Becoming a Ranger

'It's rare to see your lot 'round here,' the barman said as he took note of Severus's presence. Over the last few days, Severus had taken notice of the distinctions that were made between the Peoples of this land. Elves. Dwarves. Men. Wizards. Valar and Maiar. Living trees, even, and there were bound to be more that he had not heard of just yet. And even among all these Peoples, there appeared to be differences as though they came from all sorts of directions, with their own customs and their own tongues. Where the barman thought he came from, Severus wasn't sure of, nor could he be bothered by it for now. He had finally made it to Bree, and from here, his search for Lily could finally continue.

'I lost someone,' Severus answered. 'Her name is Lily. A girl my age. Flaming red hair and freckles. Have you seen anyone like that?'

Mister Butterbur shook his head. 'Afraid not, young man. But feel free to stick around and ask anyone that passes through. Where'd you lose her?'

'Near the Brandywine River,' Severus said as he stepped inside and made his way up to the bar. 'It's been several days now, and I'm deeply worried.'

'She your wife?'

Severus was a little taken aback by his question. 'Well, no. We're not related. Just friends.'

Mister Butterbur shot him a questionable look. 'Folks might not be so obliged to help if she's just your friend, young man. They have a hard time trusting the likes of your kin. Aim your shot, but don't hope for the best.'

'Point taken,' Severus answered. 'Do you serve breakfast? And have you got a room available for the night? Or for several night. I'm not quite sure when I'll be leaving again.'

'Can do,' Mister Butterbur said while pointing his thumb to the back. 'I got some kippers if you'd like. Or I could fry up some bacon for you. Got roasted potatoes with some local herbs. Think there's some beef stew left from last night. Got some pumpkin soup. Oh, and some split pea soup, and –'

'—Kippers and potatoes will suffice,' Severus interrupted before Mister Butterbur had listed off the entire pantry. 'Thank you, sir. I'll go sit over there.' He pointed at a dark corner of the pub.

As Mister Butterbur disappeared in the back, Severus sat down and took in the overview that he had of the pub. There were no newspapers here, and he didn't think that he was ever going to find any. He knew that the summer was over and had turned over into autumn, like it had done back in Scotland. But of the date and time he wasn't certain, and it made him feel oddly out of control. All he knew was to sit and wait for something to happen.

He ate his breakfast, and people came and went. Some more suspicious of him than others. All he had asked if they'd seen Lily anywhere. If there had been any mention of a strange girl being found. But he was met with shaking heads and disappointment. He did, however, learn a bit more about the place he was. Bree was an important crossroad, that much was certain to him. He learnt that there were quite a few elves from a place called Rivendell, travelling West to something called the Grey Havens. He also learnt that the little people he had met before were called Hobbits, and that most of them live in a region called the Shire in the realm of Eriador, which he figured was the realm he was currently still in. Most of the dwarves had come from the Blue Mountains, West from the Great East Road, and were mainly here to trade. The men and women of Bree also appeared to be made of a particular stock. Most had dark-brown hair and a stern, sturdy look to them, and reminded him of the factory workers of Cokeworth.

Needing some fresh air, Severus had walked out of The Prancing Pony and walked around Bree for a bit, following the Great East Road down towards the South Gate. He found forges, glassblowers, market salesmen selling fruits, vegetables, and various types of meat. A large saw mill. A writing equipment shop selling parchment, inkbottles, and pens. Clothing and armour, jewellery, and more types of weapons he was able to name. He also found stables with ponies and horses, though most of them already appeared to be owned by someone, and he briefly wondered if he should buy a horse if he were to leave this town at some point.

He returned to The Prancing Pony empty handed and feeling more lost than ever. There had to be some sort of clue around here, or maybe it had been nothing more than wishful thinking, and Goldberry had sent him the wrong way. Though that was hard to believe, as she was a Maia after all, and he couldn't believe that she would mislead him on purpose.

'Got a key for your room,' Mister Butterbur said, and handed Severus a brass key. 'It's upstairs. Seventh door to your right.'

'Thanks,' Severus muttered back as he took the key. It felt as if his shoes were filled with lead as he made his way upstairs. He had reached Bree, and from here on he held no goal nor purpose other than to ask people if they had seen the likes of Lily, and it appeared none of them had so far. He was stuck in a strange world, with strange people, and with a strange Ring around his finger.

The floorboard creaked loudly as he counted the rooms, and stopped in front of a rounded, oaken door. He tried to move the key in its lock, but it appeared the door was already open. He pushed his way inside and was met with a cackling fireplace. The room looked cosy. It's small round windows let in enough light to illuminate every corner, and a very soft and comfortable bed, covered in pillows, blankets, and a comforter, stood against the wall. There was also a simple writing desk and an armchair. Severus gladly would've slumped down in the armchair for a well-deserved rest, had it not been for the fact that the chair was already occupied. 'Excuse me, sir,' he said stiffly. 'I think you got the wrong room.'

