LOTR-Search for the Truth (title can change)

[Desert Stallion]

It was no quiet, peaceful evening in the eastern part of Bree-land when he came riding through. In fact, the rain and sleet could not have been falling any harder, and he cursed his misfortune. The brown mare was cantering straight into the howling wind, hooves splattering into mud four inches deep, and he clutched at his tall, pointed grey hat. It pulled at his hand and threatened to fly away in the storm.

He was a wizard, and no ordinary wizard; this was Gandalf the Grey, Mithrandir, Enemy of Sauron. However, he was a very wet and irritated Gandalf the Grey, and he wanted nothing more than to get to the Prancing Pony. Grand schemes and world-threatening danger fled his mind; thoughts of a warm tea and a hot pipe had long ago taken their place.

His many layers of grey robes flapping and snapping wetly in the wind, Gandalf urged his steed up the dirt (mud) road towards Bree’s western gate, muttering in nearly every known language. He was soaked to the skin almost, and the rain was coming in sideways, up under his hat and into his face. There’s enough water in my beard to fill a bucket, he thought wryly.

He peered up through the blinding sheet of rain and spotted the faint outline of Bree’s walls. Good, he could taste the tea already. The mare also saw it, and quickened her pace; she knew a dry, warm stall was just ahead. As they squished their way up to the entrance, he caught sight of something strange. A small black crow sat perched in the winter-emptied branches of a tree. It clung to the branch and stared at him intently; its eyes seemed to be searching him, looking for something.

Perhaps I am only a paranoid old man, but no bird in its right mind would be out in weather like this. Gandalf sighed under his breath. If it were a spy of the Enemy, then it would see only a wearied, soggy traveler. Gandalf knew the darkness was gathering around the Shire, slowly but surely, and this creature had the dark look about it. Birds and beasts alike were watching the Shire, he had seen it himself.

Actually, Gandalf had just come from the Shire, from a visit with his friend Frodo Baggins. Not much time at all had passed since the fantastic birthday party and Bilbo’s departure for Rivendell. Gandalf had taken it upon himself to keep an eye on Frodo and Bilbo’s old ring, and with more time, he grew more worried. Where had the ring come from?

Answers-he needed answers, but he was currently at a loss at where to turn for them. And if the hobbit’s ring is as you fear, what then? He shuddered, and not from the cold rain this time. He had spoken to none about this, kept the fear deep in his own counsel. Now though, he needed advice, and Bree held this hope. He needed to talk with the heir of Isildur.

He was jolted from his gloomy thoughts when the mare stopped before the gate and whinnied. The gate squeaked in protest as the gate keeper opened a small window. The familiar hawkish nose poked out; suspicious eyes gleamed in the dim light.

“Who goes there?” the man called to him, raising his lantern higher to see. “Speak up now, sir, and state yer business.”

Gandalf felt a tug of irritation and he sat up straight in his saddle. “Harry, if you don’t let me in at once, I shall blast this gate into oblivion. Enough with your ceaseless probing; I am quite cold and miserable already.” He saw recognition on the man’s face, and Harry disappeared for a minute.

The gate slowly rolled open, and Gandalf spurred the mare up under the small shelter. Harry still held the lantern high, regarding the wizard with faint awe, and appearing perturbed. “If that ain’t just like a wizard, wot blowin’ my door down an’ me getting’ the blame fer it. No, sir, that can’t happen. What’s your dealings in these parts, Gandalf?”

“My dealings are my own, Harry,” he bristled his bushy eyebrows at the gate keeper, and the man stepped back. “They are important enough that no one needs know about them, understood?” Though his tone was sharp, Gandalf truly liked the man. Harry was harmless and innocent, curious as a hobbit.

Harry grinned, showing off a set of crooked teeth. “Well, that’s just like a wizard, too. All secretive and the like. Go on then, an’ keep yer news to yerself.” He waved the wizard in further. “Prancin’ Pony’s open an’ waitin’.”

“You are a good man, Harry,” Gandalf took off at a fast trot down the main street of Bree. The rain here was not so harsh; the buildings cut off the wind, but he wanted somewhere warm and dry. And there it was, The Prancing Pony’s sign. He gave the reins to a stable boy and wearily dismounted, sliding down onto the muddy street. Then he was inside, in sight of a merrily roaring fire.

