![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
I would like to thank both meckinock and shirebound for the images in their stories of an injured Aragorn being tended by Bilbo which helped inspire the beginning of this story.
Thank you also to anyone who voted for this story in the MC Awards where it came joint first WIP
J.R.R.Tolkien are reproduced here without the permission of The Tolkien Estate or New Line Cinema. No copyright infringement is intended.
To Cairistiona and Estelcontar: my most grateful thanks for their ongoing encouragement and support.
And thanks to Cairistiona for the beta.
Chapter 18: All That is Gold does not Glitter
I am Aragorn and those verses go with my name.
Strider The Fellowship of theRing
Aragorn slowly emerged from his dreamless sleep. It was dark, a shaft of moonbeam the only light penetrating the gloom around him. Confused, he wondered where he was. He furiously willed his mind to focus, but he could remember nothing. He realized he was no longer outside in the open, of that he was sure; beneath him he felt the rare sensation of a comfortable bed and against his skin was smooth linen. He opened his eyes further as his senses alerting him that he was not alone; someone was in the room with him. But as he tried to move, pain assaulted him from every direction. He froze as he desperately tried to master it.
Whatever could have happened to him?
Once more he tried to raise his head, but as he did so, a hand appeared on his shoulder, gently holding him to the bed.
“Be still, child,” said a familiar voice. “Do not attempt to move, yet.”
It was his father. And those few words conveyed such kindness and love, that Aragorn immediately felt all his fear and uncertainly drain away. Elrond was here; he would take care of everything, as he always had. It no longer mattered what had befallen him. He was safe and he could rest. He closed his eyes and felt the comforting presence of his father’s hand on his forehead for a moment before that same hand slid under his neck and his head was gently tipped towards a cup. A warm and not very pleasant liquid entered his mouth. He did not even attempt to resist his father’s medicine though he only managed a few sips. Swallowing had suddenly become exhausting. As his head was lowered back onto the soft pillow, his eyes searched for Elrond, but his body all too quickly abandoned the struggle to maintain consciousness and he drifted away into darkness again.
~oo0oo~
The next time he woke the sun was streaming through the windows and birds were chattering noisily outside on the balcony. Remembering how he was punished for stirring the last time, Aragorn cautiously turned his head, expecting to see his foster father sitting in vigil beside him. Instead, to his complete surprise, he saw a middle-aged hobbit perched on a chair, quietly reading a book. His mind reeled at this unexpected vision. Bewildered, he began to wonder if Elrond had only been an illusion, conjured up by his mind in his time of need. But, glancing around the room, there could be no doubt; this was definitely his old bedroom at Rivendell.
Suddenly the hobbit looked up and noticed the injured man’s eyes upon him. He immediately jumped down from his chair in surprise, dropping his book.
“Oh goodness me, you’re awake!” he said, cautiously approaching the bed as if its occupant might bite him. “Oh my word, I wonder if I should fetch Master Elrond. No, wait a minute, now what was it I had to do? Oh yes! Water! Don’t move; I’ll fetch some right away.”
He went to a low side table and poured a cup of water from the pitcher placed there. Returning to the bed, he quite competently raised Aragorn’s head and allowed him a few sips.
“Is that better?” he asked anxiously as he returned the cup to the table. “How do you feel? Oh dear, you do look very ill you know; quite terrible in fact. Did the water not help at all?”
Aragorn wondered if he was supposed to answer all these questions. Instead he managed a trace of a smile for the little gentleman.
“I am well enough,” he said, struggling to find his voice and still watching the hobbit in disbelief. The halfling seemed to relax a little at that and came and stood near the bed again.
“Good, I am very pleased to hear it,” he said, much relieved that Elrond’s patient was not about to do something disconcerting that might demand some action on his part. He really did not know what to think of this wild, dangerous looking man. He was very unkempt and scruffy, his shaggy hair appeared never to have seen a comb. He may be injured, but the hobbit had no doubt he could cause mischief if he chose to. Still, Elrond had been very concerned about him when he was brought unconscious to the house late last night. And who was he to judge by appearances. The man was obviously in need of care and he was happy to help out and do his bit, though now that he had given him something to drink, he was not at all sure what else he could do. Nor did he know quite what to say to him. Perhaps he could simply start by asking him his name and he wondered if it would be considered forward to do so. Then in total dismay at his own lack of protocol, he realized he had been standing there staring at him, all the while having completely neglected to make his own introductions.
