5. Barachiril

 “I still don’t understand what use the Big Folk could be in this. If the Wolfpack isn’t enough for you, you should have run straight east to this king you keep talking about,” Diamond grumped as she artfully stacked the small pile of firewood and worked her flint to light it.

“King’s men don’t run,” he answered flatly, and Diamond caught a quick glimpse of grim pride in his face before a good-humored expression masked it. “The Rangers may have some idea of what is going on outside our borders. I’d rather know my enemy before he pops me into the stew pot,” Pippin remarked with a wry grin as he watched her quick hands from the corner of his eye while he pulled and tugged at the surcoat he had just passed over his head. He smoothed the dark fabric with its brightly embroidered tree and stars with a slightly nostalgic stroke.

“Well, you’d look a fine fool trying to surprise anyone in that get-up,” she said, smirking at him from across the newly lit fire.

“It kept my fellow soldiers from spitting me for an undersized orc, so I’ll not complain of its flash, for all your sneering, Lady Diamond,” he shot back, looping the sword-belt with its long scabbard about his waist. The red gems set upon the dark leather winked in the flicker of the growing flames.

Her eye caught on the spark and lingered a moment on the hidden blade. He certainly carried it like a hobbit who might do more than nick his own shins in a tight spot. She shrugged and stumped off through the small wood to find a patch of undisturbed snow to melt in the little pot for a hot tea.

He watched her go, her gray cloak quickly fading into the shadows of the trees, annoyed with the mixed feelings she evoked in him. He had found her wry wit and gruff kindness at their first meeting quite charming, but the more he tried to relax the guard she had raised before him, the tighter she clenched her fist. Uncertainty made her quick tempered and sharp-tongued, and Pippin knew himself to be the cause. She was obviously used to being in charge and completely unmindful of her sex, but the presence of a stranger had cut her off from the familiar ease that had grown up between her and the lads she led.

He idly wondered what would happen if he were to simply kiss her. But no, that was exactly why she so resented his presence, that she would have to prove herself as more than a lass, good only for kissing and flirting, yet again, when she had probably already spent many frustrating years doing so. He shook his head and busied himself to dressing the skinny hare they’d lucked on for their supper.

“I don’t expect she’d take it well if I asked her to cook either…” he mused, chuckling under his breath at her imagined reaction to that request.

                                                                     ***   ***   ***

 The tall ranger watched curiously from his perch as the small figure below worked quietly around the camp. The little fire’s flickering light glinted off the silver thread upon the hobbit’s breast as he knelt upon the cleared ground, wielding a quick and skillful blade on the makings of his meal. He finally leaned back, bread and cheese in hand, to watch the spitted meat roast over the orange flames.

He had seen the small group of hobbits making their way northward towards Lake Nenuial, well past the bounds they usually guarded. The wilderness a few days north of the lake was still dangerous, full of unsettled men and half-orcs, though most of their full-blooded kin had been driven into the frozen waste of the Forodwaith. As he had trailed the small Wolfpack, for he recognized the fur-trimmed cloaks of Long Cleeve’s hunters from long acquaintance, he had seen two of them set off on their own just after midday.

He had not been surprised to see the little ‘Barachiril’, as they had begun to call her, the fiery-haired lass that braved the dangers of the Moor with her brothers. They had all remarked among themselves how unusual she was, and worried for her, as strangely distanced uncles might, wondering what life had in store for the little huntress, now that peace had returned to her world. He saw now, with not a little curiosity and amusement that this was not just any hobbit she was leading through the wilds, but young Peregrin Took, for none other among his people had ever worn the silver and sable of the King. Settling back among the creaking branches, he turned over in his mind the possible explanations for their strange direction.

“I may not be a ranger, but I do know a thing or two about sneaking around in the woods,” the hobbit’s clear voice rose to startle him from his reflections. “Won’t you come down and share my fire instead?”

Laerion dropped lightly from his hiding place and slowly approached his smiling host, as he stood to greet him. He noticed the other’s small hand carelessly draped on the hilt of the sword at his side, the deceptively casual stance, and the sharp eyes following his every movement.

“I am Laerion,” he said, bowing hand over heart, discreetly displaying the rayed star upon his shoulder.

“Peregrin Took,” the other replied with a wide grin, shoulders visibly relaxing beneath his borrowed cloak.

Waving him near, the young hobbit settled himself against the tree again and pulled the stopper from a leather wrapped bottle. Taking a sip, he passed it to the tall ranger now sitting at his side. Rich and heady, the ale was welcome after today’s long and snowy trek.

“Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Such as it is,” Pippin said with a laugh, handing him a portion of the roasted hare that sizzled deliciously over the flames.

The young hobbit was bringing his own portion of the meal to his mouth when he saw his guest freeze, one hand drifting towards the knife in his boot.

