Epilogue

          Varadorn of Adanloth on the Firth of Lhûn watched the especially tall sailor who worked among the rest to see the ship from Dol Amroth unloaded upon the Dúnedain quays opposite the Grey Havens of the Elves—those few Elves remaining within Middle Earth, at least.  It had been some years since he’d gone to Annúminas to greet this one and his family on one of their journeys to the Northern capitol; and now, here the young Man was, barefoot as was true of the rest of his fellows, laboring as uncomplaining as had his father so many years ago in the grading of roads and raising of walls in a village rising anew in the wilderlands of the Angle.  He glanced briefly at the place where he knew Galdor and Círdan of Mithlond had concealed themselves along with Glorfindel of Rivendell.  There was one aboard this ship they would desire to see, and he suspected they were rightly pleased at his willingness to work alongside his fellows.  He found himself wondering if one or both of the sons of Elrond had shadowed their own training patrol, back when it was the one they considered their young, mortal brother who rode with the rest under an assumed name, seeking to prove himself to his own people.

          Another tall Man came up out of the hold, with what must have been a heavy burden wrapped in oiled canvas carried upon his shoulder as lightly as if it were a bushel of feathers, although Varadorn suspected it was quite heavy, probably bales of silk embroidered with metallic threads.  Such were the cargoes of ships sent from Dol Amroth, he knew.  This Man was dark, almost the color of ebony.  Someone, Varadorn knew, who had come from Far Harad.  Never had he seen a black Man, so this sight captivated his attention—the youth who was Elven fair and the stranger from lands so far to the south of Middle Earth working side-by-side as together they placed their burdens where directed.

          One last time the two descended into the ship’s hold; one last time each emerged with cargo that they laid out as directed by the ship’s mate.  Most of the rest of the crew had stood down, having done their bit to see the ship unladen—this, apparently was the completion of the task.

          “Well done!” called a voice from behind Varadorn, and he turned to see the ship’s Captain approaching, accompanied by the Harbor Master.  “We arrived three day’s early, we are unloaded in good time, and you shall all receive your promised bonus!  Master,” he added, turning to his companion, “it is now up to you to see to the disposal of our cargo.”

          “A fine crew you have here,” commented the Harbor Master.

          “The finest!  Although I grieve to have two leave the ship here—unless I can convince them to stay on.  No?” he said as the two Varadorn had been watching both shook their heads, wry smiles upon their faces.  “Alas, for had we ever such to crew The Sun’s Rise we would do well every voyage.  Your skill, Abrami, has become legendary among us, and never have I seen a sailor so apt to the labor of sailing as you, Elda.  I swear that Lord Ossë and Lady Uinen favor the two of you!  Purser, see to it that these Men receive their pay, and after that all of you save for Mate Dagon, Hírluin, and Maravil are relieved of duty until tomorrow’s dawn.  Now, I suggest you fetch clean clothing and head off to the bath house across there before you inflict yourselves upon the town.  See to your duty, Purser, and then off with all of you!”

          The bulk of the crew lined up before the Purser while Elda and Abrami disappeared below to fetch their own goods.  Each of the hands received his pay packet before following their mates who would be remaining here in Adanloth down to fetch clean clothes.  When the last was paid off, the Purser approached the Captain, laying two pouches in his master’s hands.  “Let you give this them,” the Purser said, smiling.  “I doubt not that they will refuse them from me.”

          “Likely true,” noted the Captain.  “After all, they’d offered to work for their passage.  But I doubt we’d have had so profitable a voyage were it not for their labor.  Who would have believed two such as they would prove so willing and able to help sail this ship?”

          The Purser shrugged.  “Abrami told us that he had sailed upon a fishing vessel most of his life.  I no longer doubt it.  As for young Elda—he admitted he’d sailed several times upon the pleasure craft of Prince Erchirion.  It appears he did not do so solely as the Prince’s guest.”

          “I believe all of us will miss them upon our return voyage.  Ah, well.  Now—have you your own pay packet?”

          The Purser displayed his own grey pouch.  “That I do.  Now, to fetch my clean clothes.  I look forward to a hot bath and a full shave within an hour’s time.  I will be returning sometime before Anor rises over the eastern hills.  Until then, Captain Ibramir.”  And with a familiar salute he, too, descended into the crews’ quarters.

