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

Chapter 11: Flight or Fight

   The mysterious woman continued to take Gerithor down the road. He was almost unconscious from loss of blood, and could barely tell what was going on. After an indeterminate amount of time, he felt the horse stop, and the woman dismounted. In the distance he heard the quiet creak of an opening door, and a moment later the woman came back. She helped him off the horse, gingerly leading him into a small stone house. He barely remembered laying down inside the house, and all he saw was a warm fire before everything got dark and he passed out completely.

   The first thing he saw when he woke up was the young woman looking down at him, her forehead creased with concern. She held a hand to his forehead and smiled reassuringly. "You're going to be alright." She looked upon him with warm blue eyes, and Gerithor felt mesmerized by them, taken in by their kindness. He began to talk, his words halting and forced.

   "Wh-where am I? Where's Alif?"

   "This is my family's house, on the shore of the Hoarwell. I assume Alif is your son," she said, motioning to a makeshift cradle in the corner of the fire-bathed room. "He's just over there. He hasn't woke since we arrived."

   Gerithor smiled sheepishly. "He's not my son, he's my nephew. But I am in your debt milady. I do not think we would have made it if you hadn't come along." He gave himself a moment to recover before rising to his feet. "I'm afraid we can't stay. I may have been tracked, and I do not want you coming to harm because of me."

   The woman nodded in understanding. "I assumed you were being followed. Your name is Gerithor, correct?"

   Gerithor looked at her, taken aback. How could she know his name? "Yes... But how do you know?" He looked at her, a wave of suspicion coming over him suddenly. Perhaps she was a spy of the enemy... what better way to lure him in then with a warm smile and and even warmer hearth?

   "A man wearing the same brooch as you came through here earlier today. He was on his way to Rivendell and asked if I had seen anyone matching your description. I told him I hadn't, and he told me your name and explained that you were his son. He thought you were dead."

Gerithor felt a rush of relief at her words. "He's alive? I can't believe it!"

   The young woman smiled at Gerithor's enthusiasm. She stood up and brought over a plate that had been sitting on the table, and was still steaming hot. It had fried fish and a slice of buttered bread on it, as well as a chunk of cheese. She handed it to Gerithor, who began to scarf it down the second it was in his hands.

   "Why have you shown me such kindness milady? I tried to rob you," he said after finishing the food.

   "You're one of the Dunedain, are you not?" She said this with a reverential voice, and her eyes shone with what appeared to be admiration.

   "Yes, I am. Why would that influence your decision? Most Breelanders see us only as vagabonds and ruffians, nothing more."

   "No reason. I've just always had much respect for them." She said this evasively, as if she wasn't telling him everything. Gerithor decided to change the subject.

   "Do you live alone here?" He looked around at the house, wondering why such a young woman was living in the middle of nowhere alone.

   "Yes, I do. My parents died when I was young. I just stayed here and took care of it myself."

   "I'm sorry," Gerithor said regarding her parents. He thought briefly of his own mother, and pushed away the thought. He would have time to mourn later.

   "They were from Bree," she began, as if reminiscing. "My father was a hunter and my mother was a tailor. They moved out here so my father could hunt."