Disclaimer: If I owned the characters, I would be a millionaire by now, and have every collectible imaginable, and have the book too of which I don't.

Note: this story is based on the snippets of 'story' about Aragorn serving Thengel and Ecthelion under guise of Thorongil, my apologies for any discrepancies and for the title that is sorely lacking in creativity.

- The Eagle of the Star –

Prologue
-Near the borders of Rohan-

The stranger watched warily from the shadows, pulling his travel-stained cloak tightly around him to combat the cold as he watched the orc camp that was less than five full fathoms away, his keen grey eyes taking in every single detail. Those foul creatures had been in the vicinity for a few days now, and covering large areas of land as they passed. It seemed that they were searching for something, though he knew not what, though he was confident he would soon. However, at the moment, all that he knew was that they had probably come from Dol Guldur, perhaps in search of the Ruling Ring again, since Sauron had returned to power. Shifting slowly and as silently as he could in the bushes that concealed him, he tried as best to make himself comfortable for another long night ahead.

The night was silent, almost too silent for his liking, in fact. There seemed to be neither any calls of various nocturnal birds nor the noisy clicking noises of the insects around. It seemed as if they were afraid of another presence, probably those of the orcs', but it seemed impossible. He remembered hearing the thundering thuds of metal-shod hoofs striking the ground not but one and half-hour ago, and had passed them off as wild horses. But now, it seemed suspicious that horses would wander so far away from Edoras.

Could it be...?

He shook his head silently, and berated himself for thinking so foolishly. It could not be the legendary Rohirrim that he had read so avidly about in the massive library of the House of Elrond. The Riders of Rohan that was basically the only defence Rohan had and would ever needed, as it seemed, in times of attack. He did not believe that the Riders were still around...

The piercing call of an owl brought him back to the present. It seemed rather close, he thought as he glanced warily around him. And it sounded vaguely human too.

Before he had even the chance of piecing the various puzzles together, battle cries rang in the silence of the night, and a little more than a score of men on horseback appeared from their 'hiding' place on the other side of the clearing, broadswords held firmly in their hands.

They had the element of surprise and speed on the orcs, of which many were cut down instantly halfway through their meal of raw meat. But the slight advantage seemed to wear off quickly, as the orcs had their weapons on them. Instead, the disadvantages of the Riders' being on horseback allowed the orcs to just hack the legs off any steed, and therefore bring its owner down to his death by trampling or by a rusty blade.

Seizing his chance, the stranger rose from his hiding place and joined in the skirmish. His elven sword glittered menacingly in the pale moonlight; his sword-fighting skills –honed by hours of practice –were unmatched and the orcs were felled by the handfuls under his blade. His actions were almost graceful as he swung his blade, which looked like it had been naught but a deadly extension to his arm.

Turning around, he barely managed to prevent a Rider from getting killed by a particularly vicious orc. The man lay on the ground, gasping for air, surprised from his near brush with death as the stranger held out his hand to help him up, before rejoining the battle. It seemed as if with his addition into the fray, the tide had turned and were against the orcs, who now fought helplessly against the Riders and were retreating swiftly. The twisted creatures finally realised the futility of the battle and turned tail, their numbers significantly smaller as compared to the original company.

He stood in the middle of the clearing, sword held at rest and with black orc blood dripping steadily off it as he immersed himself in the exhilaration and adrenaline that had possessed him through the fight. Returning to the present, he looked around him, and saw fallen bodies all about. Most were that of the orcs, but there were four bodies belonging to those of Riders. Their helms had been knocked askew, arterial blood gushing unhindered out of sword wounds. It was also painfully obvious that frightened horses, theirs perhaps, had trampled on them from the numerous dents in the armour, and he fervently hoped that it occurred after their deaths. After almost six years out in the Wild, he had still yet to come to terms with the death of warriors that fought for peace on their territory, and the countless women made widows; their children made fatherless.

Hearing footsteps approaching from behind, he whipped around, sword at ready, in case an orc had somehow managed to slip past or kill the other Riders nearby that were either soothing the horses, or examining the dead. His mind faintly registered the face as that of the man he had rescued as he bent to wipe his sword on an orc's flimsy armour before sheathing it. The man was rather well built, with sandy blond hair that grew around a chiselled yet weathered face. His brows were almost knitted together in cautious suspicion of the stranger; his mouth set in a hard line.

"Many thanks for saving me from the grasp of Death, stranger. I would treat you more as a friend and ally in better circumstances, but I know not of whom you are, nor whence you hail from."

The stranger seemed to ponder on his response for a moment before answering with carefully chosen words, "You need not know who I am, nor the place of my birth, but only that you can trust me. I am neither spy nor ally of Sauron, far from it. I work against him, and in that, hope to bring peace to this place. But if you insist, my name is Thorongil."

The man looked at the stranger, who had so strangely called himself Thorongil, and spotted the Silver Star pinned on to the shoulder of his cloak, and understanding. "Eagle of the Star," he murmured softly to himself, though the stranger could hear him. Then, looking at the stranger in the eye again he spoke, "It seems that we are joined in the same cause. My name is Eothir, and I'm the Captain of the Rohirrim."

The stranger acknowledged the man's brief introduction with a slight, barely discernable nod, before lapsing back into his thoughts again, his mind going over the Captain's words, before making his decision.

"Take me to your King."

Tbc...

A/N: I know, I know, the battle scenes lack action. I promise to try to spruce the next battle up more. And you could do me a HUGE favour if you could just review! Hugs in advance.