Ranger of the North

[Mirimaran]

Hi all,

Most of my writing is on online RPGs that have nothing to do with Rangering, but here is a little snippet that I had written for fun. Enjoy! And yes, the Mirimaran of whom this concerns (a distant relative, I am sure) was a bit of a dingle!

Ranger of the North

There was a time in my youth when I could not be taught a thing that I
had not already mastered, a time when the words of my elders fell upon
deaf ears, and when the wisdom of old tales was heeded not. This was
the fiery spring of my life, when I had walked among the Dunedain as a
man for a full season, when the memory of my first orc kill was still
fresh enough in my mind to make my blood run hot, it fueled the drive
I felt every time I hefted bow and spear and stepped from our secret
fastness to wander the Empty Lands of the World. I remember the arrow
shot, ill cast from the bow yet it drove the steel barb home, slaying
the orc that threatened the world of men. Since that time, my sword
had tasted their blood, and my spear sang in the air as it found it's
prey, and my arrows were whispers of death. I had secured a name
among the Dunedain, besting my friends, who still waited at camp, not
yet finished with training. But I was eager then, eager to kill,
impatient and impetuous, waving off calmer words from the older men of
the troop, like a dog eager for the hunt, I fought the collar of our kind.

It became known to us, the small band of fellows known to men and
hobbit as Rangers, that to the north, passed Mount Gram, where the
shadows lie at Carn Dum, unwholeness was awakening. Arador, the oldest
of the troop, spoke no kind words of that land, which in it's day was
the destruction of our kingdom. Brave adventurers had taken the dark
road to that land and came back with tales of walking shadows and
whispering wood, where no good thing would venture even after the fall
of Angmar. Yet they spoke, in huddled voices over pints in Bree,
before the inn fires of the Pony, that something had returned to it's
place in darkness, something that bode no good will to the Dunedain,
and to the West.

We huddled in our Ranger circle, camped not far from Weathertop. Our
patrol was originally to be to the Coldfells and then turn south,
stopping in Rivendell before returning to the Angle. Now, with the
words of an old dwarf ringing in our ears, we paused for thought.

Arador spoke first, as he was our Captain in the Wild.

"The old dwarf, Baldor, speaks of things that cannot be true unless
one had seen it for themselves. We cannot ignore his words, even if
they were drown in ale."

We nodded, knowing that as much as a dwarf loved his mead, he loved
the truth also, and whatever he said, from boasts of wealth to words
of warning, was true.

"We should return home", came the words of Dirhen, just two years my
senior, always cautious. He earned that trait from losing an ear to a
wicked Orc scimitar.

"Home", came the consensus of the others.

"We can gather others, set out for the North in strength", argued
Meridor, a man with two infant daughters back in the Angle, "and our
Chieftain, perhaps he has returned from his wanders in the East. At
least we can send for the Brothers in Rivendell first."

"Bah!", I said, standing in counsel, "are we not Dunedain? Are we not
Rangers?"

The others stared at me over the flames of our small campfire. Above
me the moon peered from behind a silver curtain, and the stars
twinkled in cold night.

"I lay our swords, wielded by Men of the West would be more than
sufficient than any threat that dare stream from ancient holes! What
are the words of a dwarf merchant, blessed be his long beard! that men
such as us, cannot defend their own lands?"

I looked around at haggard faces, acutely aware of their own greying
beards, while mine had just beun to stubble.

"And what is the counsel of our young pup, so eager to meet his doom?"

Arador's words had stiffened my spine.

"We go forth in our mission, past the Coldfells, skirt Mount Gram, and
then find out for ourselves what beckons at Carn Dum!"

"Ha! Well spoken by the whelp", quipped someone, "so bold, these young
ones!

"Boldness is the attribute of the young", I spat, "as caution is the
luxury of old men."

Arador was up from his seat in a flash, his rough hands wrapped in my
cloak's collar, the silver star of our office twisting into my neck.

"Speak not so boldly, whelp! Would that you would listen to your
betters, and those whose battles number in the hundreds and not the
few you hold so high! For we Men of the West, those of us who had
fought and died to keep the Lands free, we know of what we speak! What
do you know of the North? What know you of the Lord of that land?
Nothing. You are like the hobbits, satisfied when fed, except you eat
the words that praise you."

He let go of me, my cheeks flamed at the shameful words of the man I
called Captain.

I opened my mouth to speak but snapped it shut as his finger stabbed
at my eye.

"Mirimaran", he called me in the old tongue, by my troop name, "you
are young, and brash, and reckless. But you are Dunedan, and a good
fighter." His tone lessened a bit, and his hand fell to my shoulder.

"One day, your name will be sung in songs of our people, you have
greatness in you, but you must learn when to fight your battles, and
to lead men. We have not the resources to battle that which rises in
Angmar. Heed the words of your elders, and when we return home, you
shall sit in the Great Council with me. Now, as we 'old men'", he
looked around, making a joke of my words. The others chuckled,
thankful their Captain had made their decision.

"We old men", he continued, "must have our rest. Old bones ache in the
cold. You take the watch until the moon sets."

