Ah, the exciting rush of a fresh story. This first chapter is dedicated to the lovely pheonlynx for two reasons; her birthday is today and some sort of present is customary, and her help in getting this story of the ground was invaluable. I will try to update this story every Sunday, which means it will advance fairly quickly (at least, faster than my other stories). Thank you all for reading, and Tolkien owns all Lord of the Rings content, not I.
The arrow slid back across the dark wood silently as Jeroihan pulled the string back and exhaled deeply. His quarry, a small doe, grazed on the sparse pickings scattered across the forest floor. Jeroihan was about to release the string when a yell cut through the treeline. "Jeroihan!" His gaze was averted for a second as the deer bolted. He quickly took aim and shot, the arrow missing its target by a hand's width and embedding itself in a nearby tree. Frustrated with his rushed shot, he stomped over to the tree and pulled his arrow out a little harder than necessary. "Jeroihan!" The caller soon rushed into view, wearing the dark green garb of a Dunedain ranger, a garb that matched that of Jeroihan's. "This had best be important little brother, because you're going to be the one explaining to Harrasil why we're not eating deer tonight. You know he gets ill-tempered when he's hungry." Jeroihan stood across the clearing from younger brother and fellow ranger Calathorn, who shared his worn, craggy features and stocky build on account of their common blood. "Why, did you miss? But surely the great hunter never misses?" Calathorn's jovial taunt brightened Jeroihan's manner and he replied in a good humour. "You made me miss. So it doesn't count. What do you need me for?" Calathorn's fierce smile faded a little as he replied "Surely you've not forgotten? The Steward of Gondor needs us to guard a procession that's going all across the land. They're saying we're even going to Harad, saying there's a war brewing." Jeroihan rolled his eyes and grumbled back. "Oh aye, the procession. Forgive me for my lack of excitement. I relish the thought of taking orders from a soft Gondor nobleman." Calathorn shook his finger cheekily at Jeroihan as they walked back to the Dunedain encampment and shot back a reply laced with childish taunting. "Now, now brother. You're always bossing us around; it's about time you knew how it feels. Might do you some good." Jeroihan smiled and laughed "I'm in charge because I know what I'm doing. And the Chieftain appointed me as second in command under Eradan. Now be quiet, it looks like they're here." Jeroihan and Calathorn stood at the edge of the forest and looked out across the plains of Gondor, onto a wide collection of large, orc-skin tents that was the Dunedain encampment, bolstered by the addition of several silk tents in the livery of Gondor. The envoys of the Steward Denethor the Second had come seeking the help of the Rangers of the North.
Jeroihan stalked through the camp towards the Gondor delegation, his irritable mood worsening as he approached his target. Guards directed him towards a large gazebo that stood apart from the throng of tents, where a small crowd was gathered. Making his way through the gathering, he heard his name called. Turning to see Eradan, the Ranger in charge of the camp, call him over, he slipped past the extravagantly dressed nobles from Gondor to the small group. Eradan was stood with four conceited aristocrats, three men and one woman, from the city of Gondor; one was clad in ornate armour, more for show than actual protection and the other three were clothed in what Jeroihan assumed was the latest fashion from Lothlorien or some other such place. Eradan was quick to speak, before Jeroihan had time to insult the nobles. "Ranger, these are the illustrious individuals you will be escorting." He waved a hand offhandedly at the two men garbed in profligate robes, much to their disgust. "May I present the advisors to the Steward, Tuor and Huor, sons of Turambar." He gestured to the other two members of the group, "And this is Lady Lothelawen and her guard-captain, Anarion." Jeroihan nodded his greetings at the hostile strangers, noticing that Anarion was stood a little too close to Lothelawen than a guard-captain should. With the obligatory pleasantries, if they were such, over they left, Anarion's hand at Lothelawen waist, guiding her away from the crowds. Jeroihan gestured subtly to Eradan, who leant in to Jeroihan to speak. "Those two. Are they lovers? Or is he controlling her?" Eradan stole a glance in the mentioned couple's direction and replied "A little of both I think. The blue-bloods from Gondor tell us humble folk very little, but it sounds to me like he gives her orders, not the other way around." Jeroihan nodded, before continuing "You aren't seriously ordering me to go with these wretches, are you sir?" Eradan raised an eyebrow in response, "Are you defying the orders of your commander, Ranger?" Jeroihan shook his head, his tone grim. "Of course not, sir. I just don't find pleasure in babysitting soft nobles." Eradan chuckled and clasped Jeroihan's shoulder. "And that's exactly why I'm sending you. Your 'displeasure' will keep you sharp, keep you focused. And maybe the journey will teach you to restrain that temper of yours, hmm?" Eradan smiled mischievously at Jeroihan, who returned it in kind. "I doubt that very much indeed. Will that be all sir?" Eradan nodded and dismissed him, turning to greet more disapproving aristocrats while Jeroihan walked swiftly from the scene, scattering gaudy figures in his wake.
