When In Middle Earth: The edited, revised and face-lifted edition:
When in Middle Earth, do as the Middle-Earthlings do. Sakura finds herself in the midst of Middle Earth, immersed in a war she has no part in, saving a world and people she doesn't know, and why? Because Naruto would be disappointed in her if she ever got back and told him she hadn't...
Chapter Two:
In which Sakura learns about Rangers, and she and Strider reach an Understanding
Disclaimer:
The Lord of The Rings, it's associated characters and components are copyright and property of its author J. R. R. Tolkien, the actors that played them, and the director of the trilogy of films of the same name, Peter Jackson. The character Sakura and any components associated with the manga and anime 'Naruto' are property and copyright of Masashi Kishimoto
The story continues:
It was dusk by the time they made it to The Prancing Pony. They passed the stables as they approached the building, and Sakura found her nose assaulted with the smell of horses, straw and the faintest scent of manure. She eyed the horses somewhat warily, unused to the animals. The stalls faced out onto the courtyard, allowing the horses to stick their heads over their doors and observe the passers by. The animals snorted and whinnied as they passed, the noise mixing with the rumble of cart wheels and the laughter that spilled out of the Inn and into the courtyard.
The Inn was a sprawling building that looked a bit like someone had taken several of the little Hobbit-houses and strung them together into an extra wing. The main building was of the same wooden-frame variety that made up the rest of the village, and spread out in a sort of L-shape around a dusty cobblestone courtyard. Dormer windows stuck out of the roof – Sakura guessed that the innkeeper lived above the inn – while several chimneys filled the air above it with wood smoke. A creaky wooden sign swung over the door, and bore a faded painting of a fat black pony with its hooves in the air.
Light flickered into life in the windows as somebody began lighting candles and lanterns, lending a yellow glow to the wood smoke, and someone inside began to sing. It was muted by the walls, but loud and off-key enough to find its way outside nonetheless. Sakura couldn't make out the words entirely – something about a dragon? - but the words she did hear were most cheerfully crude.
The whole place radiated raucous laughter and the kind of warm-hearted joy that good ale brings about, while the mouth watering scent of roasting pork drifted out of the doorway and straight to Sakura's stomach. It responded with an audible growl. She heard Strider make a soft noise under his hood – what may or may not have been a laugh. She rubbed her gut ruefully and decided to let it go.
"You mentioned a meal?" she asked him, hopefully. That time he definitely chuckled.
"I did. Come, I shall be the gentleman and pay, most especially because I doubt you possess the currency."
She had the grace to look a little shamefaced. "I'll pay you back," she told him honestly. "I don't much like being in debt."
Aragorn looked at her, and saw earnestness in her eyes. She had an honest face, this girl he'd found. She made little attempt to hide her emotions. Finally, he nodded, and steered her toward the door of The Prancing Pony. Sakura made to remove her hood, but Strider discreetly caught her hand behind her and held her wrist gently. The subtlest of head-shakes was all the message he offered, but she got it. She left the hood up.
They entered through a sturdy wooden door, carved with the same fat pony that decorated the sign above the door, and found themselves in a large comfortable foyer. There was a tall wooden desk that Sakura soon realised was actually an extension of the bar, which simply continued through the dividing wall to function as a reception of sorts. A large bell jangled as Strider pushed the door open, and a loud, jovial voice called out that he'd be there shortly. And true enough, shortly after, a plump, rosy cheeked man bustled through the doorway that divided the bar and the foyer, only to come to a sudden halt as he set eyes on them.
"N-Now Strider, I d-don't want any trouble…" He stammered, red faced. His eyes flickered nervously between her and Strider, and Sakura realised with a jolt that he thought she was another Ranger. Were the villagers afraid of Rangers? Or just of Strider? This Innkeeper was certainly unnerved by their presence.
"Of course not," Strider's voice was low and smooth, and left no room for argument. "We merely require a room." He withdrew a small pouch from under his cloak and jingled it meaningfully. The Innkeepers eyes zeroed in on it like a hawk. His chins wobbled as he ran his tongue around his mouth – a nervous habit, no doubt.
"Well then," he said jovially, and Sakura was vaguely impressed that he'd erased almost all of the nervousness from his voice. Money, apparently, was the key to this mans heart. "I've got some lovely big rooms available, fires already lit, lovely view over the countryside-"
"My usual," Strider interrupted silkily, "If you'd be so kind."
