Disclaimer:  This story is non-profit and written for purely entertainment purposes.  All recognized characters and places are property of J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema.  I own nothing but my name.

A/N:  I'm humbled and awed by the amazing response.  I hope you continue to enjoy reading this chapter as well!  :)  Thank you from the bottom of my heart to those who reviewed.  You guys are incredible!  Wow!  I apologize profusely for the delays--I've been ridiculously busy and my health hasn't been cooperating as of late.  But on to the chapter...  Happy Reading!  :)

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~Chapter 3:  And So It Begins ~

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Summer had reached its zenith in the Wild.  Stretches of hilly grassland turned greenish-brown as the heat lounged sullenly upon them, its lethargy broken on occasion by surprisingly cool winds from the westward mountain peaks.  The forests were thick and deep green, leafy boughs providing welcome respite from the scorching sun.

The young Dúnedain were pushed tirelessly by veteran Rangers.  Long summer days revolved around combat, field reconnaissance, and the art of surviving a life that promised nothing more than harsh conditions and loneliness.  “We Rangers of the North,” the Dúnedain chief Guttarion barked, “roam Eriador, which lies over the mountains and to the West.  Seldom do we travel in groups.  The land’s inhabitants do not look upon us kindly—they hold us in suspicion, and you should hold them likewise.  We are Eriador’s protectors and its watchers.  Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Sounds enchanting,” Halbarad had murmured out of the corner of his mouth to Aragorn.  “When do we leave?”

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Aragorn pushed back several locks of wet hair from his sweat-drenched forehead and willed his breathing to slow.  Settling instinctively into proper stance, he angled his blade and beckoned Halbarad to advance.

Halbarad, his tousled hair limp with sweat and panting even heavier than Aragorn, merely threw back his head and groaned.  “I tire of these matches.  Surely we have sparred enough for today?”

Aragorn gave his sword an experimental swing.  It was odd, the weight of the blade.  For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why Men, in possession of less strength than their Elven counterparts, favored heavier weapons.  “We have not yet been called to halt,” he replied, giving the blade a second swing.  “Come, ready yourself.”

Halbarad wiped a sweaty palm across the front of his tunic.  He was dusty and disheveled, having already been knocked from his feet several times by Aragorn.  “I do not think you need any more practice.”

Aragorn stared pointedly at the other.  Halbarad scowled.  “We are all in need of practice,” Aragorn replied.  “Without use, even our greatest skills will whither and fade.”

“Morgoth’s Void!  We are not blinking flowers, and cease staring at me like that—Elvish snob.  You are the best swordsman here, and everyone knows it.”

Aragorn barely disguised his flinch.  Halbarad was right, he was the best swordsman in camp.  Actually, he was best in almost all manner of weaponry and none could ride better—Lord Glorfindel and the sons of Elrond had been strict and relentless in their teaching.  And while the other novices were awed by his finely honed skills, the elder trainees and veteran Dúnedain seemed to take offence.  In fact, Aragorn received the distinct impression some downright hated him. 

“I only speak what is clearly visible to all,” Halbarad added in subdued tones, sensing the other’s discomfort. 

Aragorn’s lips quirked into small grin in spite of himself.  Halbarad was becoming quite adept at catching subtleties.  One month ago he would have barely registered the onset of a rainstorm.  “I may not need the practice,” Aragorn replied, deciding to test his boasting abilities.  After all, that is what Men did.  Quite a bit.  “But you, my friend, are in dire need of it.  And,” his grin broadened, “I rather enjoy seeing you put into place, amongst the dust where you belong.” 

He would have been disturbed to know how closely his smile resembled Halbarad’s characteristic smirk.

“I might remind you I am the only one in camp still willing to spar with you.”  Halbarad adopted a stance similar to Aragorn’s. 

After their first match several weeks ago, the Heir of Isildur had taken it upon himself to coach the other.  While Halbarad undoubtedly had talent with the blade, his lack of technique was blatantly apparent.  His swings were reckless and wild, and his footwork…  it was atrocious enough to give even the oldest weapon master fits.  The young Ranger was nearly as dangerous to friend as he was to foe.  Aragorn decided someone must have thrust a sword into Halbarad’s hands and said, “Kill.”   

The two lifted their blades in salute.    Aragorn’s fingers tightened reflexively over the sword handle as he watched Halbarad tense and sidle to the right.  Sweat trickled down his back.  “Good, remember to stay on the balls of your feet.”

Halbarad’s face broke into cheeky smirk and he seemed to coil into himself.  “Prepare to greet the dirt, nancing Elvish snob.”  He darted forward, thrusting the blade at Aragorn’s midsection then quickly sweeping upward towards Aragorn’s shoulder.

