Disclaimer: I do not own Tolkien, or any of his works. All recognizable characters and locals are used with the greatest of respect, and returned with no great harm done.
Winter's Chill
It was cold, that sort of biting cold that settles before a winter tempest. It was that sort of cold that freezes the breath in your lungs, making it hard to do anything other than try to breathe. Billy Rushlight, the gatekeeper for West-gate, huddled miserably in his gatehouse. Luck of the draw brought him here tonight. The man who was supposed to take this watch, old Tom Brambledown, had caught a bad cough. He and the other three gatekeepers had set up a lottery to decide who had to take Tom's shifts until the grouchy old gatekeeper regained his health… something Billy was beginning to believe would not happen until spring. After all, who would willingly go back to a job like this? Tom was old enough to retire; he had been for quite some time now. Billy suspected that the only reason Tom kept showing up for work was he liked interrogating strangers who came up the Greenway. Anyway, he had won the lottery… or lost it, depending on how one looks at it.
Billy shivered as a gust of freezing air blows through the small shack, rattling the windows in their panes. Every summer the gatekeepers got together and insulated the gatehouses against the coming winter chill, but every year the wind found new holes in the walls. As he shivered, he tried to warm his hands over a pitiful flame in a tiny hearth. He had forgotten to check the woodpile this morning, and had been shocked to find it nearly empty when he started his shift this evening. The only good thing about tonight was he was not likely to get any visitors, so there would be no need to actually go outside in cold night air.
Several hours later, the flame has burned itself down to bare embers, which glowed faintly in the blackened hearth. Billy snored sonorously from under the pile of blankets he had found in the footlocker under the window. The remains of the fire snapped and crackled, and the roaring of the wind outside, which had grown stronger as the storm descended, drowned Billy's snoring. He slept the sleep of the innocent… or at least he did, until thunderous knocking on the gate outside woke him from his sound slumber.
"What, who, I didn't do it!" he shouted, startled awake. Then realization of his surroundings caught up with his bewildered brain. Someone was traveling in this weather? He looked out his window blearily. In the light from a nearby house, he can see swirling fat flakes of snow, coating everything in a unbroken blanket of white. What a horrible night to be traveling. His thoughts are broken as the pounding on the gate resumed.
"Curse it, I'm coming, I'm coming!" he called as he reluctantly shifted out of his pile of blankets and tugged on his boots. Whoever was out there must be mad, to be on the road tonight. Perhaps he should leave them out there – there were enough crazies within Bree already. Duty is duty, however, so he stamped his feet a bit to warm them up and shuffled over to the door, wrapping his cloak around him as he walked. He shoved the door to his gatehouse open with some difficulty. Already the swirling snow had built up a formidable snow bank against the stout wooden door. The pounding on the gate continued unabated. It now sounded like two people are hitting the wooden planks with all of their strength. The impatience of some people…
Muttering and stamping he charged out into the cold and wrapped already numbed fingers around the small cover for the eyehole that was cut in the gate. For a few desperate moments, he thought he would not be able to open the latch his fingers are so cold. After a bit of snarled curses and fumbling he slid the door open and peered out into the night. The world outside looked dark and empty, and for a moment, Billy wondered if the whole thing wasn't some cold-inspired auditory hallucination.
"Who's there?" he shouted haltingly, his teeth chattering from the cold. He half-expected there to be no answer. After all, it was a horrible night for traveling.
"I am called Strider, there are two others with me. Open the gate, we are half frozen." a deep, rough voice called back. Billy tried to get a glimpse of this mysterious trio, but the storm hampered his efforts. He caught sight of a face, and a bit of cloak, but it was too dark, and too little light filtered through the small hole in the gate to make out any details. Strider was a name he recognized – he often saw that particular ranger sitting in the corner of the Prancing Pony, mulling over a pint of ale. Reluctantly he shoved the giant bolts back and hauled the gate open. He still barred the way, using his body to bridge the gap between the open gate and the town wall.
