Forty days later it was thundering and raining again. The rain was icy and sleety, the autumn was about to yield in the losing battle against the coming winter. It was murky time of year this far up north, and nobody in Bree had seen the sun for days. The southerly wind howled like a thousand tortured souls as it blew through Greenway Street towards the Prancing Pony inn.
The man who lived in a little apartment by the Greenway Street, just by the Market Gate, was no stranger to the chilly rains and cold winters of the north, and each passing year made him loath the weather and dread the long, dark, cold winters more than before. For 108 winters he had endured the cold and the rain, but this would be the last one, he now promised himself. One way or the other, this would be his last winter in this cold, desolate land. He had lost count of the winters he had spent patrolling beyond the northern borders of the Shire, through sleet and snow and storms, in all kinds of weather. And what had he gotten out of it for himself? This dilapidated apartment in Bree and arthritic joints that ached in chilly weather. He had spent a century in the service of others, ruined his health and wasted his life. He could hope to live for maybe half a century more if he was lucky. Didn’t he deserve to live those final decades for himself for a change, far away from the cold north and his humorless, surly kin?
It was noon already. Almost time to check out the Prancing Pony. He had visited there almost every day at this same time since he had sent his letter to Gondor a couple of months ago. He had known he would have to wait for a long time, but there had never been a doubt in his mind that Parthadan would send somebody. How could he not? May the Valar bless Gondor and their meddling ways! Yes, bless them all!
So he had waited patiently through the autumn in Bree. It was all right – the Rangers didn’t expect much from him anymore. He was old, his spirit was broken, and his bones ached when it was cold.
Hodhion waited for the embers in the fireplace to go out, then stretched his aching back and started picking up pieces of clothing from the chair. As a young man he had been athletic and muscular, but in recent years a layer of fat had started to slowly cover the ripped muscles of his prime under it’s soft plumpness. Hodhion had gotten softer and slower, but he was still a dangerous man and a formidable foe in battle. He pulled on his high boots of supple leather and travel-stained cloak of heavy dark green cloth. There was no point in taking his bow – not in Bree – but he never went anywhere without his sword. It had occurred to him that Parthadan might not want to pay for what he had to sell. It was easier – and cheaper – to send someone to get the information by force, and then kill him. But Hodhion was no fool, he had taken everything into account.
The wind knocked at the window and howled in the corners like a pack of barghasts who had smelled blood. It slapped against his face when he opened the door and stepped out onto the street. He tried to pull the hood over his head to cover his face, but the wind was too strong and blew the hood off his head. Thank the Valar it was only a short walk to the Prancing Pony.
”Give us a rest”, Hodhion grumbled when the rain turned to hail and lightning flashed through the sky as he waded up the slippery street towards the Prancing Pony. How he hated this miserable country.
Hodhion stopped briefly by the fountain in the courtyard, taking in the familiar view – the distinctive signpost of a fat, rearing pony flapping in the wind, the paddocks and the pedestrians – men, hobbits, a guard with his dog, all wading through the hailstorm as if it they didn’t even feel it. Hodhion’s face was already red and his eyes were smarting. His breath was coming in foggy clouds.
He wanted to run the last few paces to the stairs and through the door, to get inside where it was warm, but his trained mind told him to be cautious. Now more than ever he needed to remain cautious. So he crossed the yard slowly, cautiously, making sure his eyes didn’t miss a detail. Everything was as usual, he didn’t see anyone who didn’t seem to belong or acted suspiciously. He climbed the stairs and opened the door. He saw Barliman behind the counter and a few regulars – not too many, since it was still early in the day. He nodded to them politely. Fat Nellie and her two children lapping tea and hogging sandwiches at one table. Old Jarrett with his jug of ale at another. And Herb and Woody, farmers from Southern Bree-fields, discussing about the price of wheat. After all these months they still gave him the wary eye. They knew who he was from his appearance and how he still dressed, and in Bree the Rangers were commonly thought to be highwaymen and mischief-makers.
There was also a hooded stranger sitting alone in the back of the common room, away from the other patrons.