          Elda and Abrami were the first to return.  No longer were their feet bare as they emerged.  Elda wore fine, if somewhat worn, black boots, and Abrami had donned a pair of elaborately braided sandals whose beaded laces rose up beneath the hems of his breeches, breeches that reached to mid-calf.

          Each carried a personal satchel that was sufficiently large to carry enough to keep them through several days upon the road, and Varadorn was certain that Elda, at least, had a suitable red healer’s pouch within his gear.  Each had also donned a sword, and that carried by Elda caused Varadorn’s heart so pause, oh, so briefly, in his chest.  How he recognized that sheath, worn as it was after so many years.  Ah, but it would be the other sword Peredhrion had left behind near Halbaleg’s Keep so long ago that the youth’s father now carried and wielded!  What was unusual was that beside the short dagger at his waist, Elda also wore a Dwarvish throwing axe at his belt and a long white knife to be grasped above his shoulder.  Was this simply a conspicuous boast of his supposed prowess, or was he truly skilled with so many weapons?

          The sword carried by his fellow was broad, and shorter than was possibly suited to his stature; but if Varadorn was any judge of swordsmen this Abrami would undoubtedly be an expert with it.  They approached the Captain of The Sun’s Rise with salutes proper to their status as able seamen.  “Permission to leave the ship’s company, sir?” Abrami asked.

          The Captain returned their salute.  “Only if you will receive these,” he said, dangling the two grey pouches before them.  “Oh, I know that you had contracted to work for your passage, but we would have lost three Men had you not been with us, including my son.”

          A boy came out of the Captain’s cabin carrying a tray with a beaker and four goblets of fine glass upon it, and he smiled worshipfully up at Elda as the Captain poured out the wine, indicating Elda and Abrami as well as the Master should each accept one.

          “In hopes that you shall do well here in the Northern Kingdom,” the Captain said, pushing one of the pouches into the hand of each of the younger men and insisting that they share the drink with him.  On setting his emptied goblet back on the boy’s tray, he commented more quietly, “Again, Hírluin here would not be alive today were it not for you, Elda.  Now, I have accepted other young nobles on the condition that they work for their passage, but none was like unto you or Abrami here.  None knew how to actually do a day’s work, no matter what they may have thought of their abilities.  But your fathers have been wiser than most, and have taught you not to consider yourselves above work when it is necessary.  At any time I would rejoice to have either of you sail with me again, but as officers rather than as able seamen.  A ship’s surgeon should be an officer, after all, not a mere sailor.  As for you, Abrami, I would be honored to have you as my First Officer!”

          Elda laughed in pleasure.  “I will tell you this—should you ever moor at the Harlond my parents would be delighted to give you honor.”

          The Captain shook his head.  “An old sea dog like me threading the Mouths of the Sea and sailing up the Great River?  Not likely, I fear.  May the One keep you ever in mind.” 

          The two youths finished their drinks and placed their cups upon the tray, gave the Captain a final salute, and readied themselves to leave.  At this the Harbor Master asked, “And what is your business here within Arnor, my brave ones?”

          “We are hoping to take part in a training patrol for the Rangers of the North Kingdom,” Abrami answered him.

          The Master’s brow rose in consideration.  “You would go from sailors to Rangers, would you?  An odd shift in obligations, I’d say.  But I noted that Ranger Varadorn has been watching us.  I would suggest you speak with him, as he has served in that capacity for longer than I can say.  And may the Belain watch over the two of you.” With a gesture to indicate where Varadorn stood, the Master dismissed the two young Men, one Elven fair and the other with skin like night, to their new adventure.

          Shifting their personal bundles upon their shoulders, Elda and Abrami turned to face Varadorn of Lhûn, examining him with interest.  Varadorn took a deep breath and stepped forward, bowing his head with the respect owed to young Men seeking to prove themselves as adults.  “So, the two of you seek to make of yourselves Rangers of Arnor, do you?  I can guess at young Elda’s parentage, for I rode on the same training patrol as did Ranger Peredhrion and recognize the sword he carries.  I was advised that you were coming north by Lord Galdor of Mithlond yonder, young master.  But I am not personally familiar with your people, Master Abrami.”

          “I am Abrami son of Norubi of Camaloa, Master Varadorn,” the dark youth said in his rich, deep voice.  “Long ago our ancestors sought to follow Lendil east from Númenor.  But the storms that separated the fleet sending Lendil here and his sons to the Mouths of the Sea sent our own, much smaller ship south beyond Harad.  Mostly our ship was filled with males, and they in time married women of those amongst whom they found themselves, and so it is our coloring is dark as is true of the peoples of those lands.  But we, too, count Rendil as our ancestor and as our personal symbol of Hope.  We have accepted Elessar as our Lord King, and it was with pride that I chose to accompany Elda here to test myself amongst Lendil’s own protectors.”

