Recollections of a Dúnedain Ranger

[Snowdog]

Year 121 of the Forth Age of Middle Earth

"I am Gilrénna, daughter if Halcwyn, daughter of HalasÃ*an and sister of HanasÃ*an. I have now in my keeping much of the writings of HanasÃ*an, and some of the collected writings of many who lived before his time. Copies are stored now in the great Libraries of Annúminas and Minas Tirith, but I have the originals in my keeping, passed to me by my mother. I wish now to share some of these writings with people who will never delve into the great halls of knowledge, and learn and know of some of the events that led up the the great War of the Ring, and to victory and peace in our days.

This account I am about to read was written by HanasÃ*an, son of HalasÃ*an of the House HalvarÃ*s, Dúnedain Rangers of the North. It is dated 23 Súlimë 3019 of the Third Age of Middle Earth. The script he used was Tengwar, written in his unique and flowing hand. The conditions in which he wrote was not well suited for for ink and parchment, for there are the heavy stain and stretched weakness of the script in many parts. Also signs of his fatigue were plain, an obvious reflection of all of which he had seen and experienced."
_________________________________________________


Battle of the Pelennor - The Aftermath...



Smoke still rose from the white city, but its fires had for the most part been contained and were fading. But the black smoke stains tarnished its white stone façade… where the stone was not damaged. And the air… death was in it. Every breath you smelled it. So many people were out in the fields in search of their loved ones. There were wives and mothers looking for their husbands and sons. Wounded soldiers looked for their missing comrades, and some of the Rohirrim grieving for their fallen horses. Yes, the smell of death... the crying of those who found whom they searched for, and the moans of those not yet dead from their wounds filled the air.

I am HanasÃ*an, a Dúnedain Ranger from the northern lands of Eriador. I am weary from the days past, where the last decent sleep I, and my brethren had was in Dunharrow nearly a fortnight ago. Yet I sleep not, for I write now for the dead... those fallen in this great battle outside Minas Tirith be they man or woman of Gondor, Arnor, or the Rohirrim. We had defeated Sauron’s armies on this field. But the cost was high and this war is not yet over. For he hides now behind his great iron gates of Mordor, gathering his remaining strength, while we ourselves attempt to regain ours.

It seem a lifetime ago when I, along with well over two-dozen of my brethren answered a summons by our Captain Halbarad. He said we needed to ride in haste to come to aid our Chieftain Aragorn away south in the land of Rohan. We, along with the Sons of Elrond did ride south with speed, meeting Lord Aragorn and the escort of King Theoden of Rohan not long after crossing the River Isen. As the Rohirrim mustered for war, the foresight of Aragorn led us to take the Paths of the Dead. Of that part of the journey I have much to say, for Aragorn proclaimed himself to the Dead... he proclaimed himself Isildur's Heir! And they were called to the Stone of Erech to fulfill their oath. But here now I write for the new dead, those who lay about me here, those who will not return to their homes and families.

To the mouth of the Anduin we came in haste, and there with the aid of the dead and some local men (of whom I also have much to say, but again, another day) we fought and defeated the Corsairs of Umbar, the ancient brethren who had fallen into darkness and become enemies of Gondor. With their oath of old to Isildur fulfilled, Aragorn gave the dead their leave, and we took the corsair ships up the river. To Minas Tirith we came, arriving with the city engulfed in smoke and flame. Battle raged in and around the city walls, and elsewhere inside the Rammas Echor.

Swords rang, bows twanged, and engines thundered their deadly projectiles as the ships came ashore. The worst fighting I saw were where it was men fighting men…. Easterlings battled Gondorians near the bropken gates of the city; Variags fought we Dunedain; Southrons and their mumakil against the Rohirrim and their horses. The beasts of Harad rampaging and the horses of the Rohirrim storming in terror.... So much death... We engaged the enemy almost immediatly, but not before our suprise was complete.

A wound I had taken near my left eye, a lasting memory of the Variags of Khand. He came at me from behind in a ravenous yell, leaping down from the body of a slain mumakil. I had just turned an axe of his brethren and I turned, but I could not react in time. Pain I felt as I fell backward, the warmth of my blood rushing down my face. His knife would have claimed me but for the sure sword of Halbarad taking off his arm. But still we fought, for he tried to take my sword with his remaining hand. We wrestled and fell to the ground, and I killed him with a knife I found. It was his knife, still in the grip of his severed limb. He was dead but there was no time to think, for another came at me. As soon as one was dispatched another would jump at you, or you would stop another from the blind side of your brethren. Their attacks were fierce, but our defense was even more so. As a group we pressed on from the shores of the river toward the city. But chaos of a stampeding oliphaunt caused many of us to scatter. It was then I saw Halladan go down with a blow from a screaming Southron falling from the beast, but I could not tend him. Easterlings, ruthless in their attacks, came upon us. My blade rang and my foe's axe shattered, blood flew everywhere when darkness closed around me....

[Snowdog]

A pain I felt in my head, wondering if it was still upon my shoulders. I remember thinking that I should move my hand, and the feeling that came over me was pain. My eyes cleared the foggy grey that crept into the dark, and blurry figures moved about before me. Somehow I stood, my sword still in my hand. I shook my head in a shudder to either shake off the webs that filled it, or see if it would fall to the ground. And just as suddenly, an Easterling jumped before me swinging his axe. My arm moved and deflected his blow, and the Variag knife I still gripped in my other hand buried into his neck. I now fought, I was not thinking or seeing. Rage drove me on, slaying and swinging. I nearly had the head of a fair armored Gondorian soldier, his helm long missing and his face dark with dirt and blood. He too moved against me, and our swords coming together rang out a song that awakened us both from our blindness. Looking around, pockets of battle still raged, but the west was having the day. Without thought, I, and the young Gondorian stood back-to-back, taking down those orcs who still pressed their masters will. But soon fatigue had taken us, and we sat and leaned against each other, fatigue claiming us.

In the aftermath people searched, With Halladan finding me sitting against a smashed siege tower. I was surprised to see him, for I had seen him fall. He was missing a part of his scalp, but was in good cheer to find me. I looked around for the young Gondorian soldier I had fought with, for I wished to know him. But there was no sign of his presence, and I would never know who he was. Halladan walked me towards the gates of the city where tents were being used to treat the wounded.

In ones and twos and threes we Dunedain brethren of the north came again together. Most, like me, had minor wounds of one sort or another, and as we gathered outside the smashed gates of the city, we looked about. Who had we lost? Aragorn himself came to us. He looked each in the face, the strain of battle on us all He seemed evermore relieved as his eyes met each of ours in turn. We all had lived with some of us having wounds to show. His look of relief suddenly become strained as he looked swiftly back over us, and he asked solemnly… where was Halbarad?

