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To Cairistiona and Estelcontar: my most grateful thanks for their ongoing encouragement and support.

And thanks to Cairistiona for the beta.

Chapter 2: Great Deeds

   But when Estel was only twenty years of age, it chanced that he returned to Rivendell after great deeds in the company of the sons of Elrond; and Elrond looked at him and was pleased, for he saw that he was fair and noble and was come early to manhood, though he would yet become greater in body and mind.

 The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen                                                   The  Return of the King

   “All right, all right,” cried Elladan holding up his hands to stop any further arguments from the lad. “You may come with us, providing….” But his next words were drowned out by a squeal of delight from the youth as he threw himself at his foster brother, nearly squeezing out his breath in the strength of his embrace.

    “Estel, if you will just let me finish,” said Elladan, extracting himself from the lad’s arms and gripping his wrists. “Estel, you may come with us providing you do as Elrohir and I tell you at all times. There are to be no arguments, no quibbling. You do as you are told. Is that understood?”

   “Of course, whatever you say, I will do everything just as you ask of me.” Estel beamed. He would have agreed to any condition if it meant he was allowed to go with his foster brothers. He had already secured Elrohir’s consent and now only needed Elladan’s approval.

   “Thank you Elladan, so much,” he said; his young and eager face ablaze with excitement. “I feared you would never let me go with you. You will not regret this, I swear.”

   He leaped at Elladan again and then released him quickly.

   “But now there is so much to do; I must start preparing at once.”

   “Yes, there is indeed much to do!” said Elladan, speaking sternly now. “I want to see your pack, Estel when you have prepared it. Your sword I expect to glisten and all your gear to be clean and in full working order. Remember we shall be away for a very long time and it will be cold and hard; you must be ready to face any danger and cope with every trial that chances our way. I shall come and inspect all that you have done later.”

   As he listened to Elladan’s strict words, a small flicker of doubt touched the young man’s mind and he frowned.

  “I am not sure how much to take with me,” he admitted quietly, looking at his elder brother almost pleadingly. Now that Elladan had finally agreed and he was actually going, he was suddenly less certain. Joining his brothers on their winter patrol was all he had dreamed of for as long as he could remember, but he had never been away from home for very long before and much as he yearned to go, there was a small part of him that was scared. He had joined the Imladris scouts for a few weeks or months at a time ever since he was fifteen but now he would be away in the wilds for the entire winter and possibly much longer. More than that, this time he was going to meet some of the Dúnedain Rangers and ride with their patrols.

   Elladan saw the plea in his little brother’s eyes and took pity on him. “Prepare your pack as best you can,” he said more kindly. “Then I will come and see what needs to be changed.”

   Estel smiled his gratitude. “I won’t let you down, I promise.”

   Elladan put his hand on his shoulder and looked at him solemnly. The lad was as tall as he now.

   “I am counting on it,” he said gravely.

   Estel nodded his understanding. He knew going on patrol was a serious endeavour but, with his confidence rising as quickly as it had fallen, he rushed off excitedly to start preparing his gear and to tell his mother the good news.

   Gilraen of course already knew. Although Elrond had assumed the role of Aragorn’s father, he always discussed anything this important with her first. She had resignedly given her permission. In her eyes, her son would never be old enough to face the dangers of the wild but she knew she had to let him go sometime, no matter how heavy her heart at the thought of it. The Dúnedain after all would soon be expecting their chieftain to return to them.

   Elrond for his part had sought the advice not only of Elladan and Elrohir but also Glorfindel and all the warriors who had taken a hand in Estel’s training. They all agreed he was ready to fully face life beyond the safe confines of Imladris and if Elladan and Elrohir were prepared to take him, there was no reason why he should not go.

~oo0oo~

   A couple of days later a small party of Elves and one young Man rode out from Imladris. Some of the Elven scouts were coming with them for part of the way though they would soon turn to their own defences. Elrond and Gilraen were among those in the courtyard to wave them off, but Estel, having said his farewells, kept a wary distance from them both; he was not prepared to risk either of his parents treating him as a child in the presence of the warriors.

   His preparations had been intense. It seemed everyone wanted to give him some last minute advice or instruction. Elladan had made him study the maps of Eriador in great detail as they would largely be journeying to lands that were unknown to him. Elrohir helped him with his pack so he could impress Elladan when he came to inspect it and Glorfindel sparred with him to hone his fighting skills. Gilraen just told him to keep himself safe while Elrond reassured him that he was ready for this and advised him to stay close to his brothers when things became dangerous.

   The night before they set out, Estel was worried he would never remember all the advice he had been given but as soon as he was riding out of the valley and up the twisting path to the moors beyond, he began to relax and just enjoy being out in open country again. His heart was high within him as he rode and, although it was early in the morning, the late summer sun warmed his face while a soft breeze played with his hair. Life was good and the weather kind. It was still very mild for the time of year, though the leaves were already turning to gold, heralding the arrival of autumn.

