Patriot-112: Hello my peeps, and here is a another new story, I had been planning for weeks, but was not confident enough in publishing, out of worry how people will react to it. In fact, this is one of two I had planned, and this is the first LOTR I ever placed on here, so apologies to fans of this franchise if I got it wrong. But enough of my rambling...you came here to read.

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings doesn't belong to me, it belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.

Now let's begin!

"Forndor, or Northern Land in the common tongue, was the name of the Kingdom that rose from the ashes of the Lost Realm of Arnor. It replaced the Old Kingdom of the Men of Numenor, and is now ruled by the Men of Gogledd, our people, who had journeyed across the sea to find a new home.

Our people's history is one which begins as we fled our original homeland, which at the time was under the reign of a deranged King, who didn't trust anybody and believed everyone of his subjects a traitor. When a good number of lords finally had enough, we boarded any ship we could find and sailed east away from our home, but then, as our ancestors left our ancient homeland, a great calamity came and destroyed everything. Then, a great mist appeared and took the fleet to Ennor, or known today, as Middle-Earth.

We reached the shore, landing west of the Ice-Bay of Forochel, near the base of the Blue Mountains. And it is there, the Lord that would become our new king, the first of our new realm, made an alliance with the Elven White Lady of Lorien, who guided us to our new home..." - Excerpt from the Grimoire of the Great History of Forndor.

Prologue

Reborn from the Ashes

Elven Realm of Lothlorien

Year 2000 of the Third Age

The once great kingdom of Arnor had fallen. Because of human folly and the plots of a deathless evil, the once mighty kingdom of the Men of Numenor had been destroyed by decades of Civil War, corruption, and decadence. Annúminas, the once great capital of Arnor, was now abandoned, and left to rot and ruin. This is what Galadriel, Lady of Lothlorien, ruler of the Galadhrim, and a member of the White Council saw, as a solemn expression was etched onto her beautiful and fair features.

She had watched from her mirror as the Kingdom of Elendil splintered into the three kingdoms of Arthedain, Cardolan, and Rhudaur, due to the last king's three sons' unwillingness to work together. That in turn, made them easy pickings for the Witch-Kingdom of Angmar, one of Sauron's most deadliest lieutenants, and the Lord of the Nazgul himself. Slowly, but surely, the three kingdoms fell, one by one, their people slaughtered and scattered, leaving the Northern Kingdom abandoned, and forgotten. However, the Witch-King's victory didn't last as he, and the rest of the Nine, were defeated by the surviving Dunedain and were buried in the tombs of the High Fells.

Still, it didn't help at all with the sorrow she felt in her heart. With Arnor gone, they no longer had a key ally in the North, in the event should Sauron ever return.

Unlike most in the world of Middle-Earth, she knew that Sauron, defeated almost two thousand years ago by the Last Alliance, was only biding his time and regathering his strength. Slowly...but surely.

Arnor was one obstacle he wanted out of the way, and he had accomplished this, despite the temporary loss of his Ringwraiths.

'Sauron has managed to achieve his victory, nonetheless. Without the Kingdom of Arnor, Gondor and the other free realms of Men will be alone in the coming War should he return,' were her grim thoughts as she continued looking into the mirror, 'And the North, will be the most vulnerable...'

Her thoughts were interrupted as her mirror shone a bright light, making her gasp slightly.

"What is this?" she said as she looked into the mirror, "What is this light?"

The light faded to reveal something that made her eyes widen, a ship, with the sigil of a fierce rampant black wolf upon it's sails, approached the shore near the mouth of the Ice-Bay of Forochel. The ones who disembarked were of Men, but carried grey banners with the wolf sigil upon them, clad in ring mail and hard leather armor with few pieces of steel plate. However, Galadriel's attention was on the one, who was the apparent leader of the group. A young man who appeared less than 30 years of age, with dark hair, grey eyes, standing tall almost at six feet, just a couple inches short. He was clad in steel plate which comprised of the breastplate bearing the wolf rampant with pauldrons and spaulders attached to his shoulders, vambraces on his forearms, and greaves strapped onto the black leather boots he wore on his feet. His attire was finished off by the black cloak which was draped over his shoulders, adorned with a black wolf pelt mantle around the neck.

