Aspects of Aragorn 6 part 3 "The Wizard's Pupil"

[inzilbeth]

Here is the rest of that first meeting between Gandalf and Aragorn.

Disclaimer: No profit will be made from these stories. All quotes from the works of J.R.R.Tolkien are reproduced here without the permission of The Tolkien Estate or New Line Cinema. No copyright infringement is intended.

 

To Cairstiona and Estelcontar I offer my most grateful thanks for their ongoing encouragement and support.

 

And thanks to Cairstiona for the beta.

 

 

Chapter 6  part 3                       “The Wizard's Pupil”

 

 

   Aragorn leant back against the boulder and stretched out his long legs in front of him. He would be glad when his watch was over and he could return to the camp. After the day he had had his fingers longed to reach for his pipe but he did not dare light up on this exposed hill. Instead he attempted to chew on a piece of tasteless bread that he assumed must once have been edible but now had all the allure of the rock he lent against. There was a chill to the air that night; autumn had arrived and he had noticed how the nights were already drawing in. He shivered slightly and wrapped his cloak more tightly around him.

 

  He allowed himself to take his eyes away from the pass through the hills for a moment to gaze up at the stars. They always brought him comfort. He was very relieved to have got his patrol this far without the loss of a single man. The summer had been a nightmare. The northern settlements had been plagued by orc attacks for months and his Rangers had been hard pressed to rout all the invaders. He was now as sure as he could be that the North Downs were free of them. That is, he thought ruefully, until the next time they invade from Mount Gundabad. He sighed in resignation. He had long ago learnt that he could only deal with the problems as they arose; he did not have enough men to achieve anything more.

 

   Although this patrol was over, when he returned to camp he would have to decide which of the men were to be sent back to their families and which would still have to be away for another couple of months on duty around the Shire. He planned to go there himself as he did not have family to return to and he could not in all good conscience ask this of his men if he was not prepared to go himself. It would be less arduous than fighting orcs and wolves and there was always the possibility of a night at ‘The Prancing Pony’ when the patrol was near Bree.

 

   It would be November before he returned to the Angle and hopefully he would see his Elven brothers then; he knew they would be interested in all that had happened in the Downs. Certainly he felt Elrond should be told of the increase in orc numbers. A moment’s homesickness washed over him as he thought of his family. It was at times like this that he felt it most keenly; at the end of a patrol when the others were looking forward to going home. He was made very welcome where ever he stayed but it was not home. Arwen was not there.

 

   Aragorn stood up and pulled himself back to the present. He could not look back and it was not as if life was not treating him well. He felt at ease now in his position; that his command was earned and not merely given to him by virtue of his birth. He had from the day he returned to his people been a better swordsman than any of his men and none could best him in tracking and woodcraft. But most importantly of all now, he felt his people trusted him to make sound judgements and they accepted his commands unquestioningly, confident that his decisions were good. His status had not been easily won; there had been many moments when the problems threatened to overwhelm him, but he had always had the goodwill of the Dúnedain behind him and this had succoured him through those difficult times.

 

   Gazing ahead, Aragorn suddenly spotted a lone horse and rider, still far away, approaching slowly. The light was fading as he quickly scanned the horizon, but there was no sign of anyone else. He silently moved to a better position lower down and awaited the stranger. As he drew nearer, Aragorn looked upon him in utter amazement; he had never since anyone like this before in his life. It was an old man who rode into view. He was wearing a grey cloak over long grey robes and on his head was a tall, pointed blue hat. He had thick bushy eyebrows and a beard that appeared to reach to his waist.

 

   Aragorn called to the man to stop and when he did, he told him to dismount. This he did, but Aragorn was uneasy. He had some strange sense that this man was not all that he seemed; he wanted a closer look. Without a sound he moved nearer. He could tell the stranger was impatient to be on his way, but Aragorn was fascinated. He doubted the man posed much of a threat, although he was well armed. He decided to take his weapons. This would give him an excuse to speak to the man in the morning without directly confronting him, something which would be impossible if he proved to be genuine. A sentry could take liberties that a genial host could not.

 

   Once the stranger had been sent on his way and was out of sight, Aragorn scuttled down the hill and retrieved the sword and quiver. Returning to his hide-out, he examined them as best he could in the fading light. They were of elvish make and design, he was sure and yet they were unlike anything he had seen before. He carefully stowed them away while he finished his watch.

 

   Several hours later he returned to the camp having been relieved at his post. The stew that was left congealing in the pot was only marginally more edible than the bread he had earlier, but it was hot and welcome. Gunthor, who was always left in charge when Aragorn took his turn on watch, came to sit with him while he ate. They talked of matters concerning the camp and Aragorn assured Gunthor he would make all announcements on postings tomorrow. He was too tired tonight to face the protests and arguments that such details would inevitably bring; that could wait until morning. Finally he was able to ask the question he really wanted answered.

