A remnant of the faithful among the
Dúnedain of Cardolan also held out in Tyrn Gorthad (the
Barrowdowns), or took refuge in the Forest behind.
The Return of the King, Appendix A
“Merry is quite a responsible lad,” Aragorn said, trying to keep the conversation light. Frodo, wrapped in a warm cloak and seated in front of him on Arthad, had not spoken a word since leaving the house. Bilbo sat behind, the old hobbit’s small hands wrapped tightly around the Ranger’s waist.
“He’s a credit to his family,“ Bilbo replied. “He’s as fascinated by Rangers as Frodo, and will not give your friends a moment’s peace until they have told him every tale they know.”
“That will take more than one evening,” Aragorn smiled. “He’ll be fine, Bilbo. Thalguron will let Merry believe he’s ‘watching over’ him and Halbarad. Along with Scamp, of course.”
“I think Scamp is still suspicious of Thalguron,” Bilbo said. “She won’t let him out of her sight.” He sighed, Frodo’s uncharacteristic silence worrying him as much as anything that had occurred that day. “I hope this works.”
“It should,” Aragorn assured him. “The moon is rising, and it has now been several hours since this spell came upon Frodo. If his experience continues to mirror that of Halbarad’s, he will soon sleep, and we can return to the house.” He slowed Arthad. “Here we are.”
If the Hedge held an air of foreboding in sunlight, it now loomed ominously, dark and high, as night fell on Buckland. Aragorn brought Arthad to a halt at the entrance to the tunnel that led under the Hedge, and dismounted. Leaving Frodo where he was, the Ranger lifted Bilbo to the ground.
“Use this,” Bilbo said, handing up a spare pocket handkerchief to Aragorn.
“These certainly come in handy,” Aragorn chuckled, taking the cloth.
“No self-respecting hobbit would be caught without such a useful item,” Bilbo declared. “Even Gandalf was wise enough to bring some with him on our adventure long ago. Kili and Fili swore never again to leave home without at least a dozen!”
“I do not doubt it,” Aragorn smiled. He lifted Frodo down to the ground next to Bilbo, knelt before the two hobbits and bound Frodo’s left wrist to Bilbo’s right. Frodo, his eyes riveted on the tunnel entrance, seemed not to notice. Aragorn took Frodo’s free hand firmly in his own and stood up, then he and Bilbo – with Frodo between them – slowly made their way through the dark tunnel until they reached the iron gate at the end. Aragorn unlocked the gate, and the three companions crossed the moonlit, grassy hollow until they reached the edge of a black, tangled mass of trees – the Old Forest.
Frodo tried to lunge forward, but was prevented from doing so.
“It’s all right, my boy,” Bilbo said soothingly. “I know you feel anxious. Here we go...” He exchanged a worried glance with Aragorn, and stepped forward. The instant they entered the trees, Bilbo felt Frodo relax, and a smile could be seen on the boy’s face. Bilbo heard soft whispers all around them, but felt no sense of danger or menace.
True to his word, Aragorn stopped walking when the small party had come only a short distance into the forest. “That’s enough,” he said. “Any farther, and Thalguron would have to send Scamp to find us.”
He found a patch of ground somewhat clear of the intertwining roots, and sat down.
Before he could do the same, Bilbo felt a shudder go through Frodo’s body. Frodo’s eyes were tightly closed, and he appeared to be listening to something.
“Sit down, little one,” Aragorn urged, and he and Bilbo gently pulled Frodo to the ground between them. The remarkable blue eyes suddenly opened, but Frodo stared straight ahead, silent and still.
“Frodo lad, are you all right?” Bilbo asked anxiously.
“This small one’s mind is unusually open,” Frodo murmured unexpectedly. “Do our thoughts reach you in a way you can understand?”
“What?” Bilbo cried out in alarm. “Frodo, what’s happening to you?”
Aragorn tilted Frodo’s small face up so he could look into the boy’s eyes, which appeared enormous in the moonlight and somewhat unfocused. “Frodo, can you hear me?”