Aragorn pivoted and swiftly lifted his own blade.  Steel reverberated sweetly as he deflected Halbarad’s blow, catching the other at the sword base where the impact would be most felt.  Halbarad yelped as his hand and forearm took the brunt of the blow, and involuntarily released the sword.  Feeling a flash of sympathy for the other—for he was well acquainted with the bone jarring pain such strikes caused—Aragorn grabbed Halbarad’s shoulder and kicked the Ranger’s feet out from under him.  Halbarad met the Wilderland dirt for the fifth time that day with a solid thud and a vile oath.

Aragorn stood over the other, sword tip hovering just above Halbarad’s throat.  Halbarad tentatively raised his hands in defeat.  “You lost concentration,” Aragorn began, wiping a forearm across his dripping face, “the moment you—”

Where, exactly, Halbarad managed to produce a knife from was utterly lost on Aragorn.  Taken by surprise, he jerked back as it hummed angrily past his ear and embedded itself into an unfortunate sapling.  Halbarad rolled aside and sprang to his feet.

“And who has lapsed in concentration now?”  He crossed his arms and adopted the cocky stance Aragorn knew all too well.  Covered in sweat and dust, the young Ranger had taken on the tawny hues of Wilderland dirt.  “Strider of the Dúnedain, I introduce you to my faithful hunting knife Aigithil.”  He indicated to the still quivering blade with a flourish.

Aragorn glanced at the knife and then back to his friend.  “That was a Corsair’s tactic.”

“It was a Huntsman’s tactic.”  Halbarad smirked in retort.  “And you fell for it.” 

Aragorn had the strangest desire to punch him.

Clapping Aragorn heartily on the shoulder, Halbarad threw back his head and laughed.  “Peace, my friend.  Peace!  Come, even you must admit we have done enough today.  At this moment I desire nothing more than a quick bathe in the creek and a good meal.”  He looped an arm over Aragorn’s shoulders and drew him into a headlock.

“Aaargh!”  Aragorn twisted violently in the other’s grasp.  “You thick-headed lout!  I have a sword in my hand!”

Halbarad merely snickered gleefully and tightened his hold.  “Behold!  The mighty Heir of Isildur is felled by lowly Halbarad of Tharbad!”

“Halbarad!  Bloody Eru—will you STOP shouting my name to all of Arda and LET GO?”

Halbarad released a loud whoop and tousled Aragorn’s hair with a grimy hand.  “Listen to the mouth on our sweet Ranger!  There is hope for you yet!”

Aragorn’s reply came in the shape of an elbow to the gut.

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Several hours later, the two lounged amiably around the main fire with the rest of the camp.  Though Aragorn was not liked by many, Halbarad was liked by all.  The tousle-haired youth of Tharbad was reckless, impulsive, quick to smile—even if it was more of a smirk, and prone to wild exaggerations.  He somehow managed to get away with almost everything, be it a smart retort to a superior officer or nipping a third helping of dinner.  Aragorn had no idea how he did it. 

“Here.” 

Aragorn started at Halbarad’s call. 

The young Ranger winked and tossed him a second bread roll.  “Malthus is being generous tonight.”  He plopped down next to Aragorn and took a large bite out of his own roll.

“Thank you,” Aragorn murmured.  The evening sky flared brightly in the sun’s waning moments.  Stars were just beginning to flicker, and a sweet breeze tumbled softly from the West.  Aragorn had never felt so homesick in his life.  He missed Rivendell.  Missed Arwen, his brothers, his mother, Lord Elrond… 

Halbarad nudged him.  “Do not make me beat the melancholy out of you, Strider.”  Bringing the last piece of bread to his mouth, Halbarad paused midway and sniffed.  Disgust flashed across his face and he glared accusingly at Aragorn.

“What is it?  Why do you look at me so?”  Aragorn tore his roll half-heartedly.

“Lavender.”

“What?”

“Aragorn, you smell of lavender.”  Halbarad rolled his eyes towards the heavens and shook his head, silently beseeching the Valar to have pity upon his hapless companion.  “Please tell me you are not still using that threaded soap.”

“My apologies you find my choice of soap so offensive,” Aragorn tersely replied.  “And it is a rope.  Soap on a rope—not a thread.”  He angrily threw a piece of bread into the leaping campfire.

