Recollections of a Dúnedain Ranger

[Valandil]

Originally Posted by Snowdog

Awe come on... you're up to it!

Alright - I'm taking you up on it... but I'm starting it in the next post, because this will be #20 in the thread and I don't want to have to split it between pages. I took the liberty of using 'letter form', with which I've had a little practice now.

[Valandil]

Requiem for a Ranger:

March 16, 3019

Dearest mother and all my family,

Greetings. I am well – to this point, though our peril may not be over. Of we thirty who rode south to find Aragorn, eighteen can ride still. Twelve are missing, slain or wounded near to death. Among those missing is our former commander Halbarad. Those losses may sound grievous, and each man will be mourned, yet we had the victory nonetheless. And through our travel and many strange adventures, none of us came to harm until yesterday – on which day we fought a great battle.

Let me go back to the start and this will make more sense.

It was still mid-February when we were summoned that we might ride out and meet Halbarad. I was proud to be summoned, for I have not yet turned twenty five, when such duty is normally expected of us. I gathered what little I might need in great haste, saddled my mount, Thistle – and rode through the snow to meet the rest at the joining of the Hoarwell and the Loudwater. My greatest hope was to go into battle and to avenge both my father and my grandfather.

Three things surprised me when I arrived… no, four. For one, there were so few of us – no more than twenty when I arrived, and we departed when we had only become thirty, which number I have mentioned. For another, we were to ride out of the north – leaving all our people’s former lands, which we knew so well – and ride to find Aragorn himself, that we might be of service to him. Thirdly, the brothers Elladan and Elrohir were there – and would ride with us. Fourth… mother, the fourth was just before we left. Halbarad called me before them all, and when I came, he brought forth a star, and pinned my cloak with it… and he said unto me that this star had been my father’s, and that it henceforth should be mine.

Then we rode. For many days we rode… first in places familiar, but soon in places strange and new. After many days, we found Aragorn our Lord… it was night actually, and he had just come from winning a great battle among the horsemen of the south – and from the overthrow of a wizard. And we heard strange tales of trees that walked and spoke – and we saw Shire-folk, far from their safe homes away north.

Aragorn now took our lead from Halbarad, and we continued south, first with the king of those horsemen, but later by ourselves, with another Elf and a Dwarf for companions. We rode up into some hills and came to a place those folk call Dunharrow. And there I saw… the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen! She is tall… for a girl, and fair is her face and proud, and golden is her hair and long. Her name is Eowyn and she is sister-daughter to their king. She cast her eyes upon Aragorn and spoke only with him. Did she not know that he is spoken for? It certainly got Arwen’s brothers to talking among themselves. Besides, he is too old for her, is he not? All that night, I lay in troubled sleep, unable to take my mind off her, although my companions all seemed to sleep well enough. In the morning, she came out to see us off… and although she looked long upon Aragorn once more, I could have sworn that her eyes alighted on me… and that perhaps they paused!

That day was the strangest day yet… more than likely the strangest I shall EVER have. Mother, many years ago our forefather, Isildur, required an oath of some people of those mountains. They broke their oath and a curse was laid on them, and it has long been said that their spirits still haunt the secret places there. Led by Aragorn, we disturbed those spirits, and Aragorn offered them release from the curse, and the peace of restfulness, if they would now come to our aid and fulfill their oath at this late hour.

They came, and they rode with us. It was a fearsome ride and long it was, and hard. It struck me as odd that we rangers felt the weariness of going with little rest for many weeks… yet these who rode with us had known NO rest for over three thousand years!

At last we came to a port city called Pelargir, where ships of the Enemy’s forces lined up to sail to Gondor’s great city of Minas Tirith (birthplace long ago of our great lady, Queen Firiel). We the living of our company could not have taken even one of those great ships… but the dead among us swept out across the very waters and laid waste to our foes upon them. It was a fearsome sight, and we rangers could only watch in awed silence as they did their work.

The dead took those ships for us, and were given release. We then gathered what force we could from the folk of that place, manned the ships with our own forces and sailed up the River Anduin. Mother, sailing is a strange thing… not like riding a horse. Aragorn and Halbarad both seemed to know what they were doing, so I tried to assist in the working of the ship myself. Before long, Halbarad told me it was better that I take some rest while I may, for we had ridden hard, and there were fresher men with us from these provinces and they were steady at boatmanship.

