Chapter 35: Wounded
"Right. Well, this happened after I was already a few years into the war effort," Strider said, looking over the balcony. Mira felt guilty as she heard him speak; it was sorrowful tone.
'Are we making him relive things he doesn't want to?'
'Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all,' Erza thought. Lucy, Cana, and Jenny shifted uncomfortably; while Bisca and Juvia just looked on.
"Let's see. I was staying in a small village at the time that was a crossroads for a variety of travelers. We had people of all stripes there, not all of them friendly. Still, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Then one rainy night, we had a few unusual visitors," Strider said, smiling a bit.
-o-
As Strider settled in at the Prancing Pony, he took a moment to observe all of the adventurers and vagabonds there. It was mostly men; disheveled, weary, dirty, young and old - no princes or kings or well-to-do's. Some were bloodied, having made their living for the day and drinking it away. They poured pints by the barrel, inhaling them as quick as they came. The smell of pipeweed lingered in the air, casting a little fog throughout.
His eyes eventually traveled to a particular man that stood in a dark corner of the inn. He wore a green cloak that covered him well, save for his scruffy shadow. He took a deep inhale of his pipe, his eyes traveling around the inn. Soon, their eyes met; the two gave each other a short nod and got back to their business.
'A Ranger? Another Dúnedan, I suppose. Probably the only other one in this town,' Strider thought to himself. He looked out the window; the rain fell with the feeling it would flood the world. Soon, the doors opened again. To his intrigue, four Hobbits had walked in.
'Halflings? Not uncommon but I don't usually see them here,' Strider thought. They, just as much as the others, seemed disheveled and tired - and a little frightened, he thought. They quickly approached the barkeep. He did his best not to intrude on the conversation; whatever they wanted was their business alone.
Instead, he made his way over to the Ranger. The Dúnedan looked at him and tilted his head before looking around the room, his eyes settling on the halflings. Strider didn't comment on it; at the very least, he was certain that this was no mere Ranger.
"Another Ranger in these parts?" Strider wondered.
"These parts need a Ranger," the man replied.
"True enough. They aren't under attack high and low by orcs, but there have been rumors," Strider said.
"And what rumors might those be?" the Ranger inquired.
"Figures clad in black and seen on horseback cutting tracks across the river. A far sight dangerous than any orc, I'd say," Strider said, taking a sip of his hot tea.
"In such cases, it's wise to mind oneself," the Ranger said. He took a quick look at Strider before returning his attention to the halflings. "You do seem capable, however."
"As do you," Strider mused. He leaned back a bit and tilted his head, curious.
"Dúnedan?" the Ranger asked.
"Yes," Strider said.
"And one so young," the Ranger said softly.
"You must be nearing halfway," Strider said with a chuckle.
"I'm thankful halfway is still far off," the Ranger replied. "Your mother and father?"
"Orphan. It's a necessarily short life these days. It's no wonder we look the way we do," Strider said. The Ranger chuckled a bit before inhaling deep. As he blew the smoke out, Strider contorted it gently to have it turn into a perfect ring. The Ranger looked impressed.
"And a wizard?" the Ranger asked.
"Of sorts. Nothing like the great ones, but it's a neat trick," Strider said with a small smile.
"A far sight more than a trick, I'd wager," the Ranger said softly. As his eyes met Strider's again, Strider felt a jolt through his body. He felt himself looking at something - someone - more than a man. He quickly regained control of himself and looked around the room. He saw the Ranger smile out of the corner of his eye and cursed himself for being the first to break.
'I'll never live this one down,' he thought. 'But who is he?'
"And your line?" the Ranger asked.
"I haven't had much time for genealogy this past decade," Strider sighed. "I don't even remember my name at birth. Makes it all the harder."
"And what is your name now?" the Ranger asked.
"Strider," Strider answered.
"A good name," the Ranger said with a small smile.
"Happy you think so," Strider said with a laugh. "So, what brings a Ranger to Bree?"
"My travels take me far and wide. Bree today, elsewhere tomorrow. And yourself?" the Ranger asked.
"Bree today, elsewhere tomorrow. Where there's a fight, there am I," Strider sighed.
"Not an ideal living," the Ranger said.
"The only living I need until this war is over," Strider said.
"Most don't think we're at war right now," the Ranger said.
