The night passed without incident, and in the morning Gerithor went to say goodbye to Alif. The elves were to care for him, and there, Gerithor hoped, he would be safe from the troubles of the world for a time. With a feeling of sorrow, he held the baby for what might be the last time and slowly rocked him back and forth.
"We've been through a lot together, haven't we gwinig?" He asked, looking down at the baby. Alif looked up and smiled, almost as if he understood. He babbled incoherently, continuing to gaze up at the young ranger.
"Goodbye little nephew, we will see each other again," Gerithor said with more certainty than he felt. The baby began to cry, and Gerithor rocked him a little more until he stopped. Then he began to sing:
To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.
West, west away, the round sun is falling.
Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling,
The voices of my people that have gone before me?
I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;
For our days are ending and our years failing.
I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.
Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,
Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling,
In Eressëa, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,
Where the leaves fall not: land of my people for ever!
A tear rolled down Gerithor's face as he finished. Alif was sound asleep. Gerithor felt like he would never see his nephew again. He looked upon him one last time, then handed him to the elf who had been taking care of him. He turned away with tears in his eyes and walked out the door.
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The whole party was mounted now. They all were uncertain of the path before them. Home is behind, the world ahead. Gerithor had heard Aragorn sing a song with these words once. It rang true, almost frighteningly so. He looked at each of his friends.
Sarina wore a brown leather jerkin now and had a quiver of arrows and a bow strapped to her back. Gerithor wondered why she was willing to come after all she'd seen on their journey together, but he knew she had her reasons. She smiled at him encouragingly, eyes shining.
He turned to Eldahir. He wore a grey cloak and a suit of light mail armor. He looked back nervously. Gerithor knew his friend was afraid of what was to come. He understood, he was too. But for the sake of his friend he gave him an encouraging nod and tried to look confident.
His eyes landed on his father, at the head of the small group. He wore a look of steely determination. He had a steel cuirass on and carried a great longsword, named Oathkeeper. It was passed down in their family for generations, and Gerimond now bore it with pride.
Gerithor looked forward. His friends and father were not entirely ready for what lie ahead but were willing to fight with all their might to defeat the growing evil. They couldn't let what happened at Esteldin happen anywhere else. This they knew with certainty.
Gerimond signaled the party onward, and without fanfare, without farewell they silently rode out into the gloomy darkness that was the world.
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End Part 1
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The Lastborn: A Middle Earth Story(Book 1)(EDITING)
FanfictionSauron, the greatest evil Middle Earth has ever seen, has arisen once more in Mordor, the land where shadows lie. His reach extends far beyond Mordor itself, even into the North. His most deadly servant, the Witch-King of Angmar, has sent an ancient...