(continued)

[Valandil]

(continued)

After sailing for two days, we arrived, yesterday, here at Minas Tirith. The city was besieged when we came. Moreover, a great battle had been joined, for the horse-folk of Rohan (as their land is called) had come at break of day, and forces had come forth to do battle from the city gates. Never have I seen, or thought to see, so many! Both sides had thousands upon thousands upon thousands. There is a wide land before the city, and it was all filled up. The enemies were Orcs and Trolls, but also Men, and … Oliphaunts! The Men though, do not look nor speak as the Men we have known. They come from strange and distant parts, far to the south and east.

As our ships drew near to what they call “the quays”, first our enemies let out a great cheer, but then – those cheers died off in wonder and dread… and the forces of our friends cheered and blew upon their trumpets, for Aragorn had let loose his standard, and shown himself for who he truly was, and shown our forces as friends to the city, not as foes.

I was in the second ship, and tried my best to stay calm as I awaited my chance to “de-bark” as they say and join the battle. This would be my first real action, and I strove to recall all my training. One of my fellows laid a hand on my shoulder and told me to stick with him and that he would watch over me. Then, my turn came and after I was almost pushed off the ship, it seemed I was pulled into the thick of the fighting, never to see that fellow who spoke to me again (indeed, I found later that he had been forced a different way, and had been slain trying to bring down one of those Oliphaunts).

The fighting was thick all about me at first, and I was constrained with my sword-swings, that I not take down a friend, rather than a foe. But as the day wore on, the field widened up and the combat became a series of one-on-one encounters, instead of the general melee. And the day was long indeed – for we had arrived at about noon, and fought without ceasing until the sun was setting. My training indeed served me well, for once the fighting started, I thought of it no more, but simply did it. Though not as tall as Aragorn himself, I have the height of a Dunedain – and the reach and the strength. Grandfather’s sword served me well also, for the weapons of my foes gave way before it.

Near day’s end, the battle was no longer in doubt – for we held the upper hand. All that was left was to finish. At this point I was completely alone, and turned to look about for some group of allies to join with in assaulting the last groups of our foes. Then I saw him… and just then, he saw me. By his dress and markings, he was a Man of the South, but he was tall, and noble of bearing. I remembered that some of the Dunedain had gone among those people of the south – some rebels against the Kings of Gondor, some in those places long ago, when the Kings of Numenor began to turn away from the Valar and envy the Eldar. I took him to be such a man… one in whom the blood of Numenor ran very nearly true… perhaps as true or truer than my own. This would be a test.

We closed, slowly, warily. We were armed alike, each with a great sword wielded with two hands. I saw that he bore a slight wound at one thigh, while by good fortune, I was as yet unmarked. He looked upon me with a grim look of determination, the which I must have mirrored back upon him.

Our swords flashed overhead and met above us, then between us. We swung this way and that, each always parrying the other’s strokes. He was of great skill… greater skill and strength than I, I think – but he had fought for longer and struggled against his wound, and his despair, at seeing the day lost to him.

On we fought, endlessly, it seemed… yet I knew that with one wrong move, an ending would come all to quickly, and a bitter one. None were around to give me succor, for the main part of the battle had drawn away from us. None was there to succor him either. So on we fought, wordlessly, desperately… our sounds the clashing of sword, the shifting of feet and the gasping of breath.

Finally, it came to an end. We had drawn further apart at times and closer at others. This one time, as we drew closer, noting how he over-protected his wounded thigh, I was able to strike the other leg. His knees buckled in pain and he fell, his arms went down to stop his fall, but his head bent down with fatigue. I stamped my foot upon the flat of his sword and pinned it down, but I held my own sword still upon my shoulder. I saw no need to slay this champion of the south, now that I had won, so with this gesture I offered him quarter. At last he slowly lifted his head, gasping still for his breath, wondering why his death-blow had not yet come. Then he saw what I would do…

Now mother, in his place, I think that I should have chosen to live. While willing to lay down my life at great need, I also hold it dear, and long ever to live out my days with joy and peace. Had he but yielded himself, he could have hoped to do so as well. But mother, something came across his face… across his eyes. Not anger, I think, but hatred! He hated me. He reached for the dagger at his belt and I did what I had to do.