"How right I wish they were," Strider said, running a hand through his hair. "Giants, and trolls descending from the mountain, Nazgûl riding around without compunction; and orcs nearing the countryside. Even orcs that can move in daylight - not many, but some. If this isn't war, what is it?"
"It's war," the Ranger said softly. One of the halflings looked at him and suddenly looked away, as though afraid. "And it has those that know on edge."
"As well it should," Strider said, looking around. "In a years time, half of them will be dead, and the other half will never be themselves again."
"You should enjoy your life," the Ranger said seriously. "Find a lover. Settle down. Leave the fighting to the old hands."
"Ha. Not on your life, old man. If anything, you're the one that should sit out. Those joints are going to start creaking soon," Strider said with a grin. The Ranger let out a small chuckle, shaking his head.
"After this war, perhaps," he said.
"I've taken up enough of your time. Take care, Ranger," Strider said.
"You as well, Strider. I am glad to have met you," the Ranger said.
As Strider made it upstairs, he heard a commotion below.
'Drunkards,' he sighed before heading to his room.
'Hmm. A Dúnedan in these parts. What're the odds? Probably should've hung around him a bit, but he seems busy. Maybe I'll run into him again in the morning,' Strider thought, yawning. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looked over at his sword. It was beginning to chip.
'Another day, another blade. I'll have to find a more permanent replacement. A blade of renown - one that won't break just because it struck a few hard heads,' Strider thought. As he laid back down, he thought about the conversation he had just had.
'My birth name, hmm? Maybe after it's all done, I can look into that,' he thought. Closing his eyes, his thoughts wandered. 'How many years as it been since I started? How many already? How long will this take? How many at the end?'
Pulling the blanket over him, he tried his best to fall asleep.
-o-
Living in the wilds for as long as he did helped attune him to what was going on in his surroundings, even as he slept. He heard a panic in the streets outside as several horses neighed and clopped up to the Prancing Pony. His eyes widened; Black Riders had come.
'What business do they have here of all places?' he wondered. He considered his options; this wasn't the kind of enemy he could just attack in such close quarters. The collateral damage would be too high for him to stomach and he would be severely disadvantaged.
'I'm going to have to start training even more,' he thought, clenching his fist several times. He heard the door open and the shuffling of several metal boots. He knew the barkeep was still likely downstairs but heard no cry of pain.
'Looks like they're after something. The people in here aren't in any danger, at least,' Strider thought. He ducked down and looked underneath the door. The Nazgûl went past his door and down the hallway. He opened his door a bit and saw them enter another room at the far end of the hall. He couldn't perfectly discern what was going on inside, but he saw them raise their swords. He was about to make a move when he noticed something white erupting from the beds.
'Feathers?' Strider thought, telekinetically bringing one to him. He retreated into his room as he heard them shriek in disdain and run out again. A minute later, he saw their horses leaving below. His face pressed against the window, he saw another light across the street - and a worn face pressing against another window. He watched it until it went out.
'Is that you, Ranger?'
-o-
A couple of hours later, still at the break of dawn, Strider saw four little figures and one tall one emerge from the inn across the street. All of them wore cloaks, the tall one wearing a rustic green.
As they made to leave, Strider quickly ducked out of his room. Heading downstairs, he saw that several villagers were huddled together, talking about the recent events.
"I wouldn't recommend going out right away, sir. There's evil afoot," the barkeep said nervously.
"There's evil across the lands, I'm afraid. Stay safe," Strider said, rapping his knuckles on the counter before leaving.
His telekinesis did well in keeping rain and other particulates off of him, as well as dampening the sounds he made as he followed the others. He could barely see them in the distance and made sure to keep it that way, maneuvering the light fog to keep him cloaked.
'So they're going to Amon Sûl? Is that wise, Ranger? It's visible for miles around. While you might see others approaching, they'll see you. But no - you're not foolish enough to start a fire up there,' Strider thought.
Hours later, after tracking them to Weathertop and settling down at the base, Strider groaned in displeasure. Someone was foolish enough to start a fire up there.
'Damn it! I hope you told those halflings that was a stupid idea!' Strider thought. As he ran towards the hill, he suddenly heard a screech. Shivers went down his spine as he turned; only a couple of miles away, heading towards him at a breakneck speed was a horse as black as night. Strider erupted from the ground and towards Weathertop; whether or not he was seen now wasn't important. As he landed on the watchtower, he heard four screams.
