A/N: I think getting 385 reviews on my last story spoiled me.

Tolkien's characters: still not mine.

Chapter Two: Golden Dreams

Pelilas felt as though he'd been skipping rocks all his life.

For years, he would pass the time by walking down to the bay's shore and sitting amongst sand and rock to think. When he was younger, he used to gaze out over the sea, searching the landscape for any sign of his father's ships. His father was a captain, and it was his job to transport goods up and down the Anduin. He traveled back and forth to northern Gondor, leaving with heavy crates and returning with empty ones. Pelilas used to love hearing tales of his father's adventures out at sea. He was never gone for too long, and always returned bearing gifts and exciting stories.

But shortly after Pelilas's sixteenth birthday, his father's trips north began to last longer and longer. Weeks would turn into months. When he would finally come home, he would be in a sour mood, and Pelilas knew better than to expect presents or stories. His father would stay at home for an unusually long period of time, and just when Pelilas would begin to think that he'd turned into a recluse, he would be packing for another journey. Gone was his father's enthusiastic passion for sailing. For a while, Pelilas asked him: Why aren't you traveling as often as you once did? What do you do in Northern Gondor all this time? Why are you so sad? But eventually Pelilas stopped asking questions.

This cycle endured for almost four years. During this time, Pelilas grew cold and bitter. He had heard whispers of a growing evil in the east, and he could sense the approaching shadow. He knew it was this darkness that kept his father away for so long, and then home even longer. But, try as he might, Pelilas could not put all of the pieces of the puzzle together. There was always something missing.

And so he continued to sit by the shore day after day, skipping rocks, just like when he was a little boy. Only now, Pelilas no longer looked for boats. This time, he was searching for answers.

As Pelilas palmed a smooth pebble and threw his arm back to launch it at the bay, he glanced about at his surroundings. The air, he noticed, felt strangely calm. There was an uneasy steadiness in the thick breeze, and the gentle waves of the bay were almost too quiet to bear. He heard the distant cry of birds, and suddenly felt consumed by the odd sensation that he wasn't alone.

Before Pelilas could begin to entertain the strange thoughts in his mind, he caught sight of several dark shapes against the clear blue horizon. As they drew nearer, Pelilas realized that they were actually a series of small boats heading in the direction of the Great River.

"Father!" Pelilas exclaimed aloud, his voice alive with a level of hope that he did not know he still possessed.

In efforts to get a better view, Pelilas jumped to his feet and sprinted towards a cluster of large rocks near the mouth of the river. He scrambled up to the highest rock and put his hands above his eyes to block out the strong sun. One of the boats, he slowly realized, was heading his way.

"Anborn!" Captain Faramir's voice cut through the air like a knife. "What are you doing? We do not stop until we reach Ithilien."

Anborn turned to face his captain, his brown cloak whipping in the breeze.

"I know this place," he said softly.

"As do I," Faramir replied with a chuckle. "It is the land of Ethir Anduin. Nothing but a fisherman's port. A desolate land of no importance to our plight."

"No," Anborn agreed, "but it is important to me. Please. Just for a minute."

Faramir paused, considering.

"Fine. But we cannot linger. I fear for the safety of this realm."

Pelilas's heartbeat quickened as one of the small ships veered off-course and headed for land. His palms were sweaty, and he wiped them on the thin material of his jacket. He had not seen his father in almost six months, and although his heart was heavy with coldness, somewhere deep inside his soul, he still felt like a little boy. And right now, he was a little boy elated with expectation and hope.

But as the ship approached, Pelilas realized that it was much too small to be his father's. The sails were completely the wrong color; his father's were gold and black, and these were brown and green. There were four men on the boat, and at first glance, they seemed to be identical to one another. They were all clothed in green and brown, with gauntlets, capes, and hoods. Each one had a bow and a quiver of arrows slung over his back, and they all bore the same stern expression and stormy eyes. As Pelilas took in their appearance, the corners of his memory began to fold, and he felt as though he heard whispers of a song that he could not remember the words to. He knew these men, or, perhaps, knew of them. Stories, legends, tales of old.

"The Rangers of Ithilien," Pelilas murmured under his breath, as though his voice had a will of its own.

The boat came to a halt, its pointy tip digging into the sand. One of the men jumped off, and the other three stayed behind, talking to one another. Pelilas regarded the first man closely, raking his eyes over his light brown beard and pale grey eyes.

