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inzilbethTo Cairistiona and Estelcontar: my most grateful thanks for their ongoing encouragement and support.
And thanks to Cairistiona for the beta.
Chapter 17: Gandalf’s Request
“…I called for the help of the Dunedain, and their watch was doubled; and I opened my heart to Aragorn, the heir of Isildur.”
The council of Elrond The Fellowship of the Ring
“I do not cheat,” said Halbarad,
“I never implied that you did,” said Aragorn, looking suitably hurt that his friend could even think such a thing of him. “I merely commented that you had an extraordinarily long run of good fortune. That is all. There was no need to be so affronted.”
“I know perfectly well what you were implying and good fortune had nothing to do with it.”
Aragorn shook his head. Halbarad had kept up his niggling for much of their long walk back from Bree. This must be the fourth or was it the fifth time he had raised the matter. But whatever humour Aragorn had found in their banter at the beginning of their journey had long since ceased to be amusing. He had never imagined that Halbarad would take the incident quite so much to heart. He was clearly still not in any no mood to be reasonable or forgiving.
It was just a pity he was quite so skilled with the dice. Although he, himself, might believe with all his heart that his right-hand man was as honest as the day is long, it had been his task to try and convince the Breelander who had foolishly wagered, and lost, his week’s pay of this fact.
“Halbarad, that man must have been related to every Appledore and Heathertoes in the whole of Breeland. It would have been unwise for either of us to remain to labour the point.” The situation had very nearly got out of hand and it had taken all Aragorn’s diplomatic skills to extricate them both from The Prancing Pony without a battle breaking out with the man’s entire family.
“That point which you refused to labour was nothing of any consequence, of course; only the small matter of my honour. I expected better of you, that is all.”
He could well understand Halbarad’s frustration. They had both been on duty patrolling the eastern border of the Shire for months now and the long watch was beginning to take its toll on their otherwise good humoured friendship. Neither did it ever raise any ranger’s spirits to have his integrity questioned by the very people they were protecting. Worse still, this man was known to be a less than savoury character. But he was a native Breelander, unlike ‘them rangers’, so his word held weight while Halbarad’s did not. It had ever been thus and Halbarad usually handled the suspicion and dark glances with the same resigned good grace they all did. Inevitably, the strain got to them all at times; Aragorn could not blame him for once in a while finding the derision too much to bear.
“And as for demanding I return the money, what clearer sign could you give that I am but a common thief? I still can not believe you could shame me in that way!”
Aragorn wished Halbarad would leave the incident alone; he was already feeling miserable enough that he had been unable to offer him the whole hearted support he knew he deserved. He had tried apologising almost to the point of grovelling, but that had so far not appeased him in the slightest. He made one last effort.
“That was never my intention, you must know that. Be reasonable, Hal; I could not risk us being barred from the inn. The place is far too important a source of information. Surely you can see that?”
“I see only that loyalty should be given as whole-heartedly as it is received. I saw precious little of that from you today.”
Had it been anyone else, Aragorn would probably have taken him to task for his insolence. But Halbarad had a valid point and it grieved him that expediency should make such sacrifices necessary. He sighed and decided to remain silent and allow Halbarad time to acknowledge the complexities of the situation for himself. It was perhaps just as well that they would be at Sarn Ford before the end of the day and he would have the opportunity to bend someone else’s ear about his chieftain’s short-comings.
~oo0oo~
It was raining lightly now; that soft rain that was more like drizzle. Both rangers pulled their hoods over their heads and trudged on in silence. They had put many miles behind them already that day and were confident of reaching their destination well before dusk. They were now following the course of the ever widening Baranduin, which was becoming a mighty river as it made its way to the sea. At last they reached a familiar looking band of willows where they stopped and waited. Sure enough, there was the bird call. Halbarad replied and they continued on their way. After a few minutes, they walked into the ranger post at Sarn Ford.
It was well concealed; only the sharp-eyed would spot the wooden huts well back in the trees. Half a dozen, perhaps more, horses grazed near the river. An assortment of gear hung from a make-shift washing line between two sturdy oaks. There were few men to be seen. One was sitting on a tree stump, cleaning his sword, another was soaping down his saddle, two were preparing supper; the usual happenings in a ranger camp. Nods and smiles acknowledged their arrival and Halbarad immediately left Aragorn’s side to take a closer look at what was cooking in the pot above the fire.
