Aragorn

"Gandalf, I believe this half-elf, Wayne, you speak of is not to be trusted," Saruman declared, tapping the table to command the attention of the others in the secret chamber of Rivendell.

"A true man of justice does not seek rewards for his deeds."

"Yet he aims to claim one-third of the treasure of a single dwarven kingdom. We all know the magnitude of that wealth. Many realms could not amass such riches over centuries. This alone proves his greed."

"And men of such greed are no different from the kings of old. Even without the Nine Rings, they can be easily swayed by Sauron's influence, and could eventually turn to the forces of darkness."

"We've already paid dearly for such a lesson once before."

"I believe we should take precautions against this half-elf, Wayne. Perhaps by doing so, we could avert future loss."

As Saruman finished, Galadriel, the Lady of Lothlórien, remained silent, her gaze shifting to Gandalf. Most present had heard of Wayne for the first time and had no personal knowledge of him. Only Gandalf had spent significant time with the adventurer.

As for Saruman, the Elf Queen knew his character well, having dealt with him for many years. His increasingly extreme views were no longer a surprise to her. Though she listened to him, she paid little heed to his darker warnings.

Gandalf, Elrond, and Galadriel, the bearers of the Three Elven Rings, shared a deep alliance built on mutual trust. When it came to decisions of great importance, Galadriel often deferred to Gandalf's judgment.

Elrond, for his part, had discreetly asked his daughter, Arwen, for her thoughts on Wayne. However, Elrond's composed nature kept him from voicing his personal assessments prematurely, allowing others to form their own opinions.

Gandalf, the Grey Wizard, clutched his staff, his mind deep in thought. After a long pause, he finally spoke:

"I cannot speak definitively about this half-elf. After all, I have only traveled with him for just over a month."

"However, Bilbo Baggins, who journeyed with us, holds him in high regard. The estate Wayne built in the Shire provided many jobs for the local hobbits, improving the lives of the surrounding folk."

"We've heard no ill words about this adventurer. To accuse someone based on speculation is unwise."

"Moreover, Wayne's strength is undeniable. Whether facing the ruthless Orc clan or other twisted creatures of the darkness, there's no doubt about his capability. Perhaps he truly can fulfill his promise to slay the dragon Smaug."

"If he does, then why should one-third of the treasure not be his? Indeed, why should he not become a king himself?"

Gandalf's words led the others into quiet contemplation.

Radagast, the Brown Wizard, absentmindedly scratched his hair, still covered in bird droppings, and spoke in his usual, peculiar manner:

"What's all this fuss about? Isn't it good to have such a person around? If we need his help in the future, we can simply pay him. Gold means little to us."

Radagast's simple logic stirred the thoughts of the others. After a while, Galadriel, the most powerful among them, finally broke the silence:

"Perhaps we are overthinking this matter. However, planning ahead is never a fault. People's futures are not set in stone."

"What we must do is guide hearts toward the light, not allow them to fall into darkness. It is our task to prevent the spread of corruption in people's souls."

The Elf Queen turned her divine gaze to Gandalf and Elrond, who was her son-in-law, and spoke with authority:

"No matter what path this half-elf may choose in the future, your duty is to guide him, to offer him help, and to bring him closer to us."

"Friends, I have already sensed the growing power of darkness lurking in the hidden corners of the world. We must remain vigilant and prepare for the battles that lie ahead."

...

This morning, Wayne and Arwen met by the river to fish. Rivendell, blessed by Vilya, the Ring of Air, was a pristine haven, untouched by filth or corruption. In this valley, everything—from fruits and vegetables to fish and meat—was extraordinarily delicious, their flavors enhanced by the natural purity of the land.

A dwarf might not appreciate such subtleties, but as a seasoned chef, Wayne was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the ingredients. He was already forming a plan to gather a batch of these ingredients and take them back to the wizarding world to share with his friends.

After breakfast, Wayne, armed with a beautifully carved elven fishing rod, wandered along the river with Princess Arwen, searching for the perfect fishing spot.

As they strolled, the elf princess expressed a desire to meet his pet Deathclaw, Robin. Recently, Arwen had overheard some of the knights discussing the fearsome beast and was curious about its power and ferocity.

Being an elf, she naturally harbored a hatred for all evil creatures. Her mother, Celebrian, had been attacked and tortured by orcs many years ago, leading to her departure from Middle-earth to the Undying Lands. This separation had left a lasting impact on Arwen, and she had a special admiration for warriors who fought against orcs. Perhaps this was one of the reasons she had initially agreed to be Wayne's guide.

Wayne, who rarely denied the requests of beautiful women, was happy to oblige. Besides, thanks to Arwen's patient instruction, he had become proficient in Sindarin, already able to speak and understand simple phrases. He found himself genuinely fond of this elf princess, who, despite her age of over two thousand years, had a gentle spirit and lively curiosity.

As they walked along the river, nearing the area where Robin was kept, they suddenly heard a young voice calling out. The voice wasn't loud but carried a determined tone.

