Rercyn was painfully grateful to lie back onto the hard ground and close his eyes. It had been a long day for him and his two companions, as they'd been forced to repeatedly defend themselves from various Orc attacks. If Eorel hadn't been watching his back so closely, Rercyn would have been sent to the Halls of Mandos many times over. By the Vala, he didn't think he'd ever seen so many Orcs in his life!
Shifting nearer to the warm fire, Rercyn frowned as he thought of the strange behavior of those loathsome monsters. Now, Rercyn was no expert, but he'd been in enough skirmishes with Orcs to know a few, certain key facts.
Fact one: Orcs aren't picky about their prey. If their targets prove too difficult to kill, they have no qualms about moving on to find easier targets.
Fact two: Orcs normally never attack in groups bigger than four or five, as they're too quarrelsome to live in large tribes.
Fact three: Unless they're forced into it, Orcs prefer to avoid open battle, and instead concentrate upon their specialty: guerrilla warfare.
These three facts, however, had been violently overturned in just one day. The Orcs had attacked them repeatedly, with determination, with a specific goal in mind. It went against everything Rercyn knew, and drove home a new fact, one which he'd been aware of, but had never truly appreciated before then - that the Orcs finally had Sauron back as leader.
We're up against an army of beings created by Sauron himself. We've become complacent; we see them merely as foul inferior creatures, quarrelsome, weak and divided amongst their own kin. We've forgotten how they were in the days of Sauron's reign; we've forgotten that now that Sauron has risen again, the Orcs have a leader to follow, orders to obey. And today, their orders appear to lie in attacking us – and capturing our potential king.
Opening his eyes, Rercyn swept his gaze around the little campground they'd made. Across from him, the stranger sat, staring broodingly into the crackling fire. Meanwhile, on the other side of the clearing, Eorel squinted at the stranger with a hostile frown. Unlike Rercyn, Eorel did not trust that man at all...and with good reason, Rercyn admitted silently. Aside from that single show of nobleness, the dark stranger had acted more like a suspicious spy than a true king.
A strange man, wearing ill-fitting clothing and ignorant of the Common Speech, appears out of nowhere to save us. A strange man, who stalked huntsmen in the woods and took Crebain to be his pets, fights like an untrained amateur and yet emerges triumphant from every battle. A strange potential king, with haunted eyes and lips which cannot smile, shows up in our time of need, when Sauron's forces ravage the land. Who in their right mind would trust a man like him?
And yet, strangely, Rercyn did. Whatever the stranger's identity and motives were, Rercyn felt sure that for now he was their ally.
Because, unlike Eorel, he'd seen how the dark, brooding man had released the full powers of the athelas, and so held a measure of awe and gratitude for the man who'd saved Eorel's life. Unlike Eorel, he'd noticed how the stranger carefully guarded their backs whenever the Orcs attacked, and leapt in selflessly to save his little familiars whenever they were in danger. Unlike Eorel, he'd seen a terribly familiar look pass across the stranger's face from time to time – a look which he'd seen upon the faces of fellow Rangers who seen blood and pain and death.
And so Rercyn lay there, listening to the chirping of the crickets and luxuriating in the warmth of the fire, and thought a strange thought that he hadn't dared to share yet with Eorel. Were he not our potential king, were he not a potential spy, I would call him a fellow warrior. And grieve with him for what his eyes and lips show that he has clearly lost.
Severus gritted his teeth as he fought not to turn around and berate the two warriors into submission. Merlin, could they not stop staring at him? He wasn't that much of an anomaly, was he?
The Craban preening his hair gurgled softly at him, sending him as many peaceful thoughts as it could. Half-distractedly, he reached up to run his fingers through its feathers, eliciting a pleased reaction. Now, if only humans were that easy to charm, he thought grumpily.
