Arda - Middle-earth
In the land of Eriador, the former domain of the North Kingdom of Men, there existed a quaint little village called Bree. The settlement was very nearly all that remains of the old Kingdom of Arnor, aside from the Hobbits of the Shire and Brandybuck. Bree had about it a small wooden palisade, barely enough to keep out bandits; let alone the creatures that still roamed these lands that came from the Ettenmoors or the ruins of Angmar. The men there were simple and plain, with their blood kin to those of the Rohirrim and Dale. By the time of the Third Age the village had become a trade post of sorts, as Dwarves from the Blue Mountains or Elves of Lindon often passed by on their way to lands east of Misty Mountains. The men of Bree lived quiet and relatively peaceful lives, their existence played out oblivious to the greater struggles of Middle-earth. One might wonder how such a place might survive among a world full of darkness and danger; the answer lay in part due to the actions of two people sitting quiet inside the Inn of the Prancing Pony.
In the den of drinks, music, and entertainment, two hooded individuals sat waiting. Their adornments were gray in color, cloaks held in place by a single silver broach in the shape of a star. If one looked past the heavy grey cloth one would be able to see battered leather jerkins that covered dirty chainmail, and rough leather boots caked with mud. At the side of one of the figures sat a plain longsword in a brown scabbard of bone, and resting next to the other was a two handed war hammer that sat heavy on the ground. While on the backs of both figures were quivers filled with arrows and longbows of aged oak. To the men of Bree these folk were the mysterious Rangers, unknowable folk who lived in the wilderness and came seldom to settlements like Bree. Around here the names the Bree-landers had given to them were "Smithy" and "Mud", a crack about the one with the war hammer and the other's dirty boots.
However among their own people Smithy was known Idrial, daughter of Valadon, and lady of Cardolan and the Barrow-Downs; with Mud being Halbaron son of Halbarad, heir of Fornost Erain and the county of Arthedain. These two were no ruffians or bandits like many of the Bree-landers suspected, but rather they were the remnant of Arnor and the Numenor. Long had they and their ancestors protected this land after the fall of Fornost and the ruin of the north, fighting against creatures ranging from orcs, goblins, and wargs. Both had seen over twenty winters, and both had been fighting for five, but among their people they were considered yet children. This would not be an unfounded guess for anyone else to make as beneath their hoods and cloaks their faces and were still those of adolescents, not warriors fighting for the last of their lands. This was a part of their blood and their blessing, for as scions of Numenor they were gifted by the Valar with long life and strength of body and mind.
The two had come to Bree with three others of their number, under Halbaron's command, but only Halbaron and Idrial were chosen to meet the man Chieftain Aragorn had commanded them to receive. Their leader had been vague when asked about the man's specific features, only telling them that they would know when he arrived. Other Than that they were told to wait at the inn of the Prancing Pony. So there two rangers waited, with empty mugs and empty thoughts, while their companions did a person they didn't have a description for.
"Barkeep!" Halbaron shouted above the clamour of the men mulling about the tavern, as he set his hands behind his head and leaned back into his chair, "Any strangers come this way recently?"
"Eh? Nay, no newcomers or queer folk about this evening Mud." Barliman Butterbur explained as he cleaned a dirty metal mug with a rag, "It be getting late in the day hereabouts, sun looks about setting, you and Smithy fancy getting rooms your yourselves?"
Sharing a glance with Idrial who simply shrugged, Halbaron deiced that a musty room in the town wasn't quite as stately as the outdoors. However with the grumble of his stomach he decided that the were a few things Barliman could offer them.
"No rooms tonight good man, but bring us some bread and drink if you please. We've not eaten since noon."
"Aye then, you'll have your sup ranger." The burly bartender hollered as he gathered two loaves in one arm and a pitcher of ale in the other.
Stumbling through his sea of customers, Butterbur shoved and pushed his way past an ocean of people to get to the rangers. It turned out to be too much for the old fellow; as he tripped over something was about to let all the beer and bread fall the floor, but before that could happen his descent to the floor was stopped by a firm wooden staff. Not a moment too soon, a stranger had entered the bar dressed in flowing gray robes and a pointed blue hat. The staff which he used to stop the man's fall was a old, made of wood that was twisted and burnt in many places. The man himself was old and twisted it seemed a little, but not overly much; his eyes and skin seemed old and weathered but he still carried a twinkle of them like he was a young man.
"It's you!" Butterbur exclaimed as he gathered the food and drinks he was serving back into his arms,
"Yes," the old man said as he fully enters the establishment "You does in fact mean me. I was told to meet some people here could you point me to them? I have places to be and many others to meet before my time is done."