Butterbur caught sight of him and the plump innkeeper hurried over. “Gandalf! Haven’t seen you here for ages. My, but you look a poor bit of trouble. I can get you some of my best ale,” he offered.

“Just tea, thank you,” Gandalf declined, and waited while Butterbur readied his drink. He took the steaming mug over to a quiet corner and sat down with a soft groan, and a squish of wet robes. I’m too old for this…

“Just tea? Still abstaining, I see.” It took every bit of his concentration not to jump up with a yelp, but Gandalf succeeded. He stately turned to the speaker and nodded his greetings. Aragorn nodded back and sank into another chair. The lanky Ranger was holding a large tankard of ale; he was mud-caked but dry and warm, his dark green hood thrown back.

“Still sneaking about and disrupting the peace of old men, I see,” Gandalf shot back. The leader of the Dunedain grinned and drank deeply from his mug. The wizard humphed and dug in his robes for his pipe. He noticed Halbarad lurking in the back of the inn.

“What brings you here, Gandalf?” Aragorn became serious at last and leaned over the table. “Is there trouble in the Shire? Long have the Dunedain tried to keep its borders safe, but I feel something is stirring, growing.”

“And best discussed in a more private place, but you are right, Strider,” Gandalf purposefully kept from using Aragorn’s real name. Something the Enemy would be interested to hear of, I’m sure. “I have much to explain, and I need your advice, Strider. I desperately need your help.”

The ranger stared at him blankly.

[Qualerei]

Thoughtfully, Aragorn leant back in his seat and took another sip of his beer. He had known Gandalf was coming in the vicinity, and he had wanted to take advantage of the occasion to meet the old man, if man he could call him, yet he had not expected to find the wizard disturbed and worried as he saw him now. He knew for a fact that Gandalf had not come to Bree looking for him, else he wouldn't have been caught off-guard. So why should he need Aragorn's help ? What in the Shire could concern him thus ?

"Then you should finish your tea in peace, old friend", he eventually said quietly. "We can talk in a room later, and Halbarad will make sure no ears other than ours listen to the conversation."

Gandalf humphed, but he did take his cup to his lips, and Aragorn saw him ease up a bit as the warmth of the beverage sweeped through the wizard's body. He looked like a wet old grey cat, the ranger thought very poetically, with his beard still dripping wet, and his pointed hat more crumpled than it usually was. Aragorn himself had been lucky enough to reach Bree before the storm really started, and although he was covered in dirt from numerous days of travel, he was at least dry.

The two men remained silent as they finished their drink, then they headed together to Aragorn's room for a discussion they knew neither of them would like, but that was necessary nonetheless. As they crossed the common room, the ranger discreetly motioned for Halbarad to keep an eye for anything suspicious. He had a feeling that what Gandalf was about to disclose would greatly interest the Enemy's spies, and had no intention whatsoever to give them any opportunity to eavesdrop.

At last, they were in private, and Aragorn sat on the bed as Gandalf approppriated a chair and took his time to light his beloved pipe, before puffing a smoke ring. Never before had the ranger thought he would see his wizard friend be so hesitant while talking to him, and that put him ill-at-ease, although he was careful not to show it.

"So, what news are there ?" he prompted him. Gandalf looked at him from under his shaggy eyebrows, his eyes burning in his wrinkled but noble face.

"I suspect I have made a mistake", he finally sighed.

"A mistake ? You ?" Aragorn couldn't help but smile at the confession. It wasn't often he caught the Grey Pilgrim in such a position.

"Yes, me", Gandalf said with a hint of irritation underlaying his voice. "And please don't look so smug, Strider. It does happen, as unbelievable as it may seem to you."

Aragorn did his best to look impassive, although he bit his lip discreetly to keep from grinning, and he motioned for the old wizard to carry on. The spark of mirth that had spouted for a second from the wizard's eyes soon faded as he resumed his story.

"You already know the story of Isildur and the Ring, and how the object was lost, millenia ago. No need do I have to tell you that many men looked for this thing ever since, and that none of them were successful." Aragorn opened his mouth to answer, but the older man shook his head vehemently. "How foolish of me to assume it had been lost, maybe not forever, but at least for still some time. And even after I started to suspect the truth, I did not react. I fear my inaction might be the cause for a lot of trouble, in the years to come."

