A/N: Please review if you can and let me know how it is. Many thanks!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings nor any of its characters.

I : The Frozen Marches

Amid the charred remains of the farmhouse, a hooded figure knelt. The smoke had all but died away and it was only due to his keen sense of smell that he found the place at all. What used to be a prosperous farm was now reduced to a pile of burned wood and ash. Some of the horses and cattle had escaped the danger and were now scattered across the ruined fields, picking through the snow to find any form of grass they could chew on. The owners of the farm were not so lucky. Anarath grimly picked through the wreckage, his face hard. Virtually everything was either looted or destroyed. The orcs had been very thorough. He had come too late.

He got back slowly to his feet and surveyed his surroundings. The horses and cattle would have to come with him. He didn't want to leave them for the orcs to find and he knew people who would be extremely grateful for the livestock, especially in the winter when food was scarce. For a moment, he felt a slight twinge of guilt at the fact of stripping the slain family of their livestock before he crushed it again. This was a hard time in an even harsher land. He had to put those who were living first. Night was fast approaching and the snow was already falling hard. Anarath glanced up and saw the ominous sky, heavy with clouds. A storm was brewing. He hesitated, debating his options. He chaffed to be away to the relative safety of his small camp. The burning was less than a day old and who knew what still lurked in the shadows. But he couldn't just leave the bodies out for the wolves. Though the times may be hard, he couldn't let his own humanity slip away as was often the case. They deserved a proper burial at least. And so, with his mind set, he picked up a strewn shovel nearby and set about at his new task.


The North Downs is a perilous place, especially in January during the dead of winter. From the northwest blew in the frozen winds of the Ice Bay of Forochel. From the north and northeast came the icy chills of Angmar, a mixture of cold, snow, and terror. A cold that gripped not only the sinews of mankind but their hearts and souls. And when the days shorten and the sun goes to sleep early, evil things begin to emerge. Fell voices that seem to haunt the air. Black hounds and wargs with bloodshot eyes to whom the weather bothers not at all. Wights and other like creatures from a bygone age when the world was young.

But the most immediate threats were the roaming orc bands. They preyed on isolated farmsteads and solitary travelers, growing ever bolder as winter set in and the resistance of Men crumbled. As Anarath snuggled deeper into his blankets, he thought back to the farm he had encountered earlier that day. The North Downs was a depopulated region of the world. The few settlements that dotted the land were scattered, hidden, and small. Most of its former inhabitants had long migrated south to Bree-land and beyond. The ones who stayed knew there was a high price to pay. The nearest village, or hamlet more accurately, had been six leagues away from the burning. Too often did situations like this occur: families who used isolation as a shield. But even the most improbable chance of stumbling upon them still meant certain destruction should it surface. Anarath gave a heavy sigh and turned fitfully, trying to shake off the gnawing cold. The North Downs consisted of a vast expanse of land, but he was only one man. One young man. He just turned thirty last fall, barely an adult by the standards of his people.

Times like these always instilled a sense of hopelessness in Anarath. But he quenched it as best he could, lest it consume him. Rangers were lonely folk, hunters of the Enemy. The wild was their home and the elements were their companions. And in a forsaken place such as the North Downs, hopelessness was their greatest enemy.

It was not always so. In the days of the North Kingdom, a man could walk down the Greenway end to end without any fear in the world. Those were the golden ages, when Arnor still existed and the Sceptre held by a king. But the years passed and Arnor fell into decline until at last the Witch-King of Angmar delivered the final blow. A thousand years had passed since then. Its monuments had long turned to rubble and only mounds on the grassy hills remained. But hope was ever present. And that's what kept Anarath going. Every day that passed brought them closer to what may come. A Northern Kingdom restored. The Dunedain returned to its former glory. His great chieftain crowned as king. It was so distant but the mere thought of it was enough to battle the gloom.

These were the times when he missed his family the most. His mother and his younger siblings. He had not been able to make it home to the Angle for Yule this year. Not many Rangers had. Evil seemed to lurk in every corner and the Dunedain were stretched thin. It was a difficult year and for a young man, the solitary life of a wanderer had made him grim. How nice would it be if he could light a fire? Eat a warm meal. But in these dire times, Rangers forsook fires at night. They might wake up to unpleasant company. And with that last thought, he fell into a dreamless sleep.


