Explanation and Disclaimer: I own neither Lord of the Rings or the Dúnedain. I did, however, create the characters Paerin and Paedern. This story was originally told through Paelin – the female version of Paerin. But, seeing the need for more traditional OCs… enter Paerin. Chapter 2 is the same tale in its original incarnation.

"Look carefully," Paedern said, squinting at the party below. "Find your mark."
Paerin narrowed his eyes, the gray searching next to his uncle's blue. They swept over the camp with a calculated ease.
"Towards the caravan," his Master urged, hurrying his student along. His face marked recognition as he matched the man's stout build and rich dress to the intermittent prints they had followed for two days. The tracks had been perfectly clear: shaped boots with a pointed toe, and often replaced by wagon wheels. The good fellow did not care to walk more than was necessary to stretch his legs. He commanded a small legion of foot soldiers, all of whom looked exceptionally bored. From the insignia upon their shoulders, the boy could identify them as elite members of the fighting force. "A veritable army," the Ranger mused.
"I see him," Paerin said, ensuring that he had noticed.
"From what distance?" the Master prompted.
"One hundred strides along and four-and-twenty down," he replied without hesitation.
"Good." Paedern settled lower into the long grasses that waved across their bluff. Paerin followed his lead, being sure to keep his vision clear and head hidden. They had dragged a thin mound of heather to disguise their dark shapes upon the ledge. Paedern seemed to be counting beneath his breath. His apprentice made no inquiry. "Kill him," the man ordered.

"What?" Paerin shrieked, leaping to his feet and abandoning their cover. A small flurry of arrows immediately sped towards them, though most would bury themselves in the sloping cliff face. Paedern tackled him to the ground, grunting as one sliced through his upper arm. He pinned his protégé as the arrows flew briefly above their heads, then yanked him to his feet as they barreled into the shelter they had earlier prepared.
A small cave lowered into a vertical crack in the escarpment was to serve them should something like this happen. They had thoughtfully piled bracken before the entrance when they first readied it: a Ranger could always stay hidden.
Shouts were heard from below as soldiers raced up the narrow path to the overlook. Paedern shoved his apprentice roughly into the hole, clamping a calloused hand across his nephew's mouth. Paerin struggled for a minute, clawing at his grip to better breathe. He shook him angrily, but relaxed and held a finger to his lips. Paerin fell completely silent, looking towards his uncle as the footsteps grew closer. Paedern watched intently as the short sight of uniform legs passed above their hiding place. Paerin did too, but shrunk against the earthy rock walls of the burrow. His uncle glared as a small cascade of dirt spilled against him. He instantly held his palm to the spot where it poured from, muffling its fall.

"Stupid!" he later cursed. The party had moved onwards, and they camped briefly by a willowed stream. Paerin trembled slightly as he handled the arrow wound, but kept his hands as steady as he could. Gripping the shaft tightly, he fingered the wood experimentally, checking for splinters and the grain. Dark blood stained his Master's sleeve and crusted about the two holes. A small fire crackled nearby, sticks tipped with wet and wrapped cloth heating just above it. They carried only minimal supplies, and that was the closest thing to boiling water he could muster. Taking the sharpest knife they had, he cut away the arrowhead, following the same procedure he had watched countless times, but never before attempted.
"Any other man would beat you," grimaced his charge. Paerin said nothing, but whittled the new edge smooth. He chewed his lip in concentration as he readied an angle. Paedern rotated his arm with grudging obeisance.

Eventually the arrow was out.
"Oh, well done, Paerin. Well done," fumed the man, cracking a stick furiously and tossing it into the fire. Paerin crouched slightly, but held his ground. Paedern had adamantly refused a sling, but held his arm limply in his lap. He knew he could use his hand, so hhe did not worry overmuch. "And now I cannot even finish it off."
An uncomfortable silence fell across their camp. It was surprising that this small valley remained uninhabited, for the soil seemed rich, and there was plenty of water for this time of year.
"What has he done?"
"That is none of your concern," Paedern snapped.
Again the stillness prevailed, interrupted only with the night calls of owls and a rough crumble as each pretended to gnaw upon the hardened bread they had brought.
"I will kill him," Paerin promised quietly.
"Damn right you will." But Paedern softened a little, this time taking a real bite from his meal.

It took hours to catch up with the caravan, but as they had soldiers on foot, Paerin overtook them before dawn. Following Paedern's instructions, he scaled a pine tree on the skirts of their camp and waited.
The wait was chilling. A breeze swirled through the thick branches, and he doubtfully hoped that the fronds would be enough to disguise his body come morning. It was hard to judge such cover in the darkness. He pinched himself regularly, willing his body to remain alert. All metal on his person was hidden or stripped, left with Paedern in their far-off shelter.
Morning dawned inevitably, and he shot the man the instant he exited his chamber, then waited for the confusion to subside.

Climbing down against the backs of the retreating party, he felt implacably empty. Now he knew how pride was.