Title: Loyalty of the Dunedain
Summary: A character study story set in Bree years before the War of the Ring. The innkeeper's daughter and a Ranger--it was never meant to be a match made for the Valar, but neither were they. [OC/OC]
Category: Drama/Romance
Author's Notes: I started this story many moons ago. As in, 6-7 years ago. I've always been fascinated by the Breelands, and thought a story set years before the War of the Ring could be an interesting way to explore that. And to try and create characters true to the stories, the environments and human nature. When I recently decided to get back into the habit of writing, this unfinished story called to me. It's the story of two original characters, with appearances from canon characters, but I hope that's not enough to dissuade you from giving it a try. Set somewhere between book and movie verse.
Reviews are good, constructive criticisms are better. No, really. I'm happy to discuss any part of this story; worried about the timeline? Let me know. Curious about the name choices? It's a topic near to my heart and you'll probably have a tough time shutting me up. Think the story sucks? I'm never going to improve if I can't figure out where I've gone wrong. And yes, teh title sucks.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, just a hobby.
.
.
It was nearing midnight when Gorlim approached the gates of Bree on foot. He rapped the small side door gently, keeping his head bent down out of the rain.
A rustle of cloth came from the other side of the gate, then the sound of the bolt being pulled back and a greeting, "Who knocks at such an hour?"
"I seek the Inn of the Prancing Pony," replied Gorlim, raising his hands to show no weapon. He knew there was a chance his entrance would be refused; he should have arrived that afternoon, but the weather had way-laid him.
The door swung open, and the Ranger slipped through. The hooded figure that was guarding the gate motioned up the main road without a word, and Gorlim set off to find the Prancing Pony. It was a small inn compared to those in the cities to the south, but it had a well-earned reputation; a warm bed, no question, and, for those who indulged, the finest ale in the Breelands.
The dark wet of raindrops showed on the dirt road beneath his feet when lightning illuminated the sky, but he scarcely noticed. It was not so much a Ranger's habit of paying no heed to the elements as a desire to see his duty done. In the relative safety of a walled town, he allowed his thoughts to wander.
The sons of Rangers always imagined the excitement of orc hunts or the apprehension of thieves. So few realized the patience and time it took to make those adrenaline pumping raids or the number of untraceable lies followed for one good lead. It had not been so long ago that he himself realized the excitement imagined was a rarity, the one dream that kept the Rangers doing their thankless tasks. The value of a life was not to be taken for granted, but after years of shoddy treatment the shine had long worn off.
If it were not for the Dunedain, a single band or orcs or wargs would destroy the people of the Breelands. Their system of defence was evadible, and the only weapon Gorlim had heard used by villagers was the rusted excuse for a sword the gatekeeper kept at his post. He had spotted it as he entered. It had not occurred to the gate-watcher to pick it up before allowing entry, and Gorlim could have easily reached it first.
Another bolt of lightning revealed a worn sign beating in time with the wind. A white pony, or what was left of one, was the wood's only ornament.
He entered, shaking the rain from his cloak as a portly gentleman came to greet him.
"Hullo," he said, wiping his hands on his apron. "Be you seeking accommodations?"
"Indeed, my fine gentleman. But first a drink perhaps, to warm chilled bones?"
Gorlim was tempted to sigh with the frustration of having to ask, soaked as he was. But he was stilled by a remembered warning from Halbarad, a man who had been old since time immemorial. "They're fine folks, those Breelanders. But they spook easily. Take it slow; they don't like strange men in cloaks. A threat they can no longer remember."
"Of course. I am the innkeeper, Gearge Butterbur."
Gorlim could not help but note that his name was not asked for in return, and for the first time wondered if there was something deeper to Bree than he had assumed. He followed the innkeeper through an archway into the common room. Even at that late hour it was full of customers. Smoke circled the room, making the air close and heavy amidst the dark wood. Raucous laughter filled it, and in one corner some men were singing a drinking song. It was boisterous and rough, but for the moment there was nothing sinister to the air.
Gorlim took a seat at a table near the door, ensuring his back was to the wall. The innkeeper waved over a girl before leaving to attend another customer's enquiry. She was a tavern maid, no more than twenty. Pleasant to look at, though that might have been the result of her environment more than her features. She smiled in acknowledgement, and Gorlim saw charm behind her tired eyes and weary smile. As she made her way across the room, she expertly avoided hands that were too familiar.
She was only a few tables away when a leering man grabbed her wrist. She jerked away, but the man held firm. Gorlim was out of his seat instantly, and gave the man a smile as he placed an arm around the maid's waist.
"My apologies, sir, but this lady owes me a dance," Gorlim said. His tone was pleasant, but his eyes dared the drunken man to argue. There was no real contest, and Gorlim whisked the girl into a clearing between tables.
"Thank you," she said as they danced. The song ended, and she paused to catch her breath before continuing. "You have not been here before, sir."
There was no question to her voice, as if she knew every customer that had ever been or would be.
"I am afraid I have not had the pleasure."
"Welcome to Bree," she said, a self-deprecating grin flitting across her face. "Ale for the good sir?"
Gorlim nodded, retaking his seat near one of the roaring fires. The tavern maid left, returning quickly with a tankard and another smile.
"Will that be all, sir?" she asked.
