The last battle, before this story opens,
indeed the only one that had ever been fought within the borders
of the Shire, was beyond living memory:
the Battle of Greenfields, S.R. 1147, in which Bandobras Took
routed an invasion of Orcs.
‘Prologue’, The Fellowship of the Ring
“I do have Took blood, of course, but not quite as much
as Bilbo. My grandmother Mirabella was one of the daughters
of Gerontius Took. He was the grand-nephew of Bandobras, who
led the charge on the goblins here. That was nearly two
hundred fifty years ago. Bandobras was very big for a
hobbit, and maybe I take after him. I’m rather tall for my
age, you know.” Frodo stopped for breath and consulted
Bilbo’s map, which he had brought along in his pack. “That
must be the path,” he pointed.
“Why don’t you ride ahead, Frodo,” Elladan suggested. “We will join you shortly.”
Frodo nodded, and urged Biscuit away from the main road and along a trail that led through a clump of trees.
“Have you heard enough yet about hobbit genealogy?” Aragorn chuckled, riding slowly next to Elladan.
“Not at all,” Elladan smiled. “I have memorized many lines of descent, both Elvish and human; it is good to remember those who are honored by their people. However, I was not aware before now that the hobbits had any encounters with Orcs. That is unsettling.”
“Yes,” Aragorn said grimly. They emerged from the trees into a vast clearing, containing a single, carved stone standing approximately twelve feet high. “Orcs once came as far into the Shire as this place, but were driven back. Hobbits are peace-loving creatures, to be sure, but there is hidden strength in these people that is perhaps not fully known, even to themselves.” He peered at his foster-brother. “You wanted to speak with me out of Frodo’s hearing?”
Elladan looked at him gravely. “Ever since we came in sight of the hills,” he said, motioning north, “I have sensed a growing anxiety within you. Now that Frodo is comfortable talking to us about anything, you are the one growing unusually quiet. Is something amiss?”
Aragorn drew Arthad to a halt, and he and Elladan watched as Frodo dismounted and stood before the stone, a memorial to brave deeds and a legendary figure from his past.
“Those hills mark the limit of Bilbo’s map,” Aragorn remarked. “We will reach the border of the Shire – what the hobbits call ‘the bounds’ – before nightfall. I doubt very much that many hobbits have ever ventured beyond it.”
“What concerns you? The lake is directly north of us; surely you do not fear getting lost?”
“No,” Aragorn said. “What I fear is my own foolhardiness.”
“Speak, my brother,” Elladan said softly.
“Elladan, why am I doing this?” Aragorn burst out suddenly. “What right have I to encourage Frodo to leave the protected borders of his land? In pursuit of a rather vague dream? To fulfill my own curiosity about Elendil, and what he may have left behind in his city?” He frowned. “It is my task to safeguard the Shirefolk, not place them in danger.”
“To what danger do you refer?” Elladan asked, puzzled. “There are no reports of Orcs, wolves, or brigands in this area. The borders are well patrolled, and the weather has been fair.”
“I know,” Aragorn agreed. “It is not any physical danger that unsettles me, but rather the whole idea of this journey. As the hills grew closer, the enormity of what we are doing struck me.”
“Your feelings are understandable, after so many years as a guardian of these folk, but you intend only good toward Frodo and all those in your charge,” Elladan reminded him. “Our young friend will see what lies beyond his uncle’s map, and walk among the ruins of a city long gone. He will bring home a tale of adventure, and forever value this time spent with you.”
“I value it, as well.”
“Be at peace, then.” Elladan said reassuringly. “We will be vigilant, as always, but I do not believe there is reason to fear for Frodo, either physically or emotionally; he is having a wonderful time, as is this endearing pup.” He leaned over to pat Scamp, peacefully napping inside the sling being worn today by Aragorn, and smiled at a sudden memory. “Do you recall your first patrol? You did not know it, but Elrohir and I were uneasy about taking you beyond protected borders – in that case, those of Imladris, the only land you had ever known. But there are those who cannot forever be kept ignorant of the world ‘outside’, and who venture beyond safety, home, and hearth. You were one. Perhaps this remarkable lad is another.”
“Perhaps,” Aragorn agreed. He was taken by the Elf’s rare use of the word remarkable. “Frodo has impressed me since the day we met; you see it, too?”
“It is not a question of seeing, more of sensing possibilities and innate Gifts.”
“You have your father’s foresight.”
Elladan shook his head ruefully. “Not to such a degree as he. But still... this boy’s life path holds great potential. It is simply a fact.”
