Year Two of the Fourth Era, Minas Tirith

Kalan stood with Gerithor, Gilian, and King Elessar at the gates of Minas Tirith, watching the sun rise slowly in the east with a wistful stare. 

"Well, the gates should be better now than they ever were," Kalan said with a halfhearted laugh, nodding to the newly reforged gates. "Lord Gimli should be by soon to work on the roads. A messenger came by last night." 

Elessar gave the dwarf a kind smile. "And what's next for Lord Kalan of Erebor?" 

"Ach, King Thorin needs me back at Erebor for some maintenance," he shrugged, tugging at his beard. "I set the lads to work when I was there last but there's been some hiccups! I have to do everything maself, it would seem!"

"Can't seem to get reliable help these days," Elessar replied with a wry wink. "If you run out of things to do up there, I'm sure Gimli will need all the help he can get here. He has grand plans for the city!" 

Kalan laughed. "Of course he does! He's always been a bit of an eccentric lad!" 

"Are you planning on stopping in Eryn Lasgalen on your way?" Gerithor asked. Mirkwood had been renamed now that it had been freed of the evil sorceress Zaskia's dark magic. The entire forest, it would seem, was healing. 

"Perhaps! I'm sure that old rascal Edhael would like a visit!" Kalan smirked. "I'm sure the minstrel's been locked up in his room ever since the coronation, trying to write that song he kept promising us!" 

They all laughed at the dwarf's words, and he couldn't help but picture the anomalous elf doing just that. Truth be told, he missed him. The two had become good friends after all they had been through, and things hadn't seemed quite the same since Edhael had returned to Eryn Lasgalen several months ago. 

"What about you two?" Kalan asked, giving Gerithor a devious wink. "Gonna settle down and half lots of fiery-haired babies?" 

Gilian blushed, and Gerithor laughed, pulling her closer and kissing her on the forehead. "Maybe some day. But the North is a broken land. It'll take quite a bit to restore it to its former glory." 

Elessar nodded seriously. "There are still orcs in the mountains, and the Breelands have issues of their own. But I think Gerithor's well cut out for being the Warden of Arnor. Nobody else knows the land like he does." 

Kalan grunted in approval. "Aye, you picked well! Gerithor's the best there is!" 

Gerithor smiled faintly. "You're welcome to visit any time, Kalan. Hopefully the roads will be safer than when we first met by then." 

Kalan smirked as he recalled that day over twenty years earlier. He had been waylaid on the road by orcs, and the then-young Gerithor and his companions had saved him. He hadn't known it then, but his life had changed completely after that day. 

"Eh, I'm an assassin, remember? I can take care of maself!" 

Gerithor chuckled. "As I recall, I didn't believe you then, either." 

Kalan scratched his head. "Can't blame me for tryin', though." 

There was a long silence that followed, as all of them knew what was to inevitably follow. They had spent the past year together, and all of them had grown even closer to each other in that time. Gerithor had helped Aragorn adjust to his new duties, from serving as an advisor to being a diplomat to other kingdoms on his cousin's behalf. Gilian had trained a new generation of rangers, who had all subsequently been sent to Ithilien under the command of Faramir, the new Prince of that land. Kalan had, of course, set about repairing Minas Tirith itself, and had coordinated with the other dwarven kingdoms to send a steady stream of stone and mithril to the city to repair the walls and construct the new gates. 

But now, that time had come to an end. 

Gerithor was the first to speak, clearing his throat to keep his voice from cracking with emotion. "We should depart if we want to reach the border by nightfall." 

Elessar nodded, biting his lip to keep his own emotions in check. "Indeed. There isn't a single decent tavern until there, so I assure you that you don't want to have to stop at one of the ones in between." 

Gilian forced a laugh. "That'd be a shame." 

Kalan coughed to get everyone's attention. "Let's stop these shenanigans and say goodbye already. I'm not one ta drew these things out, ya know." 

Gerithor nodded and embraced his cousin. "Farewell, my king. I shall bring honor to your name in the North." 

"I have complete faith in you, Gerithor," Elessar replied, returning the embrace. "Write as soon as you arrive in Fornost."  

"Yes, mother," Gerithor joked, taking a step back. Elessar embraced Gilian as well and shook Kalan's hand. 

"I had better return to my duties. I'm sure Arwen isn't pleased that I left her to deal with the affairs of the court by herself," he said with a smile, giving them all a final wave. "May Eru watch over you all." 

"And you," Gerithor replied, watching as Aragorn disappeared into the city. 

"Well, that just leaves us," Kalan said, his voice unusually deep. 

"Are you... Are you about to cry?" Gerithor asked, raising an eyebrow at the dwarf. 

"No, of course not!" Kalan replied gruffly. "Just got something stuck in my throat, is all." 

Gerithor rested a hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "We'll see each other again, I know it." 