"Oh of course, of course," the Innkeeper recovered quickly, "I merely wondered if you'd not want a larger room, being as there be two of you?"
"It will be fine,' said Strider shortly, leaning over the counter and plucking a key from the row of hooks on the Innkeepers side. "Have a cot set up for my companion, won't you?"
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Their room was simple, and comfortable. It was not large, but wide enough for a bed and a cot, with a simple wooden chair in one corner and small mat in front of the fire, which appeared to be woven from differently coloured strips of fabric. A 'rag rug' Strider had called it with a smile in his voice. Sakura was rather fond of it, and found it a most comfortable place to sit, not least because Strider usually claimed the only chair for a quiet smoke by the window. In Konoha, the Third Hokage was the only person Sakura had ever known to smoke a pipe, yet here it seemed that every man had one. She'd quickly gotten the hang of building a log-fire, and had taken over the job, much to Strider's amusement. Now, a merry blaze was already crackling in the grate, and coupled with the smell of Striders tobacco smoke, the room was filled with a delightful scent of smoke, wood-polish and the pine that the Innkeeper had provided. It gave off a lovely smell as it burned.
They took their meals downstairs, in the dining hall. It was a large room, lit by the light of a monumental fire and spit, upon which some or other of the Innkeepers livestock always seemed to be roasting – large cuts of beef or a whole suckling pig – and the delicious scent of the meat drew the patrons in like moths to a light. The menu didn't change much – meat and two veg. – hearty food that'd put meat on your bones, or so the Innkeeper said. She certainly couldn't fault the man for a home-cooked meal. Sakura had seen the barn and fields behind the Inn, when she'd taken a 'tour' of the place - a tour that actually involved only herself and one very discreet clone, and every trick in the book. She may not know a lot about farming, but it was clear even to her that the man knew how to look after his animals. She'd seen a vegetable plot out there too, well tended by the look of it.
The bar adjoined the dining hall with little more than a change from chairs to barstools to show which was which. The entire place had wooden floors, which had given Sakura some concern when she first saw the fire, and thick, exposed beams, which she loved. More than one night after Strider had retired to their room; Sakura had concealed herself up in those beams and entertained herself with the comings and goings of the patrons.
During the day, Sakura passed the time walking around the village. She followed Strider's example, and kept her cloak on and her hood up, but she had her own reasons for keeping her features hidden. Ninja's were naturally paranoid – and if they weren't, they learned to be. Quickly. And nobody (with the possible exception of Naruto) stood out more than Sakura did. Pink hair was rare enough in her own world; here it was unheard of. Not to mention that she felt downright naked without her weapons on her.
Strider may have assured her of his friend's arrival within the week, but even if she was only to be here for a few days, she found herself wanting to stay incognito. She couldn't help but be a little unnerved by the wariness that the villagers showed toward her. It was a strange mixture of respect and fear that was not unlike the response civilians showed toward ninja at home. But nobody here knew what a ninja was. She found herself wondering what it was exactly that Rangers did, to command that same reaction wherever they went.
And so, over dinner in a quiet corner of the Inn, she asked Strider. For a long moment he simply looked at her, with his fork dangling from his hand, deciding what and how much to tell her.
"My people are the last remnant of the Dúnedain," he told her at last, setting down his fork. "Once, we were a great people – bearing the blood of Kings – and Arnor was our Kingdom. But those days are long past. In this day we are Watchers of the wild places. We patrol the boundaries of Eriador, and I have heard tell of our brethren in Ithilien. We are protectors, Sakura, skilled with the sword, bow and spear, and quick of step and of wit." He paused, and offered a bittersweet shrug, "In this day and age however, to most we are little more than dangerous enigma's, useful only as mercenaries when they need us. They know us as soldiers and hunters. Wild men, they call us, and many other names." He shrugged again. "We do not offer names, and they do not ask, and so they are free to name us as they please."
"Mercenaries?" Sakura repeated, swallowing a mouthful of delicious roast chicken.
"When the occasion calls for it," he agreed, and speared a carrot with a meaningful look at the meal, "but it is not our primary objective, nor our only means of supporting ourselves. We are men of honour."
She bristled. "You think a mercenary is dishonourable?"
Strider considered her with a look that felt uncomfortably like he was looking directly through her.