His hand was needed, for inside the city the house of healing was filled and overflowing with soldier and citizen alike. Those who could not be brought inside were laid in the streets, tended as best as could be. Out in the fields the tents of the wounded filled likewise, and the remaining were laid nearby where there was room. I had some healing experience, and so once my eye was tended and I could see straight, I did what I could for those wounded still in the field. All the while I looked for Halbarad, and my heart would tighten with each man I tended that I knew by their wound they would be dead by days end. What do you say to them? It is hard... so many dead and dying. A man of the Rohirrim, a young man he was. He was I would guess we just saw his twentieth winter. He talked in his native Rohirric tongue to his comrade next to him. He asked me to see to his friend, in good Westron like all was well. He knew he would die soon, but his concern was for his comrade who sat next to him. His friend didn't seem wounded but for a drying stream of blood that had run down his temple. But his mind was gone and he would stare only at a clover he pulled from the grass. The dying man told me he had taken a hard blow from the ground when his horse was slain in full gallop and fell from under him. The dying man told me his name, and only wanted me to promise his friend would get home ok, even while the last of his blood flowed out of him and he faded to death. I held his hand for a moment before his fried took it from me. I nodded and moved on.

The day was darkening, and I helped my brethren Kayan to our camp. His leg was badly mangled, and though he would live, he would suffer a severe limp. As we made our way, a halfling, dressed in the soiled and bloodied attire of the Palace Guard, wandered forlornly about, looking at the dead and dying. Others from the city searched still too, but most were now grieving while others prepared funeral pyres. As the night closed about us, the sons of Elrond joined us. We were for the most part together again, but still Aragorn's question remained....

Where was Halbarad?

[Tessar]

It's very nice! I like it a lot.

A few small things:

Written by HanasÃ*an, son of HalasÃ*an, Dúnedain Ranger of the North the day after the great battle of Minas Tirith. The script was Tengwar in his unique flowing hand, but the conditions of where he wrote, and signs of fatigue could be seen in it, reflecting that which he seen...

You might want to change a bit of it to:

"The script was Tengwar, written in his unique and flowing hand, but the conditions in which he wrote, and signs of fatigue, were plain in it, reflecting that which he had seen."

You use the word 'seen' twice very close together, and that can seem a bit repetitive some times.

I LOVE that bit about "Swords rang, bows twanged, and engines thundered their deadly projectiles."--great stuff there :D.

The worst I saw were where it was men vs men. Easterling vs Rhhirrim, Variag vs Dunedain,

Some how I just can't see a ranger who's as eloquent as yours is using the term 'vs.' Maybe something like "men fighting men. Easterling crossing swords with Rhhirrim, and Variag exchanging blows with Dunedain,"


I enjoyed reading it :D.

[Snowdog]

Where was Halbarad? We all asked ourselves this as we rested into the night. No sign of him had been seen since our moment of scattering. Kaldil had seen him last, standing upon the body of a slain mumakil, hewing the Southrons that had not the fear and sense to leave him be. But another stormed by and the dust was raised, and afterward, those who looked saw him there not. We searched the place and found many a corpse, but not a sign of Halbarad.

The darkness of night claimed the lands as we rested and wept. Those of us who were able, readied themselves for the day to come, and those whose wounds were ill were set to rest and heal. Word had been carried from the city that the King had indeed come, but here where we encamped, our Chieftain joined us. It was not yet time.

Aragorn's face showed weariness that I had not seen before, and the edges of his hair and beard seemed to have a silvery aura to them. The firelight detailed the lines of care that shrouded him, but I saw not the tired Ranger Chieftain that fought hard a day’s battle, but a man wizened. Wizened by the depth of his burden, and the knowing gut feeling that our friend and lieutenant would not see the light of another day. It was what we all felt inside really, though nobody spoke of it. Instead we spoke of the days to come, and what they held. Words of days in the north when our burden was to watch over the lands of the Shire we shared. Of times good and the weddings aplenty, of sons and daughters born in the quiet of the homes and the Midsummer’s eve celebrations past. A feeling of cheer and laughter came out amongst some of us, pushing aside this day but for a time. But this too passed, and with a final chuckle of a memory long gone, silence again overtook the Rangers.

The fire crackled and the flicker of its light made the shadows dance. Around the fields there were other fires. The Rohirrim staked a large camp out farther from the city gate, and there kept their horses in check. Aragorn looked up and the stood, and all of us who could stand did so to look at the shadowy horse approaching.

'Hail Dúnedain! Is this the camp of the Rangers?'

'It is.' Aragorn said as he stepped forward to have his back to the firelight. I too stepped forward at his left, and Kaldil did so at his right. The rider dismounted his horse and stood for a second. Our eyes seeing now in the darkness, we could tell he was of the Rohirrim. His helm was gone and the side of his face was covered in dried blood. We could see also that the horse was still burdened. The rider approached and spoke,

'I am Brytta of Dunharrow, and I bring bad tidings...'

Kaldil and I did not wait for Brytta's words, but went to the horse who stirred slightly from our approach. Aragorn's brow was crinkled as he cut the man's speech off..

'You bring us Halbarad.'

We lifted the bloodied body from the horse and carried him near the fire where Kallam prepared a place for him in Aragorn's tent. Aragorn looked at the wounds and his eyes grew wet with tears. Halbarad still breathed, but it was labored and slow, the sounds ill. His last strength lifted his hand to Aragorn's, and we knelt beside as Brytta stepped away to allow us a last moment with our comrade. Short burst of whispered, gurgling speech came forth from Halbarad as his eyes opened.

'My... my king! Your hour has come! But ere its passing I will join my fathers...'

'Quiet my friend and rest, for my hands will heal ...'

'Nay my lord. Not even the hands of a king can repair these wounds of arrow, sword, and knife. See now! Varda opens her cloak of twilight to light your way, and to carry me home. Speak well of me to my son and daughter...'

It was beyond Aragorn to say he would heal, but while he breathed there still was hope. Each of us came and sat for a time with Halbarad, mostly in silence as he rested. I could not speak, for I could not feel his strength. With a squeeze of his hand, I departed. Aragorn soon re-joined him, and he closed the tent to rest with Halbarad. Aragorn lay beside him, their hands bound together as a rough sleep overcame him.

