Gerithor opened his eyes slowly. It was bright, and his head immediately exploded with a sharp pain. He closed his eyes again for a moment, trying to get rid of the throbbing pain. When it finally passed, he opened them again and surveyed his surroundings. He was lying on the ground by his family's house, alone. Nobody was nearby, but he caught the smell of smoke that was thick in the air. That's when the memories flooded into his mind. His mother... Tears began running down his face as he remembered. Where was she??? He looked around. There were no bodies anywhere nearby, but several dark red rivers of what could only be blood ran down either side of the dirt road. He collapsed back to the ground, confused and in pain. Then he heard what sounded like a baby's cry coming from the house. Alif, he thought with a start as he began to regain his senses. 

He tried to stand. The pain was nearly disabling, and he once more collapsed back to the ground. He forced himself to stand again. The pain was terrible, but he made himself hobble toward the house despite it. He slowly made his way to the burnt doorway, leaning against the wall for support. After listening for a moment longer he steeled himself for what he might see inside and cautiously stepped in. Laying in his cradle was little Alif, all alone. He was crying loudly, but other than that he seemed unharmed. Gerithor got down on his knees next to the cradle and gently picked the baby up. Alif recognized Gerithor immediately and stopped crying. He soon closed his eyes and fell asleep. Gerithor cradled the baby in his arms and began crying uncontrollably. Is my whole family dead? He thought as he wept. At least little Alif here isn't. This thought gave him some small comfort, but he kept crying softly. 

It was nearly dusk by the time Gerithor had recovered enough to move. He decided it wasn't safe to stay here, but he must attend to his wounds before he could travel. He painfully limped over to the damaged mirror and looked at himself. His head was covered in dry blood, and a gash ran down the side of it. He winced as he pulled up the sleeve of his shirt to examine his arm. It was still bleeding, so he found some wrappings and wound them around it. He cleaned the blood out of his hair and off his head at the washbasin, which surprisingly still held some water, and applied a salve he found in the cupboard to the gash. The pain immediately lessened, though it didn't go away completely. 

   He picked up baby Alif again, who was still sleeping soundly. Despite being overwhelmed by all that had occurred, the young ranger thought about what his next move should be. Should I make for Annuminas? No, they may have been attacked there as well. Bree? Too risky, enemies could be there. He contemplated further. Was nowhere safe? That's when a thought came into his head. Rivendell. He knew the elves would help him, and Alif would be safe there. It was a long journey, especially with a baby, but he had no other choice. He began gathering supplies for the trip. How much food does a baby eat? He thought to himself as he scoured the storage room. He grabbed a whole loaf of waybread and enough cured meat to last two full grown Rangers for a week. He put it all in a backpack, then decided he might as well put Alif in the backpack too. To his surprise, there was just enough room for Alif. He made sure that the infant was secure in the backpack then closed the flap, framing it around Alif's little face so that the baby could breathe and see out the back of it. Gerithor put the backpack on his back with a slight wince as pain shot through his arm once more, and grabbed his bow. Then he slowly walked outside, took a deep breath, and silently moved westward, toward Rivendell and away from all that he had ever known.

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

   Eldahir had fought the enemy in Esteldin until all was hopeless, and then had fled into the forest with a few surviving Rangers. They had found a badly wounded Gerimond as they escaped, and carried him into the woods with them. 

   It was now daytime, and the older Rangers tended to Gerimond's wounds while Eldahir kept watch for the enemy. His thoughts wandered, and he began to wonder what had become of Gerithor. He hoped he was alive, but deep down in his heart he knew it wasn't likely. He brushed a lock of blond hair from his face and looked toward the other Rangers. Eldahir's father had survived, as had two brothers named Haldin and Halfor. Eldahir's father, Estelon, tended to Gerimond while Haldin and Halfor assisted where they could. 

   Eldahir thought for a moment, and realized how lucky he was that his father had survived. Eldahir was an only child, and his mother had died giving birth to him. He and his father lived alone and were very close. On the other hand, Gerimond had lost his wife, both of his children, and his grandson, Eldahir thought. He was filled with pity and sadness for the older man.

   Just then Haldin walked over to Eldahir. He looked at him and stood there in silence for a moment, then spoke.

   "Eldahir, I have a task for you," he said. Haldin was a much older ranger and was held in high esteem by all of the rest of the Dunedain. He ran a hand through his long white hair before continuing.