Hodhion inched behind a thick wooden pillar to take a peek. The stranger was facing the room, but he had pulled his hood over his face so Hodhion couldn’t see it at first. But then, as if sensing someone’s eyes on him, the stranger lifted his head up. Hodhion saw his face and felt a chilling sensation in his spine and a tight fist churned his stomach.
Delioron!
Ten years had passed since he had last seen that pale winter face and merciless marble-gray eyes. Delioron had not changed much. Those lines criss-crossing his face were a little deeper, perhaps, and was there a hint of weariness in his presence?
It was a little too much from Parthadan, wasn’t it, to send Delioron of all people? Hodhion had met him that summer a little over ten years ago in the Gap of Rohan on a special assignment, delivering an important message to king Théoden of Rohan.
Dúnadan Rangers didn’t, as a rule, live like hermits throughout their lives. Most took wives and bore children like people everywhere. Hodhion had never taken a wife, and the fact had always been considered a testimony of his uncompromising resolve to serve and respected as such with his kin. But if they had ever found out the true reason for his abstinence, he would have been condemned, disgraced, exiled. It was simply a taboo among the Dúnedain to even talk about – let alone tolerate – what they considered ’unnatural and deviant’ urges and desires.
Hodhion had suffered from those desires all of his life, as long back as he could remember. He had tried to fight them, he had tried to resist them, he had even attempted to will himself into desiring a woman’s touch, but none of that had worked out. Finally he had given up trying to change his nature with his willpower. Instead, he had opted for a life of celibacy and channeled his energies to his duties as a Ranger, and for his steely resolve he had been rewarded with more responsibility, more important duties and more influence among his kin. He had resisted his nature, his urges… until that journey.
They had sent him alone, and for the first time of his life he had been hundreds of miles away from his kin. He had felt free, elated, almost giddy… and he had let his guard down. He had spent a night in Heathfells, in that Rohirrim camp not far from the Fords of Isen. And there had been that young, pretty, blond, blue-eyed guard, barely out of his teens. He had known what Hodhion was, and he had smiled at him with his white teeth and sparkling blue eyes, knowingly, invitingly. And late in the night, when he was on duty to watch the fire and everyone else inside the camp had been fast asleep, Hodhion had gone to keep him company. They had talked, one thing had led to another and…
They had been interrupted. It hadn’t been any of the Rohirrim, but a man in brown robes and graying hair and cold, merciless eyes. Hodhion had not noticed him before, as the man had spent the day in his own tent and the Rohirrim hadn’t made any mention about another visitor, but he had also been a guest in the camp. He had told them he would alert the camp… unless Hodhion gave him the message he was carrying.
What else could he have done? They would have both been in terrible trouble if… their whole lives, everything would have been lost! The man had broken the seal with a knife, carefully, and read it in the campfire light. Then he had smiled, a cold, bleak smile, and told them to put their clothes on. Everything will be all right, he had told to the Rohirric youth, who had been on the verge of hysteria. His secret was safe with him, he had assured, as was the dereliction of his duty. He had taken some wax from his pocket, melted it on the fire, and repaired the seal before handing the letter back to Hodhion. There was no sign the wax seal had ever been tampered with at all. Then he had invited Hodhion to his own tent.
Hodhion had thought to kill him then, but how could he have done that? In the Rohirrim camp? There was no way. The man had told that his name was Delioron, and that he was from Gondor. He explained Hodhion that certain parties in Gondor were very interested in what was going on north of it’s borders, and that a Dúnadan Ranger carrying a secret letter addressed to king Théoden of Rohan had piqued his interest. Now that he knew what was in the letter, Hodhion was free to carry on with his mission and then return to his home. Delioron had handed him a pouch of silver. Hodhion had tried to protest, but Delioron had explained – patiently – that it was in his best interest to take the coins. Later, when he had resumed his duties in northern Eriador, somebody from Gondor would eventually make contact with him. More silver for more information, and it was in his best interest to give them what they wanted. Hodhion’s soul belonged to Gondor now – unless he wanted to explain to his Ranger brethren how the contents of a secret letter meant for king Théoden’s eyes only were known to a courier from Gondor? Delioron had told him that he should not take it too harshly – that the information would never be used against the Free Peoples or the Dúnedain. Weren’t they all on the same side after all? The people in Gondor, they just wanted to know, that’s all.