"Please, Gandalf", Aragorn said soothingly. "I am not sure I understand exactly what you are talking about, or what troubles you such. What have you learnt about the object ?"

"I think it is here", the wizard whispered, and suddenly he looked much older than ever Aragorn had seen him before. "Here, of all places."

"Here ? The..." the ranger's voice was caught in his throat, and he was unable to finish his sentence. Both men were silent for a while, before Aragorn went on, his voice much lower. "But how ?"

"It is a long story, but I will try to explain, with as many details as are necessary."

And Gandalf told the ranger of the adventure of a Hobbit named Bilbo, and how he had found a magical ring on hiw way to kill a dragon ; and how this ring made invinsible its bearer, although it looked of little value at first sight. He told him of his suspicions, and of the creature Bilbo had taken the ring to, Gollum. But Gollum had disappeared years ago, and was nowhere to be found.

"I fear for Frodo's safety, and for the future of the Shire", the wizard concluded. "But more still do I fear for the future of Middle Earth, should the object be brought back to its maker."

During the tale, Aragorn had remained silent, listening intently, and only when it was obvious Gandalf was done speaking did he answer.

"You have opened your heart to me, and told me of your fears ; yet, if it is any consolation, I don't find it in myself to blame you for this. You couldn't know."

With irritation, Gandalf waved away the ranger's words of comfort.

"What do you advise ?"

Aragorn was thoughtful a moment. "First of all, I will double our watch on the Shire. Should any trouble arise, we will be there to take care of it. However, the most urgent is to go after this... Gollum, find him and question him, and make sure that whatever he knows, he will never tell the Enemy."

"That is not so simple", Gandalf replied with a frown. "Gollum doesn't want to be found ; finding him will be a harsh, if not impossible task."

"Still we must try", the ranger answered, and Gandalf knew he was right.

"We ?" the wizard couldn't help but comment.

"Of course, we. You shall have my help. Isn't it only fair that the Heir of Isildur should labour to repay Isildur's fault ?"

"Don't use that name here", Gandalf warned him. "Even though we are relatively safe, better even is it to not mention it at all", and Aragorn nodded his understanding. "And yes, I will have your help, if you insist on coming."

[Desert Stallion]

The more he thought about it, the more he grew to like the idea. Aragorn’s offer of help was not to be tossed lightly aside. “Yes,” he said again, drawing the word out in a long breath, “I would very much appreciate your help, Strider.” Gandalf sent another smoke ring spiraling up into the room’s dark rafters. “Your tracking skills are unsurpassed by any, and our best chance of finding Gollum lies with you.” Gandalf chuckled. “My skills obviously lie elsewhere.”

They shared a moment of laughter, but all too quickly the gravity of the situation sank back in. Though Gandalf was reassured that Aragorn would be coming along, fear still hovered at the edge of his mind. “I just don’t know,” he admitted after a long pause, in which the rain could be heard drumming on the tin roof. “Every part of me wishes that my fears are ungrounded, that Saruman was right in saying the Ring was lost…But nearly all the other magic rings are accounted for. What else could it be?” he shook his head.

“Then we will simply make certain we find Gollum, before the Enemy does,” Aragorn repeated his advice, sounding so confident, so sure. Gandalf wished he could draw from the man’s phenomenal strength. King indeed… and only a mortal, but his bearing is as great as any elf’s. Aragorn was speaking again. “-will know where he gained possession of this ring.”

“So simple in words,” Gandalf mused and cast a look out the small window, watching the rain splatter against the panes. Dark rain at the start of their adventure- Gandalf knew several beings who would consider it an ill omen. They had no choice though. “It may prove to be our most difficult task yet,” he warned anew. He wanted to make sure Aragorn knew what could be waiting.

Having seen Gollum before, Gandalf suspected that their quarry would lead them into the foulest places, the most treacherous paths, and possibly all for naught. Gollum was very slippery; even the elves had not been able to find him. But Aragorn is different; if anyone can do this, he can.