~oo0oo~

   The patrol slowly wandered west over the empty lands of Rhudaur that lay between the Misty Mountains and the Weather Hills. As they rode they kept a constant eye open for potential danger, but fortunately they encountered few problems along the way. Estel initially found the days were filled in much the same way as on his previous adventures with his brothers. He did his share of tracking and hunting to keep them all fed and in the evenings he listening with delight as the Elves sang softly of past glories around their camp fire.

    He found he was enjoying himself immensely. Now he was truly grown up at last and was proud to be playing his part in protecting the lands around his home from wherever evil might be out there in the wilds. He did of course fully realise that his brothers were watching over him the entire time so he never really expected to be in any great danger. He considered Elladan and Elrohir to be the most capable warriors in Imladris, except perhaps for Glorfindel. His brothers alone of the Elves in the Last Homely House rode regularly with the Dúnedain so their forays with orcs and other fell creatures were far more frequent than those of the other warriors. Estel therefore was very aware of how well protected he was, even if the others tried to be discreet about it for the sake of his easily wounded young pride.

    Still, he really hoped he would see some proper fighting this winter. He longed to use his sword in a real battle. His fingers involuntarily moved to his side and rested on the sheath that lay against his thigh. He had few possessions that he could call his own, but his sword was definitely the most treasured. Elrond had given it to him on his sixteenth birthday and told him that it had a noble history, but of that history he had said no more.

   Estel marvelled at the lands about him. His previous excursions with the scouts had mostly taken him south along the course of the Bruinen towards Tharbad, so the hills of Rhudaur and the Trollshaws were new to him. He harassed his brothers continually with questions about the people who used to live in those long deserted lands. Now there were few signs of habitation remaining. Only the occasional derelict tower and piles of hewed stones bore testimony to anyone ever having dwelt there at all.

   After crossing the Last Bridge over the Mitheithel, they travelled along the East Road until they reached Weathertop. Estel was most eager to see the hill of Amon Sul, remembering as he did tales of the battles that had taken place there in the last days of the kingdom of Arthedain. When they reached the base of the tall, conical hill, Elladan and Elrohir took him with them when they ascended the ancient fort and from the summit amid the broken ruins of the once great watch tower, they told Estel of the country around them. They pointed out the distant South Downs which, in the cloudless sky, were clearly visible rolling away into the distance. To the north could be seen the Weather Hills and to the west, Elladan told him, were the Midgewater Marshes and beyond those were lands of Men and Hobbits, but Estel’s sight would not stretch that far.

   “It is so big,” he said in wonder, straining his eyes towards the distant horizon, a barely visible margin of the world. “There is so much to see and so many places to visit. How far are we going to go, Elladan?”

   “We will travel a long way in the next few months though I somehow think it will not seem far enough to you.” Elladan said, smiling fondly at the impatient lad. “You will soon have many years to explore all these lands and many others beyond even your imagining, Estel.”

   As they descended the hill, Estel unexpectedly shivered as he felt a cold stab of fear run through him though he knew of no reason to be afraid. It was soon clear to him that none of the others were similarly troubled so he thought no more of it. All the same, he was still glad that they chose to camp some way beyond the hill that night.

   In the morning the patrol divided into two. Elladan, Elrohir and Estel headed north; their plan to meet the Rangers at one of their bases near Fornost, while the rest of the patrol turned south-west to scout the northern borders of Dunland.

    As the three set off alone, Estel began to feel very small and insignificant in those vast, wild lands. Ever since they had left Imladris, he had been very alert at all times, conscious of his training, but now as they rode, he became even more so. They were far more vulnerable now should danger find them, though, with his brothers beside him, Estel had little fear. Travelling north through the bleak Weather Hills, they would however all be glad when they reached the Ranger camp near the ruined city. Having discovering Weathertop, Estel very was interested to see what remained of Fornost as well. He loved to hear Glorfindel’s account of how the Witch-king fled before him in the great battle that happened there over a thousand years ago.

   The weather continued to remain fair although the wind changed to blast down from the north making the days much colder. At night they lit a small fire and cooked what ever they had caught or found along the way. The two Elves were good company and on those long evenings, they entertained Estel with all the tales he could possibly wish for.

~oo0oo~

   On the fourth night since parting with the rest of the patrol, Estel was on watch. He felt very honoured to be trusted with this duty and was determined not to be found wanting. So it was that he was wide awake and listening to every rustle in the night air when he was sure he heard an out of the ordinary sound carried on a sudden gust of wind. It could have been a cry or a scream. Then he heard it again. It was some distance away, he was sure, but it was unmistakable. Immediately he rushed back to the fire to wake Elladan, just as he had been told to do if he had any suspicions about anything, no matter how seemingly trivial. He did not need to rouse either of the Elves as they both woke instantly at the sound of his fast approaching footsteps.

   “What is it?” hissed Elladan.

   Elrohir did not wait to hear Estel’s reply but raced passed him in the direction from which the young man had just come.

   “I think there are cries coming from the north,” whispered Estel, “I heard them for sure at least twice but I could not tell how far away they were. Of this I am certain though, something is amiss.”

   At that moment Elrohir returned, running.

   “There is trouble in the hills ahead,” he said, kicking out the fire as he spoke. “We must leave at once. Come Estel, gather your pack.”