We too took rest in tent or outside. Brytta stayed with us for a time, telling of the deeds of Halbarad that he saw. Apparently he had jumped from the dead beast where we had last seen him, and battled there the remaining Southrons that still stood. The thunder of the mumakil had scattered many of the Rohirrim, and Brytta rode headlong toward a wayward band of orcs that sought to slay the dour-handed Ranger standing alone. Brytta slew a couple while Halbarad slew more, and then he was pulled atop the horse and they turned about. The retreat was chaos as Easterling, Southron and orc ran this way and that, and the fight was drained from most. Halbarad was bleeding from a knife wound that was poisoned, and turned swords had cut his arms and legs. But the death knell of Halbarad was when a band of orc bowmen fired upon then in unison. Brytta's horse reared, taking an arrow and spilling he and Halbarad to the ground. Brytta split his head on rock debris, while Halbarad quickly regained his footing. The orcs were slinging arrows and fired as Brytta, stood dazed. Halbarad jumped to push him out of the way of the volley, but one late arrow caught him in the side, piercing his lung.

I noted this account in detail, and Brytta finished this telling and excused himself after his head was cleaned and bandaged. We rested as best we could, sleeping from exhaustion of nothing else, but were soon awake with the coming of daylight. The westward winds pushed back the darkness of Mordor, and the skies cleared with light clouds. Halbarad was lying in state in a field of honor of the fallen. King Theoden was there as well as many captain and soldier, of great renown or unknown, for many had fallen that day. Yes, Halbarad, the sullen Ranger and our friend had passed to his fathers in the night. His son and daughter will only have memory of him from before he rode south. His wife widowed at her prime. So it is with war, and now Aragorn gathered in council with Mithrander, Éomer, Prince Imrahil, and Elrond's sons Elladan and Elrohir.

[Lief Erikson]

I agree with Tessar's comments. Particularly I noted the use of the word 'vs', which really doesn't work in a Tolkien setting. Also,
The dying man only wanted his friend to be ok even while the last of his blood flowed out of him and he faded to death.
you really, really want to avoid the word "okay". Okay? ;)

I like the topic for a story you chose, how you correlated this person's accounts with the LoTR. That was very enjoyable, like seeing another part of the story, or seeing the story from another angle.

Now I want to roleplay with you also :).

[Valandil]

Just a few 'picky' things. ;)

* I didn't like the close repetition of 'but' at the beginning - the first in the second part of the first sentence, the second to start the second sentence. I find myself doing that sort of thing often when I write, so I usually try to go back and clean it up.

* Not many women and children were left in Minas Tirith to go about searching among the bodies of the slain. Most had been evacuated.

* Not sure about the part where the Rohirrim are mourning their dead horses. :p As much as the Rohirrim loved their horses, I don't think they would value them alongside, or above, other men.

* It hadn't been a fortnight since Dunharrow. Aragorn and the Grey Company arrived there on March 7. The Battle of the Pelennor was March 15, so this account is written on the 16th - just 9 days after the arrival at Dunharrow (hey - I said I'd be picky! :p :D ).

* Spelling: I think it's 'brethren' - isn't it?

* I'm not into the 'blow-by-blow' accounts of combat myself... but, whatever. :)

[Rosie Gamgee]

I liked it. I would, however, try to clean up some of the more 'modern' sounding language- I think you used the word 'ok' once or twice, and a few other sentences and phrases sounded a bit to current- go for more archaic.


* Not sure about the part where the Rohirrim are mourning their dead horses. :p As much as the Rohirrim loved their horses, I don't think they would value them alongside, or above, other men.

I disagree. Boromir said that the Rohirrim valued their horses next to their kin. Snowmane was given a burial worthy of any soldier- I think that they would have mourned their horses- perhaps not above their kin, but that is not the point being made.

Interesting ending- the question of the whereabouts of Halbarad. I always thought that his loss is one of the most sad in the book. Perhaps one of these days one (you, if you felt like it, or me, because it interests me) might write a 'sequel' of sorts to this bit, where they find Halbarad. Of course, that would take a bit of writing. ;)

[Valandil]

... Of course, that would take a bit of writing. ;)

RE-writing, I should say,
Tolkien says he fell that day!

:)

[Rosie Gamgee]

RE-writing, I should say,
Tolkien says he fell that day!

:)

Actually, expanding what Tolkien wrote. And that other dude- the bard; I think he mentioned Hal.
I guess what I meant was that it would take some time and consideration and... well, writing, to put on paper say, the feelings of Aragorn when he found/saw/whatever, Halbarad dead.

... I KNOW he fell!!!! Did you think I meant 'lost' like the Entwives or my brain or that cute stuffed bunny I had when I was six? Or shall I put it more plainly and say the fellow got killed- terminated, exterminated, eliminated-- He kicked the bucket, crossed the bar, found the Happy Hunting Ground. And now he's six feet under, cold and stiff- in short: pushin' up daisies!!!! Sheesh.

[Valandil]

Please don't be so mad, my dear,
To your last post, I was unclear!

But hey now, this is funny,
I think I found your bunny.

And more of this would just be bad,
Besides that 'Snowdog' will get mad! :p

[Rosie Gamgee]

K. Shutting up now.

[Valandil]

Nah - it was me getting carried away, not you. Your idea about telling more of Halbarad was right in keeping with this thread.

Sorry Snowdog. :o

[Lief Erikson]

I personally think that NOT having a description of finding Halbarad makes the whole thing much more poignant.

[Last Child of Ungoliant]

:eek: val! going off topic! whats the world coming to? ;)

nice piece, snowdog :)

[Snowdog]

Some quotes from the books:

'Aragorn and Eomer and Imrahil rode back to the Gate of the City, and they were now weary beyond joy or sorrow. These three were unscathed, for such was their fortune and the skill and might of their arms, and few indeed had dared to abide them or look on their faces in the hour of their wrath. But many others were hurt or maimed or dead upon the field. The axes hewed Forlong as he fought alone and unhorsed; and both Duilin of Morthlond and his brother were trampled to death when they assailed the mumakil, leading their bowmen close to shoot at the eyes of the monsters. Neither Hirluin the fair would return to Pinnath Gelin, nor Grimbold to Grimslade, nor Halbarad to the Northlands, dour-handed Ranger. No few had fallen, renowned or nameless, captain or soldier; for it was a great battle and the full account of it no tale has told...'
-Return of the King, Chapter 6, Battle of the Pelennor Fields

This passage in itself is J.R.R. Tolkien saying there are many other tales of these same events to be told.


From the chapter in Book V titled Passing of the Grey Company...