“I do not care what it is,” answered Halbarad.  “Rangers, my friend, do not smell of lavender.  We have discussed this before.”  He wagged a finger at Aragorn in reprimand.  “No flowery scents, no shaving and bathing every day…  Oh, and if I even think you have begun folding your clothes again—”

Aragorn stood abruptly.  “Then mayhap I do not wish to be a Ranger!”  Grey eyes flashing, he threw the remaining bread into the fire and then disappeared into the darkening forest.      

Halbarad’s brow furrowed in concern.  Aragorn was not prone to outbursts.

Muffled laughter carried across the campfire.  “Halbarad,” called a voice, the slightly nasal accent belonging to that of a Hollin native.  “Looks as though you have upset Middle-earth’s savior!”  Several snickers followed.

Halbarad rose to his feet, smiling sweetly at the dark-haired speaker.  “Crow, my hunting knife has the strangest habit of ending up in the throats of those who refuse to mind their own business.  I trust you will guard your tongue more carefully?”  Halbarad’s smile did not reach his eyes.

Crow—it wasn’t his real name but no one could remember what it was, and the man didn’t seem to mind—lowered his head and mumbled in reply.

“I thought so,” Halbarad called cheerfully over his shoulder as he entered the shadowed eaves.

He found Aragorn leaning against a weathered beech tree, arms folded protectively across his chest and head bowed.  Unsure of whether or not his company was welcome, Halbarad loudly cleared his throat.

Aragorn lifted his head, a wry smile flitting across his face.  “I apologize.  I should not have snapped at you so.”

Halbarad cautiously leaned against a neighboring tree.  “No, you should not have.  But,” his lips quirked, “it is good to see some temper lies within.  I had begun to think you rather dull.”

Aragorn snorted.

Wind pattered softly over bough and leaf blade, and a comfortable silence settled between the two.  Halbarad promptly broke it, reminding Aragorn yet again that Men were different than Elves.  Very few Men realized that silence often carried more meaning than words; Elves could stretch it for hours if they chose to.

“Why did you snap at me?”

Aragorn sighed heavily.  “Homesickness, I suppose.  Or mayhap I am tired of trying to be that which I am not.”

Halbarad arched an eyebrow.  “Strider, I hate to be the bearer of ill news, but you are not an Elf.”

“Neither am I the savior of Middle-earth!”

Halbarad winced.  “I did not know you heard that.”

Aragorn did not reply.

“Well.”  Halbarad drew himself upright and straightened his tunic with a forceful tug.  “I suppose the task falls unto me, then.”

He was rewarded with a glance from Aragorn.  “What task?”

“Savior of Middle-earth.  You may refuse, but I will not pass by such opportunity.”

 “Valar save us all!”  Laughter bubbled from deep within Aragorn’s stomach.  It felt good.  “You shall lead Middle-earth straight to ruin!”

Halbarad grinned.  “And what an adventure it will be!”

Aragorn shook his head in exasperation, his laughter slowly fading and replaced by a good-natured smile.  “Halbarad?”  He stared curiously at the other.

“Yes?” 

“Why on Arda did you choose to befriend me?  I am despised by nearly everyone here.”

Halbarad shrugged.  “Because no one likes you.  So I do.”

It was quite possibly the most illogical answer Aragorn had ever received in his life.  But at the moment he could have cared less.  He had a found a friend.  ‘And,’ he thought, ‘I could not ask for a better friend than Halbarad.’      

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Next up, Chapter 4!  Elrohir and Elladan attempt to convince Glorfindel treason is the way to go...  The Slayer of Balrogs is not amused.

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Thank You!!

Kal (the Magnificent)-  *lol*  Glorfindel wasn’t scheduled to make an appearance, but now that he’s here, I can’t seem to rid myself of him.  Oh, he almost brought a whole slew of others, too—Thranduil, Legolas, several other Mirkwood characters I fashioned…  But I had to put my foot down before Elrohir and Elladan went galloping off to Mirkwood.  It would make things terribly long, and I’m dying to post a prologue for another story.  Sadly, I don’t foresee our darling Wood-Elf pop up in this one.  I figured the Elves of Mirkwood were probably used to “shooting first and asking questions later.”  It’s a dangerous place, and pausing to identify what they’re shooting might be the difference between slaying an enemy and being slain by an enemy.  Oh WOW.  Guttarion does need to die, doesn’t he?  *lol*  For some reason, the image of Frodo as a Ringwraith…  he’d be awfully short compared to the other ones.  Thank you for the fantastic review, as always!!!  :)

caz baz-  For full effect of the Gandalf “BOO!” imagine him wiggling his eyebrows and fingers while he shouts.  ;)  From what I’ve read, Glorfindel was reincarnated.  I have no idea how he managed to pull it off.  Maybe he bargained with the Valar (or blackmailed them?).  Personally, I found ‘The Hobbit’ the easiest of Tolkien’s works to read.  At first I kept getting the names mixed up in ‘The Lord of the Rings,’ and ‘The Silmarillion’…  whew…  still working on that one.  “Poor Aragorn getting left all on his own with a bunch of sadistic rangers out in the middle of nowhere, prancing around like a bloody elf.”  --*falls out of chair laughing*  Thank you for the great review!