          Varadorn found himself smiling.  “So, we of the Dúnedain have brothers of whom we have been unaware?  It is with pride that I welcome you, Abrami Norubi’ion.  Now, come with me.  I am too old to ride far afield in these latter days, but it is my honor to welcome those who seek training as Rangers in this region of our lands and to see them readied for their first patrol.  If you will come with me?”  So saying, he led them through the growing port city to his farm, several rods distant from the last homes surrounding the quays.

 *******

          They sat up late that night, and Varadorn described much of his own training patrol with these two, watching with pleasure the expressions of interest that Elda himself showed at his father’s exploits. 

          “I had heard some of these stories,” Elda admitted, “but not that of the judgment given the raiders from Angmar.  How did that end?”

          The elderly Ranger laughed.  “Oh, but do not make the mistake of calling them Angmarians, Elda.  Nay, they name themselves the Hagmarianneth, and they take great pride in their lands east of Berevrion’s horse runs.  It was our honor, as the newest Rangers of Eriador, to accompany them back into Angmar to fetch away as many of their own villagers as would come south with them.  Most were widowed women and fatherless children or older Men, many of them barely able to provide for themselves.  They have made the lands given them prosperous, and all are treated with greatest respect by those of us of the northern Dúnedain.  Indeed, they stand by our soldiers and Rangers against all enemies, including the descendants of the very warlords who so often stole from them ere they came south.  I remember the mother of the two brothers your father was forced to slay setting fire to her own house that the warlords not be able to take shelter there or to give it to other hapless souls who might be resettled there to provide for the ravening armies of Angmar.  Their younger brother became the cobbler for the Hagmarianneth, and their sister was their first brewer.  As for Hagmar’s son—he was found and came south, also, and proved as good with horses as was his father.  They are a proud people, and have full reason to know that pride.  And they greatly love our Lord Aragorn who gave them back that pride.

          “And now, why is it that you chose to come north to train as a Ranger of Arnor?  Was there no chance to do that within the South Kingdom?”

          “Oh, but I did indeed train within the Rangers of Ithilien,” Elda admitted.  “I learned to wield my sword primarily from my father and my uncles as well as Lords Hardorn and Glorfindel.  I am a better archer than is my adar, and I know the use of other weapons as well as sword and knives.  Lord Gimli taught me the use of the throwing axe I carry, and Prince Legolas gave me the white knife I wear on my shoulder.  Five years I served in Ithilien under Prince Faramir’s Rangers, where I have protected our people from orcs and renegades from Rhûn, Harad, and Khand.  But it was my own wish to learn more of the ways of our northern kingdom by doing a training patrol here.  I felt doing so would be best at proving to those of Arnor that I am indeed as much of the North as I am of Gondor.”

          “Much as was true of your father in his own time,” suggested Varadorn.  At Elda’s nod, he sighed.  “How history repeats itself.  And you, Abrami?”

          “I served amongst the guard for our emissary to the court of our King Elessar for a time, and so became a friend with the King’s son and that of Prince Faramir.  I was often allowed to accompany them when they were on duty amongst the Rangers of Ithilien.  When Elda decided to come north, I chose to accompany him, particularly as Elboron will not be allowed to so serve.  Nay, I much fear that the Steward’s son is constrained to serve almost wholly within Gondor, whilst I am encouraged to explore all three of Elessar’s lands.”

          “I see.”  After a moment Varadorn turned to Elda once more.  “And how is it that you are called simply Elda?”

          The young Man laughed.  “It is the fault of Abrami here.  When he came north, he saw little reason to use the endings that indicate someone is the son of this or that person, so he began calling me simply Elda, and so it has been between us ever since.  I do not believe that Captain Ibramir appreciated just who my adar is, and it was doubtless better so.  If we were to serve as sailors upon his ship in return for our passage north, little would have been achieved had the Captain and crew felt it necessary to bow to my rank as the King’s son.  As it was, they were more fascinated by the strangeness of Abrami’s coloring as one who came from beyond Far Harad, as well as his foreign turns of speech.  They paid me little enough attention until Marduk fell from the rigging and broke his arm, and it was revealed that I had training as a healer and surgeon.  I was skilled at sailing and as a healer—that gave me my status as a sailor upon The Sun’s Rise.  If being called Elda gives me that much anonymity, then I will accept it.”