Soon all were ready to depart: twenty-four horses with Gimli behind Legolas, and Merry in front of Aragorn. Presently they were riding swiftly through the night. They had not long passed the mounds at the Fords of Isen, when a Rider galloped up from the rear of the line.
-'My lord, he said to the king, 'there are horsemen behind us. As we crossed the fords I thought that I heard them. Now we are sure They are overtaking us, riding hard.'
-Theoden at once called a halt. The Riders turned about and seized their spears. Aragorn dismounted and set Merry on the ground, and drawing his sword he stood by the king's stirrup. Eomer and his esquire rode back to the rear. Merry felt more like unneeded baggage than ever, and he wondered, if there was a fight, what he should do. Supposing the king's small escort was trapped and overcome, but he escaped into the darkness-alone in the wild fields of Rohan with no idea of where he was in all the endless miles? ;No good!' he thought. He drew his sword and tightened his belt.
-The sinking moon was obscured by a great sailing cloud. but suddenly it rode out clear again. Then they all heard the sound of hoofs, and at the same moment they saw dark shapes coming swiftly on the path from the fords. The moonlight glinted here and there on the points of spears. The number of the pursuers could not be told, but they seemed no fewer than the king's escort, at the least.
-When they were some fifty paces off, Eomer cried in a loud voice: 'Halt! Halt! Who rides in Rohan?'
-The pursuers brought their steeds to a sudden stand. A silence followed; and then in the moonlight a horseman could be seen dismounting and walking slowly forward. His hand showed white as he held it up, palm outward, in token of peac; but the king's men gripped their weapons. At ten paces the man stopped. He was tall, a dark standing shadow. Then his clear voice rang out.
-'Rohan? Rohan did you say? That is a glad word. We seek that land in haste from long afar.'
-'You have found it' said Eomer. 'When you crossed the fords yonder you entered it. But it is the realm of Theoden the King. None ride here save by his leave. Who are you? And what is your haste?'
-'Halbarad Dúnedain, Ranger of the North I am,' cried the man. 'We seek one Aragorn son of Arathorn, and we heard he was in Rohan.'
-'And you have found him also!' cried Aragorn. Giving his reins to Merry, he ran forward and embraced the newcomer. 'Halbarad!' he said. 'Of all the joys this is the least expected!'
-Merry breathed a sigh of relief. He had thought that this was some trick of Saruman's, to waylay the king while he had only a few men about him; but it seemed that there would be no need to die in Theoden's defence. not yet at any rate. He sheathed his sword.
-'All is well,' said Aragorn, turning back 'Here are some of my own kin from the far land where I dwelt. But why they come, and how many they be, Halbarad shall tell us.'
-I have thirty with me,' said Halbarad. 'That is all of our kindred that could be gathered in haste; but the bretheren Elladan and Elrohir have ridden with us. desiring to go to war. We rode as swiftly as we might when your summons came.'
-'But I did not summon you.' said Aragorn, 'save only in wish. My thoughts have often turned to you, and seldom more than tonight; yet I have sent no word. But come! All such matters must wait. You find us riding in haste and danger. Ride with us now, if the king will give his leave.'
-Theoden was indeed glad of the news. 'It is well!' he said. 'If these kinsmen be in any way like yourself, my lord Aragorn, thirty such knights will be a strength that cannot be counted by heads.

The basis of my writing as a Dúnedain Ranger is the fact that there was mention of them, and they were with Aragorn from this point to the end. Lots of different perspectives can be written of the events covered by Tolkien in the books.

On Valandil's post:
* I didn't like the close repetition of 'but' at the beginning - the first in the second part of the first sentence, the second to start the second sentence. I find myself doing that sort of thing often when I write, so I usually try to go back and clean it up. I didn't like that either. Thats why I edited it several times.
* Not many women and children were left in Minas Tirith to go about searching among the bodies of the slain. Most had been evacuated.I'm a bit rusty on this and may have been affected/polluted by P.J. You have a Book passage to back this up?
* Not sure about the part where the Rohirrim are mourning their dead horses. As much as the Rohirrim loved their horses, I don't think they would value them alongside, or above, other men.Thats your personal perception. Hanasian never said in this write that the Rohirrimwould value a horse over a man, only that He saw a soldier of the Rohirrim mourning his dead steed.
* It hadn't been a fortnight since Dunharrow. Aragorn and the Grey Company arrived there on March 7. The Battle of the Pelennor was March 15, so this account is written on the 16th - just 9 days after the arrival at Dunharrow (hey - I said I'd be picky!).I know that the absolutle literal time was 9 days, and if I was writing Hanasian's perspective as an absolute literal, he would have said '..nine days...', but in the perspective of this individual weary Ranger and all that has happened, 9 days seemed longer to him. Read that passage again: Weary from the days past, where the last decent sleep was had in Dunharrow nearly a fortnight ago. Hanasian does not say it was a fortnight, but it seemed nearly a fotnight in his mind.
* Spelling: I think it's 'brethren' - isn't it?Yes it is. I corrected it in my edit. Wish this messageboard allowed me to actually post the edit. Why an 8000 wor limit on an edit but not on th eoriginal post? A mystery to me.
* I'm not into the 'blow-by-blow' accounts of combat myself... but, whatever. :)And that too is your personal choice. Did you not care for the orcs head being cloven in the Helms Deep chapter? ;)
Valandil, I'm sure you could write some great perceptions of this same event. There are 29 other Ranger's accounts that could be written. Maybe you could write an account? :).

[Snowdog]

... sorry, but the 8000 character limit didn't allow me to acknowledge these fine folk...

Lief Erikson, thanks for the comments. I tried to give it a 'personal perspective' that didn't go outside what J.R.R. Tolkien gave us, but was totally feasable and could have been in the mind of one who was there.
My RP writing is limited these days due to time constraints and the seeming prevalence of 'chatty' rp style these days. But I may be able to collaborativly write if the time demands aren't too bad.

Rose Gamgee, thanks for the comments. I have indeed written the rest of this account. Its in a really rough state right now but I may post it later. I'm glad you seemed to get the 'feel' of Hanasian's perspective. :)

Last Child of Ungoliant, thanks!

[Valandil]

I'm a bit rusty on this and may have been affected/polluted by P.J. You have a Book passage to back this up?


Don't have books on me now, but I'll get back to you later. Vaguely recall something early in ROTK - soon after Gandalf and Pippin arrive in Minas Tirith. All the wagons of people leaving, including almost all the women (save those needed for the Houses of Healing, IIRC) and children (Bergil was an exception, I believe).


Thats your personal perception. Hanasian never said in this write that the Rohirrimwould value a horse over a man, only that He saw a soldier of the Rohirrim mourning his dead steed.


