The bleak hills, and deep valleys filled with turbulent waters, soon gave way to hills crowned with ancient holly-trees whose grey-green trunks seemed to have been built out of the very stone of the hills. Their dark leaves shone and their berries glowed red in the light of the setting sun.

They were in the land that Men call Hollin; many Elves had lived there in happier days, when Eregion was its name.

The grey light was again waning fast, when they halted for the night. They were very weary. The mountains were veiled in deepening dusk, and the wind was cold. When they stopped to rest, Richard, son of Charles Aragorn, son of Arathorn called a council.

"Okay, what?" he says, looking down at his clothes, which look like they're fresh out of a fantasy novel. "What is this?"

Rich pulls out a sword.

Very bright was that sword when it was made whole again; the light of the sun shone redly in it, and the light of the moon shone cold, and its edge was hard and keen.

"Do you guys hear a voice that just keeps describing everything?" A pause. "Wait, did it say 'Eregion'?

That's what he focuses on. Not "Aragorn." No, the obscure place name.