“He is not being harmed,” Frodo murmured again, his voice toneless and without emotion. “We must speak, Man of the West... now, before the forest’s essence that flows within this small one wanes, and his consciousness flees the waking world. We do not have much time.”
“I don’t like this, Estel,” Bilbo fretted. “I hope we’re doing the right thing.”
“So do I,” Aragorn agreed. He held Frodo’s gaze. “What do you want of me?”
“Let him show you.”
Aragorn slowly released Frodo’s hand, and the boy reached into his deepest pocket. He drew out something that glittered in the moonlight.
“What is it?” Bilbo asked curiously, trying to see. “It seems to be a very old...” He frowned. “Is it a pin for a cloak? It bears a star not unlike your own.”
“Indeed, it is an old-style clasp, in a style described in tales passed down among the Rangers of the north,” Aragorn replied in wonder. He took the clasp from Frodo and examined it closely. “This may be made of mithril -- a rare and valuable metal little seen in these days. A pin such as this is...” He frowned. “This is very old, Bilbo.”
“One of your far kindred fell, but not before showing us that the hearts of all Men are not against us,” Frodo said. “There have been many risings of the sun while his bones have rested here, protected in the glade where your companion -- and this small one -- found them.”
“Is this the tale Thalguron told us, about Rangers fighting and dying in the Old Forest?” Bilbo asked.
“It was very long ago,” Aragorn said thoughtfully. “The northern Rangers were nearly exterminated by a pursuing enemy. It is said that of those who found their way into the Old Forest, seeking refuge, few escaped.” He looked down at Frodo. “Tell me of the one who fell here.”
“He fought bravely, but there were many ranged against him. He took a mortal wound, but as he weakened, he grew aware of the life force around him. He perceived that many of us were awake, and watching. Before they left him, the men of black heart began hewing saplings in order to make new shafts for their weapons. With his dying breath, he of your kindred tried to tell them that we felt each axe blow, and begged them to leave us in peace -- but they did not listen. Their blood held little of the ancient lineage. They held no love for that which grows.”
Bilbo had tears trickling down his face. “Such a sad tale,” he murmured.
“How do you know of this?” Aragorn demanded of Frodo. “No trees I saw in that glade were old enough to have witnessed these events.”
“The earth remembers,” Frodo murmured, patting the ground gently. “Our elders taught us, as we will teach saplings yet unsprouted. We remember. But we stand alone.”
“What do you mean?”
“We feel a stirring in the ground... in the air... Men such as those who violated our borders in long years past once again roam the lands, paying fealty to those who would destroy you... would destroy us.” Frodo stirred and gazed up at Aragorn, his eyes deep and fathomless. “Dark times are coming, and we fear what may occur. But how can Men respect what they do not perceive? Who will speak for those who can do little to protect themselves? You are the one who must teach them about us.”
“Why do you say that?” Aragorn asked quietly.
“The blood of the ancient ones runs true in you; you are of the Eldar, in spirit and essence. It is something we know. You are not like others of your kind; the span of your life will be long, and you bear many burdens with patience... as we do. We recognize you. Deep roots are not reached by the frost.”
“They think they’ll need protection,” Bilbo said in wonder. “Trees can’t flee an enemy, and may be felled by fire or axe. They think you can teach people to keep them safe from some darkness they believe to be coming.”
“It may be beyond the power of any man to keep all lands safe,” Aragorn said grimly.
“You must try,” Frodo whispered. “The Shepherds are far away. When the Elves have gone, only mortals will be left. If you do not teach them to know and honor us, who will?”
Aragorn bowed his head and was silent, fingering the ancient clasp. Bilbo was about to say something when the Ranger suddenly got to his feet. He stood tall, and faced away from the hobbits, staring into the depths of the forest before them. Bilbo thought he saw a strange light shining about the Man’s head... or perhaps it was just a flicker of moonlight.
Aragorn placed both hands over his heart. “Hear me, then,” he said, speaking solemnly. Bilbo suddenly realized that the whispers had stopped, and the forest was quiet... listening... Frodo had gone perfectly still.