Hodhion had understood, and on that moment something had broken inside him. The other Rangers must have sensed the change in him, sensed that something had happened on the mission to Rohan that had broken his spirit, for he had never again been tasked with any important duties. For the remaining ten years he had been mostly patrolling the northern borders of Northfarthing. The envoy from Gondor had contacted him, and he had found that they always paid well, even for information that was complete rubbish. Hodhion just didn’t care anymore. As years passed he grew to resent everything… his life, the Gondorians, the other Rangers, his duties, Eriador, even the wee hobbits. He began dreaming about faraway lands, somewhere far, somewhere warm, somewhere where he could be himself.
And now he had stumbled upon something that was not rubbish, something very valuable to the Gondorians especially. His ticket out of here. And Parthadan had sent Delioron, after all these years… for what? Happy reunion? Or… to kill him?
Hodhion thought about that. Delioron was a killer, he had seen that in his eyes on that first night in the Gap of Rohan. But he couldn’t kill him here, could he… in the Prancing Pony? Even the Gondorians weren’t that arrogant.
Hodhion made his decision. He walked over to Barliman, ordered a pint and walked with it to Delioron’s table. ”Long time no see, old friend”, he said coolly. Delioron had pulled the hood off his head and Hodhion saw that his hair had turned completely gray. ”You look older.”
”I am. Ten years older.”
”Is it that long already? My my, time sure flies when you are so thoroughly enjoying your life…” He took a sip of ale to hide the bitterness in his voice. The drink tasted bitter too, stale and bitter, like everything in this wretched land. ”Did you bring the money?”
”What will the money buy?”
”You would want to know that, wouldn’t you? But would you trick an old man… like you did before?”
Delioron watched Hodhion closely, studied his face, and felt something like a trace of guilt deep in his numbed conscience. There was nothing left of the man he had met ten years ago, no sign of the determination and courage that had shone in Hodhion’s eyes back then. All he saw in their stead was resentment, bitterness and greed. ”It shouldn’t have been so bad, Hodhion. The information wouldn’t have been used against the Free Peoples. The people I work for, they just want to know, that’s all. We’re all on the same side after all.”
Hodhion snorted a derisive laugh. ”Speak for yourself, Gondorian! I’m on nobody’s side but my own. And you are not getting what I have for free, and you know my price. It’s non-negotiable. Take it or leave it.”
”And if I take it… I assume that’s the last we will hear from you?”
Hodhion stiffened. Delioron raised his hand in a calming gesture. ”That’s all right, Hodhion. We are prepared for that. We are willing to give you your freedom… but only if your information is gold. We are not trading off a fortune for rubbish. I must evaluate it first. Otherwise we cannot let you go. And you know what that means, don’t you, Hodhion?”
Hodhion looked into his cold, ruthless eyes and swallowed. ”Right. But first I need to see it.”
”Certainly.” Delioron produced a pouch from the pocket of his cloak and poured it’s contents on the table. Ten silver pennies and… Hodhion stared at the two large Gondorian Double-Dragons. He had never seen a Double-Dragon before. Those dragons hypnotized him. They were so beautiful. His hand moved closer to the coins, wanting to touch that yellow golden shine, slowly, slowly…
Delioron slammed his hand on the table over the money, grasped them neatly in his fist and dropped them back in the pouch.
”The information first”, Delioron reminded.
”As you say”, Hodhion shrugged. ”But not yet. Get a room if you don’t have one already, get off that filthy cloak and have a good bath while I go to arrange some things with some… friends of mine. See, I have to take care of my security. Make sure you will hold on to your end of the bargain. I don’t trust you, Gondorian. You might have been ordered to come back with the information and the money… and poor Hodhion’s corpse rotting in some alley. I assure you, it will not go down that way, Gondorian! Meet you here at dusk.”
”And what prevents you and your friends from trying to rob and kill me, now that you know that I have the money?”
”Well now, that is your problem, isn’t it, Gondorian? But really, if you haven’t thought about it already, I would very disappointed in you!”
Delioron nodded. ”Just so you know it won’t be going that way either.”
”At dusk, Gondorian. And don’t try to follow me!”
Hodhion winced at the ale, pushed it aside, stood up and left the tavern. Delioron sat for a while, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