Silently, though, he had to admit that it was primarily his fault that they were now so suspicious. If I hadn't acted so paranoid and unfriendly, they might have remained my allies a little while longer. But Severus couldn't help it. It'd been too long since he crafted his sullen, angry persona for his spy role against the Dark. He'd immersed himself in the role, terrified that the Dark Lord would catch any discrepancies – and in the process, he'd became the person he'd pretended to be. The lines had blurred, and he could no longer step in and out of his masks as he could before.
No masks. Severus jerked in surprise as a sudden voice sounded in his mind. Blinking, he realized that his flock of Crebain was now sitting around him. What do you mean? He sent back.
No masks. No pretend. Severus frowned, uncomprehending. The Crebain attempted to explain it further, but no enlightenment on Severus' part seemed forthcoming. Finally, they let out the crow equivalent of a sigh and sent, We help. Until you understand.
Help? Severus parroted, feeling uncommonly stupid. But the crows didn't elaborate. Instead, they repeated again, with an alarming amount of determination, We help.
Somehow, the glints in their eyes as they 'offered' their help made Severus feel very uneasy.
And then, before Severus' alarmed eyes, his familiars spread their wings and took flight – zooming straight for the Rangers.
What the...? Rercyn had no time to react before Sauron's spies were upon him. Oh Vala Eorel was right he's Sauron's spy all lies trap trap trap...
It took him a few frozen, panic-stricken moments to realize that they'd seemed more intent upon preening his hair than killing him.
Next to him, Eorel cursed and danced and batted away at them frantically. "Get them away! Get them away!" Staring at his partner's antics, Rercyn caught the eye of a particularly large one swooping about Eorel's head. And had the oddest feeling that it was laughing at them. Which is impossible, because crows can't laugh. ...Right?
A sudden noise from the stranger caught their attention. Turning his head, Rercyn saw that the dark man had leapt from his seat and was stalking towards Eorel, gesturing and shouting incomprehensibly. It took awhile, but finally, the Crebain harassing Eorel flew back to their master with a bad grace. The ones preening Rercyn, however, did not budge at all.
Panting from his exertions, Eorel stood glaring at the stranger, who glared right back.
A Craban chose to break their stand off by dropping berries on both their heads. Swearing simultaneously, the two men tilted their head upwards to glare at the birds.
Rercyn tried vainly to suppress his laugh as a cough. He clearly failed, as two heads then swiveled around and pinned him with truly frightening glares.
However, the glares turned confused when Rercyn just smiled innocently and gestured between the two. Confusion soon changed into scandalized expressions when they turned to see identical looks on each other's face. It was followed by a swift about-turn as they tried vainly to pretend that that brief bout of camaraderie had never happened. Their plans were soon foiled, however, when the Crebain decided to yank at their hair.
As pained howls resounded through the clearing, Rercyn smiled and settled back to enjoy the coming show.
"Why you, you, you little...!" Poor Eorel looked as if he was about to have an apoplexy. Not that it was anything new – Rercyn had long resigned himself to Eorel's excitability – but this time, even Rercyn felt that Eorel was had good reason to feel appalled.
Before his bemused eyes, yet another Craban swooped in and deposited a new gift into Eorel's lap. It then promptly landed amongst the other birds and adopted an innocent pose. The illusion of innocence was slightly marred, however, as Eorel was now cursing fiercely and brushing off yet another dead, bloody rat from his clothing.
"Curse you! Curse you and your miserable rats into the darkest deepest depths of...!"
"Eorel. Eorel. Eorel, honestly!" Rercyn was finally forced to shout to get Eorel's attention. "Calm down, it's just rats. Actually, it's rather sweet, in retrospect."
"Sweet? Which part of dumping rotten animals on me is considered...?"
"Oh come now, don't exaggerate. They aren't rotting at all, see? The crows probably just killed them last night. They're just showing their affection for you, you know? My cat used to leave dead mice at the doorstep for me too." Rercyn reminisced with a whimsical smile, as Eorel sputtered disbelievingly. Finally, he snarled, "Fine! But if they do that again, I swear I'll eviscerate them. Useless birds, as bad as the ones around my house. Always pooping and chirping..." Still muttering, he left to saddle the horses.