Time passed, as it is wont to do. Gorlim found himself ordering round after round of ale. That in itself was not an odd thing, for it had been many nights since a warm fire and cheerful company had been his. As the liquid warmed his veins, Gorlim found himself anticipating the latest smile from the tavern maid as she delivered another tankard to his table. The scowling man who grabbed her wrist had left by the end of their dance, and there seemed to be an air of warning about her person. The other men joked towards her and perhaps let hands wander further then need be, but there was restraint to the passion in their eyes now.
For her part, she did not seem to hold Gorlim's actions in any regard except her initial gratitude. A part of him hoped that the glances she sent across the room were meant to say more than "Another ale, sir?", for if good drinking company had been a long time coming, good company in other arenas had been lacking for even longer. But there was no such indication. He finally decided that retiring for the night would be the wisest course of action, and hailed the girl for the final time.
"Another ale, sir?" she asked, her voice carrying a joke hidden to others.
"I wish to be seen to my room."
"I suppose my father did not see it fit to bring you to your room before allowing you to drink yourself senseless?" she asked, the warm grin softening her words. "No bother."
And before Gorlim had time to respond, the tavern maid had hiked her skirts up to climb atop his table.
"Barliman!" she called out.
There was quiet in the room, until one of the singers mentioned seeing the young boy taking a rest in the storeroom not ten minutes earlier. She could not help but smile before the proper annoyance took its place upon her face. Gorlim wondered if there was anything she would not greet with that gentle, knowing smile.
"I will see which room my brother was meant to bring you to," she apologized, and walked off.
She quickly returned, a key in hand. Gorlim followed her silent summons, making his way down a dimly lit passage. The room was up two flights of stairs, and Gorlim followed the bobbing light from her candle. The girl remained silent for most of their trip, until a small chuckle escaped when Gorlim came close to stumbling.
"Does something amuse you?"
"You do, sir."
Gorlim supposed he should be grateful for the honesty.
"And what is it that you find so amusing? My clothes perhaps? Does something in my visage bring laughter? Perhaps it is my voice, a rather rough one I fear."
"None of that, sir. Though I do admit they would all be worthy of mirth if our roles were not as they are," she turned to him then, and from the light of the candle he could see yet another grin on her face. "It is the mere thought that a Ranger- a Ranger, mind you- comes soaking into the Prancing Pony's common room, dances with a servant, and drinks much more then recommended. 'Tis not a common sight, you can imagine. Usually you folk come a-galloping in on some lovely- if worn- specimen of horse, sit in a dark corner, listen to the local gossip and generally raise suspicions."
Gorlim could not help but laugh himself. When such a summary of Rangers was given, it was difficult to maintain the unfriendly façade. But her words invoked another memory, and he groaned. Alassë.
"What is it sir?"
"My horse. I left him near the front gate, because..." Gorlim hesitated. "Well, because I was unsure of Bree. How well the streets are built for horses, and such. I cannot imagine how I could have forgotten him."
"Well, I fear you've had too much ale to fetch him now. Where did you leave him? I may bring him to the stables, if you do not mind. 'Tis not a night to leave the poor creature to the elements. We're not big on horses here, seeing how we do more trading then ploughing nowadays, but our stables are sound. I can ride, one of the few who do. Not that I'm particularly special, mind you, it is just faster to deliver message to the other villages by horseback then foot. My father does business in Archet and Combe."
She had tripped over the last few sentences, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a breathless rush. She seemed to realise it, and her cheeks flushed in the candlelight. Against his better judgement and breaking his cardinal rule, Gorlim told her where he had left the path and hobbled Alassë. It came as no surprise to him that she smiled wider than before.
"Very well, sir," she said, and then opened the door nearest her. "Your room, sir. There is water in the wash basin, though very likely cold. I can fetch some hot water from the kitchen if you wish."
Gorlim sat on the bed to remove his boots, and shook his head. "I will be going to sleep directly, but your offer is very kind."
The girl ducked her head, "Very well, sir. "
Her hand was on the doorknob when Gorlim burst out, ""His name is Alassë, but he can be anything but."
She gave him a puzzled look and Gorlim remembered that very few humans knew much more than Westron.
"Alassë- it means joy. He can give quite a kick when startled, ma'am. Just make sure he sees you coming."
"There are very few who would recommend differently, Ranger. We are not so unfamiliar with horses as to think otherwise," she replied, giving him a puzzled look. Gorlim cursed his foolish tongue, loosened perhaps by the drink and the sleep creeping upon him.
She left, and Gorlim found himself staring at the closing door. She was a curiosity, that was certain. A tavern maid- the innkeeper's daughter, no less- who could ride, and welcomed a Ranger? It was not a common occurrence, though not necessarily an unwelcome development. So long as she did not ask too many questions. He listened to her footsteps recede down the hall, and was startled as they hurried back. She partly opened the door to the room and poked her head around the wood.
"Your belongings, sir. Do you wish for me to bring them to your room, or shall I leave them with your mount?"
"It would please me greatly for you to do whichever brings you the least strife," Gorlim replied, making a grand gesture of courtesy with his hands. "You have already been more than accommodating."
The small kindness brought a strange glow to her face. "Very well, sir. They will be by your bedside come morn."
She hesitated then, lost in thought. Gorlim thought it was the first time he had seen something other than a smile on her face. She quickly shook it off, setting her jaw resolutely and smiling again.
"If you'll be needing anything else, sir, just ask for Tess."
"And if you be needing more rescuing, you know where to find Gorlim, Ranger of the Wild."
This amused her, and she laughed as she closed the door.
Gorlim laid his head upon the pillow, head swimming with the ale. The tavern maid's name was Tess.