I'm putting this story on hold until I finish 'Little hobbits, big trouble!'
I am posting this to make amends for all the chapter lateness.
:(
"Why are you boys still here?" Captain Rainor asked suspiciously as he glared hard at Cullastor.
He referred to all of us as the 'boys', even me. I felt it was a step in the right direction.
"Where is Amathron? He should have taken you on your training patrol thirty minutes ago!" The captain growled as he summoned the rest of us over to him.
"Amathron is sick to his stomach." Cullastor said matter-a-factly as he filled his belt with weapons.
"Is he alright?" The Captain said, alarmed, he searched the camp with his eyes as if he expected to see the Ranger sprawled out somewhere on the ground.
"Don't worry. He's in the Healer's tent." Heledhion helpfully supplied as he slung a waterskin over his shoulder.
Rainor looked perplexed.
"I suppose Thorongil will just have to take you then."
Medlithor moaned miserably.
No one was in the mood for a patrol directed by Thorongil.
"Thurin! Esgalnoron! You two! Get over here! I'm leading the patrol!" Da called as he searched the clearing for us.
"Daughter!" He barked as he saw Esgalnoron and I sitting against a tree, both our head's buried in the same book.
"Rangers only read when the world is at peace." He smiled as he plucked the dusty volume from our fingers.
Everything hurt.
My knees hurt, my back hurt, my feet hurt, by hips hurt, my shoulder hurt, my thighs were chafed, my right calf torn by the unrelenting brambles; not to mention the sweat coating my body, dripping down my face.
Just a typical day in the life of a ranger. I was nearly thirteen, and this was the kind of thing I had been doing my whole life, except for a vague memory of a different time. All I could remember was that I had had two older brothers, no mother, and I didn't think I had a father either. But I wasn't sure, for there definitely was someone I had called father, but he didn't seem overly fatherly from what I could remember.
When I had asked the rangers who my family was and why they had left me to them they told me that when I was three I had been left alone in the woods.
When I had asked why they had left me, and if they were still alive they told me they probably left me because they thought it was my best chance of survival, and since they didn't come for me they were probably dead.
The Rangers had taken me in, making me one of them. I had grown up with them, and was the most comfortable in the Ranger lifestyle.
I sunk down against a tree as we decided to make camp for the night. We had been bushwhacking all day, mostly uphill, with only a hurried break for lunch.
My four other companions relaxed as well.
But only for a moment.
"Alright you guys! Thurin and Heledhion. You two clear the ground for sleeping, then go find water." Commanded Thorongil with surprising energy considering the training trek he had just lead that day. "Medlithor, keep watch, Cullastor, go forage for some food, while Esgalnoron-" He was interrupted by a disappointed groan from said Esgalnoron, who had hoped he'd been forgotten. Thorongil never forgot to assign jobs to anyone. Ever.
Thorongil shot him a stern glance.
"And, as I was saying, Esgalnoron, you are to make a fire, a small fire mind you, not like the last one, and see what you can cook up." The experienced Ranger instructed, as he spread his maps against the trunks of trees to form the next plan of action.
I bent over to grab a stick to clear, and winced as my muscle's screamed in pain.
With hard work I had become much stronger, in fact now I could go for hours on end without stopping, but everything still hurt afterwords.
"Thurin!" Esgalnoron motioned for me as we all finished our dinner of a terribly skinny deer.
"What." I sighed grumpily. I tend get grumpy whenever I am discouraged, tired, or in pain; the only person keeping me from becoming grumpier than I already am is Esgalnoron. I have found it incredibly hard to be grumpy when he's around, and even when I do manage it I always feel terribly guilty afterwards, and can't live with myself until I've apologized to him. He always smiles knowingly and forgives me, which is one of the reasons we make such good friends. We both have our weak points: I am easily susceptible to grumpiness, and, though he is a great fighter, lots of blood and disembodied limbs just about do's him in, and not only that, he doesn't even really want to be a fighter(he was shunned by many Rangers for this decision), he says that he wants to become an artist, and paint gigantic murals on those huge white walls in Minas Tirith.
It's pretty lucky that we can both forgive each other so easily, or else we would probably have no best friends at all.
"I was just thinking," he said in a slightly subdued manner, "your bandages are probably all soiled by now."
He was right. As usual.
I growled something inaudible before making my way over towards him.
Cullastor sat inclined gracefully against a tree, lost in the rapturously long battle-cry he was composing, he was always lusting after the fight.
Medlithor was asleep before he hit the pillow, or I should say the root; he could sleep anywhere.
Heledhion was slowly and methodically going through everyone's satchels, making sure we had all packed adequately; he was always worrying about technicalities such as food and water. We usually laughed him off, but, I must admit, his careful thought and preparation has gotten us out of a lot of tight places.
Thorongil was plotting out our course for tomorrow(though it was highly unnecessary, seeing as this was a training expedition only a few miles away from camp).