"Not always," he said, diplomatically. "I take it your warriors are mercenaries of a sort?"
"Of a sort," Sakura sniffed, but felt a little harsh, and added: "It is our village's primary means of income." Strider looked intrigued.
"I have never heard of a village of mercenaries…are all of your people such? Are you a mercenary Sakura?"
For a moment Sakura clammed up entirely, suddenly regretting that she'd brought the topic up and opened up this line of questioning. But her brain quickly took over and told her that she owed him that much, at least, in return. He had answered her questions with patience after all, and she had had many over the past few days that they had been in each others company.
"You could call me that, though we have a different word for it in our own language. We are known as Ninjas, or Shinobi. We are trained as ninja from the day we enter the academy, and begin taking on assignments – missions – when we are twelve years old."
Aragorn couldn't help it; he choked. Twelve?
"But that is barely out of childhood!" he exclaimed, "How old are you?"
"It is rude to ask a woman her age," answered Sakura, but with little venom.
"It is more rude to stare, and that is what I would surely have ended doing, if I were to attempt to figure it out myself."
She snorted. Quick of wit indeed.
"I am sixteen, almost seventeen, if you must know," she replied primly, hardening her gaze and daring him to belittle her for her age. Instead, he merely shook his head ruefully. She thought she heard him mutter something along the lines of 'So young…' but the noise of the Inn was more than sufficient to smother it, and she couldn't be certain. She elected to take the high road and ignore it. But even so her eyes narrowed. She was no damn child, and she'd prove it a thousand times over if she had to.
"How old are you then?" she asked snidely, as if indicating that she thought him rather old indeed. "Forty?"
He laughed. "More than that, but I thank you for the comparison. My people are rather significantly long lived, for men." Somehow Sakura got the feeling that when he said 'men' he was not referring to the gender so much as the species. And that led to the question: just how many kinds of people lived in Middle Earth? She knew there were Hobbits, and she was sure he had mentioned 'elves' before. The idea was staggering for someone who came from a world of humans alone. And short-lived humans at that. Ninja didn't tend to live long enough to be considered otherwise.
"Old man," she said matter-of-factly, for lack of a decent retort, and promptly popped a piece of potato into her mouth. But her eyes didn't leave his face, watching for his reaction.
"Little girl," he replied sarcastically, and picked up his fork again.
She scowled at him. He smirked at her. She swallowed hard and stuck her tongue out at him.
"Use that to eat," he advised.
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It was night, and there was a chill in the air. Sakura stepped lightly along the road, the only sound the soft rustling of her cloak as it brushed against her thighs. It was a new moon that night - a perfect night for walking about unseen – and she was feeling restless. She'd never felt uneasy in the dark before, but the air felt heavy. She put it down to the fact that she still didn't have her kunai pouch back.
The street was lit by little more than starlight; the lamps had long since burned down. Dirt from the road kicked up as she stepped, muddying her exposed toes. This was one of the times that she found the open-toed sandals that ninja favoured to be highly impractical. Her toes were bloody cold. Come to think of it, so was most of the rest of her. Sakura drew her cloak tighter about herself and shivered, and thought about looking for a tailor tomorrow. She could use a long-sleeve shirt. A short pang of guilt hit her gut at the thought of borrowing yet more money from Strider, and she resolutely clenched her arms under her cloak to keep herself from shaking.
She had been insisting from the beginning that she would repay him. But in truth, she hadn't the faintest idea how. He had been so very generous, most especially since she was a stranger, and he owed her nothing. Right now it felt like she owed him everything. She had been putting her big brain to use, keeping careful track of how much money exactly Strider had spent on her, and trying to get to grips with the currency. But she had no idea how she could get hands on enough of it to actually pay back what was shaping up to quite a sum. She didn't think either of them had given much thought to it when they'd first arrived in Bree. She'd assumed she would be here a few days and then the whole thing would be nothing more than an unbelievable story to tell the Konoha Twelve.