"QUIET!" He hissed at them. They were the four Hobbits he had seen the night before. They all looked extremely young - younger than him, in fact - but he knew better. They were likely in their thirties or forties - still children by Hobbit standards. They had curly hair, dirtied but kind faces and fear etched into their eyes.
"Y-Y-You flew! Are you a devil?!" One of them demanded.
"The Devils are down there and they're fast approaching. Some Hobbit was stupid enough to light a fire up here!" Strider exclaimed. He saw one of them glare at the others, who retreated a bit. "Nothing we can do about that now. We need to run - quickly! I'll fly you al—"
"No! We can't do that! We only just met up with a companion and he's taking us to where we need to be. We cannot abandon him!" one of them yelled.
"We don't even know who you are! How do we know you're not with them?!" another demanded.
"And what might your name be?" Strider asked the first Hobbit.
"I-I am Mr. Underhill," the man said.
"Underhill? I see. Very well, Underhill. Draw your swords, little ones. If you don't intend to flee, then you'll have to fight," Strider said, drawing his own. He turned around and waited, knowing what was coming up the steps.
"D-Do we have a chance?" one of the four asked.
"I certainly hope so. Where has the Ranger gone off to?" Strider asked.
"I-I think he went to look at the path," Underhill said. "He told us not to light a fire…"
"Yes, I imagine he did. This watchtower can be seen from miles away. A fire burned here is easily discernible - the only orange glow on a night like this. That was foolish, but as long as we all survive, you'll learn a lesson," Strider said.
"What's your name?" Underhill asked.
"Strider," he answered.
"St-Strider?!" one of the others exclaimed. "But I thought that was the other one?!"
"The only Strider I know is myself," Strider said. "Be alert! They're almost here."
As soon as he said that, five figures appeared across the way. They wore black cloaks, metal greaves, gloves, and spiked boots. As hard as he tried, Strider couldn't discern any faces amongst them - only empty holes that lead to the abyss. They each gripped swords that were around 4 feet in length with black hilts and metallic crossguards. Not one of them spoke - they just regarded the Hobbits and Strider.
Strider's eyes jumped to each one before finally settling on the one in the middle. He was a few inches taller than the others, and it was this one that Strider felt the most power from.
"D-do we stand a chance?" One of the Hobbits asked?
"What's your name, little one?" Strider asked.
"Merry," he breathed.
"Pippin," another said.
"Sam," a third said, the one who was closest to Underhill.
"I hope so. Good. You've drawn your swords," Strider noted, not taking his eyes off the figure. "That's good. You're willing to fight. Stay behind me as much as possible. I'll do what I can."
Suddenly, Strider thrust his hand out. Four of the Riders were hurled back while the one in the middle just grounded himself. He screeched at Strider. The figure lunged but found his attack blocked by Strider. Strider went on the offensive, pushing him back a bit before pivoting back again to get his bearings.
"Angmar," Strider whispered. The figure tilted its head before jumping again. This time, he was joined by two more while two others went towards the Hobbits. Strider gritted his teeth and fought back his attackers, bursting them back with several telekinetic bursts. He rushed towards the other two and grabbed them by their cloaks and pulled them back.
"You'll have to get through me first," he spat, kicking one. It was as though he kicked a solid body, but he knew better; there was no person underneath that cloak. As another one lunged, Strider's shoulder checked him before bringing his head to his face. He hit him with another telekinetic burst, one that threw the figure off the top of the hill. He had reduced their number for the time being, but he knew it would come back soon.
"A once great king shouldn't be hunting children," Strider said, pelting them with fist-sized rocks. The relentless barrage scuffed the metallic bits they wore at best.
'Damn it! Orcs I can handle. Wraiths are another story,' Strider thought. He ripped two swords from them, but the other two held on. The one he had thrown off soon rejoined its fellows. Suddenly, Angmar raised a hand. He lunged quickly at Strider while the others made a beeline for the others, spreading themselves out. The Hobbits fought back as best as they could but were pushed into a corner quickly. Strider ran and leaped over the Nazgûl before pushing them back hurriedly. While they regrouped with Angmar, he approached them yet again, cutting the air around him.
'I need a better blade. I need to improve my Magic. Damn it!' Strider thought angrily.