OK - misunderstood :)


I know that the absolutle literal time was 9 days, and if I was writing Hanasian's perspective as an absolute literal, he would have said '..nine days...', but in the perspective of this individual weary Ranger and all that has happened, 9 days seemed longer to him. Read that passage again: Weary from the days past, where the last decent sleep was had in Dunharrow nearly a fortnight ago. Hanasian does not say it was a fortnight, but it seemed nearly a fotnight in his mind.


Missed the 'nearly' - and I agree that it could well have SEEMED like a fortnight.


Yes it is. I corrected it in my edit. Wish this messageboard allowed me to actually post the edit. Why an 8000 wor limit on an edit but not on th eoriginal post? A mystery to me.


I don't know... that's curious. (EDIT: just started a thread about this in the 'Techie Forum'... if that doesn't get us results, contact me... I have an idea for getting around it! ;) )


And that too is your personal choice...


Yes - tried to make that clear.


Valandil, I'm sure you could write some great perceptions of this same event. There are 29 other Ranger's accounts that could be written. Maybe you could write an account? :).

Uh... come to think of it, yours was just PERFECT!! :p ;)

[Snowdog]

Awe come on... you're up to it! :D
On the 8000 thing. I tried the original post in a reply, and it too said the limit was 8000 with the word count being in the high 8000. I did use the 'preview' function so maybe if I try posting it direct it would work?

[Lief Erikson]

Lief Erikson, thanks for the comments. I tried to give it a 'personal perspective' that didn't go outside what J.R.R. Tolkien gave us, but was totally feasable and could have been in the mind of one who was there.
The words 'vs.' and 'ok' aren't to be found in Tolkien's works at all though. They also aren't the best in RPGs, when the RPGs are serious ones.
My RP writing is limited these days due to time constraints and the seeming prevalence of 'chatty' rp style these days. But I may be able to collaborativly write if the time demands aren't too bad.
The RPGs that I do are on a different website. Here's the link: http://www.atharonrpg.com/phpBB2/

However, they may be moving a bit fast at present for you to keep up with. "Gates of Mirkwood" is an Entmoot RPG that's moving slowly enough, is not in the least chatty, and has many of my friends involved. I don't do Entmoot RPGs any longer, because my attentions are too fully devoted to the Atharon website. However, if you wanted to join an Entmoot RPG, Mirkwood would be the one I'd recommend.

[Tessar]

Oi! Indeed I believe that anyone involved in the Gates of Mirkwood could not help but agree with Lief! ;)

But in all seriousness--although some allowances have to be made for writing skill levels--'chatty-ness' is NOT something I allow in my RPGs unless they're VERY modern (which GOM isn't at all :p).

If you DO have the time to RPG, looking at what you've written here, I would love to have you in GoM. Like I think I said before the only things people seem to find "wrong" with your story are nit-picky little things.

Once again complements on the story--it's even worth a reread :D.

[Valandil]

Awe come on... you're up to it!

Alright - I'm taking you up on it... but I'm starting it in the next post, because this will be #20 in the thread and I don't want to have to split it between pages. I took the liberty of using 'letter form', with which I've had a little practice now. :p

[Valandil]

Requiem for a Ranger:

March 16, 3019

Dearest mother and all my family,

Greetings. I am well – to this point, though our peril may not be over. Of we thirty who rode south to find Aragorn, eighteen can ride still. Twelve are missing, slain or wounded near to death. Among those missing is our former commander Halbarad. Those losses may sound grievous, and each man will be mourned, yet we had the victory nonetheless. And through our travel and many strange adventures, none of us came to harm until yesterday – on which day we fought a great battle.

Let me go back to the start and this will make more sense.

It was still mid-February when we were summoned that we might ride out and meet Halbarad. I was proud to be summoned, for I have not yet turned twenty five, when such duty is normally expected of us. I gathered what little I might need in great haste, saddled my mount, Thistle – and rode through the snow to meet the rest at the joining of the Hoarwell and the Loudwater. My greatest hope was to go into battle and to avenge both my father and my grandfather.

Three things surprised me when I arrived… no, four. For one, there were so few of us – no more than twenty when I arrived, and we departed when we had only become thirty, which number I have mentioned. For another, we were to ride out of the north – leaving all our people’s former lands, which we knew so well – and ride to find Aragorn himself, that we might be of service to him. Thirdly, the brothers Elladan and Elrohir were there – and would ride with us. Fourth… mother, the fourth was just before we left. Halbarad called me before them all, and when I came, he brought forth a star, and pinned my cloak with it… and he said unto me that this star had been my father’s, and that it henceforth should be mine.

Then we rode. For many days we rode… first in places familiar, but soon in places strange and new. After many days, we found Aragorn our Lord… it was night actually, and he had just come from winning a great battle among the horsemen of the south – and from the overthrow of a wizard. And we heard strange tales of trees that walked and spoke – and we saw Shire-folk, far from their safe homes away north.

Aragorn now took our lead from Halbarad, and we continued south, first with the king of those horsemen, but later by ourselves, with another Elf and a Dwarf for companions. We rode up into some hills and came to a place those folk call Dunharrow. And there I saw… the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen! She is tall… for a girl, and fair is her face and proud, and golden is her hair and long. Her name is Eowyn and she is sister-daughter to their king. She cast her eyes upon Aragorn and spoke only with him. Did she not know that he is spoken for? It certainly got Arwen’s brothers to talking among themselves. Besides, he is too old for her, is he not? All that night, I lay in troubled sleep, unable to take my mind off her, although my companions all seemed to sleep well enough. In the morning, she came out to see us off… and although she looked long upon Aragorn once more, I could have sworn that her eyes alighted on me… and that perhaps they paused!

That day was the strangest day yet… more than likely the strangest I shall EVER have. Mother, many years ago our forefather, Isildur, required an oath of some people of those mountains. They broke their oath and a curse was laid on them, and it has long been said that their spirits still haunt the secret places there. Led by Aragorn, we disturbed those spirits, and Aragorn offered them release from the curse, and the peace of restfulness, if they would now come to our aid and fulfill their oath at this late hour.

They came, and they rode with us. It was a fearsome ride and long it was, and hard. It struck me as odd that we rangers felt the weariness of going with little rest for many weeks… yet these who rode with us had known NO rest for over three thousand years!

At last we came to a port city called Pelargir, where ships of the Enemy’s forces lined up to sail to Gondor’s great city of Minas Tirith (birthplace long ago of our great lady, Queen Firiel). We the living of our company could not have taken even one of those great ships… but the dead among us swept out across the very waters and laid waste to our foes upon them. It was a fearsome sight, and we rangers could only watch in awed silence as they did their work.

