Hullo! It's been rather a long time since I published anything. And this is not my usual sort of fan fiction. This is more along the same lines as the original works I write that are somewhere in between historical fiction and fantasy. I'm not sure how much will be written, and don't expect to see many familiar LOTR characters, except as names and references to the past. :D LOTR belongs, of course, to J.R.R. Tolkien.
My people say that we are descended from our god Woden, that a god begot our race. They are wrong who believe such tales, young and perhaps a trifle forgetful. But I am old, and I remember. I knew Woden – no godling he, but a mortal man, the last of a great people who once roamed this earth. Few men have not heard of them, those fierce lords with hair that gleamed like gold. They were a fair folk, they wrote no words but they sang many songs, and their memories were as long as the storied webs that hung in their great, golden hall.
Ah, stranger, I see your eyes are light, you know, or have heard, of the men of whom I speak. They were once a very great people, war-like, rejoicing in the strength and deeds of valour.
They claimed descent from one greater even than Woden. They were the people of Eorl the Young, the Eorlingas. Yes you have heard the name. Ah! You speak of Eomer, our most glorious king of the distant past. Yes, we hold him in great honor, as surely, he is great in the halls of our fathers. But he comes not into my tale, for he was already long departed in our time, and even his mighty son Elfwine was long laid to rest ere then. The tale I have to tell is of his great-grandson, Wermund, the king of the golden hall of Meduseld, and his son Woden, whose reign was so glorious that all who came after forget those who came before; forget Elfwine, Eomer and Theoden, forget Thengel and Fengel and Folkwine, Folca, Walda and Leofa, Frealaf, Helm and Gram, Deor, Goldwine and Freawine, and Frea and Aldor and Brego, and even forget Eorl, for whom we are called. They call us Saxons now, for the famed knives we carry. But I shall never forget that we are the Eorlingas, and that long before we flew the Black Raven on scarlet, we rode to war under the White Horse on green that flew over Meduseld when the world was young.