All Rights go to Warner Bros, JRR Tolkien, Peter Jackson and Co. Image Rights go to 89ravenclaw on Deviantart.
AN: This story will mostly follow the epic quest line of Lord of The Rings Online. This is not a walkthrough, direct rehash, but an account of what happend during the time that the Fellowship began with the Ring being revealed, to the leaving of the last ship from the Gray Havens and maybe beyond.
The heroes we take for granted are the ones we don't know about. This hero will bleed, barely make it out alive, and in some cases fail. He wouldn't be called a hero if it was easy.
Now let's go out the door and step onto the road...
I awoke on a cold stone floor. The last thing I remember before blacking out was being surrounded by brigands. Moonlight filtered through the bars of my prison. How I got into this predicament you ask? I guess I should start from the beginning.
My name is Danagor, I was raised near the shores of Evendim, with the reflections of the ruins of Annúminas on the lake's surface. My father was a ranger but he left soon after I was born. When the chieftain of the tribe sent a letter and my father's blade, my mother instantly declared that I wouldn't be a Ranger. Then again, destiny doesn't ask for permission.
Growing up among other kids who were to become rangers was hard. Being forbidden from touching a blade, they called me servantboy. One of the Rangers took pity on me and began teaching me the skills of tracking and healing. I paid attention to his lessons as best as I could, but the only thing I wanted to learn was how to wield a blade. His stories of elves, men and dwarves filled me with wander lust. Battles between good and evil frequently took place in his tales. The legends of ages past were the tales I grew up hearing.
My mentor's favorite words to begin a story were "He that has ears, let him hear." Often the tales had hidden meanings in them. Home, love and friendship was more important then wealth. Love can flourish between peoples who are taught at a young age to dislike each other. At times, I thought about the matter of what the Elves called The Undying West and the Halls of Mandos. One time, I asked my teacher why we were the divided at death? Surely, there was a place where the children of Eru lived together in peace after death? My teacher looked up at me. "Ah young one, Eru gave each of his children gifts. The gift of men is death and because of such a gift, our lives are richer for it. We live each day making our time count seeking to spread happiness to others."
I wanted to go out and see the sights of Arda with my own eyes. Rivendell, Lorien, the Argonath, Minas Tirith and the fields of Rohan. The old ranger brought me to these faraway places, on roads that went ever on and on. I imagined myself going to these faraway places, whenever I traveled the dusty road to the market. Too often, I got caught with my head in the clouds by my mother. I passed it off as thinking what would make the best deal at the rangers relics buyer that came around four times a year. Speaking of him, the only thing that held his attention and my own was my father's sword. I had only dared seeing it a few times hidden underneath the floorboards of my mother's bed.
My father's sword seemed to mock me, it's shine of nobility and pride set my blood boiling. The blade was nothing I had ever seen before. The blade glimmered, as if it had an inner light. The hilt was gold with runes written on the blade. The hand and a half grip was soft leather. The cross guard was knobbed at the ends, two pale jems set in them. I knew the sword was important somehow and though the desire to wield it was great, a sense told me it was not yet my time. It was almost an extension of my arm, light and quick. Even at a young age I could pick it up, looking like a fool with a sword that was bigger than me.
At the age of seven, I asked my teacher to teach me how to fight with a blade. Most of my other friends had to wait until they were twelve in order to learn how to learn how to sword fight. My teacher, whose name I sadly can't recall, had no son of his own and agreed. With no father, I had to do double chores around the house. I was already stronger than most kids my age. The months of summer had me fighting with a wooden sword and shield.
I will never forget the look on my teacher's face when I mastered the moves he shown me and knocked the sword out of his hands to prove my skill. He called my fighting skill unlike anything he had seen before. That year I also got into my first fight with a big eleven year old nearly a foot over my own height. I knocked him out with a right hook to the face. My mother did some yelling I shall never forget.
At age nine, when most boys were becoming familiar with swords, I began working on what kind of warrior I would be. I always wanted to protect others and lead men into battle so I became a warrior with the skills of a healer. Most had only picked one set of skills, but I wasn't most people.
At age ten, I became an armorsmith. Making heavy armor to withstand the blows of trolls and other evils. In a few years, I became an apprentice to the armorsmithing guild, making works that even satisfied the passing Dwarves. At age 14, my teacher died. I hid my skills from my mother, but she found out anyway. She just sat down with a sigh. "You have too much of your father in you, my son. You are even starting to look like him." There were no pictures of my father in the house, all that I had was mother's memory. "Your father was the greatest man I knew. His hair was blonde and his eyes were a shade of blue." The answer was always the same. Before my mother married she was said to be the most beautiful woman of the Dúnedain. I had my mother's dark hair mixed with my father's blonde. My eyes were like my father's, a bright blue. Stubble grew on my face, but I shaved before it became a beard.