"Whaterya up to, Longshanks? Bringing more of your slinking kind into Bree? You're up to no good, I'd warrant." he drawled, trying to present a brave front to these three wild men. The light from the house illuminated the scene before him. Two of the rangers were supporting a third between them. All three looked road-weary, with snow covering their cloaks and heads and soaking into their clothes. All three wore the customary silver rayed star on their cloaks that he had noted on other rangers he had seen. Their cloaks flapped limply in the wind of the storm, as did their unruly hair. The two rangers on either end looked well enough, simply tired from whatever journey they had undertaken. The third man looked horrible – pale and shivering, he seemed much younger than his two companions did. Billy scrutinized them all carefully and thoroughly. The other hale ranger he recognizes vaguely – Mouse, that ranger Thistlewood's daughter had been going on about every time he saw her. The young man being held up by his fellows he does not recognize at all. Mouse shifted in annoyance, but Strider made no move.
"My business is my own, gatekeeper, and right now it has more to do with warm beds than causing you any trouble." Strider replied evenly, unruffled by Billy's acerbic comment. Billy leaned against the wall, the cold forgotten in this chance to bait these rangers. After all, if they are going to rouse him from his sleep, he should get to have a little fun, right? He thought back to the nights he spent at the inn, talking with other gatekeepers, and tried to remember the taunts the other keepers used on these strange folk.
"What's the matter, Longshanks? The hedgerow not good enough for you tonight? Gonna pretend to be civilized folk?" he taunted through his shivering. While Strider did not react to this comment either, Mouse seemed to have quite enough.
"Can't you see this man is ill and weary? Now move aside, and let us proceed!" he cried furiously. It looked as though the ranger might fly at Billy, but was restrained both by his need to support his friend, and by Strider's hand on his arm. Billy drew back anyway at the threat evident in Mouse's eyes.
"How do I know you're not tryin' to fool me? He could be just fine!" Billy retorted, regaining his courage when he saw that Strider was not going to allow his more fiery-tempered companion to harm him. Then, as if to prove Billy wrong, the young ranger convulsed in a series of deep rasping coughs. His companions left off trying to get past Billy and concentrated on the lad, trying to ease his breathing.
"Deep breaths, gwador, relax…" Mouse soothed quietly, his large hand rubbing the younger ranger's back. Strider knelt in the snow before the pair, fishing a water skin out from under his cloak and forcing the young man to drink in between bouts of coughing.
Billy watched in stunned silence. Maybe the lad really was sick. He looked young, too young to be out of doors on a night like this. Slowly the younger ranger stopped coughing and his companions pulled him up to an upright position. The light caught the boy's eyes – they looked glassy and feverish. Still… rangers were crafty folk. He had to be careful.
"Don't you have any other place you could take him? We don't want your disease in this town." he groused, shifting uneasily. "Why don't you go disappear to whatever hole you usually go to?" his peevish complaint finally set Strider off. Making sure Mouse had a firm grasp on their weakened companion; he stepped closer to Billy, seeming to tower over the gatekeeper suddenly. In his normally docile grey eyes flickered a fire that made Billy cower in fear. The sudden chill that overtook Billy had absolutely nothing to do with the storm. The ranger suddenly seemed lordly, though Billy's stunned mind refused to accept that notion. A lordly ranger – that could never happen! Rangers were vagabonds, wild and shiftless men who wandered, up to no good and contributing nothing to their fellow man. That fact was hard to remember now that Strider was glaring at him with a rage that made Billy's heart quail.
"This man is ill, and needs to get out of this storm. You will let us by, understand?" he growled. Suddenly Billy realized just how well armed Strider and his companions were, and swallowed heavily. Perhaps baiting them was not the best idea. He nodded, backing away from the gate. There was something about the way Strider was carrying himself, perhaps it was the fire in his eyes… whatever it was, there was no way he would be able to deny the ranger's command. Strider threw his weight against the gate, shoving it wide open to allow his companions access. Billy cannot find it within himself to protest, and watches dumbly as Mouse led the staggering ranger into Bree. Mouse muttered something to the youngster, something in a language unfamiliar to Billy's ears, but sweet and lyrical all the same. Billy was about to ask what it was the ranger said, but then Mouse turned to give the gatekeeper a furious glare, and Billy decided that he should not push his luck. He would ask later, when the rangers were in a more affable mood. Strider came around to slip an arm under the weakened ranger's free shoulder, and the trio shuffled off into the darkness without another word, heading towards the warmth of the inn.