Then I had no more foes to fight. I wished that I had, for all I could do then was think, and I did not wish to think. I did not wish to think about that last man I had slain. Of course I had slain others before, but with a quick slash here, and a quick stab there… and then move on to the next foe. That’s just how it is when we are caught up on battle. But this last one… it was somehow personal. And because of that, the hatred I sensed was personal. What could I have done to deserve such hate? Nothing, obviously… for we had never met. What then, did I represent to him… and why did he hate it so?

Yesterday’s gone and this day has come. Today there are no foes to fight and there are no leagues to ride. We can rest, or bathe in the river, or go into the city… or even write a letter. And of course, we can think, although that’s the thing I want most not to do right now. Tell my little brother Anduhar that battles are not as great as we have always thought that they were. Tell my sisters of my love for them, and that I hope to bring them something from the far south if I survive the rest of our campaign.

Oddest thing mother… my one true love, the lady Eowyn, is here. She rode with the men of her land in disguise, and fought on the same field of battle as I. They say she was wounded by some servant of the Enemy, whom she nonetheless slew, and she has been taken into the city to the care of the leeches. Her uncle the King of Rohan died on the field, and her brother Eomer is now their king. Anyway now, I go to find undamaged flowers on the edge of the field – perhaps down by the river, that I may bring them to her and declare to her my great love. Perhaps mother, I shall not return alone, when I come back.

Thy loving son,

Malvehael

[Valandil]

So... any reaction to my attempt at it? Snowdog? Tessar? Lief? Rosie? LCoU??

Did you guys even read it?

[Last Child of Ungoliant]

Originally Posted by Valandil

So... any reaction to my attempt at it? Snowdog? Tessar? Lief? Rosie? LCoU??

Did you guys even read it?

very good val, i love it!

one criticism, i think that it would be more appropriate to use
'yestre day' as opposed to 'yesterday', based on the style used throughout tolkien's works

[Valandil]

Originally Posted by Last Child of Ungoliant

very good val, i love it!

one criticism, i think that it would be more appropriate to use
'yestre day' as opposed to 'yesterday', based on the style used throughout tolkien's works

Thanks Chrys...

Hmmm... not sure we have that in the 'American editions'. I'll have to check.

[Earniel]

Originally Posted by Valandil

So... any reaction to my attempt at it? Snowdog? Tessar? Lief? Rosie? LCoU??

Did you guys even read it?

Bad Valandil, can't resist writing Middle-earth letters, can you?

[Tessar]

*sighs*

*Simon Cowel voice* It was rubbish. But I suppose since it's no worse than the other rubbish you'll have to stick with it.

Terrible work, keep it up.

[Last Child of Ungoliant]

[SIMONCOWELL]that was distinctly average[/SIMONCOWELL]

j/k

[Lief Erikson]

Valandil, when you wrote Malvehael, were you trying hard to make him extremely British?

[Valandil]

Earniel - force of habit!

Tessar / LCoU - wow, tough crowd!

Lief - don't think I was really trying anything like that, in particular... Why?

[Snowdog]

Well... in a 'letter to mom' sort of way it was pretty good. I think that format worked better with the Firiel letters though. Here I didn't really get a true feel for the hardness of all Malvehael went through. I guess he had to keep it soft for mum eh?

[Valandil]

Well, you know how it is...

Those who have been through it themselves... they'll understand.

Those who haven't... they couldn't imagine it anyway.

[Last Child of Ungoliant]

y'know val, i dont know what lief is driving at
i dont think it sounds overly english, just sounds normal,
if you get my meaning, mr gandalf sir

[Lief Erikson]

The whole tone of the story seemed to me to have that same kind of "understatement" that the British employ. I didn't feel the person's desperation, and the Brits don't show their desperation in crisis!

Originally Posted by Valandil

Now mother, in his place, I think that I should have chosen to live. While willing to lay down my life at great need, I also hold it dear, and long ever to live out my days with joy and peace. Had he but yielded himself, he could have hoped to do so as well. But mother, something came across his face… across his eyes. Not anger, I think, but hatred! He hated me. He reached for the dagger at his belt and I did what I had to do.