Jeroihan woke at dawn as he usually did, and started the laborious task of packing up his tent and equipment. He glanced around, noticing his men also rising from their torpor and preparing for the new day. He stole a glance towards the more elaborate tents of silk, unsurprised by the distinct lack of movement. A wicked thought of throwing water into the tests flashed across his mind and he grinned for a moment. He saddled his black mare, Gwaloth who whinnied and stamped her left hoof. Jeroihan raised an eyebrow before reaching into the saddlebag. "Fine" he sighed before pulling out an apple and his thick bladed knife. He cut the apple in two, giving half to the dark coated horse and bit into the other half himself before calling Corandor over. "Go wake them up, and make it clear it's not a question". Jeroihan pointed with the tip of his knife and Corandor trudged towards the tents, clearly not exultant about having to interact with the haughty nobles. Jeroihan turned to check on the rest of his men. Calathorn was busy teasing the oldest man present, the venerable Hagrabad. The other three, Harrisil, Perkerin and Torgathorn were congregated around a smoking fire preparing breakfast. Jeroihan had been told the Gondor nobles would be providing their own food, but the Rangers still needed to eat. Harrisil, the company's linguist and fountain of knowledge as the other liked to call him, was handing Torgathorn deftly skinned a rabbit while Perkerin, the youngest and the greenest man in the company, watched intently. Corandor prowled back over towards Jeroihan, his face dark. "You talk to them. I can't be bothered with them, boss." The Ranger headed towards the fire while Jeroihan growled and headed towards the Gondor camps. He stormed through the warren of tents, rounding one corner too quickly and crashing into a maid carrying a pile of washing. "For the love of the Valar, watch where you're going!" His temper died when he took a look at the timid servant on her hands and knees, hurriedly picking up the scattered washing. "I'm sorry, my lord it won't happen again…" Her pleas died off as she realised he was helping her pick up the debris of fabric and silk. "I apologise. I wasn't looking where I was going and I shouldn't have shouted. My name is Jeroihan and I am a Ranger of the North. May I ask you your name, miss?" She smiled and replied "My name is Ibaria Elentirmo, but everyone calls me Ruby." Jeroihan tilted his head and responded with a confused tone "Why do they call you Ruby?" She smiled again and removed the hood that covered her head, revealing stark crimson hair. "Well, it's obvious now isn't it?" Jeroihan grinned and Ruby giggled. "May I call you Ruby?" His dark green eyes glimmered as her hazel eyes glanced down. "You may call me whatever you like, my lord." He sighed melodramatically and crossed his arms before replying merrily "Jeroihan, not my lord. And I think I'd like to see you again, Miss Ruby, but first I have the jubilant task of rousing the witch and her companions. Good day." He dipped his head and walked on, smiling despite himself as he tried to think of the most non-violent way of waking the 'witch' and the rest of the lazy noblemen. His mood soured when he found his way to the more regal tents and a spear blocked his way. "Halt, none may pass." Jeroihan smirked at the formality of the statement, before brutally punching the guard in the face. The man slumped to the ground and Jeroihan continued on his path. He picked up a pair of pans from a startled maid and began to smash them against each other. He walked a small circuit around the handful of tents, stopping in front of the foremost tents and finished smashing the metal pans as he heard furious movement inside the tent. Lothelawen and Anarion emerged from the tent, fury painted across their features. Jeroihan's face remained impassive as he stated coldly "We leave in one hour. I expect not to have to wake you again." Before they could answer, he spun on his heel and walked swiftly back to his men.
As he returned to the clearing and the rest of his men, Jeroihan noticed that Calathorn and Corandor were also making their way back to the clearing with a small sack. They spotted Jeroihan and Corandor winked at him, withdrawing small, brightly coloured fruit from the sack and began handing them out. Perkerin held it in wonder, and asked "What is it?" Harrisil answered quickly and precisely, "It's an orange, Perkerin, its food. Although, I don't believe strawberries are part of our rations…" Corandor shrugged and replied "Judging by the size of their caravans, they're not going to miss a few oranges. It's like a king's banquet, wrapped in cloth. Decadent fools." The men laughed as Perkerin bit into the orange and spat in disgust. "You're meant to peel it first" Jeroihan chuckled and drew his knife, deftly slicing away the skin and threw the peeled fruit to Perkerin who bit into it very tentatively. He smiled and swallowed before speaking "Tastes better than the slop we're used to." Corandor scoffed loudly and flung his arms wide. "Maybe I'll get you some strawberries and cream on my next visit, to please your delicate palate my lord." Jeroihan looked in exasperation at Corandor, "You're joking. They can't be bringing such… such luxuries on a journey this long. They'll spoil before we even reach Rohan, especially if they're going to be this slow for the entire damn way." Jeroihan mounted Gwaloth and spurred her into a trot, the other Rangers following suit on their own steeds as the procession began to move across the plains of Gondor.
