The Hope of the Dunedain

By Rohwyn

    The lovely, golden-haired young woman smiled as she watched the child playing in the grass beside her. He was a strong, healthy little boy of nearly two years, with dark hair that curled at the ends, and wide baby eyes which were like any other child's, except for the fact that they were as grey as a stormy sky. "He will be a great man someday," she thought. "I can feel it." It would not be easy though. These were troubled days. Orcs and other foul creatures were numerous. Just three years ago, her husband's father had been killed by trolls! And now Arathorn, as Chief of the Dùnedain, had a responsibility to hunt down the evil creatures. The safety of their people was at stake! No, it was not easy. She worried about Arathorn every day that he was away from home. Still, Gilraen was happy. "I wouldn't choose any other life," she thought.

            Just then, a tall man strode out from the nearby house. His garb was plain, but suitable for a Ranger. His brown hair was the same as the child's, but his eyes were a deep brown, and his nose was large. He seemed a stern type of man, but at the moment his face wore a wide smile, as he looked at the two who were his heaven on earth.

            Arathorn walked over to Gilraen, and placed his arm around his wife's shoulder. "What a fine son we have, Gilraen. If only I may live to see him grow to manhood, I shall be so proud!"

            Gilraen clasped his hand and looked up into his face. "He will grow up to be a fine man, and we shall both be here to see it, I am sure." Even as she spoke, however, a shadow of foreboding passed over her heart.

            Unaware of his wife's feelings, Arathorn squeezed her hand gently. How beautiful she was! The sun glinted off her golden hair, and he thought that not even an elven-maiden could vie with her beauty. Not for nothing was she called Gilraen the Fair.

            He smiled at her again, and walked over to the little boy, who was still happily occupied with some mud pies. Arathorn picked him up and swung the child high over his head, laughing with pleasure at his son. The child screamed joyfully, and made a grab for his father's hair, while Gilraen stood by watching them and smiling.

Just then, the sound of hooves was heard, and two young, dark-haired men on white horses rode up the path, followed by about ten others. Smiling and waving, they dismounted.

            Arathorn quickly handed Aragorn to his mother and ran over to greet the visitors. "Elladan! Elrohir! It is a pleasure to see you!"

            "And you also, my friend!" exclaimed Elrohir, the taller of the two.

            "Indeed, it has been many days since we last saw you and your family," put in Elladan, the elder brother.

            "You and your men will stay with us, of course," said Arathorn. "Come inside, the stable hand will see to your horses."

            The Elves nodded, and Elrohir walked over to greet Gilraen and the child.  Elladan took Arathorn to the side and said, "I'm sorry, Arathorn, but this is not merely a friendly visit. Orcs are on the move in large numbers. We need your help, and that of all the Dùnedain!"

Arathorn sighed. "It was in my heart that this would be the case. You must eat with us, and then I will gather all the Rangers that I can." He looked around the area, rather small to be called a village, with its numerous simple dwellings. "It is fortunate that many live nearby."

            Evidently Arathorn's thoughts took a turn, for there was a hard look in his eyes as he continued, "In the name of Arador my father, no servant of evil shall escape the Dùnedain!"

            Elladan knew how serious the Chief of the Dùnedain was. Arathorn was passionate in his position, fiercely hating any servant of Mordor. "Very well," Elladan said. "We leave at sunrise."

            They joined Elrohir, Gilraen and the child Aragorn, and with the rest of the small company, they entered the house of Arathorn the Chieftain.

It was later that evening when Arathorn spoke of it to Gilraen. She took the news without an outcry, and merely stood there, facing Arathorn, with her head bowed. When she finally looked up at him, her eyes expressed her grief and anxiety. Gilraen was amaiden of a kingly line, not easily shaken, but now there appeared to be tears in her eyes. Arathorn's heart was pierced by the look, and he regretted that he had to leave. He longed to comfort her, but knew not what to say. Gilraen composed herself and shed no tear, but as they retired for the night her face still wore an expression of sorrow.

            Just after dawn, Arathorn was preparing to leave with the Elves. His great stallion Callhach was brought prancing from the stables, his red-gold coat gleaming in the early morning sun. Other men of the Dùnedain, and Rivendell's elven rangers were preparing their horses and gear nearby. Throughout the preparations, Gilraen was silent, and her face remained troubled.

            When all was ready, Gilraen and her child, Aragorn, came outside to take leave of their guests, and to say farewell to Arathorn. After all the necessary courtesies were exchanged, Arathorn bent to kiss Gilraen goodbye. He saw the pain in her face and stopped.

            "Do not worry, my love. This is but an ordinary patrol, save that will be a little longer. I shall be back within a month." His eyes were full of tenderness.

            She smiled at him, but the worry in her heart did not recede. "Hurry back," she said softly, and kissed him. For a few moments they embraced, neither wanting to let go.Finally, Arathorn turned to the child, who was in the arms of his nurse. She handed Aragorn, who was but newly-waken, to Arathorn. He planted a firm kiss on the child's brow, and laid him in Gilraen's arms.