          Varadorn pursed his lips.  “So it was with your father when he rode among us on our training patrol.  But I fear that merely calling yourself Elda will not serve you as you would wish.  Too many are aware of the name of Aragorn’s son and thus are likely to anticipate your true identity.  Nay, let the epessë stray further from the truth.  What would you think of taking on the name Gilorhael?”

          Elda looked thoughtful.  “But this was a name that my ada’s naneth had intended to name her second son, who died betimes.  I thought none were ever aware that she had borne other children than my father, and lost them ere they could be born alive.”

          “I know.  She confided to me once while our Lord Chieftain was away upon his journeys about the other two children she’d lost while Arathorn was out upon his own patrols.  She so regretted that they were not born alive for her to cherish while your father must be learning his place amongst us.”

          “But, if you served here in the region of the Firth of Lhûn, then how is it you were able to receive such intelligence from my Daernaneth Gilraen so as to share it with me now?  My adar only learned this from reading her journal, which she left in the house of my Daeradar Elrond.”

          “I suspect,” Varadorn said slowly, “that it was only because I was from a region so far away that she felt safe to unburden herself to me.  You will learn that those of us who serve as Rangers of the North must each come on a regular basis to make report to our Chieftain—or King, as it is now, or to his Steward when he is away.  Recognizing that I was the youngest in our patrol, she always felt a particular affection toward me that led her to seek me out when I came back to the Angle.”

          Eldarion nodded, his brow knit with consideration.  “So be it, then, for the memory of my daernaneth.  Ada has never fully given over his grief that she did not share the triumph over Mordor.”

 *******

          Three days later Varadorn presented his new recruits to the three Rangers who would lead the trainee patrol from the western reaches of Arnor.  “Timriol son of Findrion you all know.  Perhaps he is somewhat older than most of those who choose to become Rangers, but his father has been resistant to him entering our profession and has only just agreed to allow him to take up arms in our kingdom’s defense.  As for these others—I will allow them to tell you why they have chosen to come to us at this time.”

          The tall young Man with skin like ebony, but whose eyes were Dúnedain grey, stood proudly.  “I am Abrami son of Norubi of Camaloa.  My great-fathers followed the other nine ships that left the Star Isle at the downfall of Númenor, but our ship was blown far southward as we came east back to Middle Earth, down to lands south of Far Harad.  We intermarried with those peoples who succored us as we emerged from the Sundering Sea, and so our skins are now dark, although many of us continue to bear the grey eyes of our Dúnedain heritage.  We live along the western coastline of the lands south of Far Harad, and mostly we are fishermen and traders.  My father’s kinsman is Chieftain of our people, and was saved from slavery by our Lady Queen Arwen during a visit she and our Lord King Elessar made to Harad many years back, ere I was born.  I was sent north to serve our emissary to the court of Lord Elessar, and our Lord Elessar asked if I was interested in learning the ways of the warriors of Arnor.  So it was that I came north with Gilorhael here to take part in a training patrol to prove us worthy of serving Arnor as well as Gondor and Camaloa.  Lord Elessar believes it is time for there to be awareness of the different traditions between the three realms.  I am the first of my people to work amongst the Rangers of Gondor; I will also be the first to learn the ways of the Rangers of Arnor.”

          Dirigil, who led the training patrols of those coming from the region of the Firth of Lhûn and the shores of the Sea, looked on this stranger with wondering eyes.  “I see.  We had heard rumors of a third realm of the Dúnedain within Middle Earth, but this is the first time we of Arnor have met any of our brethren from so far south.  I am told that amongst yourselves you speak Adúnaic?”

          Abrami shifted to that tongue.  “So it is, although I am told that our accent and pronunciation vary from that spoken here.  Yet my Lord Kinsman was able to make himself understood by our Lord King and those of his party who speak this tongue.”

          One of Dirigil’s two companions cocked his head.  “I agree that our language sounds somewhat—uncouth—as spoken by you, but it is clearly understandable.  Welcome to the Northern Kingdom, Abrami Norubi’ion of Camaloa.”

