Part of my Arnor-verse. Targon, son of Arador, is my OC - born over 40 years after his brother Arathorn II, with three (OC) sisters between them, he was the child of Arador's old age and was only fourteen when his father died, three years before this story is set.

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T.A. 2933, Taduin, Arnor

“Gilraen!” Panting, Targon Aradorion, riding hard, caught up with his sister-in-law at the crest of the hill. He pulled Aiglos to a halt. It was nearing full dark, and the mists lay heavy upon the path, but he had managed to follow their trail to the edge of the river. “Gilraen,” he whispered, leaning over his great grey’s neck. “What do you mean, stealing away like this with the sons of Elrond? And with our son?”

The widowed Lady of the Dúnedain looked at Targon with great sorrow. “Targon…I know the custom of our people as well as any. Yet, he is Arathorn’s son, first and foremost. You are too young to claim him for your own.”

Targon stared at the child, lashed with wide belts to the frame on Gilraen’s back, slumbering deeply. He must have been given some herb that he might sleep soundly, for surely their flight would have wakened him otherwise. 

“I am nearly a man,” Targon said. “I did not ask to be sired only fifteen years before my brother’s child.” Targon raised his chin slightly. “I ride with the Rangers even now. Can I not look after him, be a father to him as our people’s customs expect?”

“Someday, Eru willing, we will return, and you will be known as his Edwen Adar,” Gilraen said, eyes shimmering with tears. “But Master Elrond has laid his claim, and he is custom-father to us all.”

That brought Targon up short. Yes. As brother to their forefather, Elrond’s claim would be absolute – if unexpected. But even as fathers’ brothers and mothers’ sisters stood as parents to the children of the Dúnedain, Elrond could claim father-right in such a case.

“Master Elrond is good and wise, but he is not a Man,” Targon said quietly. “Let me accompany you to Imladris, sister.”

“No, brother,” Gilraen said quietly. “I would be comforted to have you by me, but our people need you now. You cannot stand in Arathorn’s place for our son, but with Adar to guide you, you may rule our people until Aragorn’s return. For you are very nearly a man.” She leaned over and kissed Targon’s brow. “Lead them, Targon, and prove yourself a father to be proud of.”

“I shall miss you both,” Targon whispered. “Eru’s grace go with you, sister.”

“And also with you,” Gilraen replied. The Elrondionnath had ridden a little way ahead to give the two their privacy; she hastened to catch up, and Targon, head bowed, returned home, a silent prayer on his lips, a wish for Aragorn.

O my son, my brother’s child – may Master Elrond protect you!