'I don't think I do.' The man's voice was deep. He appeared tall and dark, and dressed in a similar fashion Severus was. He had a shaggy head of thick dark hair that was flecked with grey, and a pale stern face. A pair of keen grey eyes looked up at him.

'As I'm positive it is not my inept inability to count doors,' said Severus, not in the least bit impressed, 'it means you are the one that has indeed been following me. I remember seeing you from the window at Goldberry's house. I'm quite certain of it.'

'So young, and already so alert to his surroundings,' the man answered. 'Colour me impressed.'

'This is the point where you tell me why you have been following me, sir.'

The man's stern face offered a rare smile. 'And polite he is, too. I go by Strider in these parts. By Gandalf's request, I have been following a group of Hobbits down here from the Shire and wish to meet with them by nightfall. Gandalf ought to be here soon as well.'

'Gandalf the Grey?' Severus said, and felt his hart starting to pound in his chest. A fellow wizard helping him out was exactly what he needed on his quest to find Lily. 'A wizard is coming here?'

'Yes,' Strider answered, though a reluctance lingered in his voice. 'I had expected his arrival by now, but so far all I've been able to do is wonder who you are. Tell me, young man, what is your name, and how did you end up here?'

Severus crossed his arms, getting frustrated by the whole ordeal. 'I still want to know why it is that you are following me.'

'You are a stranger that somehow ended up on the same path that I am following,' Strider explained. 'You look like one of my own kin, and yet you don't. Once you entered the Old Forest, lost and afraid, I asked Goldberry to look after you, which she did, and told her that I would meet you here. And now, here we are!'

'And who might your kin be? Severus asked.

'I am a Ranger of the North. A Dúnedain of Arnor.'

'I've neither heard of Rangers nor who the Dúnedain are,' Severus said. 'But since you told me, it's seems only fair that I would reveal a bit more about myself. My name is Severus, and I am not from here. I got lost and woke up while floating up the Brandywine River, and I lost my friend. I need to find her, and I think that meeting Gandalf is where I need to start.'

Strider remained silent and looked Severus in the eye to the point where it got uncomfortable. 'Are you an Easterling scout?' he said eventually. 'You look a bit like one, but you don't speak like one. You could pass for an elf, and yet you are definitely not an elf. For the elves are fading and preparing for their journey to the Undying Lands, and you are far too young to be one. You are most likely a simple man, and yet I don't believe that to be entirely true. Where exactly is it that you hail from, Severus?'

'I am from a different realm entirely,' Severus answered. 'One that not even Goldberry had heard of, and so I don't believe that it'll be of any interest to you. It is why I need to speak with Gandalf, as I think he may be the only person who can help me find me.' He slammed the door shut and sat down on the bed. 'The only thing that matters to me is finding her. I lost her, and at this point I don't even know if she's dead or alive, but I need to find her all the same. So, if you'll excuse me, Mister Strider, if you're not capable of helping me, then I kindly ask you to leave.'

'If you cannot reveal your origins today, then perhaps another,' Strider said, and remained seated in the armchair. 'Have you heard any strange things as you passed the Barrow-downs?'

'Everything is strange to me here,' Severus huffed. 'But I did hear voices, which I assumed were the Barrow-wights Goldberry had told me about. And also the sound of hoofs galloping in the distance, but I didn't think of it to be of any significance, since horse riding is what most people do around here.'

'It is unfortunate that you considered it so,' Strider said with an eyebrow raised at him, 'for those horses serve The Ringwraiths. They are the Nazgûl, nine mortal men who have fallen into shadow long ago, and they have left Minar Morgul, once known as the Tower of the Moon, serving an order given by Sauron, in search of something that as very precious to him. That precious thing of his will arrive here soon, and the Nazgûl will shortly follow. Tell me, Severus, can you fight?'

Severus would argue that he could, had it not been that his wand had given out on him. Even physically he had gotten rather good at defending himself, but actually fight? No, he'd rather run away from it all. 'Not really, no,' he admitted.

From the table, Strider picked up a hilt and tossed it at him, which Severus caught with both hands. 'I've never wielded a sword in my life,' he said.

'Fortunately for you,' Strider answered with a smirk, 'that's not a sword, but a blade. A Barrow-blade to be more precise. The Barrow-downs still hide old blades such as these near the graves, and I took some along with me with I passed through. It may look simple to the eye, but don't underestimate the power it wields. They were forged by my people before we became Rangers after the fall of the Kingdom of Arthedain, and were used in the wars against Angmar. The Nazgûl are nearly untouchable, but they can certainly feel these blades. Keep it with you at all times, and don't lose it!'

Severus pulled out the blade from the hilt and raised it up with his left hand, where it shimmered in the afternoon light. It didn't look as simple to him as Strider claimed to be. The leaf-shaped blade was demasked with serpent-forms of red and gold, and a large fiery stone was set in the diamond shaped pommel. It was lightweight to the touch, and yet looked as though strong and newly forged. 'Thank you,' he muttered, unsure of what to do next.

