'It was Strider that saved us. Yet I was
afraid of him at first. Sam never quite trusted him. I think,
not at any rate until we met Glorfindel.'
Gandalf smiled. `I have heard all about Sam,' he said. 'He has
no more doubts now.'
'I am glad,' said Frodo. 'For I have become very fond of
Strider. Well, fond is not the right word. I mean he is dear to
me; though he is strange, and grim at times.
In fact, he reminds me often of you. I didn't know that
any of the Big People were like that.’
‘Many Meetings’, The Fellowship of the Ring
Glorfindel waited in the dining hall the next morning,
watching the hobbits arrive to share their first breakfast
together in Rivendell. Taking Bilbo’s advice, they had each
brought several cushions with them, which they piled on the chairs
grouped around one of the tables. Frodo made sure Bilbo was
comfortably seated before he and Sam followed Pippin and Merry to
an area of the room already quite familiar to the young
hobbits. A long table groaned under a wide variety of foods,
plentiful enough to accommodate the House’s many guests. The
hobbits brought back to the table large, filled platters, and
settled themselves, glancing about the large room curiously. Elves
came and went, laughing and mingling, while the contingent of
Dwarves kept to themselves, speaking quietly together. Many folk
stopped by the hobbits’ table briefly, to pay their respects to
Frodo and wish him continued good health, before striding out of
the room on business of their own.
When he saw Aragorn enter, Glorfindel caught Frodo’s eye, glad he had spoken privately with the hobbit the previous evening. Frodo glanced at the doorway, then back at Glorfindel. He nodded slightly, then put down his fork and slumped a bit in his seat. Merry and Pippin, speaking animatedly to Bilbo about doings in the Shire since the old hobbit had left, didn’t notice, but Sam glanced worriedly at his master. Frodo shook his head and whispered something, after which Sam busied himself pouring more juice into the crystal goblets set at each place.
Aragorn paused to speak with Erestor, who murmured a few brief words to him and pointed to Glorfindel. Aragorn approached the Elf-lord.
“I understand you have a duty for me of which you have not spoken, my friend,” Aragorn said.
“Estel….”
Aragorn chuckled. “Very few still call me that.”
“Do you mind?”
“Nay,” Aragorn said softly. He met Glorfindel’s gaze. “If I have learned nothing else as Strider, it is that a man needs to acknowledge his own worth independent of how he is regarded – or addressed – by others.”
Glorfindel looked into the clear, grey eyes, and resolve grew ever stronger in his heart. This is the one for whom the kingship has been waiting. The Dark Lord will not have him while I live.
“I am concerned about the hobbits,” Glorfindel continued, his face betraying none of his thoughts. “They are far from home, and there is no one here familiar to them, save Bilbo and Gandalf... and you.”
“And you, as well,” Aragorn reminded him. “What is it they require?”
“A guide for their first few days here... someone who can help them feel at ease amongst us.”
“Glorfindel, anyone can do that,” Aragorn said with a frown. “There is much I need to see to before Frodo and Sam are sent forth on their Quest.”
“It is Frodo who requested this favor,” Glorfindel said gently. “He asked for you particularly.”
Aragorn looked over at the hobbits. Unlike his companions, Frodo sat without speaking, eating nothing. Pippin was pointing to the sideboard and gesturing, but Frodo shook his head.
“He needs to eat,” Aragorn said quietly. “Is he still in pain?”
“I do not know,” Glorfindel said honestly. “He is recovering from an experience the likes of which few will ever comprehend. He trusts you, Estel, and would welcome your company. Will you not spend some time with them?”
Aragorn smiled. “Of course. I should have realized how adrift the small folk would be in Rivendell, at least at first. Their friendship was hard-won, and I honor it.”
Aragorn took his leave of Glorfindel. By the time he approached the hobbits’ table, he had filled a plate with eggs, sausage, and hotcakes, and also a bowl with creamy porridge topped with honey.
“May I join you, my friends?” he asked. A welcoming chorus greeted his request, and Pippin hopped down to the floor, scattering his cushions, to drag a sixth chair over to the table. With a word of thanks, Aragorn sat down, and was soon attempting to eat while answering an endless barrage of questions about the House, its residents, and why Master Elrond had chosen such an out-of-the-way place to live. Aragorn was pleased when Frodo at last began to eat... slowly at first, and then more heartily as the Ranger’s stories caught and held his attention.
“Slow down, Strider,” Merry said after awhile. “You’re eating as much as Pippin, and that’s saying something.”
“Really, Merry,” Pippin said mildly, buttering a third stack of hotcakes. “It’s not as if any of us have been able to eat our fill since Bree.”
Aragorn looked down at his depleted plates, surprised, then he laughed and put down his fork.
“I truly do not usually eat this much at one time,” he said. “It is odd... I feel as if I have not tasted food in a thousand years, and am only now savoring each flavor.”
He didn’t see the alarmed glance Frodo shared with Sam at his words.
“Bilbo told us that the food is marvelous, and he was right,” Merry agreed.
“And of course,” Pippin added, “the Elves have had ever so long to perfect their recipes.”
“The kitchens are wonderfully well equipped, and Master Elrond trades for spices from all over the place,” Bilbo said happily. “I’ve even tried my hand at a bit of baking myself over the years.”