Strider blasted a figure back before locking his sword with another. He began smashing it down on the sword of the other, who buckled. With a sharp burst, he hurled it tumbling back and out of sight, reducing their number to four again. Two others came at him from either side, but he managed to evade them in the nick of time. A third, however, managed to land a blow on him. The sword cut through Strider's cloak with ease and opened a gash across his chest. Strider exclaimed in pain before retreating a bit, his teeth clenched.
In his moment of recoil, he saw Angmar heading towards the Hobbits. He shouted before rushing again into the fight, putting some distance between them. Angmar stepped back a bit and recomposed himself.
"What're you gonna do?" Merry shrieked.
"Trying to figure that out," Strider said, gritting his teeth. "If you see an opening, run and don't look back."
"You just might have to," Strider said, locking swords with another. It suddenly let out a loud and terrifying screech that grated on his ears. Strider didn't have to deflect Angmar, who suddenly lunged at him from the side. Strider let out an anguished scream as a dark sword penetrated his shoulder.
It was the most grueling and intense pain he had ever felt. His eyes shot open as his powers exploded. The Hobbits and the Nazgûl were all blasted back as red and black blood dripped from Strider's shoulder.
"STRIDER!" One of the Hobbits roared. He immediately retreated as several of the Nazgûl beset upon them. Strider leaped towards the Nazgûl, tumbling and knocking them down. He got to his feet again, slouched as the pain continued to snake its way through his shoulder and arm.
"Me…first," he snarled at his enemies. He lunged at one of them and rocketed it back for the third time. The Nazgûl remained undeterred, however; again they approached the Hobbits while Angmar went for Strider. As soon as Angmar was about to strike, however, he stopped and snapped his head up. As Strider looked back, he saw that one of the four had disappeared.
'Did he get away?' he thought. "Run, you fools!"
They seemed not to have heard, though. As Angmar made his way over to the three, he leaned down before recoiling back. Bringing his sword up, he stabbed at the air in front of him. Strider heard an anguished cry of pain as the fourth one - Underhill - suddenly reappeared. Strider managed to get in one more attack that sent two of the Nazgûl hurtling to the side while the others remained grounded. Before he could attack again, however, he felt a warm sensation at his side. Looking over, he saw a figure approaching, a torch alight in his hand.
-o-
As Strider woke with a gasp, he could feel the intense throbbing in his left shoulder. Looking over, he blanched; red and black blood had congealed with green herbs that left a sting. Looking around, he saw that he was surrounded by three of the halflings and the Ranger.
"Ranger," Strider said, heaving.
"Rest for a minute, Strider," the Ranger expressed in a gentle but authoritative tone. "Forgive me that I minute is all I can allow. We must move - quickly."
"The fourth one? Underhill?" Strider asked.
"Already far ahead of us. My companion took him ahead. We have to go soon," the Ranger said.
"To where?" Strider asked, trying to get up. His knees nearly buckled, but the Ranger held him up.
"Rivendell. To the home of Elrond," the Ranger said.
"Rivendell. Elves. Let's go, then. Unfortunately, I'm not sure if my Magic will be of much use," Strider said, grimacing. His concentration was continuously corroded by the pain in his shoulder.
"Let's go, then. Is everyone ready?" The Ranger asked.
"Let's go," Sam said. He had a pep in his step, Strider saw; his companion seemed to be especially important to him. The other two followed Sam, each on high alert. Strider and the Ranger, meanwhile, hung a bit further back.
"Forgive me," Strider said through gritted teeth.
"For what?" the Ranger wondered.
"I'm just holding you all back. If you want to g—" he began before the Ranger shook his head.
"I will not leave you behind. You risked yourself to help my companions. Whatever may come, we'll see you to Rivendell," the Ranger said.
"Thank you," Strider sighed.
"You may have saved them all last night. It takes a special man to hold off one Nazgûl; to stave off five for as long as you did is a feat in and of itself," the Ranger said.
"It seems we only made it because someone came with fire. Was that you?" Strider asked.
"Yes. It was damp, but I managed to light a torch. Fire and water are what they fear," the Ranger said.
"I'll keep that in mind for next time," Strider said. He stumbled a bit but recomposed himself quickly, taking a bit of pressure off of the Ranger.
"You may wish to just rest after you are healed. As I said, you're young," the Ranger said.
"Ha. You're lucky this wasn't you, old man. Otherwise, I'd have to carry you to Rivendell," Strider said. The Ranger smiled.