   “We must make all haste,” agreed Elladan. “I will fetch the horses. Estel, stay and help Elrohir clear the camp.”

   Estel nodded and sprang into action, excitement and fear both welling inside him. It took seconds for the three of them to be ready to leave. There was no time to dispose of the fire properly, but Elrohir and Estel had all their gear together by the time Elladan reappeared with the horses.

   All three leaped easily onto the backs of their steeds and sprang at once into a gallop in the direction of the disturbance, the surefooted Elvish horses having little trouble finding their way in the darkness. Elladan and Elrohir were leading. With their superior Elvish ears they could easily hear the cries carried towards them in the night air and before long they were heard by Estel as well. He only remembered hearing such sounds once before in his life and realised there was a battle taking place ahead of them, one that they were now riding into with all haste.

   On they galloped. They had gone about a league when Estel could see a camp fire up ahead and against it the silhouetted shapes of figures with weapons raised. Riding beside him, Elrohir told him to unsheathe his sword.

   “Stay close to me at all times Estel and you will be fine,” he said and smiled reassuringly.

   Estel had no time to reply for now the camp was there before them. It was obvious to all three what was happening. A Ranger camp had been invaded by a large troop of orcs and the men were struggling to defeat them. As he charged into the battle, Estel could feel the blood pumping furiously through his veins. He was afraid, but his fear was more of disgracing himself and letting down his brothers than of being harmed by the orcs. He had encountered these creatures once during the previous winter, but it had only been a small group and the Elves had dealt with them swiftly before he even had a chance to join the battle, much to his disappointment and shame.

   But now he was expected to fight. His sword raised, he prepared to use it for the first time in anger. Then as one, the three leaped from their horses and hurtled into the fray, surprising both orcs and men alike.

   The noise and the chaos and confusion at first nearly overwhelmed the fledgling swordsman, but he quickly gathered his wits and swiftly raised his sword to block a swipe to his head from an orc which seemed to spring up out of nowhere. As soon as he became engaged in the action, Estel’s training came to the fore. The endless repetitive hours of practice had made his responses instinctive and lightening fast and he found he was able to repel his attacker and block its strikes without too much difficulty and then, when he saw an opening, he delivered a fatal thrust right into the orcs midriff, his sword, for the first time by his hand, biting flesh.

   Shocked at the feel and sound of the blade slicing through living muscle, Estel quickly pulled back, but he had no time to contemplate what he had done as another orc leaped at him, taking the place of the first. Again, he found he could deflect the blows quite competently and when his chance came he sliced at the orc but this time he failed to kill it outright, only wounding it. It squealed in anguish, causing Estel to hesitate before raising his sword again to kill it. But he did not get the chance to deliver the decisive thrust for Elrohir stepped in and beheaded the stricken orc with one perfectly timed swing of his sword.

   Then all was quiet suddenly; the last of the orcs were slain and the battle was over. Elrohir turned and smiled at Estel.

   “Well done little brother, you had your first orc.”

   Estel was breathless and he realised with embarrassment, he was shaking. Elrohir, knowing the significance of this battle for Estel, came and put his hand on his shoulder and said quietly: “Come and sit for a moment.”

   But Estel pulled away, looking at the ground, avoiding Elrohir’s gaze.

   “I am alright, Elrohir,” he said, desperately wanting a chance to calm his raging emotions away from the eyes of his brothers, no matter how caring and understanding they might be. Also he was suddenly very aware of the men in the camp. They were all about him and one was now approaching to speak to the three newcomers. Elrohir at once understood and turned to face the man, shielding Estel with his back as he did so.

   “Welcome, my friends,” said the man, holding out his hand to Elrohir and then to Elladan who had stepped up beside him. “I must say, you certainly know how to make on entrance. I don’t mind admitting that was harder work than it should have been. That’s the second troop we’ve dealt with in the last three weeks. We have not seen so many orcs since before the Battle of the Five Armies. It could be a long winter if this continues.”

   “Mae govannen, Dírhael, I’m glad we were of assistance,” said Elladan smiling cheerfully. “You look well in spite of your troubles. Are all your men unharmed?”

   “They appear to be, thanks to you three Elves. Come, sons of Elrond, I trust you will sit with us and rest a while, I am sure there is much for us to talk about.”

   “Gladly will I join you,” said Elladan, “but your eyesight is failing you, my friend, if you think the third member of our party is an Elf.”

   While his brothers were chatting to the man, Estel stood apart taking deep breaths and willing his hands to stop shaking. He was greatly relieved he had not behaved shamefully though he was furious with himself for not having slain that second orc cleanly. He knew Elrohir would have something to say later about the dangers of hesitation in battle. He was sure he had not needed his help although he could not deny he was grateful for it. But he was very shaken by how breathless he felt after just minutes of real combat. Fighting a sustained battle, he begun to realise would be a very different matter.

   His mind was abruptly brought back to his companions as he noticed Elrohir had stepped aside and the man they were speaking to was approaching him, looking at him intensely.