The dead took those ships for us, and were given release. We then gathered what force we could from the folk of that place, manned the ships with our own forces and sailed up the River Anduin. Mother, sailing is a strange thing… not like riding a horse. Aragorn and Halbarad both seemed to know what they were doing, so I tried to assist in the working of the ship myself. Before long, Halbarad told me it was better that I take some rest while I may, for we had ridden hard, and there were fresher men with us from these provinces and they were steady at boatmanship.

(continued)

[Valandil]

(continued)

After sailing for two days, we arrived, yesterday, here at Minas Tirith. The city was besieged when we came. Moreover, a great battle had been joined, for the horse-folk of Rohan (as their land is called) had come at break of day, and forces had come forth to do battle from the city gates. Never have I seen, or thought to see, so many! Both sides had thousands upon thousands upon thousands. There is a wide land before the city, and it was all filled up. The enemies were Orcs and Trolls, but also Men, and … Oliphaunts! The Men though, do not look nor speak as the Men we have known. They come from strange and distant parts, far to the south and east.

As our ships drew near to what they call “the quays�, first our enemies let out a great cheer, but then – those cheers died off in wonder and dread… and the forces of our friends cheered and blew upon their trumpets, for Aragorn had let loose his standard, and shown himself for who he truly was, and shown our forces as friends to the city, not as foes.

I was in the second ship, and tried my best to stay calm as I awaited my chance to “de-bark� as they say and join the battle. This would be my first real action, and I strove to recall all my training. One of my fellows laid a hand on my shoulder and told me to stick with him and that he would watch over me. Then, my turn came and after I was almost pushed off the ship, it seemed I was pulled into the thick of the fighting, never to see that fellow who spoke to me again (indeed, I found later that he had been forced a different way, and had been slain trying to bring down one of those Oliphaunts).

The fighting was thick all about me at first, and I was constrained with my sword-swings, that I not take down a friend, rather than a foe. But as the day wore on, the field widened up and the combat became a series of one-on-one encounters, instead of the general melee. And the day was long indeed – for we had arrived at about noon, and fought without ceasing until the sun was setting. My training indeed served me well, for once the fighting started, I thought of it no more, but simply did it. Though not as tall as Aragorn himself, I have the height of a Dunedain – and the reach and the strength. Grandfather’s sword served me well also, for the weapons of my foes gave way before it.

Near day’s end, the battle was no longer in doubt – for we held the upper hand. All that was left was to finish. At this point I was completely alone, and turned to look about for some group of allies to join with in assaulting the last groups of our foes. Then I saw him… and just then, he saw me. By his dress and markings, he was a Man of the South, but he was tall, and noble of bearing. I remembered that some of the Dunedain had gone among those people of the south – some rebels against the Kings of Gondor, some in those places long ago, when the Kings of Numenor began to turn away from the Valar and envy the Eldar. I took him to be such a man… one in whom the blood of Numenor ran very nearly true… perhaps as true or truer than my own. This would be a test.

We closed, slowly, warily. We were armed alike, each with a great sword wielded with two hands. I saw that he bore a slight wound at one thigh, while by good fortune, I was as yet unmarked. He looked upon me with a grim look of determination, the which I must have mirrored back upon him.

Our swords flashed overhead and met above us, then between us. We swung this way and that, each always parrying the other’s strokes. He was of great skill… greater skill and strength than I, I think – but he had fought for longer and struggled against his wound, and his despair, at seeing the day lost to him.

On we fought, endlessly, it seemed… yet I knew that with one wrong move, an ending would come all to quickly, and a bitter one. None were around to give me succor, for the main part of the battle had drawn away from us. None was there to succor him either. So on we fought, wordlessly, desperately… our sounds the clashing of sword, the shifting of feet and the gasping of breath.

Finally, it came to an end. We had drawn further apart at times and closer at others. This one time, as we drew closer, noting how he over-protected his wounded thigh, I was able to strike the other leg. His knees buckled in pain and he fell, his arms went down to stop his fall, but his head bent down with fatigue. I stamped my foot upon the flat of his sword and pinned it down, but I held my own sword still upon my shoulder. I saw no need to slay this champion of the south, now that I had won, so with this gesture I offered him quarter. At last he slowly lifted his head, gasping still for his breath, wondering why his death-blow had not yet come. Then he saw what I would do…

Now mother, in his place, I think that I should have chosen to live. While willing to lay down my life at great need, I also hold it dear, and long ever to live out my days with joy and peace. Had he but yielded himself, he could have hoped to do so as well. But mother, something came across his face… across his eyes. Not anger, I think, but hatred! He hated me. He reached for the dagger at his belt and I did what I had to do.

Then I had no more foes to fight. I wished that I had, for all I could do then was think, and I did not wish to think. I did not wish to think about that last man I had slain. Of course I had slain others before, but with a quick slash here, and a quick stab there… and then move on to the next foe. That’s just how it is when we are caught up on battle. But this last one… it was somehow personal. And because of that, the hatred I sensed was personal. What could I have done to deserve such hate? Nothing, obviously… for we had never met. What then, did I represent to him… and why did he hate it so?

Yesterday’s gone and this day has come. Today there are no foes to fight and there are no leagues to ride. We can rest, or bathe in the river, or go into the city… or even write a letter. And of course, we can think, although that’s the thing I want most not to do right now. Tell my little brother Anduhar that battles are not as great as we have always thought that they were. Tell my sisters of my love for them, and that I hope to bring them something from the far south if I survive the rest of our campaign.

Oddest thing mother… my one true love, the lady Eowyn, is here. She rode with the men of her land in disguise, and fought on the same field of battle as I. They say she was wounded by some servant of the Enemy, whom she nonetheless slew, and she has been taken into the city to the care of the leeches. Her uncle the King of Rohan died on the field, and her brother Eomer is now their king. Anyway now, I go to find undamaged flowers on the edge of the field – perhaps down by the river, that I may bring them to her and declare to her my great love. Perhaps mother, I shall not return alone, when I come back.

Thy loving son,

Malvehael

[Valandil]

So... any reaction to my attempt at it? :p Snowdog? Tessar? Lief? Rosie? LCoU?? :)

Did you guys even read it? :confused:

[Last Child of Ungoliant]

So... any reaction to my attempt at it? :p Snowdog? Tessar? Lief? Rosie? LCoU?? :)

Did you guys even read it? :confused:
very good val, i love it! :)

one criticism, i think that it would be more appropriate to use
'yestre day' as opposed to 'yesterday', based on the style used throughout tolkien's works :)

[Valandil]

very good val, i love it! :)

one criticism, i think that it would be more appropriate to use
'yestre day' as opposed to 'yesterday', based on the style used throughout tolkien's works :)

Thanks Chrys...