“Oh forgive me, I am forgetting my manners; Mister Bilbo Baggins at your service and your family’s,” he said, bowing deeply.
Aragorn managed to reply politely: “I am very pleased to meet you, Bilbo Baggins.” So this was the hobbit he had heard so much about. He hesitated for only the merest moment before adding: “I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn.”
“Well, Mister Aragorn, I am very pleased to meet you too, though I must say, you do seem to have got yourself into something of a pickle; falling down the side of a mountain by all accounts.”
Aragorn frowned. He had no recollection of doing any such thing, but with throbbing aches and stabbing pains coming from every part of his body, he could not deny that it was a possibility.
“I don’t remember,” he said weakly. “How long have I been here?”
“Only since last night,” said Bilbo, trying his best to sound reassuring. “There was quite a commotion when you were carried in unconscious; everyone running around, this way and that, fetching and carrying. It was lucky the scouts came across you at all, you know.”
“Do you know what happened?” asked Aragorn. His head was swimming violently now that he was trying to hold a conversation but it troubled him that he had no memory at all of the previous day’s events.
“Well, it seems there was a land slide of sorts, up in the hills. All this recent rain brought on a rock-fall, or so the Elves are saying. Those who found you said you were quite a way below the path. Lucky really you weren’t killed, what with all those falling boulders crashing about.”
Aragorn closed his eyes and tried not to shudder as he thought of his narrow escape. Life after all was full of such ill chances. All the same, he realised he had been very fortunate.
At that moment the door opened and Elrond walked in.
“Oh, Master Elrond, I am so glad you have come,” said Bilbo, smiling triumphantly at the Elf lord. “See, your patient is awake and has already drunk a little water. I was just beginning to wonder what to do with him next.”
Elrond’s troubled face broke into a beaming smile at that news. He leant across the bed to place a hand on Aragorn’s forehead and was relieved to find there was no sign of fever. His skin now felt comfortably warm and his face had lost its deathly pallor.
“Welcome home, Estel,” he said, looking at Aragorn critically as he took his hand and felt for his pulse. “You gave us all quite a fright last night, but I’m pleased to see you are faring a little better today. Are you in much pain?”
“It is bearable,” said Aragorn, not wishing to worry his father any more than he clearly had already. “I can’t remember anything of what happened, but I am sorry for all the trouble I have caused. It sounds as if I should have taken more care. Some of those ledges are unstable at the best of times. It might have been wiser to have taken a different route.” He knew Elrond would have been badly shaken by his being brought home in a coma and he much regretted all the anxiety he had obviously caused him.
Elrond squeezed his hand. “I hardly think this was your fault, so there is no need to blame yourself. Fortunately I somehow do not think it is your fate to end your days under a landslide. I doubt your memory of the incident will ever return and perhaps that is as well.”
He had, however, been extremely worried for his foster son. The Elves had heard rumour of trouble in the Trollshaws and scouts had been sent out immediately to investigate. Aragorn had been found unconscious and dangerously cold from exposure. Elrond doubted he would have survived until morning had he not been found.
“Elrond, how hurt am I?” asked Aragorn. He tried not to betray the fear in his voice, but he was actually in considerable pain and was beginning to fret a little as to what damage he had done to himself.
“Nothing that rest and time will not heal,” said Elrond, smiling at him.
He gently brushed the hair out of his foster son’s eyes with his fingertips, but then his tone changed and he spoke sternly: “You have three broken ribs and I suspect several muscles are severely damaged if not torn. You are very bruised and sore over much of your body and that is to say nothing of the bang on your head. It is only through immense good fortune that you do not appear to be more seriously injured than you are. It is to be hoped that you might perhaps begin to feel a little better in a few days; however, on no account are you to get out of this bed until I have given you permission to do so. Is that understood?”
