Notes, Warnings etc
When I refer to 'lesser tribes' it is not meant in a derogatory nature i.e. the Rangers do not see themselves as holier-than-thou. I use the term to indicate that they are smaller in number and thus strength (the individual tribes) than the Dúnedain.
Chapter Four - Protect and Serve
When Dídauar, Halbarad and Arahael were less than two miles from the Ranger Stronghold, they were ambushed by a mixture of Orcs and wild-men of the north.
"They had to wait till now!" muttered Halbarad as the three of them drew their weapons, forming a defence triangle.
"Think they've found the camp?" asked Arahael.
"If they did, they would have waited for us there," said Dídauar.
"And you know Orcs to think in such a logical manner?" asked Halbarad, taking a swing at an particularly ugly Orc.
"No. But I would expect the men to be a little more sensible," replied Dídauar as she hurled a knife at the creature that was charging wildly towards them.
"Anyone who consorts, voluntarily, with Orcs has taken leave of their senses," muttered Arahael, lashing out at a man who was charging towards him with a scimitar risen.
"Commander down!" yelled a voice suddenly. Halbarad didn't bother to check who had yelled, but grabbed Dídauar and Arahael by the scruff of their necks and pulled them both to the ground with him. Arrows sailed over their heads, thudding into the bodies of their assailants. Those that were struck fell to the ground almost immediately. After a further five minutes, all the assailants were dead and a young Ranger, who looked to be around eight or nine years younger than Arahael, walked towards them, bow still clutched in one hand.
"Welcome back, my Lady. Commander, Arahael," said the warrior, holding out a hand to Dídauar, pulling her back to her feet.
"What have I told you about that title?" asked Dídauar, shaking a strand of hair out her eyes. Culas simply grinned before turning to Arahael.
"Is it impossible for you to go anywhere without ending up in some form of skirmish?" he asked, folding his arms.
"We were fine in Imladris," said Arahael, re-sheathing his sword. "You must be the jinx."
"Me? I have had peaceful patrols since the time you left," replied Culas pretending to look hurt.
"Then we arrived just in time then," smiled Dídauar. "Wouldn't want you to become bored would we?"
"I didn't say they were uneventful, what I said was that they were peaceful," replied Culas as the group set off, the three that had arrived with Culas scouting ahead. "Where's Strider?"
"Headed towards the Black Land," said Dídauar.
"And you are remaining here!" exclaimed Culas, his eyes widening.
"For the moment," said Dídauar. "Now tell me, how are things at the Stronghold?"
Anyone would think that Halbarad, Dídauar and Arahael had been gone for years as opposed to months. Arahael received the most enthusiastic welcome as he was immediately set upon by his mirror image and drawn into a bear-hug.
"Tarcil I still need to breathe!" gasped Arahael, the force of the collision with his twin knocking the air from his lungs.
"Two weeks you said!" exclaimed Tarcil, releasing Arahael slightly but not completely. "You have been gone six! No word, no sign, nothing."
"What I said was it was a two week scout," replied Arahael, though he was smiling. "I have been enjoying the peace and quiet of Imladris for the last month. Along with Father and Shadow. Honestly Tarcil, you worry too much."
"I am your elder brother, it is my duty to worry over you," retorted Tarcil.
"It can get a little frustrating though," smiled Dídauar. Tarcil turned to her.
"You would be completely lost without Strider marking each of your footsteps," he said, releasing Arahael and approaching Dídauar, drawing her into a hug.
"Be that as it may, it does not mean that it is any less frustrating," replied Dídauar. "Now go and greet your Father. Halbarad, Arahael, take some rest. Culas, you can give me the patrol reports."
"Orcs we can deal with," Dídauar was saying as Halbarad entered the tent. "The lesser tribes could be a more serious problem though."
"How so?" asked Halbarad. Dídauar looked up at her cousin.
"You are supposed to be with your sons," she said. Halbarad shrugged and took a seat.
"And you are supposed to be with your brother," he said. "Now, how do the lesser tribes pose more of a problem than the Orcs?"
"Have you ever heard the phrase the enemy of my enemy is my friend?" asked Dídauar. "The men that live in this land may have several areas of grievances with each other but to a majority of them, we are a point of agreement. Unlike Orcs, who do not use scouts and rarely plan their attacks, the tribes do use scouts, will plan and will cooperate if it means removing us from the picture. Their number is greater than ours should they all join forces."
"But our skill outmatches theirs," said Culas. Dídauar smiled at him. Culas still had a season before he came of age and still displayed the characteristics of youth – the sense of invulnerability, unshakable optimism and the utmost confidence in himself and his ability, bordering on egotistical in some cases. Often they were to his gain but at some point the voice of reality demanded to be heard.
"The skills of the Dúnedain maybe extensive but even we take causalities in battle, especially were the odds are against us," Dídauar said.
"What do you suggest?" asked Halbarad.
"Pull back the additional patrols from the Ettenmoors. The Wolves are continuing South and have not approached our people so are not any immediate threat. Increase our presence West to the Lune, and increase the number around The Shire. While the Ring is heading East, that does not mean that the Enemy will turn his attention away from the Hobbits," ordered Dídauar.