I sat on a pan next to the dying fire, staring intently at Esgalnoron's hair as he was removing the linen strips wrapped tightly around my legs and ankles, and binding new ones.
Esgalnoron's hair was an interesting thing. It went down past his shoulders and was horribly messy, but the interesting part about it was the color. In the bright light it looked almost golden, in the dark it appeared dark brown, but now, with the firelight dancing on it, it looked one minute light brown, the next dark red, the next muddied gold.
Esgalnoron's hair was a strange thing, and through all the years I had known him, I could never make out what color it actually was.
Some people had all the luck. My hair was always black, unless I tripped over the flour bag. Then I looked hideous.
"There." He sighed with satisfaction, pulling me from my dazed stare.
"Hmm?" I asked as I stretched out my back muscle by muscle.
"Thurin!" Thorongil barked in horror as he fixed me with his death glare. Thorongil was a very loving (but stern) father, yet he was a slightly imposing figure to everyone else.
"What have I told you about sitting on pots and pans? You going to dent them!"
"Sorry Da, I forgot." I hastily apologized as I dusted off the dejected pan and stuffed it into a muddy sack.
"You talked in your sleep last night again." Esgalnoron yawned as I awoke.
"Can't you ever remember your dreams?"
"Nope. I can only remember the ones in which there is no sleep-talking. Out of curiosity, what did I say?"
"Unintelligible."
"As usual."
My dreams where quite enigmatic.
They were usually based off something in the back of my mind, like one day when Thorongil taught me how to make flapjacks I dreamed about making them all night.
These dreams I could always remember when I woke up, more or less.
Sometimes I had dreams to reinforce my conscience, for instance, one night I went to sleep feeling very grumpily towards Esgalnoron, and I had one of those all-too-real dreams in which he died a tragic, bloody death before my eyes; I woke up crying dramatically and went to make sure he was still alive.
I had discovered when I was about eleven that I had an incredibly mild gift of foresight,
well, I don't even know if it could be called that. Just sometimes I had strong, unexplained feeling about things, which I always blatantly ignored, and which always lead to much trouble and broken glass.
I could sometimes feel when something bad was about to happen.
It was weird.
But then there were the dreams that I never remembered, but caused me to sleep talk.
I knew that Esgalnoron did know what I said in my sleep, and it bothered me that he would never tell me, but I had learned long ago to let it go(I'm so sorry about that, now that song will be stuck in my head for eternity as well).
I thrust my dagger into my belt and strode casually out into the center clearing of camp, where I literally ran into The Captain.
"What's the matter?" I asked worriedly, for the look on his face frightened me.
"Disaster! A Ranger from a different company is in the camp!"
I sighed with relief. I had expected something much, much worse.
"We're doomed!" Captain Rainor wailed in despair as he leaned with his face imbedded in a tree trunk. He only assumed this position when he was in serious despair.
I heard Thorongil laughing nervously, as he showed the new fellow into camp.
It was strange, other Rangers visited other camps and companies all the time. On occasion, some elves even traveled with Rangers, but not with my company.
Rainor made some different excuse every time someone asked to come, or invited one of our company to their camp.
Never had their been a new face in camp, not since I had come.
If a different company found out about me, I wasn't sure what would happen, but I didn't want to find out.
I leapt behind said tree trunk just in time, as the new man was escorted into the enter clearing.
My mind screamed not to, but I couldn't help myself; after all, I hadn't glimpsed a new face in at least a decade.
I peeped at him from behind the trunk:
He had grim, set grey eyes; long light brown hair. He was tall, slim, yet muscular.
I was rather disappointed.
Thorongil was right, other Rangers looked exactly the same as we did.
The stranger raised his eyebrows at the rather disturbing sight of Rainor with his face buried in a tree.
"Captain!" Thorongil said loudly, dragging Rainor from his dazed trance of doom.
He handed the man off to The Captain, and, taking the hint, Rainor quickly invited him hunting with himself and some others.
"Esgalnoron!" Thorongil cried, as the two left.
Esgalnoron was on the scene immediately.
"You and Thurin go on a long, all day patrol." Thorongil growled through gritted teeth.
Esgalnoron nodded, he had seen the new Ranger with the Captain and knew all.
I slowly emerged from behind the tree.
"Thurin," Thorongil laid his hands on my shoulders, his tone worried, "I can't lose you now. Don't speak with him, if he speaks with you...think of something." He sighed as he handed us our longbows and pointed us in a direction opposite that of which the hunting party was taking.
I sighed heavily as we started off.
Alright, there it is.
What will happen next? Give me your brilliant ideas! :D
Upon proof-reading this chapter, Esgalnoron informed me that his hair is dirty-blonde. Interesting. Right now it looks like terribly dark dirty-blonde, but that's because it's night watch and he's asleep.
He promised to personally see to any non-reviewing readers.
You know what that means, come on you guys!
Huge thanks to Mirlasse, my faithful reviewer!