   It was an easy mistake for Dírhael to make. The young warrior was as tall as the Elves and with his dark hair and deep, grey eyes he could be close kin of the Peredhil. He was dressed in the garb of one from Imladris, but as Dírhael looked at him now he saw he was indeed a young Man, not an Elf. The elderly Ranger was suddenly filled with hope that this boy should be the one whose return all his people were longing for. And then his face lit up with joy as he realised he carried the sword of his daughter’s late husband. Elrohir saw the recognition on Dírhael’s face but acted swiftly to prevent him speaking of matters as yet unknown to Estel himself.

   “This is Estel, who lives with us at Imladris,” he said quickly. “This year he is spending his first full winter on patrol. I trust he will be welcome to join your watch.”

   “He will be more than welcome,” said Dírhael softly, then he turned to Estel and smiled warmly.

   “Well young man, it is a pleasure to have you among us. My name is Dírhael; I am the leader of this patrol.”

   Estel had now recovered sufficiently to respond appropriately.

   “I am very pleased to meet you, Dírhael,” he said, bowing courteously although he looked upon the Man with amazement. He was not unlike an Elf in height but he was more solidly built and his long dark hair was streaked with grey. And Estel looked with wonder at the lines and wrinkles upon his face which gave the man an aged and weathered appearance that rather reminded him of the rugged hills themselves.

   Dírhael took his hand and held it while he looked at the lad, long and hard. Yes, he was Arathorn’s son alright; the long nose and the intense grey eyes, watching him now with evident curiosity, marked him as one of the true line. But he thought also he saw a hint of his daughter’s gentleness and compassion in his pale face. It took a remarkable power of will for Dírhael not to draw the young man into his embrace such was his joy at meeting his grandson again after seventeen long years apart.

   “Come Estel and talk with me also,” he said at last. “I would very much enjoy hearing about you.”

   Surprised, yet pleased to be included, Estel gladly went with his brothers to sit by what remained of the Ranger’s fire and listen to the exchange of news. As they settled down, the Rangers came one by one to join them. Estel looked at them with great interest. They all wore the same dark cloaks, fastened at the shoulder by identical rayed brooches. Some of the men were older, like Dírhael and they all, Estel thought, looked tired and care worn. Coming last, a little behind the others, was one lad younger than the rest who looked much the same age as Estel. He was holding his arm protectively and Estel noticed there was a cloth which had obviously been wrapped in haste around it, in the middle of which was a large red patch.

   Estel immediately jumped up to offer his help.

   “You are hurt,” he cried, rushing over to the young Ranger. “Here, let me see.”

   The Ranger pulled back with a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

   “It is nothing,” he said sharply, and went to take his place beside the fire.

   Estel however had been instructed in the treatment of wounds by his father and was not about to be brushed aside.

   “Do not be so foolish,” he retorted, sternly. “I am sure you know well enough the dangers of orc blades. Do you wish for an infected arm?”

   The young Ranger looked taken aback and was clearly unsure how to respond. He turned to Dírhael, hoping for guidance. But Dírhael looked intrigued and just shrugged.

   “Perhaps you should listen to him, Halbarad,” he said. “You know he speaks wisely.”

   Encouraged by this, Estel homed in on his quarry.

   “I am well versed in the treatment of wounds,” he said, trying to sound authoritative, “and I have herbs in my pack that will aid in healing.” By now he was sitting beside Halbarad and was starting to unravel the makeshift bandage. The young Ranger was stunned into submission and in silence allowed his arm to be examined. Estel asked for water to be heated and Dírhael nodded to one of the men to comply. Estel’s face was grave as he explored the wound; his fingers working skilfully. He ignored the occasional wince of pain from his patient.

   “I will need my pack,” he said, looking up at his brothers who were watching him with a mixture of amusement and pride.

  “Of course, Estel,” said Elladan, “I will fetch it at once.”

  He got to his feet and whistled. In moments their three horses trotted towards the camp. Elladan approached Estel’s bay mare and talking softly to her, untied the pack and brought it over to him. Releasing Halbarad’s arm, Estel rummaged around until he found what he sought. He produced several leaves which he dropped into the water now warming in a pot over the fire. He then carefully bathed the wound, all the while watched by an astonished Halbarad.

   “I think perhaps you where right,” Estel said to him as he finished cleaning the injury. “It is not serious and I do not think it will need suturing. It should now heal well and trouble you no further.” He then bandaged it expertly with a linen cloth from his pack.

  As he tied the knot, he smiled at Halbarad a little shyly.

  “Forgive me for being so insistent,” he said, “but you should never be dismissive of wounds no matter how trivial they appear.”

  “I shall try to remember that,” said Halbarad, finding his voice at last. “May I ask who you are? We have not met before.”

  “My name is Estel. I live with the Elves at Imladris.”

  “But you are not one of them, that much I can see with my own eyes. Surely you are Dúnedain, though I did not know that any of our people dwelt there.”

  “There is only my mother and myself.”

  “Have you always lived there?” asked Halbarad.

  “Most of my life, I believe; I don’t remember living anywhere else.”

   Halbarad was too young to remember the death of Arathorn and if he knew the tradition of their chieftain being raised at Rivendell, he had forgotten it at that moment.

  But before he could ask another question, Dírhael interrupted.