Hmmm... not sure we have that in the 'American editions'. I'll have to check. :)

[Earniel]

So... any reaction to my attempt at it? :p Snowdog? Tessar? Lief? Rosie? LCoU?? :)

Did you guys even read it? :confused:
Bad Valandil, can't resist writing Middle-earth letters, can you? :p

[Tessar]

*sighs*

*Simon Cowel voice* It was rubbish. But I suppose since it's no worse than the other rubbish you'll have to stick with it.

Terrible work, keep it up.


;) :p

[Last Child of Ungoliant]

that was distinctly average

:D j/k

[Lief Erikson]

Valandil, when you wrote Malvehael, were you trying hard to make him extremely British?

[Valandil]

Earniel - force of habit! ;)

Tessar / LCoU - wow, tough crowd! :p

Lief - don't think I was really trying anything like that, in particular... :confused: Why?

[Snowdog]

Well... in a 'letter to mom' sort of way it was pretty good. I think that format worked better with the Firiel letters though. Here I didn't really get a true feel for the hardness of all Malvehael went through. I guess he had to keep it soft for mum eh?

[Valandil]

Well, you know how it is...

Those who have been through it themselves... they'll understand.

Those who haven't... they couldn't imagine it anyway.

;)

[Last Child of Ungoliant]

y'know val, i dont know what lief is driving at :p
i dont think it sounds overly english, just sounds normal,
if you get my meaning, mr gandalf sir

[Lief Erikson]

The whole tone of the story seemed to me to have that same kind of "understatement" that the British employ. I didn't feel the person's desperation, and the Brits don't show their desperation in crisis!
Now mother, in his place, I think that I should have chosen to live. While willing to lay down my life at great need, I also hold it dear, and long ever to live out my days with joy and peace. Had he but yielded himself, he could have hoped to do so as well. But mother, something came across his face… across his eyes. Not anger, I think, but hatred! He hated me. He reached for the dagger at his belt and I did what I had to do.

Then I had no more foes to fight. I wished that I had, for all I could do then was think, and I did not wish to think. I did not wish to think about that last man I had slain. Of course I had slain others before, but with a quick slash here, and a quick stab there… and then move on to the next foe. That’s just how it is when we are caught up on battle. But this last one… it was somehow personal. And because of that, the hatred I sensed was personal. What could I have done to deserve such hate? Nothing, obviously… for we had never met. What then, did I represent to him… and why did he hate it so?
This particular part was the main part where I saw him really opening up.

THIS part, is the part that I love :D.
Oddest thing mother… my one true love, the lady Eowyn, is here.
I cannot imagine this said without a British accent. "Oddest thing mother" :D. "My one true love" :D. I like it a good deal, but it's very, very British. Definitely not the way I would react, if my true love was on her death bed- or even a sick bed, for that matter!
She rode with the men of her land in disguise, and fought on the same field of battle as I. They say she was wounded by some servant of the Enemy, whom she nonetheless slew, and she has been taken into the city to the care of the leeches. Her uncle the King of Rohan died on the field, and her brother Eomer is now their king. Anyway now, I go to find undamaged flowers on the edge of the field – perhaps down by the river, that I may bring them to her and declare to her my great love. Perhaps mother, I shall not return alone, when I come back.

Thy loving son,

Malvehael
:D There's a similar tone throughout most of the letter, but this last paragraph in particular contains the most British understatement. If my love's beloved uncle died, I wouldn't mention it and then say "anyhow, I'm off to pick flowers . . ." ;). Quite amusing :).

[Snowdog]

Oddest thing mother… my one true love, the lady Eowyn, is here. She rode with the men of her land in disguise, and fought on the same field of battle as I. They say she was wounded by some servant of the Enemy, whom she nonetheless slew, and she has been taken into the city to the care of the leeches. Her uncle the King of Rohan died on the field, and her brother Eomer is now their king. Anyway now, I go to find undamaged flowers on the edge of the field – perhaps down by the river, that I may bring them to her and declare to her my great love. Perhaps mother, I shall not return alone, when I come back.

Thy loving son,

Malvehael It would be interesting to read Malvehael's letter after Lady Éowyn gets together with Faramir.... Oh the heartbreak! ;)

[Valandil]

Snowdog... IF he survived the next battle! :p Of course, he might be really excited, because she probably told him that she "wants to be his friend" :D

Lief - well, I was sort of winging this. I actually meant to go more into how it disturbed him to think how much the one man hated him - that he would rather die than live. I think I also was going to have him get slightly wounded in that last encounter... but I had been writing for awhile, wasn't as commited to it as my Firiel project and just wanted to finish it. I do think of the Dunedain as being rather nonchalant and unexcitable, in general... certainly after the fact, in relating events of a battle.

I guess - picture Malvehael as a young man, far from home for the first time in his life, suddenly subjected to a long tiring journey, that trip with the Army of the Dead, his first major battle... and a major crush on a pretty girl! His head is probably spinning. Probably similar to any young man who must go off to war, as he is at first. Plausible? :)

Thanks for the comments though - not getting defensive or anything, just wanted to answer what you've said and tell you where I was coming from. :)

[Snowdog]

True... And the perspective if a different soul that was there!


Oh, thanks for fixing the front end of this thread. I posted an edited draft of the story on two posts. I will be posting the follow up in awhile. :)

[Rosie Gamgee]

So... any reaction to my attempt at it? :p Snowdog? Tessar? Lief? Rosie? LCoU?? :)

Did you guys even read it? :confused:
Did you want us to congratulate you or something? :D

I liked it. Very good. I thought, though, as well, that it sounded a little... removed. Hobbitish- the way they make light of their troubles. Also, the way the fellow fluctuates from archaic to home-town-Brit ("pip-pip, tally-ho, and all that rot") is a little weird. But the feelings were definately there- fear, wonder, dispair, etc.

I want the sequel, where Faramir bashes this guy's head in!!!! :mad: :)

[Snowdog]

I want the sequel, where Faramir bashes this guy's head in!!!! :mad: :) :D :evil: FIGHT! FIGHT! They're fighting over a girl!

[Rosie Gamgee]

:D :evil: FIGHT! FIGHT! They're fighting over a !
Gimli and Eomer almost did that. I don't see why Faramir shouldn't set the young up-start back in his place. Anyway, the fellow's kind of presuptuous. He hasn't even spoken a word to her!