She took note of his grim and sullen expression, which told her that despite his young age, he had seen many battles, and many lives lost. No doubt he was a veteran of war and was no stranger to fighting. Something moved behind the human, which caught her eye, and the Elven Lady blinked in surprise, as a black wolf of great size strode next to the young man, showing it stood just at his shoulder. At first she thought it was one of Sauron's foul creations but as she looked at the creature, she felt no presence of dark foul magic around the wolf. Which made her curious.

She then watched as the man smiled slightly as he placed a hand on the beast and scratched it behind the ear, causing the wolf to reciprocate the action by giving him a gentle nuzzle.

She could only watch, as the apparently strong bond showed between them showed itself, and a slight smile formed on her lips.

'There may be hope yet.'

Shore, West of the Icebay of Forochel.

He looked at the land around him, his eyes scanning the landscape for any danger, as the men behind him unloaded the ship. He and his people had come a long way following their voluntary exile from their home. A home they can never return to.

He sighed solemnly knowing that their world was gone, along with everything and everyone else they knew. All caused by the will of a madman who believed he was a God among men, and believed he could defy the other Gods as much as he pleased. That ended tragically. And now, here they were, in a new world and a new land, in hopes of starting over and not making the same mistakes.

"Lord Drustan," said one of the Men-at-arms, who approached him before bowing, "Milord, should we send the ship back to inform the rest of the fleet?"

Drustan thought on that, before shaking his head.

"No...Not yet," he said, "Not until we're sure it's safe here,"

The Man-at-arms didn't say anything but nodded his head all the same and went back to help the others. Drustan gave a tired sigh, knowing that his family and the others on the other ships are still out at sea, wanting for the word to come ashore. He couldn't blame them, but he was being cautious.

'This land is new to us.' he thought, 'And to just offload right here and now without a plan would only put us into a situation where it would only get us all killed. And we didn't leave our old home just to do something foolish...,'

He continued his observation of the land before him, especially the woods and the mountains in the distance. His eyes narrowed, knowing that those peaks will no doubt be one of the first of many challenges that they would face.

"You are right to be cautious when in these lands, Stranger," a voice said, startling him and instinctively grabbing the handle of his sword, but not drawing it. "There are evil forces here that will love nothing more than to destroy you and your people. Therefore you have every right to tread lightly,"

"Who are you?" Drustan said, his voice tense as he looked for the owner of the voice.

"Peace stranger, I'm here to help you. " the voice said, and he now recognized it as a woman's. "But in order for that to happen, you must trust me,"

Drustan heard the low growling next to him as his Great Wolf, Duskfang, bristled, his ears pinned back as his amber eyes narrowed.

'Dusk senses something, which means I'm not going mad,' he thought, as his eyes narrowed.

"If you wish to know who I am, Stranger, then you must follow my instructions," the voice said, "Come into the woods, with only yourself and your wolf,"

Drustan was hesitant to listen to the words of a stranger he didn't know, and who would possibly lead him into a trap. But something was telling him to trust the voice he was hearing, and listen to her. He turned his head back to the group of men as they just started to set up the tents.

"Wynne!" He shouted, catching the attention of his Captain of the Guard. Wynne was a grizzled veteran, if the worn features on his face, and the greying black beard were any indication.

"Milord?"

"Continue setting up the camp as instructed. When you're finished, I want a double guard in place when I return," Drustan ordered, making the veteran captain blink in surprise.

"'Until you return, milord?" he said in concern, and Drustan nodded.

"I'm going to take a look around," he said, "I'm going to make sure the area around the camp is safe before we send the ship back to the rest of the fleet,"

Wynne looked at his liege lord, his protective side evident in him.

"Shouldn't you take a few of the men with you Milord?" he said cautiously, but Drustan shook his head,

"No, I'll be fine." Drustan said assuredly, though not completely convinced himself. "Duskfang will be with me in case there is trouble. But if you hear him howl, don't hesitate to come after me, understood?,"

Wynne wasn't entirely convinced, but he wasn't one to argue, so he nodded his head, though a bit reluctantly.

"By your command, Milord," he said, and Drustan nodded as he and Duskfang proceeded to walk into the woods not far from the riverbank, and vanishing from view.

