Brandywine was three hands shorter than the very tall and rather shaggy horses the Rangers rode but kept pace with the best of them as they alternately walked and trotted until mid-afternoon when the company stopped at the Forsaken Inn for lunch.
The Forsaken was much smaller than the Pony, and had a discouraged, run down look as it huddled behind its protective stockade of massive logs. A lonely outpost of the Breeland it was run by a cousin of Beomann's. Bannock Butterbur didn't have much to say about the company his young relative had fallen into but he shook his head a lot. And Aunt Alisoun kept muttering 'Your poor mother!' under her breath whenever Beomann was in earshot.
But Cousin Ban, unlike Barliman, rather liked the idea of new settlements. "More folk on the road means more business for me." he observed, puffing his pipe. The Forsaken, unlike the Pony, was almost entirely dependent on travelers there being naught but a few scattered homesteads near enough to give it regular custom.
"Once the building begins you'll have all the business you could wish for." Gilvagor assured him.
Ban brightened even more. "That sounds promising, don't you think Mum?"
Aunt Alisoun snorted. "Don't count unhatched chickens." she told her son. "I'll believe it when I see it."
"I'm not sure I will even then." Gil replied and smiled at her.
Old Mrs. Butterbur blinked, then to the astonishment of her nephew and son, smiled in return - all but cracking her face. "Not that good fortune won't be welcome if it comes." she half apologized. "But living hard in the Wild as we do, I don't like to get my hopes up you see."
"Very well." said Gil.
They went on after an all to short lunch and continued til nightfall. By this time Beomann was feeling the effects of his long hours in the saddle and even Brandywine was begining to droop, his neck losing the proud arch of the morning.
Suddenly Longbow - no *Belegon* Beomann reminded himself - who was in the lead, turned southward off the road into the rolling grassland winding his way between scattered clumps of brush and occasional stone outcroppings.
"Where are we going?" Beomann whispered to Dan.
"To Tor Nencair (1), we'll spend the night there."
"Where?"
Dan remembered who he was talking to and explained more fully. "A Ranger holding just off the Road."
"I thought you told me all your homes had been destroyed." Beomann said, frowning in confusion.
"*North* of the Road. There are still some standing south of it." ***
A mile off the Road a boy suddenly rose up out of the dry winter grass, Belegon reined to speak to him, unstartled as if he'd expected to be so met. Tall as Beomann, but skinny with it as if he'd just got his growth, dark haired and light eyed like most Rangers, the boy was wrapped in a cloak of mottled greens and browns that had rendered him invisible in the twilight until he'd moved.
He exchanged a few soft words in the Ranger language with Belegon, then walking at his stirrup, led them around the slope of a down into a little hollow.
At first Beomann didn't see the holding, then he did and stared in disbelief. Several turf covered roofs rose little more than Man high above the ground beneath the steep face of the down. One of these proved to be a stable, sunk deep into the earth and reached by a covered ramp. They left the horses there, cozy with beds of straw and mangers of hay, and followed the boy to a cluster of long gabled roofs of varying heights and down a steep flight of steps to a door in a rough fieldstone wall.
Beomann followed Dan through and came to a full stop, jaw dropping. He was standing on the threshold of an unusually large but otherwise perfectly ordinary kitchen with sanded floor, pewter plates on a dark wooden dresser, and cured hams, strings of onions and apples, and clumps of herbs hanging from the ceiling.
A girl stood at the long table chopping something fine. And a Woman bent over a turning spit, ladling juices over the meat. Aproned and flushed with the kitchen heat they reminded Beomann, with a twinge of homesickness, of his own mother and sisters dispite the differences in height and coloring. A calico cat dozed contentedly on one of the brick benches inside the cavernous fireplace and the Woman, finished with her basting, sat down on the other picked up a small bowl and began adding pinches of something to a pot bubbling on the fender.
Then Lightfoot nudged Beomann from behind and he blushed and hastily followed Belegon, Gil and Dan through a doorway in the wall next to the big fireplace into what looked like a dining room.
Like the kitchen it was unusually large and longer than it was wide, and nowhere near so homelike. The walls were panelled with strips of willow and alder in a chevron pattern and hung with colorful, intricately patterned carpets. The chill of the flagstone floor was muffled by mats of woven rushes and the ceiling beams carved with spirals and flower shapes painted blue and green and yellow and red.
