I am so very sorry for the lack of updates. Life has hit me like a brick wall. Literally. Between schoolwork, studying for tests, and all other crazy stuff that happens in my life, I'm so tired that I have actually run into walls more than once.
Oh, thanks to all of my reviewers! You make my day!
Anyways, here is chapter 10. The middle section (with Barliman Butterbur) was inspired by Darkover's The Night Before Yule.
Disclaimer: I own nothing except my OC's.
Chapter 10: New Faces
Philip grinned as he approached the huge gates of the White City. They were intricately carved with figures of men clad in the armor of Gondor, all welcoming travelers into Minas Tirith.
"Who are you and what is your business in the White City?" a voice called from behind the wall.
"I'm Philip Hughes," Philip answered, "and I live here."
"Ah, Lord Philip!" the voice cried. The great gates slowly moved open, and a guard rushed forward. "Lord Boromir will be pleased to see you."
"I will be pleased to see whom?" Boromir asked as he strolled down the street towards them.
Philip waved cheerily at the son of the Steward. "Hey, Boromir!"
A large smile broke out on Boromir's face. "Philip!"
Philip slid off of his horse as Boromir strode towards him. The son of the Steward pulled Philip into a quick embrace. "I trust your trip to Rivendell was pleasant," Boromir stated.
"It was really nice," Philip replied.
"Boromir, who is this?"
Philip looked behind Boromir. A young man was standing there, an amused smile on his face. He had dark, reddish-brown hair and was clothed in various shades of green and brown.
"Oh, Faramir!" Boromir exclaimed joyfully. "This is Philip. Philip, this is Faramir, my younger brother."
"Ah, so you are the young man Boromir has told me about," Faramir stated. "He says you have quite the skills with a blade."
Philip raised his eyebrows at Boromir in surprise. The son of the Steward just shrugged. Rolling his eyes, Philip turned back to Faramir. "Well, he's still training me," he replied. "Boromir's a great teacher."
"Aye," Faramir agreed. "He was the one who trained me." He then turned to his brother. "Boromir, I am meeting Saeldur and Arthion at the Green Oak. You are welcome to join us, as is Philip."
"We would happily join you," Boromir answered. Faramir grinned, and the three of them began walking down the street.
"Um, so who are Saeldur and Arthion?" Philip inquired, confused.
"They are two of my fellow Rangers and good friends," Faramir answered.
"Rangers?" Philip asked. "I thought they were just in the North."
"A different group of Rangers patrol the forests of Ithilien," Boromir replied. "Faramir is Captain of these Rangers."
Philip's eyes widened. "Wow," he stated. "That's cool! What do you guys do?"
"I believe Saeldur and Arthion can help me explain," Faramir chuckled. He gently pushed open the green door of a large stone building. The inside of the tavern was filled with wooden tables laden with mugs of ale. Philip followed the two brothers to a table occupied by two men dressed in a similar fashion to Faramir. One had hazel-colored hair similar to Boromir's, and the other had dark hair.
"Ah, Faramir, Boromir," the dark-haired one greeted.
"Arthion, so good to see you," Boromir remarked. He then turned to the other man. "Saeldur, how are you?"
"I am well, thank you," Saeldur replied.
The two men then noticed Philip standing quietly next to Boromir. "And who is this?" Saeldur asked.
"This is Philip, a good friend of mine," Boromir introduced. "I believe he is eager to learn about the lives of the Rangers of Ithilien."
Arthion chuckled. "It is quite the life indeed," he replied, turning to face Philip. "We help protect the forest of Ithilien and the city of Osgiliath. 'Tis our duty to fight off any threats to the city."
For the next hour or two, Saeldur and Arthion regaled Philip with tales of their escapades. Philip found it incredibly fascinating. He was rather dismayed when he learned that the Rangers would be departing Minas Tirith the following morning.
Philip sighed as he watched the Rangers ride back to Ithilien. But he wasn't too sad. Something inside of him was telling him that he would see Faramir, Saeldur, and Arthion again.
~o*o*o*o~
Barliman Butterbur gazed around at the empty common room of his inn, The Prancing Pony. It was late, and he was debating whether or not he should close up for the night. Many of his workers had already retired to their homes. But something was nagging at Barliman, telling him that there could be some late traveler needing shelter for the night.
Suddenly, the door opened, revealing that a thunderstorm had begun raging outside. Lighting flashed through the sky, silhouetting two figures in the doorframe.