Aragorn glanced around him, his eyes searching for whoever was in charge of the post. The sun had come out now so he took off his cloak and shook it vigorously, thinking he would be glad for the chance to remove his sodden boots as well. Then he spotted a tall man approaching him with his hand out stretched.
“Welcome, Aragorn. I trust you and Halbarad are well?”
Aragorn clasped his hand. “Yes, Radhruin, we are well enough. A little weary and foot sore perhaps, nothing more.”
“Good, I am relieved to hear it, and I hope your watch around the Shire has been more peaceful than the Minhiriath one.”
At that moment, his curiosity satisfied, Halbarad strode across to greet Radhruin as well, clapping his childhood friend heartily on the back. He was smiling cheerfully, his earlier sullenness gone, though Aragorn immediately detected the forced gaiety in his voice.
“So what exciting tales have you for our entertainment tonight?” he asked. “Is Minhiriath over run with orcs, are the Dunlendlings about to invade Bree, have the Rohirrim declared war on Gondor; don’t tell me hostilities have broken out between Rivendell and Lothlórien?”
Radhruin shook his head and laughed. “If you jest so, my friend, am I to assume your watch has been a peaceful one?”
“On the contrary, the Battle of Bree was only narrowly averted thanks to the slick, mithril tongue of our captain, here.”
Aragorn ignored him. “Tell me the news from the East Watch, Radhruin. It sounds as if there been trouble afoot.”
“Yes, the report is not good, I fear. That patrol has had no end of skirmishes with orcs and some of them quite close to the Greenway at that. A couple of the men received injuries. Beldir was quite bad for a time, though he is on the mend now. Quite what the meaning of it all is, I wouldn’t like to say.”
“This does not bode well,” said Aragorn. “We have seen no orcs in the Shire; perish the day when we do, but there have been more than the usual suspicious-looking Dunlendings about. The men have certainly been kept busier than I would have expected. Fortunately, other than that, the Shire seems to be ticking along much as it always has.”
“Well, that is something, I suppose,” said Radhruin. “It will be a foul day indeed if orcs ever enter that peaceful land.”
“Quite so, and I pray we may continue to ensure that day never comes. Now, is there anything else I should know about before I speak to the men?” Aragorn smiled ruefully. “Do you have any welcome news, perhaps?”
“Well, Gandalf is here, so that might be good news, although more likely it is not,” said Radhruin, wistfully. “He’s been waiting for you these last three days, so it must be something fairly important, not that he’s giving anything away, of course.”
Aragorn cast his eyes around the camp again, this time spotting the grey cloaked figure who was sitting so still beside the riverbank he could easily be mistaken for a stone. Immediately Aragorn took his leave of Halbarad and Radhruin and went across to speak to him.
“Gandalf!” he said, holding out his hand as he approached, “what a pleasant surprise. I am sorry you have had to wait for me so long. Radhruin says you have been here three days already.”
“Ah Aragorn, my dear fellow,” said Gandalf, getting to his feet and taking Aragorn’s hand. “There is no need to apologise; the rest has done me good, I’m sure, and I always find that having nothing to do works wonders for freeing the mind for thinking. And, believe me, I have needed to do plenty of that of late.”
Aragorn frowned. The wizard looked tired and careworn even by his standards. And he knew only too well from long experience that when Gandalf had thinking to do, it would in due course almost certainly mean trouble for him.
“Might I be correct in assuming that all this thought and contemplation is going to involve me at some stage?”
“Of course; doesn’t everything?” said Gandalf with that glint in his eye that always left Aragorn certain as to the true meaning of his words. “But tell me of the Shire first. Is all well there?”
“Yes, I suppose so; there is nothing in particular to report, expect that there have been some strange outsiders hovering around the
Gandalf rubbed his chin. “Umm. And Radhruin tells me there is trouble afoot elsewhere too. Come, and sit yonder with me. I do not wish for this conversation to be overheard.”
