Rauthain
All conversation ceased as the two rangers drew closer to the village, and though the night was bright, they had struggled to find the gelding’s track among the foot traffic along the road. The way was well used by persons and livestock and it soon became a hopeless business, the nearer they came to the surrounding fields and houses.
Stopping by the gate, Maethor and Rauthain talked quietly among themselves in the empty road. Only the watchman and another sitting by the gate observed the quiet exchange. Rauthain, handing his reins over to the younger man, pulled out his pipe and tamping in a generous helping of aromatic Southlinch, strode up to this watchman to ask for a straw to light it. The grey haired ranger stood talking with the keeper and his companion while Maethor lead the horses in through the gate and waited for him just inside of it. The hour was getting late, but the street beyond was not quite as deserted as it had been outside of the village. A few people walked here and there, infrequently choosing to break the hush of the evening.
When Rauthain rejoined Maethor, he wore a troubled expression. “She apparently has not entered by this gate,” he remarked, sweeping the avenue with his glance.
“There is naught we can do until daybreak,” Maethor lamented. “Perhaps she was missed in the press of farmer’s wives returning from selling their goods at market. A man’s eye is known to wander at such times
and the need for a gate keeper to be alert has waned greatly over the years.”
“Yes? So much so that the Ravennor of Mordor could past though Bree without notice?” Rauthain muttered in irritation. “It would be shameful to us all to grow lax in our guard against such evil. We should all be vigilant from Ithilien to Harlindon to the Iron Hills and even the Shire. From the Elessar himself to the smallest child we should remain watchful! For though the head is gone it’s members still corrupt, abasing that which should have not cause for worry.”
Maethor could see the frustration behind the old ranger words, and did not argue. He himself shared deeply in it, but did not lose hope of finding Naiore or of claiming a better future for his people.
“We should make our way to the inn then, to see if the others have arrived. By chance they might have some tidings to cheer us.”
“I would surely welcome good news!” the older man said, his gloomy expression quickly melting at the thought. “But you go on before me. I would check the other gates before the night grows too old, and will meet you there before we set off again, if no sooner.”
Maethor nodded getting up on his horse. “Do not tarry overlong or I shall think you have found what you are looking for!” Rauthain smiled at this.
“A favor though, I would ask Maethor, before you take leave of me. Would you take my mount with you to the inn? Juta is his name, and I would that he should get some rest even though I do not.”
“With pleasure,” Maethor replied taking the reins again from the old ranger’s hand. “Until then.”
Rauthain stood watching as Maethor turned making his way toward the Prancing Pony.
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