Disclaimer: The following is a work of (fan)fiction. All intellectual property belongs to its respective owners, just as my original characters and situations would belong to me.

A/N: I am not a writer by trade, but I gladly welcome any constructive criticism. I've been searching for a story similar to this for many years, but upon failing that, I have taken it upon myself to write that which I have so desperately craved. Please offer your honest criticisms, and if anyone would like to beta, please PM me.

But enough with that! On with the show!

Prologue: An Introduction

Herein follows the beginning of The Adventures of Strider and Medlineth, accounting their first meeting and the early years of their friendship. Their story became legend among the free peoples of Middle Earth. Written into song by the minstrels, it is a tale that survived even into this age, beyond the changing of their world.

Most of what we know about those who went by 'Strider' and 'Medlineth' is concerned with their exploits during the War of the Ring, or their reign afterwords. Below is recorded what little knowledge we have of the early years of their lives.

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Interruption

One month.

For one long month, Estel of Rivendell drifted into restless sleep on the hard ground. And each night, he would always find a stick under his back, or if not a stick, some sharp rock or other nuisance to keep him awake at night. It made him long for his warm, down-soft bed in Rivendell, where his mother waited patiently for his return and his foster-father kept watch over the peaceful valley.

But alas, he had come out with his companions on an extended hunt, against the foul creatures plaguing Eriador-goblins and orcs leaving destruction and death in their wake.

The hunting party was small, but powerful. The group was only thirty strong, lead by Elladan and Elrohir, the identical twin sons of Lord Elrond. Estel was the only human among them; his companions were all several millennia his senior.

As his foster-brothers, Elladan and Elrohir taught him in arms and in tracking and survival, and Estel learned much of the healing arts from Lord Elrond himself. With Spring ending, and Estel coming into his eighteenth summer, it was decided that Estel's training had come to its completion. It was a long time in coming; he had never been away from home for longer than a week on the occasional hunt for game with his brothers to restock the kitchen larders.

But darkness was rising amongst the northern plains of Arda, and reports of orcs and brigands had come to Elrond from the Dúnedain. In addition to aiding the north, the expedition would allow the young man to practice his skills, and allow his brothers gauge his abilities.

Nearby, his foster-brothers conversed quietly, keeping a watch over the nightly forest around them.

"He is rash and quick to action." Elladan was biting to his identical twin. "He can be given responsibility when he can be trusted with doing his part."

"Patience," Elrohir was quick to reply, "He is of but eighteen winters, we cannot expect him to learn in a few months what it took us centuries to experience."

"But he does not have centuries, Elrohir! His destiny will not wait for him to learn." Elladan stared into the darkness with an intense glare, as if he meant to ward the future off with his own eyes.

Elrohir pondered this for a minute, before carefully saying "That is why he is with us here, Dan. We must teach him as much as we can." With that, Elrohir walked off to his bedroll laid near Estel, leaving Elladan to finish the watch.

When Elrohir had finally removed his weapons, he turned to face the sleeping form of his human brother, who looked wan with many nights of poor sleep. With his eyes, he traced the features of his dear friend Arathorn in the son Aragorn, who was not to know of his name or heritage until he had proven the maturity and strength to carry the heavy burden left to the last in a line of kings-the last hope of a bereft people.

A week passed in the same manner as before-tracking, camping, sleeping, and waking up to do it all over again. Lord Elrond, Estel's foster father, had received reports about a particularly large and troublesome group of goblins who had come out of the Misty Mountains and had been causing great upheaval in the northern realms of men. The group from Rivendell was sent out to aid in tracking them down and dispelling the threat.

In the early hours of that morning a week later, Estel was keeping the watch with Elrohir when a blinding light broke through the trees directly ahead of him. A wave of wind shot out from it, accompanied by a soft peal of deep tones, causing the rest of the company to startle awake in their bedrolls.

Estel was alarmed, but smart. He leapt to his feet when the light came, and made for the treeline at the presence of the wind before Elrohir could say anything. Unwilling to take his eyes away from a possible threat, he drew his sword and moved past the edge of the clearing towards the source of the light. He moved so that he could see the thing straight on, and lifted his empty hand to shield his eyes. The resonating bell tones seemed to emanate from the swirling cloud-like light, and it hovered as if it were suspended a few feet above the ground.

With the armed company coming up behind him, Estel took two steps toward it when it suddenly dimmed significantly, leaving the form of a strangely dressed woman standing between two oaks.

Estel stared at her, and in that moment some strange weight settled in his heart. He would not understand it for many years, but that woman's destiny was entwined with his own.

The rest of the light faded from her features and the woman opened her eyes and gasped, as though she had been under water and had just come to the surface. Her hand came up to her chest as she tried to get her breathing under control as she fell hard to her trouser-clad knees. She looked up at the strangers in front of her who carried drawn swords; her eyes widened, and the combination of shock and near asphyxiation caused her to fall forward on her face in a dead faint.

Estel snapped into action when the women passed out, ignoring Elladan's cry for caution. Rushing to her side, he set his sword down on the ground next to him. He hovered his hands over her, trying to assess if she was injured before he grabbed her shoulders and rolled her onto her back.

Estel traced his fingers along her neck and head for swelling and breaks as Elrohir approached.

"Is she okay?" He asked his younger brother, kneeling down by the woman.

He settled one hand on the side of her face to keep her head steady. "She is unconscious, but I can sense no obvious injuries," Estel said, looking up to his brother.

"Then let us bring her back to camp. We can at least give her somewhere to rest until we can find out what has happened to her. Do you think you can carry her?" Elrohir asked, settling a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Aye. She's no small maiden, but she's no burly soldier either."

So with help from his brother, Estel managed to wrap his arms under her knees and around her back, and lifted the strange woman in his arms. Her head fell into the crook of his neck and rested against his chest.

And so Aragorn, son of Arathorn, ignorant of his destiny or significance, carried his future wife to the elvish camp.