The hamlet, it appeared, had almost disappeared under the heavy snow that had fallen the night before. Anarath looked down onto it from the crest of a hill. He could just barely discern the outlines of the rooftops, all covered in white and gleaming in the morning sun. He slowly began his way down the deep drifts of snow, pulling the bridle of his horse behind him which was in its turn leading the cattle and other horses that Anarath had saved from the destroyed farmstead. As dangerous as the North Downs appeared, it was beautiful in a way. It didn't matter the season. There was something surreal about the land, with its rolling hills and woodlands and ruined strongholds, that had called to him and his time spent wandering the region had generated a deep appreciation for its beauty. If it were a more peaceful and less pressing time, Anarath could see why the northern Kings of old had made this region their capital. The only place that surpassed this was the banks of Lake Evendim far to the west. Or the Weather Hills in autumn.

A cry rang out from the direction of the village and Anarath can only imagine the scramble of activity that was going on inside the makeshift fortifications that the villagers had constructed for themselves. Life in the North Downs was harsh. Strangers were treated with heavy suspicion and it took a lot of time and trust-building before they accepted an outsider. And Anarath was unlike other strangers. He was a Ranger, who were often seen as ruffians or brigands to the local farmers throughout Eriador. But the desperate struggle to survive that defined life in the North Downs had facilitated in breaking down some of those barriers. And while he knew the villagers still eyed him warily, they at least were willing to accept his help and give him much-needed news.

He slowly approached the small wooden gate and pulled his hood off his head, raising his hand as a sign of peace.

"Ranger!"

The wooden gate opened and a young man around his age stepped out towards him. It was Kraft, the village headman's son. Of all the villagers, he was the closest who Anarath could call a friend, for he had long shaken off the usual distrust that most held towards Rangers.

The two men clasped hands and Kraft grinned at him.

"Gods, I glad to see you. The storm yesterday nearly did us in. I was wondering how you would manage out there. But it appears that you Rangers always seem to beat the odds."

Anarath gave a rueful smile, "Yes, it would appear so," but then his face turned grim as he continued, "I was patrolling near the Lancrofts home yesterday. I'm afraid there was an orc band in that area and I came too late."

Kraft's cheerful expression disappeared as he too grimaced at the news. "Ah…I'm sorry to hear that. They were good folk. May they rest in peace." They stood there in silence for a moment before Anarath gestured to the animals.

"I salvaged what I can from the fields. Hopefully you may find some use for them."

Kraft nodded and said with a heavy voice, "Aye, that we can. It appears that with every passing day, the news just won't get better. What is a man to do in such times?"

Anarath clasped him sympathetically on the back. "Good times will come, my friend. Winter always drives men mad." Kraft just sadly shook his head.

With another sigh, he turned to the Ranger and said, "I'm forgetting my manners. Please, come on inside. A large cup of mead would do you good."

Anarath ruefully shook head, "My thanks, but I must get going. There are some other places that I need to check up on and the days are short." The thought of a warm drink next to a fire was sorely tempting, but he was needed elsewhere.

Kraft nodded and said with smile, "Well, you Rangers always liked to be on the move. But before you go, I have something for you." He pulled out a small roll of paper from his pocket and handed it to Anarath. "This was delivered ten days ago by raven. It was addressed to you so I'm guessing it must be one of your Ranger friends."

Anarath took the small roll and thanked his friend. Untying the rope that led all the livestock, they herded the animals past the village gate before he finally took his leave. There were few men like Kraft. They were the kind who saw past common prejudices to really judge a man for himself. And for that he was ever thankful. Anarath made his way back up the hill and tying his horse to a nearby tree, he quickly unrolled the message.

Anarath,

Hope you are well. Bad news has reached me and I'll need your report. If you can make it, please come to the usual place within ten days past the new year. Take care. – H

He reread the message again, thoughts whirling. He wasn't bound to make his report until the end of the month. But something had happened. Something that had prompted Halbarad to move early. It was already the fourth day past and he would need to hurry. The usual place of meeting was in Bree, far to the south of where he was stationed. The heavy snows would only make travel harder. But he was heading west again anyways, so he could stop along the way to continue his tasks before he turned southwards. With a renewed vigor, he stuffed the note into his pocket and rode off.


The Greenway was an ancient road built long ago during the height of the Northern Kingdom. It started from the ruined city of Fornost down south all the way into Dunland, meant to connect Arnor with the southern kingdom of Gondor. Anarath had stopped for the night, setting up camp off the path of the wide road. To his north lied the fields of Fornost and just on the other side was the ruined city of Fornost Erain. Once the chief city of the North Kingdom, it was now a place to be feared. Deadman's Dike it is now known and none even dared to go near it, save the Rangers. After all, this was their ancient home and who else would look after it if not the Dunedain. The hope was ever present: of a time when Fornost would be reclaimed. He didn't come often to the Fields and had only ever been within Fornost once, treading just beyond the Norbury Gates. Though he had seen no one, there was something that lived there. Something that could be felt even where he was now. The mere terror of the place was enough to drive away the hardiest of men. So for the present, he merely watched. Tomorrow, his road would be a bit smoother. The Greenway led straight past the West-gate of Bree but he wouldn't take the road directly. Best to travel a ways from it, lest he be seen. Of course, the comings and goings of a mere Ranger would not interest most folk, but in a world that was getting darker, caution was still needed.