"Was it wise to let him go off by himself, Cap'n," said one of the guards who watched the exchange.

Wynne gave a sigh as he shook his head, "The Lord is a fighter, Ossy, he can handle himself," he said, "And like he said, if he gets into trouble, his wolf will howl for help,"

Osweld, or Ossy as he was called, said nothing as he looked in the direction their lord and liege headed off to.

"I hope you're right,"

With Drustan, a while later

Drustan moved down the path he was able to find after entering the woods, his faithful Great Wolf at his side. He was starting to question himself of what he was thinking, listening to strange disembodied voices and coming into the woods by himself.

'Damned Underworlds, I must be daft comin' in here...,' he thought to himself, his grip on his sword tightening, '...and alone no less,'

His thoughts were then interrupted as he saw a clearing up ahead of the path, and quickened his pace, the sooner he was done chasing ghosts the better. He entered the clearing, which was a large meadow with some remnants of morning mists floating about. Duskfang dutifully moving by his side.

"Alright, I'm alone... Now what?" he asked, and waited for the voice to speak again, he wasn't disappointed.

'Thou have asked, and I shall appear to thee,' the voice said, until he was blinded by a bright light, causing him to shield his eyes with his hand, and Duskfang to close his. The light lasted for moment until it died down, allowing Drustan to slowly lower his arm from his face, blinking away the temporary blindness, before his grey eyes widened in shock and awe at what, or who, he was seeing right in front of him.

Wearing a beautiful white dress that shined like the purest silver, wearing an elegant circlet upon her brow, standing just slightly taller than him, with fair unblemished skin, with long flowing gold locks of hair, and the most mesmerizing light blue eyes, was the most incredibly breathtaking woman he had ever seen.

"Wh...wha...?" Drustan began to say, which the woman found a little amusing if the slight grin and small giggle was of any indication. She will never get tired of how men will be completely mesmerized by her presence.

"It seems that no matter what, I will always be a magnificent sight to the eyes of Men," she said, as Drustan looked at the majestic woman before he shook his head.

"Who...who are you?" he said, breathlessly, still stunned by what was happening. The woman only smiled as she bowed her head slightly

"I am called Galadriel, the Lady of Lothlorien, a realm of the Eldar," she said, "Or in the common tongues of Men, we are known as Elves,"

Drustan's eyebrows raised into his hairline at that. He had heard of Elves before back in their former home, but according to his father, they had long vanished three thousand years ago...and now, he was seeing one up close, and the legends of their magnificent beauty were not exaggerated.

"You're... an Elf...?," he said, while Galadriel's smile grew.

"Indeed I am, warrior," she said, and looked at him. "Now, to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?"

Drustan blinked before he remembered his manners, and gave a respectful bow.

"Drustan, of the House of Weylin, Lord...well, former Lord of the now fallen Kingdom of Gogledd," He introduced himself, "I and my people have lost our home due to a civil war, and the whims of a Madman who would rather execute innocent lives for false charges than serve the realm he was charged with. Then, a great calamity came upon our homeland, but fortunately, our people survived when I lead the survivors on a willing exile to find a new home."

Galadriel grew interested by this story.

"And how is it, that you came to Ennor, may I ask?" she said, and she saw the unsure look on his face.

"We're not sure ourselves, Lady Galadriel," he said, making the Elven Lady raised a curious brow, as Drustan continued.

"As we escaped our homeland, a mist appeared around us without warning." Drustan elaborated, "For ten days we sailed blindly, only seeing the light from lanterns on the other ships which kept us in sight of each other. Then on the eleventh day, the mist suddenly and quickly disappeared with no trace,"

Galadriel pondered the story as she looked at the Human Lord.

"And what is it you plan to do now, Drustan, of the House of Weylin?" she asked, and Drustan just looked up at her.

"All we want is a new home to call our own," He said, "We mean your people no harm, but we will defend ourselves if threatened,"

The Elvish ruler of Lorien studied the man for a moment. His voice did not waver in the slightest, and his grey eyes told no lies. Her thoughts running through her head, until an idea formed. Though it would be difficult, but not impossible, she decided that these people will be the right ones, who will rule the Northern Realm in the Dunedain's stead, until the heir of Elendil steps forth. However, she will keep an eye on them, to make sure they didn't go astray.