"Yes, my Lady," agreed the two. Dídauar sighed and motioned as if to strangle Halbarad. Culas she could put up with calling her by the title, the appellation usually appearing when Culas was eager to fulfil her requests. Halbarad on the other hand had known her since before she and Aragorn were taken to Imladris as toddlers, had made a point of visiting the Valley every three years while they lived there and had become mentor to the twins once they had re-entered the world of the Dúnedain. Culas at least had the grace to flush once he had realised his slip but Halbarad had no such inclination.
"What?" he asked with a grin. "It is something you are going to have to get used to when you arrive in Gondor, why not start now?" Dídauar scowled at him causing Halbarad to laugh.
Except for what could be described as a skeleton guard, the Stronghold was unmanned for the next few weeks as everyone bar the women, children, injured and the Rangers off rotation for five days, were out on patrol. Twenty extra men had been sent, at a staggered pace, to the River Lune, and a further fourteen had been assigned to patrolling the border of The Shire. Half-a-dozen others had been sent to Bree, the town being a popular resting place for everyone who was headed West along the main road and a good place to catch the latest rumours.
Dídauar herself was involved in the unit that remained closest to the Stronghold much to her chagrin. Halbarad however had put his foot down.
"I promised both your father and your brother that I would take care of you and I will not be seen to have broken my promise," he said.
"Estel has never stopped me going on patrol and Lord Elrond's sons repeatedly join us on excursions, he cannot dictate one set of rules for them and other for me," retorted Dídauar.
"I am not talking about the Elf," said Halbarad. "I am talking about Arathorn. Yes, I have allowed you as far East as Rohan, even Gondor, but the dangers you faced were not as great as they are now!"
"You let Estel travel East," said Dídauar. She knew she sounded like a child sulking because they were denied their way but at the moment that was the least of her concerns.
"That was not my decision," said Halbarad. "You are to stay within a day's march of the Stronghold and that is not open to debate!"
As it happened, Halbarad refusal to allow her to travel far from the Stronghold was probably the best course of action for Dídauar since on the 25th of January (the same day Gandalf was killed in battle with the Balrog) she experienced another vision.
Arahael, Tarcil and Dídauar were sitting around a small fire, eating what could be classed as a hearty meal of boar meat and root vegetables, slices of the recently caught animal stacked next to the fire to dry, when Dídauar cocked her head towards the twins.
"Did you raid the stores of Imladris before we left?" she asked. Arahael raised an eyebrow in confusion, holding up the humble potato he had just skewered on his knife.
"They are from the Stronghold, I swear!" he said. Tarcil was watching Dídauar in concern.
"What is amiss?" he asked.
"I smell apple cinnamon," replied Dídauar, her vision beginning to waver. "Just like Solstice treats." Tarcil eyes widened in horror while Arahael continued to look confused.
"I have neither," he said. Tarcil ignored him while Dídauar didn't even hear as her head lolled back and she slumped to the ground.
Arahael gave a yelp of shock as she fell while Tarcil grabbed a small wine sack from his pack, and moved to Dídauar's side. He raised her head so that it rested in his lap, and gently massaged her temples in a circular motion, all the while murmuring to her.
"It's alright Shadow," he said as Dídauar bucked. "Don't fight it. Just let it wash over you. Calm down, it will be over soon."
After a further five minutes, Dídauar let out a scream of torment that froze Arahael's blood, before falling limp, gasping for breath. Arahael turned terrified eyes to Tarcil who was still massaging Dídauar's temples.
"What was that?" demanded the younger twin.
"The reason why she is here rather than The Shire or Lune," replied Tarcil. "My Lady? Shadow, can you hear me?"
"I hear," whispered Dídauar, sounding completely exhausted.
"What did you see? What did you hear?" asked Tarcil. He knew that Arahael was going to be demanding answers within the foreseeable future but right now, Dídauar was the priority.
"Clash of metal, cries of battle. Blowing of a horn," murmured Dídauar. "Two sons cornered and out numbered. Jewel shattered. Proud, strong horse felled. Two Houses beginning to collapse."
"Where Shadow?" pressed Tarcil.
"Forest. Green Plains. River."
"That could be anywhere between Mordor and the Sea!" muttered Tarcil as Arahael's gaze turned from terror to utter confusion. "Shadow, I'm going to sit you up and I want you to take a mouthful of Miruvor."
Dídauar nodded lethargically and after taking the medicinal drink, rested her head against her younger companion's shoulder as Tarcil turned to Arahael.
"Which patrol is Father on?" he asked.
"He's gone to the Western border of The Shire. But he's due back tomorrow," replied Arahael, still looking confused.
"Good, because we are returning to the Stronghold at first light," stated Tarcil. Arahael blinked at his twin.
"We are?"
"Yes. Shadow is not safe in the Wilds at the moment. This episode is out of sync and was not due for another month at least," replied Tarcil.
"Episode? Not due for another month? Tarcil what is wrong with her?" demanded Arahael.
"Nothing is wrong with her, as such," replied Tarcil. "As for the rest, it is for her to tell not me. Now, I suggest you finish your food then take some rest. We have a day's march of us and I have no idea what state Shadow will be in come the morning."