Over four years had passed since the young man had walked away from the Order of Dol Amroth. Away from newfound friends, from Bree and from everyday life. As quickly as he had arrived in Bree he had gone, choosing a life of solitude over assimilation.
Gaeros pulled his head up and out of the ice-cold river, shaking his black tousled mop of hair about like a wet dog. Water trickled down the permanent blood groove etched into his once perfect and now marred face. He looked older now. It wasn’t the scar that made him look so different but rather the years of living in the wood that had changed him. He was still handsome in a way, but his once fair and noble appearance like his demeanor, was darker and calloused.
The hermit warrior was lost deep in thought when the unwanted guest arrived. It padded swiftly along the edge of the riverbank, upstream from where Gaeros was sitting. He kept his head down listening carefully for the approach. The creature's steps were cloaked by the sound of river water slapping against the rocks but the warrior could feel its presence.
At one time he would’ve nocked and fired an arrow in a single precise motion, ending the creature mercifully and before it ever got close. That is, a time before his eye had been damaged.
On a clear autumn evening just two years earlier, Gaeros was out in the Chetwood tracking a large spotted buck. He was invisible as he approached, waiting for just the right moment to loose an arrow into the creature’s heart. Just as he was about to strike, the deer lunged forward, took two steps and collapsed. A moment later a woman in tattered leathers emerged from an adjacent bush.
Gaeros was stunned. Not only had he let someone walk up on him without warning, but he had also let them take his shot.
“Magnificent hit!” Gaeros called out begrudgingly.
“I know,” the woman confessed behind a wicked smile and deep emerald eyes.
Her gaze was spellbinding to Gaeros and he guided her back to his camp with her prize slung across his shoulders.
That night the two ate and drank. He made her laugh and she sang to him. He pulled her into his arms and she lay with him. The two fell asleep under the stars beside the fire.
Early next morning Gaeros was jolted from his slumber by a ragged beast of a man holding a knife against his throat. He glanced past the man only to see two more bandits rifling through his things. The woman stood with one of the men looking on callously and then Gaeros knew he was betrayed.
The cornered prey lashed out instinctively, kneeing his assailant in the groin but to no avail. The hit only angered the man and he drew the knife down across Gaeros’ right eye in return. Gaeros howled in agony as his eye seared with pain. With one last burst of blind rage he managed to shove the bandit aside and leap to his feet. He pushed past the two other men and ran off into the wood, cold naked and losing blood.
The men did not pursue, and the hunter managed to escape. However, the damage to his eye was permanent. His vision would no longer allow him to accurately draw long distances. His days as an expert marksman were over. He may as well rip the string from his bow and use it as a walking stick. The sword would have to be his weapon now. The sword and his thirst for revenge.
The hilt of his sword was only a meter away and yet, it may have been a league. There was no time. Gaeros lifted his head. His gaze met the dribbling fangs of a great black wolf, bearing down on him. In a moment, the two were wrapped up in one another and tumbling into the river.
The two predators fought savagely beneath the water. The wolf aware of his surroundings pulled back from the deep and into a shallower stream. The beast secured its footing for a moment an immediately struck again, its jaws snapped wildly at the man. Gaeros met the attack with his own, grabbing the wolf’s throat with both hands and pulling it back into the water with him. With the animal caught off guard, the man drew in a deep breath. He brought the creature to his chest and dove backward, plunging them both back into the river.
The wolf thrashed back and forth but it was no use. The warrior wrapped his arms and legs around the beast with serpentine embrace, clutching the wolf until its lungs drank the river and the threat was no more.
Gaeros emerged from the water, dragging the wolf’s corpse behind him. He picked up his sword with his free hand and made his way back to camp.
“A black pelt would be worth something. Perhaps enough to buy a ride back to Bree,” he thought.
