Disclaimer: I do not own Tokien, or any of his works. All recognizable characters and locals are used with greatest respect, and returned without great harm done.
An Encounter with Rangers
The sky was a pale blue at that early hour of the morning, with just a few wispy clouds marring the great expanse. Mary Thistlewood, the eldest daughter of old Tom Thistlewood the dairyman, trudged down the road through town, headed toward the family pastures just outside the city walls. A wooden yoke with two empty buckets attached, one at each end, hangs over her shoulders. Today it was her job to milk the family's small herd. She was not put out by this task, as it gave her a chance to stretch her legs and take advantage of the unseasonably warm weather Bree-land had been having these last few weeks. The local farmers, who at first had been pleased about the extra time they had to harvest their crops, now grumbled about the lack of rain, predicting poor crops for next year. Mary did not mind too much, since her older brothers had packed the hay barn full this year, so the cows were in little danger of starving. This nice October weather was a pleasant alternative to the usual driving rain that moved in during the late fall and winter months.
As she passed the West Gate, she nodded to the gatekeeper who stood watching people come and go. He nodded back, his face calmly inscrutable as always. She did not pause to chat, as she had to finish her chore as soon as possible so her father could send the milk 'round to their customers. She had to resist the urge to begin skipping as she slipped past the massive gate. Glorying in the warm sunshine, she looped sun-browned arms over the ends of her yoke. From here, she could just see the riot of color that was the Chetwood, which contrasted with the browning fields all around. As she walked along the causeway, she had to be careful of her balance, and was almost tipped into the dike by an erratically driven cart. As the cart passed, she scowled at the young lad holding the reins. It was one of Bob Heathertoes' boys, being as irresponsible as ever. She sighed and shook her head. Some things never change. Like her mother's parting comment as she started on her journey – "Be careful on the Road, Mary, and don't talk to any of those rangers!"
As if she would. Rangers were dangerous. Everyone knew that. However… she paused in her thoughts, a thrill of guilty pleasure shivering up her spine. Those rangers were rather mysterious, and handsome as well, if one looked past all of the muck and filth. Not that she would ever talk to them, despite the illicit attraction. It was rumored that the rangers would kidnap innocent young lasses for their own pleasure. There were even tales of rangers eating unsuspecting villagers. However, only the most foolish believed these wild stories. The rangers were just rangers. One did not make friends with them, but they did no harm either. What they did out in the wild was their own business, though Mary could not see why they wandered instead of settling down like honest folk. They were obviously well educated, for they could be counted on for a good tale if they were in the right mood. The best Billy, the lad in town who fancied her, could do was the drink-inspired limerick he had serenaded her with the other night. She frowned in an attempt to remember the exact words… something about eyes as brown as old leather, and a fondness for cows. Perhaps it is a good thing that she does not fancy Billy in return. As if she would be flattered after being compared to a boot! As Mary carefully avoided turning a heel on the rutted road, she realized she had wandered away from her original topic of musing. Before she could attempt to reconcile the rare glimpses of lore with the image the rangers projected, the lowing of her father's cows interrupted her thoughts. The sturdy brown and white beasts were standing at the gate, their heads hung over the wooden railings as they waited impatiently for milking.
"Ho there Buttercup, get away now Daisy, let me in." she cajoled the large animals, and more convincingly poked each until they cleared enough space for her to squeeze through the gate. With the cows urging her along, she hurried to the small lean-to nearby, setting down her buckets and grabbing the halter from it's hook on the wall. Daisy butted forward first, loudly expressing her dissatisfaction with the lateness of the milking and with life in general. Daisy was the oldest of her family's cows, and was the first her father had raised from a calf. Because of her father's doting attention, Daisy had become a very bossy, and very large, cow. Thus, it was always a good idea to cater to Daisy's moods. Quickly she tied Daisy to the holding rail and set up her stool. As the milk squirted out into the timeworn bucket, she became lost in her musings again.
There's no accounting for East and West, said the town elders whenever they got together for a good talk. The east and west, of course, meant the Shire-folk and the rangers. Mary giggled at the thought of dangerous Shire-folk roaming the wilds like the rangers. The only thing the Little People seemed a danger to was the local mushroom population. Idly she wondered what it was the rangers actually did out in the wild. Did they just wander about until they ran out of food, then meandered back into town again, looking as disreputable as ever? If that was so, why did they need to be so heavily armed? The last ranger she had seen had been wearing a great sword, one that looked almost as long as her leg, and nearly as wide. What could a body need with such a big weapon? There had not been any trouble around here since the Fell Winter of 2911, and that had been long before she was born. Perhaps they wore those swords to chop wood. But then, wouldn't a simple axe be easier to carry, and easier to use? Before she can think up other uses for such awkwardly long swords, Daisy interrupted her, swatting her face with a long tail. Mary started, and realized that she had been so lost in her thoughts that she had stopped milking.