Snow was falling lightly again. Raising his head wearily, Anarath could just make out the gleam of the lampposts through the night that marked Bree's West-gate. His horse plodded wearily beneath him. They had rode hard throughout the day and aside from the small farmsteads that could be seen from afar, they had encountered no one. Pulling his hood off his head, he lifted his face up towards the sky, letting the snow gently land and melt on his face.

He slowly got off his horse and strode up to the wooden gate, knocking on it three times, wondering if he would be able to get into the town smoothly.

"Who goes there?" A rough voice called out as the little window opened. It was old Harry Goatleaf, the West-gate keeper. He saw the lone rider and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What's your business here Ranger?"

Anarath inwardly sighed to himself. He was no stranger to Bree and every time he passed through the village, Harry stopped him with the same old question, though not that he could blame him. It was his duty after all as the night's watchman. But the exhausting day he had had threatened to rouse his normally peaceful temperament, though he quenched it as best he could lest he be denied entry.

"I wish to stay at the inn for the night. No trouble will come from me," he replied as pleasantly as he could, trying to keep himself from shivering in the night cold. Harry's jaw was taut and he stared hard at Anarath for many moments, as if he was in half his mind to just close the window on his face. But Anarath knew he would relent. He always did. Harry was tough. He had to be given his job, but inside, he had a kind heart, much like most of the Bree-landers.

"Oh, alright. Come on in. But you keep your word or you'll be thrown out, you hear?" Harry growled as he opened the gate and stepped aside to let Anarath pass.

"My thanks Harry." He pulled his horse quickly past the gate and into the village, making his way down the cobbled street. He could see the light from the fires in the windows of the nearby houses. Most people had already gone indoors for their evening meal and the road were largely empty. The Bree-landers had no love for the Rangers, but Anarath couldn't help but feel his spirits of being in a familiar place. He made his way towards The Prancing Pony inn. It appeared to have a full house tonight. The stables were mostly full and even outside, he could hear voices and singing and laughter emanating from the building. After making sure his horse was secure in the stables, he went up the steps and pushed the door open.

A blast of warm air and the raucous noise of the people washed over him. "Oi, close the door! Don't let the snow blow in!" Someone yelled out.

"I'm sorry. It's been a busy day. I've been on my feet since I've forgotten when. How may I help-oh," the large form of Barliman Butterbur appeared behind the counter before him, his face freezing as he saw his latest customer.

"Barliman, it's good to see you."

"You. Back again? I'm sorry, but everything's full if you're looking to stay the night," the innkeeper's face grew stern as he tried to shoo away the unwelcome guest.

Anarath inwardly sighed and felt his annoyance slowly begin to rise, until a new voice sounded behind him. "Master Barliman, if it's alright, he can share my room with me." Anarath whirled around to find the grinning face of Halbarad Dunadan.

"Halbarad!" The two men embraced, laughing at their meeting. Barliman just stood there, perhaps in shock of seeing normally grim-faced Rangers this jovial and not sure how to react to the fact that two Rangers were now in his house.

Turning to the bewildered innkeeper, Anarath grinned, "Oh come on Barly, it's only me. I'll stay out of the way and I'll pay the regular price."

Barliman just threw up his hands as if in defeat. "Oh very well. You'll be wanting dinner I suppose? And ale?"

"Pipe-weed too if you can good Master," Halbarad added and then he dropped a few more coins into his hands, "and this is for some privacy if you will."

"Of course, well I'll go get your meals," and with that the innkeeper sauntered off to the calls to serve more beer.

"Come on, I've got a table off to the sides. We can talk there." The two Rangers went off to a more inconspicuous part of the large common room. It was away from the fire but it offered a bit more privacy that the Dunedain sought. Anarath dropped into his seat with a large sigh of contentment. Perhaps it was the warmth of the fire, or that his long journey was over for now, or maybe it was the comforting and uplifting presence of a familiar and friendly face in Halbarad. But something certainly had lifted his spirits as he peeled his wet woolen gloves from his hands and draped his cloak over the back of his chair.

Eyeing him critically, Halbarad remarked, "You look ten times older. No longer the green boy we knew from before."

