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

Chapter 6: The Guardian

Gerithor opened his eyes slowly. It was bright, and his head immediately exploded with a sharp pain. He closed his eyes again for a moment, trying to get rid of the throbbing pain. When it finally passed, he opened them again and surveyed his surroundings. He was lying on the ground by his family's house, alone. Nobody was nearby, but he caught the smell of smoke that was thick in the air. That's when the memories flooded into his mind. His mother... Tears began running down his face as he remembered. Where was she??? He looked around. There were no bodies anywhere nearby, but several dark red rivers of what could only be blood ran down either side of the dirt road. He collapsed back to the ground, confused and in pain. Then he heard what sounded like a baby's cry coming from the house. Alif, he thought with a start as he began to regain his senses. 

He tried to stand. The pain was nearly disabling, and he once more collapsed back to the ground. He forced himself to stand again. The pain was terrible, but he made himself hobble toward the house despite it. He slowly made his way to the burnt doorway, leaning against the wall for support. After listening for a moment longer he steeled himself for what he might see inside and cautiously stepped in. Laying in his cradle was little Alif, all alone. He was crying loudly, but other than that he seemed unharmed. Gerithor got down on his knees next to the cradle and gently picked the baby up. Alif recognized Gerithor immediately and stopped crying. He soon closed his eyes and fell asleep. Gerithor cradled the baby in his arms and began crying uncontrollably. Is my whole family dead? He thought as he wept. At least little Alif here isn't. This thought gave him some small comfort, but he kept crying softly. 

It was nearly dusk by the time Gerithor had recovered enough to move. He decided it wasn't safe to stay here, but he must attend to his wounds before he could travel. He painfully limped over to the damaged mirror and looked at himself. His head was covered in dry blood, and a gash ran down the side of it. He winced as he pulled up the sleeve of his shirt to examine his arm. It was still bleeding, so he found some wrappings and wound them around it. He cleaned the blood out of his hair and off his head at the washbasin, which surprisingly still held some water, and applied a salve he found in the cupboard to the gash. The pain immediately lessened, though it didn't go away completely. 

   He picked up baby Alif again, who was still sleeping soundly. Despite being overwhelmed by all that had occurred, the young ranger thought about what his next move should be. Should I make for Annuminas? No, they may have been attacked there as well. Bree? Too risky, enemies could be there. He contemplated further. Was nowhere safe? That's when a thought came into his head. Rivendell. He knew the elves would help him, and Alif would be safe there. It was a long journey, especially with a baby, but he had no other choice. He began gathering supplies for the trip. How much food does a baby eat? He thought to himself as he scoured the storage room. He grabbed a whole loaf of waybread and enough cured meat to last two full grown Rangers for a week. He put it all in a backpack, then decided he might as well put Alif in the backpack too. To his surprise, there was just enough room for Alif. He made sure that the infant was secure in the backpack then closed the flap, framing it around Alif's little face so that the baby could breathe and see out the back of it. Gerithor put the backpack on his back with a slight wince as pain shot through his arm once more, and grabbed his bow. Then he slowly walked outside, took a deep breath, and silently moved westward, toward Rivendell and away from all that he had ever known.

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   Eldahir had fought the enemy in Esteldin until all was hopeless, and then had fled into the forest with a few surviving Rangers. They had found a badly wounded Gerimond as they escaped, and carried him into the woods with them. 

   It was now daytime, and the older Rangers tended to Gerimond's wounds while Eldahir kept watch for the enemy. His thoughts wandered, and he began to wonder what had become of Gerithor. He hoped he was alive, but deep down in his heart he knew it wasn't likely. He brushed a lock of blond hair from his face and looked toward the other Rangers. Eldahir's father had survived, as had two brothers named Haldin and Halfor. Eldahir's father, Estelon, tended to Gerimond while Haldin and Halfor assisted where they could.