(PTII)Defenders of Middle Earth: A Middle Earth Story(Book 4)

Chapter 35: The Crownless Made King

A month later; Minas Tirith

Gerithor tugged at his midnight blue collar uncomfortably, watching the crowd with wary eyes. Hundreds had come, and the main thoroughfare was packed with excited men, women, and children from all corners of the realm.

"I hate these sorts of things," he mumbled to Gilian, who smirked back at him.

"Well I think you look quite dashing," she said, casually resting a hand on the hilt of her sword. They, along with those few rangers who had survived, had been appointed as the honor guard for Aragorn's coronation. Dressed in the ceremonial armor of Númenor, they all felt out of place among the crowds of Gondorians who had gathered for the momentous occasion.

"Look daddy!" A young boy exclaimed, tugging at the shirt sleeve of his father and pointing to them. "They're just like the statues!"

"Aye son," the father replied with a smile. "The King has returned, along with all his kin. Just like the stories."

Gerithor smiled at their words. To know that after all of their trials, they had finally succeeded... and not only that, Aragorn was finally claiming his heritage. It was truly a liberating feeling to the Ranger.

At least they weren't as out of place as Rukil and his entourage. The Easterling prince stood tall, surrounded by ten massive, black-armored warriors known in the East as Bleak Riders. Their masks were emotionless and inhuman, and all who passed by looked upon them with a combination of fear and curiosity. At the Prince's side was Hadar, who, despite his many wounds, would not miss the ceremony for anything and had fought the nurses tooth and nail to be there. He winked at Gerithor from under his bandages, flashing a roguish grin at the Ranger. Rukil nodded solemnly upon recognizing him, his demeanor kingly and regal. Rukil was to be crowned as the Khan of the new Rhunic Empire, and already he was adjusting to the role well. 

"You've been smiling quite often, lately," Gilian observed with a wink.

"There's much to smile about," he replied quietly, adjusting his helmet. "This ceremony, on the other hand..."

Gilian jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow playfully. "It's your cousin! Be happy for him."

"Oh, I am," he grumbled. "It's myself that I pity. He doesn't have to wear this armor."

Gilian giggled. "Well I'm wearing it too and I'm not making a scene. You really should-"

Suddenly the white doors opened to great fanfare and cheering, and Aragorn himself emerged, followed by the wizard Gandalf and Gloin's son, Gimli. He no longer wore the garb of a ranger. Instead, he was clad in the silver armor of a Numenorean king, shimmering and shining in the sunlight. A deep black cloak sat upon his shoulders and cascaded around him like a river, making him appear regal and magnificent. 

The rangers came to attention, drawing their blades and holding them in front of them reverently. Aragorn gave them all a respectful nod, for each and every one of them has proven themselves to him in some way or another. 

The dwarf Gimli held a pillow of royal purple, upon which sat the Crown of Gondor. Gandalf reached for it gingerly, waiting for Aragorn to turn so they could face one another. All present watched with bated breath as the wizard placed the crown atop Aragorn's head, and Gerithor felt a tear of joy run down his cheek as he watched. Aragorn had waited so long, and had gone through so much. And now, after all of his trials and hardships, he had finally accomplished what he had set out to do. 

"Now come the days of the King," Gandalf announced, looking out to the crowd before returning his gaze to Aragorn. "May they be blessed," he added in a voice that only those close to them could hear. 

The new King took a deep breath before turning to face his subjects and friends. He was met with thunderous applause and cheering, and though Gerithor, and all of the other rangers, wanted nothing more but to join in, they refrained, standing at attention as was their duty. 

After the applause died down, Aragorn began to speak, his voice rising above the commotion. "This day does not belong to one man, but to all. Let us together rebuild this world, that we may share in the days of peace." 

This was met by even more applause. Gerithor glanced over at Gilian and gave her a smile, which she returned. Neither of them had thought this day would ever come. Under the dark boughs of some faraway forest, or in the blinding cold of a blizzard, they had imagined it. But then it was little more than a distant dream, something they held onto to keep them going when everything seemed hopeless around them. But now, they were there. 

"Et Earello Endorenna

utulien

Sinome maruvan

ar Hildinyar

tenn' Anbar-metta"

Aragorn's voice had come out of nowhere. It spoke of a future, a hope for the heirs of the King. It filled Gerithor's heart, and for once he felt like he belonged. 

The King walked slowly down the line, acknowledging each of his friends with a kind smile. At Gerithor he stopped a moment, giving the ranger a knowing nod accompanied by a wry smile. Gerithor returned the smile with a tearful wink. They had not yet spoken of all that had taken place, nor had they even seen each other for nearly a year. They would have to catch up afterward. 

As he turned away, his eyes widened in surprise. For before him stood a group of elves, one of which was Arwen Undomiel. Gerithor did not know her well, but he knew that Aragorn and her shared a rare and special bond. 

"Who's she?" Gilian whispered, raising an eyebrow as she watched the two kiss. 

"That is Arwen, daughter of Elrond Halfelven and Celebrian. She's said to be the fairest being in all of Middle Earth," Gerithor replied in a hushed voice. 

Gilian smirked a little. "Do you agree with that?" 

Gerithor snorted, giving her a grin. "Not at all. The fairest being in all of Middle Earth stands beside me, wearing the armor of a common soldier." 

She glanced over at the ranger on the other side of Gerithor, an older man gamed Firthung. "I never knew you liked grey beards so much, captain..." 

Gerithor jabbed her in the ribs playfully. "I was trying to give you a compliment!"

Gilian smiled. "I know." 

They both turned back to Aragorn, who had now moved over to four halflings that Gerithor recognized from the Council all those days earlier in Rivendell. The Ringbearer and his companions. 

All four of them awkwardly attempted to bow before the King, but he stopped them. "My friends," he began, his respect for them clear. "You bow to no-one." 

Then the most surprising thing happened. 

He knelt.

At first it was just the King. Then Arwen followed suit, and soon the entirety of the audience was on their knees. Those four halflings, though they were small, had done far more than any of them had. Gerithor knew what they had been through, at least somewhat, and when he bowed, he was doing it with all his heart. To think that those four had almost single-handedly taken the One Ring into the depths of Mordor and had thrown it into the fires of Mount Doom... They were true heroes. 

But in truth, they all were. The hobbits, Gerithor, Gilian... Even the King himself. They had all sacrificed much to save the world that they loved. Some of them, like Caledorn, had sacrificed everything. 

Indeed, the world had been saved through their combined valour. But there was still much to be done. The wounds that cut across Middle Earth like great canyons would still have to be healed. And who better to heal them but those who had already gone to such great lengths to protect it? 

You shall soon see, dear reader, how things end for the Lastborn and his friends. And soon, you shall also learn who I am. For even the scribes who chronicle the great deeds of the world deserve some small bit of recognition! 

Until then, I remain

E.L.