  “You tended Halbarad’s arm most competently, Estel,” he said. “I presume Master Elrond has instructed you in the healing skills.”

  “Yes, lord, he has taught me some skills, but they are very basic compared to his.”

  “Well, if our luck continues as it has, we shall be glad of them I daresay,” said Dirhael. He then turned to speak to a couple of his men.

  “Haldir and Galdor, you two take the last watch together. I doubt we shall have further trouble tonight but we should not be without eyes.”

~oo0oo~

  Elladan and Elrohir talked long with the Dúnedain, exchanging news of events the length and breadth of Eriador. The twins purposefully steered the conversation away from Estel but it was clear most of the Rangers had guessed who he was. They all treated him respectfully, yet their curiosity was only too evident to the Elves. Fortunately Estel was oblivious to the interest surrounding him and for the most part listened in silence, absorbing every detail of what was said, and only speaking to answer questions directly asked of him.

   He watched the men in fascination. He had in the past spotted the occasional Ranger visiting Imladris but he had never been allowed to meet any of them face to face before. He knew he belonged to the Dúnedain himself, but he felt little kinship with these strange, grim-faced Men. In spite of his mother’s efforts, it was inevitable that he had been raised more as an Elf than as a Man and the differences between the two peoples were not to be easily cast aside.

    His first impressions of the Men sitting about the camp fire were that they appeared quite dissimilar to Elves, with their travel-stained, almost ragged, clothing and their rough weather-beaten faces. But, as he watched and listened, he came to understand they had far more in common than he first realised. It seemed they had the same sense of decency and justice as the Firstborn and their determination to defeat their enemies, if anything, surpassed even that of the Elves.

   Estel had studied the history of the Northern Dúnedain and knew of their past alliances with the Elven realms, but he could not be expected to comprehend quite how hard and difficult the lives of that once great people had become. He did not know that they were now so few that they had little hope that Sauron could ever be destroyed. That hope, such as it was, centred on vague dreams of their chieftain one day restoring their former kingdom and leading them from the shadows. Then, with their power and dignity renewed, and perhaps allied with their neighbours, the Dúnedain might hope to challenge Sauron as Elendil had done nearly three thousand years ago. So it was that while Estel looked upon the men with genuine, but detached interest, the men studied the eager fresh-faced lad, so young, but so full of promise, with a growing sense of joy and hope welling in their hearts.

   Could this boy possibly be the one to change their fortunes at last?

~oo0oo~

   In the morning, the patrol packed up and headed north. The Rangers and the sons of Elrond suspected the Orcs were issuing from the hills around Mount Gundabad and a decision was made to rout them out before they came any further south and threatened the Dúnedain settlements in the lands to the north of the Shire. Swelled by the newcomers from Imladris, the patrol was now one of ten members in total.

   As they rode, Estel at times made an effort to converse with the Rangers nearest him, but at first he found it very difficult to talk naturally. He was unsure of what to say and so became shy and awkward and soon tended to only speak when spoken to. He was very polite and proper, as he had been raised to be, but his Westron was of the rather archaic form rarely spoken by Elves which meant at times he had difficulty understanding the men. Those that could, switched instead to Sindarin for which Estel was very grateful.

   After a while he found he naturally gravitated towards Halbarad. Although, as Estel soon found out, he was a year younger than he, this was his second winter on a full patrol. Halbarad had discovered from the other Rangers exactly who the newcomer was and he had been amazed to find that the lad himself had no idea of his ancestry. The result was that he felt emboldened in the presence of his young chieftain and chatted freely with him in an uninhibited manner that might have otherwise proved beyond him. So it was that friendship slowly grew between the two young warriors and, after his initial reluctance, Halbarad also welcomed Estel’s attention to his injury, appreciating as he did the skills that the young man clearly possessed. Estel insisted on checking the wound daily for the first three days after they left the camp. As he predicted the wound was healing well and so he soon left the care of it to Halbarad himself.

   In a couple of days the patrol reached Fornost. Estel was very disappointed to find it nothing more than yet another decaying ruin; rings of long-broken stone now covered with moss and grass. So this was all that remained of what was once the capital city of the Dúnedain. The sun was setting as they rode passed the site and, in the grey light of early evening, the place had an eerie feel to it; Estel was not surprised that it was known now as Deadmen’s Dike and shunned by most people. But he found he was greatly moved and saddened by the place though he could not say why.

~oo0oo~

   One evening, about a week after the orc attack, the Rangers’ path crossed that of a well known deer trail. Estel had done no hunting since joining the Rangers and so Dírhael decided this was a good opportunity to test his grandson’s skills. As the Rangers made camp nearby, Dírhael went over to talk to him.

   “Estel, what say you and I go and find some venison for the pot?”

   Estel jumped up eagerly. He loved tracking though it usually left him frustrated that he was never as good at it as the Elves. He and Dírhael left the camp on foot taking their bows with them to have a closer look at the trail.

   The North Downs had largely turned to forest in the long years since they were grazed by the sheep flocks of the Dúnedain. The hills were now a mix of woodland and open country where moor and bare rock cut into the forest breaking it into separate stands of trees. The deer trail lay between two particularly tall outcrops of rock, the height of which forced the deer to move between them when roaming the forest. There the two hunters found a number of deer slots, some of which did indeed appear very fresh. From the sharpness of the imprints, Estel reckoned the deer had passed that way only a matter of hours earlier.

