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Trotter  by Dreamflower

 

Chapter Twenty-One: Rangering


The journey to Fornost, or Norbury as some called it, was uneventful. For the first time in several years, we stopped at that Ranger waystation where I had first encountered Longshanks and the others. We spent some weeks there, off and on. I mostly remained there with the Poet, and a youngster who was making he first foray as a Ranger. His name was Nethon, and so far that was his only name, although I was sure it would not be long until he had earned a Ranger name-- either bestowed by the people we travelled among, or by his fellow Rangers. He was some months short of coming-of-age. Among the Dúnedain, this was twenty-one, although I had been told that among some other Men, it was as young as eighteen, or even sixteen. I found this rather astonishing, but I had noticed that the children of Men grew up much more quickly than those of hobbits.

We fell into the old routines of repairing any winter damage to the station, hunting, and short forays and patrols to ensure that the area was free of brigands and other predators. But after a month and a half, Longshanks chose Archer, the Poet, Nethon and myself, and we rode North to Fornost. I was most curious, for in the Shire, it was called "Norbury of the Kings" and the legend was that forty hobbit archers had set forth for there to do battle for the King against the Witch-king of the North, and only one had returned. While the legend was usually dismissed as a mere story by most of the Shire, the Tooks knew it was so. A parchment kept with the oldest of the Yellowskin records held the roll of the names of those who had gone.

However, even the Poet did not know of the fate of those hobbits, whether they had fought or how they had perished. "Perhaps you might ask Elladan or Elrohir when next we see them," he had added. "Or other Elves, if ever you meet them."

Fornost was amazing. While it was naught but ruins from long, long ago, it was clear that it had been immense. One day, I traced my way around the outline of the foundation of the central building. I was astonished to realize that one building had been larger than the entire town of Two Rivers! It made the tales of vast cities seem much more real to me.

There was a large stream near the ruins, which was our source for water, and a good place for fishing. Nethon and the Poet enjoyed swimming there, and often tried to coax me into learning. But swimming is just not something hobbits do-- although I've heard rumours that the Brandybucks do. At any rate, it's not for Tooks.

However, the swimming was Nethon's downfall, as he allowed himself to get sunburned, when he went for a swim, and then decided to dry off in the sun before getting dressed. He fell asleep in a partially shaded area, and the result was a patchwork of colour. He peeled badly, and ended up quite freckled in the end. Naturally, on the way home as we passed through Bree, he earned the epithet "Freckles" from the local people. The name stuck. After a good deal of teasing, we took pity on him, however, and continued among ourselves to use his real name.

Over the next few years, we returned twice to Fornost. Arador never did find whatever it was he sought there. The following year, our group went to the South, down as far as a place called Tharbad. We travelled through empty and desolate lands, but near Tharbad there had been a few settlements of villages or small farms, and rumour had come to Argonui of bands of Men called "Dunlendings" attacking the smallholders. We took a larger than usual group of Rangers-- nearly two dozen of us.

The rumours were true-- the Dunlendings had been harrying the people, forcing them to give up their harvests under threat of arms. I was able to scout their numbers: they outnumbered us nearly three to one, so Arador devised a clever plan in which we were able to capture their leader by stealth, and thus win their promise to withdraw. Although they seemed a crude sort of people, their warriors were not without honour, and kept their word.

The following year took us to the Bree-lands, and I seriously considered making a visit to the Shire. But I had a strong feeling that if once I returned, I should never get away again-- and my fellow Rangers needed me.

Someday, I thought. But not quite yet.





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