"If it is a new home, you seek." she spoke, "I can give you that home,"

And it was with those words, the days of the new Kingdom of Forndor had begun. After sending word to the rest of the refugee fleet, the Men of Gogledd, immediately began to build their new realm, eventually assimilating the former lands of the Lost realm of Arnor, and with the agreement of the other noble houses, Drustan of the House Weylin, became the first King of Forndor. Galadriel then gifted the First King with, what will become House Weylin's most treasured heirloom, the assumed lost Elven longsword... Anguirel.

For seven hundred years, under the rulership of House Weylin, they built up and defended their new homeland from many forces who intended to destroy them: Black Numenoreans from Angmar, Goblins and trolls from the Misty Mountains, Orc Warg Raiders from Gundabad, and so on.

All the while, Forndor grew ever stronger. Soon, the Kingdom began to accept others into their lands, Middle Men of Edain, Easterling Exiles from Rhun, pilgrims, merchants, and sailors from Gondor, Horsemen from Rohan, Dwarfish craftsmen, and so on. However, Galadriel warned the now Forndorians not to go into the Shire, for it was the homeland of the Hobbits who didn't want to interfere with the troubles of Men. The Forndorians respected this advice for the next three centuries. They did however, annexed the villages and lands near the eastern border of the Shire, including the village of Bree.

The Forndorians took a step further, and began rebuilding Elven cities that were abandoned or destroyed, while being respectful of the Ancient shrines so as not to anger the Elves. This earned them the respect and gratitude of the Elves of Imladris, also known as Rivendell, as well as the other remaining Elf Kingdoms in Middle Earth.

They even paid heed to warnings to not enter the lands of the Realm of Angmar, even after defeating their armies numerous times, for it was a cursed land that no Man should enter.

Sauron, though weakened, who had been keeping his eye on the growing kingdom began to panic, and sent agents to try to sow the seeds of discord and corruption which had destroyed Arnor before. However, he had underestimated the Men of Gogledd, who were not so easily manipulated, or fooled. This, all in part, due to their Great wolves, who can sense his evil and will occasionally drive it out before it could fester. Even an Orc army sent from Gundabad was wiped out by the well trained and disciplined Forndorian army, with the wolves themselves added to the mix, making them more of a...spiritual headache for the Dark Lord.

The weakest of Sauron's minions had grown to fear the Forndorian Men and their canines greatly, giving them the rightful moniker of the 'Wolfmen'. This name will be adopted and used by the other peoples of Middle-Earth.

Then, in the Year 2770 of the Third Age, the Dwarf Kingdom of Erebor, was taken by the Great Fire Drake, Smaug, taking the treasure within, including the Arkenstone, and bringing a once mighty Dwarven people low. When the elves of Mirkwood, under the rule of Thranduil forsook the Dwarves of Erebor, many dwarves who lived in Forndor were outraged, which was shared by the then king Aedan Weylin, who declared the Elvish king a craven and sent an invitation to the now homeless dwarves to settle in the Blue Mountains. This action, gained the Forndorians great respect and gratitude among the Dwarves, especially Thorin, son of Thrain, grandson of King Thror. Though while the Forndorians gave shelter to the Dwarves, and were not overly trusting of Thranduil, they understood that Thror's Dragon Sickness, or Gold Fever, is what caused Erebor's downfall.

The Dwarves of Erebor, in gratitude to the Men of Forndor for their honor and generosity, decided to lend their best craftsmen and smithies to help improve the Forndorian army. Thus an alliance and co-existence among the two races bloomed.

Then, nearly two centuries later, the time to reclaim the Lonely Mountain had come...

Patriot-112: And done! I assume some of you noted the similarities between the Men of Snetal and the Kingdom of the North from Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire series. Let me just make it clear, that the world they came from is not Westeros, and the Deranged king mentioned by Drustan is not Aeris Targaryen in anyway. I just based them and their culture on the people of the North.

Now some of you maybe afraid that I will make them too OP or too infallible...well, let me assure that they will suffer some serious blows in the future chapters of this fic, due to some less than stellar people in their ranks. But...I'm not gonna get curbstomped either.

Either way, please leave a review, fav, and follow. Until next time!