The two strangers stepped into the inn, the door swinging shut behind them. One was shorter and slimmer than the other. Both were hooded in dark cloaks soaked with rain. A sword hung on each of their belts. By the look of their weather-beaten clothes, Barliman could tell that these folks were Rangers. The innkeeper gripped the edge of the counter tightly. He did not like the look of these fellows, and he certainly did not want trouble tonight.
The taller one swiftly walked up to Barliman. "Do you have a room for the night?"
"I do, if you can pay, that is," the innkeeper replied shortly. He glared at the two strangers, a wary look in his eye.
The strangers nodded, and each pulled out a few coins. "Is this enough?" the shorter one asked, gesturing to the small pile of coinage on the counter.
The innkeeper examined the pile. "Yes, that is enough money for a room for two," he replied, scooping the coins off the counter. "Names, please?"
"I am known around here as Strider," the taller one answered.
"I'm Hawkins," the shorter one added, fiddling with the bird-shaped pin on the cloak.
Barliman raised his eyebrows at the strange names, but he did not press them. "Would you two be wanting something to eat?" the innkeeper asked. "We have the best beer outside of the Shire here!"
The two strangers exchanged glances. "I believe some beer would be welcome," the taller one responded, sliding a couple of coins across the counter. The two then pulled back their hoods, revealing their faces.
The tall one was a man, a bit of stubble on his face. The other was a young girl, only about thirteen, in Barliman's eyes. Both had dark hair and piercing gray eyes, so alike that they might have been relatives.
Barliman quickly drew two tankards of beer and handed them to the strangers. After giving him a muffled thanks, the two walked over to a table in the corner of the room, silently drinking.
The innkeeper shook his head, wondering what such a young girl was doing as one of those Rangers. His thoughts were rudely interrupted as the door was unceremoniously thrown open, revealing three people he really did not want to see – Bill Ferny and his two squint-eyed cronies, probably drunk.
"Oi, Butterbur, draw us up some pints!" Bill hollered.
With a low, irritated growl, Barliman drew three pints and slid them across the counter to Ferny and company.
The three drained the tankards with surprising speed. "Another round, Butterbur!" Bill slurred. His two companions guffawed, and now Barliman was sure that the three of them were drunk.
Barliman rubbed his temples, knowing that he would regret doing this. But a customer was a customer, and so he gave the company of three more pints.
"Alright, now that you've had your fill, I'll be wanting some payment," Barliman stated.
"But we don't want to pay, eh boys?" Bill shouted. His two cronies nodded in agreement, smiling maliciously.
"Look, Ferny," Barliman snapped. "Pay for your beers, and leave!"
Bill's face contorted in anger. He sprang out of his seat and faced the innkeeper, seething. His two cronies followed suit, all three advancing on Barliman.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a quiet voice stated from the corner. Hawkins had stood up, sweeping her cloak aside to expose her sword, her hand resting on the hilt. Strider remained seated, but his hand could be seen gripping the hilt of his sword as well. The two had remained quiet through most of the argument, and Barliman had forgotten about them.
Bill Ferny's eyes widened in fear of the Rangers. Quickly, he sped out of the inn, his two companions close behind. Barliman regarded the two Rangers for a moment and then went back behind the counter, smiling slightly. The Rangers were a wild, dangerous lot, but who ever said that danger was always a bad thing?
~o*o*o*o~
Hope stared at the ceiling. The room she and Aragorn had been given was very cozy, and the beds were much more comfortable than the forest floor she had become accustomed to sleeping on in the past few weeks, but she could not sleep. Something was weighing on her mind.
With a sigh, Hope stood up and walked to the window. The rain pounded against the glass, blurring the images outside.
"You should rest," a voice stated. Hope whirled around to see Aragorn standing behind her. "We begin traveling again at first light," he continued.
When Hope did not respond, Aragorn stepped closer to her, a concerned expression on his face. "Is something troubling you?" he asked.
Hope shook her head. "Nothing, it's just…" She turned back to the window, staring down at the rain-soaked street. Hope continued her sentence so quietly that Aragorn could barely discern the words.
"I'm scared."
"Ah," Aragorn stated in understanding. Elrond had informed him of the peril the Elenmîr faced, and the Ranger had offered to protect and train Hope. He comfortingly wrapped an arm around the young girl's shoulder. "Do not fear. The Prancing Pony is a very safe inn. You are safe here."
"But what about after we leave?" Hope asked, clearly worried. "What then?"
"Everything will be fine," Aragorn assured her. Hope just sighed, praying that he was right.
So I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
If you're wondering about Hope's Ranger name, go ahead and take a guess at where I got it from. There should be enough information in previous chapters, but if not, I believe a big hint will be dropped in the next chapter.
Thanks for reading! Please Review!