 

   “Gunthor, that old man who rode in here earlier this evening; where is he now?”

 

   “Sleeping,” said Gunthor. “He turned in about an hour ago. I think he went into that cot over there.” He gestured with his head towards the ruin where Gandalf had settled for the night.

 

   “What did he want?” asked Aragorn. “Did he say?”

 

   Gunthor, who was a man in his seventies and had met Gandalf several times, laughed at that.

 

   “When does Gandalf ever say what he wants? He did ask to speak to the captain, but he said it was not urgent.”

 

   Aragorn was shocked at the mention of the name Gandalf, but managed to hide it from Gunthor. Elrond had spoken of him, but somehow in his child’s mind, Aragorn had managed to place him as a figure from some distant legend, as remote as any that he learned about in his lessons. It shook him a little to think that he was here tonight in his camp.

 

  When he had finished his meal, he fetched the weapons that he had taken from the old man and looked at them more closely. The blade of the sword was dull and there was fletching missing on several of the arrows in the quiver. By the last light of the fire that night he carefully restored the arrows and oiled the blade, all the while trying to remember everything he could about this Gandalf. He muttered to himself as he worked and fragments of memory came to him.

 

   ‘Olórin, a maia from Valinor; one of the five Istari sent to Middle-earth two thousand years ago: is considered great among the Wise and is a member of the White Council; is  known as Gandalf in the North,  Mithrandir by the Elves, Tharkûn by the Dwarves and Incánus in the South.’

 

   Surely he could remember more than that. No, it was too late and he was too tired; it would have to wait until morning. Putting aside the arrows, he wrapped himself in a blanket and cast himself upon the ground. But sleep did not come easily.

 

 

   Aragorn was up at dawn. The sun had not yet peaked over the hills and the camp was bathed in the dull grey of early morning. The rangers were beginning to stir and it was time for the watch to be changed. Horses snorted in the picket lines as their feed bags were brought to them and someone was kindling the fire, ready to start breakfast. Today was to be a day of rest for the patrol. They had only set up camp yesterday afternoon and Aragorn had decided they all needed a quiet day for such mundane tasks as the repairing and cleaning of their kit. A number of the men had injuries, mostly not serious, but this was their first chance to get some proper rest. Also he knew the horses would benefit enormously from a day’s break.

 

   He went around the men now speaking to each in turn; some received the welcome news that they would soon be heading home, others that they still had a long patrol to face. He dealt with the thanks and the complaints equally, but all accepted his decisions. The Dúnedain were long used to unrewarded labour and they knew their captain pushed himself harder than anyone.

 

   Before he joined the men gathering around the fire, Aragorn sought out his guest, who, he noticed, had not yet emerged. Picking up the weapons, he walked over to the shelter and stood for a moment in the doorway watching as the old man rolled up his pack. He was somewhat embarrassed at not having known who he was; it had become apparent that everyone else on the patrol was well acquainted with him. It was, therefore, a rather nervous chieftain that wished the wizard a good morning. He could tell the old man was still irritated with him, though he hoped the restored weapons might placate him a little; he had no wish to get off on the wrong foot with him. Gandalf was, after all, not only a friend of his adar, but also a wise and respected ally of the Dunedain. Aragorn would welcome his counsel.

 

   As the wizard offered his forgiveness, Aragorn’s relief was almost tangible and the warmth of the old man’s smile encouraged him enormously. Aragorn led the way to the fire and to breakfast which was a very meagre affair as supplies were fast running out. He motioned to Gandalf to sit a little apart from the others so they could talk privately.

 

   “It seems Gandalf that all my men have the advantage on me where you are concerned,” said Aragorn. “They all know you well. I hope I too shall soon have that privilege.”

 

 

   “As do I, as do I,” replied Gandalf, chewing slowly. The bread was quite tasteless and the dried meat unrecognizable. In his pack he still had succulent supplies brought from Rivendell which, he thought somewhat resignedly, he really should offer to these men for their next meal.

 

   “You said you wished to speak with me?” asked Aragorn, hugely curious as to why the wizard had come here.

 

  “Yes, now let me see, there were two things of importance,” said Gandalf. “First, I am eager for news of the Dúnedain. I have been away in the South for a long time and have heard very little for many years. I expect you can tell me what passes in Eriador as well as anyone.”

 

   Aragorn opened his mouth to reply but the wizard continued.

 

   “However, I imagine that may be a very long conversation, so perhaps we could discuss my second reason first.” Aragorn just nodded.

