A/N: Yes, I know it has been months since I have updated this. But, as promised, I have finished this story and I present to you the last chapter of Simple Men. I hope there are still people following this, and I hope you enjoy this last part.

As one, the rangers turned around and sped back to the cave. Aragorn shook Trestan awake, while Diagon gathered up the few supplies that might help them – medical supplies and the like. They then raced towards the village, easily jumping over the small fence that surrounded it.

Inside, everything was chaos. It seemed that a fire started in one of the fireplaces to ward off the cold had gotten out of control. Two or three of the houses were ablaze, and the nearby houses were in danger of catching fire too. The villagers were milling about in panic, some running towards the well, while others hurriedly rushing the nearby residents from their homes. As the rangers drew near, they heard a shriek from one of the women who had just run out of one of the burning houses.

“My daughter! My daughter is still in there!”

No sooner had she said this than a part of the house collapsed, causing the fire to burn even more ferociously. The woman screamed again and tried to run back in but could see no way past the flames. Collapsing at the doorway, she pleaded for help, but the villagers were hesitant. The house was about to collapse at any moment, there was no chance they would be able to make it through all the flames and back again in time.

Hearing the woman’s cries, Aragorn swiftly drew near and peered intently into the house, ignoring the heat of the flames that were but a hand’s breadth away from him. He thought he could discern somewhere above the roar of the flames and the shouts of the villagers the thin sound of a child crying from inside the house. Turning back to Trestan and Diagon, he said, “Go and help the villagers bring water. I will try to find the child”

“No, Aragorn,” Diagon protested. “It’s too dangerous! The house could come down at any time. Let me go inst…”

“This is not the time to argue, Diagon,” Aragorn interrupted sharply, already unbuckling his sword and laying it aside. “Do as I say. I will go in.”

Ignoring Diagon’s further protests, Aragorn leapt past the flames into the house. There were flames everywhere, and the roar of the fire was even louder than before. Black smoke obscured the air in all directions and stung his eyes, and Aragorn found it hard to discern anything beyond a few feet. The heat was almost unbearable. Holding his cloak over his mouth to avoid breathing in the smoke, Aragorn tried to follow the faint soft cry that he had heard before.

Luckily, in a few moments, he managed to spot the child. She could not be more than five years old. She was crouched beneath a table, clearly frightened beyond her wits. She stared fearfully at the flames that had all but surrounded her. Aragorn quickly made his way to her side. Removing his cloak, he wrapped it around her. Hopefully it would offer her some protection from the fire.

“It’s ok, little one. I have you now, you are safe. Everything will be alright.” He whispered to her soothingly, before picking her up, and trying to make his way back out of the burning building. He could tell he had little time left to leave the house, some parts of the roof were collapsing even as they moved out. The heat had become even more stifling and he was beginning to cough from inhaling too much of the smoke.

Just as he was reaching the door, he heard an ominous creaking noise. Looking above, he saw a large wooden beam about to crash down in front of them. If it fell before they could get through, the door would be blocked, they would be trapped inside with no way of getting out. In desperation, he could see only one way out. Holding the girl tightly to his chest, he threw himself forward towards the door, hoping to clear the beam.

For a moment, he thought he had. Then a burning pain exploded in his right leg. The burning beam had fallen right on top of it! He uttered a half-choked scream as he struggled to free his leg from the fire. Luckily, he was close enough to the door, and he could hear people scrambling in to help him. He held the crying child up to them and sighed with relief as she was taken out of the house. He then felt strong arms lifting him out too, and he gave in without protest, the agony in his leg leaving him without the strength or will to argue. Just as they left the house, the building collapsed behind them.

Diagon, whom Aragorn discovered was the one who had lifted him free, led Aragorn a short distance away from the rest of the villagers. Aragorn lay panting, his eyes screwed shut tightly and his hands clutching his badly burnt leg. Diagon furiously searched through their bag of medical supplies, removing a couple of salves and bandages and handing some to Trestan.

“Here, bring this to the villagers. Some of them have sustained minor burns. The salves should help them.” He instructed gruffly, before turning his attention back to his chieftain. “How many times Aragorn? How many times must I tell you not to do such things? Valar forbid, you ever listen to sense and think before taking such foolhardy risks,” Diagon raged on while preparing water and bandages.