My looks did attract a few girls my age, but romance didn't interest me. Well, there was a woman's voice that made my heart twitch a little every time I heard it. A soft cry for help coming from the darkness of my dreams. I never mentioned this to anybody, they would call me a daydreamer. My teenage years passed in a blur of activity. There was always something to do to restore the ruins or search for artifacts.
At my current age of nineteen, bandits raided my cart, searching for artifacts that they could sell. I had heard that they planned to use me as a sort of gladiator to fight for their enjoyment. That was how I got lying in a cell, far from home. A sharp clang followed by a thud of a body came from the hallway off to the left. A man clad in the garb of a Ranger, stepped into the light and unlocked the door. This man I recognized from the local stories. Strider, the chieftain of the Dúnedain, whose real name was only know to a select few.
The man immediately gave me a sword and shield. "Hurry friend! Those Blackwolds will soon be upon us!" I started for the exit only to find it blocked by a single bandit. I knocked his sword away and ran him through the chest. He didn't even have time to call for help. Exiting into the yard, I found two hobbits cowering before two bandits. I had seen hobbits in Oatbarteon before and they were always willing to help as long as they got well fed afterwards.
"Misery me!" the old hobbit yelled. His eyebrows were arched, looking like an old man caught in a permanent state of surprise. I ran up and bashed the bandit with my shield and slammed the other sword away with my sword. Turning, I sliced through his chest and stabbed the one behind me that was stunned from my blow. "Thank you, kind stranger." A young hobbit with blonde hair spoke up. She had a certain motherly quality to her that was combined with a sense of mischievousness. "Now I can cause a distraction for us to flee." the female hobbit grabbed a torch and flung it up towards the thatched roof of a nearby inn. It caught like kindling. The old hobbit had opened the door. "After you, friend!" Flames started to spread around us followed by the cries of "FIRE!" and "Get water!" The bandits were distracted alright. In chaos, the fight or flight instinct takes over. They would be too busy to notice that their prisoner's were escaping.
Before exiting the small hideout, I was blocked by a barred entry with a figure wearing a black robe just behind it. The figures horse was as dark as midnight. Another Ranger stood before the black rider. "Go back to the shadow, fallen king!" He swung his torch and the rider recoiled with a screech. The rider drew a blade and pierced the Ranger. "AHH!" The ranger fell screaming clutching his gut as if he had been burned.
The rider turned towards me and the hobbits. "Oh dear!" the female hobbit yelled. "These are not the hobbits I am looking for but this ranger will do for now." The figures tone sounded like a raspy breath and the night itself seemed to darken as the rider approached the fallen Ranger. The flames from the spreading fire came over the thatched roof. The rider recoiled "Accursed flames!" The horse reared in fright.
Strider appeared beside his fallen ranger. "Go back! You shall not harm these folk!" Strider flung his torch and the figures robes caught fire. The horse bolted out of the gate the rider making high pitched screams that set my teeth on edge. I leaned next to the wounded rangers side. The wound was deeper than it should have been and the rangers breath was feeble gasps. "The Nazgul fear... the wielders of...fire." The man passed out. "The Nine are abroad once more.' In the tales from my mentor, the Nazgul were the most feared servants of Sauron and were last seen when he was at his prime.
Strider broke into my foreboding thoughts. "I am too late. Amdir has been stabbed by a morgul blade." He threw the ranger over a horse. "The town of Archet is closest. We must ride." The hobbits took up one horse and I saddled another. Strider was in front, with another horse trailing behind bearing Amdir.
The sun was just beginning to rise as a town came into view. A nearby signpost read: Archet. A collection of buildings came into view, sheltered by high cliffs and a river flowed lazily by. An elderly man with silver hair and a captain's uniform stopped us just before we entered. HIs armor was leather and mail identifying him as a guard of the town. "Strider, I thought this was your doing." The man said gruffly, obviously not trusted Strider one bit. "Captain Brackenbrook, my companions need rest after tonight and one of us is wounded." Amdir groaned, his face was pale. Even it was a warm night in summer, he shivered uncontrollably. Brackenbrook stepped aside. "Just try not to cause trouble in my town."
