clear sky, great and blue and ripe with spring, and the black and silver banners fly in the wind from the towers of the citadel. The road is dry and dusty, and tall green grasses wave on the hills.
Aragorn reins Roheryn to a halt on the hill, and there he stands for a few moments. The banners of Pelargir, Amon Tírad and Rhinbar snap behind him in the wind. He stands there triumphant, a king returning, in his ragged ranger cloak.
He had not intended to return with the lords, but the night after their meeting, he had a dream - one of those dreams that are so clear you cannot believe it wasn't real. Arwen was in it. She was sitting on a balcony in Dol Amroth with the sun in her hair and waves crashing against the cliff far below, and a book forgotten in her lap. In the dream he knew she longed for him. In the dream he knew that she was thinking of Minas Tirith, and how perhaps it was time to go back, and how she hoped that he would be there when she arrived, and how she trusted that he would.
He sat down beside her on the balcony, and felt as though he was truly there with she smoothed out her dress at her front, and let her hand rest for a while on her belly. In the dream she had understood, and Aragorn understood too.
"It will be quite different now," he said, laying his hand on top of hers, and feeling the growth of life beneath it.
She smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder, and he knew that she wished for him to really be there, because she was anxious and everything would be easier once they were both home.
"Home," he said, playing with a lock of her dark hair.
"Yes," she said. "Will you be there when I return?"
He nodded. "I promise."
For a little while they sat in silence, dream wind blowing in their hair, dream waves crashing against the cliff, but the life that grew inside Arwen is no dream.
"We need to think of a name," he said.
She smiled again. "I already have. He is a child of the Eldar, and Eldarion will be his name."
As Aragorn stands on the crest of the hill and his kingdom lies before him, he knows that everything will be fine now. And as he stands there a wren swoops down from the blue sky, singing: where are you? I am here!
And the answer is simple.
He urges Roheryn into a gallop. The twins and Legolas and Lady Thoreth and even Lord Cambeleg set after him, whooping and hollering and laughing in the wind, and together they race down the hill towards the White City.
Where are you? Where are you? the wren asks.
Aragorn stops, breathless and grinning, before the city gates. They are wide open.
"Home," he says, and then he rides beneath the arch, and up the street towards the citadel.
And the wren flies away over the wall, and the sky is blue and a western wind is blowing, and Aragorn is not afraid, not at all.
He has come home.
The end
I'll try not to make this an Oscar speech, but I want to thank everyone who has read, everyone who has favourited, and, especially, everyone who has taken the time to write me a review, however short. It helps, it really does. It's the only thing that keeps me going when I'm stuck, and I've been stuck a number of times with this story - which is why you've been so much needed, and which is why it feels so strange to be finished with it. What will I cry over now? What will my reason for consuming unhealthy amounts of tea be? Expect that it's tea, of course.
I also want to thank my beta Atiaran, again, though I suspect she won't read this. She has been amazing, I have probably been a nuisance, and that reminds me I should say I'm sorry to all you readers, for promising updates "within two weeks YOLO" when it took two months. Nope, I never imagined it would take ALMOST A YEAR to finish this story, but well... I'm a billion times wiser now. I've learnt so much. This is the first time (almost) I write a longer fanfiction and the first time (practically) I finish a whole story, fanfiction or not. Hopefully not the last! :)
A funny thing happened when I wrote this chapter. When I started out I had just as much problem as I have had with the previous chapters - that is, rewriting the same sentence over and over again, never getting anywhere, analyzing way too much and, simply, doing everyting the wrong way. But then, and I' not really sure how this happened, I just started writing. I didn't care if it was good or not. I didn't try to find the right way to begin a scene, or the most poetic way to describe that tree/hill/whatever. I finished it all in a little more than a week and I loved it the whole time. I don't know if anyone is interested, but I thought I'd share because I'm sure a lot of you are writers too and I'm sure a lot of you get stuck at times - and you know what? I think this is the best chapter of the whole story, because, finally, it came alive.
Tell me if you agree.
So, one last time: thank you for reading. And please review! 3
Disclaimer: Lady Thoreth is mine. You can't take her from me. Yes, I am allowed to fangirl over my own creations.