The Fellowship With a Twist – Chapter One: The Wanderer

by Nov 30, 2002Stories

Arador walked uneasily towards Lorien. He was having a Queer feeling about something. Coming from someone like Arador, who had inheireted the foresight of his grandparents Dirhael and Irvowen, a funny feeling about something is NOT to be taken lightly. He was getting closer and concentrated on looking ahead of him. He would have to pull out his Token. The Lord and Lady of the Wood had been fed up when they had to be woken up in the middle of the night when ever he came. Fortuneately for him, the guard was Haldir, who knew him well.

Arador waved in greeting. “Well met, Haldir!” he said.

“Well met, and yourself?” Haldir responded.

“I’m fine, thanks.” said Arador.

“Come in, the Lady is waiting.” To anyone else, that might have sounded a bit queer, but Arador had visited Lorien enough to know he would be expected (in the day time).

Arador saw Galadriel standing before them. She never seemed to tire.

“What troubles you, Arador?” she asked.

“Middle-earth is in the greatest of dangers.”

“What do yoiu see, Arador?”

“Saruman has betrayed us.” Arador sid..

At this, many of the eavesdropping elves took sharp breaths and muttered amongst themselves.

“How long have you known this?” Galadriel asked.

“Two days now I have felt this. Gandalf took up counsel with him and discovered he was using a Palantir to converse with Sauron. From what Gwahir The Windlord told me, it seems Saruman thinks they should join wth the Dark Lord.”

“You are great in foresight, Arador, son of Arathorn. Rest now, eat. You are to go to Rivendell tomorrow for council.”

Arador tried to sleep, he really did. But all night thoughts of excitement flooded into his mind. Rivendell, the land of his youth. For eighteen years he had dwelt there, until when Aragorn was twenty, and he eighteen, Elrond the Half-Elven called them by thier true names. They had been orc-hunting with the sons of Elrond and Elrond considered them noble and worthy. Since then, Arador had been traveling, just to learn the lore of the people who he’d found. In this way, he’d made friends with the elves of Mirkwood, Rivendell, and Lothlorien. He’d visited Bilbo Baggins, and his nephew, Frodo.

He’d been to Eebor and met Thorin Oakenshield and his Company (and helped Bombur return almost to the wieght he was when Smaug was killed). Traveled to Fangorn and made friends with Treebeard and the other Ents. Been to Gondor and Rohan and many other places. His favorite by far was the city of Minas Tirith, or Arnor as he perferred to call it.

And he’d been to Dale. He smiled to himself as he thought about his friend Bard and his daughter Lendia. Arador pictured her smiling face, raven-dark hair, and blue-gray eyes. When this was all over, he would ask her hand. If he survived, that is.

Galadriel who seemed to be waiting for him to fall asleep, began to sing. A beautiful song that put him to sleep very quickly.

“Good night, Traveler.” she said before going to bed.

Arador had quite horrid dreams that night. Dreams of a lidless eye, rimmd in flame. Riders in black, never dying, resilliant to swords and always seeking, “FRODO!” He woke up sweating. He had many other dreams that night, yet he would be ready to tavel to Rivendell the next day.

Such was the manner of Arador, second son of Arathorn, heir of Anarion and future king of Arnor.

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