   "Rivendell must know of the attack. We need to send someone. As you can see the rest of us must focus on healing Gerimond. Will you go?" He looked at Eldahir intently.

   "Yes, I can go," Eldahir said. As much as he wanted to stay with his father, he knew that this was an important task. Plus, he had never been to Rivendell, and the thought of a new adventure filled him with excitement.

   He picked up what little gear he had been able to salvage (he had the knapsack he had brought with him on the skirmish, his weapons, and a medicine pouch he had grabbed from his burning house as they had retreated), and walked over to his father. He embraced him and set off into the forest, not looking back, only forward. He didn't know what lay before him, but if he did he probably would have turned back.

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

The sun had long ago set in the west and Gerithor was getting tired. His head was pounding and his arm hung limply from his side. This couldn't get much worse, he thought to himself. Just then, as if on cue, Alif began to cry. Gerithor put a hand to his head, in even worse pain now from the crying, and took the backpack off. He pulled Alif out and gave the baby a reassuring smile, which caused him to stop crying. Then the young ranger began bouncing him up and down, which was a mistake because Alif began giggling loudly. At that exact moment a bloodcurdling howl pierced the forest.

   Gerithor's heart rose into his throat as he dropped to the ground and looked seriously at the giggling baby.

   "I really need to you do me a favor and not make a sound. Do you understand?" He whispered and tried to keep the fear from his face, putting a finger to his lips and winking. Alif seemed to understand and went silent. Gerithor grabbed his bow and went to reach for an arrow with his other arm. Searing pain coursed through it and he gasped. He wasn't able to move his left arm at all. He realized in fear that he wouldn't be able to defend himself or Alif very well in this condition, nor would he be able to fire a bow.

He picked Alif up with his good arm and ran forward, keeping low to the ground to avoid being seen. As he searched for a place to conceal himself, his eyes landed upon a depression over which a tree had fallen. It had fallen recently, for leaves still clung to its many branches. He decided to hide there, and slid down under the log just in time.

A huge warg suddenly appeared through the trees. It slowly stalked toward the log, sniffing the air. Gerithor hoped Alif wouldn't make any noise... If he did, they were doomed. He looked at the baby again, giving him a stern look. The baby immediately smiled knowingly and stayed silent.

   Alif knew this game. He and Gerithor had played it often, where Gerithor would tickle him and make "scary" faces if he didn't stay quiet. Gerithor used this to keep him quiet if the rest of the family was sleeping.

The warg came closer. It growled menacingly, stopping when it came within a few feet and looking back and forth with its glowing yellow eyes. It sniffed some more, then climbed on top of the log. It was right above them now, and a drop of the beast's saliva fell onto Gerithor's face. He tried not to recoil in disgust. The warg lowered its head, and was now close enough for Gerithor to feel its hot breath on his face. It smelled like rotten eggs. He tried to stay perfectly still, resisting the urge to scrunch his nose in disgust. Alif was looking at the beast in horror, about to cry. Gerithor thought quickly, and slowly reached for his dagger. He was shaking with fear, but he knew he had to do something. Suddenly, Alif began crying. The warg's large head snapped downward, evil yellow eyes landing on Alif.

Gerithor stabbed upward with all his might. The warg recoiled back as the dagger lodged into its neck. It fell backward and died without a sound. Gerithor quickly sat up and cradled Alif until he calmed down again, steadying his own breathing to stop his shaking.

   He looked around and decided as long as this was a lone warg and not a scout, this would be a good place to make camp. Even if it wasn't the best place, he was in too much pain to continue on.

   He set Alif gently down on the log and pulled out some food. He decided against building a campfire, it would only draw attention to them. With a sigh, he sat down and began gnawing distractedly on a piece of waybread. He had been too busy keeping Alif safe and looking for the trail to think much about his family until now. A tear rolled down his cheek as he thought about his mother. There was no chance she was alive... He had seen what happened.

   His thoughts turned to his father and realized that there was little chance he was alive either. Why did I have to be the one to survive? He thought bitterly, tears stinging his eyes. He wished he was dead. Then he remembered Alif. The baby lay on the log, sleeping peacefully. I still have something to live for. I have to protect him. He went over and picked him up. He rocked the baby in his arms until he began to drift off into a fitful, nightmare filled sleep...

Note: To those of you who didn't notice, I edited Chapter 3 and explained that baby Alif's father was a Bree-man, not a Ranger. This is for the sake of continuity, as well as it makes more sense. Also, please leave feedback! I'd love to know your opinions on the characters and the storyline so far!