But they'd been at the Prancing Pony for almost a week now. And so far there hadn't been any sign of Striders friend Gandalf. Even the normally enigmatic Strider was beginning to show signs of agitation. He'd taken to smoking like a train. Sakura had taken to washing her clothes in the bath with her, because a week without changing her clothes left her feeling greasier than bag of chips. She was only grateful that the Inn at least had a decent washhouse. Having said that, it didn't seem to her like many of the patrons used it. Ninja's might be used to spending weeks in the same clothes but they at least packed a few spares and made sure to get a good wash along the way. Having a traceable scent could be tantamount to a death sentence. Still, she had noticed that the smell became less obvious the more time she spent among the patrons. The more she got used to it the less she smelt it, as it were. It didn't stop her washing her clothes and hair everyday though. It might mean walking about for a couple of hours in damp clothes, but it also meant being clean, and she was much too bloody good as a medic to let herself get a cold.
Realising that her thoughts were wandering faster than her feet, Sakura turned down the main road toward the gate, and returned her mind to the problem of paying back Strider. If this Gandalf character still hadn't arrived then she may be here a little longer than she'd originally thought. But maybe she could pick up a couple of jobs while she was here? Strider had said that Rangers were sometimes employed as mercenaries…and the villagers already presumed her to be another Ranger…
Suddenly, a cry split the air. Startled, she ran toward the gate with barely a thought, only to find the gateman crumpled by his hut, knocked back the gate, which hung open and swinging dangerously close to him. Sakura skidded to a halt, dust flying up in a trail behind her as she dropped to the old man's side. He wheezed when she placed a hand on his chest, and she channelled a little stream of chakra into what she was sure was the bruise from the gate hitting him. Worriedly, she took stock of his pale face and wide eyes. But those eyes weren't aimed at her. He was looking fearfully at something beyond the gate, and Sakura turned apprehensively toward the opening.
From it Sakura heard the snorting of what sounded like a large horse, and a wheezy hiss of breath as the rider exhaled. She could barely make out their outline against the black night. She couldn't be entirely sure, but she had the distinct impression that he… –she… –it was looking directly at her. And it was creepy as all hell.
And then, without a word, it was gone.
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"The villagers are nervous," Sakura said, as she took breakfast with Strider in their room. He had taken the chair again, and his pipe sat on the windowsill. She sat cross-legged on her cot, nibbling on a piece of bread, smothered with pork dripping. "Is it to do with what I saw last night?"
Strider paused, fork partway to his mouth. He frowned at her like he'd never frowned before, and she slowly stopped chewing.
"Do not dwell on that," he said finally, "It is not of concern to you. It is nothing you need to know about."
Sakura narrowed her eyes dangerously.
"It didn't look like nothing."
"Trust me."
"Right," she muttered in her own language, digging back into her breakfast, "trust a guy who won't even tell me his real name." She ignored the assessing look he sent her, and concentrated on filling her mouth.
Aragorn considered the girl as she ate, now obviously intent on ignoring him. He could not blame her for being dissatisfied, but despite their relatively harmonious week together he did not know yet what he could truly reveal to her. Gandalf was late, and though he said nothing, he could tell that she knew he was beginning to worry. She was dangerously perceptive, and she knew that the rider she had seen was bad news. He'd been alarmed when she'd rushed into the room, and he was ashamed now to know that his hand had moved toward his sword. But he'd hesitated, and that was all it took for him to realise his mistake. Sakura had gained a lot of trust that night, when he realised what she had seen, and realised that she had rushed to his side to warn him. He hadn't yet figured out what she would have done if he had actually grabbed his weapon.
The silence stretched out with bitter discontent. The only sound in the room was the barely perceptible sound of chewing and the crackling of the fire, which never seemed to go out. Much to his surprise, it was Sakura who broke it. Admittedly, he was somewhat relieved, because he'd been trying to think of something to say. Despite his years, he had little experience with smoothing the ruffled feathers of teenage girls.
"They think I'm a Ranger," she said offhandedly. "The man at the gate was quite surprised to realise I was a girl, actually. I promised him I would check on his chest wound today."
"You know about medicine?" Strider asked, in the equally offhanded way that said 'we are going to pretend we didn't just have a disagreement, and that we have been talking casually like this all morning.'
She shrugged. "I'm a field medic."
"What must it be like, I wonder," he mused half to himself, "to live in a village which trains its healers to fight."
"It's fighters to heal," she corrected, with the kind of grim smile that implied that she knew that it wasn't much better, but that she didn't want to hear his opinion on the matter. Aragorn decided to address her first point instead. It was as good a subject change as any.
"I have heard some of the Patrons label you as 'Stranger'," he told her mildly, "You have been named it seems."