Aragorn nodded, not daring to disagree. He might be over seventy but Elrond could still make him feel like a little boy again when he adopted that tone. Then Elrond’s face softened and he smiled at him, saying: “I think perhaps I ought to get you something for that pain now; don’t you?”
Aragorn managed to look slightly abashed at being caught out, but in truth he enjoyed being fussed over by Elrond. He felt safe and cherished in a way that, of late, he only ever felt when he was home again and under the care of the Elves.
Elrond then turned to Bilbo who had been hovering close by.
“Would you mind sitting with Estel for a little while longer, Bilbo, while I go and prepare a draught for him?”
“Of course not, Elrond, it would be a pleasure,” said Bilbo, glad he was considered worthy of such a task. He was becoming quite curious about this unexpected guest.
When Elrond left, the strange-looking man closed his eyes. Bilbo guessed he needed to rest, so, with nothing else to do, he picked up his book and once again climbed up onto his chair and turned his attention to the text. He had barely found his page again when a voice from the bed disturbed him.
“What are you reading?”
Bilbo looked up and saw the man watching him. He smiled an apology for thinking he had fallen asleep.
“It is an elvish tale,” he said, expecting that to be the end of the conversation.
“Might I ask which one?”
“If you must know, it’s the ‘Aldudenie’,’ said Bilbo. “I am trying to render it into the Common Speech. My Quenya is still not yet quite up to the mark, but I am getting better.”
Aragorn was surprised. He had automatically addressed the hobbit in Westron and he had replied in kind. He knew of no other halflings who spoke even a few words of Sindarin, let alone Quenya. Certainly he had never come across any in Bree. But then he remembered that this was no ordinary hobbit.
“It is a demanding text,” said Aragorn sympathetically, “I remember struggling with it as a child.”
Now it was Bilbo’s turn to be surprised. He had had few dealings with the ‘big folk’ and the only men he had spent any time with were those from far away in Esgaroth and Laketown and that was a long time ago. He had never heard them converse in anything but the Common Speech. But this man was obviously not from there. He was most likely a ranger from the look of him. Bilbo had encountered one or two of these dour men when his journeys in the Shire had taken him close to the borders. They never had much to say and Bilbo, like everyone else in the Shire, was suspicious of them and not a little afraid too.
“You read this as a child?” he asked, hoping some more information might solve this riddle.
“Yes I did,” said Aragorn, “I seem to remember having to translate it from Quenya to Sindarin. It took me weeks as I recall. But I imagine creating a text in the Common Speech would be even more difficult.”
“Well I am certainly finding it hard going, I must admit.”
Aragorn shifted awkwardly on the bed as he tried to relieve the pain that persistently coursed through him. He knew he ought to be resting but he was too intrigued by his extraordinary attendant to let the conversation drop.
“Then perhaps, Mister Baggins, I might be of assistance to you? It would seem I shall be remaining at Rivendell for a while yet and I would gladly aid you in your task when I am well enough.”
Bilbo found he was quite pleased with this suggestion. He often became stuck on a word or phrase and hated to pester the Elves too often for answers. They were all very kind to him in Rivendell, but sometimes he found living among the Firstborn a little overwhelming. They were all such great lords and so impossibly ancient, to say nothing of being extremely tall. Perhaps this scruffy man, who it appeared could read two elvish languages, might be the ideal person to help him. He seemed approachable enough and, while he was confined to his bed, he had nothing better to do. And in that position Bilbo would, at least for a while, have someone to talk to at his own level.
“I should be most appreciative of your assistance,” he said, grinning happily at the ranger. “There are so many fascinating books and manuscripts in Master Elrond’s library that I hardly know where to begin.”
They were then interrupted by Elrond bringing the draught for Aragorn who grimaced when he smelt the evil looking concoction his father had prepared for him. However he gulped it down dutifully. Elrond then released Bilbo from his vigil.
“You have been a great help, Bilbo, but I need to sit with my patient myself for a while now,” he said.
“Of course, Master Elrond,” said Bilbo, “but please ask me again, any time. I was quite beginning to enjoy our conversation.”
“I am glad to hear it, and I shall be grateful for your assistance again very shortly,” said Elrond smiling at him. Bilbo picked up his book and turned to leave.
