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 own either. I'll just be content with owning the names of those not found in the books a.k.a. those I named.

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, for the title that is sorely lacking in creativity, and forgetting that Eomund was not Thengel's son, and was probably not even born yet when Aragorn went to Rohan. Therefore, since none know the name of Eomund's father, I just decided to name him Eothir of Eastfold. Another thing, I'm ignoring the fact that Theoden had 3 other sisters besides Theodwyn. And I'll be using 'Aragorn' went I'm sort of delving into his thoughts, though others would call him 'Thorongil'.

–The Eagle of the Star –

Chapter 1

-One week later-

Aragorn sat near one of the many wooden tables that filled the Golden Hall of Meduseld, smoking his pipe –a habit that he had gotten from Gandalf through their travels. The week had passed without incident, and without any orc-sightings in the country, of which he was glad for, though it would not last for long. He had been accepted into Rohan easily enough, for both Thengel and Eothir trusted him, and the people therefore respected their decision to let him stay. But there were some who still mistrusted him, casting him suspicious looks when they thought he was not looking. They could be forgiven though, for after 6 years in the Wild, he hardly looked the fresh-faced, determined youth who had set out from Rivendell to find his place in the world.

A loud cheer rose from the crowd of Riders' gathered around the center of the hall, watching their fellow fighters in their daily sword-fighting practice that usually turned into a one-on-one competition of sort, of which he had been lucky enough to avoid being dragged into. Looking through the gaps in the spectators, it was apparent that Hinad, Third Marshal of the Mark had 'defeated' a new Rider, whose name Aragorn had no inking of, although he had been introduced to each and every one of them once they had reached Edoras. Gold changed hands swiftly as others lamented their losses; though no doubt they would get it back later.

The slightly slurred voice was heard a moment later as he climbed onto a bench to make himself heard, "And now, we shall invite Thorongil to come and compete, shall we not?"

Aragorn started getting up as soon as he heard his alias called, hoping that he could get away fast enough before he was found. It seemed as though the numerous 'preachings' that his foster brothers had reminded him again and again while in Rivendell not to show off his skills unnecessarily had paid off, he though wryly. Besides, he would rather stay behind the scenes, and not announcing to Sauron that the Heir of Isildur was indeed still alive and well.

By the time he had gotten out of his seat, it had already seemed too late to make his getaway. Théoden, the nine-year old son of Thengel, had already spotted him and was swiftly making his way towards him, his blue eyes bright with excitement.

Tugging lightly on Aragorn's sleeve, he gave his most mournful look, "please, Thorongil sir, please go compete, we have been waiting all week for you to practice with us. Besides, you have to prepare for upcoming battles."

Grimacing slightly, Aragorn relented with a sigh.

"Just this once," he told the over-eager young boy, who had already started leading him into the middle of the hall where Hinad was waiting.

The crowd launched into a cheer when he entered to rough circle made by the gathered spectators, and bets were cast anew –many betting against the stranger who had so mysteriously entered their midst a week ago.

With a slight tinge of hesitation, Aragorn unsheathed his sword; its elven make inciting many whispers among the onlookers. Both men crossed their swords and went into their battle stance. Hinad looked confident of defeating the newcomer, his teeth showing in a cocky grin, standing as though relaxed; though Aragorn could see that he was tensed up. At a signal from Eothir, the fight began.

Both fighters circled each other, sizing the other up. Aragorn waited for his opponent to make his first move, and perhaps, at the same time, make a mistake. He need not have to wait long, for a second later, a thrust came, of which he easily blocked. Though he had used minimal strength, Hinad stumbled slightly, being off-balance due to his lack of feet movement. Seeing his opportunity while Hinad regained his balance, Aragorn quickly launched into a series of attack maneuvers that the former struggled to defend himself from. Aragorn's sword sang as it whistled and cut through the air in a blur as Hinad was quickly forced to lose ground, his sword held up in a futile attempt to hold the onslaught back. In a matter of less than a minute, Aragorn had his sword at his opponent's throat, while the latter had dropped his sword in defeat.

Curses ran through the crowd like wildfire as money was reluctantly passed to their fellow friends who had betted for Thorongil, and won a huge sum of gold. Aragorn stood in the middle of it all, looking around him, and feeling the blood rushing through his body.

"Is there no one else?" he asked the Riders', who looked at themselves, before scrambling and jostling to be the first to get into the circle.

In the end, Aragorn ended up facing four Riders', each of them ready of a friendly fight. He fought to hide a grin from emerging on his face. Wasn't this the same as when Elladan and Elrohir used to rope in both Erestor and Lindir and all four would gang up against him, while Glorfindel shouted instructions from the sidelines? Although there was none currently to instruct him in what to do, he had long memorised the strategy to dispatch them, and soon all four Riders' were taken care of; going out of the circle when smiles on their faces made by the money gained by betting against themselves.

Eothir, having sobered up some, came next into the circle, and two of the best fighters in the country faced each other in mock fight. Both matched the other evenly, matching each other thrust for thrust, parry for parry, all the while not letting the other gain even an inch of ground. However, being older, the Captain was unable to withstand the stamina of the younger man, and was soon retreating slowly.

At the moment, the great doors were thrown open by the Doorwards, and a disheveled young woman stumbled in, panting heavily, the hem of her skirt looking as though it had been singed by fire.

Tbc...

A/N: Whee! A cliffhanger! Though I'm sure you could guess what would happen, couldn't you? Reviews will be kindly appreciated... and make me produce a quicker update, possibly on Friday. All flames will be used to burn all my school worksheets from this year in a yearly ritual, since I've unfortunately run out of matches. :P

Thanks to all who reviewed! I hope this update is fast enough!