Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: A Ranger's Duty (#309)
Author: EveningNightshade
Chapters: 1

Archive: Tolkien
Category: Alternate Universe (AU)
Description: An non-canon meeting between a young hobbit and the Ranger who would be king...
Published: 23 Sep 2003
Updated: 23 Sep 2003
Warnings: None
Type: General
Characters: Aragorn; Pippin


Chapter 1 - A Ranger's Duty

Such a sweet innocent race; almost naive at times. But maybe there is nothing wrong with naivety. Often, I long for it myself. No eyes should be made to watch what mine have. Until breath flees my lungs, blood my veins and a sword falls from my limp grasp, I will never cease to fight and protect the Halflings whose innocence I envy so.

The life of a Ranger is fraught with danger. We awaken, never knowing if we will see the dusk . As the danger grows, so do the deaths; but the lives of these brave men shall not be in vain, and I vowed to avenge them. But sometimes, protection is not a Ranger's only duty.

I stiffen. Someone is close... An unfamilair sound. I graps my sword with white knuckles.

A sob fills the air; a child, and an injured one by the sound of it. I follow the sound of the amongst the trees, not wanting to call to the child lest I startle him. To one lying hurt in the darkened forest, where unseen eyes watch your every move and trees loom like sinister watchtowers all around, the hardened voice of a Ranger would not aid matters.

What in the name of the Valar is a child doing wandering the woods this late at night? Dusk was hours ago, and it is nigh on the middle of night. Could he be lost? What is an Orc had slipped through the net of protection and -

I mentally slap myself. But, somewhere nearby, an innocent lamb is miles from home, hurt, afraid and alone. I sense no others. At least, none living...

Through a gap in the trees, I see the slightest, weak movement. The sobs grow louder, echoing in my ears, melting the icy prison I have wrapped around my heart; a cold that I had though only the love of an elf maiden could thaw.

Peering round the bough of a tree, I swallow with relief. Covered in dirt, curled into himself, sucking on his thumb, is a little boy. His brown eyes are clouded with tears, his arm twisted awkwardly. The bone is undoubtedly broken, and a painful break it must have been.

I bend down and crawl towards the young hobbit, praying that I don't look too frightening.

The little boy looks up at me, eyes wide with fear and relief. Fear of who I am and what I might do to harm him; relief at my arrival. I brush a tear from his cheek, as he slowly and reluctantly pulls the thumb from his mouth.

It is only now, during this first real contact with any of the Halflings, that their fragility strikes me. Gandalf once described them as being, "not unlike children in appearance." And I assume he was describing an adult. Words cannot describe how diminutive this little one is, terrified and wounded, with only an imposing Ranger for company.

"Who... Who are you?" he whimpers.

"Hush, little one," I whisper, trying to make my voice as soothing as I can. "I am here to help you."

Fresh tears meander down his cheeks. "My arm hurts. And I'm cold."

Almost immediately, I unpin my cloak and wrap it around the child like a blanket. "Is that any better, little one?" He nods gratefully, trying to smile, but failing miserably. "What is you name?"

"Peregrin..." he mumbles through the agony he must be feeling. "But my friends call me Pippin. You can too, if you want."

This show of openness overwhelms me for a moment. People often shun Rangers such as myself, especially Men. I have been spat at and and hated by those whose lives I defend with my own.

"Who are you?" Peregrin, or Pippin, as he seems to prefer, pipes up, tugging at the sleeve of shirt with his unbroken hand.

Drawn from my reverie, I pause. "My name is Strider," I reply, rummaging in my pack for a flask, filled with a tonic to ease pain. I unscrew the lid carefully and tilt the flask to Pippin's lips. "Here, drink this. It may help soothe your pain."

He swallows nervously, face contouring into a wave of disgust at the bitter taste, and I do not blame him. 'Tis foul indeed; but the potion seems to be taking effect. I see him relax, burrowing contentedly into the warmth of my cloak. Now, even more so than ever, he looks like a babe.

With some measure of reluctance, I tug the cloak away from his body so I can attend to his injured arm. The skin is pale and discoloured; there is nothing I can do to heal the wound, save place it in a sling and allow time to do what my hands cannot.

Although the tonic has eased Pippin's pain, I am unprepared from the yelp of pain elicited by my hands tender stroking of the injured limb. "Hurts..." he whimpers pitifully, and I feel the sting of tears in my eye. "Hurts so much..."

"I am sorry, Pippin," I tell him, brushing a flyaway curl from his tiny face. "But you to let me bandage your arm; otherwise, it will not heal. Sometimes a little pain is needed to aid the healing process. Trust me. I am a healer."

His face screwed up in dislike, he carefully shifts his arms towards me. I take some bandages from my pack, and place his arm in a sling, all the while talking to distract my patient.

"How old are you?"

"Ten years this winter!" He replies proudly. "How are old are you?"

A rueful chuckle escapes my lips. "Quite old, Pippin. A lot older that you are, at least."

"Oh." He looks confused by my answer, but does not question me further.

"There, is that any better?" I ask, supporting his tiny back as he sits. Pippin nods. "Now, more importantly, where do you live, and why are you all alone in the woods at this time of night?"

"I'm lost," he says meekly. "Me and my friends were hiding from one another in the woods, and I thought that I'd climb that big tree up there," he points at a huge elm that looms over us both, encompassing us in its shadow. "And I waited from them to come and look for me." A sob rises in his throat. "But they never came, not one of them! I waited and waited and it got dark, but they never came." He dissolves into a violent fit of tears, and sweep the child into my arms and hold him. There is naught I can do to heal such pain, except offer an unwavering comfort.

"I tried to climb down," he mumbles. "But I fell!"

My heart cries out in pity for this little one. To have not only your pride hurt, but a serious physical wound also in the one day would break many children. Yet, behind those eyes laden with tears, I see a strength and determination; perhaps, also a mischievous streak? Nay. He seems so innocent.

"Your parents must be worried," I whisper. "Do you want me to take you home." He nods. "Where do you live?"

"Tuckborough."

I smile. A Took then - I would never have guessed. Tooks are - by nature - the more adventurous brood of Halflings. I remember Gandalf telling me of one particular Halfling: Bilbo Baggins. He was part Took, if my memory serves, and turned out to be quite an adventurer. I cannot help but wonder if this child will turn out like that too.

"Come along then." I sweep him easily into my arms, amidst his innocent, childlike giggles, which I soon join in with.

Perhaps protection is not a Ranger's only duty; comfort in times of need is equally important.


* * * * * * * * * * * * *

A/N: I am not a doctor, so any cures attempted by these characters should not be used in a real-life emergency.

E.N.
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