The characters in Minas Tirith

y mother was descended from the oldest of mountain peoples, the first to befriend the Elves upon their return to these lands. My mother's clan claimed much of the land along the hillside above the village that snuggled in the river valley. Our cabin was small but snug, plenty big for the two of us. And it was only two in the cabin at the edge of the forest proper until my fifth year. In that year, my father returned.

hen I was older my grandmother told me the story of my parents. My father often patrolled those lands as a young Ranger Scout. He met my mother while she was out picking mushrooms in the woods one day and proceeded to woo her as best a Ranger could. Despite the disapproval of nearly everyone in the family, they continued to meet in secret, aided by my grandmother, who said "I knew true love when I saw it. Some things cannot be denied."

o Grandmother arranged for my mother to have a plot of land up near the woods where my father could come and go unseen. It must have been lonely there away from the cozy village, but my mother stayed. My father built her the cabin I was born in though he was not there when that happened. I see now how truly torn he must have been between his commitment to the Rangers and his love for my mother. Living two lives is not easy, even for Rangers. He came and went frequently, but at long last decided to leave the Rangers. They planned to marry and raise a family, but it was not meant to be.

ather made the long journey to the White City to resign his commission before the council. But upon his arrival he found that tragedy had struck his family in Dol Amroth. His father murdered, his mother and sisters missing. He was determined to find the culprits. The trail was not too old, but no time could be spared for farewell visits. Unable to return as planned to his beloved, he sent a message with his faithful falcon.

ut faith cannot withstand Southron arrows and my mother heard no more of him for several years. In that time, I was born and my mother raised me there in the cabin on the edge of the woods. There was much gossip in our village full of strong-minded and independent women, that she was weak and a fool for holding out hope of his return. But return he did, in the spring of my fifth year. It was not a return of triumph, for he dragged a twisted leg and was much taken with infection and fever. I do not know what explanation he gave my mother, only that is was good enough to earn her forgiveness. She nursed him back to health, though he would limp on his mangled leg for the rest of his days.

rue to his promise of long before, he settled into our lifestyle. Though I did not know what to make of him at first, he was so gentle and kind I grew to love him and insisted on following him everywhere. He took me along as he rambled through the woods and I learned many of the ways of a Ranger, though I knew it not and thought it all a great game. By the age of twelve, I showed my skill with a bow, though I had not the strength to draw my father's mighty weapon. He patiently carved me one of my own in the evenings as we sat peacefully before the fire, telling the stories of old. He was my first and finest teacher, encouraging me to feel the forest not just find a way through it. He emphasized alertness and watchfulness and would sometimes sneak up on me to test my attentiveness. If only I had known it was not a game but deadly real.

e returned one evening from a day's lesson to find our vegetable garden trampled by boots and hooves, my mother gone. She and a few other village women had been doing the washing in the river nearby. Now they were simply gone. The repeat of this tragedy so similar to his other changed my father. No longer did acceptance and resignation linger in his eyes. Instead, I found a look I'd not seen before, though I would come to know it as brooding for revenge.

e had forseen it, yet all our practice and preparation had not prevented it. The danger he had been so watchful for has come and gone, taking the love he prized most. Determined to pursue once more where he had failed before, he tried to leave me with my relatives, but I would not hear of it. I, too, felt keenly the loss of my mother. Had he not taught me well? I would not be a burden, I insisted. Not wanting to lose everything he loved all at once, he relented and I joined him on his journey south to Gondor.

fter a long and adventurous journey we arrived at Minas Tirith. We went directly to the head librarian, who was an old friend or distant relative of his, I know not which. They held many late-night whispered conversations and my father met with many strange and swarthy men by day. Finally, a course of action was determined, and it did not include me. My pleadings this time fell on deaf ears. Convinced the danger was too great, he at last told me with a hint of the old tenderness I had known, that he could not bear to endanger or lose the only thing left in the world that meant anything to him. I was told to stay and continue my education in other ways.

o he departed and I lived in the rooms off the library, learning my letters like a child half my age. The library became my second home, as dear to me as the only other one I'd known. But still I longed for the comforting arms of the woods around me, I missed rambling through high mountain passes and hidden valleys. Stubbornly, I served out the eight years of apprenticeship, awaiting my father's return. Bitterly, I remembered the talk of the village women when they thought my mother couldn't hear, whispering about the futility of her waiting for his return. I'll not wait forever, I vowed. I will find him and help him find the answers he seeks.

oining the Rangers was the only logical step, when I felt I could stand the silence and dust of the library no longer. Yet, the ancient tomes hold clues for me and I take comfort in them now. I have used my position as a bowman and librarian to protect Gondor, my father's land (and mine) and to seek him and this evil that has plagued my family.

ften wandering, always alone, searching, waiting…

hey were determined to have a life together, despite the difficulties. She accommodated his sense of duty by agreeing to live at the edge of the forest on the rock slopes that no one else in the family was willing to own. He in turn built her the

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