"Stranger, the Ranger? The imagination of this village astounds," said Sakura sarcastically. She wiped her mouth with a rag and tossed it into the fire with a scoff.
"They are simple people, Sakura. It is a frightening word."
"I noticed," she answered sourly. But she looked thoughtfully into the fire, and the depth of her thoughts soon pulled the frown from her face. "Am I to play a Ranger then?" she asked him, without looking at him. He turned to her in some surprise. She was looking to him for instruction now? She was perhaps used to taking orders, he thought.
"It is as good a reason for your being here as any," he said with a thoughtful nod, "and they will not ask questions, which is in your interest, I've no doubt. You shall not have to reveal your face, if you do not wish to, nor your name." She nodded, still watching the fire, until her eyes took on a hardened glint and she turned her head to him.
"What are they afraid of, Strider?" she asked, and he found himself surprised by the renewed suspicion in her eyes. "There is something you are not telling me." Apparently the result of her deep thought was not, as he'd hoped, a mellowing of her temper. Contrarily, she seemed more agitated than he had yet seen her.
And still, he was silent. She huffed and continued, "There is something here that they are all afraid of, and they are more afraid of it than they are of you. Or me. Us, whatever. You know what it is."
Infuriatingly, he turned away.
"I told you not to dwell on that Sakura."
Sakura's temper was not good at the best of times, and while she'd been controlling it pretty well over the past week, right now she was a ninja on edge. Shinobi as a rule didn't like the unknown – especially when the unknown was perceived to be dangerous – and it was making her nervous. Not to mention Strider's adamant refusal to tell her anything. He was treating her like a child! She angrily stomped over to his chair, ignoring the small dents left in the floorboards as she did so. Strider, however, didn't fail to notice, and his eyes widened comically at this implication of her strength.
"Actually," she said with a bitter kind of smugness, desperately trying to keep her voice level, "You told me not to dwell on what I saw, which means that rider - or whatever it was - is precisely the thing that you are hiding. You also told me to trust you, which, despite everything I have ever been told to the contrary, I actually want to do. But how can I when you are so damned secretive?" Her voice gained in volume with every word she spoke, 'til her voice could only be described as an outright growl. "And while you're at it, why don't you just call me Stranger, since actual names are such a bloody mystery to you!"
She was actually panting slightly as she finished, eyes blazing with a fire he hadn't seen in them before. Her fists were clenched, Aragorn noticed. For a long time it was silent in the room; a tense, overbearing silence the like of which put all other silences between them to shame.
He sighed again. "I can see this is not a subject which you will drop readily, but please understand that I cannot yet tell you, Sakura. I would rather that Gandalf be here." he said softly, once again using the soothing voice she had heard him use when first he found her. Her nostrils flared angrily as she remembered the comparison she'd made with that voice – she was no damned animal to be calmed! Her glare did not let up in the slightest. She opened her mouth, ready with what he'd bet was a scathing retort, but he held up a hand to forestall her.
"But," he said firmly, "you have my word that I will do so soon. I have been doing much thinking these past days Sakura, and I believe you may be able to help me."
This brought forth a lessening of the glare, but as it was replaced with merely more suspicion, it was not much of an improvement.
"I will honour my promise of assistance Sakura; I will do what I can to return you to your home. However, I need you to trust me, and to know that I can trust you."
Sakura regarded him for a moment, taking in his earnest and weary expression, and nodded slowly. She did need this man and his friends, if she wanted to get home. She had to keep remembering that. And above all she owed him a debt, which would have to be repaid somehow.
"If I tell you my name, understand that you must not repeat it. If we are in the presence of another, address me only as Strider. Do I have your word?"
"Yes," she replied without hesitation.
He paused a moment, before beginning "I have my own reason's for not revealing it. I beg you not to ask them. But my name is Aragorn."
To be continued…
For your benefit, changes (if they're not obvious) made to this chapter include:
Pretty much the whole thing. I decided to expand a bit more on Sakura's stay in Bree, since when I went back over my original chapters I felt I'd just glossed over it and moved on too quickly. Thus, here we see a bit more development on her relationship with Aragorn and their trust issues, which were also glossed over and done with too quickly.
New content, and it is a much longer chapter overall.
Takes place over about a week, if it's not obvious.
~Devi1OnUrShou1der~