I nodded stiffly, my eyes stinging. Then I scooped up my gear, glanced
back, as the others returned to their conversations of old hunts and
whispered words, and headed into the night.

Headed North.

[kaelln]

More! I want more! You have a gift, my friend! What happens next?!!

[Mirimaran]

Um, alot of stuff happened....and um.....

dang ok will try to work on something LOL thanks though!

[Ernildir]

Very good!

[kaelln]

Ya know... If you changed the names from Tolkien specific names, you have the beginning of a quite interesting and *publishable* yarn here. Hmmm...

[Chris Russo]

Ah, but I'd hate to see the names changed--the fact that this is Arador speaking (and that they're going past the Coldfells) implies that this is just before the mission where Arador was killed by trolls... Knowing this kinda makes his decision to head north (perhaps influenced after all by the "young whelp's" bravado?) all the more poignant.

Excellent as always!

[Eric C]

Ken, it's a dream of mine to get published one day. Friend, you should go for it. I think you could do it.

[Mirimaran]

Thanks for the kind words! Writing is a heart-breaking business, to be sure. I guess I will have to be more hard-skinned getting rejection notices. I do alot of RPG writing on Yahoo, and we have a writer who finally got her stuff published, but I think it' almost in the self-publishing mode. She does alot of book signings though. It's just hard to write anything really original anymore, that's why I don't read much fiction, especially fantasy fiction. It's far too easy to start spinning out a tale and then find yourself reading a watered down version of Harry Potter LOL

Chris, yep I think when I wrote that there was an outline for something like you said, which plays a bit with fan-fiction and self indulgence I will have to revisit the scene and see what pops out!

Ken

[Elegost]

Great work, I really enjoyed that! You certainly do have a gift!

-Regards

[Taurthir]

Grand! The point is its in us to keep Tolkiens story going, through us his legacy carries on. I would mind it if somebody who wrote in a similar way and was a good storyteller to carry on his work.

In the end we are all rangers and we all primarily exist in the third age so his most classic tale is the cornerstone here.

[Cimrandir]

Excellent! Very good writing, I enjoyed that alot!

[Mirimaran]

Thank you! I must get back to this tale soon!

[Mirimaran]

The moonlight was my only guide as I moved as quietly as I could over the short grass of the northern hills. I ran, in the way of the Ranger, pausing only to look back at the distant fire of my companions that now faded into the distance. Even in my disobedience I found an excitement growing in me. The long patrols, the ceaseless watch over towns where our names were whispered in disdain, all of it was like a collar around my neck, like a chain holding me back. Now, I was running in the night, alone, heading North towards the wasted land of our most ancient enemy, Angmar, and I could not have loved it more.

The early Spring wind was cold, but fresh, and my mind was alert and racing. The feel of the spear in my hand, my slung bow, the bounce of my meager bedroll and provisions on my back as I sped through the grasslands made my heart sing, and in the faint light I must have looked like something out of legend. In those days the pride of my ancient blood, that of Numenor and my honored ancestor Ciryatúr, helmsman of Elendil himself, flowed through me and to find myself humbled before my Elders drove me like a ship before the storm.

I ran for hours, it seemed, before I finally stopped and found myself far from any familiar landmark. I was in a sea of grass and low turf, exposed to any enemy who might come upon me. Slowly the zeal of my adventure melted away, and the Ranger that I was cursed the impulsive boy that he was burdened with. I leaned on my spear as I looked to the sky for answers. The stars looked down on me in their cold settings and I could imagine laughter, at me and my folly, but then the laughter seemed closer, carried on the wind. I instantly dropped to the ground, my cloak and hood drawn close. Had I been seen? I did not know, but I crawled silently towards the noise, and in a small dip of the earth I spied a campfire, and a squat figure bellowing before it:

"Once there was a great fast hare
who always escaped noose and snare
but one day the hunter he'd thought to dare
the arrow drawn and brought to bear!

The arrow whined and missed the mark
the hare danced and on a lark
ran round the hunter and with a bark
jumped in a hole round and dark!

The hunter grew angry and smoked the hole
and the fire took its toll
as that hunter flushed hare and mole
and awoke a sleeping troll!

The troll was hungry but not for hare
the flesh of man he longed to tear
his knobby club he brought to bear
and the hunter knew his evil stare!

The hunter and hare now the same
as he now was the running game
and on the hare he laid the blame
when the troll's fell blow came!

The hare hung his head low
as the hunter was taken in tow
by the troll took him down below
his fate none would ever know.

Then came the greatest dare
of that wily and brave little hare
for the hunter's fate he'd share
if he could not get them both out of there!"

I drew closer, my hand gripping the spear, and I rose like a shadow behind him. Suddenly a wide boot kicked the fire into exploding embers, and the figure spun on me, a great axe swinging!

I jumped back, my spear at the ready as the heavy head of the axe parried it away.

"Now!', came a brash voice, and I was struck from behind, and knew no more...

[Greg]

Lesson learned...Hunt Rabbits with hawks, no bows!

Great writing, Ken. I was wondering about this tale just the other day, actually! Glad to see it continue!

[Jon]

I also think you should publish some of your work. All the stories you've written are excellent really enjoyable works! You should seriously consider getting them published