Kaen did not appoint Aragorn lightly, nor did he offer him some idle title merely to soothe pride.
He gave him the mantle of First Commander of the King's Guard—the supreme honor of Eowenríal, surpassed only by kingship itself.
Even should Aragorn's future greatness shake the very chronicles of Men, this would remain one of the brightest emblems upon his life's banner.
When the decree was announced, astonishment rippled through all Eowenríel.
The King's Guard, Kaen's elite host, the might of the kingdom and its living legend, was composed solely of the Noble House, the Tarbêlûn
Ten thousand warriors who bore Kaen's light in their blood; ten thousand whose strength equaled tenfold their number of any mortal army.
Until now, they had answered only to Kaen himself.
And suddenly, there was a commander among them, one not born of Kaen's line, but a stranger from Rivendell.
The name Estel spread like wind through court and camp.
Kaen answered the murmured questions with a single phrase: "He is Lord Elrond's foster son."
And that was all.
No one in the kingdom dared pry further. Kaen's will was law, and his silence meant reverence.
...
Barely had Aragorn received his title when Kaen gave him his first command.
He was to lead a squad of the King's Guard north into the Ettenmoors,
to uncover the truth behind the rising orc host, and bring back one of the enemy alive.
Aragorn knew this was no mere mission; it was a test. A trial set before him by the King himself.
At dawn the next day, he and fifteen of the Guard departed from Elarothiel, riding swift northern steeds across the frozen plains.
Unlike Kaen's blazing campaign years before, when he had stormed Gundabad in seven days, Aragorn's small troop took half a month to reach the Ettenmoors.
There they found the frontier encampment of the commander Reyzeth, once a pure-blood Dúnedain, now of the Tarbêlûn.
He commanded two thousand mounted archers, drawn up in grim silence opposite the unseen enemy.
When Aragorn arrived, Reyzeth greeted him with curiosity, for this was the youth who had been named Commander of the King's own Guard.
But when his gaze fell upon the Ring of Barahir upon Aragorn's hand and the sword hilt slung upon his back—Narsil, the Blade of Kings—his pupils narrowed sharply.
He had seen these relics before, long ago.
They were the symbols of the royal line of Arnor, once borne by Arathorn, Chieftain of the Dúnedain, Aragorn's father.
Since the day Arathorn fell here, slain by orcs in these very wilds, those heirlooms had vanished into memory.
And now, before his eyes, they shone once more in the hand of a boy who so resembled his sire that the years seemed to fold in upon themselves.
Reyzeth understood then why Kaen had placed this youth at the head of the King's Guard.
There was no mistake in blood nor destiny.
"Estel," he said at last, his voice low with a weight of remembrance, "I know another name of yours."
He drew closer, his eyes distant. "Once, I fought beside your father. When he fell, your mother vanished with you.
You left behind the North and all your kin. We searched, but there was no word. Twenty years of silence."
Aragorn's face froze. The words struck him like a sudden frost.
"You…. you were one of my people?" he asked quietly.
"I was," Reyzeth replied, and there was neither pride nor bitterness in his tone. "But no longer. I am of the Tarbêlûn now, Kaen's blood runs in me."
Seeing Aragorn's confusion, Reyzeth spoke again.
"After your father's death, the Dúnedain were lost. We should have hailed you as our Chieftain, but your mother vanished with you, and we became a people without a leader.
We scattered. Some fled to Lindon, others to Gondor. Some lingered in Eriador, others wandered the frozen wilds."
His gaze turned northward, to the desolate hills where their dead still slept beneath snow.
"And then the King came,Kaen Eowenríel. Like the sunrise after a night too long. He gave us a home.
Tens of thousands of Dúnedain accepted his light, and through his blood and the blessing of the Sacred Tree, we were reborn. We became the Noble House, the Tarbêlûn. I am one of them."
Aragorn listened in silence, guilt rising within him like a tide.
While he had lived in peace beneath Elrond's roof, guarded and cherished, his people had suffered rootless and broken across the cold North.
"I… am sorry," he murmured.
Reyzeth smiled faintly. "Do not be. You were but a child, you could not have changed what was.
And yet, your blood still flows, your line endures. That is enough to keep hope alive."
He paused, then added softly, "But hear me, heir of Isildur. I cannot aid you without our King's leave. My loyalty belongs to him alone. Yet since you and I now serve the same master, take this counsel,
When the day comes that you are ready to claim your destiny, look first to the one you follow.
Watch how your lord acts. In him, you will find your answer."
...
Not one of the Tarbêlûn who served in the King's Guard failed to recognize the relics Aragorn bore, the Ring, the Sword, the Blood of Kings.
And yet none spoke of it.
Not one voice broke silence.
That, too, told him much.
These men were no longer Dúnedain, not truly. They had shed their old name and embraced their rebirth without hesitation.
Aragorn could not condemn them. He had no right.
He was not yet ready to carry the burden that bound him by blood to the crowns of two fallen kingdoms.
He could only bow his head, his heart full of sorrow and quiet blessing.
...
At dawn the next day, Reyzeth rode with Aragorn and his company to the edge of the Ettenmoors.
Before them stretched a barren wasteland, strewn with jagged rock and buried beneath pale snow.
"Your father," said Reyzeth, pointing toward the far horizon, "and his father before him—fell there.
That is the place where Dúnedain blood watered the frozen earth. And I think our lord sent you here so that you might see with your own eyes who your true enemy is."
He turned his gaze from the snowfields to the dark clouds beyond.
"Orcs? Trolls? Wargs? No. Your enemy is older. Your enemy is darkness itself."
He saluted, hand over heart in the ancient eagle-sign of the North. "Go, son of Arathorn. Heir of Kings. Seek the truth your fathers died for."
Aragorn's eyes burned with new resolve. The doubts had fallen away.
He turned his steed toward the wastes and rode forward with fifteen of the King's Guard, their cloaks billowing like storm banners behind them.
Reyzeth watched them vanish into the white desolation, then bowed his head and whispered:
"May my lord Kaen guard your path, child of the Dúnedain.
Go, and bring hope once more to your people…"