"At least it hasn't dampened your spirit. That's good," he said.
"I didn't ask you last night - but what is your name?" Strider asked.
"Aragorn. Son of Arathorn," he said after a pause.
"Aragorn?" Strider asked, stopping. "My lord?"
"At ease. We walk," Aragorn said, pulling him along gently. "I am only the Chieftain of the Dúnedain now."
"You say that as though it doesn't mean anything," Strider said. "I admit, it might not be as glorious as king."
"A great many things are more glorious than being a king," Aragorn said with a sad smile. "But we shoulder the responsibilities that we must. You are a Dúnedan, after all. You know what is required of you."
"Yes," Strider nodded, looking ahead. "I wonder, my lord…"
"Hmm?" Aragorn hummed.
"I hear Rivendell has a great library. I was thinking on my line last night," Strider said.
"I see. They may have some records, yes. But it'll be difficult without knowing who you are, exactly. You will be able to ask around, however. And if you learn something, tell me and I shall tell you what I can," Aragorn said.
"Thank you," Strider said, bowing slightly.
"You can hold off on the respects for later. Better we make sure we make it to Rivendell first. One doesn't know what might come out of the shadows," Aragorn said, looking both ways.
"Right," Strider nodded. He allowed himself to go on autopilot, enjoying the scenery as much as he could as they trudged along.
-o-
"So you were injured trying to protect others?" Mira asked. The others had been listening intently, not daring to interrupt.
"Yeah. Four significant people, as I soon found out. They were great at moving around unseen but weren't adept at fighting. If I hadn't made it there in time, I'm not sure what would've happened otherwise. Maybe they would've been rescued; but just as likely, they could've been killed," Strider said.
"Do you…regret it?" Jenny asked nervously. Strider took a deep breath before answering.
"When I first got stabbed, I think I did for a moment. It hurt. A lot. But no, other than that, I don't regret it at all. I'd do it the same way again if I had to," Strider said.
"Strider…can you show us?" Lucy asked softly.
"It's not a pretty sight," he said with a sad smile.
"We don't care," Juvia interjected. "We can handle it."
Strider shrugged. He pulled down the left part of his shirt and showed them the unsightly black splotch. Lucy and Jenny flinched while the others stared at it with hard eyes. Slowly, Juvia reached out to touch it. Strider knew what would happen as soon as she did, but didn't move to pull back. As she caressed it in what she thought was a gentle manner, he reeled back, a pained look flashing across his face.
"It's…extremely delicate. It's why I passed out when the spider struck me through it. A touch is jolting; anything more than that is too much," Strider said.
"That bad?" Lucy asked with a shaky voice.
"Unfortunately," Strider said.
"And there's no cure?" Jenny asked.
"Not that I've found, no. Ms. Porlyusica gave me something a few days ago that helped dampen the pain, though. I'll have to remember to get that recipe from her some time," Strider said, making a mental note of it.
"But what kind of weapon does that?" Lucy asked.
"A cursed blade. It was like a wraith blade; usable by only a few, extremely dangerous beings. The blade would mutate whoever was stabbed with it until they also became a wraith…or, at least, wraith-like," Strider said.
"So that happened to you?" Juvia asked, stunned.
"Not all the way, of course. Otherwise, I would never have made it to Ishgar," he said with a weary smile. "But the transformation began quickly. I had to be taken to a particular healer who was versed in this type of magic."
"So that's where you were heading to? What happened then?" Mira asked.
-o-
Strider was delirious for most of the journey to Rivendell. He kept phasing in and out, making sure to do his share of the lifting but unable to do significantly more. As they crossed what appeared to be a river, he finally collapsed, barely awake.
"We'll wait here. They must already know we're here," Aragorn said, sitting down.
"Are you sure?" Sam asked.
"Yes. I imagine Frodo is undergoing the healing process now," he said.
"Will he make it?" Sam asked.
"He should. He's powerful that much is certain," Aragorn said.
"It's our fault he's hurt," one of the Hobbits said.
"No…no…my fault," Strider sputtered.
"He doesn't want you to blame yourselves. He's aware of the risks involved. Strider is a warrior, after all. He has to know," Aragorn said with a smile. "Get some rest, little ones. There's not much else to do for the moment."
As Strider heard them shuffle away, he slowly sat back up.
"A river…" he whispered.
"Bruinen," Aragorn said softly.
