The Lastborn: A Middle Earth Story(Book 1)(EDITING)

Chapter 3: Home

No further signs of the enemy manifested themselves, but Aragorn and Gerithor watched their surroundings constantly thereafter. They went swiftly, running all night and into the next day, and near midday came upon a small stream. There they filled their water flasks and moved on again, not daring to stop for fear of their mysterious enemy catching up to them.

The sun was setting in the west when they reached Esteldin. The small camp was situated in the outer ruins of Fornost that the Rangers might keep watch over the city, making sure no evil indwelt it. An old aqueduct towered over the encampment, and the scattered remains of old buildings dotted the landscape. Esteldin itself was comprised of a few permanent tents centered around one repaired building, which was used for an armory; but other houses had been patched up nearby to hold the families of the Rangers. Fornost loomed darkly in the distance, its massive sun-bleached walls casting dark shadows over the camp.

As they approached, two other rangers strode forward to meet them. The first was tall and muscular with the broad shoulders of a warrior. His dark hair was flecked with grey and his noble countenance had begun to show signs of age, but his resemblance to Gerithor was still strong. The second was much younger; light brown hair fell to his shoulders, and a short goatee framed his eager smile. His blue eyes twinkled as he ran to Gerithor.

"You're back!" He cried, giving his friend an embrace.

Gerithor returned it and grinned back. "I'm finally finished with the trials. I suppose that makes me a ranger!"

"True! Though remember, I was a ranger first!" His friend replied, crossing his arms smugly.

"You couldn't even grow a beard until last month, Eldahir," Gerithor reminded him with a smirk.

"Facial hair doesn't signify manhood," the blond Ranger said, wearing a slightly indignant look.

"Oh, I suppose in your mind being able to cook a good stew is somehow the key to being a man," Gerithor returned, sending a playful punch to the other's shoulder. Eldahir was Gerithor's senior by a year and had completed the trials before him, whereupon he jestingly lorded it over Gerithor, claiming to be wiser and more mature.

"My potato stew is second to none and you know it!" Eldahir replied with a laugh.

"Still doesn't make you more of a man though, does it?" Gerithor retorted, tugging at his friend's beard teasingly.

"Hey now, I just styled that!" He protested, stroking his goatee protectively in an unsuccessful attempt to fix the damage Gerithor had done.

Before Gerithor could continue their verbal sparring, however, the older man approached him. A small smile played across his face as he embraced Gerithor in turn. "Welcome home, son. I'm proud of you." He pulled back, regarding Gerithor with stern brown eyes, a feature of his that Gerithor had not inherited; his own were the soft sea-grey of his mother.

"Aragorn has told me of the hunt," continued Gerimond; "it seems that you handled yourself well." He put his hands on Gerithor's shoulders, smiling broadly. "Congratulations." Then, growing more serious, he drew out a brooch, a blue gem surrounded by a silver lion's head, the family emblem of one who had passed the trials, and fastened it to his son's cloak.

Gerithor gazed at it with unhindered pride. His father wore that same brooch on his own cloak, beside the white star that only the elite of the Dunedain bore. Gerimond also looked for a moment, and then broke the silence.

"Your mother will want to hear all about it." He smiled again, putting an arm around his son, and led him in the direction of the camp.

Aragorn watched the exchange gladly, for a time forgetting what had happened the night before. He respected his uncle Gerimond immensely, though Gerimond was older than him by only a little and their relationship was more one of brothers than father and son. After Arathorn's death, Gerimond had comforted young Aragorn, helping him through his grief and into his path as a Ranger, and Aragorn was proud to see him bringing his own son up in the same way. With a smile he watched the two depart, and turned to seek out the other Rangers.