As if sensing the wizard’s thoughts, the Ranger straightened from his place on the bed, threw his head back, eyes flashing. “We can do no more than we are able, but it may prove enough. When do you wish to depart?” Aragorn asked. “I would advise the soonest time possible, Gandalf.”

“Not tonight,” Gandalf said firmly, and stood up. He walked, rather limped (too much horse riding), over to the fire and knocked his pipe out over the flaming coals. “I want the comfort of at least one dry, warm bed before we abandon civilization. You wouldn’t want to travel with a cold, soaking-wet wizard, Strider, trust me. When wet, we are quicker to wrath than ever.” He missed the small grin on the ranger’s face.

“Then will early morning do?” Aragorn pressed.

Gandalf sighed. “I half suspect you’re actually looking forward to this adventure, or maybe you just enjoy seeing me miserable,” but he winked to show he was not upset. “Early morning it is, then; I’ll go down to speak with Butterbur about a room and a dozen towels.” He could not avoid hearing a low snicker as he left a trail of water in his wake.

And as the Maia bargained with Butterbur for the extra towels, he wondered what he had done to deserve this trip to Middle Earth. If he had known that his days would consist of mud, hours on end of horseback riding, deadly danger, and forgetful innkeepers, he would have requested a stronger body. A young man, at least, or maybe an elf. If this is Manwe’s idea of a joke, then that Vala needs a better sense of humor. It was no joke, he knew, but sometimes he wondered…

oooooooooooo

Halbarad had watched the wizard leave Aragorn’s room and go muttering down the old staircase. The ranger glided silently into his leader’s room. He watched Aragorn rise from the cot and pace back and forth in the small space, then he softly cleared his throat.

“Ah, Halbarad, my brother,” Aragorn instantly turned to him and smiled, but the look was guarded. Something is wrong, Halbarad realized. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning for parts unknown,” Aragorn started to explain. “Gandalf needs help with finding someone.”

Halbarad had long ago grown used to his friend’s tight lips; he knew there was good reason for secrecy. If Aragorn desired it, then he would have it. Every ranger trusted their leader with unshakable faith, and Halbarad was not the least of them. “I see,” he finally replied. “Will you be gone long, sir?”

“I am not certain, but I need you to do something for me, Halbarad,” Aragorn worked at repacking his meager belongings as he talked.

“Anything, my lord,” and Halbarad meant his words.

“The Shire is coming under the scrutiny of the Enemy. Our guard must be doubled.” Aragorn focused his attention now on his second-in-command. “It is extremely important, Halbarad; I cannot stress that enough.”

They locked eyes for a long minute, and Halbarad looked away first. “Yes, I see your point. I’ll depart in the morning to warn the others. Are you,… are you sure you don’t want me along?” He sent a pleading gaze to Aragorn, but the older man shook his head.

“In this case, larger numbers will not help. You can warn the others, Halbarad. That will help us more.” Aragorn showed him a solemn face, an expression which brooked no argument whatsoever. Halbarad lowered his own gaze deferentially.

“As you wish, my lord,” he said as he moved to leave the small guestroom. “And may I say, good luck, and take care, sir.” Please, he whispered in his heart.

[Qualerei]

The next day found Aragorn up before even the sun, and he came down the stairs, silent as a cat, discreet enough not to wake anyone up. He quickly made his way to the stables, shuddering slightly as he felt the moisty and cold breeze of this rainy morning on his skin, and saddled both his and Gandalf's horse, with accustomed ease. He had a way with horses, even though his skills nowhere matched an elf's. Still, being brought up in Elrond's house, he had learnt quite a few things, and knew how to be understood by his mount to a certain extent.

Once done, he let the bridles loose. If he knew Gandalf, the old man would insist on having a consistent breakfast before they left ; in this regard, the wizard was sometimes very much like a hobbit, although when he needed to, he could go a long way with little food. Aragorn himself didn't snap his fingers at some comfort when available, and Gollum had been gone for so long that a few more minutes would hardly make a difference.

When the ranger came back inside the inn, he found his friend seated in front of a steaming cup of tea, with pieces of toast, eggs and sausages. One of Butterbur's boys was now awake, probably thanks to Gandalf, and busy sweeping the room before the first guests, less early than Aragorn and Gandalf, made their way down. The ranger took the chair opposite to the wizard.