"Sorry old girl." Mary muttered to the temperamental cow, and began work once more. As she worked, she quickly lost interest in milking, and looked out over the surrounding countryside for something to amuse her while she worked. Suddenly, she gasped and pulled a little closer to Daisy. There was a ranger coming towards Bree! Surreptitiously she peeked around Daisy's broad hindquarters to spy on the mysterious figure. This ranger she did not recognize, but that did not mean much. The only ranger she knew by sight was one of the younger ones, and that was because she had accidentally spilt an entire bucket of milk all over him a few years back. She blushed fiercely in remembrance. She had only been ten at the time, and had been over-eager to help her father with the chores. That day, she had been too busy trying to keep the milk from sloshing in the bucket to look where she was going, and thus had tripped. Because of that adventure, she had hid inside the house for days afterward; convinced the rangers were going to come after her. Of course, they never did, but she still hid whenever she saw that particular ranger. This one coming towards her was older and more weathered, like an old oak tree. He carried another one of those huge swords the rangers were so fond of, as well as a quiver and bow. His clothing was like any other rangers – dark and rough, with only a silver star pinning his cloak for ornamentation.
Mary sighed in relief. As the ranger drew nearer, he showed little interest in her or her family's field. Perhaps he had not seen her. He strode along with a determined air, as if he was late for something. Where could a ranger need to get in such a hurry? They were just wanderers, after all. He seemed to take little interest in the fine weather, or in the little birds singing their last songs before migrating away for the winter. This confused Mary. What could he possibly do, wandering about in the wild, if he did not have an appreciation of his surroundings? To wander just for the sake of wandering sounded terribly dull to her. The ranger walked past her little hut, and she rose from her stool to get a better look at him as he continued up the road. At this point, unnoticed by Mary, Daisy had lost all patience with her incompetent milker. Bellowing in rage, the cow lashed out at the preoccupied girl, catching her in the chest with one heavy cloven hoof. Mary yelped, and before she could get her balance back fell, knocking her head on the hard ground with a crack. Bright stars flashed before her eyes, and then the world went dark.
"Honestly Ara… Strider, I did nothing! I did not even know she was there, until the cow kicked her." A deep voice protested, cutting through the darkness. There was a low chuckle in return.
"Did not know she was there? That was not very observant of you, Mouse." A second voice replied sounding very amused.
"I wish you would refrain from using that name." The first voice replied grumpily. "Why they persist in calling me that, I will never know. Why couldn't they have given me a more dignified nickname?"
"Dignified? Do you think Strider is dignified?" The second retorted dryly. Mary winced as a hand gently ran along the back of her head. "Ah, she awakes. Can you hear me, miss? Open your eyes, and tell Mouse here that he can stop fretting." The first voice muttered something about how he was not fretting and to stop calling him Mouse, but Mary paid it no mind, instead concentrating on opening her eyes.
The sight that greeted her shocked her so thoroughly she nearly fainted again. There, crouched on either side of her, were two rangers. Neither looked particularly threatening, other than the obvious weaponry they wore and their habitually grim expressions, but Mary felt cowed nonetheless. She could just see Daisy contentedly grazing if she looked over the shoulder of the ranger on her right, and the rest of the herd was scattered around the field. The ranger on her left spoke, and Mary realized this ranger was the second voice.
"How do you feel, miss? That was quite a tumble you took, at least it was if Mouse was telling the truth." He asked, looking concerned. The ranger on her other side, whom she supposed was Mouse, gave the other a vicious glare.
"Strider, would you please stop that? Call me any other name besides that." He growled, disdain in his voice. Mary felt the strong desire to sink into the earth and disappear, anything to get away from the grumpy ranger.
"Your other names are less flattering. Besides, I feel the need to gain some compensation for your late return. You were supposed to be here last night, not this morning." The other, whom Mary supposed was Strider, replied. He did not seem put out by Mouse's protests. Mary decided to break in to the conversation, before the rangers turned violent.
"I'm fine sir. Really." She replied, and was irritated when her voice came out as a squeak. Now they would think she was afraid of them. She was afraid, but she did not want them to know about it. What will happen if the stories were true? What if they did kidnap young girls, and took them off into the Wild for their own amusement? She heartily wished the rangers would just go away, and she could pretend this never happened. Much to her dismay, the rangers did not miraculously disappear.
"Why don't you try sitting up first, just to be sure." Strider suggested. Mary did not reply, not trusting her voice not to squeak again. Instead, she nodded, and struggled to sit up. Both rangers reached out to help her, and to her credit, she managed not to flinch away at their touch. The rangers did not seem to notice her hesitation, or if they did, were too polite to make mention of it. Inside, Mary was panicking. Were they making sure she could survive a journey out into the Wild? Were they going to hurt her? No one would hear her if she started screaming, not this far from Bree. She would be gone before anyone would notice, and no one would know where to find her. They would probably think she had run off to one of the surrounding towns. By the time anyone realized she was well and truly gone, it would be too late. Why hadn't she taken up her brother's offer to do the milking chores this morning?
She successfully sat up, and Strider gently turned her head so she was looking into his eyes. She gulped, suddenly realizing just how bright and keen his eyes were. Was he trying to hypnotize her into obeying him? What would happen if he succeeded? She would never get away! Before her panic could escalate too far, Strider nodded in satisfaction and released her.
"You will be fine, miss. Just be careful around the cows, you hear?" he teased, and rose. "Come Mouse, we have much to do, and the day is wasting away." Strider gave Mary a short and oddly courtly bow, and then Mouse repeated the gesture. Before Mary could think up a suitable reply, both were striding away. They hopped the fence, agile as a pair of deer, and headed down the road, away from Bree. Mary watched them dazedly, more than a little bewildered. Slowly, her confusion melted away and she began to grin. Just wait until the other girls in town heard about this! Thinking up ways to tell her story to its best advantage, she finished milking the cows quickly, then headed back toward Bree, eager to tell how she bravely survived an encounter with two of the dangerous rangers.