Aragorn smiled despite his pain. He was often on the receiving end of such lectures from Diagon, who let out his love for his friend and worry for his injuries as anger against his recklessness. Diagon would grumble about his stupidity the whole time while patching up whatever new injury his chieftain had managed to sustain, and by now Aragorn could remember his whole lecture by heart and recite it word for word.

“Peace, my friend.” Aragorn interrupted quietly, after Diagon had gone on for a while. “You know you would have done exactly the same thing if you had been in my position.” Aragorn smiled again as Diagon could find no way to protest against that and fell silent. “How is the girl?”

“She is fine, scared and a little bruised, but otherwise alright. You, on the other hand…” Diagon trailed off with a meaningful glance at his leg. He knew Aragorn must be in a lot of pain right now, his leg was quite badly burnt, but he also knew that the treatment for burns was equally, if not more, painful than the injury itself, and he was loath to cause his chieftain any more pain. It had to be done though.

“Aragorn,” He said, turning back to face him. “I’m going to treat the burns. I’m sorry but …this will hurt, my friend. A lot.”

Aragorn gave a small pained smile and a slight nod, to reassure him that it was fine.

“Trestan,” Diagon called out to the lad, who had returned by now and was watching them warily. He did not really want the young ranger to see this, but he needed someone to help him. “I need you to hold his leg still. Don’t let him move it.” Trestan looked apprehensive, but moved to comply quietly, his hands gripping Aragorn’s leg firmly.

Picking up the bowl of water and a clean piece of cloth he once again glanced at Aragorn, who only nodded at him to begin before closing his eyes and visibly bracing himself. Focusing his attention back on the burnt leg, Diagon gently began to wash the burns.

The reaction was immediate. The moment the water touched his wounds, Aragorn let out a stifled scream, trying to move his leg away from the source of the pain. Startled, Trestan was momentarily thrown off. “Hold him tightly, Trestan!” Diagon commanded, trying unsuccessfully to block out the sounds of distress his friend couldn’t hide. Looking sick, Trestan once again tried to hold down his leader’s flailing arms and leg. Aragorn lay with his eyes screwed tightly shut, his jaw clenched. The agony was intense and it took all his considerable willpower and strength to not make a sound and still his movements as much as possible. He could not help but make the occasional groan and flinch away whenever Diagon’s cloth touched a particularly painful burn. The treatment took mere minutes, but to all three of them it seemed much longer.

After the ordeal was over and Diagon had bandaged his leg, Aragorn fell into a light sleep and Trestan and Diagon sat near by, tired out by the night’s events. Trestan, in particular was exhausted. He was no stranger to wounds and injuries - one could not live in a ranger village without being exposed to them - but it had distressed him to see his usually stoic chieftain in so much pain. In the distance, Trestan could see the villagers still bustling around; no one paid any attention to them.

“It’s not fair!” he burst out after sitting a few moments in silence.

“What isn’t, young one?” Diagon asked. He could guess what was on the youngster’s mind, but wanted to hear it from him.

“I know you said that the people here don’t like rangers very much.” Trestan began hesitantly, trying to make sense of his muddled thoughts. “But how can they stand there ignoring us when Aragorn has just risked his life for them? He lies here in great pain because of them and they show no gratitude, not even concern for his injury.”

“Many of the deeds of rangers go unheeded and unappreciated. Many rangers have bled and died for these common folk while they remain oblivious of their presence and protection. It is not their fault, Trestan. They do not know who we are, they understand nothing of our history or our lineage, and they have no knowledge of our role. Can you blame them for not realizing that we are trying to help them? They see only what one can expect them too see in us. Wandering strangers, scraggly and dirty, who seem to come and go without purpose or meaning. What would you think of us? Would you want such persons near your house and family? What would any reasonable person conclude? They are not evil, they wish only to protect their villages and families.”

“And yet they do not see that we are here for that very purpose. We are the ones standing between them and the true danger out there.”

“Of course they do not see it. They are simple men, Trestan, good of heart, but ignorant of the dangers around them. It is this very innocence that we seek to protect, and what are a few harsh words, a couple of nights in the cold or simply plain disregard if that remains safe?”