Following the sound, they spotted a young boy with short black hair, wearing simple linen clothing. He held a wooden stick and was practicing basic swordsmanship—chopping, slashing, stabbing, and parrying—each move accompanied by deliberate footwork. The boy's dedication and form caught Wayne's attention, and he quickly noticed that the child didn't have the long ears of the elves. He was clearly human.

Turning to Arwen, Wayne asked, "Do you know who this child is, Arwen?"

The elf princess was momentarily lost in thought, then, with a soft smile, she replied, "I remember now. He is a foster son my father took in a few years ago. His name is Aragorn, and I believe he's around ten years old now."

"I was living in Lothlórien with my grandmother at the time, so this is my first time meeting him as well."

Seeing Wayne's expression of mild confusion, Arwen added, "He is the sixteenth-generation heir of the Dúnedain, the son of Arathorn. According to our tradition, the son of the Dúnedain chieftains is raised and educated by my father. The Dúnedain are different from ordinary men—they can live to be over two hundred years old, making them a long-lived race of men."

Hearing the name Aragorn, Wayne immediately recognized its significance. Wasn't this the future king, the leader of the Fellowship of the Ring? The thought of the Human King sparked another realization—the elf princess standing beside him was to be Aragorn's future wife.

In the distant future, Arwen would give up her immortality for love, choosing to become mortal and live out her days alongside Aragorn. Their love story, tragically beautiful, would culminate in her passing after Aragorn's death, leaving her life of over two thousand years behind.

Thinking of the future, Wayne felt a surge of emotion, as if he were witnessing history unfold. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he approached Aragorn, Arwen walking by his side.

The young boy, the future king, paused his training and looked at them curiously. Wayne, with a smile, reached into his space bracelet and pulled out two finely crafted wooden swords. He tossed one to Aragorn while keeping the other for himself.

"Kid, I see you're keen on swordsmanship," Wayne said. "Take this sword. Come on, let's see what you've got. Today, your uncle and aunt will teach you some real swordplay."

At this time, Aragorn was just a ten-year-old child. Having lost his father, Arathorn, to a sneak attack by orcs at the age of two, the boy had matured quickly, his desire for strength and revenge far greater than that of most human children his age.

Without a moment's hesitation, Aragorn discarded the crude wooden stick he had been training with and picked up the wooden sword that Wayne had handed him. He stood before Wayne, adopting a proper attack stance, and said confidently:

"Thank you. I'm ready."

Wayne didn't hold back. With a playful shout of "Be careful!" he struck at Aragorn's forearm with his wooden sword. The blow landed with a sharp snap, causing the boy to wince in pain, his grip on the sword faltering slightly.

Wayne chuckled and, in simple terms, explained how to block such an attack. Then, without giving Aragorn much time to recover, he resumed their sparring session.

For the next hour, Wayne instructed Aragorn in the basics of swordsmanship, using the same methods he employed when teaching witcher apprentice. He didn't mislead the boy but provided honest, straightforward lessons. From the proper way to hold the sword and swing it to dodging and blocking, every lesson was delivered with a firm hand—each strike a lesson Aragorn would remember.

Pain and sweat are the best teachers, Wayne thought. By the end of the hour, the future king had learned much, though he was left with a bruised face and aching limbs. Despite the rough treatment, Aragorn had benefited immensely from the one-on-one training.

Wayne's expertise in swordsmanship, bolstered by his talents and system, was at the pinnacle of human skill. Aragorn, with his natural ability and determination, absorbed the lessons like a sponge. The dynamic between teacher and student was harmonious—one teaching freely, and the other eager to learn.

It wasn't until Aragorn collapsed to the ground in exhaustion that Wayne finally smiled and retrieved the wooden sword.

Opportunities to train the future hero of Middle-earth don't come often, Wayne mused, pleased with the day's work. A boy like Aragorn, with his determination and talent, was far more gratifying to train than unruly children who only caused trouble.

"Alright, that's enough for today," Wayne said, slipping the sword back into his space bracelet. "Keep the sword—it's yours now. I have other matters to attend to, but we'll meet again when the time is right."

As Wayne turned to leave with Arwen, who had been watching with an amused smile, Aragorn, still seated on the ground, struggled to stand. Bowing respectfully, he called out to Wayne:

"My name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and the future leader of the Dúnedain. Your swordsmanship is incredible, and I admire you greatly."

"May I know your name? I wish to invite you to be my swordsmanship teacher and guide me in learning true swordsmanship."

"If you accept my plea, I will be forever grateful."

Just as Aragorn finished speaking, Wayne suddenly heard a system notification in his mind.

Ding! Special mission triggered: [Aragorn's Sword Master]. Do you accept?

Ding! This mission's rewards will vary based on completion, up to a master level.

Wayne froze for a moment, surprised by the notification. A special mission with the potential to reach master level?

He turned back to the young Aragorn, who looked up at him with a bruised face and sincere eyes. After a few seconds of consideration, Wayne smiled and nodded.

"Alright, Aragorn," he said. "You can call me Wayne. From now on, I'll train you here for two hours each day. But I won't be in Rivendell for long, so how much you learn depends on your dedication and understanding."

With that, he walked away, leaving behind a cheering Aragorn.

...

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