"So, where are we actually going?" Calathorn rode alongside his brother as the long train of carts, horses and men advanced steadily towards the realm of the horse-lords. "First we're going north, to Rohan, and then we're turning around and going to Mirkwood and Rivendell, then we're seeing the dwarves in the Iron Hills, and then we're going back south to Harad and Umbar." Calathorn looked at him in confusion and replied "South? They hate us down south." Jeroihan shrugged and glanced back at the large palanquin in the middle of the convoy. "They said we're going south, so that's we're going. Don't worry; they know a few words of Sindarin and a bit of Westron so we will able to talk to them. If not, Harrisil can interpret for us, I hope." Calathorn nodded his head towards Gwaloth "Her name's in Sindarin, isn't it? What is it?" Jeroihan smiled and patted her neck gently; she nickered in response. "It means Blossom, and before you ask, no the name wasn't my idea." Calathorn grinned cheekily before replying sarcastic "So whose idea was it then? The horse's?" Jeroihan rolled his eyes and shot back a reply "No, it was her name before I got her." He nodded his head towards Torgathorn, who was scouting ahead with Hagrabad and Perkerin. "Me and Torgathorn were in Rivendell on orders of the Steward. Lazy old man needed someone to fetch a sword. Anyway a pack of Wargs start attacking the stables. Me and Torgathorn stop them, but most of the horses are dead and the stable master's not far behind them. Anyway he gives me Gwaloth and Torgathorn asks for his daughter. She flat-out refused him and that's it." Calathorn scoffed and spurred his horse into a gallop, shouting over his shoulder "As if I'd believe that!" Jeroihan laughed and took a cursory glance back along the procession to check nothing was amiss. He caught Ruby's eye and he smiled and winked at her, before spurring Gwaloth to catch up with his brother.
The great hill fort of Edoras dominated the horizon as the envoy neared its first destination. The Rangers rode on ahead to announce their coming, and Jeroihan leant against a derelict stone wall with the rest of his men as the nobles from Gondor sauntered to Edoras. "They act as if they own the place." Calathorn moved to stand at his brother's side, testing the stone before committing to leaning. Jeroihan shrugged. "They might well think they do. This was all originally Gondor land. By the way, when we get to the Iron Hills, don't mention to the dwarves we've been here first. Now come, I think there's a tavern around here somewhere." Jeroihan moved away as the Gondor nobles entered Meduseld and began searching the sparse buildings for anything resembling a tavern, Calathorn in tow.
A few hours later, Jeroihan and the rest of the Rangers were singing and dancing with the Rohirrim natives to a lively tune, their merry attitude aided by the copious volume of mead and the general friendliness of their companions. Servants and guards of lower rank from the Gondor delegation had also found their way to the tavern and were enjoying the generosity of their hosts. Jeroihan drained a horn of mead and slammed it onto the table with a roar of triumph, to the jubilant cheers of those around him, when suddenly the music changed to a much slower rhythm. The people gradually gathered up into pairs and began to dance slowly, and Jeroihan saw Ruby across the room with a clutch of maids and other servants. He walked over and tapped her on the shoulder, extending his hand and smiling. She blushed, before taking it and following him into the wide space in the centre of the room where the rest of the couples were dancing. "Do you even know how to dance…?" Ruby giggled as Jeroihan laid a hand on her waist. "Of course I do. Do you?" Jeroihan grinned back and started to step in time with the music, Ruby falling in behind him. The dancing continued for a few hours before Ruby asked "Won't the masters be needing me soon?" Jeroihan shook his head dismissively "No, they'll be negotiating for a while yet. I don't know who's more calculating, them or Theoden. That man, Grima Wormtongue, hardly helps matters. He's a snake if I ever saw one." Ruby stopped moving for a minute, locked in thought before speaking softly "Then I'm not needed until tomorrow…" Jeroihan didn't answer; he simply lifted Ruby into his arms and carried her from the building, to the bawdy cheers of the intoxicated patrons.