          There was no question that the third recruit presented by Varadorn was of Dúnedain blood.  He stood tall and well tanned, a small green scrip worn at the neck of his open, cream-colored shirt.  “I am the son of one of those present when Lord Aragorn was crowned King of Gondor, and who saw the presentation of the Rod of Annúminas to him at Midsummer of that year.  My father, who was born here in Arnor, married in Gondor, and I was born there some years later.  I have always wished to return to the land that gave my father birth, and at last I was granted permission to come north and to train with the Rangers of Arnor.  Lo, I consider myself to be as much of Arnor as I am of Gondor, and I wish to establish this proved in my own mind as well as in the minds of all others.”

          “What is your name, young sir?” asked the other trainer.  “And who is your father?  Perhaps he is known to us.”

          The young Man answered carefully, “My father was named Thorongil, and you may call me Gilorhael, as Abrami has said.”

          Dirigil was examining him closely, smiling as he noted the sheathed sword he bore and the other weapons at his belt.  “Gilorhael son of Thorongil, is it?  And how is it that you bear a Dwarven throwing axe?”

          Gilorhael shrugged.  “Many Dwarves have labored within Minas Anor to repair the damage wrought during the last battles of the War of the Rings and to make it even stronger and more beautiful.  One of them, learning I intended to become a warrior of the realm, gave me this and taught me the ways of using it.”

          The third trainer asked, “You bear no bow?”

          “I have been trained as an archer also, and my sire says that I am better than he.  But I need a new bow.  Have you one in the quartermaster’s stores that I might use?”

          The second trainer said shrewdly, “And you have a white knife of Elven design, from the land of Eryn Lasgalen, I note.  How was it that you were gifted with such a thing?”

          “Many Elves of that land followed Prince Legolas into the eastern province of Ithilien where he has set up his own realm.  I often visit there with friends who settled back in the lands of their forebears, and so I came to know some of those Elves who dwell there.”

          “And have you any military service?” asked Dirigil.

          “I have trained and served with the Rangers of Ithilien.”

          Dirigil searched his face critically.  “And why is it that you do not serve with them now?”

          “Because it was mine own and my ada’s desire that I should train with the Rangers of Arnor.  Both of us wished me to know the land of his birth more intimately.”

          The third trainer asked, “What of your mother?  Is she, too, of the North?”

          The youth answered, “She is not of the Northern Dúnedain.  As I said, they were married within Gondor.”

          “Yet you have the look of one of the high blood.”

          Dirigil smiled.  “Do not forget, Morthal, that Elven blood flows in those who rule the province of Dol Amroth.  It is said that those from whom Imrazor the Númenorian sprang were already dwelling in those lands ere the downfall of the Star Isle, and that Imrazor’s children were born to one of the Elven women who followed Amroth himself.”  He turned to again face the young Man who’d named himself Gilorhael.  “How did you come here to Adanloth?”

          “We came aboard the ship The Sun’s Rise, which sailed from the harbors of Dol Amroth and Belfalas, carrying trade goods for the people here.”

          “You came as paid passengers?”

          Varadorn answered for them.  “No, they came as sailors upon the ship.  Captain Ibramir spoke highly of their skill as sailors, as well as other arts.  I suspect you shall find them advantageous on your patrol, Dirigil.”

          “Really?” asked Dirigil of his long-time friend.

          “Oh, yes.”

          A meaningful glance was shared between the two Men who as youths had ridden together upon their first patrol.  Dirigil’s smile returned.  “And have either of you received training in healing?”

          Abrami snorted.  “All of us of Camaloa are given at least rudimentary training in healing.  It is oft needed within the jungle, as well as upon our ships.”

          “And so it is true among those who serve amongst the Rangers of Ithilien as well,” Gilorhael added.

          “Good, then.”  Dirigil rose to his feet and stepped forward to shake the hands of their new recruits.  “I deem you well come indeed, young friends.  It seems to me I recall your sire, Gilorhael.  He, too, knew other training ere he came into the Rangers.  Shall we see if the son is as skilled as proved true of his father?  Come away now to our camp.  We shall ride out tomorrow.  And we have three horses that I suspect shall serve you well.  You do all ride, do you not?”

          “Yes,” said Timriol.

          “I have but little skill,” admitted Abrami.  “Gilorhael here rides well, however.”

          “Then you shall learn to ride upon this patrol, even as Varadorn and I did when we first joined the Rangers.  Come now.  Your new life begins as Rangers of the North.”

          So saying, he and his two companions led the three young Men out to the camp where the other would-be Rangers awaited the beginning of their new adventure on the morrow’s dawn.