Master Ingold and his family were the first Rangers Beomann had met who seemed almost like plain folk - almost.
He and Dan slept in the loft over the dining room, or hall as the Rangers called it. The sharply peaked ceiling was lined with waxed cloth, to protect the occupants from soil filtering through the boards from the sod roof, and the cloth painted with strange looking trees and flowers. There were four beds, low but very long, one in each corner. And each had a bench at its foot with pitcher, washbasin, and folded linen towels; and a candlestand with a white beeswax candle in a copper holder at the head.
The pitchers were taller and slimmer than Breelander fashion, and the basins wide and shallow. Both were glazed a deep rich red and decorated with designs like those on the wall hangings below. The towels had embroidered borders and the candleholders were wrought in the shape of coiled dragons.
"Dan," Beomann said suddenly, after the candles had been blown out, "how old do your people have to be before you start looking it?"
"A hundred forty or so as a rule." he answered. Then: "In case you're wondering, Ingold is one hundred and sixty-one. A very great age indeed for one not of a Half-Elven house."
"A hundred and sixty-one!" Beomann's eyes popped wide open. "Are you sure? How do you know?"
There was a smile in Dan's voice as he replied: "Because his granddaughter married my grandfather."
"He's your great great gandfather?"
"That's right."
Beomann gulped air like a newly landed fish. Now there was a thought! His grandfather had lived long enough to see his grandchildren, and Granny Butterbur was still alive, living with Aunt Belle. But imagine having not just grandparents but great grandparents and great great grandparents! He began to grasp dimly some of the implications of the Rangers' very long lives.
But Dan was still talking. "Normally Grandfather would have passed on before this, but he didn't want to leave his family in such terrible times. I suppose he'll hang on a few more years, long enough to see our present troubles settled, before laying down his life."
"What?" Beomann turned on his side to look at the other bed, just visible in the dim red firelight reflected through the open trapdoor from the hall below. "Dan, are you saying you people can *choose* when you're going to die?"
"Well, sort of. It's one of the gifts the Valar gave to us - as a reward for our Fathers' help in the Wars against the Great Enemy - that we should have long lives of undimished vigor with a short, swift aging at the end. It is our custom to give up our lives willingly before we become enfeebled in mind and body."
"You mean you just say; 'I think I'll die today.' lay yourselves down and do it?" Beomann asked incredulously.
"Well no, not just like that." Dan was begining to sound a little uncomfortable. "First you make your peace with Arda, with the world that is. Repent of your errors and amend them where you can; let go of attachments to home and kin and concentrate your heart and will on the One. Then, when you desire reunion with Him more than continuing your life in the world, you're ready to pass on. They say when you reach that point it really is as easy as lying down and going to sleep."
Beomann, struggling with half a dozen new and strange ideas, chose the least disturbing of them. "So Ingold's not quite ready to go because he's worried about his family?"
"That's right." Dan sounded relieved the Breelander had gotten the point so easily, or maybe that he hadn't asked any of those other, more awkward questions.
Beomann flopped back against his pillow. And here he'd just been thinking maybe the Rangers weren't such a strange folk after all! ***
Beomann continued their journey the next day in a pensive and distracted frame of mind. Naturally Gil noticed, or perhaps Dan dropped him a word, for after a few hours on the road - long enough for misty dawn to give way to full daylight - he fell back alongside the Breelander.
"Is something troubling you, Beomann?" he asked after riding beside him in silence for several minutes.
"I just can't get a handle on you Rangers!" Beomann burst out - to his own considerable surprise. "Sometimes I think you're not so different from us Bree Men - and other times that you're weirder than Elves and Dwarves put together!"
Gil smiled, but wryly. "You're right on both counts, my friend. We are Men like other Men, and yet we're not. It's not very comfortable for us either." a sidelong twinkle. "But of course from our point of view it is you Breelanders who are the odd ones."
Beomann stared up at him, half outraged, half astonished. "There's nothing odd about us Bree Folk!"
"Isn't there?" Gil asked, suddenly quite serious. "Our country folk have a gift for peace, for contentment, that Men of my kind can only envy. Granted you can be narrow, and parochial and quite infuriatingly stubborn," a shadow of a smile quickly fading, "but for all that, there are no folk anywhere so steadfast in the face of peril or privation."
Beomann could only stare back at him, moved beyond words but incredulous "Us?"
"Yes you!" Gil answered. "It has been many long years since your strength was tested - we Rangers saw to that - but it's still there, ready to come forth at need." quietly. "To stand fast against the kind of terror wielded by Barrow Wights is no small feat, yet your father and the other Bree Men did so - as I knew they could." smiled. "And you, my reckless young friend, followed me into the barrow itself which I most certainly did not expect - but am most grateful for."
And Beomann, blushing to the ears, found himself wondering suddenly just how much a desire to live up to the Rover's trust in them had had to do with the Bree Men's unexpected courage - and his own.
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