Arador urged the horse of Rohan forward. The days were darkening, he could feel it. Arador was great in foresight, having inherited it from his grandparents Dirhael and Irowven. Only a day ago, Gwahir the Lord of Eagles had flown from Rivendell, telling Arador that the Lord Elrond had summoned him for a council. He was at Rohan at the time. He had the King Theoden lend him a horse and rode day and night to Rivendell. He had heard from Gwahir that Gandalf Greyhame and many other wise people would be there for the Council. Arador had been to Dale to see the King Bard and his daughter Lendia. He smiled at the thought of her raven-dark hair and blue-gray eyes. They had been quite taken with each other since the day they had met. She had told him that Bard had been slain by an orc. He had pressed her for detais and she had said that when her father had been eating breakfast, a clamor arose. A sound like a sword unsheathed and a terrible voice had said,”Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuluk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul”
He pulled his travel stained cloak about him and urged the horse foward once more. He needed help in unraveling these mysteries. The wisdom of Elrond and Gandalf combined would aid him.
The horse slowed, and Arador got off to see what was up. Arador was the most likeable person you’d ever meet. People knew him from Mirkwood to Erebor. He’d been to Lothlorien and made friends with the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel. He’d traveled to Shire and met Bilbo Baggins and his heir, Frodo. He’d been to Mirkwood and hunted with Legolas, son of King Tranduil. He’d been to Rohan and ridden alongside Prince Theodred, and Eomer, the Third Marshall of the Mark. He’d been to Gondor and fought alongside the sons of Denethor, Boromir and Faramir in constant battles with Mordor. He’d won renown in many different places. He revealed his true identity only to the Wise and to Bard and Lendia. To everyone else, he was Teldren. He was a Ranger of the Dunedain and thier Chieften. He and his brother Aragorn had worked out that Aragorn would rule Gondor and Arnor and Arador would be the Chieften of the Dunedain and the King of Dale (not that Dale was thier’s to debate over but Arador assured his brother that he would marry Lendia).
He peered into the horse’s eyes. She was a young horse, a foal, and she was tired. Arador stared into her eyes. He had a terrible, emrald-green gaze that made his eyes shine brighter than the stars of Elbereth. “Come on, I know you can go for a bit longer. Rivendell’s only three miles away. I know they haven’t given you a name yet but you look splended in starlight. I name you Henaglor, Shadowstar and claim you for my own.” Henaglor suited the young mare very well. Her body was as black as the night and her mane, tail, and hooves were white as stars.
Henaglor took courage from Arador’s words. She nieghed and Arador climed on again and cried, “Onward to Rivendell!”