Author’s Note: Not meant to have a real good plot or anything. Not necessarily AU yet, but will be in chapter 3. Probably not really funny yet either. Will be in following chapters! haha

1: The Stranger

The night was cold, clouds blocked all light of the stars and a part of the moon. Under the shadows of the trees, two men walked, both clad in green cloaks. Their faces were covered up to their noses with a black cloth, protecting them from the sand and dust blown up by the wind. They walked on steadily, almost at jogging speed. In their hands they held huge bows, almost as high as themselves. On their backs they had a quiver with green-feathered arrows.

These men were Rangers of Ithilien, on their way to their campsite under the waterfall. Long had they searched the surrounding area for potential dangers, such as Orcs or other servants of the Dark Lord.

Near the entrance of the camp, called Henneth Annûn by the Rangers, their temporary captain Thorongil was waiting for them. His face was grim and stern, but in the darkness, Mablung and Anborn did not see this. It was not till he spoke that they noticed it.

“Well?” Thorongil asked, his voice clipped.

Mablung looked at Anborn. As eldest and most experienced of the two, he had been put in charge, much to his own dismay.

“Not much, Captain,” Anborn said meekly. He knew Thorongil would not be happy with his answer.

And indeed, there it came… “Not much!? And what do you make of this, then?” he pointed at the ground, where the tracks of a horse were clearly visible.

Mablung gulped. For a moment he thought about answering, but one look at his Captain’s face was enough to convince him otherwise.

Just as Anborn was about to answer, a cry pierced the air. The three Men looked up, startled. Thorongil glared at the two younger men.

“I swear, Captain, we haven’t seen anything!” Anborn defended himself and Mablung immediately.

Thorongil looked at them sternly, but decided to give them the benefit of the doubt. “Then now is your chance to see it. Go!”

Mablung and Anborn nodded and whirled around. As quick as the wind they vanished between the trees again.

With their hearts beating like crazy, the two Rangers ran in the direction of where the cry had come from. Their fingers curled tightly around their bows, and Anborn pulled an arrow from his quiver, placing it on his bow. Mablung looked at Anborn for a moment, then did the same.

Running like this, they entered a clearing, where clearly a large and vicious battle had happened. But they were too late.

With their heads down, the two men dejectedly walked through the bodies. Various orcs’ corpses were lying around, and even a Warg.

“Anborn!”

Anborn ran towards Mablung, who was kneeled down next to a seemingly lifeless body, somewhere in the middle of the battlefield. Body and head were covered with a black cloak and a small bow lay broken at its side. A little further away was a sword, black with Orc-blood.

The two Rangers carefully rolled the body on its back, to see who the brave fighter was. But as they did this, the man opened his eyes and the Rangers flinched back, startled. Two clear grey eyes looked at them not all too friendly, and the man’s hand reached for his sword. It was clear that he was not as badly injured as the Rangers initially thought.

Mablung was the first to find his voice back, and he carefully crawled back closer.

“Take it easy, we won’t hurt you.”

The man laughed and replied in a deep, hoarse voice, “And what if I do?” His hand, in the mean time, had reached his sword and his fingers curled around the hilt tightly.

Anborn planted his foot firmly on the blade. “You would not survive.”

The man did not answer, but simply gazed at Anborn with a somewhat threatening look in his eyes.

“What business does a lonely traveller have here in Ithilien?” asked Anborn, who gazed back just as fiercely.

“I have a message for my…” the man hesitated a moment. “…friend.” He reached somewhere under his tunic and pulled out a rolled-up piece of parchment. “If I am not allowed to travel further, would you at least take my message to whom it should be given?”

Anborn hesitated a moment, but then removed his foot from the blade. “Tell me, who is your friend, and where is he, then we can take you there.”

Mablung looked up, puzzled. “Anborn?”

“The woods are not safe for anyone alone.” Was Anborn’s short answer.

Mablung reached out a hand to help the stranger up. Said stranger willingly let himself be helped up and gave the young Ranger a small smile and a bow. “My name is Halbarad, greetings,” he said.

Mablung smiled back. “I am called Mablung, and this is Anborn.”

“Ah, Rangers from Ithilien, aren’t you?” asked Halbarad with a smile.

“Indeed we are. How did you know?” asked Mablung, again puzzled.

Halbarad gave Mablung a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I know a lot, lad. More than you think…” he said in a mysterious voice.

“So it seems,” said Anborn, who finally began to thaw a bit. “Tell me, who is this friend for whom you carry that message? Mayhap we can help you find him.”

“I would gladly accept your help,” replied Halbarad. “Because more than once it is made clear to me he is very hard to find when he doesn’t wish to be found. He has acquired many names over the years, but to me he is known as Strider.”

“Strider? That’s a strange name…” said Mablung. “I know no one with a name like that.”

Halbarad frowned. “It is as I feared. And since I do not know his many aliases, it will be difficult to find him.”

“Perhaps if you tell us what he looks like?” suggested Anborn hopefully.

“Perhaps. He is tall, with dark hair, somewhat curled, reaching to his shoulders. His eyes are grey with a little bit of blue mixed through it.”

Anborn nodded. “There are many men who are according to your description. Do you know ought else, something more specific, by which we can identify him?”

Halbarad thought deeply. After a few moments he said carefully, “If I know him well enough, I think he would have chosen a name in the tongue of the Elves. Perhaps that helps?””

Mablung smiled. “Thorongil?”

Halbarad smiled broadly, and barely contained a chuckle. “That could well be possible. Thorongil… that’s just like him.”

Mablung and Anborn failed to see the humor in it, but decided to let it drop. “Come,” said Anborn, and motioned for the man to follow.

Halbarad picked up his sword and put it back in its sheath. Then he saw his broken bow, and with a sad look on his face, he picked it up carefully. “Navaer, good friend. I shall miss you.” He laid the weapon back, and after having taken a final look at the mess in the clearing, he turned around and followed Anborn and Mablung.

To Be Continued…