It had been ages since the kinslayings. Maedhros had ended his life in a fiery chasm, while he knew not what became of the once famed musician. He had been reunited with his birth parents, but of Maglor, who had helped raise him as best as he could, he had heard no word. Elros had grown to become the High king. He had ruled well, and as time passed by, he too passed on. He had, of course, chosen the gift of men over the life of the Eldar. He would not bear the burdens of this world any longer than he had to, for he was just one of two. He knew that Maedhros had not meant to kill his brother but it became hard to forgive when he knew the crimes the two brothers were guilty of. In fact,they did have every intent of harming his mother and people when they had first arrived. He would always hold Maglor a step higher than Maitimo, for even death cannot absolve one of crimes of such nature.
Meanwhile, Arathorn II, son of Arador, had been camping in the wild. He was the heir of Isildur, and the rightful heir to the kingdom of Arnor, and yet, he had no kingdom to return to. The Witch King of Angmar had destroyed the kingdom, and Gondor was now ruled by stewards. He was all alone. His father had met his doom at the hands of the hill-trolls. Now, here he was, leading his men as the cheiftain of the Rangers, with nobody to turn to. Sure, there were other elf lords in Middle-earth who were duty bound to aid him in the battle for Middle-Earth and wouldn't hesitate to help, and yet, there were few that held much regard for men. What Isildúr had done was an unforgivable offence to Middle-earth. What could have ended that day had been tossed away by a single act of selfishness and greed. His forefather had refused to do away with the ring, dooming their lands to more war, bloodshed and death. Moreover, he couldn't be a burden. Especially not when he was groomed to be a king. The only one he could turn to for any kind of solace was Gilraen. They hadn't been wedded too long, but she was always there for him. He knew it wouldn't last forever. Her father had warned them long before their wedding that his time would come too very soon, but Gilraen gave him hope. Hope that however short his life may be, it was worth living it with her.
Months passed, and time flew by. Arathorn had been blessed once more, for if he had been a very happy man before, his joy was now doubled. He had been gifted with a son. An heir. A man, whom he hoped would achieve what his ancestors and he failed to do. Aragorn, for that was his name, would soon come to be loved by all. The boy, however young he may be, learned the ways of his people soon. He had shown a lot of promise as a very young child. He would be a worthy king. One whose people valued their king's life over their own. He saw it in his men's eyes. Halbarad' s eyes. He was a man they'd follow unto death. Aragorn had taken up all those traits that he saw in himself and hoped to see in his son.It was like reliving his own childhood. The same striking personality, the same loyal and humble nature. The affection he showed towards all others was something he had inherited from Gilraen, and that wasn't the only thing. He too, had become a ray of hope. He too had inherited the gift of the power to encourage all those around him. To encourage them to move on. In the tongue of the fair-folk, the elves, he was Estel, their hope..
Three joyous years of Arathorn's life had ticked by. He had all that a man could hope for, even the respect and love of his people, but his fortune was not to last. Dark forces had begun to return. Orc raids became more frequent and dangerous, but most of all, something that had never happened before, had happened. Arathorn was changing. He wasn't the same confident leader, who would ruthlessly, and fearlessly end the miserable lives of the orcs. A sense of dread had settled on him. Not even Gilraen knew, for he didn't want to frighten her, but he did. He knew something was about to happen, and not exactly for the better. Then one day, it happened. His father-in-law's words came to pass. An orc pack had managed to get extremely close to their settlements. Arathorn was left with no other choice. He had to fight for the lives of his people, and so he set out to kill the foul armies along with his retinue. Alas! His long predicted doom came too soon. Arathorn had ruled for but three years. Far beneath his time, for he too had the blood of Númenor in his veins, but fate decided otherwise. He had been brutally injured by an orc arrow. A cursed weapon that claimed his life. Arathorn II, had now passed into legend, leaving behind Gilraen, and Estel.
Estel...Somewhere out in the wild, there was hope...