“I, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Elendil, of the lineage of Elros, son of Eärendil who lights our way... in their name, and in my own, I do so make this pledge. Should I come into my own, and the Shadow be dispelled, respect for all living beings will be taught among Men of every land. I will speak of you, and your kind, and your wishes will be known. I swear it.”
“We hear your pledge, Dúnadan,” Frodo whispered. “We...” The boy shivered slightly and looked around in confusion.
“Frodo?” Bilbo said urgently. “Are you all right?”
“Bilbo,” Frodo said groggily in his own voice, “I’m really... sleepy...” He yawned and leaned against Bilbo, his eyelids fluttering closed.
“Everything’s all right, my lad,” Bilbo said soothingly. “We can go home now. My goodness,” he said, laughing with relief, “I think he’s fast asleep already. At least...” He looked up at Aragorn in concern. “Do you think he’ll be all right, truly?”
Aragorn knelt and touched a finger to the pulse at Frodo’s throat, then smiled at Bilbo and nodded reassuringly. “I don’t believe he has taken any harm, and when he awakens, hopefully his compulsion to return here will be gone. I wonder how much he will remember of this?” he mused, untying the cloth binding together the hobbits’ wrists.
“Halbarad remembered little... only whispers and a feeling of peace. And he said that when he awoke, he felt very sick.” Bilbo sighed unhappily.
“Bilbo,” Aragorn said softly, “Halbarad recovered quickly, even though he was alone and without aid; Frodo will not be alone. We will see him through whatever comes.”
“I know.” Bilbo saw that Aragorn was still clutching the pin. “What will you do with that?” he asked curiously. “Perhaps you should wear it.”
“Frodo found it,” Aragorn replied, slipping the heirloom back into the boy’s pocket. “It is for him to say what shall be done with it. Here, let me take him.” He helped Bilbo wrap Frodo’s cloak about him more securely, then lifted the sleeping boy gently into his arms and stood up.
“I think we can all use a good night’s sleep,” Bilbo sighed, getting to his feet and stretching. “Was it just this morning that Merry found you in the woods? We have had quite an eventful day.”
“Indeed we have,” Aragorn said, still thinking over what the trees had relayed to him. “Come, let us return to Arthad.”
“What of the bones?” Bilbo asked. “Will you come back for them?”
“Perhaps one day,” Aragorn said reverently. “Or perhaps we will leave them in the protection of those who have safeguarded them for so long.” He took a last look around, then turned to go.
“Dúnadan,” Bilbo said quietly as they left the forest behind them, “that is Elvish for ‘Man of the West’.”
“Yes,” Aragorn replied.
Bilbo was struck with a sudden thought. “That horrifying vision you endured when you had the Swamp Malaise – the one you shared with Gandalf and me at Bag End, when you had been so ill...” Bilbo looked up at the Ranger. “You feared that innocent people might come to harm because you had been pursued... and discovered.”
“Your memory is a good one, Bilbo,” Aragorn said. “The Enemy wishes for few things more fervently than knowledge that an heir of Elendil lives still... and where he can be found.” He smiled at the old hobbit. “Gandalf has told me that you keep a great secret, my friend. I fear that I must ask you to keep one more.”
“I understand, Estel. I have lived long, and learned when to speak... and when to remain silent.”
“This is knowledge held in trust by very few,” Aragorn said gravely. They stopped walking for a moment. “The line of the Sea Kings ends with me... unless events unfold that will bring us to a new Age, and a long hoped-for destiny.”
“You honor me with this trust, son of Arathorn,” Bilbo said solemnly. He bowed, then grinned up at the Man. “Deep roots are not reached by the frost, eh? I’ll have to remember that.”
Frodo stirred slightly and snuggled deeper into Aragorn’s arms, and Aragorn looked down at him thoughtfully.
“This is a most unique boy, Bilbo.”
“I know,” Bilbo agreed. “I have always known it.”