“I will pop in again later then,” he said. “It’s been most interesting to meet you, Mr Aragorn, I’m sure.”
“The pleasure has been all mine, and thank you,” said Aragorn.
After Bilbo had gone, Elrond turned his attention to Aragorn’s injuries. He pulled the blankets back and frowned at what he saw. The mass of bruising on his son’s chest and abdomen had spread beyond the bandages and now discoloured much of his body. With the gentlest brush of his fingers, he traced the worst blackened patches, but as he did so, he was aware of Aragorn tensing at even this slight touch. He decided not to investigate further at the moment and instead he checked the many cuts and scrapes on Aragorn’s arms and legs. It had been a long job, the previous night, removing all the dirt and grit from his wounds. He still looked terribly sore, but at least the cuts were clean. Satisfied there was nothing more to be done for now, Elrond retied the bandages and, pulling the bed clothes up to his chin, he told his son to rest. But Aragorn no longer felt particularly sleepy. Now that the draught was beginning to take effect and his pain was easing, his mind was turning to other matters.
“How long has Bilbo been living here?” he asked. Gandalf had told him the hobbit had left the Shire and gone north to Erebor to visit the Dwarves, but was possibly intending to settle in Rivendell when he tired of travelling. As Aragorn’s mind slowly began to clear, he remembered he had been coming here specifically with the hope of meeting him.
“It must be nearly six months,” said Elrond. “He seems very at home here now.”
“It sounds as if he has taken up residence in your library. I had no idea hobbits had such interests.”
“I think, Estel, you have a lot to learn about this particular hobbit,” said Elrond. “Don’t forget, I first met Bilbo when you were just a lad of ten summers. It was a pity you could not have met him then, but I considered it prudent to keep you out of the way of all those Dwarves. By the time he returned here on his way back home, he had changed enormously.”
Aragorn smiled. “I remember I was very disappointed at having missed such unusual visitors. Do you recall, adar, how suspicious I was for years afterwards whenever Elladan and Elrohir offered to take me on a camping trip? I was quite convinced all manner of exciting people would be coming here in our absence.”
Elrond laughed as he remembered the fury in Estel’s eyes when he learned that, for the second year running, he had missed meeting a wizard and a hobbit whilst he was away in the woods with his big brothers. “I remember that well, Estel. I don’t think I have ever seen you so livid. I must confess we all found your indignation rather amusing. Unfortunately after that, we felt obliged to tell the story of the dragon and the treasure as often as you requested it, which was very often as I recall.”
“It was one of my favourite bedtime tales,” said Aragorn, smiling fondly at the memories. “Bilbo certainly greatly influenced my impressions of hobbits. As a boy, I thought they must all be these intrepid, fearless warriors. I have since learned that many men in Bree still see them only as funny, timid little creatures who think of nothing more important than where their next meal is coming from, but I’m glad that thanks to Bilbo’s story, I know there is much more to them than meets the eye.”
“It looks as if you shall have the chance to hear more of that adventure, at least,” said Elrond.
“I am greatly looking forward to hearing the tale straight from the horse’s mouth, as I believe they say in the Shire,” said Aragorn, with a laugh, but the sudden movement caused pain to shoot out of his tender chest and he gasped in agony.
Elrond, who had been sitting in the chair beside the bed, immediately jumped to his feet and stood over Aragorn, looking very concerned.
“You really should rest now, my son, and let that draught do its work,” he said. “Then we will see if you are up to eating anything. I’m afraid the blows you took to your head may leave you nauseous for a while yet.”
Aragorn sighed resignedly. He knew it was dangerous to take liberties with head injuries and, in truth, he was much too sore to contemplate doing anything other than rest for a good while yet.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-25 09:17 pm (UTC)I'm so pleased you liked this and don't worry about not reviewing, I'm just thrilled that you're still enjoying the tales.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-25 10:10 pm (UTC)I really did write these stories just for my own enjoyment [some of these chapters have been around for three years] but I'm so glad I did finally post them as it has been far more rewarding to discover that they have given other people pleasure too.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-27 08:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-27 12:52 pm (UTC)