   “Well, how many do you think there are ahead of us?” asked Dírhael, squatting to look more closely at the tracks.

   Estel took a time to answer. He wanted to get this right but when he finally replied he did so with conviction.

   “There are nine deer, four calves and a stag. The stag is full grown.”

   Dírhael was surprised. “I confess I can only commit to seven deer and three calves although I agree with you about the stag,” he said. “Are you sure Estel that you have read the signs aright?”

   Estel looked again, suddenly doubtful and it was many moments before he spoke. When he did, he was certain of his answer.

  “I will stick with my reading,” he said, shy at contradicting the leader of the patrol but nonetheless confident about what he had seen.

  “Well, would you like to lead the way,” said Dírhael, gesturing for Estel to follow the trail. “There is only one way to be sure.”

  At first the trail was very clear and Estel followed it with ease moving, as the Elves had taught him, nearly soundlessly through the forest. He was soon aware that his companion behind him was not as quiet as he. After about a mile, the trees gave way to a large rocky outcrop and the trail ended.

   “Well that looks like the end of it,” said Dírhael. “Tracking them over this bare rock will be extremely difficult.”

   “I believe I can still see some signs,” said Estel, kneeing down, examining the smooth surface of the rock. He got to his feet and scrambled over the boulders. He had not gone far when he indicated for Dírhael to follow. On he went over the bare crags until he came to the woodland above. There, clearly seen in the thin damp soil, were the slots of many deer.

   “I do not think they are far ahead,” he whispered.

   Crouching low, they crept through the belt of trees and there, deep within the forest could be seen the herd, quietly browsing, oblivious of their pursuers.

   Carefully Estel and Dírhael counted their quarry. There were nine deer, four calves and an enormous stag with a full head of antlers.

   Dírhael grinned at the lad and then motioned for him to look to his bow. Estel understood and silently notched an arrow. He carefully studied the group ahead of him. He knew better than to kill a hind with a calf at foot and he certainly did not want to bring down the stag. At last he saw what he was looking for, a young buck about half grown. He waited patiently for the beast to walk more clearly into his sights and then he swiftly let his arrow fly. It found its mark and the young deer dropped like a stone. Instantly the rest of the herd was gone, a mass of bouncing white tails as they leaped away, vanishing into the forest.

   Estel raced to check on his kill. The buck was dead. It was a beautiful creature and as he laid his hand on its warm fur, he felt a moment of pity for the animal. Then he pulled a short rope from his belt and bound its legs.

   “That was a good shot, young Estel,” said Dírhael, joining him, “and a good choice of kill. Anything larger and we would be hard put to carry it back.”

   As it was they were both tired by the time they returned to the camp. Elladan came out to meet them and help with carrying the beast. He had been most concerned when he found that Estel had disappeared into the forest with just one man for company. But on hearing Dírhael’s tale he reminded himself once again that the boy was not a child any longer. If he was going to learn, they had to allow him some scope to test himself and that might mean facing dangers and making mistakes, though he was pleased to admit, Estel had not made too many of those so far.

   That night the patrol gladly dined on a venison feast and Dírhael generously told the tale of how their newest recruit had bested him on the trail. Estel flushed with embarrassment at the gentle ribbing he received, but that evening he found he was more at ease in the company of the Rangers, and for the first time, he began to feel as if he belonged among them.

~oo0oo~

   It was to prove a long and hard winter.

   The northern reaches were bitterly cold and the small group of warriors was beset with troubles. The Rangers mainly patrolled the western foothills of the northern peaks of the Misty Mountains. Here they worked hard systematically routing out nests of orcs.  The numbers were not large, but in the rugged highlands they had plenty of cover as well as the advantage of being on their home territory. The patrol had to be exceptionally vigilant; malicious eyes followed them where ever they went and stray arrows from hidden archers were a constant danger.

   The skirmishes with the Enemy were intense but brief. But, whereas most members of the patrol looked upon killing orcs as just part of a day’s work, for Estel, each bout of fighting was a supreme challenge, a test of his nerve as much as his skill. Of the other Rangers, only Halbarad was in a similar situation and he at least had one season’s experience behind him. But Estel learnt quickly and soon began to feel he was earning his place on the patrol.

   For the most part he enjoyed his first full season as a warrior, especially once he began to make friends among the men and relax in their company. The constant cold and the sometimes less than inviting food had taken a little getting used to after the comforts of home, but Estel accepted the hardships as being an unavoidable part of life on patrol.

   Halbarad, it soon became clear, had taken it upon himself to be Estel’s unofficial guide. He explained any peculiar words or sayings used among the Dúnedain as well as informing him of the entire life history of everyone in the patrol. He also made it his mission to tease Estel at every opportunity, something for which the serious, Elven-raised young man was at first ill-equipped to deal with. The result was that Estel was not sure for a long time if he could believe a single word the young Ranger said to him. After a couple of weeks, however, he began to get the measure of Halbarad’s sense of humour and started to retaliate in kind.

