Flame of the West

T wind whispered across the Fields of Cormallen, carrying with it the scent of ash and the songs of crows. In the quiet before the dawn, a lone rider galloped hard across the plain, his cloak torn by thorn and battle, and his heart heavy with purpose.

His name was **Caldur**, a ranger of the North, once sworn to the Dúnedain but now wandering the wild lands of Gondor. He bore news not for lords or kings, but for one man—**Aragorn**, the Heir of Isildur, now returned as King Elessar.

Caldur’s horse stumbled slightly as they neared the campfires glowing faint in the fog. Soldiers, weary but victorious, kept watch. A sentry stepped forward, hand on hilt.

“Who comes?”

“A friend from the North,” Caldur replied. “I seek the King.”

The sentry narrowed his eyes but saw something in Caldur’s bearing that needed no explanation. “He’s by the Anduin. Alone.”

---

The King stood with his back to the river, facing the mountains. His sword, **Andúril**, rested beside him, glowing faintly in the night. His eyes, old beyond years, seemed lost in thought.

“Your Majesty,” Caldur said, bowing low.

“Caldur,” Aragorn said without turning. “It has been long.”

“Too long, sire. I bring word from the ruins of Amon Sûl.”

Aragorn turned now, interest sharpening his features. “The Watch-tower?”

Caldur nodded grimly. “We found it. The last remnant of the Flame.”

Aragorn was silent for a moment. Then he spoke softly, “I had thought it a myth.”

“It was no myth, my lord,” Caldur said, and drew from his satchel a small, broken lantern. Its surface was blackened with age, its glass cracked, but faint within it pulsed a red ember—like a coal refusing to die.

Aragorn took it gently, cradling it like a relic. “The Flame of the West.”

Caldur nodded. “An ancient power. It once lit the beacons from the North to Gondor, long before the White Towers fell. It was said the flame would burn only for the true heir of Elendil.”

Aragorn held the broken lantern high. The ember within flickered—and for a heartbeat, it blazed gold. Then it faded again.

“So it knows me,” he said softly.

“The darkness is scattered, but not destroyed,” Caldur said. “The men who still serve the Shadow move in secret. This light may yet help us.”

Aragorn closed his hand around the lantern. “Then we shall rekindle it.”

---

Over the next week, Caldur remained in the King’s camp, assisting the healers and sharing tales from the North. The soldiers were weary, but something in the presence of that flickering flame stirred their hearts.

One evening, under a star-laced sky, Aragorn summoned the smiths of Gondor.

“We shall reforge the Lantern,” he said. “As Andúril was reforged from Narsil, so too shall this flame be made whole.”

And so it was. Mithril and gold were melded together, glass shaped anew by the Elves of Lothlórien who had lingered still. The Dwarves of Erebor, honoring their oath to the King, added runes to bind the flame within.

On the day of its rekindling, the armies gathered once more—not for war, but for light.

Aragorn stood before them, Andúril at his side, the lantern in both hands.

“The Flame of the West has slept long,” he declared. “But now, in peace, it shall burn again—not as a weapon, but as a guide. A light in shadow. A hope in fading lands.”

He lifted the lantern, and the ember inside flared. Gold, white, and then pure blue, it burned like a star plucked from the heavens.

The army cheered—not as conquerors, but as keepers of a new beginning.

---

In the years that followed, the lantern was kept in the White Tower, beside the throne of the King. It was said that when Gondor’s light dimmed, the lantern would shine brighter. And when children asked their fathers about the flame, they would say:

“That is the Flame of the West. It burns for every free soul that dares to hope.”

As for Caldur, he returned to the North, bearing word that the King remembered all his kin. He never again sought glory, but in the wild lands, under moon and leaf, he lit fires at night not with flint, but with a spark drawn from a small stone he always kept close—a gift from the King.

Some say it was part of the lantern. Others say it was something more.

But Caldur said only this:

> “It is not the flame that gives us hope.
> It is the one who carries it.”rt writing...