Anarath merely laughed and accepted the proffered cup Halbarad held out to him. The two friends just sat for a while, catching up and just enjoying a well-earned drink. True to his word, Barliman came with their meals and pipe-weed and then left them alone.

With his stomach fuller than he could remember in a long while, Anarath leaned back on his chair, feeling happier than he had in a long while. How every night could be like this, but he could only wish.

"So, Halbarad. You called me here earlier than I expected. Bad news?"

Halbarad grimaced and his countenance grew dark. "Bad news indeed Anarath. Bad news. The North seems to be teeming with orc activity. The Misty Mountains are in an uproar. Aragorn and I were there last month investigating and had it not been for Elladan and Elrohir, we would not have made it out alive."

With a heavy sigh, he continued on, "Aragorn wanted everyone close at hand. With our kindred dispersed throughout the North, we won't be able to stop anything big if it were to arise."

Anarath nodded slowly. That made sense. Scattered as they were, the Dunedain could keep a large watch over Eriador, they would be too few in numbers to deal with a major problem in one area. He frowned slightly. "So…what's going to happen to me then?"

Halbarad let out a drawn-out puff of smoke before answering, "I knew you'd pick up on it sooner or later. You're being reassigned my friend. There's been in increase in brigand activity throughout this area and I'm also going to need some sharp eyes out here and in the east." Anarath drew his breath. A reassignment. That was certainly unexpected. As hellish as many may find the North Downs, it was his charge. He had come to appreciate the land and its people and he could not willingly abandon them.

Halbarad must have caught his expression because he added gently, "The people up north will not be unprotected. And it's not because of your performance either Anarath. You have done splendidly." He took a quick glance around and, satisfied that none of the diners were even remotely interested in the two strangers, leaned in closer whispering, "Mithrandir has made contact and Aragorn might be away for some time." Anarath's eyes widened at that. The Grey Pilgrim had long been a friend and ally of the Rangers but he had not been around for some time. And the fact that Aragorn was also leaving made him understand the gravity of the current situation.

Anarath nodded once more and took a deep breath. "Alright then. Tell me."


"What do you think Aragorn's expecting?"

The noisy backdrop of the common room had died down somewhat as the night deepened.

With smoke lazily billowing about them, the two Rangers looked out of the window beside their table and into the night.

"I can't be sure. It's just a feeling that we had. Elrond felt it too. This increase in orc and brigand activity…it can't be just a coincidence. That's why we need to be vigilant," Halbarad replied. They sat on in silence, each deep in their own thoughts, before Halbarad eventually got up.

"Well, I must be off. There's something I promised Aragorn I'd investigate."

Anarath jumped up from his seat, "So soon! It's late out. Why not start tomorrow?"

Halbarad chuckled and clasped Anarath on the shoulder. "No. I've been cooped up here for almost three days now. I'm itching to go out. Besides, you can use a room to yourself. You've earned it." He draped the cowl of his cloak over his head and together, the two Rangers made their way to the inn exit.

"I can come with you Halbarad. Or for Elbereth's sake, wait until morning at least."

"No, Anarath you deserve a good night's rest. Besides, there's nothing like a little night riding." He then added gently in face of Anarath's stubborn expression, "I'll be careful. I'll see you in a day or two. It's something I've been wanting to go investigate for a while now. I just had to wait around for you to finally trudge along." He grinned at the younger Ranger and Anarath finally relented. They bade each other farewell and Anarath slowly turned back towards the inn.

The townsfolk were still as rowdy as ever and ale seemed to be flowing aplenty this evening. He thought about going back to his seat but then decided to retire early. He felt the day beginning catch up to him and he was suddenly exhausted. He waited at the counter patiently for Barliman to tell him his room number and glanced about the room before something caught his eye.

A serving girl was trying to make her way through the tables, place a large platter of drinks in her hands. When she stopped to serve the table nearest to where Anarath was standing, she was suddenly grabbed by one of the men sitting there.

"Come on girl. Dance with me!" He was a very large man, bald and red in face. His voice was slurred as he roughly tried to drag the girl with him. She struggled, trying vainly to get free. His companions laughed and called out rowdily.

Anarath glanced around and sighed. Everyone was too preoccupied with their own drinks. He loathed to draw attention to himself but what else could he do? He quietly made his way over to the table and gently rapped the man on the shoulder, who turned around and squinted at him.

"I believe this young lady wish to be left alone." His companions fell silent and Anarath could feel the tension in the air. He placed a hand casually on his sword hilt clasped to his side, not aggressively but ready should it come to violence. The large man appeared to be taken aback. His hold on the girl slowly loosened as he turned to face the stranger who had dared ruin his fun.