"You," the man said, walking towards Pelilas. "I know you."

Pelilas raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He could not possibly imagine what this man was talking about.

"How?" Pelilas asked, but the man was lost in thought.

"Yes, now I remember," he said to himself softly. "The red-haired boy playing in the grass. Nemír's jewel, his hope."

"Nemír?" Pelilas repeated, suddenly all-ears. "You know my father?"

"Aye." The man smiled sadly. "My name is Anborn. I once lived in these parts, long ago."

"Anborn." Pelilas turned his name over, feeling the shape of the syllables, sensing the spark of recognition in his mind. "You lived across the stream! Faeldor and I used to play in your yard!"

"Yes," Anborn said with a chuckle. "How is young Faeldor? And his sister, Coruwen?"

"They are well," he replied. "In fact, Coruwen will be joining me soon. We are to have lunch together."

"I'm afraid I cannot stay." Anborn gestured to the other three men. "My company is on the move. We are heading up the Anduin, back to Ithilien. My captain is eager to continue our journey."

"Which one is he?" Pelilas asked, looking over Anborn's shoulder.

"Captain Faramir? He is the tall man on the end…the one who is glaring at me with those angry eyes. The other two are called Mablung and Damrod. We are--"

"Rangers of Ithilien," Pelilas finished for him. "I have heard of you before, but I never thought I would actually meet one. Before you leave, dear friend, can you tell me something?"

"If I am able to, I shall."

"I know something terrible is happening. I can feel it. Why are you heading to Ithilien in such a hurry? What is happening to Gondor?"

Anborn sighed, looking back at Faramir momentarily before turning his eyes to the eager Pelilas.

"I dare not speak of such matters too loudly," he said in a hushed voice. "There is evil all around us, and I feel as though the very air we breathe has ears with which to listen, and mouths with which to breathe secrets. You are right, young Pelilas, to assume thoughts of darkness. But worry not. The Rangers of Ithilien will meet our enemies head-on. Peace shall be restored."

"Anborn!" Faramir called. "Come. It is time."

"Fare thee well," Anborn said, taking a few steps towards his boat. "Tell your father that you saw me. Tell him I say hello."

"My father," Pelilas said, raising cold eyes to him, "is not here. He left for northern Gondor almost six months ago, and has not yet returned."

Anborn's grey eyes flickered with worry, which he tried to mask with a friendly smile.

"I am sure he will come home soon," he said, his voice hopeful.

"You know he will not," Pelilas replied, raising his voice. "You know something. Why hasn't my father come back? What could have happened to him?"

"Goodbye, Pelilas," Anborn said. His words were cold but his eyes sorrowful. It was obvious that he longed to stay and talk for hours, but it was as though he were being pulled towards his captain by some unknown force.

Pelilas watched him leave, feeling anger and frustration course through his veins. He paused before getting on the boat, and turned back. Anborn met his eyes briefly, and Pelilas had the fleeting thought of running after him and leaping on his boat. He could join the Rangers of Ithilien, beg Anborn and Faramir to teach him the ways of the bow. He could find his father.

Pelilas was about to break out into a run when he heard a lilting female voice call his name. He turned, seeing Coruwen running down the hill. She waved to him, her long hair flowing in the breeze like a flag. He waved back quickly before looking back to the shore. Disappointment and regret flooded his heart; the boat was leaving. He felt himself crashing back to reality, flying through the large amount of space between foolish dreams and dark truth. Pelilas laughed to himself. Who was he fooling? He was no fighter. He wouldn't last a minute.

Pelilas turned back towards the hill, ready to greet Coruwen when she approached. He would not let himself be overcome by anything as silly as hope. It was simply a waste of time.

"What were you and the boy discussing?" Faramir asked Anborn, once they had begun sailing once more.

Anborn was quiet for a moment before answering.

"The past," he said softly. "The way things were."

"Ah." Faramir tipped his head towards the sun and clapped a hand on his friends back. "Do not trouble yourself with such thoughts, Anborn. It will only lead to sadness. Those dreams are always golden. And they cannot be reclaimed."

Faramir gave another glance to Anborn before retreating to the back of the boat.

"Keep watch," he instructed. "There are wicked men who roam these shores."

A/N: Hell yeah there are. And hopefully we'll meet some in the next chapter or two.