"We better," Kalan growled, brushing his nose as he sniffed. "I'll have ta kill ya if we don't!" 

Gerithor smiled in response, a poor attempt to hide the tears that were welling up in his eyes. "Then come visit. Soon." 

Gilian nodded in agreement. "There'll always be a place at our table for you." 

"There better be! I'm gonna miss your beef stew more than I'm gonna miss both of you!" He snorted, shouldering his backpack with a brave look of determination. "Enough of this! We saved Middle Earth! We shouldn't be standin' here like a bunch o' teary-eyed elves!" 

Gerithor laughed. "Then what're you waiting for? Go!" 

Kalan nodded and slowly turned away. "Oh," he stopped, looking over his shoulder. "If ya ever visit Erebor, look up Lord Kalan." 

Before they had a chance to reply, he turned and hurried off down the road, leaving Gilian and Gerithor alone. 

"Lord Kalan sounds fitting," Gerithor said. 

"After all he's been through, he deserves at least that," Gilian agreed. She too shouldered her pack, casting one last look at Minas Tirith before returning her gaze to Gerithor. "Let's go home."

=======================

6 F.A., Outside Fornost

It was spring in Fornost, and bright yellow dandelions covered the verdant hills surrounding the city. Corn had just begun to spring up where new farm fields had been sown, shooting up towards the azure sky. Whitewashed ruins still dotted the landscape, the last reminders of the war that had once raged there. A small stream babbled alongside the main road, its crystal clear water fresh from its origins in the mountains that stood tall far in the distance. 

A young girl ran beside the brook, chasing an orange-winged butterfly as it fluttered lazily through the air. Her bare feet padded on the stony ground, her flowing bright red hair bouncing up and down as she ran. She leapt up in an attempt to capture it, letting out an exclamation of disappointment as it flew free. She glanced around furtively, making sure that nobody was watching. 

When she was certain the coast was clear, she jumped into the stream, giggling as she splashed her feet in the cold water. Her dress was soon soaked, but she didn't seem to mind. She knelt down closer to the water, watching a tiny minnow as it struggled against the current. 

"Nimloth!" A woman's voice called out. "Nim! Where'd you go?" 

The girl giggled and stood, running in the opposite direction of the voice. She soon found herself in a wooded glade, surrounded by tall, thick conifer trees. The wind whispered in their needles, and she closed her eyes as she felt nature all around her. 

When she opened them, she stumbled backward in surprise. In front of her was a tall figure, dressed in a white tunic and dark grey breeches. She brushed a strand of auburn hair matching Nimloth's from her face as she knelt down in front of the girl. 

"You know better than to stray this far from home, Nim," she said with a laugh, sweeping the little girl up into her arms. Nim laughed with her, wrapping her stubby arms around the woman's neck. 

"Easy there," Gilian said, loosing the little girls grip slightly. "What were you doing out here?" 

Nim gave Gilian a knowing look, as if she were hiding a huge secret, but didn't say a word. 

"Your father wouldn't be happy to know you were out here," Gilian whispered. "Let's keep this between us, shall we?" 

Nimloth nodded, a wide smile spreading across her face. Gilian lifted the little girl up onto her shoulders and turned back toward home. 

The sun had nearly set by the time they turned onto the lane leading to the little farm they called home. Nimloth started laughing again and pointing to Gerithor as soon as she saw him. He was dressed in a simple white shirt and grey breeches, both of which were dirty and sweat-stained. His auburn hair was gathered up into a loose ponytail, but some of it had managed to get free and strayed into his eyes. He looked as if he had been hard at work all day, but when he saw the Gilian and Nimloth his eyes lit up with joy. He ran to them, wrapping them both up into an embrace. 

Gilian kissed him, pulling away after a moment. "You look tired. Long day?" 

Gerithor took Nim from her and gave her a grin. "Long-ish. 

Who knew farming could be so difficult? It's almost harder than fighting."

Gilian raised an eyebrow. "It surely can't be that bad."

"I didn't say bad, I said hard," he amended. "I enjoy it, as surprising as that sounds." 

"It is a surprise. But it's a pleasant one," Gilian replied with a gentle smile. "Did I miss anything while I was out hunting?" 

 Gerithor produced a letter that was already stained with dirty fingerprints. "Alif stopped by and brought a letter from the King." 

"That's the first one in nearly a year," Gilian said, her forehead creasing. "What'd it say?" 

"Things are peaceful in the south," Gerithor replied as he unfolded the note and skimmed over it. "Most of it is small talk about the goings-on in Gondor. Another district has been rebuilt in Osgiliath, Kalan visited... His halfling friend Peregrin was married, apparently." He mumbled a few other details, then set his finger at the bottom of the paper. "He's planning a visit to Fornost within the year! That's splendid!" 

