Ranger Persona Contest Entry

[robinhoodsghost]

Note: the Aragorn (2227- 2327) spoken of in this short story is not Aragorn (T.A.2921-F.A. 120), son of Arathorn, but instead Aragorn, the first of his name.

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I sit under an oak tonight, just west of Bree-Land, the same old oak I’ve sat under many times in the past. I secretly watch a family through their farmhouse window. The mother calls, and two running children, gather for an evening meal.
The father sits at the head of the table and lowers his head in blessing. I cannot hear his words of thanks, but I know there is no mention of me. This family knows nothing of my presence or the protection I provide. They aren’t fully aware of the evil and dark things that lurk just beyond their fences and fields. I, and others like me, patrol the whole of Eriador, keeping the world of men safe, from sword and ax, tooth and claw.
We are called Rangers, and though you cannot tell from our weathered cloaks and travel worn boots, we are the noble descendants of the lost Kingdom of Arnor. The remnant of a elite military force and the former symbol of authority for the old kings. We are a dwindling and scattered people.
There was a time I passed this village weekly, but It has been over two months since my last visit. The farmers children seem to have grown 2 inches.
The eldest reminds me of myself at that age, fidgety and unable to stay quiet.
Now, I can lay in readiness for hours, waiting in the shadows to ambush a ruffian. Now, I can go weeks speaking to no one, but the birds and beasts of the wood.

I am Tordoron son of Toram, born in Angle between Brunen and the Mitheithul rivers. I have seen 85 winters since my name day.

While the family below enjoy what appears to be roasted chicken, I have bit of hard bread, salted meat and dried apples for yet another night. I long for an ale, like the one I had at the Dragon Inn, not 2 nights ago. Water will have to do tonight. It was at that same inn, that I overheard a farmer talking about losing a new calf and another farmer added he had some sheep missing.

I followed the one of the gents and found the wolf tracks straight away. It was early spring. but the winter snows had been harsh and the days cold. I remember my mother Brenn, telling me when I was just a cub that “When the long winter comes, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.” Judging from the prints, this wolf appeared to be a loner. I could relate.

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As I followed the trail, the tracks had been getting closer and closer to homes. The wolf was getting more daring, with each new kill, and as his hunger and blood lust grew. I knew it was only a matter of time.

As morning broke across the horizon, I was awoken under my tree, by the opening of the cabins front door. A little girl, ran with haste in the cold morning air on her way to the outhouse. It was then I caught my first glimpse of the wolf. It moved hunched along the fence line, head down and eyes locked on it’s prey.

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I had my arrow nocked and drawn with the speed that comes only from years of repetition. At dawn, it is so hard to see, even with young eyes….and mine are far from that. I know, I’ll only have one shot…. stance set, string drawn, eyes see, muscles relax, breath exhales, fast motion, shaft in flight, time stands still.

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Thud, I hear it, even from this distance. The wolf tumbles and lies motionless.

As I make my way down the hill, the child makes her way back to the cabin. Walking so close to the fallen animal, but never even noticing.

As I approach the wolf I see it’s labored breathing. My arrow went completely threw the beast. I see that the wolf is covered in old scars. It was more than likely, an Alpha at one time, that was driven from it’s pack. I can relate.

I draw my steel, but hesitate, as one dark lupine eye meets mine. I lay my hand on it’s chest and listen to it cling to life. It’s ribs rising and falling, finally to rise no more.

My mind goes falls to memory. I was with Aragorn when he died, torn apart by wolves. I was with him as he drew his last breath. He was my friend, as well as Chieftain. I was the one who told his son Aravir, and pinned on his cloak, his fathers 6 pointed star.

If only I had been the archer then, that I am now. Aragorn might still be with us.

That seems like another lifetime. I have been away from my people… my pack, for so long.

I carry off the wolf carcass, to the edge of the wood and walk to the next little settlement, the trek is not far, but mostly uphill.

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I stop to rest under a Maple, the same old Maple I’ve sat under many times in the past.




RHG