It all changed when an old friend of my father arrived to Vidugavia's hall with an urgent message: Miriel, King Narmacil's wife had died childless. When my father told me this, I didn't understand the consequences at first. Maybe I didn't want to. Though I knew both were family, I had never seen them and never expected I would. They were Gondorians, while I considered myself to be a Northman through and through. I expected to live my whole life here, marry one of my 'uncles' daughters, serve in Vidugavia's war-band, and when he died in Theodahad's and even later when the time would come in Dagareiks's, my cousin. But Miriel's death had great consquences for that future. The fact that she had been unable to produce children meant that when Narmacil died the throne would pass on to his younger brother Calmacil. After that it would pass on to his eldest son Ròmendacil and after him to my father and thus eventually to me. Miriels death meant that from the offspring of a sideline I had suddenly become the eventual heir of the Gondorian Throne. I still refused to see consequences though when my father explained it. Surely we could at least stay in Rhovanion until my father had to become King? My father sadly shook his head. He understood my unwillingness to leave Rhovanion, he too loved this country dearly and he didn't have such a close bond with it as I had. But there was way around it, we had to move to Gondor.

The morning of our departure I sulked like a small child. It was fine day though and the cold wind soon dispelled my foul mood and it wasn't before long that I was roaming the plains at the vanguard of the caravan, saying my own private good-bye to the land that had nursed me during the first sixteen years of my life. I was sad of course to leave but I have to admit that I was also feeling equal amounts of curiosity. My father had told me much about his country of birth and I was eager to see it with my own eyes. The caravan was slow-going and I had plenty of time to explore the changing landscape. Sometimes I would depart early in the morning, taking a lunch and my bow with me, only to rejoin the caravan in the evening. It was on one of those trips that I first came in contact with the Rangers. I was lunching on a hill overlooking the place were the Snowbourn joined the Entwash, while Wintersky,my stallion was grazing somewhat lower. Suddenly I heard Wintersky whinny and I had barely the time to nock an arrow to my bow before I was surrounded by four green-clad men. I cursed my carelessness, 'uncle' Ecca would have my hide if he discovered I had allowed myself to be trapped like this. For all I knew these men could be Dunlanders, or brigands. Then one of the men chuckled and they all lowered their cowls. I hadn't seen many Gondorians until now but those four couldn't be mistaken for anything else. They had a certain tilt to their cheekbones, a certain sharpness to their faces I had only seen in my father's face and my own until now.
-Don't fear young one, we do not mean any harm. We were just curious what brought a young Northman so far south.
-Who are you?
'Wouldn't it be to us to ask that question?,' the one who had laughed asked with another chuckle .'You are the stranger in our country after all.'
I inclined my head, accepting their point.
'Alright, I am Vinitharya son of Swartwulf and Vidumavi,' I said, out of habit using my father's Northman name. 'I ventured out from our caravan that is travelling to Osgiliath. I wanted to see a bit more of the country.'
-Well, pleased to meet you, young Vinitharya. These three are Galdor, Eärnil and Minastan and I am Faramir. We are Rangers of Calenardhon. We are patrolling here and we got curious when we saw your stallion.
'More like you got curious Faramir, 'the one called Galdor interjected.
-Ah shut up you. You won't say it but you were just as curious as I. It isn't often that we meet one of our northern cousins. So how do you like our fair Gondor, so far?
I pretended to think deeply about the question.
-Not bad.
'Not bad?!'Faramir brust out in mock indignation. "The fairest and grandest country of Middle-earth, and he calls it 'Not bad'! Galdor restrain me before I give this uncivilized youth the spanking he deserves.
Galdor 's only reaction was to laugh and he wasn't the only one. Both Minastan and Eärnil where chuckling and I was hard-pressed not to snort out the water I had just drank.
In the end we took our lunch together and we spent a pleasant moment chatting and joking. Faramir was obviously the joker of the four with Galdor as his unwilling side-kick. Minastan and Eärnil were quieter, though Eärnil somtimes showed he had a rather sarcastic streak and Minastan could tell wonderful stories. We split up again after lunch, the Rangers to continue their patrol, me to rejoin the caravan. It was only in the evening that I realised that none of them had known who I was. It kept me wondering how they would have reacted if they had.

Two weeks after my meeting with the Rangers we arrived to Osgiliath. My father had told me many tales about it but nothing could compare with the reality. I had always though Vidugavia's hall to be big, but some of the buildings I saw looming over the walls could house it three times over. When I passed through the gates I couldn't help to feel rather uncomfortable though. Maybe my Gondorian blood is more dominant than I thought and I was somehow feeling what was to come here. I will never know. The feeling did not subside when I saw the mixed reactions of the people who had come out to see us. Most were just curious, but on some faces I could see doubt and sometimes even disgust. Of what I didn't know but it made me uneasy and I was oddly relieved when we left the streets behind us and entered the courtyard of the palace. There we were greeted by Ròmendacil, his wife Mairen, his brother, Meneldil and couple of my father's friends. It was a shock to see my grandfather. The only grandfather I had known until now had been Vidugavia, and though he had always been a vital man, he had clearly been old by the time we left. His hair and beard had been grey and on bad days his back and old wounds would pain him. Ròmendacil however still looked like he could have been my father's brother. I knew Gondorians lived much longer than the Northmen of course, but somehow I had still imagined Ròmendacil as some kind of vital but middle-aged man, with a few dignified streaks of grey. His hair however was still as black as a raven's wing and only his grey eyes told me his actual age. It was then that I began to realise what it meant to have blood of the Kings of Númenor.
-So you are my grandson aren't you?
I was snapped back to reality by my grandfather's voice.
'Seems so,' I answered without thinking. From the chuckle that escaped from Mairen's lips and the slight frown that appeared on Meneldil's brow it hadn't been quite the right way to answer the Regent of the realm. Ròmendacil seemed to like my answer though and started to laugh. A relieved smile made it's way to my face. My grandfather might not have looked like what I had imagined him but it seemed that my impression of his character had not been wrong.
-Answered like a true Northman, lad. Now tell me how is that old rascal Vidugavia doing? Your father would only write me about the treaties and the trade agreements.
My smile became broader. I understood now why Vidugavia and Ròmendacil had gotten along so well, and I knew I could actually love this new grandfather.
-Grey by now, sir, complaining about his back when it's convenient but still beating the hell out of the younger warriors.
Ròmendacil chuckled.
-Yes I guess he would. Now let us go inside. I am sure your travel have wearied you all.
Before me and my father could go inside though my grandfather held us both back.
-Could I speak to you both after you have rested? I have something to discuss with you.
My father sighed.
-Is it that bad ?
-I'm afraid so son.
I frowned, what was going on? My father saw my confused face and put a hand on my shoulder.
-Later. Let us rest now.