I took some liberties with this one, but 't'was fun nonetheless.
The victory feast in Ithilien was everything young Belvedir's active imagination could have hoped for. The food, the entertainment, the famous personages... But most of all, he was wearing the livery of a Ranger of Ithilien, seated at the Ithilien Rangers' Board, amongst Rangers of Ithilien. And so what if he'd not yet been bloodied with them? He'd acquitted himself well during the siege of Minas Tirith, had been advanced into their ranks soon after, and sent with a company of others to swiftly reinforce them. They'd arrived after the Last Stand at Cormallen, and thus alas, he'd not had much time to become more than cordial with many of his comrades -- but maybe that was about to change.
He was shoved sideways on his bench as a solid bulk suddenly required more space to his left. On his right, the air seemed to solidify into the shape of another man. Both wore Ranger's garb, and both had full tankards. Well, the bull on the left had three. He passed one to Belvedir.
"Drink!" he ordered shortly, and led by example, seemingly considering it impossible that his command would be disobeyed. Belvedir drank, his eyes wide.
"Túg, you'll scare the young one," said the man to his right. He was slighter than even Belvedir, and his lanky hair seemed to always be covering part of his face, but every movement seemed to be deliberate - calculated, even - from grasping his tankard to lifting it to his lips to swallowing the wine within.
"Bah!" the one called Túg replied. "If he's been deemed worthy to wear our garb then he shouldn't be too startlesome. You're not...
flighty... are ye, man?" the glowering eyebrows asked Belvedir.
The young Ranger cleared his throat down a couple keys before replying.
"My section of the wall never wanted manning, though it came close to it a few times. The worst of it was when the winged horrors came close... but Mithrandir would bid us stand, and the Sergeant would bellow something obscene and defiant, and we would stand again, by the grace of the Valar."
"Well said; that were bravely done," the man to his right intoned somberly. "To rise and rise again, with little earthly hope of relief, is a strain not many can bear. 'Tis worthy of a Ranger."
Belvedir buried his face in his tankard, for fear his grin would drop the ears off his head.
"Better ye than I," rumbled Túg. "Give me the woods - clearings and dells and places to fall back to and sally forth from." He slammed a hand down on the table, causing Belvedir to choke on his wine. "D'ye remember that one ambush, Flein? I know ye do!"
"Túg..." the man called Flein said in a warning tone.
"Ah, it was beautiful, it was," Túg addressed Belvedir and ignored his friend. "We got wind of the Southrons coming through, and the Captain would not let them by unscathed, so we set up one of the most beautiful pieces of war- and woods-craft you've ever seen: the cross-angles of the arrows, the hidden lines of spearmen, the harrying pursuit the Captain called for- But the best, the most wonderful part,"
"Túg..." the man called Flein said a little louder than before.
"Yes, my good comrade?" Túg asked overly politely, "Do you wish to carry on the tale? I warn you, 'tis the only way to have it out in timbre less strident than mine own!"
The slight man sighed, nodded, took a sip of wine, and motioned Belvedir to listen while Túg grinned mercilessly in the background.
"I was on bow-duty," he began, "Which I am not likely the inferior to any in our noble band in speed, accuracy, impact of target, and so on; one frailty, one weakness do I own, and that honestly, for I must. I become... focused."
Belvedir shook his head in confusion: "Surely that must be one of the most important things of all?" he inquired, but Flein gravely invoked the negative.
"I misspoke, young Ranger. I become
overly focused. I remember the engagement in question- a good many shafts I loosed, and only a few that did not find their mark. I do not boast over-much, for quarry caught unawares is not exactly a difficult situation, but they did begin scurrying about. I remember taking the draughtsman of one of the mighty mumakil - the windage was particularly tricky for that shot, but the shaft was true nonetheless. There was no time for taking pleasure in a job well-done; my hand went to my quiver, and another shaft was sped on its way, and another, and another until-"
"Until I SAVED YOUR LIFE!" bellowed Túg, unable to stand his relegation to silence.
Flein winced, and Belvedir, closer to the wall of sound, gingerly felt about his ear to ensure it was still there. But Flein shrugged, and continued.
"Túg has the right of it. His stentorian bellow from a nearby brake alerted me to the fact that the unguided beast - mad with pain, and likely habit - was stomping right for me. I dove through the trunk-like legs, and eventually slid to a stop; alive, though smelling rather the worse for wear."The doleful man turned sorrowful eyes towards the young Ranger and elaborated while his boon companion roared mirth at the sky.
"I had landed in a mound of the great beast's rear-ward evacuation. I wasn't squashed into jelly by the walking hillock, but at various times in the ensuing days I fair wished I was, between trying to get the stench out of my gear and the various jests of my company. I suppose it will be many a year yet before it dies down."
Belvedir hesitated, and then decided that if he was truly in the company of these Rangers, it would be unseemly to act like he wasn't. So he raised his tankard, looked Flein in the eye, and solemnly toasted his survival:
"Better to be in oliphaunt dung, then to be
in oliphaunt dung."
His slight neighbor cracked a smile; his bulky neighbor fair knocked the wind out of him with a clap on his back; and Belvedir the Ranger was at peace for the first time in a long while.
(I loved yours, 
))
Here goes something.
(The "Tales of..." short-story compilations are still some of the best Star Wars literature in existence, say I!)
