What future has a child born in the shadow of Sauron's army?
For all my life, the former capital of Gondor, Osgiliath, lay due east but a day's journey by foot. It also lay in seige by Mordor's forces and these men of Gondor, their fathers, and their fathers' fathers. Three generatons have known of nothing but an intractable battle over the only river crossing into Gondor that matters.
To this fate I was born at the end of the third millenium, of the Third Age of Middle Earth, without promise or hope for a Fourth Age in my future grandchildren's lifetime. Furthermore, I was born a spindly and weak child, with no promise of ever being strong enough to hold longsword and shield. My curse was also my salvation; if I were to serve any useful purpose on the battlefield, I had better figure out a non-martial trade. Music saved my life, and very likely the lives of others.
Because I had talent for horn and drum at an early age, I was trained to become a signalman. Because of the noise and fog of battle, signalmen were trained to play song bursts that would signal formation maneuvers, to attack, to retreat, etc. Sort of like the way scouts will communicate with each other using bird songs. These "songs" were just notes, no voice was needed nor did it even make sense to waste a voice in battle.
Signalmen had been used for generations in the Osgiliath front, and while Gondor could field the larger defense forces, they were a very necessary part of troop strength. By the time my training was complete, Gondor's defenders were such a ragtag bunch of skirmishers it looked as if not even this form of service would be needed. There was absolutely no chance of me being given Ranger training and joining the front lines. Shortly after reaching the age of manhood, I was given a choice to continue in limited service or be given an honorable discharge.
Most of the warriors did not consider me worth the rations it took to keep me around. It made no sense to stay, and yet I knew nothing else of the world but this zone of conflict. I have never visited a happy place, and in all honesty, I didn't really know what happiness would even sound like.
A fortnight before I was to leave my homeland without destination or plan, a strange elf rode into town upon a magnificent stallion. At first we thought the horse was running free, from a distance we could see no rider. As he approached, we could see him cloaked in a queer pattern of changing colors and shades. Had he been on foot, we would have never seen his approach.
"If you have no use for this boy, we will take him from you.", said the elf to my kinsmen.
It took only long enough to stuff a pack for me to take him up on his offer and ride away from this accursed land.
Once past the horizon, my benefactor introduced himself as Adanion of Lothlórien. Lady Galadrial sent Adanion to rescue me from an uncertain fate, based on a single vision she had for my future. According to her, the shadow of Mordor has poisoned my spirit and my growth, but my fate could turn around in a better environment.
Adanion is a Minstrel instructor, but who was accustomed to teaching only Lórien elf children. Under the Lady's encouragement, he took me on with his other students. I resided and studied in a guest cottage outside the forest proper, as my kind was not permitted in the forest itself.
It was a few years later, and as many adventures, when I tracked the same Strider the Ranger, down to Archet, east of Bree-Town to Gondor's former sister-kingdom of Arnor.
But I never escaped Sauron's shadow. The Black Riders were an enemy I knew only too well.