Trestan seemed still unconvinvced.

“Our duty is to keep the people protected and happy, and if that means keeping them unaware of the true danger they are in and ignorant of our role in fighting it, than so be it. I would accept their dislike and ingratitude for that end.”

Trestan remained quiet for a while. “I…I don’t see how you – how all the rangers – stand living this way. Fighting for someone you don’t care about and who doesn’t care about you…it sounds horrible.”

“But we do care for them, despite everything they do. You will come to appreciate their strengths too.” Diagon chuckled at the disbelieving look on the younger lad’s face. “When you come to know more of them, you will find unbelievable joy in the sound of their laughter, the sight of their children playing, the warm stories around the hearth, even the good-humoured bickering in the taverns at night when the ale has flowed for too long. You will feel joy knowing that you have played a part in preserving that happiness, helped them remain the simple, good-hearted men that they are, even if you can never be accepted as one of them. You will want to fight for them Trestan.”

“I don’t see what’s so good-hearted about them.” Trestan grumbled. He felt a lot better now about the villagers, but could not help putting forth a last argument. “Maybe we can’t fault them when they remain unaware of our role, but in this case, they can clearly see how much Aragorn helped them. And still they do nothing!”

“Wait and watch lad. You will be surprised.”

A soft moan from Aragorn ended the conversation, and both Diagon and Trestan moved towards him. Aragorn opened his eyes and stared up at them blearily, smiling slightly when he made out who they were. Diagon carefully helped him to sit up and drink water.

“How’s the leg feeling, Aragorn? And don’t tell me ‘it’s fine’, I can see right through that one.” He asked.

Aragorn smiled at the old jest. “It’s better, Diagon. It should heal quickly, though we may need to delay our journey a few days. For now we should get back to our camp. Yes, Diagon,” he reassured him, when the latter shot a doubtful look at his leg, “I am well enough to move.”

Although Diagon clearly did not trust his word, he and Trestan made no further complaints and started gathering up their supplies. Putting Aragon’s arm around his shoulder, he helped to heave him to a standing position. Aragorn clenched his jaw as the shift in weight caused agony to shoot down his injured leg. He was not looking forward to the journey ahead, and it was clear that Diagon was going to have to bear most of his weight. Taking a deep breath, Aragorn was just about to test how much weight his injured leg could sustain when a voice from behind interrupted them.

“Excuse me, Master Rangers?” The hesitant voice asked.

The three rangers turned around to find the same gate-keeper behind them, who had just hours earlier berated them so severely. With him was the young girl Aragorn had saved from the flames. She seemed pale but otherwise uninjured and was gazing up with undisguised awe at Aragorn.

“This is my daughter.” The gate-keeper continued, gesturing to the girl. “ I…I thank you for saving her life. If you had come but a minute later, I dare not think what might have happened.” This speech was directed towards the ground as the gate-keeper, much too embarrassed to look the rangers in the eye, shuffled his feet nervously.

“It is nothing. I am glad I was able to be there in time. I wish you and your family well.” Aragorn replied sincerely but shortly. He was getting tired and wanted to return to the camp instead of standing around here talking. Nodding in farewell, he once again turned around and started forward, when a small hand reached out to stop him. It was the girl he had saved.

“Don’t go away. You’re nice, you saved me from the fire. Stay here with us.” The girl implored.

Aragorn smiled at her and placed a hand gently on her head. “We must go, little one. But I am glad you are safe.”

“My daughter is right, Master Ranger.” The gate-keeper spoke up nervously. “You are grievously hurt. You should not spend the night outside in this cold. You are welcome to stay in our village.”

Aragorn hesitated.

The gate-keeper rushed on. “I ….I apologize for my words earlier, Master Ranger. I should not have spoken as I did. I would be honoured if you would spend the night with us. It is the least we can do for you.”

Smiling, Aragorn graciously accepted both his apology and his offer. It seemed he would be able to provide his men with one night of comfort after all. As they made their slow way to the inn, Aragorn wincing with every step, Diagon whispered to Trestan, “See lad, they are simple men, but good men.”

Trestan smiled broadly. Maybe being a ranger wouldn’t be so hard after all.