"Perhaps he'll arrive in time to meet Caranduilas," Gilian said softly, resting her hand on her stomach, which was already growing quickly with the signs of pregnancy. 

"I still think we're going to be calling him Caranor," Gerithor retorted in a teasing tone. 

"You said Nimloth was going to be Eradan, and you were wrong that time too," she said with a triumphant smirk. 

"Well I can't be wrong twice in a row! I can see into the future, y'know," he said with a wink. 

"You mean you could," Gilian replied, becoming a little more serious. 

"Thank Eru I can't now," Gerithor said, relief in his voice. "It was more of a curse than a blessing." 

"Speaking of," Gilian began, her tone cautious. "Do you think either of our children will inherit that?" 

"We can only hope they do not," Gerithor replied, the smile fading from his face. "I wouldn't wish that upon them." 

Gilian smiled at Nimloth, who had fallen asleep on her father's shoulder. "We should go inside, it's getting dark." 

Gerithor glanced at the sun, which had now fallen below the trees. The land was now cloaked in shadow, and the songs of crickets filled the evening air. Fireflies blinked lazily in and out of the corn fields, like magical yellow orbs floating over the land. The moon had already taken its place in the sky above, casting a pale light onto the earth below.

 After observing the beauty around him, Gerithor adjusted Nimloth in his arms and took Gilian's hand in his. "Aye. Roast chicken's on the hearth, too. Wouldn't want it to burn." 

Gilian rested her head on his shoulder as they turned to walk back. "If it doesn't it'll be a first for you," she said mirthfully. 

"You know my roast chicken's good," he countered, pushing her playfully. 

"I suppose... If you like eating charcoal," she laughed, pushing him back. 

As they headed back to the house, Nimloth woke and blinked the sleep from her eyes. A firefly lit up just behind Gerithor, and she reached at it with a pudgy hand. This time, she was successful. The insect illuminated her hand, and she gazed at it in wonder. 

Gilian noticed and leaned closer to her daughter. "If you make a wish and let it go, the wish will come true." 

Nimloth grinned and whispered into her cupped hands. After a moment, she opened them, letting the firefly free. It meandered off into the night, and the little girl watched until it had disappeared. 

By then they had arrived at the house, and the welcoming light of the fire glowed from the windows as they approached. Gerithor set Nimloth down and she ran inside, her bare feet padding on the sturdy oak floorboards. 

"I'll be in in just a moment," Gerithor whispered to Gilian, giving her a quick kiss as she followed Nimloth inside. He looked back out at the moonlit hills, a slight feeling of longing washing over him. He remembered his days as a simple ranger, when his sole purpose had been guarding these lands against the darkness. It had been years since he had explored the hidden dells and glades of Eriador. And, though he was happier now than he had ever been in his life, he missed it. The camaraderie between he and the other rangers, the adventures with his friends... They brought feelings that he would probably never feel again. But he had a new life now. One that, aside from leading a raid into the mountains to hunt out the last remaining orcs from time to time, was easy and safe. He was a farmer more than the Warden of Arnor now. 

He took a moment to think about his old friends, and where they were now. Kalan was still busy leading repair efforts in the Lonely Mountain, and he hadn't heard from Edhael since the war had ended. Rukil was King of Rhun, and from what he had heard the young warrior was naturally suited for the task. An unparalleled time of friendship and trade had brought his empire and Gondor closer than ever before, their former conflicts all but gone. He and the Dale-woman Astrid now had an heir as well, a boy named Caldorn-Kilic, in honor of their friend Caledorn. 

He hadn't heard from Glorfindel or Haldir, but they were likely involved with escorting elves to the Grey Havens. They were going there in increasing numbers as the years passed, and Fornost had become a common resting place for them on their journey. 

Every time he saw them, Gerithor felt unexplainably sad. It, combined with everything else that had taken place after the War, made the world seem like a smaller place. One where there were no magical things, or things of such beauty as the elves. 

He remembered that he and Caledorn had once talked about this very thing. It had been over twenty years earlier, when they had first set out together to defeat the Black Numenorean Arnakhor. But even though the passage of time had made many things fade, Gerithor's memory of his friend's words was as sharp as the day he had said them. 

"Even once the darkness is banished for good," the stoic elf had said. "That beauty must still be defended. The world must not let it fade away. That will be our fight in the years to follow. We will always have something to fight for."  

He was heartened somewhat at the words, for he knew in his heart that his friend was right. There would always be a cause. 

As he turned to enter his home, he took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Perhaps it was good that his days of adventuring were behind him. His adventures had, after all, been far from pleasant, and his life now was better than he had ever hoped it would be. And he still had a reason to fight, should the time ever arise. That reason was just inside the door. 

He looked over his shoulder one last time at the rolling hills and emerald forests beyond, before stepping inside to be greeted by the joyful laugh of his daughter and closing the door behind him.