Tolkien Vignette: Mathoms

[martasfic]

Title: Mathoms
Summary: One autumn night in Rivendell, Aragorn pays a visit to Bilbo.
Word Count: 679 + Notes
Characters: Aragorn, Bilbo
Timeline: c. 3006 T.A. (1406 S.R.) - five years after Long-expected Party
Rating: General, nothing objectionable
Beta: just_ann_now
Notes: for radbooks, who asked for Aragorn and Bilbo, with the prompt of "stars."

************************************

Bilbo saw a long shadow fall across his rug, and noticed the distinct smell of mannish sweat. So the rumors were true; the Dúnadan had come home out of the wilds at last.

"Boots," the hobbit remarked perfunctorily without so much as looking up. He heard Aragorn sigh heavily, and Bilbo chanced a quick glance at him. The man did seem a little annoyed, but his eyes danced merrily, so Bilbo guessed he was not truly put out.

Aragorn leaned against the door jamb and balanced one foot against his knee. "How did you know it was me?" Aragorn asked as he loosened the laces.

Bilbo laid his lap desk on the table beside his chair. "You stink," he answered honestly.

Aragorn let out a sudden laugh. "Hold nothing back, my friend!" He wiggled the boot past his ankle and set it on the floor, yanked off his sock, and then set his now-shoeless foot on the ground and began to work his other boot off. "Has it ever occurred to you," he asked after a moment, "that you walk around shoeless yourself, so whatever mud and dirt there is to track in ends up on your rug, without any help from us 'Big Folk'? You have no shoes to take off."

Bilbo fixed his friend in a mock-serious expression. "I am an old hobbit, Dúnadan, and my wandering days are long through. I may walk to the kitchen, or to the Halls of Fire, or to Elrond's libraries; and if I feel especially adventurous I may journey to my terrace so I can look at the stars. But you carry mud from all over Eriador on your boots, to say nothing of lands beyond."

Aragorn nodded at that. Taking his boots in his hand, he set them on the hobbit's hearth. He pulled his chair closer to the fire, for the October air was chilled even in a valley as sheltered as Rivendell. He was about to take his seat when Bilbo spoke again. "A moment, Aragorn. You were not here for my birthday last month, and so I set something aside for you." The hobbit nodded over toward the bureau under the window. "The second drawer on the left, there is a red velvet pouch – will you fetch it?"

Aragorn nodded and retrieved the pouch from the drawer. Sitting down at last, he loosened the pouchstrings and turned the bag upside-down so a small wooden carving fell into his hand. A star. He traced its edges with his fingers, then held it up to the firelight so he could see it more clearly. He smiled faintly to himself, as he often did when handling such items, made by folk who sat at peace by fires on winter evenings. Bilbo knew how Aragorn longed for such quiet evenings.

After a moment Aragorn looked over at the hobbit. "It is well made," he said at last, still idly running his thumb over the carving. "But I do not quite understand; why a star?"

Bilbo tapped his forehead meaningfully. "Here in Eriador, you don that silver star so often that, when you take it off, the sun has tanned your whole face save where the star hung on your brow. It marks you, Dúnadan. You must feel only half yourself when the need for secrecy keeps you from wearing it. This star is small enough to keep in a pocket; now you can carry it with you, wherever you go."

The hobbit smiled to himself at the wisdom of his gift, for he heard tales of Aragorn's many journeys, to Lothlórien and Dale, and to distant southern lands as well; he could not always safely proclaim himself as one of the Dúnedain. And, as was true of all hobbits, Bilbo knew the call of home, felt its absence, longed for something more than memory to hold on to when the road swept him far away.

He looked up hopefully at Aragorn. "Tell me, Dúnadan, what news do you bring from the outside world? Have you heard aught of my nephew?"


************************************

Notes:
"I hear all kinds of news, from over the Mountains, and out of the South, but hardly anything from the Shire. I heard about the Ring, of course. Gandalf has been here often. Not that he has told me a great deal, he has become closer than ever these last few years. The Dúnadan has told me more. Fancy that ring of mine causing such a disturbance!" (Bilbo to Frodo, "Many Meetings," The Lord of the Rings; emphasis added.)