"Beautiful sword. Can I see it?" Reed asked.
"Sure," Darian replied. It glittered in the firelight as he unsheathed it. The runes of the Dúnedain sparkled. The hilt was of a silver metal, with black leather wrapped around the handle.
He handed it over to Reed. "It was my father's."
She gazed at it in wonder. "Is it customary for Rangers to pass on their swords to their sons?"
"No, but if one's father is slain in battle, than it is," he replied. Darian's voice was somber. Reed must have noticed, because she looked up at him.
"I'm sorry," she said. "May I ask, how did it happen?"
"Him and some of my kin were near Minas Morgul. They were trying to see if there was a way pass Cirith Ungol, but they were attacked. My father was slain. His body was brought back. Many of my equipment use to be his own."
"What are these markings on the blade? They're beautiful," she asked.
"They are the markings of the Dúnedain. They are of my kin from up north," Darian answered.
"The Dúnedain?" she asked.
They sat by the fire as Darian and Reed continued to talk into the night.
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In nomini domine saboath sui filique ite ad infernos.
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