Before they left, Rercyn slanted a last look at the birds. A look full of humor, but underlined with warning. Mischievous tricks only, little ones. Do not venture to harm us. The birds stared back at the Ranger for a beat or two, and then tilted their heads in acknowledgement. Message sent – and received. Clever little spies indeed. Moving to take the lead, Rercyn continued to smile.
Eorel's a little slower on the uptake, but I know what you're up to, little ones. Getting him to acknowledge you as pesky birds instead of evil spies is a masterful first stroke. Smile morphing into a huge grin, he urged his steed on. Thank the Vala that I chose not to show suspicion of your master as obviously as Eorel did, or you'd probably be gracing me with your attentions as well. Let's see how long Eorel can stand against you.
I wager it'll be a mere one day more at most before your utter surrender, Eorel. Not bad, little birds, not bad at all. Rercyn coughed gently in a weak attempt to stifle his laughter as he viewed the scene before him. After quite a bit of...gentle persuasion...Eorel had shifted from suspicion and fear to mere irritation. Rercyn reckoned this to be an overwhelming victory to the manipulative little Crebain, as irritation was his fellow Ranger's natural state of being.
At that moment, Eorel was trying his valiant best to ignore the birds crowding around him as he heated up their supper over a low campfire. So far, he'd turned a blind eye to how the Crebain's heads twisted to and fro to follow his every movement. He'd faked a deaf ear to how the Crebain crooned and flapped at him whenever he walked close to them. His struggle to disregard the Crebain's existence, though, was slowly failing, as the little birds seemed to have decided to get more...physical...in showing their affection.
"Cursed...foul...birds...give me...some space or I swear you'll be the next thing I roast over this fire," Rercyn was very impressed by how Eorel managed to infuse so many undertones of death and dismemberment into a few thinly gritted out words. The Crebain, however, seemed hardly daunted, as they crooned even louder and pressed closer to the man. Possibly a consequence of having our odd king as their master, Raza reflected. The birds must have guts of steel to cuddle up to a man as prickly as him.
At that, Rercyn couldn't restrain his laughter at all.
He soon had cause to regret it, though, as it drew Eorel's attention...and wrath. Cast a jaundiced eye at the guffawing Ranger, Eorel inquired in a sickeningly sweet tone, "Rercyn. Isn't it time for...lessons?"
Rercyn's laughter dried up faster than water spilt in the Brown Lands.
As Rercyn reluctantly walked over to where the stranger was standing menacingly – and how does he manage to exude menace by just standing? – the Ranger again noted the various incongruent little details about the man – the ill-fitting but sturdy clothing, the lack of any baggage other than a few handfuls of kingsfoil, the unkempt, greasy hair which was at odds with the his general attitude of fastidiousness, and, most interestingly, the sense of power the man exuded. This is clearly a man with a strong personality – the personality of a ruler, perhaps?
Rercyn also didn't fail to note how the stranger had tensed up upon seeing him approaching, nor how his hand clenched instinctively around an imaginary weapon. Clearly honed battle instincts, and yet, how is it that he fights the Orcs so amateurishly? Putting aside that puzzle to contemplate later, he smiled winsomely at the dark man and launched into the thankless task that Eorel had unabashedly foisted upon him, after one too many failed attempts had nearly led to a mini-war between the two hot-tempered men.
Though, this is one thing which I unfortunately cannot fault Eorel for failing, Rercyn thought as his own teeth began to grit at facing the dark man's scowling, uncooperative visage. He did derive a certain vindictive enjoyment, however, as behind him, his partner's voice soared in outrage as the Crebain pushed him just a little too far. Teaching the stranger – and we really need to give him a name, if he refuses to tell us his own – how to speak Westron would go so much more smoothly if he desisted from picking up – and using – all the swearwords first.