Two more Rangers arrived early the next morning asking for Gil. Butterbur directed them to his room but Mrs. Butterbur blocked the stairs and gave them a good tongue lashing for not looking after their companion better.
They listened in patient silence, with perhaps a trace of amusement, until she got to the Barrow Wights. Then a flash of alarm crossed Treebole's face (1) and he picked her right off the steps, set her gently to one side and shot up the stairs with Silverlock (2) right behind him and Mrs. Butterbur hot on their heels as soon as she got her breath back.
Gil was either awake or wakened the moment they entered and smiled at them. "What's all the noise?"
Treebole crossed the room in three long strides, took his wrist in one large hand, studied his face, then shook his head. "Didn't I say you were using yourself to hard?"
"Mrs. Butterbur has already given me one good scolding," Gil pleaded, eyes twinkling, "I don't need another."
"Might as well save my breath for all the good it'll do." Treebole agreed ruefully.
"Tackling Wights in your state," Silverlock shook his head, "what were you thinking?"
"Of the two children they'd carried off." Gil answered quietly.
The Rangers exchanged a glance and a sigh. "There was no help for it then." Treebole said resignedly, gently laying down his arm. "Very well then, Rover, we'll spare you more reproaches."
"Thank you. Do one thing more for me, see the Barrow is cleansed. I couldn't do it last night and Mrs. Butterbur has forbidden me to get up without her permission, which I fear will not be given just yet." and he gave the hostess, hovering in the doorway, a smile that made her blush like a girl. ***
Mr. Butterbur was waiting for them at the foot of the stair. "Begging your pardon, but I wanted to ask; what should we do about this?"
'This' was the golden jewelry that had adorned the two children, piled neatly on the Rangers' corner table with Beomann's sword lying beside it.
"Keep it if you like," Silverlock answered, fingers brushing lightly over rings and chains, "There's no taint on it that I can feel." then he picked up the sword and stiffened, eyes flashing outrage. "Mandos consign them to your deepest dungeons!" he whispered with frightening venom. "That they would *dare* -" looked at Treebole. "It was Aradan's tomb."
The other Ranger set his mouth in an even grimmer line and nodded upward. "Does *he* know that?"
"I don't see how he couldn't."
"Aradan?" Butterbur echoed blankly. "You mean King Aradan who was killed in the Witch Wars?"
Both Rangers turned to look at him in surprise. "That's right," Silverlock said, "You know the name?"
The Innkeeper glared. "We remember the Kings, we fought for them in those wars."
"Indeed you did," the Ranger agreed somberly, "and bravely too." he looked down at the sword in his hand. "Aradan and his sons fell before the gates of their citadel and were buried together with the knights who'd stood by them at the last." raised dark blue eyes to Butterbur's. "Your kin as well as ours lie in that barrow." suddenly he extended the sword, hilt first to the Innkeeper. "Give this to your son. The brave Man who bore it would be glad for him to have it."
Butterbur took the sword automatically, eyes never leaving Silverlock's. "The King's People," he breathed wonderingly, "that's who you Rangers really are. You didn't die or go to the Elves, you've been right here all along."
"Where we belong." said Silverlock. ***
Several of the Men who'd followed the Rover out to the Downs the night before, including Butterbur himself, decided to go back with Treebole and Silverlock.
Not that they could be of much help in finding the barrow, what with the fog and the dark and all. Luckily the Rangers didn't need assistance but followed a trail the Breelanders couldn't even see, unerringly to the long Barrow beneath the steep face of a down. The door gaped blackly as ever by daylight and a slight chill still hung about the place.
Treebole knelt down to cut a big square in the turf and roll back the dry winter grass. Then he and Silverlock went into the barrow to bring out the bones and pile them on the bare earth.
It was a nasty job but Butterbur remembered what Silverlock had said about some of those bones belonging to his kin, gritted his teeth and pitched in. And after some hesitation the other Breelanders did too.
When they finished the bones, including some ten or fifteen skulls, were in a big heap and the Breelanders drew back a little, uncertainly, to see what the Rangers would do next. First they covered the bones with shreded silk and tufts of dry grass, then Silverlock took a crystal from his coat and used it to focus the sun's rays on the tinder. After a long minute it began to smoke then caught little pale flames running all over the pile.
Butterbur cleared his throat. "Why -?"
"Sunfire cleanses." Treebole explained quietly, glanced at his troubled face and added: "If we just buried the bones the Wights could reclaim them. This is the only way to keep that from happening."
"Oh." There was something funny about the fire, the flames were pale but burned very bright and hot - almost like the sun.
Then Silverlock began to sing, a strange, slow song in words Butterbur couldn't understand but which filled his head with visions of high walled cities and sceptered kings, a golden land patterned with prosperous farms and towns and a darkness held at bay by shining swords.
The song ended. Butterbur sniffed and rubbed away the tears rolling down his cheeks with his sleeve. His neighbors' faces were wet too, but none of them could say why.
Silverlock and Treebole went back into the barrow and came out carrying armloads of treasure; gold and silver jewelry glittering with gems, swords and daggers, and shields ensigned with stars and trees and ships and other devices. This they spread on the grass and invited the Bree Men to take whatever they fancied and leave the rest lie in the clean sunlight, free to all comers.
"But - it's wrong to rob the dead." Will Rushlight ventured.
"The Wights have already done that," Treebole answered, "this is how we break their hold and cleanse the barrow of their presence."
"The King and his knights passed long ago beyond the circles of this world," Silverlock added kindly, "they care nothing for treasure now."
He bent and took from the heap a circlet of tiny leaves in bright silver with a green beryl stone set above the brow. Looked at it rather sadly for a moment, before saying; "I chose this."
Treebole silently selected a big red-golden broach in the shape of a coiled dragon. Thus encouraged the Breelanders began to pick through the glittering pile.
Butterbur chose a chain of gold and pearl for his Missis, another of adamant and beryl and topaz for Peggy, a pair of wide silver bracelets set with sapphires for May and an opal ring for Lusey. After a moment's hesitation he also took a long dagger, its blade damasked in a flame pattern of red and gold, for young Gerry, since Beomann already had his sword.
For himself he took one of the shields, bright gold, ensigned with sprig of butterbur in green with purple flowers. Why a knight of old would have been carrying it he couldn't imagine, but it would look well over the bar. **********************************************
1. So called for his height, even greater than that of most Rangers. His real name is Arallas son of Dornlas, (the same Arallas who is Captain of the Gate of Swords in 'Return') at one hundred and nineteen years he is accounted old even by the Dunendain.
2. So called for his silver blond hair. His real name is Elfaron son of Ithilion. His ancestors were nobles holding land on the River Lune. He inherits his silver hair from an ancestress who was a Nandorin Elf of the Evendim Hills.
The Nandor, btw, are Elves who left the Great Journey to settle on the banks of the Anduin and in Eriador. Though accounted 'Dark Elves' they are considered a cut above the Avari who refused the Journey altogether.
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