“Gandalf agrees with you,” Aragorn smiled, “as do I.”
“Come,” Elladan said, riding forward. “Frodo will wonder what is keeping us. Let us pay our respects to Bandobras Took; he, too, was apparently quite a remarkable hobbit.”
~*~
Late that afternoon, the three riders reached a row of widely-spaced posts stretching east and west. The terrain had grown more rocky as the day progressed, and beyond the posts, the well-maintained road on which they had been riding for four days faded into a faint track that led to the hills now looming directly ahead. Seeing the markers which proclaimed the edge of the North Farthing filled Frodo with wonder. They had reached the bounds, and the end of Bilbo’s map. Beyond a sketch of the hills, there was nothing but white space. Before they left, Bilbo had scribbled there only ‘Lake Evendim’ – tantalizing words holding a promise of what lay... outside. Frodo was looking forward to filling in some of the white space on his uncle’s map with his own observations and sketches. He very much doubted that his dream would lead them to anything behind a “secret door”, but this was treasure he could bring home to share with Bilbo – and he had packed paper and pens for that very purpose.
Aragorn led them to a site that had obviously been used before, at the very base of the hills. There was a pile of downed wood stacked by a circle of stones, and from somewhere nearby came the sweet sound of running water.
“Is this a Ranger camp?” Frodo asked.
“It is,” Aragorn said, smiling at the boy’s obvious excitement. They relieved their mounts of the gear they carried, then Aragorn woke Scamp with a gentle touch. The pup poked her head out from the sling, and was lifted down to the ground. She greeted Frodo with yips and jumps, then looked around.
“I will take the horses and Biscuit to the spring, and also ensure that Scamp knows where to find a drink,” Elladan said. He spoke softly to each animal in turn, then began walking in the direction of the running water. To Frodo’s amazement, all four animals simply followed him.
“I really must learn more Elvish,” Frodo said, shaking his head. He helped Aragorn set up camp, and build a fire to roast the rabbits they had caught for supper. As the sun set, Frodo was glad of the fire’s warmth, and that he had followed Aragorn’s advice to bring his cloak; this far north, the evening air held a slight chill.
“I hope my letters arrive soon,” Frodo said, gazing into the flames.
“I know from experience that your Shire Post is most reliable,” Aragorn assured him.
The previous day, they had spotted a Shire Post rider, a lad who was utterly amazed at seeing a Ranger and Elf along the roads of the North Farthing. Anticipating such a meeting, Frodo had already prepared letters for Bilbo and Sam. The rider assured him, with many a smile and tipping of his hat, and pocketing of unexpected coins, that the letters would reach Hobbiton safely and with speed.
Scamp enjoyed her supper of travel biscuits and roasted rabbit, then was ready to play. When Frodo saw her digging into one of his packs, he got to his feet.
“I know what you’re after, you rascal,” Frodo laughed, retrieving Scamp’s pull-toy. He held one end of the knotted-together rope of rags, and Scamp bit down on the other, growling and pulling fiercely. At one point in the game Frodo stumbled, ending up, laughing, in Aragorn’s lap. The Ranger began to lightly tickle the tops of the boy’s sensitive feet, which set Frodo off into uncontrollable giggles.
On the other side of the fire, watching the happy scene, Elladan gasped and sat up straighter as two images were suddenly superimposed upon one another. In the one, Aragorn and Frodo sat laughing together. In the other, he seemed to peer into a future time in which a slightly older-looking Aragorn was playing with what could only be his own children. Elladan felt a chill run through his blood. His foresight, as he had told Aragorn earlier, had never seemed as clear or reliable as his father’s, or even his brother’s. But this vision seemed... so real. There could be no doubt that these beautiful children had both human and Elvish blood. Aragorn and Arwen will marry, then; somehow it will come to be. And this halfling...
“Is he asleep?” Elladan heard Frodo’s voice as if from far away. “I’ve seen him at night, and he doesn’t close his eyes much, does he?”
“I am awake, Frodo,” Elladan smiled, pulling himself back into the present with an effort. It is clear that this halfling’s destiny is woven with that of Aragorn. This is remarkable indeed.
“You’ve both been very patient, listening to me talk about hobbits all day,” Frodo said, settling comfortably against Aragorn. “Could you tell me more about the city by the lake? I can’t wait until tomorrow.”
In his soft voice, Aragorn began a tale of Annúminas, with Elladan adding a detail here and there. The images followed Frodo into sleep, and he dreamed that night of towers and fountains, roads and parklands, and a very tall Man who reminded him of Estel.
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