"I see you are nearly ready", he said with a hint of mockery in his voice.

"Indeed", Gandalf replied contently. "And you should try the sausages."

With a small smile, the ranger helped himself, and started to eat quickly. He did enjoy the meal, knowing they wouldn't very likely have another like that in the next few months. Gandalf must be suspecting it as well, for he did justice to the eggs. After they were done, they left payment for their rooms, and a few minutes later, they were mounted and began their journey. Soon enough, the small village of Bree was left behind, and being the only travellers that early on the roads, they were alone.

"Now that there isn't anyone to listen to us..." Aragorn glanced around and glared at a bird which was gazing in their direction, before scolding himself. He was getting a bit too paranoid, but then again, after what Gandalf had revealed to him the previous day... "...tell me, where was Gollum last sighted ? I need to know that, for that is where we have to go first."

In spite of his previous statement about them being alone, Aragorn kept his voice low, hardly loud enough for Gandalf to hear without straining his ears.

[Desert Stallion]

“Well,” Gandalf stroked his beard thoughtfully as the two horses trotted side by side down the narrow dirt road. The mud was still fresh and fairly deep, and the going was a little slow. “The last time I, or the elves for that matter, saw him was in Mirkwood, far from the elves’ home, south I think. However, we also know he dwelt in the Misty Mountains. It was there, deep under the earth, that Bilbo met him, paddling about like a cavefish.” Gandalf also kept his voice low, and he watched as the bird lifted into the air. “I do not think he would be near the Lonely Mountain, but…” He raised his bushy eyebrows in a facial shrug.

Aragorn sighed. “In other words, you mean to search the entire Wilderland.” It was not a question, and Gandalf chuckled to see how well the Ranger understood him. He made no effort to hide his smile.

“You did happen to volunteer.”

Another sigh.

Gandalf became serious. “And I will be forever grateful to you. You knew what this journey might entail, and still you came freely.” He studied the man beside him. “Indeed, all that is gold does not glitter.”

Aragorn shifted in his saddle, clearly uncomfortable with the approaching topic. Shaking his head, the wizard let the matter drop and commenced digging in his left saddlebag. Pushing past several loaves of lembas and a lone firecracker (those things were everywhere), he pulled out a roughly-rolled parchment.

“Ah, our guide,” he explained to his puzzled companion. “And our planner. Here,” he released the mare’s reins as he opened it, “is our map of the Wilderland.” The mare plodded beneath, undisturbed at the lack of control. Her rider was rather unpredictable at times, and she knew to follow the road.

Gandalf held out the map between the two steeds. Aragorn leaned in to see better, pondered at the unfamiliar markings. “It is a dwarven map,” Gandalf said, “given to me by Thorin and Company.” He felt sad with that thought, but shook the gloominess away. “As you already knew, Rivendell lies directly in our path; we can restock our supplies on Elrond’s border, then continue on to the Misty Mountains. From there, Mirkwood. Beyond that, The Lonely Mountain, and eventually…Mordor. Let us hope we will not have to travel as far as that.” Aragorn nodded in solemn agreement.

Gandalf tucked the map away and asked, “Should we go from north to south, or south to north?”

“I would counsel south to north. He was sighted last in the south, and there will be less backtracking. Perhaps we will find Gollum before we come to his old lair.” He caught Gandalf’s surprised look. “Yes, I know the White Council drove out the Necromancer, but evil still lurks there. I do not enjoy that place.”

“No one in their right mind would. I hope you brought a sword other than Narsil,” Gandalf grinned. The sky looked like it might be clearing; maybe this adventure would not be so bad.

“I did. This journey does not require a broken sword.” A sly look entered the Ranger’s eyes. “I hope you brought your staff.”

“My staff?” Gandalf huffed and feigned shock. He tapped the gnarled wood at his side. “What do you think this is?”

“All I see is a walking stick, an old man’s prop,” Aragorn laughed and ducked a fast swing of said “prop.” “You move well for an old man,” he teased.

