The Other Ranger [ Lord Of The Rings x Silmarillion ]

The Journey Begins

“Are you ready,” Miril asked Aragorn after breakfast the next morning.

She had yet to find the twins, but Aragorn was easy to find; he had dined with the Lady Arwen, Gandalf, and Elrond.  Now he was standing out on the front porch of the Last Homely House.  Miril had come up to him.

“Yes,” he nodded, “I am.  Elladan and Elrohir are getting the horses ready.”

“I have my bags ready to go,” Miril added, “Should I take them to the stables?”

“Yes,” Aragorn told her.

Miril smiled and went back to her room to grab her couple of duffle bag packs that could be attached to either side of the horse’s flank.  Humming a tune to herself, she walked down the path and over the large bridge to the stables.  It was a beautiful October day in Rivendell, and as Miril walked over the long bridge across the Falls, she smiled to herself and took a deep breath.  Oh how she loved the smell of a newborn dawn.

“Good morning,” Miril called to Elladan, Elrohir, and the stable master Belegur.

“Good morning Lady Miril,” Belegur bowed.

“Good morning, Mir,” said the twins.

“I have my bags ready,” She showed them her packs.

Miril walked over to Daeroch and fastened her packs onto his saddle.  They were the perfect saddle bags, not too full or too heavy.  Daeroch would be able to shoulder them fine.  She herself was outfitted in her green ranger garb, with a heavy green cloak.  Miril took her sword scabbard off her belt and fastened it onto Daeroch.

Not long after, Aragorn came walking down the path to the stable, carrying his own saddle bags.  He would be riding a white mare named Nimroch.  He got his horse ready swiftly and soon all four riders were ready to head out.

Elrond and Gandalf came by just as they were hopping into their saddles.  They bid farewell, stressing the importance of this journey.

“Find your Rangers, Aragorn,” Elrond reminded him, “And my sons, contact your grandmother with news of not only what has come to pass, but that we will most likely be sending a company her way in the coming months.”

“Of course, Father,” Elladan nodded, “Come, let us go.”

They bid farewell to Elrond and Gandalf before spurring their horses down the road out of the Rivendell.  The sky was just beginning to be a pale blue with a small wisps of clouds up high above them.  They breathed in the sweet scent of the clear rushing water of the Ford as they drew close.  Their first stop would be back north of the Shire.  They had to get in contact with Halbarad and his company.

No longer fearing pursuit of the Nazgul, they stuck to the road.  As such the going was much faster.  They also were on horseback, helping them much.  They reached half way to Weathertop by the end of the day after a hard ride.  They set up camp beneath a pair of alder trees just north of the East-West Road.

“Tell me again what your mother Celebrian was like,” Miril smiled as she lay back against the tree trunk, her eyes clothes.

The fire crackled before them.  Aragorn had gone to scout a bit farther ahead in the dark to make sure no one was around.  It was just Miril and the twins.

“She was amazing,” Elrohir said with a smile, “She was always there for us.”

“Indeed,” Elladan nodded, “Our mother encouraged us to pursue the intellectual arts as well as the physical arts.  She dressed beautifully and made sure we were put together.”

“She was like any mother in that regard,” Elrohir laughed, “Always worried about our appearances.”

“I never really had a mother,” Miril frowned quietly.

Elrohir stopped his laughing, “But you had a brother and a father.  And then you have us.”

“This is true,” she smiled a little.

Aragorn returned carrying his torch, “All clear.”

“Good,” Elladan nodded, “Then let us relax a little.  Have a story or two.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Aragorn protested, “It’s not THAT clear.”

“Come,” Elrohir insisted, “A story, little brother!”

“Alright, how about the Tale of Turin Turambar?”

“Excellent choice,” Miril approved, settling herself against Elrohir’s side and resting her head on his shoulder.

And so Aragorn dove into the tale of the cursed man, the son of the great Hurin, the elf-friend.  He spoke about how Turin had accidently killed his best friend Beleg Cuthalion in a fit of fear.  How he renamed himself time and time again.  How every time he could’ve sought forgiveness, he deemed himself unworthy, fleeing from the problem.  Of how he had degraded himself by sleeping with his sister without knowledge.  And finally, how he had killed himself after discovering this dreadful truth.

“A good story, albeit a sad one,” Elladan nodded when he had finished.

He and Aragorn looked over at Elrohir and Miril and found they were both asleep together.  Elladan cracked a smile and Aragorn merely raised an eyebrow.

“You did not see it,” Elladan whispered, “How could you not?”

“See what?”

“That they have affections for one another,” Elladan spelled it out.

Aragorn looked from Elladan to his brother in surprise.

“Surely your father disapproves.”

“Frankly I don’t think Elrohir cares much for how our father feels,” Elladan shrugged, “And to be honest, neither do I.  If it makes my brother happy, then all is well.”

“And you,” Aragorn turned on him as he stoked the fire, “Who do you fancy?”

“None but the wind in my hair and the sky to my face,” Elladan insisted, “Though if I had to pick a maiden, then Lindir’s sister Oreleth would be my choice.”

Aragorn nodded, adding a log to the fire, “So do you approve of me courting your sister.”

“Sure,” Elladan nodded, “I trust you.  I trust her.  That’s all that matters.  If she loves you, then she loves you.  Though there’s no accounting for choice.”

“Hey,” Aragorn sputtered as he took a sip from his waterskin.

Elladan smirked, “Get to rest, mellon-nin.”