Miss Aranel-  I tend to be ridiculously slow on reviews, as well.  *lol*  Elrohir and Elladan seem to have quite a bit of pent up angst, don’t they?  I’m actually writing this story to get a better feel for them.  I’m still trying to sort them out, but I’m finding it interesting.  I do think they have some issues with Elrond.  Actually, that passage from the other story was written as a flashback, and Halbarad from ‘Out of the Frying Pan’ was just so much fun to write…  *grin*  The cheeky little bugger!  He demanded his own story.  :)  Thank you for the wonderful review!!!

Earwen of Alqualonde-  Halbarad is hands-down my favorite Ranger.  Okay, so maybe he’s the only one I know of besides Aragorn…  Wait!  Faramir was a Ranger!  Correction: Halbarad is my favorite Ranger of the North.  :)  You know, I always wondered how Aragorn became leader of the Dúnedain.  And he did grow up in Rivendell, so there probably was some period of adjustment.  Thank you for the review!!

Ren-  *clutches ribs while laughing hysterically*  “…cocky a** b****…”  Think the cocky comes from my father’s side.  Mother is to blame for the rest of it.  ;)  Fear not!  Glorfindel returns in all his Balrog-Slaying-Reincarnated-Glory next chapter.  Somebody has to stick up for Elrond when the twins get a little mouthy.  Thank you for the fabulous review!!!  :)      

Miriel-  Okay, my latest theory as to What The Three Evils Will Return As:  (ready?)  …little old ladies!…  *lol*  Oh man, I have teeth marks all over from the plot bunny.  They get nasty if you try to beat them off.  The one called ‘Shallows’ over here is beginning to draw blood, and “The Second Legolas Experiment” has taken to gnawing.  Eeesh.  Back, you wicked creatures!  Back!  Do you think they would let Glorfindel return a third time?  You know what they say: “Third time’s the charm.”  I actually didn’t know Aragorn’s father died like that either.  I was doing some canon research to make sure everything in this tale fit, and happened to stumble across it.  E2 must definitely feel remorse over that incident.  Thank you for the great review!!  :)

Paranoidangel-  I’m glad you like it!  :)  I agree—there’s a whole slew of possibility to consider as far as Aragorn’s “introduction to Men” is concerned.  The poor guy doesn’t quite fit in with the Elves, and obviously doesn’t fit in with his own kin…  No wonder it took him so long to sort things out.  Thank you for the review! :)

daw-  Tolkien only wrote the tiniest snippet about Dol Guldur’s defeat.  I wonder what exactly went on, too…  *lol*  Halbarad must have done his job well in the end, though—Aragorn turned out scruffy enough to make even the crankiest Ranger proud.  Thank you for the wonderful review!

fliewatuet-  Glorfindel might as well have put a target on his forehead.  I still wonder why he was galloping around bells on his reins during the hobbits’ adventure.  Maybe he was trying to attract attention.  Rivendell must have gotten pretty boring…  Thank you for the great review!!!  :)

Nerwen Calaelen-  Aragorn’s entry to the Rangers has always intrigued me, and Halbarad just doesn’t get enough story appearances.  :)  I decided to attempt to “kill two birds with one stone,” as the saying goes.  I hope you enjoy reading it!  Thank you for the review!

Sphinx-  I decided to write this story (primarily) to get a feel for Elrohir and Elladan.  I still haven’t grasped it yet, but for all their recklessness and merriment they seem to have a lot of angst—not to mention some issues with Elrond.  I didn’t intend to have Glorfindel make an appearance, but now it seems as though someone needs to keep the twins in line when they swipe at Elrond.  Thank you for the wonderful review!! :)

The Karenator-  Oh wow, thank you!  *ducks head in embarrassment*  I’m thrilled you like the tale so far.  :)  Growing up with the Elves as he did, Aragorn must have undergone quite a period of transition.  (And Halbarad must have done his work well…  Aragorn did end up marvelously scruffy.)  *lol*  Glorfindel the Peaceful can claim the bells are for decoration purposes, while Glorfindel the Warrior can be satiated by shooting a couple over-curious orcs… ;)  Thank you for the amazing review!!!       

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