(OOC - For enjoyment and the knowing of Wiljon's backstory. Not to be assumed as IC knowledge)
Stand, Not Cower
Part I - Out of the Woods
Wiljon stepped out into the lazy afternoon sunlight and was overwhelmed with the desire to run off into the hills and forests of his youth and know freedom once more. He turned his face up into the amber sun and fondly recalled long spring evenings; a fine cool season with hints and promises of warmth to come.
The reverie lasted until Watcher Jenst's bloodied, empty face half trodden in the muddy road prevailed over his imaginings. When he opened his eyes he was still in northernmost Archet, standing just outside Romer and Nedda's house. The Valebucks were all the family he had left but not close family. Old family distances as well as real distance.
He sighed and stumped through the little box canyon village toward the green. The rangers who had released him from the Blackwold cells were there. The same rangers who had asked him, among many others, to try and convince the townsfolk that the Blackwold brigands meant them harm. He found the lanky one, Strider, wrapped in his cloak and napping while the other one, injured as he was, was propped against the building wall calmly watching the village traffic.
"Ahh...hello again," Amdir smiled. "Wiljon, right?"
"Yes, sir." He had not much spoken to Amdir who had received some wicked wound during the escape. It was Strider who had set him to task and now fitfully rested nearby. "I have news of the village's thoughts on the Blackwolds."
"Aye," Amdir nodded. "Well, let my companion rest some. Sit so I needn't strain to look up at you and tell me your news."
Wiljon nodded and sat cross-legged a little ways away. Only in the last few years had these Dúnedain rangers shown themselves so frequently. The Watchers of Combe had been suspicious of them and in another life, it now seemed, so had Wiljon. Today though, it felt like these two were his only friends. Thinking back, he decided it was more true than he might be ready to admit.
"Not one in the town will lay any credence to our suspicions, nor act on our concerns." He looked around them. "It would be a hard fight for poorly armed brigands too. Stoney hillsides on three sides and that wall to the south. Maybe they will be fine."
Amdir nodded slowly. "I'll pass along your thoughts when my companion awakens." He shifted and winced. Wiljon thought that a shadow crossed his face, but Amdir merely leaned back against the building and the shade of an awning now shielded his eyes from the sun. "How did you end up in the clutches of those wretched robbers anyhow?"
Wiljon frowned as he looked at his hands. "I was with the Combe watch near the lumber yards of Chetwood. You know where the Midgewater Marsh is closest to Staddle and Combe?" Amdir nodded once. "We were overrun." His thoughts did not shy from that terrible ambush. But he did begin to regret second guessing Strider's concerns for Archet's safety. The Blackwolds had out numbered them three to one at least and there had been archers away in the trees sighting those who sought to flee.
Amdir, correctly guessed Wiljon's thoughts and said: "All of Middle-Earth is in upheaval and we hardly know it. Don't blame yourself for blood spilled by craven men."
"There were a lot of craven men. Goblins I would understand. But so many men!"
The ranger shrugged ever so slightly. "Sometimes it seems that all one can do is look out for himself. And you? Will you return to your family in Combe now?"
"No family there," he answered.
"My apologies," the ranger offered, again aptly guessing at the unspoken truth. "What happened? That is if it is not too bold of me to ask."
Wiljon shrugged now. "My mother died about ten years ago now. My father was part of a fighting company from Gondor who came to Bree-land for work. He passed over the Misty Mountains and never returned all while I was still too young."
"Out of Gondor, you say?" Being sensitive to matters of his father, Wiljon had already turned to look at Amdir and caught the man's eyes returning from a look at Strider.
"Calembel. Imland of Calembel. Why?"
"No particular reason, friend. Bree is a long way from his home, though."
Wiljon nodded though he had never, himself been any further south than the great East West road. "He was a warrior, and went where he was needed."
"Truly?" Amdir asked. "It is a sad thing that war should take him from you."
"At least he went in his way and by a noble road. I'll never meet him," Wiljon asserted. "But I know him well."
Amdir watched him with an unreadable expression for several long moments. "What will you do now? Or after my friend here has no more requests of you?"
Wiljon smiled faintly as he stared off at the cobbles. "I don't know really. I've always lived in the Chetwood but now it seems I am unwelcome there." He turned suddenly and caught Amdir again looking at Strider. Besides his long legs poking out from under the cloak all that could really be seen of him was his hand, laying by in the grass. Amdir wisely offered: "For all of us, Wiljon, there comes a time when we must come out of the woods of our youth."