“Dear Diamond, please don’t spit our guest at my fire. It would be both rude and counterproductive, as he is the one we’ve come looking for.”

“How can you be sure he is no common brigand? Have you met him before?” she asked, stepping into the light with her bow still drawn.

“She raises a good point. You’re a mite neater than any ruffian I’ve ever seen and a tad closer to respectable than Strider ever was, but that bears little proof you didn’t steal that cloak and star.”

“Ah, well, if my manner and my attire are not enough, young Peregrin Took, I will say that the Dúnedain would wonder that the Ernil-i-Pheriannath roams still so far from his father’s house, though he’d be glad to see that the blade of Westernesse that served so well at the Morannon is still in your care.”

“Now there’s a mouthful of history and high tale worth a morsel of my dinner! You know more about me than is reasonable or fair, even for a Ranger of the North who served on the same field.”

Diamond snorted and tucked away her bow, placing the little kettle near the fire.

“Well, you’re both brazen and silver-tongued, Ranger and Bounder alike, and you certainly spin a pretty tale among you. I had no idea all that foolishness had spread beyond the Shire.”

The gray ranger glanced inquiringly towards the black-clad hobbit.

“Not many know,” Pippin murmured, “And the three of us prefer it that way, at least for now.”

Laerion nodded, quietly considering the youngest member of the Fellowship. Valor, foolishness, loyalty and kindness all had their part in the tales told of him, a veritable wealth of mirthful contradiction, at least until one recalled this was a hobbit, not a man. He wondered for a moment how the years had tempered what the war had wrought.

“Well, setting the past aside, what has brought you so far north in such capable company?”

Diamond shot him a sharp and searching glance, raking his expression for a sign that would give his compliment the lie.

Pippin hid a momentary grin, but his face lengthened with worry and he looked into the ranger’s gray eyes.

“Folk are disappearing on the northwest borders of the Shire. Eight farmsteads, emptied without a trace. Have you had any word of troubles that way?”

“No… But come to think of it, we have not heard from that quarter in the last several weeks, though that is not necessarily unusual.”

“How long before you’d know if your men had run afoul of something beyond their strength?”

“We meet at the full of each moon with our contacts at various points throughout the realm. Anyone missing would be noticed then. We are necessarily solitary and independent still, and likely will be for some generations.”

“That’s several days away.” Pippin shook his head. “We cannot wait here that long. I’m afraid for the other families in that area. What more can you tell us?”

“Very little, save that no Men or orcs have been sighted that far south in over a year. I will go to the hollow in advance for whatever news and signs I can gather, and I will send for a few more hands out of the new garrison at Annuminas.”

“My thanks, Lord Laerion,” Pippin replied with a nod.  “At least we know what isn’t waiting for us in the foothills of the Evendims,” he added wryly.

Diamond wondered at the shift in his manner of address, as though something in the rough-looking Ranger’s words had revealed a more noble station in life than his appearance would warrant.  He looked as disreputable and untrustworthy as ever to the young huntress’s eyes and she broke into their polite exchange, disdain writ clear across her sharp features.

“Ha!  He’s told us nothing at all, save what we already knew!” she said challengingly.  “He’s admitted to not even knowing of the welfare of his fellows, much less what news they might have of our troubles. Shoddy way of running things, if you ask me.”

Pippin shot her an exasperated glance and poured their guest some tea, volunteering his own little travel tumbler and the carefully corked flask of honey he always carried.   Turning back to the young hobbitess, whose frown and crossed arms silently demanded an answer, Pippin resisted adopting the patronizing tone his elders, at home and abroad, had always taken on to reply to his own stubborn requests.  She simply didn’t know any better, and though it wasn’t her fault, Pippin thought she might have found more politic ways to express her doubts.

“Actually,” he started quietly, “We now know that whatever’s causing the disappearances did not come from the north or east, at least not recently.  Orcs would never lay quiet for so long, and even Men are rarely so patient, especially the sort as would harm women and children.”  Though she could not miss his glance or its meaning, Pippin shot a questioning look at the quiet Man at their fire, receiving an approving nod of his conclusions.  He looked back at Diamond, whose face was still set in a skeptical mask.  “I also very much doubt that the elves at the Havens would have failed to notice a boatload of troublemakers upon their shores, so you see, my dear, our guest’s news rather clears the map of the more obvious players, at least in my mind.”

Yet, if he expected her to soften her stance, the young Took was quite mistaken.

“Are you so certain of these elves? Could they not have a hand in this?” Diamond asked pointedly, and they could only stare in shocked silence.

Laerion finally stirred, face severe and eyes sad, and the young hobbit-lass felt herself shrink under his sorrowful glance.

“Much lore is lost among you when the Eldar fall under your suspicion, Barachiril. Perhaps you can learn better from your companion ere we speak again.” His voice was low and cool, a pale note of melancholy bitterness buried deep within its silk. “We shall meet at the Northwest Marker a week past the full moon. Fare thee well.”