An inn stood just behind were a group of soldiers were drilling. The sign above the street read: The Mad Badger. Strider helped Amdir down and leaned him beside the inn's railing. My eyes felt heavy, the battle high wearing off. Strider steadied me after nearly falling off my horse. "Easy there, friend." Strider pressed a satchel full of gold coins into my hand. "Go get some sleep, I'll worry about Amdir." At the suggestion of sleep my willpower crumbled. A nice warm bed was better than just cold stone or dirt.
The inn was empty, not even the owner was up yet. I put a gold coin on the table and took a key to a room. The stairs creaked a little as I went up, but nobody was awake yet. All the doors were open, a sign that no other travelers were here. Passing through the nearest door and closing it, the room was small with only one window. A bed lay in one corner of the space and I gladly undressed down to my undershirt and pants. As soon as my head touched the pillow, I fell asleep.
A woman's voice cried out for help as my eyelids closed. This was the third time I heard her. The first at fourteen and again at seventeen. I kept these dreams to myself. This time I could speak. "Where are you?" No light was anywhere, it was as if light had simply been snuffed out." Someone, please help. Anyone, please answer." It was woman's voice and she was crying softly now. "Where are you." I said it a little louder this time. The voice went quiet and spoke softly. "Far to the north." Real informative.
I awoke before I could ask her where. Someone knocked on my door. I got dressed and opened it. No one was outside. "Down here." said a voice. I looked down and saw the female hobbit from before. "Celandine Brandybuck." She introduced herself. The hobbit had a motherly quality to her, witch would explain why she had woken me up. "Danagor." I greeted.
"Thank goodness you're awake. Amdir still hasn't recovered from his wound." Celandine informed me. "Strider looks after him and he sent me to wake you." She took me by the hand and more or less dragged me outside. I barely had time to strap my sword sheath to my waist and place my shield on my back. The sun was shinning at it's noon peak, a cloudless day in Breeland. Amdir hadn't moved from where Strider had put him, but a blanket lay underneath him and his face was paler than what it was during the night or maybe it hadn't changed at all.
Amdir waved me over. "Don't worry about me. My wound isn't as bad as it was." Amdir shivered even though it was a warm day. "I hope your rest was peaceful. You earned it by fighting those Blackwolds off." Amdir shivered again, a bit more violently. "My sleep wasn't so peaceful, I'm afraid." Amdir coughed but it sounded more like a rasp. Strider came from the woods, fresh Kingsfoil in his hand. Amdir spoke again this time under his breath. "I fear for Strider, he puts my wound before Archet's safety and his own mission." His breath became labored and he didn't say another word.
"Danagor." I introduced myself to Strider as he came up. Strider greeted me. His attention turned to Amdir. "Strider, Amdir wished that you look for Archet's saftey instead of his." I felt uncomfortable, relaying Amdir's words. Strider spoke after applying the Kingsfoil. "Amdir is right. I don't wish to leave him, but Archet must be defended and I should be seeking a Baggins right now." He turned to me a light of an idea in his eyes. "Perhaps you can help, Danagor. The people of Archet are in danger because of the Blackwold's plans. Captain Brackenbrook distrusts me, but perhaps you can make him see the danger."
Captain Brackenbrook stood a little further off, clearly making sure we weren't causing trouble. I went over to him and he spoke gruffly, clearly mistrusting the rangers. "You came in last night with those Rangers." The man clearly didn't have a high opinion of any of the Rangers or their allies. "Please listen, Archet is in danger from the Blackwolds." The captain scoffed. "That's what the other Ranger said last night too and we have no proof of those bandits becoming violent. Sure they stir up trouble, but they haven't raided peaceful towns as long as I can remember." Then he added, "If some of the people here are convinced that they are in danger, I'll consider your warning."
Walking around town, it seemed that this place was peaceful instead of the chaos and darkness he had seen earlier. Brackenbrook had been blinded and would wake to a nightmare. Hopefully, it could be prevented. I spotted a constable, they stabled horses and heard many things first before anyone else. He was grayed and his armor was a leather tunic with a shield on the chest. "Constable, do believe that the Blackwolds are a threat?" The man turned. "You think they mean to attack us? Don't be absurd! They fight among themselves as they have no leader and a raid is unthinkable." He went back to his work.