"We're close," he sighed.
"Just waiting now. They should be here soon," Aragorn said, looking back. "Do you know any Elves?"
"A few," Strider said, breathing heavily. He wasn't in a very talkative mood right now. "Mirkwood."
"I see. Thranduil," Aragorn said softly. Strider nodded.
"Bla—my sword?" Strider asked, looking around.
"I'm afraid we had to discard it. When they ran, one of the Nazgûl stepped on it and fractured it near the base. Was it special?" Aragorn asked.
"No, but I need a new one…now," Strider said, laying back down.
"You'll find some good blades here. For now, rest," Aragorn said.
As Strider closed his eyes, he heard horses from behind. He couldn't muster the strength to look, though; satisfied that he would be in good hands soon, he let the pain take him out.
-o-
Strider could only remember flashes of what happened over the next couple of days. He went in and out of consciousness, seeing several different faces hovering above him from time to time. A few were notable; one was of Aragorn, who he could identify anywhere now; another was an old man with a gray beard and wise eyes; the third was of a wise and powerful elf that had black hair and a stunning headpiece. He recalled that he wore a velvety brown cloak and radiated like the sun. But the fourth face was the one that stuck most with him.
She was a beautiful elf - far and away the most beautiful he had ever seen. She was petite with long blonde hair, sometimes straight, other times wavy. Her creamy white skin always glowed. She had kind, light blue eyes and a serene smile that he saw whenever she hovered above him. The last occasion she had worn a beautiful lilac dress. But through it all, the most important piece of information eluded him: her name.
She tended most to him, he remembered it; followed by the Lord of the manner, then Aragorn and finally the gray beard.
As he was blinking, Strider felt a cool breeze in his room. He saw the beautiful elf approaching him again, a smile on her lips. He tried to speak, but no words escaped him. He tried to get up.
"Shh," she whispered, laying him back down with a gentle smile. "Rest," she said, closing his eyes for him. He heard a tinkling giggle as she caressed his cheek, followed by a cool feeling on his forehead. "Rest," she said again; and without compunction or delay, he obeyed.
-o-
"It looks like you're doing much better," Aragorn said as he leaned against the doorframe, smiling at Strider.
"You seem to be doing alright yourself, old man. I hope the Lord of the manor oiled those joints for you," Strider said, sitting up at last. He leaned against the bed frame and inhaled deeply. A rich, petrichor smell filled the room - as though it had just freshly rained. Strider took a few more deep breaths and immersed himself in the gentle light that cast a glow on him. "Imladris. It's as beautiful as I've heard it to be."
"And more, when you have a chance to look around. Are you well enough to walk?" Aragorn asked.
"I should be," Strider said, swinging his legs over the bed. As they touched the cool stone below, he exhaled delightedly. "Aragorn, I've decided. This is paradise."
"That it is," Aragorn said with a laugh.
Strider gingerly got up and put on a robe that had been left out for him. As he and Aragorn walked around, he took care to take in all the sights. Aragorn kept the conversation nonexistent for the time being, knowing that it was an exemplary experience for those lucky enough to see it. Strider looked all around, taking in the beautiful architecture, the stunning waterfalls and scenery, and the interesting residents.
Strider almost collapsed in wonder as they stopped along a small bridge that traversed a river in the city. In the distance, he saw several large waterfalls, small patches of forest, massive mountains, and a beautiful sun overlooking all of it.
"Careful there. We don't want you falling into the water after all that effort in saving you," Aragorn said with a laugh.
"R-Right. This is…" Strider began.
"I know," Aragorn said softly. He was fond of the place as well. "Forgive me, but there is one piece of business I'd like you to accompany me on."
"Of course, my lord. Let's go," Strider said.
Aragorn led him through Rivendell, to another room. On the far side of it, Strider saw an old man with a gray beard and long gray hair, wearing gray robes, smoking a pipe. As he noticed them enter, he ushered them over.
"And so you must be Strider," the old man said.
"Yes," Strider said.
"I am the wizard - Gandalf," he introduced himself.
"I've heard of you," Strider said, rubbing his chin. "You're quite an interesting old fellow, aren't you? I recall a story from Lord Thranduil involving a dragon some time ago…"
Gandalf coughed on his smoke, grumbling as he turned to Aragorn, who stifled a laugh.