'I will help you find this friend of yours,' said Strider, 'but in return I ask you to follow my lead. The four Hobbits I have been following will arrive here soon, and I must make my way downstairs to meet with them. Stay here, and from now on you are a Ranger; one of the Dúnedain. If anyone asks, that is what you are. I cannot promise you that Gandalf will arrive before the Nazgûl do – if he ever does.'

Severus frowned. 'What do you mean by if?'

Strider stood up from the armchair. He stood tall and broad shouldered as he strutted his way to the door. 'A wizard arrives precisely when he means to, mister Severus.' Doubt and uncertainly lingered on Strider's tongue. 'And so far, he has not arrived. And I fear that if he was interrupted on his journey here, it can only be so because something even greater than this has forced his hand. And I can only fear what it might be. Stay here and await my return. It might take a while, as convincing these Hobbits to take us on their journey East might prove to be difficult.'

'Us?' Severus exclaimed. 'What do you mean by –' But before he could continue, Strider had already turned the corner, and disappeared.

Severus was still holding the Barrow-blade in his hand. The questions kept piling up in his mind. Who was Strider, really? And what was his story? What did the four Hobbits have with them that was so important? Who exactly was Sauron, and what are the Nazgûl to him? What did it mean to be a Dúnedain,and what had happened to Gandalf? It felt as though he was collecting small pieces to an enormous puzzle that formed Arda, and none of the pieces connected yet. It was confusing, and somewhat freighting, and the fact that some stranger was about to drag him along didn't help to ease his mind one bit.

Knowing that there was nothing more to do than await Strider's return, he stood up from the bed, held the grip of the dagger firmly into his hand, and swung it around. If he had to wait, the least he could do was getting used to holding a dagger in his hands.

A/N I love Viggo Mortensen's portrayal of Aragorn. They literally could not have picked a better actor for the part, and he made Aragorn entirely his own. Still, book Aragorn is a lot sassier and more sarcastic than he is in the movies (not very unlike Severus), and that's also how I prefer to write him in this story.

A/N Making Severus left-handed is not a quirk. In the books (such as the scene where he is doing his O.W.L.s), he is constantly smudging his ink on the pages, which is usually a sign of a left-handed person writing with ink. In Western esotericism, there is also something called the Left-Hand path and the Right-Hand path, the dichotomy between the two opposing approaches to magic. The Left-Hand path is usually associated with black magic, and the Right-Hand with white magic. Of course, there's a lot more to it, but this A/N would get far too long if I continued typing it out. Google is your friend.

A/N Why are there no elf children seen or mentioned in the lotr? This is a good question, and it starts with Tolkien's deep devotion to his Catholicism. Elves do produce their own offspring, but they only have intercourse for the sole purpose of reproducing, which could only be done if it was true love and eternal. They usually don't have more than four children, and Fëanor and his seven sons were a very rare exception. This of course reflects on the old Christian values of sex being nothing more than a way to create offspring.

"It might be thought that, since the Eldar do not (as Men deem) grow old in body, they may bring forth children at any time in the ages of their lives. But this is not so. For the Eldar do indeed grow older, even if slowly: the limit of their lives is the life of Arda, which though long beyond the reckoning of Men is not endless, and ages also. Moreover their body and spirit are not separated but coherent. As the weight of the years, with all their changes of desire and thought, gathers upon the spirit of the Eldar, so do the impulses and moods of their bodies change. […]

Also the Eldar say that in the begetting [conceiving], and still more in the bearing of children, greater share and strength of their being, in mind and in body, goes forth than in the making of mortal children. For these reasons it came to pass that the Eldar brought forth few children; and also that their time of generation was in their youth or earlier life, unless strange and hard fates befell them." - History of Middle-earth X Morgoth's Ring Part 3: "The Later Quenta Silmarillion" Chapter 2: "The Second Phase" Laws and Customs Among the Eldar.

Strange and hard times have befallen on them during the end of the 3d age, which is the time period in which this story is set. Most of them are preparing to leave Middle-Earth and sail off to the Undying Lands. Therefore, you don't see any elf children, because even the youngest ones are all grown up and are no longer reproducing.

A/N Aragorn wears the Ring of Barahir. It depicts two silver serpents with green, emerald eyes. The serpents meet beneath a golden crown, one upholding it and the other devouring it. It was the symbol of the House of Finarfin and was passed on from Elrond to Aragorn as it was his heirloom. The ring dates back to the Years of the Trees, making it older than all the Rings of Power. In 2980, Aragorn gave the ring to Arwen for their betrothal in Lórien. It is unknown if the ring holds any magical powers.
In the movie he is still wearing the ring, and it is briefly shown with a close-up when he's at the Prancing Pony. (Jackson's attention to detail like that never fails to amaze me.)