"Keep out of my way longshanks. I don't need no Ranger to tell me what to do." He started to turn around once more but suddenly felt an iron grip on his forearm.

"Come now. The night is young. There's no need for trouble. Be merry." The young Ranger's voice was still pleasant. But there was a certain amount of steel that backed it up, along with the glint in his eyes, which made the large man pause. He sized the Ranger in front of him. He was tall and well-built but still had some hints of youthfulness on his face. His features displayed him as a man who felt more comfortable in the woods then in a town inn. Yet, there he stood, quietly challenging him, cool as a cucumber and seemingly unfazed at the fact that he was outnumbered. And suddenly, the large man decided not to push his luck.

"Eh," He grunted out after a long silence. "Didn't want to dance anyways." And with that, the tension in the air broke as he sat back down and loudly called Barliman to serve him more ale. Anarath inwardly sighed with relief. It wouldn't do to cause trouble. He was a Ranger after all and he didn't think the Night's Watch would take it kindly if he started a fight, though he would have done so in an instant should the girl be threatened again. He smiled at girl politely and nodded his head before turning around back to the counter where Barliman was currently brewing ale.

"Master Butterbur, I was wondering if you could show me which room my friend had rented for the night?"

"Half a second, Ranger. Let me finish this up." Barliman slowly filled the cups before laying them out on the counter to be served. Then together, they made their way upstairs to the guest rooms, before the innkeeper stopped at the room at the end of the hallway.

"This is yours Ranger. Would you be liking anything else tonight?"

"Actually, could I ask for a large tub of water and some soap if you will?" Barliman nodded and Anarath gave his thanks before he went into his room.

It was rather small, but comfortable-looking. A small fire had been lit in the fireplace and the curtains were pulled halfway closed. Anarath laid his pack down on the wooden chair and hung up his cloak on the little hook on the door. He unclasped his sword belt and laid it, along with his blow and quiver, against the wall. He had been in the wild for a long time, he realized. How wonderful it would be to sleep in an actual bed tonight, not having to worry about the cold or danger. Anarath surveyed his face in the small looking glass that hung on the wall and grimaced slightly. Beneath the grime and dirt, he realized that Halbarad was right. He did look a bit older. The harsh days in the North Downs had not been kind to him and he knew he needed to shave and bathe.

A gentle knock sounded on his door. He opened it to reveal the same serving girl he had encountered earlier.

"Here's the water and soap you asked for Ranger," she said to him in an uneasy voice, as if unsure of how he would react.

Anarath took the tub she held out to him and let a genuine smile break his features. "Thank you." That seemed to help the girl relax for she smiled hesitantly back before looking down at her hands.

She continued in a small voice, "Thank you Ranger for-well-for earlier." She wouldn't meet his eyes, but Anarath could feel the gratitude in her voice.

He smiled at her fidgeting form, "It was my pleasure. And please, call me Anarath." She finally looked up at him and gave another tiny smile. The light of the fire fell onto her face and Anarath realized to himself that she seemed to be around his age, perhaps younger by Bree-lander standards.

"Anarath," she said softly, "that's bet-," she cut herself up, cheeks turning red in embarrassment as if she almost blurted out something. She saw Anarath's questioning look before remarking, "I've heard some of the names they call you Rangers." And she stopped herself again, unsure how he would take the news. To her surprise, Anarath merely chuckled.

"Yes, most townsfolk react that way. I suppose we do have that rascally look. I'm surprised you haven't run away yet." He grinned good-naturedly, hoping to convey to her that he had taken no offence. That earned him another smile as the girl giggled.

"Well I figured Rangers couldn't be that bad if they saved me," she said in an amused tone of voice. A sudden call was heard from below. The serving girl looked back and then turned to Anarath with a slightly apologetic look.

"I have to go back down."
"Oh, of course. It was nice meeting you, uh" Anarath realized belatedly that he never got around to asking her name and sheepishly scratched the back of his head.

She smiled again at his expression before shyly saying, "I'm Tessa." Then she quickly bade him good night and went downstairs.

Anarath stared after her retreating form before slowly closing the door. He leaned his head against the door and smiled to himself. This had turned out to be an interesting night. He took the tub and set it on the floor near the bed. He unhooked his breastplate from his chest and took off the tunic he wore underneath. Unlacing his worn leather boots and then his rugged woolen pants, he tossed his clothes into a pile and washed his face. His hair was unruly and dirt and mud coated his entire body.

"No wonder they take us as ruffians," he thought amusedly to himself. Setting to the task of cleaning both himself and his clothes, Anarath's thoughts wandered back to the serving maid he had met, Tessa. Perhaps this stay in Bree won't be too bad after all.