Aragorn’s ears pricked up at that. Anything he could not share with his men was invariably bad news. Unquestioningly, he followed Gandalf to the edge of the ford. Here the shallow water babbled noisily over its stony bed. They settled on the grass bank beside the crossing where no one would overhear their conversation. Gandalf produced his pouch of pipeweed and offered some to Aragorn who gladly accepted. As he filled his pipe, he noticed how good it smelt and he wondered, for a moment, how it was that the wizard always seemed to have better weed in his possession than he did.
As the two of them smoked their pipes, Gandalf began to explain, though he was initially as mysterious as ever.
“Tell me what you know of Isildur.”
Aragorn stared at him for a moment in disbelief; a dozen questions whirling through his mind at the meaning of this unusual request. But he knew that eventually Gandalf would get to the point, and there always was a point, so he dredged his mind for memories of his long ago history lessons. In his mind’s eye, he pictured the library at Rivendell and could almost smell that slight mustiness that accompanied the many ancient leather-bound tomes. He could hear his father placing up and down, with infinite patience, while he struggled to complete some exercise he had been given. It had been many years since he had given any thought to Isildur. When he dwelt in Gondor, he had become accustomed to his image bearing down on him as he walked the length of the Great Hall in the citadel of Minas Tirith, but there had been no need otherwise for him to consider his forefather at all.
“Isildur,” he said at last. “Well, as a child, he was quite a hero of mine. I remember thinking that daring solo raid of his to save a fruit of Nimloth from the court of Armenelos, an act which nearly cost him his life, raised him almost to the status of Beren as a hero in my childish understanding. He later shared the rule of Gondor with his brother Anárion and he built Minas Ithil where he dwelt. I believe he was a noble king, who fought bravely at the Daglorlad and the siege of Barad-dûr. He is best remembered, of course, for striking a blow to Sauron and so cutting his ring from his hand. But, Gandalf, surely you know all this?”
“I do, but tell me of his death; what did Elrond teach you of the disaster at the Gladden Fields.”
Aragorn sighed, wishing Gandalf would simply tell him what this was about. He drew on his pipe and gazed blankly at the busy water of the ford with unfocused eyes as he tried to remember. The massacre of two hundred Dúnedain warriors was a tragic tale that had always greatly moved him long before he knew that those were his own people who had been so brutally butchered.
“Very little is known of that terrible slaughter as only three men ever returned to Rivendell to tell of it. Ohtar and his companion, were charged by Isildur to flee with the Shards of Narsil and so it was that they left the battle before Isildur fell. But Elendur’s squire was later found injured beneath his master’s body, and it is recorded that it was he who heard the last words spoken between the king and his heir. Thus it is known that it was Elendur who urged his father to attempt to save himself by putting on the ring and fleeing the battle. The Dúnedain were vastly out numbered and clearly doomed. Estelmo told how, in the end, Isildur reluctantly agreed when all hope was lost. I seem to recall it is also said that, later, all Isildur’s gear was found beside the riverbank by woodmen and so it is has long been assumed that this was where he perished. The loss of the king and his three elder sons was a terrible tragedy and it was a crippling blow to the
“Yes, it was a great tragedy,” said Gandalf. “I understand the Dúnedain never recovered from this loss. After the War, Valandil did not even have enough men left to people all the places that Elendil had built.”
For a moment, Man and Maia stared at the water flowing swiftly past their feet as they contemplated this first step in the long, sad decline of the Dúnedain of Arnor.
“Elrond once told me you reminded him greatly of Elendur; did you know that?” asked Gandalf. “Apparently he was long considered the fairest of Elendil’s seed and would no doubt have made a very fine king.”
Aragorn nodded. “Elrond told me that too. It was years ago, on a time when I returned to Rivendell laden with too many cares. I think he was trying to bolster my belief in myself.” He smiled suddenly. “I’m not sure it worked. I remember thinking it was a great deal to live up to. But, Gandalf, you have still not told me what this is all about.”
“Patience, my dear boy,” said Gandalf. “I was just coming to that. But I have not yet asked all my questions. Now, Aragorn, do you know what became of Isildur’s ring? Did Elrond tell you anything about that?”
“I believe he said it was assumed to have been lost with him, most probably in the Anduin.”
“That is my thought also,” said Gandalf. “At the last meeting of the White Council, Saruman was insistent that the ring had been washed out to sea, but, when pressed, he was unable to support this claim with any proof.”
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Date: 2008-10-19 11:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-20 12:08 pm (UTC)