"Dragon indeed. I was hardly involved in that endeavor, as was Thranduil. That lies on the shoulder of others," Gandalf said. "Strider, I would like to invite you to a meeting that is to be held here in a few more days. It's a meeting that will decide the course of the rest of this war. Aragorn told me about your brave attempt to help the Hobbits."
"I'm honored, sir. I'd be happy to attend. But…what exactly is it about?" Strider asked.
"You will find that out at the meeting as well. It'd be easier to explain when everyone is there at one time," Gandalf said. "Aragorn also told me something else that I found interesting - that you can use Magic."
"Only telekinesis," Strider said, levitating a stool and table before setting it down.
"O-ho! That's marvelous!" the Wizard exclaimed jovially. "Who was your teacher?"
"His name is Janus. He's the one who raised me," Strider said. He assumed that Aragorn had filled Gandalf in on the other details as well.
"I see. Interesting. Extremely interesting. A Dúnedan that can use magic. I never would've thought it possible," he said.
"Nor did I," Aragorn mused.
"Do you know any other Magic?" Gandalf asked.
"I'm afraid not. Telekinesis is the only one that I can use. I've tried Fire and Water but I can't seem to create the element - I can only manipulate it if it already exists," Strider said.
"Yes, I see. Versatile in one way, but useless in another. You're in luck, however. As long as something exists in this world, your Magic will be able to effect it," Gandalf said with a smile. "I must take my leave now. Until later, Strider."
"Is he always in such a rush?" Strider asked as he saw the wizard live with a spry step.
"More or less," Aragorn sighed. "Come. I'll take you to the library. A new blade is already being found for you; it'll be delivered later tonight."
"Wonderful," Strider said excitedly. "I meant to ask - how's the little one?"
"Healing well. I believe he's still resting, however. His constitution isn't as high as yours. Still, he is resilient," Aragorn said.
"That's good to hear," Strider sighed. "I feared the worst had happened."
"We all were," Aragorn said.
They walked a little while longer until they came to a beautiful domed building. Several elves had massive tomes, manuscripts, and scrolls in front of them, enjoying words of old. Aragorn led him to the third level, where genealogical scrolls were kept.
"Our line," Aragorn said as he pointed to a large section towards a wall.
"This could take me a while," Strider sighed.
"When you've lived as long as we have and have ancestors going so far back, it makes sense," Aragorn said with a light laugh.
"Intend on helping me?" Strider wondered.
"These old eyes aren't suited for reading, unfortunately. I don't want too pull a muscle reaching to high either," Aragorn said, taking his leave.
As Strider turned his attention to the books, he measured the daunting task in front of him. Settling down, however, he pulled a chair close and levitated some scrolls towards him and began to dig in.
-o-
"Anything interesting?" Aragorn asked later that night.
"Plenty, but nothing relevant to me just yet. I can't make heads or tales of weather I'm nearing something or not. It'll take me some time to get through them all, but I should be able to," Strider said.
"If you remember anything, you can ask the librarian. She's out today, but she could be of immeasurable help," Aragorn said.
"I'll remember that. What's her name?" Strider wondered.
"Anairë," Aragorn said.
"A beautiful name," Strider mused.
"For a beautiful elf," Aragorn said.
"Perhaps not as beautiful as the one that's been attending to me, however," Strider said with a smile. Aragorn laughed a little but shrugged.
"Speaking of beautiful, your sword will be here soon. You ought to rest until then," Aragorn said.
"Right. You ought to take your advice. You want to be rested before sitting on the throne again," Strider said with a smile.
"First comes the war," Aragorn said, taking his leave.
-o-
"Lord Elrond," Strider said, quickly bowing his head as he came across the legendary elf.
"Raise your head. There's no need to bow to me," the wise elf said.
"Thank you for treating me. I'm not sure how to repay you," Strider said.
"You've done well enough in helping the little ones. This was the least that I could do," Elrond said. "I'm afraid I do I have ill tidings regarding the wound."
"I think I already know, sir," Strider said, looking at wrapped wound. He could see the blackened veins, like roots in the ground.
"The wound will follow you for as long as you live," Elrond said. "The most we could do is stem the spreading. But it will be painful for the entirety of your life."
"Yes, sir," Strider said. He touched it; and immediately regretted doing so.
"Try your utmost to not injure it; the pain would enough to knock out even the mightiest warrior. That you were still cognizant after the attack is a remarkable feat in and of itself," he said, smiling.
