Starting Anew

Aragorn, Son of Arathorn

OoOoO

It was five days shy of the Summer Solstice when they crested the valley ridge. Lying in the bowl of the foothills right where they had left it was the Dunedain village in Fornost. The trees had filled out since they had last gazed upon this place, and for the first time Legolas say the rangers' homeland bedecked in rich greens. Even the pines looked livelier and more vital than they had all winter; their boughs hung laden with pods containing new needles.

They had been eight and twenty when they left; twenty five rangers and three elves. Four and twenty now made their way along familiar paths down into the valley. By the time they had come to the river though, smiles of everything from joy to open relief were growing on everyone's faces. They brought tidings of sorrow back with them, but also of peace. With the lands of Angmar and even Mount Gundabad emptied, the Dunedain could rest easy for some time to come.

As they approached the river, they happened upon a group of children playing and splashing in the swelled currents. The children stopped in their games, half a dozen eyes blinking in surprise for a moment at the sudden appearance of the rangers. Then, noise exploded louder than any alarm bell.

"Papa, papa!"

Two little boys practically threw themselves into the river, swimming across with an urgency that nearly matched that of their father as he leapt in to meet them halfway. Others among the children turned and sprinted back to the village along the trail, all shouting at once so that anything they might be saying was indiscernible.

Their reception was no less enthusiastic as the party emerged from the tree-line and into sight of the village. The children had spread the news far and wide just in the space of minutes, and everywhere people were spilling out of their homes or running in from their gardens. Parents embraced their sons and daughters, wives their husbands and brothers theirs sisters. The joy of many reunions filled the sunny air like music.

Legolas spotting Enid, craning her neck above her rounded shoulders to see through the crowd. Beringil's wife looked both expectant and hopeful, and the openness that brought to her otherwise homely face was heartbreaking in its beauty. Elladan and Elrohir dipped away around the village square to her side, and at their appearance Enid paled. She did not weep though...the Dunedain knew at what price peace was bought.

Someone approached Legolas from behind, and he turned to greet them before they could announce themselves. An elf newly returned from the wild was nigh impossible to surprise, even for someone as extraordinary as Strider. The chieftain of the rangers bowed his head in greeting, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Welcome back, Legolas of the Woodland Realm." Strider looked him up and down. "You are looking as fresh and well-kept as ever."

Seeing the joke for what it was, Legolas nodded as well and chuckled. "Then I have fooled you indeed, Strider. I assure you, I do not feel near as fresh as you say I look."

"You shall have to tell me everything that has passed since your departure. It seems...that Beringil is not here to give us the story."

"No, he is not." Legolas said somberly, remembering the five graves upon the hillside that they had left under a purple sunset.

"Come then, you and my foster-brothers shall do as much in his stead."

Waving Elladan and Elrohir over, the four of them made for Strider's quarters at the far end of the village. They talked of small things as they walked; weather and town business and such. Once they were all settled around the table with a flagon of mead in hand though, the talk turned to the actual events of their journey north. Elladan and Elrohir did much of the talking, with Legolas content to let them. Strider listened intently to each and every word, devouring each detail as if he wished to live it vicariously.