The hobbits fell into a lively conversation about the merits of nutmeg, with which they were familiar, and cinnamon, which was new to them.
“My friends,” Aragorn said when the conversation lagged, “I understand you are interested in a tour of Rivendell, and learning more about the ways of those who live here. I offer myself as companion for a few days, if that will please you.”
He was met by four such joyous, beaming faces that he felt warmed by their welcome.
“That’s splendid, Dúnadan,” Bilbo said. “Frodo lad, I’ll stay here for awhile, then have a brief nap before tackling a tricky bit of poetry. Come by my room later, won’t you?”
“Of course I will,” Frodo assured him. “Bilbo, I’m so happy you’re here, and doing well.”
“Never better, my boy,” Bilbo said, gazing about the room contentedly. “Never better.”
~*~
With their small packs stuffed with food, the hobbits eagerly followed Aragorn along the beautifully landscaped trails that wound through the valley. He pointed out the layout of the many gardens, fountains, groves, and clear, sparkling streams. They visited the kitchens, loom houses, gardens, craft halls, and barns, and Sam was particularly delighted to find Bill being well cared for in the immaculate stable. They ate their luncheon amid one of the orchards where they gathered crisp apples, and enjoyed tea cakes and fresh berries at the base of the nearest of the waterfalls. After many hours, with the Sun growing low in the sky and Frodo showing signs of tiring, they returned to the House. The day had been so enjoyable, the hobbits were loathe to go back indoors just yet for a bath before supper. They sat on the steps with Aragorn, their cheeks and eyes a-glow, talking about all the things they had seen.
None of them noticed Gandalf, who had hidden himself behind an ancient oak where he could observe unseen. He watched Aragorn closely, and wondered if Glorfindel had been mistaken. The Ranger seemed his usual self -- even perhaps a bit more relaxed than usual.
If he is indeed host to an enspelled fragment of consciousness, the wizard pondered, he does not know it. And as the entity has spent the day listening to hobbit chatter, it will be distracted. Perhaps, indeed, it sleeps until it senses that there is information to be gathered for its Master. There will be no better time than this.
Closing his eyes, Gandalf reached out with his thoughts and touched Aragorn’s mind as lightly as a feather wafting to earth... and caught his breath at what he encountered. There was something foreign, a dark maelstrom of energy, woven into every fiber of the Man’s mind. Through Aragorn’s eyes, it watched Frodo rapaciously, pulsing in dark cadence with the Ring’s energy. The entity hovered weightlessly, unfelt and unseen, yet its tendrils penetrated deeply, absorbing and storing thought, memory, and senses.
Our worst fears are realized, Gandalf thought grimly. Although he had made the connection delicately and with great subtlety, just as he began to withdraw he suddenly felt the shrouded presence stir, its focus shifting… to him.
Wizard! So you have discovered me, but what of it? You are not my Master. I am in control here, not you.
To Gandalf’s horror, he sensed the fragment of consciousness narrowing its focus to the host’s internal functions, aligning itself with the impulses flowing easily from mind to body.
Difficult, but not impossible, the entity exulted. Yes, I see how it can be done.... It waited to act for a split second, as Aragorn finished a sentence and exhaled, emptying his lungs of air.
Breath, it ordered. Cease.
Aragorn’s eyes grew wide, and he clutched at his throat.
“Strider?” Pippin cried out, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
Aragorn got to his feet and staggered down the steps, unable to take a breath. As he saw Gandalf running towards him he fell to his knees, blood roaring in his ears. Spots of black began to dance in his vision, and he felt small hands grasping him as Sam and Merry tried to loosen his clothing.
Hot blood pumping. Falter. Yes... again...
Aragorn convulsed as a crushing pain exploded through his chest. As Gandalf reached him, Aragorn’s eyes met his in confusion and fear. But Gandalf saw something behind them, unveiled momentarily for him alone. Something cold and ruthless, arrogant and totally evil.
Your feeble powers mean nothing, wizard. I know the value of this mortal, and you put him at risk. Heed this small lesson. Do not attempt this again.
Aragorn suddenly felt his lungs fill with air, and the pain vanished as quickly as it had come. As he lay gasping for breath, a swirling dizziness took him, the voices of his friends growing dim. Then consciousness fled, and he knew nothing more.
The hobbits clung to one another, wide-eyed and shaken, as Elves came running in response to their cries. They swiftly lifted Aragorn’s limp body and bore him into the House, calling for Elrond to be summoned.
Frodo pulled frantically on Gandalf’s robe, and the wizard took him aside.
“What happened?” Frodo asked urgently. He was trembling. “Will he be all right? Did the... I mean, was that...”
The wizard nodded. “I attempted to perceive whether there was indeed anything sharing Aragorn’s mind. There can now be no doubt.”
“It attacked him because it sensed you?” Frodo was aghast. “Then how are we to help him? What can we do?”
“I believe there is but one course open to us now,” Gandalf said. He knelt, and took Frodo’s hands. “It will require great courage, and could very well be dangerous. I will need your help.”
“Anything,” Frodo said. His voice was now steady, his eyes determined. “Anything, Gandalf.”
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