"I'll do my best, sir," Strider said.
"Now, go rest. It's the best medicine I can give you now," Elrond said, taking his leave.
-o-
As Strider was about to get settled in bed, he heard a voice call out.
"Are you busy?"
"Not at all. Please, come in," he said. As she did, Strider felt his breath catch; he stumbled and nearly fell out of bed. With her straight blonde hair, light blue eyes, and gentle smile, he could place her anywhere. Against her lavender dress, she held a black scabbard.
"Hello. It's nice to see you awake at last," she said gently. As she walked towards him, Strider thought she floated.
"Y-yes. Hello. Please come in," he repeated. She giggled and gently pushed him down onto the bed, taking a seat at the chair near the headboard.
"Is that how you usually introduce yourself?" She wondered.
"Hello? Yes. Wait. No! Wai—well, yes," Strider said, fumbling over the words. This was a first for him. He took a deep breath before speaking again. "Sorry. Yes, I introduce myself with hello, but usually not this badly. My name is Strider."
"Hello, Strider," she giggled. "I'm Anairë. It's a pleasure to speak to you at last."
"The pleasure is all mine," Strider said. He tilted his head as his eyes fell on the scabbard.
"Your new blade. Lord Elrond personally pulled it from the armory after Lord Aragorn had informed him of your deeds," she said, laying it softly on the bed. Strider ran his fingers across the beautiful scabbard, to the simple black hilt. It had sharp crossguards that he wanted to poke but decided against doing so. As he unsheathed it, he felt his heart rate increase. The sword had a beautiful finish and was inscribed with ancient runes along the blade. It was as sharp now as it had been since it was created.
"From Gondolin. While it wasn't named, it's a sword that was passed down through the ages until it finally found rest here," Anairë said.
"Beautiful," Strider said, looking at her. She continued to smile at him, watching him sheathe the sword and gently lay it down.
"I was also told that you might need the help of a librarian," she said.
"Hmm? Yes. I've been trying to learn more about myself and my parents. Unfortunately, I've little idea of where to begin," Strider said.
"I was told as much. It must be hard for you," she said softly.
"I hadn't given it much thought until recently," he said.
"Do you have anything that might give us a hint?" She asked.
"Not really, no. I didn't have any possessions when I ran," he said.
"I see. You grew up in the east, though?" she wondered.
"Northeast, yes. Near Rhudaur," Strider said.
"I see. I will pull what I can in that context, then. It might take me a little while," she said.
"I'll help!" Strider volunteered immediately. She giggled at how excited he seemed but acquiesced.
"Very well. But tonight, you rest. I'll bring you your dinner," she said.
"Would you care to join me?" He asked.
"Of course," she said. With one more smile, she took her leave.
-o-
The other girls shifted a bit uneasily as he told them about her. He looked up at the sky, his eyes locked in on a particular star.
"Strider…" Erza said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder.
"Mmm?" He hummed.
"I think you ought to get some rest for now," she suggested.
"I ca—" he began before Mira cut him off.
"Erza's right. We can continue this tomorrow night," she said. The others nodded in agreement.
"Alright," Strider sighed. "Thank you."
"We'll see you in the morning," Mira said, quickly kissing him on the cheek before taking her leave. Erza, Cana, and Jenny followed while Juvia and Lucy contented themselves with hugging him for now.
-o-
As Bisca exited, she saw they were still outside the door.
"She's really important to him," she said softly.
"I know," Erza said, tapping the floor with her foot. "I asked him if he'd ever been in love before and he said once. I think he was referring to her."
"What happened?" Lucy asked, fearing the answer.
"Mira? Bisca?" Juvia asked.
"It's not our place to say," Mira said sternly. "Just be patient. This isn't easy for him."
"Do...you girls think we're being a bit hard on him? Making him go through this?" Cana asked.
The others dreaded the answer to the question. Without making any attempts at answering, they all said their good nights and went to their respective rooms, more depressed than usual.
-o-
As Bisca reentered, she saw that Strider was still outside.
"Strider," she whispered. As he looked at her, she saw that his eyes were blood red. Lips trembling, she quickly pulled him in for a tight hug. Strider's arms hung limp for a minute before he returned it. As he buried his face in her neck, she felt a slight wetness. Bisca held him closer than she ever had before.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone