Untitled - BoG-Archive

“I know your excuses by now. You must simply have realized that here is a
feat of strength and fortitude for which you are not yet renowned in Gondor.
How could you have not thought of it before?” Faramir laughed.
“You misjudge me; in truth I fear that if I do not accompany you, I will lose
my little brother to Ranger methods. The next thing you know, you would be
telling me that any tactics but ambush and secrecy are poorly thought-out and
reckless, ai!” Boromir chuckled, answering the jibe in kind; the brothers often
argued over tactics as it was. After a contemplative moment, Boromir leaned
close to his brother and said, grinning solicitously, “What I would like to know is
what mountains have to do with the Rangers of Ithilien.”
Faramir answered, “I suppose it is that it is difficult. Those who can cross
the mountains have skill and strength of mind enough, what can they not do?”
“Perhaps true,” Boromir said, sitting down beside his brother on the bed.
“So, now, you will fill me in on what I’ve missed in training thus far?”
35
Two weeks in Ithilien had flown by. The trainees had trekked across the
lands, met many of the Rangers currently stationed there, been shown several
secret places, and had practiced at creeping across the lands unseen and unheard.
All of them had done so before at higher stakes, for all were experienced
warriors, but they pushed themselves ever to improve. They practiced night
maneuvers; Rangers would fight at night more often than others, by necessity or
design, and doing so required great skill and much practice, for the enemy had
the advantage of troops who could see in the darkness better than any man. They
learned many things known only to the Rangers, of which I can tell no more here.
And at last the time came for the final test of their skill. For this they traveled
back across the River, and past the City, and into Anórien, under the shadow of
the White Mountains.
The small encampment of a half dozen tents was set up near a little stand
of trees and a pond fed by a mountain stream. For two days all the men rested
and stored up their strength. By daylight and firelight, there was quiet
conversation and an undercurrent of anticipation.
“I have heard there are three companies of Rangers in need of a Captain,”
one of the younger men, Cirion, said idly to his companions, “two of them newly
formed.”
None of them had yet mentioned this. With the exception of Boromir, all of
these men hoped to be granted one of those Captaincies, yet even if they all