A tall skinny boy, some five or six years younger than Beomann at a guess, was setting a long table covered with a fine linen cloth. The plates and tankards were pewter, just like at home, but engraved with designs of ships and stars and flowering trees.
A Man with snow white hair and beard rose from a cushioned settle drawn up before the fire to greet them, the first really old looking Ranger Beomann had ever seen and he wondered, a little uneasily, just how old one had to be before he started looking it.
He greeted them in the Ranger language but Belegon answered in Westron, for Beomann's benefit. "Thank you, Ingold, but I fear we're rather a large company for you to put up on such short notice."
"Not at all, Captain." the old Man replied. "It will fill up the empty spaces. We've been lonely, my granchildren and I, with so much of the family away." (2)
"And not likely to return anytime soon, I fear." Belegon sighed. "All that can be said for conditions in the South is that we're better off than the North." and they both looked at Gilvagor.
He shrugged. "We have roofs over our heads and enough food to get through the winter thanks to our friends in Bree and the Shire." shook his head. "But we will have to begin all over again and it's hard to know where to start."
"Aragorn knows where he wants to start," Belegon continued as they all found seats before the fire. "he intends to rebuild the cities. Starting with Fornost, Minas Sul and Cardol."
Ingold looked startled then dubious, and the two boys setting the table stopped their work to stare. "An ambitious undertaking." said their grandfather. The doubt clear in his voice annoyed Beomann.
"Why doesn't anybody but me seem to like the idea?" he blurted. "They were *your* cities after all you should want to rebuild them now that you can!"
"It's been a very long time, even by our measure, since we were city dwellers." Gil explained. "After long years of living solitary in the Wild the idea of living cheek by jowl with thousands of other Men is not entirely appealing." sighed. "And I wonder if there are enough of us left to people even one city much less three."
"The numbers coming in to Annuminas show more have survived than we at first dared to hope." his sister, Lightfoot, reminded him. "And I have spoken with emissaries of our kin over the Mountains. They are weary of being guests and would like to come home."
"There are more of you?" Beomann asked, startled. "Over what mountains?"
"The Ered Luin, the Blue Mountains." she explained. "Your people's legend that we went to live with the Elves is not entirely wrong, tens of thousands were harried from their homes after the fall of Fornost and found refuge in the Elven realm of Lindon. Many, having no homes to return to, remained there and have increased in number over the long years." looked at her brother. "And they are accustomed to cities, having known both the Havens and Cor Corion." (4)
Gil smiled wryly. "There you are, Beomann, some at least of our people will welcome the rebuilding as you do." *******************************************
1. 'Watership Down', (assuming 'tor' is singular for Tyrn. ;) I couldn't resist.
2. The Men of age to bear arms, Ingold's son-in-law, grandson and the husbands of his great-granddaughters, are on Ranger duty in the former Cardolan, tracking down fugitive orcs and wargs and putting down bandits preying on the local population and refugees from the troubles further south. His daughter and granddaughter-in-law are also away helping Belegon's mother, the Lady of the Red Hills, mediate between those refugees and the locals.
There are few settlements south of the Road, the fairly large population of Men and Hobbits are semi-nomadic after the fashion of American frontiersmen. Building themselves log houses or tunneling shallow holes and raising a few crops before moving on when the fancy takes them. These folk are far better acquainted with Rangers than their settled kin, though they have no more idea who they really are, and are accustomed to enlisting their help in dealing with raiding Orcs or Dunlendings.
The refugees are for the most part simple country folk of Gondor and Rohan and a few Dunlendings all wanting to settle down and build new lives somewhere away from the troubles down South. This has brought them into conflict with the present inhabitants who don't like the idea of their Wild being torn up anymore than Barliman Butterbur did.
(3) The Dunedain of Lindon still regard themselves as subjects of Isildur's Heirs and over the centuries many have crossed the Mountains to take service with them. But as the numbers of Elves dropped and those of the Dunedain increased they became vital to the defense of Lindon's long coast against attacks by the Dark Fleet out of Tol Fuin.
(4) The City of Circles, Gil-Galad's ancient capital and seat of those Noldor remaining in Middle Earth.
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