Geoffrey was away in the north. Two years had now passed since his incident with the thieves in Bree. His company was spread across the land, some of his men in the south, some in the west and some in the east. But Geoffrey kept his watch on the north with his men. Among them were Ken Joyberry and Harper Hollygold. They took rest in the village of Trestlebridge, in the tavern there. It was a rare night where comfortable beds awaited them all, and not sleeping rolls spread out across uneven grass.
Geoffrey’s men at around a table at the tavern, and all drank quite heavily. All apart from Geoffrey, whose mind was troubled. In Trestlebridge is where his father was slain, and whenever he came here it was all he could think of. No manner of wine could appease his thoughts. So he departed from the tavern, without his men noticing. It was a fine night, and the spring air gave him some comfort. Northwards he strolled, until he came to the Trestlepan Bridge. Across it he walked, the structure creaking slightly as he did. Eventually he reached the other side and descended down the slope. Here it happened: the fall of his father. It was also here that he took his instant vengeance on Lankra by casting him over the edge of the gorge to his doom. Geoffrey stood silently for a while, deep in thought. The gentle breeze blew through his hair.
In the distance, towards the north, something was roused. Geoffrey could hear cries. No cries of man or woman, but that of a pained creature. The noise died down. And then was heard again. A trick of the wind, perhaps? No. Geoffrey could now see movement, coming closer. Squinting his eyes, he attempted to make out what it was, to no avail. Now he reached for his sheathed blade, but was reaching at nothing. He had left his sword at the tavern. Next to the bridge there was a guard shelter, with a snoozing guard inside of it. Typical Trestlebridge, Geoffrey thought. And then all he felt was a pain in his shoulder, then nothing.
He awoke lying on his back. Around him were dark hooded figures. As he roused, he made an attempt to sit up. His arm was numb.
‘Easy now. Do not move too quickly.’ A fair voice said to him. Geoffrey turned to find another hooded man sitting beside him. He was dressed in a green-grey cloak that was clasped with a pointed star. He was pale, with defined facial features and grey eyes. Youthful looking he was, but his eyes told stories of decades long past. All of the men surrounding him were much taller than Geoffrey, but were also as sturdy looking as any dwarf.
‘Who are you?’ a confused Geoffrey asked. ‘Where am I?’
‘Many questions at once, my friend!’ the hooded man replied with a laugh in his voice. ‘I am Thenimbor. You are in our camp right now, recovering from a rather nasty wound.’
Geoffrey now saw that his arm was bandaged up. It did not hurt at all, for a ‘nasty wound’. ‘What happened?’
‘My company was tracking a band of Orcs south of the Greenway. They seemed quite set on Trestlebridge and we barely stopped them in time. One got away from our offensive, and he was the one who shot you and the guard on the bridge, who was not as lucky as you.’ Thenimbor answered plainly.
‘You are Rangers.’ Geoffrey stated with a degree of certainty.
‘Yes, we are the Dúnedain, but are also called Rangers by your folk. We do not yet know your name.’
‘Geoffrey Redstem, son of Royston.’ Geoffrey stated.
‘Ah!’ Thenimbor cried. ‘We know of you now! A captain in the land of Bree, defender of the good. We are quite glad to have healed you.’
The other Rangers now began to pack the camp away. Geoffrey counted six of them, but guessed that more may be scouting. He rarely rode into the North Downs, but assumed that he was a fair distance from Trestlebridge. Thenimbor helped him to his feet and placed is arm into a sling.
‘Will you ride with us, Geoffrey Redstem, to Esteldín? Your name is known to some there who too keep a watch over your lands. A welcomed guest you will be.’ he asked.
‘Esteldín? Where and what is that?’ Geoffrey replied.
‘It is our chief stronghold in these lands, a place unknown to the Enemy.’
Geoffrey agreed, and was aided up onto a tall horse by Thenimbor and another Ranger. This was a finely bred steed, far more so than those found in Bree-land. And they rode for long now, through the day and through the night with only short breaks for the horses. Rangers were swift riders and did not care much for stopping on the road for too long. They were riding east, and that was all Geoffrey knew. He knew not how far Esteldín was, and dared not to ask the Rangers. They seemed like the type of people who are not to be offended. And so Geoffrey remained quiet.
Eventually they reached the mountains of Kingsfell. Geoffrey was told that Esteldín was hidden within. Eventually they came to a rift in the mountains. Ruined walls were built around this opening, which did not appear like much to Geoffrey’s eyes. They were the same sort of ruin that could be found scattered around the Bree-land.
Thenimbor halted his company just before they entered the rift.
‘Here enters Thenimbor and his riders, returning from a successful assault against the Orc band on the Greenway! With us rides Geoffrey Redstem of Bree-land, a friend of the Dúnedain!’ he yelled up at the ruins.