   His confidence also grew as it became clear that, young though he was, his sword skills were a match for any of the men in the group and, after the incident with the deer, none questioned his tracking abilities.

   February was gone and March blew in like a howling warg. The patrol had scoured the foothills of the Misty Mountains from the High Pass to Carn Dûm and was now heading south again towards the Ettenmoors, the craggy uplands to the north of the Mitheithel River. The Ettenmoors were as bleak and uninviting as any place they had been that winter and Estel shivered as they rode into the hills, though none of the patrol seemed at ease. They had not ridden far before Estel noticed that Elladan and Elrohir had discreetly positioned themselves so as to be on either side of him.

   “There is a strange feel to this land that I little like,” he said quietly to Elladan. “What lives in these hills?”

   “This is troll country,” replied Elladan, never taking his eyes off the hills about them. “These hill-trolls are large and dangerous Estel. Their hides are extremely tough and so they are difficult to kill. You must stay close to us at all times.”

   Estel nodded. He knew he had proved himself sufficiently by now that his brothers would not be this protective without good reason. He looked about him, expecting to see huge beasts waiting to pounce behind every boulder. Although it was usual for the Rangers to purposefully seek out their enemies, they rarely hunted trolls in their own land. They rode on all day hoping to pass through the hills without incident. But as they travelled deeper into Troll country, the hills on either side of them rose higher and drew closer together taking them into a narrow ravine. All were watchful and alert, aware this was a place they would rather not be.

   They had nearly reached open country again when suddenly the Elves halted and Estel noticed his mare was trembling. He instantly withdrew his sword and the air rang with the sound of the others doing the same. Then all was quiet again; everyone straining their eyes and ears to their limits, listening intently for the slightest sound and watching for the smallest movement. But there was no sound at all.

   But suddenly the silence was shattered by a might roar from somewhere in the hills above. Immediately, huge boulders began hurtling down the slopes towards them. The horses screamed in panic and several riders were thrown as they all struggled to control their terrified mounts. The patrol could not hope to retreat through the storm of rocks crashing about them.

   “Take cover!” shouted Elladan, leaping from his horse and grabbed frantically at the reins of Estel’s mare. Estel sat frozen in shock, but, as Elladan screamed at him again to jump down, he finally moved swiftly and immediately sought protection beside his brothers.

   “Let the horses go!” screamed Dírhael. It was a wise decision. They were too wild with fear to be held and running free they might just escape the clutches of their attackers. Elladan pulled Estel to him as the members of the patrol tried to flatten themselves against the sides of the ravine. It was their only hope of avoiding the storm of boulders which continued to rain down upon them. One Ranger did not move fast enough and was knocked off his feet by a well aimed rock. Then, it seemed to Estel, the ground shook all about them and, in an instant, a group of trolls was there in front of them in the ravine. They were hideous to behold and Estel felt the blood drain out of his face as terror seized him. He watched with mounting horror as the monsters proceeded to brutally trample the fallen Ranger. But there was nothing anyone could do to help him as the trolls were now determinedly lumbering towards the rest of them. None of the Rangers doubted for a moment the peril they were all in.

   The trolls were huge, probably at least twice man height and immeasurably strong. Their only weapons were crude clubs which they used as both shield and cudgel. But it hardly mattered that their weapons were primitive for their size and strength was enough to daunt even the most experienced Ranger. How many trolls there were it was impossible for Estel to say; he only knew that they felt very outnumbered.

   But immediately the patrol sprang into action. Elladan and Elrohir pushed Estel behind them and charged forward, throwing their full might into the attack. Their Elvish blades swiftly found their mark, but, in spite of their razor bite, the trolls did not fall. Estel gripped his sword tightly to try and still the quake in his hands as he forced himself to race after his brothers and confront the fearsome foe. But, as he raised his sword and found himself battling hard beside them, the fury of battle flared within him and he overcame his fear. Time and time again he manfully brought his sword down upon the mighty beast in front of him. Trolls, he quickly discovered, move slower than orcs so he found he could outwit his opponent with ease, but none of the blows he landed seemed to lessen the ferocity of the attack; even wounded, the troll just kept lunging back at him, more aggressively than ever as its injuries enraged it.

    Soon Estel felt his strength waning. He was not yet full grown and did not possess the strength and stamina of a mature man. He did not take his eyes off his attacker, but he sensed that all his comrades were engaged in similar battles of their own; there was no one to help him. He could hear his own breathing even above the noise of the battle as his lungs fought for more air. His arms felt heavy and he knew he was not moving his feet as much as he should. He could almost hear Glorfindel scolding him. He realized if he did not think of something soon, the troll would claim him. His back was to the craggy hillside now; he could retreat no further. The troll raised its cudgel as if to land a fatal blow and Estel knew he had not the strength to field it. But with a last surge of energy, he leaped onto the boulder behind him and, from that vantage point, he summoned all his remaining strength and thrust his sword deep into the neck of the troll. He killed it instantly. He had just enough presence of mind to maintain his grasp on the sword as the beast fell away from him, crashing heavily on to the rocks about it.