Strider would want to hear about this. He was still tending Amdir who was still breathing hard. "Strider, the people here don't think is an attack is coming." The man kept his hood up, even though it was sunny and warm. "The people here will not believe the signs of danger as they have known peace since they were born. It appears Archet will need your help sooner than planned." Strider stood up from Amdir, a bandage now covering his side. He turned towards me. "I want to see more of your skills, Danagor. Your journey has just begun." We walked towards the practice area and prepared to spar. I noticed that Strider's gait was constantly a fighter's one. He had obviously been fighting for years. His stance was prefect.
"First to disarm wins." Strider came at me in a whirlwind. I met him blow for blow, getting a feel for his fighting style. Then I realized that he had no style. It was completely random in his swings changing it halfway through. This was probably the most dangerous opponent I had faced. Strider kicked my legs out from under me and I fell onto my back. "A sword wields no strength unless the hand that holds it has courage." Strider told me as I stood up. "Again!" Strider came at me while I was halfway standing.
I rolled behind him and it was like he had eyes in the back of his head. He blocked my next swing that would have resulted in a light touch against his neck with ease. He spun around and I swung my sword against his. The force rattled my wrist. Strider frowned and I got the sense that he would not like losing to someone he had only met hours ago. I lashed out with my fist, catching him squarely in the ribs. He went down winded and wheezing. I didn't punch him that hard even.
Strider actually smiled. Well it was more like a half one. "A few hours on the battlefield and you might be a force to be reckoned with, Danagor. Offer your service to Brackenbrook and we might be able to avert disaster." Strider went back to tending Amdir. Brackenbrook had followed us, making sure we weren't bandits ourselves or something.
"Well, the rumor seeker returns." The captain said dismissedly. "Maybe I could help you somehow, in exchange for your aid." Captain Brackenbrook pointed down the road, towards a farm. "Calder Cob is my best guard and has been having problems with wolves as of late. Ask him what you can do to help." I walked outside the gates of Archet to the farm. A few wild hogs were in the grassy area of the hills, the stone ruins of the Kingdom of the North farther ahead.
Calder Cob was the man standing in the middle of the gate to the farm, a proud look was on his face. He looked like a bully that had just escaped punishment for hurting another kid. The red haired man smirked as I drew near. He was armed with an axe and a guard's uniform was fitted to his size. On his left a man's leg was bandaged and another guard was applying a splint. "Well, lookit here. If it isn't the man who cried Brigands. I've heard all about you Danagor." He spoke with a drawl, that conveyed smugness. "How does he know my name?" "I thought you would be coming sooner or later to help me with a little wolf problem."
The man pointed with his axe. "Near Brown's Folly a pack of wolves has turned up, one of them has already wounded one of the guards." A weak groan came from his right. The wounded guard sat with his back to the wall, his leg securely bandaged to stop the bleeding. "Well, get going!" The man pushed me towards the ruins. "I just hope those wolves aren't breeding while you are there!" Calder Cob jeered. That got me walking towards the ruins. Wolves were very territorial when they were having pups.
As the ruins came into view, I noticed a banner had been placed on top of the ruins. Something was wrong here. A wolf pounced out of the bushes and I hit it solidly on the head with my shield. My sword went into it's chest as it staggered and fell over dead. A brand was on this wolf, a hunting hound of some kind. Bile began to rise in my throat as the events from last night and my kill sank in. I had just killed and hadn't thought about it until the wolf's death was in front of me. I took a few deep breaths. What is done is done.
I looked at the brand. It resembled a black crown with three spikes coming from the top. A scruffy man wearing leather armor approached and grinned. His teeth were yellow. "I thought you would be paying me a visit. Calder Cob sends his regret that you will die here." The man swung his sword and I parried. Another wolf joined his side and it pounced. I slammed my shield into it, making the wolf dazed. My enemy punched me in the gut, making me lean forward. I brought my shield around and the blow that would've cut my face in half clattered against it. I shoved forward with the shield and sank my sword into his gut as he leaned back.
His wolf howled and ran towards me. He landed on top of my shield, biting and snapping. Drool flew as he tried to bite me. I had hunted wolves and this had happened before. I rolled out slashing with my sword where the wolf was. Blood flowed as a long scar decorated the wolf's side. The wolf toppled from pain and I put it out of it's misery.
I had been led into a trap. The sign of the crown on the wolves hide was a symbol I recognized from the teachings of my childhood mentor. It was The Iron Crown, a symbol of Angmar. Something a lot worse was going on then a raid by brigands.
"All tales begin with a call."
The Legend of Zelda quote, "A sword wields no strength unless the hand that holds it has courage" goes to Nintendo.
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