Then his company rode through the entrance, where a series of walls were passed with slits built into them. If any unwelcomed presence was to find the entrance of this place, they would have arrows fired at them from all directions. As this did not happen now, Geoffrey assumed that his presence was a welcomed one. At last they came to the end of the long passage. They came into a courtyard with the ruins build around the mounded edges. Geoffrey felt secure in this place, as though no evil came here. Tents were set up around the place and other hooded men conversed together. Others practiced their swordplay against dummies, or one another. Arrows flied around the court as archers practised their marksmanship.
‘Welcome, Geoffrey, to Esteldín – the Hidden Hope.’ Thenimbor announced. They rode through another passage to another, larger court where more tents and practising men could be found. The mounds that were built up around the stronghold were covered with great ruins, and Geoffrey spotted Rangers upon them keeping a watch on the landscape. In this courtyard there were also ruins found upon the ground, where the command of the Rangers convened and planned their duties. It was an ancient place. Geoffrey knew not exactly how ancient, but it was years beyond reckoning.
But it was not a home. The Rangers slept in tents, and no permanent shelter could be found (other than the ruins). It was not a place of comfort, but of security. The Rangers were known in Bree-land, but were mainly shunned by the folk there as many thought of them as dangerous, spending most of their time wandering the wild. Even Geoffrey mistrusted them, until now. Thenimbor and his company stabled their horses and made their way to a group of tents.
‘Rest here a while, Geoffrey Redstem.’ Bade Thenimbor. ‘I must give a report of our assault on the Orcs.’ Then he was away.
Geoffrey sat on a bedroll for a while, observing the goings-on around the stronghold of Esteldín. Training continued all throughout the day – the Rangers did not seem to cease in their practice. How he wished to have a couple of these men riding among his company back in Bree-land. For certain, his men were not legendary for their stealth or skill with a bow. Whilst these Rangers garbed themselves in dull and ragged gear, they all appeared lordly in the eyes of Geoffrey. They seemed quite different to the folk he was used to dealing with – quite different to himself as well. At last Thenimbor returned, with his long sword drawn out. He approached Geoffrey at speed, causing the Bree-lander to shift back slightly in fear. But the Ranger knelt down to him. For certain he was troubled.
‘Another Orc pack has been spotted in Kingsfell. They are drawing far too close to Esteldín. Will you join our assault, Geoffrey Redstem?’ he asked.
Geoffrey agreed, although his arm was still numb. Thenimbor handed him the blade. It felt heavy in his numbed arm. Back onto the same horse that bore him here he mounted, and rode in the middle of a company of ten Rangers on horseback. They departed from the west, down the passage that Geoffrey had rode through when entering the stronghold. For a while they rode in close formation, until they began to pick up speed. The Rangers had caught sight of their foe. Geoffrey struggled to see, his eyes not being as keen as theirs. All he could spot was a small flame in the distance.
‘Ready on your bows!’ Thenimbor commanded. Three Rangers prepared their fine bows whilst continuing the ride at a great speed. ‘Release!’
Arrows went flying from the company into the crowd of Orcs that were now clearer to Geoffrey. Terrible cries and roars could be heard. He counted around twenty of them on foot, armed with axes and crude swords. He rarely fought Orcs, as few came into the Bree-land at this time, other than the odd pack. Now Geoffrey truly appreciated the work of these Rangers, who prevented these deadly foes from reaching his homeland. The riders now veered to the left, and began to encircle the routed pack of Orcs.
‘Blades at the ready!’ Thenimbor cried as he raised his own. Now the company began to slice into the Orcs who stood little chance against these mounted professional warriors. Their circle drew closer and closer inwards and as it did, more Orcs fell. Geoffrey, with what little strength he had in his arm, cut the throat of at least three of the Orcs. By the time the company had completed their circle, no Orcs lived. Geoffrey thought what an easy victory it seemed. No Rangers were injured and the battle was over swiftly. But it was all planned to near perfection.
The riders all dismounted and dragged the foul-smelling corpses into a pile. Thenimbor was handed a torch by one of his men which he applied to the mound of carcasses. The Orcs now burned and smoke rose high into the evening sky.
‘Geoffrey Redstem.’ Said Thenimbor in a friendly voice. ‘You have fought alongside us this evening, yet your own land will have need of you. I think it is time that we return you home.’
‘I think you are right, Thenimbor.’ Geoffrey replied with a bow of the head.
He bade farewell to the company of Rangers who returned the courtesy. They all rode eastwards back towards Esteldín, leaving Thenimbor and Geoffrey alone. They both mounted their horses and rode westwards. On this day, Geoffrey Redstem forged an alliance with the Rangers of the North that would prove beneficial in the future. No longer did he mistrust these mysterious watchers, but developed a great amount of respect for them and their protection of the land – something that they and his own company shared in common. This would not be the last time that he visited Esteldín.