   Gasping and shaken, Estel was finished and would have collapsed to the ground had not the battle still being raging all about him. Sweat ran into his eyes and clouded his vision, but he could see enough to know that, although several trolls had now been felled, some of the men had also fallen. He could see his brothers, battling tirelessly in the midst of the fray. Then he looked for Halbarad and saw him struggling much as he himself had done. Wiping his sweaty palms on his cloak and taking a deep breath, he prepared to dive in to offer whatever help he could. Then to his horror, he saw Halbarad stumble. Without hesitating, Estel flew at the troll, his sudden and vicious attack giving Halbarad enough time to quickly scramble to his feet. Together they then strove against the beast, but even with two of them, it was still an incredible struggle as strength died in them both and neither was able to find the decisive strike. Eventually, between them, they messily slaughtered their foe and, when Estel looked around this time, he saw that the battle was virtually over.

   He stood there, head bowed, trembling with exhaustion and gasping for breath when, without any warning, he found he was locked in the arms of Elladan. His foster brother wrapped his arms tightly around him, softly repeating his name, so thankful was he that the lad was safe. Estel, who by now was swaying on his feet, gladly lent against his brother, grateful for the support. But he could not know of the haunted memories swirling through the mind of the son of Elrond; of a day twenty-three years ago that he would never be able to forget. Elladan could still hear Arador’s stricken cries even now and as he held his grandson in his arms, he wondered whatever had possessed him to come this way and expose the lad to the same danger. It was many minutes before Elladan was able to release his little brother, slowly opening his arms and stepping back to look at the young man.

   “I saw what you did,” he said, forcing a smile. “I am so proud of you.”

   Estel could not reply. He felt light headed and was desperately trying not to faint.

   “Unfortunately I fear not all our friends fared so well,” continued Elladan. “Stay here with Halbarad while I see what can be done.”

   Estel just nodded absently and turned to look for Halbarad. He was leaning on the rocks behind him and looking as shattered as Estel felt. Estel went over to him.

   “Are you hurt?” It was all he could think to say.

   Halbarad shook his head. “Nay, but I think others have taken grievous hurt.” He gestured with his head and Estel looked towards the carnage behind them. There were six trolls lying there; great hideous mounds of grey hide, barely distinguishable from the boulders about them. Nearby, some of the men were sitting on the ground, heads bowed; a couple were just standing, devoid of purpose. One, Estel noticed, was weeping. There were two men lying on the ground beside them. They were very still and Elladan and Elrohir had covered them with blankets though no one was attending them.

   Estel started to wander over, wondering if he could be of any help. No one stopped him as he made his way to the first man. But even as Estel pulled back the blanket he knew the man would be dead. It was Galdor.  Estel looked in horror at the white face and the staring eyes, so full of terror and pain. The man’s arm had been severed at the shoulder and he had been mercilessly trampled to death. Estel choked and dropped to his knees. He knew he was going to be sick but he did not care. Galdor was his friend; an older Ranger who had befriended him and told him stories of his past adventures and of his home and family. Estel could not even begin to accept what had happened here. This was his first taste of death and it was bitter.

   Elrohir came and sat beside him; he knew there was no point in protecting Estel from any of this. The man had died a horrible and agonising death, but such was the reality of life on patrol in Eriador and Estel had to see it. He needed to know that being a ranger was not all tales around the campfire reliving heroic deeds. Elrohir did not speak, but put his arm around Estel’s shoulders and waited.

   Estel was quiet for a long time, but at last he said: “And Belegund; is he dead too?”

   “Yes,” said Elrohir. “There is nothing to be done.”

   Estel continued to sit silently as the scale of the disaster that had befallen their small patrol began to slowly register in his mind. The grief he felt in his heart was something new and terrible and he found it too much to bear. Compounded by his own exhaustion and fear, as well as relief that the battle was over, his emotions finally overwhelmed him and he wept. Elrohir gently drew him into his arms and held him until his sobs subsided and he could cry no more.

~oo0oo~

   A week later the patrol had come south to the Last bridge over the Mitheithel. They had all ridden from the Ettenmoors with heavy hearts having buried two of their number there but now, as the new buds on the trees signalled the first signs of spring, the Rangers were heading west to return for a time to their families, while Elladan, Elrohir and Estel were going east to Imladris.

   Estel was sad to see the men go. In the months they had been together, they had shared great trials but also many happy times and Estel felt he had made some good friends. He was especially going to miss Halbarad, but he had the consolation of knowing he had acquitted himself well and so was sure he would be allowed to join future patrols. He had to admit that, much as he had enjoyed the adventures, he was greatly looking forward to going home.

   There was so much he wanted to ask his father. In particular, he had many unanswered questions about the Dúnedain. It had seemed to him, at times, that whenever he asked Elladan or Elrohir anything about the Rangers, he always received the same answer.

   “Ask Adar, he will explain everything.”

   Well now they were going home, he certainly intended to do just that.

   And when he was still a youth, yet strong withal, he went abroad with Elladan and Elrohir and learned much of hunting and of war, and many secrets of the wild.

The Making of Appendix A                                                     The Peoples of Middle-earth