“Old man? Old man!” Gandalf was finding it impossible to get angry. His ancient eyes twinkled as he straightened with dignity in his saddle. “Young man, if you cannot tell the difference between an old man’s walking stick and a wizard’s staff of power, then indeed this world is hopeless.”

Just as he threw up his hands to emphasize his point, the mare jerked to a stop, and Gandalf almost went over her head. The wizard barely saved himself from the fall, and looked ahead. Oh, bother it all…

Up on the road stood a small band of men and horses. They were roughly dressed, dirty, and heavily armed with swords and clubs. On their gaunt faces were unfriendly smiles, and they had just materialized from both sides of the road. Gandalf was certain they were not out for a picnic.

Aragorn stopped beside him and laid a hand on his sword hilt. Gandalf stopped him. “We may yet talk ourselves out of this,” he cautioned.

“If they are ruffians and robbers,” Aragorn seethed, “they will not talk.” Gandalf understood his anger. For years, the Rangers had protected these lands against such rabble, but an occasional band slipped through. At least never to the Shire, Gandalf thought.

He kept his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “Drawing unnecessary attention to ourselves may not be wise.” Aragorn finally nodded, but remained tense as they coaxed their horses forward. Gandalf sighed and gripped his staff tighter. Day one, and already this trip was turning out to be more fun than a barrel of dwarves…

[Qualerei]

Following Gandalf's lead, the two travellers came closer to the small group of ruffians - what else could they be ? Then again, Aragorn didn't voice his thoughts out loud, although he did keep his hand close to the hilt of his sword. Gandalf would be likely to answer something along the lines of "all that is gold doesn't glitter". Yet, Aragorn trusted the wisdom of the old wizard more than almost anything else, so he bit back his anger at the sight of the bandits, kept his sword sheathed, and walked quietly with Gandalf, although he remained ready to strike at the first sign of danger.

To the ranger's surprise, they didn't attack at once, and let them ride closer without a move. When they were a few steps from them, Gandalf stopped and adressed their leader. Well, he was likely to be their leader at any rate, for he had the tallest horse and the finest clothes. He had fair, dirty long hair, and he wore at his side a very large and beautiful sword - one he had stolen, undoubtebly, for he could never had afforded such a weapon, from the looks of him. As far as Aragorn could tell - then again, he himself didn't look really like the Heir of Isildur would, in the mind of most people, so he probably should be more charitable in his assessment of these ruffians.

"Greetings, young man", Gandalf said with a polite nod, and Aragorn couldn't help but feel amused at the grandfatherly tone the wizard had adopted. Seemingly unfazed, the leader of the bandits nodded back courteously.

"Greetings to you, travellers", he replied pleasantly.

There was a silence. Gandalf looked at the bandit, and he looked back at the wizard, and both watched each other. Whatever they saw in one another's eyes, it was getting a bit boring. Aragorn cleared his throat rather loudly.

"Excuse me, but it would seem you are standing in our path", Gandalf commented amiably.

"So we are !" the leader of the ruffians replied, with feigned surprise. "It so happens you are walking on our road, travellers." he looked at Aragorn, amusement gleaming in his eyes when he saw the ranger's hand come closer to the hilt of his sword. "I would advise against any reckless move", he added. "Do I need to point out you are badly outnumbered ? Best to keep your life and comply to our terms."

Curiously enough, the man's voice was cultured and distinguished, something Aragorn wouldn't have expected. Yet, the man's intentions made now little doubt, and it was certain he and Gandalf would have to fight. They neither could nor would let bandits rob them, not to mention they could not delay the search for Gollum any longer.

"See that more like a road fee", the leader added. "We'll take your horses and your purse, and you can keep your clothes. It won't be said that I would have men stripped in such a weather, even though we could use the garments."

Indeed, a cold wind was now blowing, but Aragorn would have little of the man's "generosity". Gandalf seemed to agree, for the wizard heaved a small sigh and raised slightly his staff. Aragorn clutched the hilt of his sword... but before either the ranger or the wizard had time to move, a sound of hooves could be heard, and a dozen men in uniform and mounted on horses came on the road from the forrest where they had been hidden, and quickly surrounded both the ruffians and the two travellers.

"Surrender to the law of the Lord of these lands !" one of the riders shouted ; but the bandits looked very much disinclined to follow this piece of advice.