Looking from their seat still without supper, the two Rangers turned their gaze to the newcomer; with Idrial in particular interested in the character. Slowly she rose out of her seat causing Halbaron to follow her motion and give her a questioning look. She met his gaze for a small moment before elaborating.
"I think he's him." Iridal stated as she pushed her chair in.
"Yes, that is certainly descriptive." Halbaron noted, slightly more concerned with the lack of provisions and malt on hand than her suspicions.
"You can guess the meaning of my words well enough."
"Yes I chanced that meaning, I am just unsure of this man."
"You don't trust my instincts?" Idrial asked,
"No!.It's not that I don't I trust you. It's that-"
"Ahem*" A new and older voice said, "Excuse me, I'm looking for some brave souls to share an adventure."
While the two had been discussing their next course of action, it turned out that the grey robed man was walking towards them. Steady and purposefully he maneuvered past the crowded in the tavern remarkable quietly. So that when he finally actually reached the table the Rangers hadn't noticed him until he cleared his throat. This somewhat shocked the Rangers who prided themselves on stealth and silence, only to be outdone by their own bickering and a gentleman old enough to be their grandfather.
Before anything else though Idrial turned her gaze to Halbaron and gave him a smug smile. That made the heir to Fornost redden in the face a little, but otherwise the captain of the company maintained a cool head with regards to his second-in-command.
"That would depend on the terms, and who sent you." Halbaron said with an even tone as he sat back down in his chair and gestured for Idrial to do so also.
In short order Idrial pulled out her chair and sat back down whilst the robed man took a nearby stool to sit at the table with the Rangers.
"Oh yes, well, suffice to say my lord Halbaron, you certainly as your Chieftain described you." The stranger smiled again as he said this. Perhaps at the reaction of Halbaron which was to grow even redder when Idrial gave another self-assured grin of triumph.
"Excuse my commander, sir, but I think you have something for us."
"Yes indeed my dear. A task for you, for him, and the other three Dunedain with among the Bree landers."
"Well, you have knowledge of my name and my leader, but forgive me for trying to remain cautious with strange folk about the border of our watch." Halbaron grumbled.
"Not at all child, for oft is wisdom and bravery tempered using caution. Yet as for the task laid out for you and your band. Even I cannot say it in full."
"Then say what you can, and we shall do what we can. You were sent by our Chieftain, and that gives me no small comfort." Idrial said.
"Thank you for your trust my dear, it is as welcome as your fellow's caution is necessary. However, as to the actual business, all I can say is that it will be found in the center courtyard what is now called Deadman's Dike."
"Fornost Erain." Halbaron spoke with reverence in his voice.
In another age, Halbaron would have been the lord of that ancient citadel. For his line was that of the Stewards of Arnor, who once advised the ancient kings of Arnor who ruled from Anúmminas on the lake. Yet now the halls of the Lords of Fornost and the Kings of Arthedain stood empty. They were ruins and shells destroyed by the forces of the Witch-King of Angmar and his hillmen. That was the day the Kingdom of the North was broken, when the once proud Dúnedain of the North were forced into hiding and obscurity.
"Yes. That is it's true name, lost to most Men after many centuries of decay. But that is where you must go Halbaron son of Halbarad, and you Idrial daughter of Valdorn. Gather your people and reach the tower where once sat the Palantir of Fornost and then much more shall be made clear."
As the three sat there they failed to notice the sun had dripped down over the horizon and that the stars and moon of the Elves was high in the sky. The candle on the table between them burned bright and hot as the conversationalists leaned in close to share the light and heat. An eerie silence descended throughout the tavern it seemed, or the people at the table were indifferent to the noise and clamor of the other patrons.
"Well, then it seems we've a task ahead of us Halbaron." Idrial declared finally as she stood up and pushed in her chair.
"Seems that we do." Halbaron said as he copied her action, "Yet I would also like to know where your path leads you old man, and mayhaps a name.
"Oh, my path leads me many places and to meet many people. Yet for now my path leads west to a birthday party for an old friend I've been meaning to see. And as for a name, well you can simply call me "a friend"."
"Well then mellon may Erú watch over you wherever your path leads you." Idrial said bowing her head slightly.
"And you daughter of the Dunedain. For I feel your path and that of your friend will lead your to far stranger places than mine will."
With those cryptic words the grey man left the bar. Leaving a coin piece for Barliman who thanked him on the way out. So once again it was Smithy and Mud in the Inn of the Prancy Pony trying to decide what to do next. Before anything else the two rangers checked on their sides to see that their weapons were secure and ready, as they had been taught. As Idrial smiled wide and Halbaron frowned small the two likewise pushed the door open on the Inn in Bree, and set out to gather their companions for a journey that would change everything.