[Rosie Gamgee]

These... stories, letters, whatever reminded me of something I read recently- A Well-Remembered Voice by J.M. Barrie. It's a play, set during the first Great War, concerning a father who is visited by his son Dick, who was killed in battle. He and his son discuss what it was like at the Front- here's a bit of it:

'Tell me, Dick, about the—*the veil. I mean the veil that is drawn between the living and the——.’

‘The dead? Funny how you jib at that word.’

‘I suppose the veil is like a mist?’

'The veil’s a rummy thing, father. Yes, like a mist. But when one has been at the Front for a bit, you can’t think how thin the veil seems to get; just one layer of it. I suppose it seems thin to you out there because one step takes you through it. We sometimes mix up those who have gone through with those who haven’t. I daresay if I were to go back to my old battalion the living chaps would just nod to me.'... 'Death? Well, to me, before my day came, it was like some part of the line I had heard a lot about but never been in. I mean, never been in to stay, because, of course, one often popped in and out.’... 'I don’t remember being hit, you know. I don’t remember anything till the quietness came. When you have been killed it suddenly becomes very quiet; quieter even than you have ever known it at home.'... 'When I came to, the veil was so thin that I couldn’t see it at all; and my first thought was, Which side of it have I come out on? The living ones lying on the ground were asking that about themselves, too. There we were, all sitting up and asking whether we were alive or dead; and some were one, and some were the other. Sort of fluke, you know.’... 'As soon as each had found out about himself he wondered how it had gone with his chums, I halloo’d to Johnny Randall, and he halloo’d back that he was dead, but that Trotter was living. That’s the way of it. A good deal of chaff, of course. By that time the veil was there, and getting thicker, and we lined up on our right sides. Then I could only see the living ones in shadow and hear their voices from a distance. They sang out to us for a while; but just at first, father, it was rather lonely when we couldn’t hear their tread any longer.... You needn’t worry; that didn’t last long; we were heaps more interested in ourselves than in them. You should have heard the gabbling! It was all so frightfully novel, you see; and no one quite knew what to do next, whether all to start off together, or wait for some one to come for us.'
A little something else, a bit later in the discussion, is thought-provoking:

...'We have a fine for speaking about the war. And you know, those fellows we were fighting— I forget who they were?’

‘The Germans.’

'Oh yes. Some of them were on the same side of the veil with us, and they were rather decent; so we chummed up in the end...'
I wonder if perhaps the Southron that Malvehael killed might have 'chummed up', too, on the other side of 'the veil'?

[Snowdog]

Gimli and Eomer almost did that. I don't see why Faramir shouldn't set the young up-start back in his place. Anyway, the fellow's kind of presuptuous. He hasn't even spoken a word to her!Its probably like a schoolboy crush where he will not be noticed and will be devastated when the princly Faramir takes her away....

But then there was the darkside.. ;)

I see what you mean about A well remembered voice.

[Lief Erikson]

I don't see why Faramir shouldn't set the young up-start back in his place. Anyway, the fellow's kind of presuptuous. He hasn't even spoken a word to her!
Who says?

[Snowdog]

I wrote some NC-17 rated fanfic about the royalty about ten years after the war of the ring

[Rosie Gamgee]

Who says?
Well, the guy was just soooo enamored with her I figured that if he spoke to her he would have mentioned it. Maybe he did, I suppose I don't know.

[Valandil]

Well ya know... she DID look longingly to the East after the army set off for the Morannon... ;) :p

[Snowdog]

Added another chapter in my third post of this thread.

[Lotesse]

In re: Recollections of a Dunedain Ranger by SnowDog
:) I really got into this story. I appreciate the "blow-by-blow account" of all the fighting; it put me in the head state of actually being there, which good storytellers are able to do. I like to comment on people's writing here in Entmoot that I've truly enjoyed. I'm not into the whole spell-checking/fact-arguing/constructive criticism thing-IMO that's what English professors and script supervisors are for. ;) Your story was moving; it almost sounds as if it came from a writer who is intimately familiar with the realities of warfare. Very good stuff--I'm gonna re-read it.

[Snowdog]

In re: Recollections of a Dunedain Ranger by SnowDog
:) I really got into this story. I appreciate the "blow-by-blow account" of all the fighting; it put me in the head state of actually being there, which good storytellers are able to do. I like to comment on people's writing here in Entmoot that I've truly enjoyed. I'm not into the whole spell-checking/fact-arguing/constructive criticism thing-IMO that's what English professors and script supervisors are for. ;) Your story was moving; it almost sounds as if it came from a writer who is intimately familiar with the realities of warfare. Very good stuff--I'm gonna re-read it.Wow! High praise from you Lotesse! Thanks! I did add the last bit just recently.

Welcome to Entmoot, and I take it you picked your username Lotesse for this time of year? Lotesse is the month from April 23 to May 22.

[Lotesse]

Yep, your'e exactly right - I picked it from the Appenices in a hurry; I was so excited about registering that I didn't think about my name long enough. I want to be Gwaihir. Oh, well...

[Snowdog]

Lotesse is a good name though.
Pleased to meet you! *bows*

[Acalewia]

I have to say, snowdog, that is a great version of the battle. I like the details.

Val, another great version from the point of view of a young Ranger in his first battle.

I 'd like to see your versions of the battle outside the Black Gate. It should be a great read. Btw, Val, I dont think it sounds too Britty. It sounds the way Tolkien would have wrote it.

[CrazySquirrel]

I've just read this thread for the first time.
A nice story, Snowdog. Halbarad surely deserves more attention that he got in the books.

And I loved your "Requiem for a Ranger" letter, Val!
I see no fault with it at all. You are really good at writing letters!

Especially I loved the fight with this Black Numenorean guy and its outcome. I believe he was one of them, from Harad, not a Southron. We never meet Black Numenoreans up close, except the Mouth, but he is an unique, twisted sort of person. I believe, there were quite decent ones in the South. I mean they hated Gondor (understandably), but were good fighters and preferred death to surrender. I liked the last touch, pointing at different cultural background.
As for the author of the letter, he was a Nothern Dunadan, so never met the Black Numenoreans. I think a fighter from Gondor would have known about them at least and would have been taught to hate them.
Just my ramblings...

[Acalewia]

There are 29 other Ranger's accounts that could be written. Maybe you could write an account? :).


not only that but there were Riders and Men of Gondor as well, Snowdog. there could be several hundred accounts to this battle

[Snowdog]

not only that but there were Riders and Men of Gondor as well, Snowdog. there could be several hundred accounts to this battle
Thats true, but I wasn't referring to the specific battle accounts, I was referring to the accounts of the unnamed Rangers. I have plenty of stories written fron the account of Hanasian.