He disappeared into the night, barely stirring the snow at the edge of the camp in his passing.

“It is a sore lack and something I intend to remedy in time,” Pippin murmured to the shadows, reaching for the half-empty cup, kept warm by the ranger’s long fingers.

“Are they always so unpredictable and fey?” Diamond asked, puzzled and utterly unguarded for a short instant.

“You could have called his cousin a swineherd and he’d have laughed at your misprision, but the elves are well beyond our simple concerns, what few of them remain upon these shores. Those who knew them feel keenly the loss.” He stood, emptying the cup into the snow. “I think I shall foster all my children outside our borders for a time, that they should know the world is wider than our own small corner, and there is much of worth to be found beyond our borders. We have forgotten too much.” He too walked out of the light of the flickering fire, and Diamond was left alone, bewildered in the resulting silence.

                                                                         ***   ***   ***

 When the young Bounder crawled quietly into their small tent and curled himself wordlessly into his cloak and blankets, she was still awake, pondering all that she had heard.

“Peregrin?”

“Yes?”

“What was that he called me? Barachiril?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him when next we meet.”

A few minutes later, she broke the silence again, pulling him from the exhausted doze he had immediately fallen into.

“That was elvish?”

“Yes…”

“Well, it sounded nice enough, even though he was angry with me.”

“Even curses sound lovely in elvish…” Pippin replied sleepily, unable to resist needling his strangely subdued companion.

“Then whatever he called you must be a smart insult, I’m sure,” she shot back, stifling a yawn of her own.

“It isn’t, but I’ll never tell,” he said, and she could feel him laughing against her back.

“Well, that’s not very fair!” she complained, though sleep muffled her returning petulance.

“You already know quite enough about me without me adding fuel to the fire of your disdain. Now, go to sleep Barachiril…”

“Don’t even pretend to give me orders, Peregrin Took, or you can sleep outside my tent,” she grumbled.

“You’d be a lot colder without me…”

She muttered something inaudible and probably less than lady-like, and rolled as far from him as the small space would allow. Pippin sighed, tucking himself ever deeper into his cocooned blankets and missing Merry’s solid warmth at his back and his cheerful company with troubles ahead.

                                                                       ***   ***   ***

 Pippin woke slowly in a haze of perfect warmth and a tiny contented sigh escaped his lips. He determined right away not to move even an inch before he had to, feeling the chill air against one exposed temple. He knew that the sun was lifting her fair head above the horizon, throwing shadows against his closed eyelids, but he too dearly treasured the pleasure of warmth after the numbing cold of the blizzard that had nearly killed him to pass up such a gift of comfort in the midst of the wilderness. His companion had obviously relented in the night and was curled tight around his back, face tucked into his hair. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He wanted nothing more than to stay nestled here to enjoy the gentle desires her warm breath on his neck sent skirling through his mind. He knew instinctively, however, that he would pay for the privilege with the sharp side of her tongue if she woke soft and vulnerable in his sight. It was almost worth it, but he would be friends with her, if she could ever allow it.

With a small regretful sigh, he rolled carefully away from her sleeping form, bundling the furred cloak in his place.

“Still hard as diamonds, Barachiril…” he whispered, slipping from the shelter of the tent into the stillness of a snowbound dawn.

***   ***   ***

 Why was he so careful of her? He should be snarly and condescending, even hostile or at least shocked. Even her brothers had begrudged her gifts, so far outside the province of her sex, and it had taken years of running, ignored, at the back to prove herself. Her mother deplored her queer pursuits, calling her strange and common in the same breath, and poured her disapproval into a desperate race to marry off her older daughters in order to settle her youngest with a proper husband. Diamond secretly blessed and pitied her third sister Ruby, whose carrot curls and owlish gaze put off most hobbits at a glance. The young huntress would be old and gray before her turn would come, and that was fine with her. The proud and overbearing hobbit that thought he could ‘settle her down’ would find his hat handed to him, rather than the key to her chamber door.

She sighed and pressed her face into the fur-trimmed cloak her importunate companion had laid against her side.

‘As if I wouldn’t have know the difference, even sleeping, between a body and a bundle,’ she thought, lips thinned to a resentful line. ‘He can’t think much of my skills if he thinks I would be so easily fooled.’

Really, she couldn’t quite figure him out. Even the rumors disagreed on all points save his unpredictability and the strange ties he maintained with folk outside the Shire. He had proven both to be true in their short acquaintance, by turns seeming a joking youngster, carefree and conscious of his charm, then suddenly revealing a maturity whose hidden source had yet to be brought to light. And he hadn’t even blinked when her father had put her in charge. She shook her head and sat up. Whatever angle he was working, she would find and foil it. No one toyed with her and had the cheer left to laugh up their sleeve.