            The little boy began to wail, and reaching out his small hands, cried, "Papa! Papa!"

            Arathorn was about to mount Callhach, but hearing the cries, he turned and kissed first his son, and then his wife. Then he mounted his horse, and with a nod and a wave, the party rode away. Gilraen and Aragorn stood looking down the path long after the horsemen were out of view.

            Nearly a month had passed, and Gilraen began to worry again. Certainly it was possible that the Rangers were on some pursuit that was taking longer than they planned. Still, she thought, her husband would not stay away any longer that he absolutely must. He would especially want to see his son! Aragorn had just had his second birthday, and was growing quickly. Gilraen sat down on a low stone wall outside the cottage, her mind avidly thinking about many things, but mostly about her husband.

            It was a beautiful day to be outside, a perfect morning in early summer. The birds were singing, and the sun shone so brightly on the green fields that the whole world seemed to be shining with light. The sky was a blue more brilliant than the finest sapphires. Much of the beauty was lost on Gilraen, however, for she truly missed Arathorn, and even more significant was that her sense of foreboding had recently returned. And her family was a foresighted one.

It was at that moment that they came. Hoofbeats pounded on the dirt path leading to the house, and Gilraen jumped up in alarm. Two weary horses came into view, and behind them rode a small and bedraggled company. The sons of

Elrond, for it was they, dismounted and quickly ran over to the startled woman. She looked at them incredulously, for both of the Elves clothes were torn and filthy. Elrohir had a bloody gash across his forehead. Then she noticed the riderless chestnut stallion.

            Uncontrollable fear leapt in Gilraen's heart. "Where is my husband?" The words escaped shrilly from the young woman's lips.

            The Elven lords bowed their heads in misery. The brief interim seemed years to Gilraen, and when a word was finally spoken, she realized that she had been holding her breath.

            Brokenly, Elrohir answered, "Lady, he -- there was a battle. Arathorn and a party of Rangers were scouting when they came upon a massive band of orcs.

The Rangers were so greatly outnumbered! At our camp, we heard cries and the clang of metal through the trees, and rode thundering to the spot. The fighting was fierce, I lost my stallion and was fighting on foot, parrying sword thrusts with a large orc, when I suddenly had a certain uncanny feeling. I turned, and right behind me was another orc about to stab me in the back. Before either I or the orc could move, Arathorn's horse was upon us, and the orc's head rolled upon the ground.

            In the same instant, a black arrow whistled through the air and pierced Arathorn's eye, knocking him from his horse. I ran to his side, but could do nothing to help him. Oh, my lady! I was almost sobbing at my helplessness!

            His breathing extremely labored, Arathorn gasped, "Tell her -- I'm sorry," and then with his final breath, "Aragorn -- he is -- the last hope -- of the -- Dùnedain!"

            With these words he breathed his last. I was overwhelmed with rage, and dashed back into the melee, slaying every orc in my path, and finally I reached the orc-chieftain who fired the fatal arrow. No orc was left alive in that place. Afterwards, well, we buried Arathorn and the other fallen Rangers in a little glen near the battle site." Elrohir's voice was trembling from recounting the story. "I am so sorry, my lady. Your husband saved my life - he was a hero, Gilraen."

            Elladan nodded. "Though I was not there at the moment of which my brother speaks, I saw Arathorn's last ride through the fray. You may be sure that he died like a mighty warrior, as befits the Chief of the Dùnedain. He is indeed a hero." Elladan sighed even as he spoke. He knew that the knowledge was no comfort to Gilraen at the moment.

Gilraen stood stock-still. A true princess of the Dùnedain, even now she did not weep, but her face was deathly pale. The Elves reached out to steady her lest she faint.

            "Lady Gilraen," began Elrohir hesitantly, "Will you not bring your child and come to dwell in Rivendell? There you will be safe, and young Aragorn shall grow to manhood in peace."

            Quietly, Elladan nodded. "I think that Arathorn would wish it so."

            For a moment, the lady merely stood there, still unable to speak, but finally she replied, "I will come." She turned around, and there in the doorway stood the nurse who had heard the sound of voices. In her arms was the child Aragorn. Gilraen ran to the step, and took her son in her arms. To the nursemaid she said, "Prepare the household to leave. Tomorrow we journey to Rivendell." The young woman, slightly awestricken, nodded and disappeared into the house.

            Gilraen, carrying Aragorn, walked back over to the sons of Elrond she said, "It is for the sake of my child that I come to Rivendell." There was a look in her eyes that those who later met Aragorn would come to know. It was grief, pain, and elements that no one else could comprehend. It was a look as deep as the sea.

            She looked down at the boy in her arms. "Truly," she said quietly, "he is the last hope of the Dùnedain." The memory would remain forever locked in her heart.

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