Then I had no more foes to fight. I wished that I had, for all I could do then was think, and I did not wish to think. I did not wish to think about that last man I had slain. Of course I had slain others before, but with a quick slash here, and a quick stab there… and then move on to the next foe. That’s just how it is when we are caught up on battle. But this last one… it was somehow personal. And because of that, the hatred I sensed was personal. What could I have done to deserve such hate? Nothing, obviously… for we had never met. What then, did I represent to him… and why did he hate it so?

This particular part was the main part where I saw him really opening up.

THIS part, is the part that I love .

Oddest thing mother… my one true love, the lady Eowyn, is here.

I cannot imagine this said without a British accent. "Oddest thing mother" . "My one true love" . I like it a good deal, but it's very, very British. Definitely not the way I would react, if my true love was on her death bed- or even a sick bed, for that matter!

She rode with the men of her land in disguise, and fought on the same field of battle as I. They say she was wounded by some servant of the Enemy, whom she nonetheless slew, and she has been taken into the city to the care of the leeches. Her uncle the King of Rohan died on the field, and her brother Eomer is now their king. Anyway now, I go to find undamaged flowers on the edge of the field – perhaps down by the river, that I may bring them to her and declare to her my great love. Perhaps mother, I shall not return alone, when I come back.

Thy loving son,

Malvehael

There's a similar tone throughout most of the letter, but this last paragraph in particular contains the most British understatement. If my love's beloved uncle died, I wouldn't mention it and then say "anyhow, I'm off to pick flowers . . ." . Quite amusing .

[Snowdog]

Oddest thing mother… my one true love, the lady Eowyn, is here. She rode with the men of her land in disguise, and fought on the same field of battle as I. They say she was wounded by some servant of the Enemy, whom she nonetheless slew, and she has been taken into the city to the care of the leeches. Her uncle the King of Rohan died on the field, and her brother Eomer is now their king. Anyway now, I go to find undamaged flowers on the edge of the field – perhaps down by the river, that I may bring them to her and declare to her my great love. Perhaps mother, I shall not return alone, when I come back.

Thy loving son,

Malvehael

It would be interesting to read Malvehael's letter after Lady Éowyn gets together with Faramir.... Oh the heartbreak!

[Valandil]

Snowdog... IF he survived the next battle! Of course, he might be really excited, because she probably told him that she "wants to be his friend"

Lief - well, I was sort of winging this. I actually meant to go more into how it disturbed him to think how much the one man hated him - that he would rather die than live. I think I also was going to have him get slightly wounded in that last encounter... but I had been writing for awhile, wasn't as commited to it as my Firiel project and just wanted to finish it. I do think of the Dunedain as being rather nonchalant and unexcitable, in general... certainly after the fact, in relating events of a battle.

I guess - picture Malvehael as a young man, far from home for the first time in his life, suddenly subjected to a long tiring journey, that trip with the Army of the Dead, his first major battle... and a major crush on a pretty girl! His head is probably spinning. Probably similar to any young man who must go off to war, as he is at first. Plausible?

Thanks for the comments though - not getting defensive or anything, just wanted to answer what you've said and tell you where I was coming from.

[Snowdog]

True... And the perspective if a different soul that was there!


Oh, thanks for fixing the front end of this thread. I posted an edited draft of the story on two posts. I will be posting the follow up in awhile.

[Rosie Gamgee]

Originally Posted by Valandil

So... any reaction to my attempt at it? Snowdog? Tessar? Lief? Rosie? LCoU??

Did you guys even read it?

Did you want us to congratulate you or something?

I liked it. Very good. I thought, though, as well, that it sounded a little... removed. Hobbitish- the way they make light of their troubles. Also, the way the fellow fluctuates from archaic to home-town-Brit ("pip-pip, tally-ho, and all that rot") is a little weird. But the feelings were definately there- fear, wonder, dispair, etc.

I want the sequel, where Faramir bashes this guy's head in!!!!

[Snowdog]

Originally Posted by Rosie Gamgee

I want the sequel, where Faramir bashes this guy's head in!!!!

FIGHT! FIGHT! They're fighting over a girl!