' I need them, old friend.'
The grey-haired man pinches the bridge of his nose, then rubs his thumb wearily over his forehead. He looks up slowly from his stool by the fire towards the other man perched on the worn oak chest.
'Men ... lads,' he continues, ' I'd even take a green boy or two if that's all there are to spare.'
The desperation behind his grey eyes leaks into his words as he picks up his pipe. Halbarad smiles wanly back at him as he listens to the too-familiar litany before replying.
' We are spread too thin. How many of now are there, do you think - men fully trained and in their prime?' Halbarad leans across closer towards the older man, his voice deepening with his own concern as he continues, ' How many, Tarchlang, do you think? One hundred men... eighty?' He shakes his head, heavy with its burden. ' I tell you the truth - I believe I could muster no more than thirty at a pinch'.
Tarchlang sits back heavily, receiving the information like a blow. He tastes the unpleasant truth as he repeats the other ranger's words.
'Thirty?'
A silent affirming nod.
The truth sits heavily in the air around them. The quiet grows, punctuated only by the pop and hiss of the green wood on the fire to their side. It seeps out from the pair across the vast northern lands, washes up against the few scattered guardians, as rare in the wilderness as meat in a poor man's stew.
Tarchlang breaks the silence as he removes his pipe from his lips and turns it over in his still-strong hands. The firelight glints on old but well-kept mail, revealed from under his unremarkable outer clothing as he moves. He examines the bowl of his pipe, keeping his eyes on the glowing pipeweed as he speaks reluctantly but clearly.
'My time is coming Halbarad. You know that - no - ' he lifts a hand to halt Halbarad's response,' do not deny it - we have known each other too long for such pleasant lies. I feel it, and one day I will willingly welcome it.'
His voice presses Halbarad earnestly, darkening with supressed passion.
' Let me give back the Gift knowing my duty is truly done. Give me someone to come south to Tharbad. I need time to show the land to them, teach them what needs to be done, how to read the marshes. -That- is the whole of my duty. not only my life of watching, but providing for the future. And then release me. You know what I wish to do.'
Tarchlang looks up as Halbarad turns his face away, momentarily discomforted by the hard decision he must reach in the face of the older man's honesty.
'You say there are so few of us left, ' he continues,' and I say aye to that. But those we do have are needed on the border! What of the rest of the land if the border cannot be held? Things are moving a-pace beyond the river, you hear what I hear. Season by season there are fell voices growing in the marshes, men - and things less wholesome - test the bounds.'
'Two of us Halbarad - for all the southern border ... ' Tarchlang's jaw stiffens as his well-known stubborness attempts to hold back his damning words,' We ... I... we cannot hold it.'
Halbarad speads his fingers over his thighs in mute acceptance of the hard-won plea, before responding with a sigh
' I cannot assign anyone to you, friend. Not now, even as the days darken. But - I give you leave to approach any of our kin that you come upon as you return back to your watch and ask if they can aid you. It may be that one man or another thinks himself able to do so for a while.''
Halbarad gets to his feet as the older man lowers his head, like a beast weathers an inevitable storm. He places his hand briefly on the grey-headed man's shoulder as he passes.
' We will meet again, Hithuidir. You are too obstinate to depart the world before all is finished.'