 

   “I have come here directly from Imladris.” Gandalf noticed how the young man stiffened. “Master Elrond is a very dear friend of mine and we had much to discuss, but he had one piece of news which interested me more than any other. It is in truth the main reason I have ridden all this way. I came here hoping to meet you, young man. Does that surprise you?”

 

   “Yes and no,” said Aragorn when he had had a moment to consider the question. “If you have been to Rivendell, then it is perhaps no surprise that Master Elrond has spoken to you about me, but I am surprised and not a little concerned that you should need to find me with such haste. Is all well there; my family….?”

 

   “No, no! Do not concern yourself. I did not mean to alarm you; your family is well. Both your mother and Elrond send you their love. No, the haste was all down to my own curiosity, I’m afraid, such was my joy at finding that you even existed.”

 

   Aragorn looked at him in surprise.

 

   “I knew Arathorn well,” said Gandalf, lowering his voice. “I both liked and admired him. I was delighted to find that his son lived. You look very like him you know.”

 

   “So I have heard,” said Aragorn. In the five years since he had returned to the Dúnedain, he had lost count of the number of people who had spoken to him of the father he never knew, but he never grew tired of hearing about him. Each story made him a little more real in his mind; was a piece of the picture that to him was Arathorn.

 

   “I did not see him again after your grandfather died,” continued Gandalf, “but over the years we had talked together many times. I hoped I was able to ease his cares now and then. His life, like yours, I suspect, could be a lonely one at times. I have seen many things in my long years, Aragorn. I may not have all the answers, but I am always willing to share such wisdom as I have with those who are not too proud to listen.”

 

   Aragorn, sitting next to this extraordinary, ancient being, had gone very quiet. He realised he was being offered a great gift. Here was one of the Istari prepared to listen to his concerns and give him the benefit of his vast experience and wisdom. And yes, if he admitted it, his life could be lonely, even when surrounded by his men. They were all loyal to him, some of them he called friend, but he was always their Chieftain and that would forever set him apart.

 

  “I do not feel worthy of such an honour,” he said at last. Gandalf looked at him closely. He saw no false modesty; he was beginning to realise the boy always spoke from the heart.

 

   “Do not under estimate yourself,” said Gandalf. “You have achieved much already.” He put down his plate and cup and stood up. “Come, walk with me a little; this old man needs to stretch his legs. You can tell me all about this latest patrol of yours. It sounds as if evil stirs in the North as well as the South. There the state of affairs is perilous and I have much to tell you, but I would rather hear your news first.”

 

   Aragorn followed him out of the camp and up into the hills. There they spent most of the day in conversation, as they walked the gentle slopes of the North Downs. Gandalf found the young man to be everything Elrond said he was. Meeting him lightened his heart no end. He could see that as Aragorn grew and matured he would become a valuable ally. He was most struck by his humility which was strangely at odds with the inner strength that he so obviously possessed. The North was already a stronger place under his influence.

 

   Aragorn, for his part, was hesitant at first. Secrecy had become such a way of life for him that talking to anyone was difficult. However, this strange old man made him feel safe, even as Elrond did, and once he started to speak, he found the trickle of words soon became a torrent. Gandalf offered gentle encouragement when he faltered and listened without judgement.

 

   But it was what Gandalf had to say to him that affected Aragorn most that day. As Gandalf spoke, he began to feel the weight of his destiny growing upon him. He began to see that being Chieftain of the Dúnedain was only a part of what it meant to be Isildur’s Heir. He had never given much thought to the lands beyond those that concerned his leadership, but he realised now he could ignore the wider world no longer. Somehow he knew that a new phase was about to begin in his life and that this meeting would prove to be a watershed. The prospect both frightened and excited him.

 

~oo0oo~

 

   The next day the Rangers broke camp to go their separate ways, some east to the Angle, the rest south to the Shire. Gandalf was going south with Aragorn who, he discovered, had never actually met a hobbit. This Gandalf decided he would rectify at the earliest opportunity. He felt he should at least know something of the little people that he guarded so diligently. It would be the first step in introducing him to the other races of Middle-earth of whom, Gandalf thought, Aragorn’s knowledge was definitely lacking.

 

   The day dawned bright and fair, and an hour after first light the Rangers were ready to leave. Farewells were said to kinsmen who would not be seen again for several months, and then two groups of horseman departed from the derelict village.

 

   As they rode out of the camp, Gandalf could not help but smile to himself at the prospect of Aragorn’s first encounter with the Shirefolk. He thought perhaps it was time to see if this earnest young man had a sense of humour and, as he turned to speak to Aragorn, there was a glint in his eye.

 

   “There really are one or two things I should warn you about before we reach the Shire,” he said in his most authoritative voice. “Now, concerning hobbits….”